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A race of beings called the Bruwnan, who, having reached the limits of what was technically possible in the universe, moved beyond it and into a set of dimensions of their own creation. Here, beyond the physical limitations of normal space time they created a virtual city called Valheel which was constructed on the inside of a sphere. For more than half the age of the universe the immortal occupants of Valheel refined the arts and sciences of the physical universe they had left behind. But how many times can you rehash a form of art? How does the mathematical rephrasing of Euclidian physics change the nature of it? Half the age of the universe is a long time to be bored. Amantarra couldn't honestly put a finger on when she realised that something was wrong, the problem had been masked by the general lethargy that had descended on the city. Valheel had become a city of immortals that felt dead. Her father was the first to voice his concern; "people are disappearing" he confided to his two daughters. The Bruwnan were unaware of it, but they were at war with an unknown enemy. Three hundred thousand years before this story starts, Saranythia, Amantarra's sister, had set out to do something about it. She was never heard from again. Now it was Amantarra's turn, but despite her best efforts the battle follows her to Earth where she is forced into hiding. It's in a small town in England that an unsuspecting John Godbert suddenly finds himself caught up in a war that is older than the human race. Not only is he caught up in it, he is the key to the survival of two species, human and Bruwnan.

Jack Galloway died in 1987, a year after his mother and two years after his wife, Alice. When Alice, my mother, died in 1985, he wasn't sure what he'd do without her. I said, "Write. Write a book." Of course, that suggestion was dismissed when he said he was no writer.

In 2005 I wrote about an impending book in my "Up Close" column for a local newspaper. I told my readers my dad was a writer. He had written me letters through the years because I lived 500 miles away from him and Mom. I knew he could write. So I told him to write about each of the horses in his life. I rattled a few off, "Write about Patty Ann, Old Pal, Eagle, Darky and Spike or Harding," I said. "Then write about the people you've known. There was Old Poke Kidder and Floyd Jones, to name a couple."

There are only three people left on earth who can read his writing. That's my daughter, my sister and me. We hashed around getting the stories typed, organized and printed. My sister's boys and my children knew Granddad Jack. The great-grandchildren did not, but maybe these stories will give them an inkling of the cowboy he was.

Fast forward to today and you are holding a collection of Jack Galloway's stories and poems in your hand. Putting this together is a tribute to the man who was one of the last of his generation of Sandhills cowboys. He was a personable man who could ride a horse, rope, sing, dance and, unknown to him, he could write. Enjoy his stories.