josiahmiller

This classic style western novel is about the diverse and exciting adventure of a soldier turned trapper, miner, cowboy, business man, scout, con man, gunslinger, and many other roles in the Old West. The three volumes are 100% free and download in seconds.

Please note that all the JOSIAH MILLER series books are rated R and suitable for readers over sixteen only. The Old West was a rude, crude, violent, and raw place and not one of these volumes omits the detail needed to convey a sense of reality. While we all adore the treasured cowboy movies of the past, they simply skimped on or skipped the daily sights, sounds, and deeds of life at the time. The modern western filmaker and author is free to be candid, clear, and explicit. This series always will be written true.

BOOK NO. 1	I awoke between some dusty, rocky hills with only a horse I'd never seen before, boots that looked strange, and a gun that is not my preferred model. But here I was. I knew not my name, anything of the past days, or anything at all of my record. I walked into town and was amazed. Rose City was the cleanest town I'd ever seen. The cowpies and trash that was piled up in most streets had been cleaned up. I saw no one flinging the contents of piss pots....I mean chamber pots....out the windows. Everything was painted like new and there was a look of prosperity and pride all through the place. In my two days there I never seen a drunk out of control or a fist fight or even so much as a wild horse. There was a reason for this. Byron Rose who owned most of the town and surrounding acres and his cousin Sheriff Bern Rose had no patience for anything a Baptist could not be proud of on Judgement Day. It was said that even the saloon girls had to keep both feet on the floor when offering a man a private kiss in her boudoir. Any man caught grasping for more and not paying what other town's charged for more extensive services was cause for being dragged through the outside of town, left half for dead, and sometimes branded in a cruel fashion like a cow. Byron, Bern, and Judge Laughton Rose liked their Baptist religion as full of sulphur and brimstone as possible, spiced with roaring fire and trident-bearing demons, and met out judgement to sinners in a fashion quite like the Old Testament. Byron Rose felt that saloon girls were of "God's own heart" for it was known from the good book that King David and Solomon had many concubines and his version was merely that of a kiss with two feet on the floor at all times. "Who the hell is Marky?" I said in harsh, loud tones that seemed to frighten the girl. I was first in a patch of bright sun and did not see the pistol the slender creature had pointed at me. 'Go on, Clara, tell 'em to throw down his money and empty his pockets" coached by a older woman sitting in the brush. Seems I'd fell for a scam done by a pretty young girl, her evil grandmamma, and a horse who could play tricks. I grinned a bit as I thought for my next move, tossing my pistol over their way. I had another in my boot, being no "one gun fool" anymore. "Grandma says these is men catchers...eyes and more" the girl spoke with a breathy pout far older than her apparent years. "Well you don't look saloon age to me, missy" I retorted but with eyeballs still afixed to her long, slender legs. I disposed of granny with one grab to my boot and in the third second a shot to her forehead. I quickly pointed my gun first at the horse and then quickly back to the nubile creature who clearly had no gun training or will to fire. In wisdom she tossed the pistol down and I ran to her, scooping her up and into the brush for a slow, afternoon long canoodle. She was more wise and less innocent than at first appearance and had clearly been in more than one patch with fellers. Later I asked about her granny and it was of course not her real grandma but some old aging Madame from a failed, ghost town that took her and the horse's show on the road just for fellers like me. We rode together for a time, almost a month and then one night she disappeared my lady Liz.
BOOK NO. 2	PAPERBACK ORDERING INFORMATION: Please visit your country's Amazon website, select Books or Kindle, and search for "Josiah Miller". Page count: 127 Released: 14 November, 2018 Knowing better but.... My association with the notorious Prill Gang, led by Jason, Joshua, and Jeremiah Prill, all brothers, was a low point in my life, the worst of many bad choices over these years - and yet it seemed to me sometimes a good one. We were wildly successful in all manner of crimes, robbing trains, banks, wagon runs, and stages mostly. There was no profitable means of taking from others for ourselves we could not easily embrace and master down the last technique. We got the right force and timing down to science as well as an evil art form. We were professionals, savage ones, very accomplished ones, and all our heads had four and five digit prices and prizes on them. We were wanted, we were hated, and we were widely feared by wee children, slender housewives, and strong men alike. We were foul legends and occasionally loved for our occasional kindnesses to ordinary folk at the expense of the rich and powerful. We all made a good bit of coin, stayed drunk most evenings with the finest of spirits and lager we chilled in our caves. We had no lack of female companionship, nubile, experienced, and otherwise. On account of Jason's famous intolerance of homely, dull, and physically flawed females, we never had a complaint in that department either. All the girls he kept in the fancy, adorned dorm had to earn their keep and often by the shear numbers of brutal associations. Now and again a lady and member of the gang would fall into something approaching love and try to run out on us. That never ended well for either party. We had a chef of sorts and he was not a volunteer but a prisoner who we'd only kept alive for his mastery with biscuits, pies, meats, stews, and all. He was French-Canadian I think and often provided stews with fancy sauces that were full of cream, butter, lard, and the finest of meats. Jason was apt to rob a town of fresh fruit and vegetables before leaving with our bank haul. We were told to take fine hams and even good beef on the hoof if the occasion created no additional risk. High on his agenda was a full belly and satisfied buds. If anything he understood motivation and morale for he'd been without much in his soldiering days. An army and gang travels on it's stomach and a happy one with a satiated brain is a good addition to the program. We were all disfigured and scarred from assorted bullets, arrows, knives, farm implements, wild beasts, and the occasional mad woman and child, but these were badges of our honor and the source of much story-telling and drunken amusement. Once a Prill you were always a Prill member until dead or driven off. The driven off were often soon dead if they tattled or gave us competition. Jeremiah Prill in particular was a brutal fellow and had no detectable morals, scruples, or boundaries as far as we all knew. He tolerated no rebellion, not so much as a stray laugh or mumble. Any that complained too much were now in our boot hill or with a severe limp or missing appendage. He'd cut out more than a half dozen tongues and that was just in my few years with them. Leaving without permission got you hung after torture. I once saw him take offense at a man in a bar for looking his way too long and nothing more. He sliced the man's throat thoroughly from ear to ear right there in the bar. It was a vile, hideous, and unwatchable scene. Worse yet he picked up a sterling cup and held it to the spurting flow and drank it right down, the dark, very dark red blood covering his beard as he wiped his face and walked out. Not a few in the place fainted dead away and that was mostly men folk. The section titles (mini-stories or individual plots) in this volume are as follows: Knowing Better but... A Way Out...or Die Trying The Unlikely Star Man Sorrence Boys The Alby Problem A Spell Away Hunting for Gold Back to My Other Life Under the Law Pursuit of the Bears Another Close Brush Old Habits Running Again The Deckers Black Owl The Seneca Years The Scholar Man Lady Tig The Way Thickens Bar the Doors Carson More Fools and Low Lifes Wyoming Way New Mex and Sanity Gracey Ann The Big Thump Lucia or Not That Day Two Prizes A Job for Darcy Baxter the Merciless Luck Be Ready Derry's Time The Reedites A Regular Life A Town Tamer The Wizard The Perfect Marriage The Brutals New Field A Careful Approach A Short Spell Badger Laws of the Post A Test of Teeth Getting Rich Yet Getting By The Road Preacher The Unrightful Harvest Life on the Edge Giants and Sermons Jamboree The Return
BOOK NO. 3	PAPERBACK ORDERING INFORMATION: Please visit your country's Amazon website, select Books or Kindle, and search for "Josiah Miller". Page count: 97 Released: July 2018 Trapping was in my blood as surely as the sap rises in the pines and aspens each spring. I had gold bullion and some large silver coins sewn into my coat in case I needed money. I would rather live off my new trappings most any day of the year. It seemed right and a just living to be active and productive. I got me seven foxes and lots of beaver and lived in a hotel for a couple of weeks. Silver Fork was quite cool this time of year with the silver mostly gone, everything was cheap to buy and that included houses, shops, entire ranches, horses, and dare I say women folk of all reputes. One might have a bride for as many hours or years as desired. It just depended on the length of one's engagement and the social standing of the lady. When a poor man might soon afford a tiny ranch and a decent house, one horse and one cow, his prospects for matrimony were much improved. And so many fellers left the saloons and music halls to settle down, grab a wife, get a steady job working for his ownself, and raising little ones on two and four legs. These ne'er-do-well cowpokes turned from barely productive men to very good, solid members of the society. As more went this way of all civilized existance, there were more demands for fabric, farm implements, good animal stock, furniture, home adornments, carriages, finer foods, better drink, preachers, school teachers, and all the many of trappings to a town wishing desperately to become a city. Silver Fork was soon prosperous again and mostly because of once mad, money-crazy cow rustlers becoming cattleman and finally gentlemen of means who ran the town. Such could be said of half the towns in these parts. One nasty criminal turned boss man with fancy clothes would run these places into the ground until the law took over again. The real law that is - not his hand-picked "law" that was really lawless and turned a blind eye to all the nasty dealings. Turns out my luck was bad as Sheriff Jenks, whose cousin I had scalped, was now the lawless man of Silver Fork. I recognized him and his now half bald deputy. Just as we all recognized each other, I lept on Misty and headed out, making a massive cloud. I knew they would ride hard after me and probably with freshly rested horses. An old Indian fighter named James Goodin taught me all kinds of ways to survive. "hard pursued" is what he called my current predicament. If I had a faster horse and were out of gun range, you often just plain ran them out. If either the gun range or horse were not in your favor, you'd detour to some rocks or trees perpendicular to the road and fire them down as they came into range - assuming you had matching gunpower. One had to count how many men rode out to determine the gunload.
BOOK NO. 4	PAPERBACK ORDERING INFORMATION: Please visit your country's Amazon website, select Books or Kindle, and search for "Josiah Miller". Page Count: 144 Released: January 2019 Some men mine to survive, to barely get by, and they do it because their pappy, their grandpappy, and generations before crawled into the bowels of the earth and coughed the cough of desperation. In our country here, in our very West here, men generally mine for personal gain, the hopes of a fortune, the more sudden and overwhelming desire to make life the better. Or in a corporate, group setting they mine for a steady salary and perhaps a share in the big boss' fortune. The Western miner can pretty much quit at any time he likes and generally has no tiny mouths to feed from his diggings. He has only manly urges to feed from his diggings. Besides, gold and silver are surely prettier things than iron ore and blackest coal. They also make men madder and meaner and very distrustful of all others of human kind. But all miners share the terror in pending tragedy - for fate will knock some times and in some place of her choosing. She will surely knock and requires no reply. When Gold Fever sets into a place there is no god nor doctor who can cure it. It must run its course, gaining warmth, quaking with explosive chills, turning boiling hot, sweating off excess, tossing and turning everything about, and finally waning in either blessed recovery or death. Death comes to many, riches to a scant few, and nothing but pain and frustration for the rest - the many, the multiplicity of infected fools. Gold, much gold in particular, causes a man to make many new friends, lose older ones, and in his decisions find neither peace nor popularity. Friends, like vapors, come and go, and not a mist remains when the gold runs out. He returns to his former way, pauperized, beggarly, grimy, dull and thin of thread, and a less important fool. Wolves are apt to follow easy runs when taking to the hills. They most assuredly do not like thorns, brambles, muddy paws, and hard rocky ways. Water is not their choice either. Tiva and I noticed that at least three packs of wolves or perhaps it was three units of a larger pack, favored a particular path on the south face of one hill. The path was wide, meaning the dogs could run side by side and have a better view of the things ahead. Tiva and I spend five hours one day digging a bit and painstakingly restoring the wide run just as it had been. There we placed more than ten bear-sized traps and another dozen lures strong enough to catch an ox. Our wait was short. We each had two rifles and three six-shooters. We heard their howls coming down into the wooded valley long well before we saw them. The lures before the pit got two of them and hung them high, leaping, flayling masses of angry fur and teeth, trying madly to sever the ropes they could not really reach; their wild gyrations making it all worse. The pit netted three more and the later lures not one. There were seven in total and two fled. Without saying a word, Tiva dispatched the two ones hanging high with his gun and now they lay limp, dripping blood; fearsome beasts now strangely and eternally tamed. Wild machines made quiet. Blood-thirsty beasts made as soft and caressible as lambs. Those in the pit seemed intent on ripping out our throats given the chance and I nearly slipped on the wet mud to a certain death. We put them down and began dragging our fantastic furry haul to the tanning area a half mile from our precious, protected cave space. That had been prepared well and it had taken both of us a full day to string it up soundly enough for the expected weight of the kill. We ended up making a sled to handle all the heavyness of these very healthy, large creatures. Tiva and I slept soundly after a full day preparing our five heavy wolf pelts for bringing down the hill. It would still be another two weeks of good curing but the early work counts. We had two horses and would really need a third for a load this heavy. Our cave opening was protected by a maze of sharp brambles and point sticks sunk deep into the ground, all things big nasty creatures do not want on their paws and fur. There are two long fire pits outside the mouth of the cave as a further barrier. That is why it was our utter shock to awoken from our fur covers by a wolf leaping the flames and running deep into our cave, his fellows right behind him. We had never seen wolves willing cross but these furry fellows had not eaten in a month and would evolve anyway they might. Tiva and I shot wildly in the dark, only occasionally seeing the silhouette of an approaching creature and quite the scared for it. The section titles (mini-stories or individual plots) in this volume are as follows: What's Mined in Mine A Gang of Sorts Tiva and The City Hats The Last Dregs of Evil My Two Ladies Fort Rogers and Back The Hanging Finding Tiva The War Wagons The Inferno The Spectacle Party House Mounts and A Surprise Another Week A Little Battle Country Justice Cabin Life The Meaning of Mean Hedge The Fur Gang Pride and Humility Robbersville The Usurpers Pleasure You, Pleasure Me Bears and A Judge Cody The Bennett Year Seven Passages The Full Run Dire Straits White Rock Musings Sheriff of Sagewood Quick Drawl The Hero Who Wasn't Whate'r Ye Desires Under the Falls Some Men Are of a Way Darrow's Ridge The Species The Red War Storm Eyes A Bar Scene Special Duty Titanic Wars Whoring Wayne The Lowdermilks Belle Lark None Dare Pursue Quick Dispatch Contemplations of Mercy The Account The Chop Providence Finds a Way
BOOK NO. 5	PAPERBACK ORDERING INFORMATION: Please visit your country's Amazon website, select Books or Kindle, and search for "Josiah Miller". "I think this Man of God did you good. Will you be seeing him again?" "He is over at Strongburg and that is four days each way" "Then we must import him here to preach for our churches and then you can continue your business" she said softly, now more kindly, and as ever with just the right answer. Imported him we did and I sent the best of adorned coaches for him. Even humble men need to be pampered now and again. He stayed three weeks at Sagewood and preached in all three of the churches as he had no title nor endorsement from an opposing brand. What his style lacked in vigor and volume, his words were intoxicating and forceful in their own way. The Word of God made up half his own words and so there was a power there that defies description except they are proven and easily heard for churchgoers. They were less easily heard in my ears so I had nearly come apart this past yesterday for crying again and praying up a storm while in my bath. Lucia watched me carefully through each of the sermons and knew I was changing and I think she feared I might part with all our wealth if the prick became too sharp. The wives of all evil men fear for his soul but more I think fear for their family rendered poor again and out of the life they had long enjoyed, vile as it is. They get a sear on their conscience almost as leathery as the patriach himself and their memory hides what it must to abide in sanity. For every death Lucia had gotten a soft chair from France and for every puff of the gun, she had acquired a new vase. And it could, yes it could, still it might, become undone. As you might think, I was more troubled by the spices and roots in our mission packs than my wife's professed complaints and lack of romance for the next few months. That was a trapper's way and of any true man, rugged male, devoted to untrod and savage places. A wife was a good thing but never did it your profession move. Not an inch nor a fraction of it. I altered none for her save for my suits and boots in the Manor House and deportment at parties there. A man was a man and he did what was necessary, comforting, and best for his mind and money pouch. I had no worries for the funds but of my mind and heart and soul, I was still a troubled, immensely disrupted man needing of wellness from the woodlots, soothing from the skies, and rapture from the rivers. Green was finer than gold and blue richer than silver. Rocks were truth and moss magic. Beasts danced before us like oracles and the wind spoke more wisdom than our ears could bear. Clouds formed daytime, sober dreams and morning fogs a tantilizing path. All of it comforted me as if nature or God made love to me more effectually than Lucia or all the ladies I'd known who tried too much. Was I in love with nature or the the God who made it or perhaps they were all in the same...One. Sin in this town was not only readily available and most cheap but quite compulsory. The "Greeting Party" was usually the Sheriff and three well-armed deputies and if your drovers, ranch hands ("local regulars") , wagon train, or the random visitor were not ready to pay the minimum $200 bond, you were turned back. It seemed fair to me for the $200 bond came in form of locally printed notes or what they called "coupons" that mimicked for all the world some old currencies in green ink, ornate scroll work, the name of the town, and a portrait of the founder, Mr. Horace Christopher Long Barlow. In truth, he was quietly called "Bastard Barlow" for he was sired by some unknown man out of many choices and Sissy Barlow, a whore at the Maurice Gentleman's Club who served they say a good thirty-one years in that generally short profession. The Trading Post at Maurice was soon renamed Barlow's Landing after the founder got pubs, a gun, and some entreprenerial spirit. It was said he owned the brothel where his mother continued to work four years before her death and she refused a better life. My men and I, not wishing to be unneighborly went for three coupon sets each, though it retrospect that did unnessesarily show my wealth as a simple trapper who were quite otherwise. Not many trappers could afford $600 before their furs were sold. We made a mistake and in the hotel I school the lads on it. Now there were trappers of some wealth and very frugal ones who showed up with lots of money and gold, but we did want to attract attention to our nearby work nor our training there. I might easily have bought the entire town that day and fifty more like it. I must say that the Barlow coupons were very well designed and integrated with an assortment of pleasures. You automatically bought $30 worth of chips at Masey's Saloon and Poker Hall even if such a thing was not in your blood. Those coupons had very tiny print and I for one did not really notice nor care. Many visitors, especially women and timid youth, no doubt left that money on the table untouched and unused. My two lads used their chips and it was gone in twenty minutes. Mine were never trotted out. "Mister Swanson, your coupons have run out in terms of this particular enjoyment" a very subserviant, full-whiskered feller from the control desk said very quiety and honorably in my ear. I was wearing my full, multiple-species fur coat, a hat of only black bear with a band made entirely of real gold, my silver pistols not yet showing, and my boots handmade and ornately carved at Sagewood. The rich and eccentric look suited me just fine. Some of the forthcoming section titles include the following but order may vary: The Tribe That Wasn't Providence Lost Her Way Sermon of Lead Arrogance and Tin Agin'em Tiva's Debate The Incident at Nowhere Courting Lucia Mr. Gatling's Gift Three Concerns and Then Some My Son of the Law Wilderness Awaits A War of My Own The Sisters of St. Josiah The Blade Gun Trapper Lee School The New C.S.A. A Proper Smokehouse Battle For Bridgerun Fort Miller A Gentleman Made Battle for My Soul Lumpy Coogan Cave of Marvels Death is Not Enough Tasty Tam The Wolf Trout Jumbo Jean The Miller Agency The Gift of Four Guns Holding Off the Philistines Cave School Cherokee Pain Lead Face Lloyd Blessed Assurance MIller Castle The Accounting Tiva's Last Stand
BOOK NO. 6	Josiah Miller: In His Prime has been announced by the author for future release, the sixth volume in the series.
BOOK NO. 7	Josiah Miller: Mad and Meandering has been announced by the author for future release, the seventh volume in the series.
BOOK NO. 8	Josiah Miller: A Legacy Unfolds takes to Miller in times after Book Seven with some flashbacks from his past.

The Josiah Miller series began in 2016 when the author decided to give interactive (multi-plot), reader-directed fiction another go. Mr. Hatch had worked in interactive fiction in the 1990's but did not publish any of those prototype pieces. The first volume in the Miller series remains interactive and is the only volume in that format. FINDING MILLER began in that same interactive format but quickly became intangled in thousands of plot combinations so was decontructed to the single plot line we have today. A WAY WEST was added to flesh out the trapper's early years where ENTER WEST left off and was written in 2018 after the third in the seres, FINDING MILLER. HIGH COUNTRY TRAPPER was started in summer 2018 and will be available in 2019. JOSIAH MILLER: MIXED COMPANY has been anounced for later 2019 release. Mr. Hatch says "I jump back and forth between writing HIGH COUNTRY TRAPPER and MIXED COMPANY so the stories of special people and places have more continuity over the long haul. I'm surely not the first people to write two books in a series at once and now I know why authors find it helpful". HIGH COUNTRY TRAPPER was released in January 2019, the longest in the series at 144 pages and part of the COLLECTED WORKS series of all books in one PDF file.

The author is interested in selling screenplay rights to parties with a strong intention to getting any volume made into film. Please use the contact information below to send us your ideas.

Starting next year, we will be bundling the first three or four volumes into one single ebook with the opportunity for people to purchase one-of-kind, individually created PDF files that contain a personalized, uniqiue greeting or dedication of your choice, a digital signature of the author, and serially numbered stamping. There will be some other surprises in these editions we'll cover at a later date.

Larry Hatch has written books since a young man and now has over twenty titles available with the emphasis being on horticulture, health, and business. Mr. Hatch is perhaps best known for his four thousand page encyclopedia CULTIVARS OF WOODY PLANTS, written over 38 years, the most complete reference to varieties of garden trees, shrubs, and vines ever developed. Some people in business may have read his EMBRACING SERVICE-BASED LEADERSHIP: SBL IN THE REAL WORLD or KEYS TO TERRIFIC CUSTOMER SERVICE. Larry grew up in snowy, cold Syracuse, New York in a loving family with whom he called "perfect parents in every way, aunts and uncles who rounded out my education with gifts mostly of books and true wisdom, and grandparents who spoiled me and every occasion."

He later earned a Batchelor's Degree with honors in Horticulture from Cornell University and a Master's Degree from North Carolina State University in the same field, being one of just five people or so in the world with a graduate degree in junipers. Larry went on to work in two computer software companies doing everything from writing code to testing. "I was the entire IT, HR, and Accounting departments for awhile too" he said of the four man operation. He was the leading developer behind the first ever software program to write business plans. Alas, lacking funds for full page ads in business magazines, the program never saw a wide audience and ended up being a shareware program. He was one of the first to write a PC program to idenitfy plant species as that had only been done on large, mainframe computers before. These original keys have been revised over the years and are still avalable at GPIK from cultivar.org . Larry saw a program that would help you select wines based on six criteria and with two friends wrote BREWBASE™, a program that helped one select varieties of beer based on style, color, flavors, country/state of origin, and rating. That product became a website with 3400 beer reviews that exists today as www.brew-base.com . Having tried to do some creative writing in college on the Tandy TRS-80 II "expensive 64K diskettes bigger than your head" and soon the MacIntosh ("clever but slow"), he returned to writing stories on computers and learning all the advantages of wordprocessing we know today. In the 80's he bought a Tandy copy of the IBM XT with a 10 megabyte harddrive that was still very new at the time. It seemed like a smarter way of writing and storing your stories and articles. He showed it friends at the university and computer pals and they all laughed, being happy with their small pile of diskettes. "You could never fill that thing in an entire career" said one Ph.D. who was a prolific author. "Now" says Mr. Hatch "I need 1TB just to hold all my digital photos from the past decade. No one had any clue in the early 80's that a computer (let alone a phone) would be used to access books, pictures, movies, and music. Not one clue."

In years since, Mr. Hatch became a quality control analyst for a major hotel chain ("they had to measure up or lose the famous name") and for two decades since has worked in planning for a large medical company ("a real honor to help very needy folks get their diagnostic images after a trauma and vital cancer treatments").

Many of his early 1980's and 1990's stories are still popular and are offered as free or low cost ebooks at http://www.laurencehatchpress.com today. This site is the main portal for Mr. Hatch's written projects of all kinds.

Email the author at ornamentals (at) lycos.com . Please include a book title in the subject because general things like "I'm a fan", "saw your website", or "like your work" are not going to get past the spam filter.