Martha Whittington was born and raised in Monterrey, Mexico; at 21 years old she decided to ‘go see the world’; thus beginning an incredible tour around the world that lasted for a few years. She graduated from College majoring in Organizational Communication and has a Degree specializing in Public Relations.
She comes from a family of published writers; at a very young age Martha began writing short stories that made it to international Poetry and Short Novel contests.
Writing has always been a fun and loving hobby to her. She currently resides in the US.
Fragment taken from the story “Silver Spurs”
The Storyteller, Volume VI
I took Billy’s canteen from his horse’s saddle and splashed the stranger’s face with water.
“Oh God!” he said when he felt the pain on his face. He looked up at me.
“Not quite God, but close enough,” I said, kneeling down in front of him.
“How did you find me?” he said, shaking his head a little.
“Told you I’m a tracker,” I said, looking at him.
He began to struggle with the ropes.
“I did you a favor by not tying you up to a tree; if you hear the search party approaching you, you can roll over to those bushes,” I said, pointing.
“You can’t do this to me!” he said.
“You had no problem doing it to me last night,” I said and spat out the bitter leaves I had kept in my mouth.
“We can split up the money,” he said.
I stood up and said, “That’s not what you offered me last night. Oh, I almost forgot,” I said.
I took the bills he had left in my pocket and put them inside his.
“This will get you to wherever it is you are going,” I said, repeating his line.
“You can’t do this!” he yelled.
“Shhh, you don’t want them to find you tied up like a worm, crawling on to the ground. Now do you?”
I got up and walked to my horse; the moneybags were already tied up to my saddle.
“Wait!” he said.
I got up on my saddle; my whole body ached.
I sighed and said, “Listen to me, now: I’m leaving you that horse, so you can ride on it. The shoe on the front left hoof on that horse is broken; a big chunk is missing. That’s how I tracked you down, and they are tracking that horse down as we speak. There’s a knife concealed in those bushes over there; use it to untie yourself and also use it to remove the horse’s shoe before you ride it again. I left you my compass next to the knife; use it to go northwest….”
“West? Why west? We came from the west…,” he said, thinking I was sending him straight to the search party and into a trap.
“They think we are trying to head southeast, to Oklahoma. So, if you go northwest you won’t cross paths with them. I know this particular sheriff will have no problem crossing over the border into Oklahoma in a second to get you; and trust me, he’ll get you. So go west for two days; you’ll eventually lose them. Don’t try to follow me because you’ll get lost. If I see your face again, I’ll shoot you.”
“At least leave me some money,” he said.
“You had one bag yesterday. Now you lose it all. It’s just like in a poker game gone bad. I’m sure you can always rob another bank on your way home.”
He frowned and I took off.
I rode in the same direction I had told the bank robber to ride in. I knew it would take him some time to untie himself, and maybe in the end, he might even decide to ride in another direction. Who knows?
I had to go back home.
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