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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Action & Adventure
- Subject: Western / Wild West
- Published: 05/19/2014
I rode into town on the back of a mule. Maybe stumbled is a more appropriate word. Dust kicked up, floating softly down with every step it took. I was parched, dry, in a daze that only comes from the dry desert wind. Both my beast of burden and I were exhausted. Likely I couldn’t have made it without the appearance of the mule. It was my third day of wandering; my first day after my canteen had gone dry. I had nearly collapsed, but then I saw it, ears perked up, staring at me, grey body trembling. It seemed wary of me, and rightly so, a man in my condition at that point is known to do anything. Still, I was so grateful to its appearance that I would have cried if I’d had any water left in me; it was fully saddled, and had a half-full canteen of water. I don’t know where it came from, likely from a victim of outlaws, or the like. All I knew at that moment though, was that both me, and the animal, were the only way the other was going to survive.
We came into town sometime after noon. My hat was gone, I had lost it sometime out there, but I don’t remember when. What I mostly remember is the burning sensation, the scorching of the body and the mind. I focused on nothing but satisfying my thirst. I slid off the back of the mule and tied it up, focusing all my energy on making it through the doors of what appeared to be the saloon.
The room was moderately crowded, but not as much as some of the others I’d seen. No one was at the counter. Several men sat around a table playing cards, three others watching. One man sat in the corner, seemingly sleeping with his brim down over his eyes. I walked to the counter, resting all my weight on the dark stained oak. The bartender looked me over, appraising my unshaven beard, dusty clothing, and empty holster.
“New in town?” He asked. I glanced up, nodded.
“What can I get you?”
“Start with water,” I said quietly, hoarsely. He raised his eyebrows as he turned and entered a room behind the counter, returning with a full canteen. I drank it all in one swig.
“Can I get anything else for you?” he asked as I finished the canteen.
“You have a general store?”
“We do, but I probably have what you need down in the back. What do you need?”
I motioned to a large black hat sitting in the back of the room. It had a leather band around it, with a few beads around the band. “I’ll have the hat.”
He set it on the counter, and apparently realizing my current situation, began to question me. “You have the money for this?”
I reached into my pocket, pulling out a small sack. I plopped it down on the counter. “One of these should do.” He undid the knot around the mouth and poured the contents into his hand. The bag was filled with twenty-five gold coins. He examined a few of them.
“These look fresh minted,” he said, looking up at me, his voice somewhat cautious.
I looked at him, my eyes somewhat challenging. “Do they?” I asked.
One of the men playing cards stood up. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and had a large moustache that reached past the corners of his mouth. “You have a name?” he asked.
“Used to,” I muttered as I took a sip from my drink.
He looked at me sternly as he exhaled from his nose. “Do you want to tell me where you got that money, or am I going to have to confiscate it?”
“You’re welcome to try,” I spoke, turning to face him. He just laughed.
“You’re not even carrying a gun!”
The supposedly sleeping man in the corner spoke. “Let him be, Sam. Can’t you tell this man’s been through a lot lately?”
Sam grit his teeth. “Stay out of this Mathew. I don’t need your interfering sentiments.”
Mathew stood up and advanced until he stood before Sam. “So you’ve had a couple rough games. Don’t take it out on this poor traveler here. Taking money from a defenseless man is low, even for you. Besides,” he said gesturing to the card table, “you know better than to play cards with Mike Johnson.”
Sam growled softly, and backed off. He nodded towards me. “Get him out of my sight!”
Mathew nodded, and put his arm on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”
We strode out of the saloon, silently walking side by side until we reached his horse. It was tied up next to the mule. Finally, I spoke.
“Listen, I really didn’t take that money. I don’t know who had it before me, but I just found it. I’m not a thief.”
He stopped walking, then nodded. “I believe you.”
I have to admit, I was a little surprised.
“Why?”
He just smiled at me. “You don’t look the type.”
I contemplated this as he mounted his horse. Suddenly, he wheeled around. “By the way, I forgot to ask your name.”
I thought of the name scratched into the canteen I was holding, the name that had spent days on my mind, the one thing that occupied my thoughts other than my own survival.
“Call me Chuck.” I said. “Chuck Nolan.”
I spent the next few weeks getting to know Mathew Callahan and his family. They lived on a ranch several miles from the town, a property that he had acquired through, “a small string of good fortunes.” It was a large, sprawling property, filled with plenty of range, as well as a canyon to the north side, with a natural spring way back into it.
He hadn’t always lived here, he told me one day. Years ago, he had been a lawman, a ranger in fact, until he left one day. When questioned he simply stated, “Personal reasons. Some have a taste for it, but I discovered I didn’t.” He looked down at my holster, still empty. “You ought to go into town with your first pay, Chuck, and buy you a new gun.”
I shook my head. “No, it came into this town empty, and that’s how it’ll stay.”
“Why’s that?”
I patted the holster. “A reminder.” He nodded his head, and didn’t press it further. Mathew was good that way. He never pushed me to reveal more about myself than I wished, which was a quality rarely found in people.
I sold the mule. My beast of burden had served its purpose, and I saw no further need for it. I took the small supplies that I had found with it, and brought it to Mathew’s home. He decided to keep me on as a hand, and for that I was grateful to him. It was a peaceful life, or more peaceful than the life I had lived before. I began to feel hope, an emotion I hadn’t felt in a longer while than I cared to admit. But with that hope, came the insidious twinge of fear, that sensation that admittedly made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and caused the beginnings of doubt.
It was late August when Mathew rode into town. “Morning Mathew!” a few called. He tipped his hat as he rode towards the general store. It was early in the morning; the sun had yet to rise. The wind blew softly, slowly, carrying the soft dust with it. Mathew dismounted, as Zeke Johnson, owner of the general store, walked towards him.
“Morning Mathew!” he said cheerfully. “Come on in, and have yourself some coffee!”
“Much obliged,” Mathew spoke gratefully.
Just as they were about to pass through the door, Mathew stopped. He listened carefully. The wind had died down, but there was a low rumbling in the distance, steadily growing louder by the second. A large cloud of dust grew larger in the distance, traveling west towards the town. As it came closer, the sound became more distinct: the rumbling of hooves, and the yells and shouts of men. Their dark shapes became clear against the cloud of dust; thirteen to twenty riders, headed at a hard pace towards the town. Mathew and Zeke watched with growing concern.
“Zeke,” Mathew said. “Grab your rifle.” Zeke nodded and ducked into the shop, reappearing quickly with his gun.
The riders moved in, there were six of them, bringing along with them a cloud of dust. It swept across the town and dispersed as the apparent leader stopped his horse, the other riders following suite.
“Whoa!” the lead rider shouted, his horse rearing up, then coming back down. Mathew froze as the rider’s face turned his way; it was a face he had seen before, a voice he had heard, a visage he thought he’d be a witness to again.
The recognition was mutual. “Mathew Callahan!” the rider spoke, spitting into the ground. The rider was tall, his face appearing somewhat gaunt. He wore a large black hat, and a grey duster. His haggard face suddenly transformed entirely as he smiled, giving a somewhat roguish look, and revealing a gold tooth.
“What are you doing here Clyde?” Mathew questioned.
Clyde continued smiling, but did not dismount. He maneuvered his horse so that he stood directly above Mathew. He spoke. “We ran into some trouble a few towns back; one of the boys jumped a man at night, only to discover he was a ranger. We’ve been on the run for a few days, but we can’t go any farther.” Clyde looked around the open street. He looked back at Mathew, speaking again. “This looks like as good a place as any for a last stand.”
Mathew grit his teeth. “No Clyde. Get out of here. I don’t want to have to do to you what I did to your brother.”
Clyde frowned, looking at him with disdain. “Adam was a fool. He had the full support of dozens, but you call him out, and he goes alone, like he had to protect someone! No Mathew, you may be a good shot, but you’re no Charlie Davis, not with my men around. Besides,” he continued, “I heard you’re not even a lawman anymore.”
Mathew nodded at Zeke, almost imperceptibly, but a man in the posse was watching. As Mathew went for his holster, the man drew and fired. Mathew fell back, clutching his right arm. By this time, all the men in the posse were armed, many dismounted. Shocked, Zeke grabbed Mathew, helping him up as they ran through the doors of the store, quickly shutting it behind them and bolting it.
“We’ve got to get out to the stables,” Zeke said, but Mathew just shook his head, cringing, and still clutching his arm.
“We won’t make it, not unless there’s something out there to distract them,” He managed to speak through clenched teeth. The riders were pounding on the door, the timbers beginning to crack. Suddenly, a shot rang out. One of the riders, still mounted, fell off his horse. Clyde wheeled around to the direction of the shot, his pistol drawn. A man, the source of the shot, stood on a balcony from the hotel. He ran to the edge of the balcony, and barely pausing, jumped back into the alley next to the hotel. He landed on his horse, waiting in the alley, and let his steed come blasting out of the alley at a full gallop, heading out of the town at a remarkable speed. The riders fired wildly, but he was already out of range. Clyde swore softly, as one of the riders ran back up to him.
“That man was the sheriff. Name’s Sam. Should we head after him?”
Clyde paused, staring at the east where the sun was beginning to rise over the desert. He shook his head. “No. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.” He walked over to the store, where the door barely hung on to its hinges. Giving it a solid kick, it fell down. The store was empty.
“Gone,” he said softly.
The sun had just begun to rise when Sam came riding in. I had been up early working, but hadn’t had breakfast, and was heading to do so when he came riding in. He pulled up his horse directly in front of the house. And sat there in front of me, still clutching the reigns, his hands trembling.
“Can I help you, Sam?”
He looked at me a minute, dismounted, and then quickly explained the events that had taken place. Finally, he said, “I need your help.”
“How?” I asked.
“I need you to help me take out Clyde.”
I just shook my head. “You know I don’t carry a gun. Of all people, why did you ask me?”
“Because,” he said, “You’re Charlie Davis.”
I started. “Where did you-“
He interrupted me with a hand, giving a somewhat grim smile. “I told you,” he said, “You matched a couple descriptions.”
I stared at the ground a minute, silently. “Sam, I want to help. But I just can’t- not with this, not anymore.”
“Why? You had no trouble at Sonora, or down in El Paso.”
“That was before…” I drifted off, falling into a silence. It was quiet a minute, until finally he spoke.
“Well, either way, I’m going after him, with or without your help.” Sam mounted back onto his horse. “By the way,” he said, “You might want to know that Mathew got shot.” He started his horse off in a trot towards the town. He turned around and shouted, “Might give you something to think about!”
I stared off, my mind deep in thought. I knew it was bound to happen eventually, it always did. I was good for a while, stayed out of trouble, but it somehow always found me. It always started the same; some fool who wanted the reputation for killing Charlie Davis. It always ended the same way too. It was the same process that had led me to flee into the desert. And I had to do it again, pick up and go. I turned, preparing to leave.
A small thought pierced my mind. This is different than before. I paused. Maybe it was different. An idea began to form. Maybe there was a way for me to fix this mess, and still not leave the destruction that usually followed in my wake. I ran into the house, searching for a small bag. I felt around for an object, and feeling cold metal, I closed my hand around it. This could work! Grabbing it, I turned and rushed out the door, making my way to my horse, and began heading towards town.
I entered into town a short while later. The sun had risen higher in the sky, but the town was dead silent. In the street, two men faced each other, a short distance apart. One was Sam, the other I imagined being the man that Sam had described to me as Clyde. A grim expression was over both their faces, hands near their holsters.
I rode in, thundering, giving a loud shout. “Hold!”
They both veered in my direction, drawing their revolvers. Sam had a surprised look on his face. “Charlie?” he asked.
Clyde just looked at me. “Now who in the-“
I interrupted him. “Names Charlie Davis. Which one of you goes by the name of Clyde?”
Clyde started. “Ch- Charlie Davis?”
I looked at him. “Would you be Clyde?”
He recomposed himself. “I would. What do you want?”
“I need you to leave.”
He laughed nervously. “You can’t make me do that, you’re just one man!”
I gave him a hard stare. He swallowed hard.
I shrugged. “Maybe I can’t. More likely I can.” All was silent for a moment, until I spoke again.
“Now, supposing I feel in a good mood today, I might just give you a chance to save yourself.”
He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
I smiled, and dismounted. “You see that gas light over there?” I asked, pointing. It was the only one the town had.
He nodded skeptically.
“We’re going to have a little contest. We both take a turn aiming and firing at that lamp over there. If you hit it, and I don’t, you can stay, do with the town what you want. If we both hit it, you leave, no questions asked, and don’t come back. But, if I hit it, and you don’t…” I gave him another stare; he seemed to understand my meaning.
“Alright,” He said shrugging uneasily.
I made a gesture. “After you.”
He stepped forward, as he pointed his pistol, and then lowered it. “Just a minute,” He said. “We need to switch guns. You made the Challenge. Plus, you’re Charlie Davis; your gun is obviously better than mine.”
I shrugged. “Fine by me.”
He took it from my hand, and stepping forward, aiming carefully, he fired. It was a miss. He began to sweat profusely.
Taking the gun I had switched with Clyde, I repeated the process he had gone through. Releasing a breath, I fired.
Crash. There was a sound of shattering glass; my bullet had met its target. Clyde collapsed to his knees. “Please Charlie! Don’t- I didn’t-“
“Stand up Clyde, you lost!” I shouted.
A look of rage filled his face. He sprang to his feet, and fired my pistol at me. I fell backwards to the ground clutching my chest.
Suddenly from two opposing alleyways ran Mathew and Zeke, each aiming a gun at Clyde. Sam covered Clyde’s men. “Drop it Clyde, hands up!” Mathew shouted, his one arm bandaged.
Clyde dropped his weapon, and Sam rounded him and his men up. Mathew, Sam, and Zeke came over to look at me. “Chuck?” Mathew said softly, bending over me.
I sprang to my feet. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”
Sam looked confused. “But, how did-“
I walked over and picked up the revolver Clyde had used, and popped it open showing the contents in the chamber. “It was filled with blanks,” I said.
Sam looked relieved. “Whew, for a second I was worried you were risking the town on your accuracy!”
“Well, that probably wouldn’t have been much of a problem, it was his accuracy I was worried about. Besides, I knew he was likely to try a stunt like he just did.”
Zeke clapped me on the back, and I shook Sam’s hand. It was a warm, friendly shake. From then on, I always considered him to be a friend. As we walked, Mathew turned to me, and asked, “So, where did you get those blanks?”
I found them in the saddle of that mule. Figured it must have belonged to an actor previously.”
“You gonna keep it?”
“Sure thing. Right where it belongs.” I patted my holster, and we started for home.
An Empty Holster(Josh Wilkinson)
I rode into town on the back of a mule. Maybe stumbled is a more appropriate word. Dust kicked up, floating softly down with every step it took. I was parched, dry, in a daze that only comes from the dry desert wind. Both my beast of burden and I were exhausted. Likely I couldn’t have made it without the appearance of the mule. It was my third day of wandering; my first day after my canteen had gone dry. I had nearly collapsed, but then I saw it, ears perked up, staring at me, grey body trembling. It seemed wary of me, and rightly so, a man in my condition at that point is known to do anything. Still, I was so grateful to its appearance that I would have cried if I’d had any water left in me; it was fully saddled, and had a half-full canteen of water. I don’t know where it came from, likely from a victim of outlaws, or the like. All I knew at that moment though, was that both me, and the animal, were the only way the other was going to survive.
We came into town sometime after noon. My hat was gone, I had lost it sometime out there, but I don’t remember when. What I mostly remember is the burning sensation, the scorching of the body and the mind. I focused on nothing but satisfying my thirst. I slid off the back of the mule and tied it up, focusing all my energy on making it through the doors of what appeared to be the saloon.
The room was moderately crowded, but not as much as some of the others I’d seen. No one was at the counter. Several men sat around a table playing cards, three others watching. One man sat in the corner, seemingly sleeping with his brim down over his eyes. I walked to the counter, resting all my weight on the dark stained oak. The bartender looked me over, appraising my unshaven beard, dusty clothing, and empty holster.
“New in town?” He asked. I glanced up, nodded.
“What can I get you?”
“Start with water,” I said quietly, hoarsely. He raised his eyebrows as he turned and entered a room behind the counter, returning with a full canteen. I drank it all in one swig.
“Can I get anything else for you?” he asked as I finished the canteen.
“You have a general store?”
“We do, but I probably have what you need down in the back. What do you need?”
I motioned to a large black hat sitting in the back of the room. It had a leather band around it, with a few beads around the band. “I’ll have the hat.”
He set it on the counter, and apparently realizing my current situation, began to question me. “You have the money for this?”
I reached into my pocket, pulling out a small sack. I plopped it down on the counter. “One of these should do.” He undid the knot around the mouth and poured the contents into his hand. The bag was filled with twenty-five gold coins. He examined a few of them.
“These look fresh minted,” he said, looking up at me, his voice somewhat cautious.
I looked at him, my eyes somewhat challenging. “Do they?” I asked.
One of the men playing cards stood up. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and had a large moustache that reached past the corners of his mouth. “You have a name?” he asked.
“Used to,” I muttered as I took a sip from my drink.
He looked at me sternly as he exhaled from his nose. “Do you want to tell me where you got that money, or am I going to have to confiscate it?”
“You’re welcome to try,” I spoke, turning to face him. He just laughed.
“You’re not even carrying a gun!”
The supposedly sleeping man in the corner spoke. “Let him be, Sam. Can’t you tell this man’s been through a lot lately?”
Sam grit his teeth. “Stay out of this Mathew. I don’t need your interfering sentiments.”
Mathew stood up and advanced until he stood before Sam. “So you’ve had a couple rough games. Don’t take it out on this poor traveler here. Taking money from a defenseless man is low, even for you. Besides,” he said gesturing to the card table, “you know better than to play cards with Mike Johnson.”
Sam growled softly, and backed off. He nodded towards me. “Get him out of my sight!”
Mathew nodded, and put his arm on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”
We strode out of the saloon, silently walking side by side until we reached his horse. It was tied up next to the mule. Finally, I spoke.
“Listen, I really didn’t take that money. I don’t know who had it before me, but I just found it. I’m not a thief.”
He stopped walking, then nodded. “I believe you.”
I have to admit, I was a little surprised.
“Why?”
He just smiled at me. “You don’t look the type.”
I contemplated this as he mounted his horse. Suddenly, he wheeled around. “By the way, I forgot to ask your name.”
I thought of the name scratched into the canteen I was holding, the name that had spent days on my mind, the one thing that occupied my thoughts other than my own survival.
“Call me Chuck.” I said. “Chuck Nolan.”
I spent the next few weeks getting to know Mathew Callahan and his family. They lived on a ranch several miles from the town, a property that he had acquired through, “a small string of good fortunes.” It was a large, sprawling property, filled with plenty of range, as well as a canyon to the north side, with a natural spring way back into it.
He hadn’t always lived here, he told me one day. Years ago, he had been a lawman, a ranger in fact, until he left one day. When questioned he simply stated, “Personal reasons. Some have a taste for it, but I discovered I didn’t.” He looked down at my holster, still empty. “You ought to go into town with your first pay, Chuck, and buy you a new gun.”
I shook my head. “No, it came into this town empty, and that’s how it’ll stay.”
“Why’s that?”
I patted the holster. “A reminder.” He nodded his head, and didn’t press it further. Mathew was good that way. He never pushed me to reveal more about myself than I wished, which was a quality rarely found in people.
I sold the mule. My beast of burden had served its purpose, and I saw no further need for it. I took the small supplies that I had found with it, and brought it to Mathew’s home. He decided to keep me on as a hand, and for that I was grateful to him. It was a peaceful life, or more peaceful than the life I had lived before. I began to feel hope, an emotion I hadn’t felt in a longer while than I cared to admit. But with that hope, came the insidious twinge of fear, that sensation that admittedly made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and caused the beginnings of doubt.
It was late August when Mathew rode into town. “Morning Mathew!” a few called. He tipped his hat as he rode towards the general store. It was early in the morning; the sun had yet to rise. The wind blew softly, slowly, carrying the soft dust with it. Mathew dismounted, as Zeke Johnson, owner of the general store, walked towards him.
“Morning Mathew!” he said cheerfully. “Come on in, and have yourself some coffee!”
“Much obliged,” Mathew spoke gratefully.
Just as they were about to pass through the door, Mathew stopped. He listened carefully. The wind had died down, but there was a low rumbling in the distance, steadily growing louder by the second. A large cloud of dust grew larger in the distance, traveling west towards the town. As it came closer, the sound became more distinct: the rumbling of hooves, and the yells and shouts of men. Their dark shapes became clear against the cloud of dust; thirteen to twenty riders, headed at a hard pace towards the town. Mathew and Zeke watched with growing concern.
“Zeke,” Mathew said. “Grab your rifle.” Zeke nodded and ducked into the shop, reappearing quickly with his gun.
The riders moved in, there were six of them, bringing along with them a cloud of dust. It swept across the town and dispersed as the apparent leader stopped his horse, the other riders following suite.
“Whoa!” the lead rider shouted, his horse rearing up, then coming back down. Mathew froze as the rider’s face turned his way; it was a face he had seen before, a voice he had heard, a visage he thought he’d be a witness to again.
The recognition was mutual. “Mathew Callahan!” the rider spoke, spitting into the ground. The rider was tall, his face appearing somewhat gaunt. He wore a large black hat, and a grey duster. His haggard face suddenly transformed entirely as he smiled, giving a somewhat roguish look, and revealing a gold tooth.
“What are you doing here Clyde?” Mathew questioned.
Clyde continued smiling, but did not dismount. He maneuvered his horse so that he stood directly above Mathew. He spoke. “We ran into some trouble a few towns back; one of the boys jumped a man at night, only to discover he was a ranger. We’ve been on the run for a few days, but we can’t go any farther.” Clyde looked around the open street. He looked back at Mathew, speaking again. “This looks like as good a place as any for a last stand.”
Mathew grit his teeth. “No Clyde. Get out of here. I don’t want to have to do to you what I did to your brother.”
Clyde frowned, looking at him with disdain. “Adam was a fool. He had the full support of dozens, but you call him out, and he goes alone, like he had to protect someone! No Mathew, you may be a good shot, but you’re no Charlie Davis, not with my men around. Besides,” he continued, “I heard you’re not even a lawman anymore.”
Mathew nodded at Zeke, almost imperceptibly, but a man in the posse was watching. As Mathew went for his holster, the man drew and fired. Mathew fell back, clutching his right arm. By this time, all the men in the posse were armed, many dismounted. Shocked, Zeke grabbed Mathew, helping him up as they ran through the doors of the store, quickly shutting it behind them and bolting it.
“We’ve got to get out to the stables,” Zeke said, but Mathew just shook his head, cringing, and still clutching his arm.
“We won’t make it, not unless there’s something out there to distract them,” He managed to speak through clenched teeth. The riders were pounding on the door, the timbers beginning to crack. Suddenly, a shot rang out. One of the riders, still mounted, fell off his horse. Clyde wheeled around to the direction of the shot, his pistol drawn. A man, the source of the shot, stood on a balcony from the hotel. He ran to the edge of the balcony, and barely pausing, jumped back into the alley next to the hotel. He landed on his horse, waiting in the alley, and let his steed come blasting out of the alley at a full gallop, heading out of the town at a remarkable speed. The riders fired wildly, but he was already out of range. Clyde swore softly, as one of the riders ran back up to him.
“That man was the sheriff. Name’s Sam. Should we head after him?”
Clyde paused, staring at the east where the sun was beginning to rise over the desert. He shook his head. “No. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.” He walked over to the store, where the door barely hung on to its hinges. Giving it a solid kick, it fell down. The store was empty.
“Gone,” he said softly.
The sun had just begun to rise when Sam came riding in. I had been up early working, but hadn’t had breakfast, and was heading to do so when he came riding in. He pulled up his horse directly in front of the house. And sat there in front of me, still clutching the reigns, his hands trembling.
“Can I help you, Sam?”
He looked at me a minute, dismounted, and then quickly explained the events that had taken place. Finally, he said, “I need your help.”
“How?” I asked.
“I need you to help me take out Clyde.”
I just shook my head. “You know I don’t carry a gun. Of all people, why did you ask me?”
“Because,” he said, “You’re Charlie Davis.”
I started. “Where did you-“
He interrupted me with a hand, giving a somewhat grim smile. “I told you,” he said, “You matched a couple descriptions.”
I stared at the ground a minute, silently. “Sam, I want to help. But I just can’t- not with this, not anymore.”
“Why? You had no trouble at Sonora, or down in El Paso.”
“That was before…” I drifted off, falling into a silence. It was quiet a minute, until finally he spoke.
“Well, either way, I’m going after him, with or without your help.” Sam mounted back onto his horse. “By the way,” he said, “You might want to know that Mathew got shot.” He started his horse off in a trot towards the town. He turned around and shouted, “Might give you something to think about!”
I stared off, my mind deep in thought. I knew it was bound to happen eventually, it always did. I was good for a while, stayed out of trouble, but it somehow always found me. It always started the same; some fool who wanted the reputation for killing Charlie Davis. It always ended the same way too. It was the same process that had led me to flee into the desert. And I had to do it again, pick up and go. I turned, preparing to leave.
A small thought pierced my mind. This is different than before. I paused. Maybe it was different. An idea began to form. Maybe there was a way for me to fix this mess, and still not leave the destruction that usually followed in my wake. I ran into the house, searching for a small bag. I felt around for an object, and feeling cold metal, I closed my hand around it. This could work! Grabbing it, I turned and rushed out the door, making my way to my horse, and began heading towards town.
I entered into town a short while later. The sun had risen higher in the sky, but the town was dead silent. In the street, two men faced each other, a short distance apart. One was Sam, the other I imagined being the man that Sam had described to me as Clyde. A grim expression was over both their faces, hands near their holsters.
I rode in, thundering, giving a loud shout. “Hold!”
They both veered in my direction, drawing their revolvers. Sam had a surprised look on his face. “Charlie?” he asked.
Clyde just looked at me. “Now who in the-“
I interrupted him. “Names Charlie Davis. Which one of you goes by the name of Clyde?”
Clyde started. “Ch- Charlie Davis?”
I looked at him. “Would you be Clyde?”
He recomposed himself. “I would. What do you want?”
“I need you to leave.”
He laughed nervously. “You can’t make me do that, you’re just one man!”
I gave him a hard stare. He swallowed hard.
I shrugged. “Maybe I can’t. More likely I can.” All was silent for a moment, until I spoke again.
“Now, supposing I feel in a good mood today, I might just give you a chance to save yourself.”
He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
I smiled, and dismounted. “You see that gas light over there?” I asked, pointing. It was the only one the town had.
He nodded skeptically.
“We’re going to have a little contest. We both take a turn aiming and firing at that lamp over there. If you hit it, and I don’t, you can stay, do with the town what you want. If we both hit it, you leave, no questions asked, and don’t come back. But, if I hit it, and you don’t…” I gave him another stare; he seemed to understand my meaning.
“Alright,” He said shrugging uneasily.
I made a gesture. “After you.”
He stepped forward, as he pointed his pistol, and then lowered it. “Just a minute,” He said. “We need to switch guns. You made the Challenge. Plus, you’re Charlie Davis; your gun is obviously better than mine.”
I shrugged. “Fine by me.”
He took it from my hand, and stepping forward, aiming carefully, he fired. It was a miss. He began to sweat profusely.
Taking the gun I had switched with Clyde, I repeated the process he had gone through. Releasing a breath, I fired.
Crash. There was a sound of shattering glass; my bullet had met its target. Clyde collapsed to his knees. “Please Charlie! Don’t- I didn’t-“
“Stand up Clyde, you lost!” I shouted.
A look of rage filled his face. He sprang to his feet, and fired my pistol at me. I fell backwards to the ground clutching my chest.
Suddenly from two opposing alleyways ran Mathew and Zeke, each aiming a gun at Clyde. Sam covered Clyde’s men. “Drop it Clyde, hands up!” Mathew shouted, his one arm bandaged.
Clyde dropped his weapon, and Sam rounded him and his men up. Mathew, Sam, and Zeke came over to look at me. “Chuck?” Mathew said softly, bending over me.
I sprang to my feet. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”
Sam looked confused. “But, how did-“
I walked over and picked up the revolver Clyde had used, and popped it open showing the contents in the chamber. “It was filled with blanks,” I said.
Sam looked relieved. “Whew, for a second I was worried you were risking the town on your accuracy!”
“Well, that probably wouldn’t have been much of a problem, it was his accuracy I was worried about. Besides, I knew he was likely to try a stunt like he just did.”
Zeke clapped me on the back, and I shook Sam’s hand. It was a warm, friendly shake. From then on, I always considered him to be a friend. As we walked, Mathew turned to me, and asked, “So, where did you get those blanks?”
I found them in the saddle of that mule. Figured it must have belonged to an actor previously.”
“You gonna keep it?”
“Sure thing. Right where it belongs.” I patted my holster, and we started for home.
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