Sheriff Travis

He had no idea how they got here. But he did know why. Jack Stramm knew the gunfighter, Dirk Jackson and two of his outlaw gang, were in town and looking for the sheriff to settle a score. Stramm’s newspaper, The Western Call, knew there would be a sensational story. Stramm’s job was to sort through the many rumors to get the truth.

“I’m lookin’ for Sheriff Travis. Where can I find him."

Nicole, the pretty waitress behind the counter. asked “And you are? And just why do you need to see him?”

“My name is Jack Stramm. I’m a journalist with the Western Call and I’m here to interview your sheriff.” 

“Why do you want to interview him?”

”He and Dirk Jackson are gonna have a gunfight on the street today. My editor wants me to cover it. Jackson’s known all over the West. Buntline even wrote a book about him. I want to write about the man who’s gonna bring him down.”

”Yup, I believe you are right about that. You sound awful sure of the sheriff, though. Why are you so sure he’s gonna win?”

“I watched him take on Jackson’s gang by himself when they robbed the Starr City bank last year. He killed Jackson’s brother.”

“Yup, that’s why Dirk Jackson’s here.”

“I think there is something uniquely different about your sheriff. Travis was calm and collected. I know any lawman worth his salt is. But this man seemed to have had a confidence about him I’ve never seen before. I want to talk to him about it.”

“You’re right about that too. I’ll have Harvey fetch him for ya. You sit at that table over there and I’ll direct the sheriff to you when he comes in.

                   …………………………………………………..

“Mornin’, Sheriff. I’m Jack Stramm, reporter for The Western Call. Don’t think you know me, but I know you.”

“Do you now? And why does a reporter from the Western Call want to talk to me?”

“My editor wants me to cover your gunfight with Dirk Jackson. He thinks it’s big news. I do to, but for a different reason than him.”

“What might that be?”

“I saw you face off against Jackson’s gang last year in Starr City. I was travelling through there when his gang robbed the bank. He had three men robbing that bank and you took them on alone.”

“Nothing unusual about that. That’s the job.”

“You’re right, but it was Dirk Jackson you were facing!”

“He was robbing the bank. It was my job to stop him.”

“You did. You killed his brother in the process; he and his gang were sent to Yuma prison for it. Now Jackson and what’s left of his gang escaped and he’s gunning for you.”

“That’s what I hear.”

“You have quite a reputation. I’ve been told Ned Buntline wants to put you in one of his books, Sheriff. How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t particularly care for it. When he puts you in one of his books, unwanted things happen. And it is what’s in those books, you’re judged by."

“I don’t understand. Don’t you want to be famous, like Wild Bill?”
“Nope.”
“I don’t understand?”
“I am a tough lawman and do have the real reputation to go with it. It’s what I did to earn that reputation. It’s not a made-up reality some writer created in his own mind to help sell his books.”
“Sheriff, you have a reputation of being a tough but just man. You carry that fancy Colt on your hip, but no one recollects seeing you use it in a man-to-man gunfight. Yet you’re well known around here for your gun abilities. How many gunfights have you been in?”
“It’s my reputation that makes not drawing my Colt much easier. I resolve issues without the use of gunplay. Innocent people run the risk of getting hurt whenever a gun is drawn. People believe me to be a superb gun handler. And that’s Ok. It helps me maintain the peace around here.”
“That didn’t answer my question, Sheriff. Have you ever been on the street to meet a man face to face in showdown, like those characters in the Western books?”
 “Son, perhaps, because of my reputation, most believe I have.”
 “It’s almost Noon. Dirk Jackson’s gonna be out there in the middle of that street in a few minutes. Are you ready?” 

“I have dealt with bad men before. Jackson read about himself in one of Buntline’s books and is just trying to live up to his expectations. Buntline says he frequently meets the local lawman in the street to duel. Dirk’s just some small-time outlaw that’s been luckier than most.
The thing is, though, Buntline makes lots of money creating legends. Facts don’t seem to be too important to him. Men met their demise because of his money-making scheme. I’ve read some of his novels and met some of his so-called legends. I even incarcerated two or three of them without using my pistol. Buntline and other dime novel writers are the big problem in the West, not these make-believe legends. It’s the “code of the west” thing these writers created that calls me on the street today.”

“Code of the west? I’ve heard about that. How do you explain it?”

“They’re just a set of unwritten rules of survival all of the West supposedly lives by. The truth is, they don’t exist, except in the minds of these writers from the East.”
      “With your reputation, how come you’re not in one of his books?”
      “I met Buntline years ago. He’s a journalist who prefers fiction over facts. I watched his legends struggle to live up to what they were supposed to be. They had no choice. Most of his readers believe his fiction.
I have always had a strong sense of right and wrong. My code was and still is the same as the men who wrote the words of the Bible. Those words don’t seem to be what men like Buntline feel are words to sell by.
I feel strongly about living those words to help in the development of this new land. I have no desire to be a romanticized character in a dime novel. That would require me to live up to a different set of standards.
The West, in reality, is a hard and often unforgiving land. Most of us are just trying to survive. Some of us, like the cowboy getting ready to face me now, find it easier or more thrilling just to take. That makes him an abuser of God’s word. There is nothing romantic about that. Sometimes force is required, and I am always conflicted when that happens, so I let God guide me.”

     “Conflicted?”

The sheriff is about to answer but does not get the chance. 

“SHERIFF, I′M OUT HERE IN THE STREET. YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!! IT′S TIME FOR YOU TO MEET YOUR MAKER!”

 “Sheriff, that must be Jackson.”

 Sheriff Travis calmly acknowledges to the journalist, “It′s time, son. It will be over soon.”

“Dirk, we don’t have to do this.”
“Ya killed my brother!”
“It was him or me, Dirk.”
“Doesn’t matter, you killed my brother. It’s your turn to die!”
“Dirk, we don’t have to do this. There is another way.”
“Yep! There is and you’re still gonna die!”

Street gunfights, contrary to popular belief, were mostly myths, often messy, and typically occurred spontaneously. Travis knew that. He also knew Jackson wanted to live up to Buntline’s legend. This street confrontation was unavoidable.

Sheriff Travis didn’t want to draw against the man. It was not something he was accustomed to doing. But he was prepared. His thoughts were many.  

           “Will he actually draw his gun against me?
          Somehow, I know he will.
         He has the reputation that tells me he will.
         I fear no evil.
         I will not draw first, but I will defend myself.”

Jackson once again made his intention known. “Sheriff, you killed my brother!”

        “His eyes tell me his intentions. I see his hand drop toward his gun.”

Time slowed down…………

         “I sense my hand reach for my gun.
         Dirk’s hand’s is already on the butt of his weapon and his thumb on the hammer.
         I feel the handle of my Colt and my finger on the trigger. My hammer is already cocked.
        Jackson’s yelling something at me and pulling his gun out of his holster. His elbow is rotating. The muzzle pointed at my chest,
        Mine is already pointed at his.
       I see him squeeze the trigger, hear the bark of the gun, and see the black powder smoke bellowing from it.
       Gotta’ move to the right, but can’t til I fire. Will it be too late?
      I hear my gun respond to my finger.”

 Time slowed down even more.

        “I see Jackson’s bullet coming toward my chest.
        I see a bullet leave my gun and its path is true.”

      Jackson’s bullet enters Sheriff Travis’s chest. and he loses his footing. Jackson had already fallen to the ground with a hole in his shirt where his heart would be.

“I’m sure Jackson isn’t breathing any more.
          Here I am, lying on my back….
          Look at that! The sun’s shining bright in the sky….
          I’m burning up…...
          People are gathering around me.
          I can’t make them out….”

      The sheriff hears a soft feminine voice calling his name. It sounds familiar.
           “Clint! Clint!

          “That voice sounds familiar. Could it be?”

          “Honey, Honey, wake up! You’re having a bad dream! Wake up Clint.”

          “Wait! What!  That voice! It’s my sweet wife.”

“Boy! That Clint Eastwood marathon, the old Ned Buntline Dime Novel I found a few days ago, that late night meal, and that story I read in my Great Grandad’s journal about his outlaw buddies really did a number on me.”