Hurley Pulp: Desert Sunrise


he sun rose orange and shimmering over the desert. Dr. Hurley rose from the bed he had fashioned from his saddle and a bright, patterned blanket he had received in trade for a remedy some days back. His horse stood tethered to an impossibly tall cactus nearby. He shook off the night’s sleep and the morning’s dew and stood, stretching, pondering the day’s plans. Today he would ride into town, make himself known, and wait for them to come. With any luck, he would stand over his enemy’s corpse by sundown. He mounted up and rode off toward his fate.


Hurley Pulp: Tricky Trader


hat’s he done that got your knickers in such a twist anyhow Joe? Sold your wife some fancy soap?”

“I wish that were it sheriff. But Betty, she been diff’rent since he rolled in, coming home with notions.”


“Notions sheriff. ‘Pinions ’bout things…you know, private things, ‘atween man and wife.”

The sheriff raised his eyebrows.

Next day, Dr Hurley was nowhere to be found. A mob was gathering on main street, Joe at the head.

The sheriff held up his hand as he approached. “Don’t worry Joe. That Irish quack is long gone.”

“Yeah,” said Joe. “And so’s our wimmen.”

Louise Kane