This is my first attempt at a short story. I have got a few more ideas for these guys, so let's see what happens.
”Grandfather, who are the men in this picture?”
“Well, Sonny. The young boy is me and the old man is Missouri Jack.”
“Who was he?”
“He was one of the roughest riders in them days.”
“You mean you were outlaws?”
“Well, among other things.”
“Tell me about him.”
People used to say he didn’t come from Missouri at all, but that he came from New York. They said the goddamned tenderfoot was wearing a top hat an’ all. By the time I met him in Gila City, Arizona all that had been washed and chipped away by rain, sandstorms and a harsh living. Believe me.
I was working for a prospector called Mortimer at the time and he’d given me the night off. So I went to the one and only saloon for a few drinks and maybe a poker game.
Just my luck, the place was almost empty and the bar was crowded with trash. So I bought a beer and took a seat at a table. I sat with my back against the wall so I could see the whole place.
That’s when he walked through the door. I was so scared I had to concentrate to keep control of my bodily functions. I’d seen my share of trash during my days in the west and this man wasn’t trash at all. He was tall and his shoulders were wide and him moving forward towards the bar told me without a doubt that there was strength in them arms and legs. He was wearing a black duster, though it was hard to tell if it was black or grey at the time because of all the dust. His hat was black as well as his pants.
When he stopped at the bar I calmed down a bit and started sipping on my beer. The stranger placed a rifle he’d been holding on the bar. I must’ve been really scared since I hadn’t noticed the rifle as he walked in. He nodded to the barkeep who brought him a bottle. He grabbed the bottle with one hand and the rifle with the other. Then he turned around and to my horror I realized he was walking in my direction. I got so scared I almost dropped my beer and ended up spilling some of it all over the front of my pants.
I tried to turn my eyes away from him, but I couldn’t stop looking at that face. Jack was always popular with the ladies an’ he sure as hell had the looks for it. But that wasn’t why I was staring at him, no sir. It was his eyes. They were the wildest eyes I’d ever seen, both wild and dark at the same time, in such a gentle face. He was scary all right. He stopped at my table.
“You wanna play some poker, boy?”
I’d found my poker game all right. He threw his coat back revealing a peacemaker in a crossed holster. I couldn’t answer him so I just nodded. He sat down on the opposite side.
“I need eyes in my back. Wanna help me out, boy?”
What was I supposed to do… say no? Still not being able to talk I just nodded.
“The second you see a man with a scar over his right eye you let me know, okay?”
I nodded again.
So there we were, playing cards and I was working my way towards the bottom of my glass. The whole time I was too scared to look up from my cards to meet the eyes at the opposite side of the table. Jack kept reminding me to look over his shoulder. People were walking in and out the door all the time and with my eyes turned to my cards I was having a tough time keeping up with what was going on around me.
“Do you like the taste of air?”
I looked at the glass in my and found it to be empty. I must’ve been sipping air from a beer glass for a good minute or two. Just as I got up from my chair to get a refill, a nasty character walked though the door. I might not even have noticed it, but just as he came in through the door the dumb son of a bitch took his hat off and wiped his forehead with the arm of his shirt. As he was removing the hat from his head I saw a huge horrifying scar across his right eye. Still unable to speak I just nodded to Jack who was calmly rolling a cigarette.
The next few seconds seemed to last an eternity. Jack dropped the paper he was holding in his right hand, spun around on his chair and drew his peacemaker. He fired two shots at the stranger with the scar. This whole time I was watching the cigarette paper sailing through the air. By the time it landed Jack’s smoking six-shooter was back in its holster and the scarred man was lying on the floor in a pool of blood.
And there I was, standing over my chair with an empty beer glass in my hand and a stain on the front of my pants looking scared.
A man at the bar yelled.
“Check out the Arizona Kid, the brave lad wet himself.”
“No I didn’t… What did you call me?”
All of a sudden I forgot everything else. I had been given a name. I was so proud I’m sure I was blushing. Arizona Kid, I’m still proud of that name.
Jack picked up his hat and rifle and headed for the door. I was right behind him begging him to let me ride with him. He wouldn’t let me, told me it would be too dangerous for a kid. It was dark outside and the sheriff, his deputies and three other men were waiting by the horses. The sheriff spoke first.
“Jack, these men claim you’ve stolen some silver from them.”
“That’s a lie. They stole it from a prospector. I reclaimed it and came here to give it to you. But you weren’t in your office so I deposited it in the safe at the post office. I’ve got the recite right here, sheriff.”
“Would you mind waiting in jail until tomorrow so we can straighten this mess out?”
“Of course I would, I haven’t done anything to deserve a night in jail.”
“You killed Henry in cold blood.” Said one of the three men I didn’t recognize.
“No, I didn’t. I shot him in self-defence. He would’ve shot me in the back if it wasn’t for this kid here,”
I was standing right in front of Jack next to the sheriff. One of the strangers was standing right behind Jack. In the light from a saloon window I suddenly got a glimpse of metal object in the stranger’s hand and after that everything happened in slow motion.
I saw that peacemaker staring at me under Jack’s duster and before I knew what I was doing I heard a shot go off and felt the kick of the recoil in my shoulder. I shot that stranger straight through Jack’s duster. He was jumping around slapping the hole from the gunshot to turn out the fire.
“Hell, Kid. I’m grateful for you saving my life but you owe me a new coat.”
The sheriff and his deputies pulled their guns on the strangers. He told us to leave Gila City to avoid further bloodshed. Jack promised he’d be back to straighten everything out with the silver an’ all. Jack and me left and we never saw that town again.
That was the first man I killed and of course I never got any credit for it. The story I heard a few years later about what happened outside the Gila City saloon on that fateful night said Jack killed all three men right there and then. That story didn’t mention no sheriff or the Arizona Kid.
In this collection of Western fiction, I’ve endeavored to bring the reader a little laughter at the expense of my characters, even though they are at times engaged in life threatening adventures. Learn to say something nice to all of your enemies l
Story inspired by life of the author's great grandfather, a Black Cowboy who kidnapped his Native American bride after a cattle drive from Waco, TX to Dodge City, KS. Their story, him a master horseman and her a trained to be a healer with herbs and
