The Circle 8 bunch were really just outlaws and rustlers. Their leader, Mort Dudley had a devious plan to get rid of a couple of his newly hired hands before the bunch cashed in the large herd of cattle that had fallen into their hands when they murdered the old man who owned the herd and had hired them on to help with the drive.
Their trouble began when they tried to frame a quiet stranger for the old man’s murder. They didn’t know his real name or that he was a deadly gunfighter and the son of the old man they had buried in an unmarked grave.
The quiet stranger drops out of sight to hide from the law and soon becomes the bane of the Circle 8 bunch; harassing them on all sides, hunting them down and frustrating all their rustling plans and profits.
When Mort Dudley swears that the hills would run with blood, he was right. But he didn’t know whose blood it would be.
Targeted Age Group: 14-99
Book Price: 0.99 / 4 days only. 8/12 to 8/18
How is Writing In Your Genre Different from Others?
This is the real west, not the Hollywood depiction. No frills. Little romance. And disputes are settled at the end of a gun barrel. Sort of Clint Eastwood-esque.
What some reviewers have to say about Van Holt’s writing:
“I had a feeling that Van Holt…might actually be the successor to Zane Gray, a master Western storysmith, whose novels set the style of a generation.” –Stern0
“Van Holt is King of the Spaghetti Western…” –Rarebird1
Van Holt wrote his first western when he was in high school and sent it to a literary agent, who soon returned it, saying it was too long but he would try to sell it if Holt would cut out 16,000 words. Young Holt couldn’t bear to cut out any of his perfect western, so he threw it away and started writing another one.
A draft notice interrupted his plans to become the next Zane Grey or Louis L’Amour. A tour of duty as an MP stationed in South Korea was pretty much the usual MP stuff except for the time he nabbed a North Korean spy and had to talk the dimwitted desk sergeant out of letting the guy go. A briefcase stuffed with drawings of U.S. aircraft and the like only caused the overstuffed lifer behind the counter to rub his fat face, blink his bewildered eyes, and start eating a big candy bar to console himself. Imagine Van Holt’s surprise a few days later when he heard that same dumb sergeant telling a group of new admirers how he himself had caught the famous spy one day when he was on his way to the mess hall.
Holt says there hasn’t been too much excitement since he got out of the army, unless you count the time he was attacked by two mean young punks and shot one of them in the big toe. Holt believes what we need is punk control, not gun control.
After traveling all over the West and Southwest in an aging Pontiac, Van Holt got tired of traveling the day he rolled into Tucson and he has been there ever since, still dreaming of becoming the next Zane Grey or Louis L’Amour when he grows up. Or maybe the next great mystery writer. He likes to write mysteries when he’s not too busy writing westerns or eating Twinkies.