Sunday, November 20, 2011
Yakima Henry is Stirring
If you walk about a quarter-mile above my house, you get a great view of where Yakima Henry, the character I write under my Frank Leslie name, is right now holed up with a beautiful Indian gal. Her name is Quiet Bird. She resembles an otherworldly hypbrid of Claudia Cardinale, Sharon Tate, and Raquel Welch. Those hump-backed mountains in the far distance are the Mummy Range, and that's where Yakima is holed up in a little log cabin surrounded by mossy rocks and pines and a little, frozen creek...with Quiet Bird.
Only, Quiet Bird is not so quiet anymore. Yakima is getting tired of the girl. It was fun for the first few days, but she's becoming a harpy, as they so often do. She wants him to split more wood, pick up his beer cans, and use the privy. She's tired of all the yellow snow around the stoop.
Yakima is getting restless. He needs another adventure. He told me so last night in a dream. "Hey, partner," he said, nudging my shoulder. "Get me out of here, will you? Let's hit the trail. Hey, why don't you take me down to Mexico again? How about an adventure amongst the balmy breezes on the Sea of Cortez? Why don't you bring a ruthless band of cutthroats in here to kill Quiet Bird and I'll go crazy and track 'em south to warmer country? How'd that be?"
Me: "All right. Just let me finish up this house book I'm still hammering on, and then I'll see what I can do come the first of January. I already got a title, the first of three more in the planning. But I sorta wanted to set it in Dakota Territory during a January snowstorm. You're out there in the subzero temps trudging through snow and fighting wolves of both the human and animal brand? How's that sound?"
"Yakima? Hey, Yakima! How does Thunder in the Snow sound?!"