Ot- So much for a quiet evening --Fiction

[Doc Hudson]

As I made my way to the Double Eagle, Perry and the deputies rode past me toward the livery stable at the other end of town. I stopped at the water pump in front of Stevenson’s Mercantile long enough for a deep drink. I then washed my face and knocked off some dust before going on to the saloon.

When I entered the Double Eagle, there were a dozen or more customers already there. Some were taking advantage of the free lunch counter and others had already begun an evening of cards. I knew nearly all the customers and was on friendly terms with most of them. A flashy gambler, named Thorpe, and I exchanged sour looks as I headed toward the bar.

“What’ll ya have Deputy Williams? You look a might hot and thirsty.” said the Bartender.

“What’s cold Sam?” I asked.

“We got some bottled beer on ice if that will do?” Sam replied.

“That will do for a start Sam. While you are at it, bring a bottle of good bourbon and a glass with the beer. And send your swamper down to Kimbrell’s and get me a dinner plate. Have him tell Ma Kimbrell to put it on my bill.”

“Comin’ right up Evan.”

I nearly went to my customary corner table, but decided to stand at the bar instead. I figured that I would probably drink less if I stood to do it. Besides, I figured that I could see trouble coming in the backbar mirror just as easy as by direct observation. I was right.


As Sam brought my beer and bottle, two of my cardplaying friends approached me. J. A. Browder and Clinton Bass were partners in a small freight and express company, they were also pretty fair cribbage players.

J. A. Asked, “Are you alright Evan?”

“Yes,” Clinton added. “We saw your horse trot into town alone and were worried about you. It was us that told Sheriff Owens that your horse was back without you.”

Not wanting to retell the day’s events, even to friend, I was evasive and a bit brusque. “Ol’ Beau was in a hurry to get back to town and I wasn’t. So, I let him come in ahead of me.”

Not being dummies, J. A. and Clinton got the message and went back to their two-handed cribbage game. I started my cold beer.

About the time I was half-finished with my beer, I saw two scruffy looking saddletramps enter the saloon. I watched in the mirror as they made a beeline to Thorpe’s table. I said to myself, “If that’s not trouble brewing, I’m a Dutchman.” I slowly moved my hand to my holstered Colt .44-40, removed the “retreat strap” and lifted the pistol about half an inch to make sure it was free in the holster. I also made sure that nothing was in the way of drawing the Merwin Hulbert Pocket Army revolver I carried in my left front pocket. With those precautions complete, all I could do was wait and hope that I was wrong.

Trouble began as I poured my first shot of bourbon.


Thorpe and his cronies started laughing loudly and pointing at me. I started to boil, but I held my place and acted as if I didn’t notice their antics. When I failed to react, Thorpe stood on his chair and shouted.

“Hey everybody! Have you heard about the latest exploit of our heroic Sheriff Owens’ high priced Deputy? He was sent out this morning to rescue a stolen dog and arrest old Jack Franklin for dog stealing.”

Nearly everyone in the saloon chuckled at Thorpe’s recitation. They waited for more to come.

“But that ain’t all folks. Mr. Bigshot Deputy Williams didn’t bring back the dog.” More chuckles. “He didn’t even bring back skinny, little old rummy Jack Franklin. In fact, Deputy Williams lost his horse and would have gotten eat by Jack’s hog if Jack hadn’t rescued him”

The barroom erupted with raucous laughter. I inwardly seethed with rage, but outwardly I maintained a poker face and calmly sipped my whiskey. I knew the next step would come soon. I did not have long to wait.

Goaded by my apparent calm, Thorpe jumped off his chair and approached me, flanked by his cronies. I continued to give the appearance of ignoring them. The stopped almost within arms reach before Thorpe spoke again.

“Well Deputy Williams,” barked Thorpe. “What do you have to say about my little tidbit of news?”

Slowly, I finished my drink and turned to face them.

“Your details are off a trifle,” I drawled, “but the basic facts are near enough to right that I can’t fault your information.” Finished, I turned back toward the bar and reached for my bottle. I could see Thorpe’s face contort with murderous rage.

“I thought you were supposed to be some sort of gunfighter, or do you just wear that pistol on your belt for decoration?” Thorpe sneered.

“You mean this old Colt? Hell Thorpe, this is just a working rig. When I want to get decorative, I wear a fancy gunbelt and holster I had Heiser make up for me. It has silver conchos and buckles. And I carry a silverplated and engraved .45 Colt that the Union Pacific railroad gave me for busting up a train robbery gang.”

“Dammit Williams!” roared Thorpe. “Are you going to use that pistol or am I going to take it away and beat your head in with it?”


With an air of icy calm, I turned and examined Thorpe and his companions. One, a short stocky man with a patch on his right eye stood leaning on the bar to my left. He was within arms reach of me. The other was a tall skinny fellow with a hard looking face stood on my extreme right about four feet away. He wore a Smith & Wesson American revolver in a tight holster hanging low on his right hip. Thorpe in all his sartorial splendor was in the middle. His low crowned black Stetson sat at a rakish angle. The neat black broadcloth frockcoat was swept back to reveal both a fancy waistcoat and a pair of nickel plated Remington revolvers in fancy carved holsters. As I looked him over, Thorpe smiled and gave his up swept moustaches a twist. The bastard was very confident.

“Since it looks like nothing will do you boys but a fight, I guess I’ll have to accommodate you. Since it is one against three, I doubt I’ll have much of a chance.” They all grinned wolfishly and the other customers began to clear the lines of fire.

“Mind if I have a final drink before we start this show?” I asked meekly.

“Go ahead.” Said Thorpe with confidence. “No one can say I refused a man’s last request.”

“Thanks.” I said. “That’s mighty decent of you Thorpe.”

Without turning away, I slid the bottle and glass around. I took the glass in my right hand and poured with my left. When I finished, I sat the bottle on the bar, but left my hand on it. I lifted the glass in toast and with a small half bow said, “Salud!”

Thorpe bowed slightly in return.

As I lifted the glass to my lips, a flick of my wrist sent the whiskey into the skinny hombre’s face. At the same time, my left hand smashed the whiskey bottle into “Shorty’s” right temple. Shorty hit the floor in a heap.

With a startled expression, Thorpe started to claw for his pistols. Before he had them half out of their holsters, my .44 Colt roared. My shot took Thorpe right in the center of his chest. His eyes glazed and he fell onto a table behind him. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Skinny. He was wiping his eyes with one hand and dragging iron with the other. I snapped a shot at him, which hit his right shoulder at the joint. His arms sagged and Skinny collapsed holding his shoulder.

Back on my left, Shorty was trying to pull himself off the floor by grasping the bar with both hands. A gentle application of my pistol barrel to his right temple put him back on the floor. I relieved both Shorty and Skinny of their sidearms.

The swinging doors flew open with a crash and I spun to face a new threat with my Colt in one hand and Shorty’s Hopkins & Allen Army model in the other. Perry, Jim Houck, and George Nimitz charged in with guns drawn. The sight of me standing there with two guns, surrounded by the fallen caused them to pull up short. Sam’s swamper peeped around the doorjamb behind them. All of them stared open-mouthed at the carnage.

Lowering my guns with a chuckle, I said, “darn! You boys must be powerfully thirsty to be in such a rush.”


I laughed with relief. Relief that I had survived a one against three fight, and relief that I had redeemed myself in my own eyes. These weeks of walking softly and ignoring snubs and insults without answering had worn my self-respect thin. This day’s events had just about destroyed what was left. Meeting and mastering Thorpe and his cronies had restored my wounded pride and self-respect. Now I could go back to following Perry’s policy of avoiding conflict for a while longer. Everyone knew that the old dog could still bite.

[KirkD]

I enjoyed the read!

[Chris83716]

Patiently waiting for the third installment. Keep up the good work Doc.

Thanks

Chris

[madman4570]

Doc,
You are one heck of a good writer. I really liked this one too.
A great read! Thanks! You have the gift!

[Borregos]

Enjoyed it, keep writing

[Dave B]

Thanks for the ending to your great story, I was looking forward to it.

Dave B

[kimwcook]

Can't wait for the next installment.

[ceb]

Patiently waiting for the third installment.

Dang, did I nap a bit too long, where is the first. Great Writing, that was a fun read.

[Doc Hudson]

Patiently waiting for the third installment.

Dang, did I nap a bit too long, where is the first. Great Writing, that was a fun read.

Not exactly the start of the story, but the first chapter i posted is here: http://www.levergunscommunity.com/viewt ... =1&t=27197