Zane Grey

Thursday Prompts
(courtesy of Zane Grey, but wiggled)


A friendship that's offensive to your bishop
A peculiar quick movement
A wiving Mormon!
As if I were a rustler
Because I order it.
Coming out of the sage
Deny that or things will be grim
Dust drifted from under the cottonwoods
Fetch him, even if you have to rope him
Gentile
Halting in his slow walk
He has roused the enmity of the people
He stepped forward, partly concealing the man
Her house and seven thousand head.
I am not so much against that
I owe him my eternal gratitude
No welcome was in his greeting
A fine horse
Noise broke the afternoon quiet
Opposing the one, fighting the other
Quiet pastoral days
Rioting blood in his neck
Shaggy, dusty horses
She owned all the land and most of the cottages
Something deep and sinister
The blue flame of defiance
The churchmen were coming
The guarded walk of a man who took no chances
The lean, sun-browned riders
The lengthening light of afternoon
The light in his face
A good name in the cottonwoods
The long habits of obedience
The low swell of the prairie
The old stone house
The ragged clothes of an outcast
The sharp clip-clop of iron-clad hoofs
The water that was the village
The wild purple
There might ride a fearless man
There were seven, their leader called Tull
Thoughtful and almost sad
Thousands of cattle
A horseman silhouetted against the sky
Two black-butted guns
Unobserved until close at hand
We have reasoned with you.
Wearing black leather
With dreamy and troubled eyes
You hound me.