Call of the Wilde Character Spotlights (Lone Star Book Blog Tour)

An H. H. Lomax Western, Book 8

Historical Fiction / Comic Western / Humor
Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing
Date of Publication: March 17, 2023
Number of Pages: 352 pages 

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Wild west hijinks continue in the eighth installment of the hysterical and historical adventures of an unlikely hero.

H.H. Lomax once again finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time when, wrongfully accused of robbing a bank, he’s arrested and jailed in a town vying for a stop on the approaching Texas & Pacific Railroad.

When local officials can’t afford to pay for a trial, a harebrained scheme is concocted to get rid of Lomax without spending a red cent. But Lomax avoids the hairy situation, pulling off an escape with the aid of an unlikely accomplice and exacting a bit of revenge in the process.

His wandering spirit—and neck—intact, Lomax lands among the Mormons in Salt Lake City, where he encounters a long-lost relative in need of assistance and makes the acquaintance of none other than Irish poet and aesthete Oscar Wilde. And from there, it’s all downhill, folks!

Jumping from one bad situation to another in non-stop hilarious action, H.H. Lomax’s adventures will tickle your funny bone with genuine humor while satisfying your craving for western action adventure.


H.H. Lomax’s thoughts

on the West’s most colorful characters


Over the course of his travels out west, H.H. Lomax encountered some of the biggest names ever to trod the Old West.  These are some of his observations as recorded in the eight volumes in the Memoirs of H.H. Lomax. 

William H. Bonney:  Of all the fellows I met during my years wandering about, not one was more likable than Billy the Kid.  Something about the Kid—maybe his squirrel-toothed grin, his big ears, his infectious laugh—won you over.  That’s why I’m glad I didn’t kill him when I had the chance.  Maybe I should have, because he had threatened me, but it was nothing personal, just that we had both taken a fancy to the same señorita.  (The Demise of Billy the Kid)

Jesse James:  I never much cared for Jesse James.  He was about as likable as a rabid mongrel, but sorry though he may have been, he was downright lovable compared to his momma.  Now there was a cur of a woman.  She was rough as a cob and twice as ugly, which is a bad thing to say about a man’s momma, even if it’s true.  I never took to her and she never took to me, though she did take out after me a couple times, once with a shotgun and once with a frying pan.  (The Redemption of Jesse James)

The Earp Brothers:  Running a saloon is as respectable an occupation as, say, running for political office, and you get to meet a higher class of people.  That’s how I met Doc Holliday, who threatened to cut out my gizzard, … and the Earp brothers, who were rightly named because I always felt like throwing up around them.  They made me that nervous because I never knew what side of anything they were on, save their own.  I came to believe there were several nooses hanging in their family tree.”  (Mix-Up at the O.K. Corral)

George Armstrong Custer:  I called him “General Bluster” because there weren’t enough mirrors in the world to adequately reflect his opinion of himself.  And my low opinion of the man did little to narrow the waistline of his bulging vanity.  In fact, he relished telling me how superior he was to me, him being of Yankee descent and attending West Point, while I was a poor Southern boy with a narrow education.  I could read, I could write and I could think.  Custer could, too, but he liked to read about himself, write about himself and I imagine, if I could have read his mind, that he liked to think about himself as well.  Fact was, if you had ordered a thousand sons of bitches from a Chicago mail-order house and only received him, you’d mark your bill paid in full.  (Bluster’s Last Stand)

Calamity Jane:  I considered Calamity the homeliest woman I’d ever laid eyes on.  If you could assay ugly, she’d work out to a hundred dollars per ounce in her early days and five times that in her later years.  On top of that, her mouth was no prayer book because it was usually filled with whiskey or profanities so rank she could make Satan blush.  (First Herd to Abilene)

Soapy Smith:  Known as Jeff when I first met him, but later as “Soapy,” he was crookeder than a barrel full of rattlesnakes and twice as mean.  What he lacked in integrity, he more than made up for in cleverness as he could’ve swindled Satan out of his horns, tail and pitchfork without the devil ever knowing what had transpired.  He possessed enough charm that shills and hooligans attached to him like metal shavings to a magnet so you always had to be careful in any town that Soapy worked because his ruffians were on the lookout for anyone they might defraud or scam.  (North to Alaska

Susan B. Anthony:  The more I thought about women’s suffrage with her as its leader, the more I realized it would be men that would suffer the most.  She marched by with her nose in the air, her hair pulled tight against her head and tied in a bun in back.  The suffragist wore a black dress as if she was in mourning, though it was topped with a high, white lace collar.  I wondered if hers was as prickly as my paper collar and if that was the reason she was brassy as a new spittoon.  If there was any honey in her, I doubted a thousand swarms of bees could find it.  (North to Alaska)

John Wesley Hardin:  He stood stationary as a lamppost as I approached him, drawing near enough to see the evil in his eyes and smell the whiskey on his breath.  Honestly, I was not surprised because I had met lawyers before, but this was to be the worst of an inferior breed of humanity.  (Outlaw West of the Pecos)

Oscar Wilde:  I met the oddest character I ever encountered in my travels across the frontier.  He wasn’t American or Indian or Mexican or Chinaman or maybe even human, but an Irishman named Oscar Wilde, who was traveling the West lecturing folks about nothing.  And people actually paid to hear him speaking nonsense, though he named it beauty or aesthetics.  Beauty was an odd topic for a man as ugly as Wilde, as he wore long hair like a girl and had a plain, elongated face that would have looked better on a horse, either end for that matter.  (Call of the Wilde)


Preston Lewis is the award-winning author of 46 novels and nonfiction works on the West. He is a past president of Western Writers of America.



First Prize:
Signed copies of Call of the Wilde & Outlaw West of the Pecos
Second Prize:
Signed copy of Call of the Wilde
(US only; ends midnight, CDT, 5/12/23)

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The Clueless Gent



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