A few more pumpkins like that one, and they're going to need a bigger wagon. I'm sure grandma will be glad to see what they bring her. I'll bet pumpkin pie is on the way. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

This horse thief is riding hard and fast to make his get-a-way. Someone must be close behind or he wouldn't have that yellow boy in hand. I love paintings like this with strong story-lines and running horses.

This is kind of a humorous painting. These cowboys are hopelessly lost and have stopped to stare at their map. Up on the Llano Estacado where I live, there are very few landmarks to mark where you are. Even the roan isn't sure where they are.

The colors of autumn in high country are very intense. That's why I enjoy paintings like this one. It's almost impossible to get the colors too bright.

I wanted to make this painting show as much action and danger as possible. As those of you who follow my work know, I love action, especially when it involves running horses and a stagecoach. My dad would have loved this painting. He used to tell me, "concentrate on action Jack, that's what you do best."

Here's a good example of 'cowboy humor'. Two cowboys are jolted awake by gunfire as the shooter laughs. I don't think this is the first time this joker has done this as the horses don't seem too startled. If you listen carefully, I'll bet you hear a cussword or two.

When you're a young cowboy, height is always a problem. It's hard to saddle your horse, it's hard to mount and even bridle your horse, but the hardest thing is opening a tight wired gate. I struggled forever to open a couple of our pasture gates. I think this young cowboy has it whipped.

I did this painting for a limited edition print. It was also used for a Leanin' Tree birthday card and a "header" for their display racks as well. The intense colors could be seen from across the stores.

Lightening storms in the Southwest can be fierce, and a stagecoach would certainly be the highest thing on the prairie. The only thing I could think of to make it even more dangerous, was to have the coach running full-blast on a downhill curve in the mud.

There's something very quiet about a wet and foggy morning like this. The only sounds are the splashing water and squeak of saddle leather. I've been blessed to have ridden many times on mornings like this, and I cherish those memories.