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Discover weekly, the best short stories

Looking for a steady supply of western short stories? Every week thousands of writers submit stories to our writing contest.

630+ Western Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Hitch your ponies, shutter up the saloon, and watch the tumbleweeds roll down Main Street. There's a showdown at high noon — and the weapon of choice? Short stories.

Western Short Stories – Page 10 of 42

Under a Dying Sun

Shortlisted for Contest #215 ⭐️

Smoke rose from the crackling fire and dissipated into the night sky. Stars dotted the black expanse, innumerable as the grains of sand in the Mojave desert where Connor McClain lay on his back, head cradled in his arms, thinking of Saralee.  I’m finally coming home, he willed his words across the dusty earth, through the mountain pass, and down the stretch of trail that would carry him back to the little wooden cabin by the creek—back to his brown-eyed, long-legged girl.  Beside him, Thunder stamped his hooves and huffed softly,...

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The Reverend

Submitted to Contest #215

The reverend and his family were gunned down in the summer of 1869. A hard rainfall ensured that the reverend, his wife, their daughter, and the parishioners of the Church on the Hill—all save for the caretaker, Missus Claire—stayed in that Sunday morning. The reverend led his family in prayer as they huddled by the candlelight. Lightening flashed and thunder rolled as the door was kicked open. Lightening flashed again. Two men stood silhouetted against the rolling sky. They were sopping wet. The rain smeared lines of dirt and muck down thei...

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The Staked Plains Butcher and the Prairie Flower

Submitted to Contest #215

The day was April 15, 1867, in the Texas swath of the Llano Estacado running from Northern Mexico to Canada. For two years I’d been following a trail of slaughtered Comanche, engaging any demonic fiends that sought to feed on what was left. Every victim I’d found had been scalped and disfigured, unrecognizable as human. And sometimes that was before they’d been defiled by the teeth of unholy scavengers.…The last gunshot echoed across the moonlit valley of death that Abraham Strockland stood in the midst of, smoke curling from the large ebony...

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The Last Great Gunslinger

Submitted to Contest #213

The reporter stopped before the farmhouse and squinted at the structure while cleaning his glasses. It was a humble, single-story dwelling with a covered porch and tin metal roof. Sliding windows were visible on the front and side of the building and a rusted stovepipe could be seen protruding from a wall at a right angle. Peeling white paint revealed sunbaked wood slats that formed the house’s siding.Now bespectacled, he dabbed some sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and adjusted his bowler hat. He reached down to wipe the dust away fr...

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Slap Leather

Submitted to Contest #213

Everett McAllister’s gravedigger’s eyes bore into the new buck as his squaw spoke to him. “Would you look at that, Iggy? You can even see his whiskers!” “Pipe down, Stacy---you’re ruining the mood!” Iggy’s hair hang down in lank, greasy strands. Sweat dripped into his left eye, ruining his squint. It had to be 80 degrees here.  Everett waited quietly, humming a bit.  “McCallister!” called Iggy. “You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done to the people of Muskrat Ridge, do you hear me?” He did his best, ...

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Gold Fever

Submitted to Contest #212

Dear Caroline, I already miss you! I have a constant feeling that I left behind something of great importance. It keeps me up at night: thinking about you and our future life… when this is all over.  I hope my letter reaches you. I know you always wanted to see New Orleans. How is it? How do you feel yourself? Are you getting along with your parents? I know you have not seen them since Jane…  Today I left the borders of civilization and journeyed to the west. Finally after endless plains I saw the mountains. I wish you could see ...

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Object Matrimony

Submitted to Contest #212

OBJECT MATRIMONY By Tom Pyle  My Dear Madam McBride,                                   November 24th, 1877  I was greatly heartened to have received your kind letter as of this date. I’ve been counting the days since my ad soliciting a correspondence courtship with the object of matrimony was posted in the New York Times.  Please pardon any abruptne...

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Stiffback Mountain

Submitted to Contest #211

Wyatt was stirred from his doze by the pop of a burning log. The fire was low but still hot and healthy. Odours of pine and smoke mingled in his whiskers. He adjusted his blanket and stretched his good leg, causing his old chair to rock softly. Brutus rolled over on the rug, thumped the ground once with a single heavy wag of his tail and fell back asleep. The other rocking chair was empty. He looked to the pegs by the door, Zeb’s jacket and hat still hung there. On a late autumn night, he wouldn’t have gone as far as the outhouse without the...

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The Bill of Sale

Submitted to Contest #211

The Bill of Sale Ed Wooten            The flickering flames of the fireplace created dancing shadows around the room. Sarah placed another log on the grate and watched as the small flames struggled to ignite it.            She returned to the table, sipped her coffee, and prepared to reread the letter from her sons, Ned and Tom. Sheriff Bart Johnson had delivered the letter to her earlier today. Since her husband’s death, Sher...

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Road To Virginia City

Submitted to Contest #209

Henry DeQuille made his way into the lobby of the Lake House. He untied his kerchief and wiped the grime from his neck, sweaty from spending hours in the hot sun, surveying lots along the Truckee the railroad was offering for sale. Boom times were expected for Reno and people began to clamor for land. “Telegram for you, Mr. DeQuille.” The hotel clerk held out the yellow sheet as Henry made his way to the desk. “It's from Carson City.” “Thanks, Joe.” He took the telegram from the clerk's ink stained hand, fished a nickel out of his vest f...

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Mum’s Diary

Submitted to Contest #209

We have one rule in our household: Never, ever mention Daddy. I’ve never met my daddy. Well, to be frank, I’ve never quite met anybody beyond Mum, Sally Jones, and Candy. Sally Jone’s a third cousin who’s twice my age, and Candy’s a cat who greatly dislikes me, but they’re, like, the only living things I have for company. Anyways. I was at dinner when the most oddish thing happened. Basically, Sally Jones was rattling ‘bout some university in Iowa and her college application blah blah blah blah when I suddenly blurted: “That’s nice, Sal, bu...

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Showdown at the Silver Dollar Saloon

Submitted to Contest #209

I had killed once before, so I figured I was already damned—and I’d do what I had to do if it came right down to it. The sirens of the Sheriff’s dark gray Ford F-150 blared and lit up the hollowed-out canyons of the Climax Molybdenum Mine with red and blue bursts. The high country echoed with the whir of the siren. I’d just about navigated the roundabout of 91-S, but I wasn’t going to make it back to Leadville after all, from the look of things.  I stiffened up in my seat and took a few deep breaths. This could be ju...

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The Gas Station

Submitted to Contest #209

      Grace entered the gas station. Broken windows and the door swung back and forth in the wind greeted her. A light covering of radioactive dust coated everything in the store. The dust had long ago bleached her hair blonde. She pulled down the handkerchief that had been covering her face and lifted her sunglasses. The leather jacket she wore was covered in patches. She had taken it off the body of some preppie biker wannabe. The denim overalls she had on were rugged and well-worn. Leather cowboy boots tha...

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Waiting On The Train

Submitted to Contest #208

The weeds are pumped with blood, unmitigated residence in these parts allowing them to grow wildly through the cracks in the wood and the seedy underbelly of stones. The meek ones stick to the tracks, but the most brazen reach up to the train. They’ve caught the cow catcher; they’ve wrapped accordion-style in between its metal prongs. Up in the sky slumped trees shroud the locomotive in vines. I suspect their awkward embrace is unwanted–the tendrils are delaying its arrival at the end of the world. I watch my step as I get closer–the weeds...

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Eight Seconds of Revelations

Submitted to Contest #208

“Do I have to do it?” Myles asks his father as they walk towards the arena, their spurs clink on the hard caliche leaving little clouds of dust in their wake. “You ain’t got to do anything,” his father says. “Walk away now if you want. But there may come a day you’ll wonder ‘what if’.” The west Texas sun begins to set and bloodred clouds reef out into the western horizon. An owl screeches from a nearby oak and it flies into the air with great wings silhouetted against the reddening sky and lightning flashes from distant bl...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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