The Lucas Cunningham series had exploded across the eastern United States, with every schoolboy and city boy curious to see more western action. They were damned clueless, every last one of them. But that was all well and good for the author, one Jane Dyke, who went under the pseudonym "Jack Dixon". Her novels had sold over ten thousand copies, and it was time to write some more.
She was in the middle of a particularly stubborn scene in which Lucas had lost his horse, and had to bring down the retreating Satano Brothers, who had just passed beneath the ledge he stood upon.
It's so easy... she insisted to herself, and she dipped her pen to continue writing:
It was a mile if it was an inch, but a man like Lucas Cunningham wouldn't be done in by the triviality of distance. He broke into a run at a mighty clip, dropped twenty feet from the edge of the plateau and maintained the furious piston-pump of his legs. So furious was his loco-motion that, before long, he had surpassed the speed of the outlaws' horses. Those Diabolicos would learn what happened when you messed with Lucas Cunningham.
One of the riders looked back, his bottom teeth stuck out in a permanent sneer as a result of his disproportionate jaw size. He and Lucas locked eyes in a moment which defied nature, two powerful men trying to subvert one another's will by sheer force of personality. Lucas focused long and hard, and ran faster to gain ground on this most foul of beasts. As he grew closer, ever closer, the beast gave a quail of desperation and fumbled for his six-shooter, all the better to free himself from the yoke and stink of mortal fear brought on by the glare of such a determined pursuer. Lucas caught the glint of cold steel and grinned a fearsome grin, for he knew he had this diabolico right where he wanted him.
The beast's allies turned at his wail of fright, saw the situation in progress, and spurred their steeds ever faster, such was the cowardice of Mutations in the face of righteous justice administered by a servant of the peace.
"Only thing can improve that pretty smile's if I take out a few teeth," Lucas jibed.
Lucas Cunningham was unique amongst his peers, for he worked for no reward save the glorification of his soul by the Almighty, endured no adulation save that which he could not avoid. The beasts sensed this purity of spirit to the core of their rotten essence, knew in their blackest of hearts that they could not hope to overwhelm such everlasting power. Yet...they could do naught but fight on, such was the nature of the wickedness which sustained them. Mutations were bound by their pact with the Devil no matter if they wished to be free of it; so the frightened beast could do but one thing. It aimed its weapon at Lucas, whose grin never wavered as he withdrew his own weapon and, in a lightning-flash, shot the gun from the beast's hand!
It bellowed in surprise. Steam rose from its mouth in ethereal wisps as its wide eyes beheld his glory. He took a flying leap and landed on its horse, shot it in the head and shoved it off. Then, with a sudden demonstration of respect, he turned to look back and crossed himself.
The other two Mutations--now, they would be a force to be reckoned with together. One of them was an enormous, musclebound pugilist with green, scaly skin and cracked square claws. The other appeared more human, but with a bald, scarred head and an uneven grimace. His hands were disproportionately large, and his black eyes bulged like olives in a press.
They rode toward a steel-grey thunderhead as they crossed what seemed like endless plains, and the scaly monstrosity was the first to attack. The sky pounded in the distance as it lashed out with a razor-edged whip, and Lucas was hard-pressed to lean out of its path. He gripped the reins to right himself, just in time to dodge the lash a second and a third time! On the third attempt, which grazed the backside of Lucas' horse, he caught it on its return and yanked its holder out of his saddle.
"It looks like I've pulled!" he cried in triumph.
The beast tumbled to the ground behind Lucas, who then pivoted around to put a bullet between its eyes. Lucas then whipped back around to see a shotgun leveled at him! The last of the Satano Gang was going to take revenge for his fallen brothers...
...but Lucas didn't hesitate. As soon as he whipped around...
She threw the pen down and got to her feet, her pulse pounding in irritation. "WHO AM I KIDDING?!" she bellowed at the empty house. The neighbors were close in New York, they might hear her. But what did she even care? She could manipulate the average reader with the stupidest turn of a phrase, and get them to believe that the feats performed by her characters were actually remotely possible. They gobbled up her filth and accepted it as though it showed real life in the American West. Damn the lot of them.
But they paid her bills, every last idiot among them. Sometimes she couldn't stand her work, however, and she just had to stop. Just had to. The ridiculousness of what she wrote sometimes became so nauseating that she had to put it away for the day and go experience the real world. That's just what she was going to do now. But God, how she longed to kill Lucas Cunningham once and for all. Maybe, someday soon, she could concoct a different pen name, try a different style.
Throwaway paperbacks hadn't always been her forte, oh no. She had written to a magazine with what was supposed to be a joke, a story that parodied the typical dime novel adventure. The last thing she expected was to see it in print, to receive accolades and even awards! And, of course, there was money involved. Naturally, she pursued this line of work with newfound fervor, and eventually built a small empire on it.
Now all she wanted to do was throw it away...except for the money.
Some days it just didn't pay to have talent.
She was in the middle of a particularly stubborn scene in which Lucas had lost his horse, and had to bring down the retreating Satano Brothers, who had just passed beneath the ledge he stood upon.
It's so easy... she insisted to herself, and she dipped her pen to continue writing:
It was a mile if it was an inch, but a man like Lucas Cunningham wouldn't be done in by the triviality of distance. He broke into a run at a mighty clip, dropped twenty feet from the edge of the plateau and maintained the furious piston-pump of his legs. So furious was his loco-motion that, before long, he had surpassed the speed of the outlaws' horses. Those Diabolicos would learn what happened when you messed with Lucas Cunningham.
One of the riders looked back, his bottom teeth stuck out in a permanent sneer as a result of his disproportionate jaw size. He and Lucas locked eyes in a moment which defied nature, two powerful men trying to subvert one another's will by sheer force of personality. Lucas focused long and hard, and ran faster to gain ground on this most foul of beasts. As he grew closer, ever closer, the beast gave a quail of desperation and fumbled for his six-shooter, all the better to free himself from the yoke and stink of mortal fear brought on by the glare of such a determined pursuer. Lucas caught the glint of cold steel and grinned a fearsome grin, for he knew he had this diabolico right where he wanted him.
The beast's allies turned at his wail of fright, saw the situation in progress, and spurred their steeds ever faster, such was the cowardice of Mutations in the face of righteous justice administered by a servant of the peace.
"Only thing can improve that pretty smile's if I take out a few teeth," Lucas jibed.
Lucas Cunningham was unique amongst his peers, for he worked for no reward save the glorification of his soul by the Almighty, endured no adulation save that which he could not avoid. The beasts sensed this purity of spirit to the core of their rotten essence, knew in their blackest of hearts that they could not hope to overwhelm such everlasting power. Yet...they could do naught but fight on, such was the nature of the wickedness which sustained them. Mutations were bound by their pact with the Devil no matter if they wished to be free of it; so the frightened beast could do but one thing. It aimed its weapon at Lucas, whose grin never wavered as he withdrew his own weapon and, in a lightning-flash, shot the gun from the beast's hand!
It bellowed in surprise. Steam rose from its mouth in ethereal wisps as its wide eyes beheld his glory. He took a flying leap and landed on its horse, shot it in the head and shoved it off. Then, with a sudden demonstration of respect, he turned to look back and crossed himself.
The other two Mutations--now, they would be a force to be reckoned with together. One of them was an enormous, musclebound pugilist with green, scaly skin and cracked square claws. The other appeared more human, but with a bald, scarred head and an uneven grimace. His hands were disproportionately large, and his black eyes bulged like olives in a press.
They rode toward a steel-grey thunderhead as they crossed what seemed like endless plains, and the scaly monstrosity was the first to attack. The sky pounded in the distance as it lashed out with a razor-edged whip, and Lucas was hard-pressed to lean out of its path. He gripped the reins to right himself, just in time to dodge the lash a second and a third time! On the third attempt, which grazed the backside of Lucas' horse, he caught it on its return and yanked its holder out of his saddle.
"It looks like I've pulled!" he cried in triumph.
The beast tumbled to the ground behind Lucas, who then pivoted around to put a bullet between its eyes. Lucas then whipped back around to see a shotgun leveled at him! The last of the Satano Gang was going to take revenge for his fallen brothers...
...but Lucas didn't hesitate. As soon as he whipped around...
She threw the pen down and got to her feet, her pulse pounding in irritation. "WHO AM I KIDDING?!" she bellowed at the empty house. The neighbors were close in New York, they might hear her. But what did she even care? She could manipulate the average reader with the stupidest turn of a phrase, and get them to believe that the feats performed by her characters were actually remotely possible. They gobbled up her filth and accepted it as though it showed real life in the American West. Damn the lot of them.
But they paid her bills, every last idiot among them. Sometimes she couldn't stand her work, however, and she just had to stop. Just had to. The ridiculousness of what she wrote sometimes became so nauseating that she had to put it away for the day and go experience the real world. That's just what she was going to do now. But God, how she longed to kill Lucas Cunningham once and for all. Maybe, someday soon, she could concoct a different pen name, try a different style.
Throwaway paperbacks hadn't always been her forte, oh no. She had written to a magazine with what was supposed to be a joke, a story that parodied the typical dime novel adventure. The last thing she expected was to see it in print, to receive accolades and even awards! And, of course, there was money involved. Naturally, she pursued this line of work with newfound fervor, and eventually built a small empire on it.
Now all she wanted to do was throw it away...except for the money.
Some days it just didn't pay to have talent.