Clearwater by P-SynergEBooks


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Author: Bobby R. Woodall

In 1879, a small town in the Indian Territory is robbed by a murderer who has just escaped execution. The
town springs in to action and quickly forms a posse -- an aged sheriff, a retired Pinkerton Operative, an
Indian scout, and the bank’s president, who has secretly embezzled all of the town’s money.

Can the town find a savior before the town goes under? A band of men from the East decide to battle the
odds and find the killer.

David White stayed where he was for a moment. When he thought he had waited long enough, he slipped
into the entrance of the barn. He held his hands out in front of him to make sure not to bump into any
obstructions. Looking like a sort of ghost, he was walking stiff legged and with his hands thrust out in
front of him.

Slowly he made his way to the front of the barn, stopping when a horse snorted after he mistakenly
bumped into the side of the stall. He could hear the loud snoring of Tom above, but figured that to be a
help, for when the snoring stopped, David knew that the sleeper was awake and that he must be more
careful. Upon reaching the doorway, he squatted beside the entrance and looked out on the sleepy little

The moonlight allowed him to see the buildings as if it were still dusk. David thanked his stars for the
bright moon. He smirked as he cast his gaze about him, his beady eyes darting here and there were
taking in everything.

Across the street was a telegraph office and a general store. Along with these businesses, a leather shop
and restaurant were on the same side of the street. The newspaper office was on the corner. Next to the
newspaper office was the leather shop. A sign hanging to one side of the leather shop door said:


To the right were the saloon and the sheriff’s office and across it emblazoned in bright large letters was
THE CLEARWATER COMMUNITY COMMERCIAL BANK. The large edifice sat squatting like fruit in a

"Ripe enough to pick," he thought. "A fat plum and I’m just the man to pluck it."

The bank was separated from the sheriffs’ office by an alley. The hotel next to it boasted of cane chairs
and benches on the front porch. Potted plants were siting either side of the hotel door like door
attendants. The sound of merriment, glasses tinkling and the loud pinking of a piano let David know the
saloon was going full swing. The bank stood formidable across the alley from the sheriffs’ office. The jail
had a brick front and bars were at the window. It looked black and foreboding.

"At least it’s closed," David muttered, as he looked at the darkened windows of the building. He could not
discern whether the jail had occupants or not. The killer was just thankful that he was not one of the
guests of the county.
Author Bio
              Bobby R. Woodall
               Bobby R. Woodall was born in Oklahoma City in 1944, where he spent his childhood
               moving from state to state. This constant moving played havoc with his education, though
               his parents instilled in him a quest for knowledge. Woodall was the first of over fifty cousins
               to graduate from high school. <br><br>A troublemaker in his youth and later in the United
               States Marine Corps, Woodall learned to be fast with his fists and slow to handle his hot
               temper. He received an honorable discharge 9 January, 1964 and quickly got married. That
marriage crumbled after four years, so he headed to California with a friend. <br><br>When Woodall was
thirty, he had a horrible car accident and was given a computer when in rehabilitation. There was a
psychologist in Indianapolis that had developed a program to help the brain damaged cope with life. While
tackling these tasks, he started writing. Woodall would spend countless hours pursing a myriads of
educational books. “Why I can write as good as them guys,” he thought. So he started writing western
novels. Bobby wrote clean novels, which means there are no cursing and no graphic sex. “I’m a Christian,
so profanity is out and I’m not the world’s Mommy and Daddy. They should tell their children about the
birds and bees, not me!” <br><br>He is presently working on another western novel. Also in the making
are a horror story, hair-raising story, murder mystery and a child’s story. <br>

If you think that psychopathology is a modern-day affliction, think again.
Bobby R. Woodall has taken us to a place where we'd least expect to find this very serious personality

His main character, without a hint of a conscience, travels the countryside, paving a road of murder for his
hapless victims, and all without so much as a blink of an eye. We see a madman at work as his devious
deeds are expertly executed with cold precision, for his own self-gain and self-satisfaction. His crime
sprees are artfully woven within the charm and hardships of the Old West, where the rule-who lives and
who dies-is decided on a whim.

If you enjoy Westerns and the old Southwest, CLEARWATER, is a must read. Mr. Woodall keeps us
hanging till the end. If you seek a sense of justice, in a time where there was little, the ending of this
novel should prove to be very satisfying for you.

"The story is great and it's written in a way that once you start reading you MUST know what will happen.
If I have to give a quotation on it (let's say on 5) I'll give the novel 4 on 5. Clearwater will be a success, and
I won't be surprised to see a motion picture in a few years called Clearwater."

"I am from a very small town in Oklahoma. I read this book over and over, and it is one of the best since
Lonesome Dove! I expect Clearwater to be made into a movie one day!"

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