Birds of a Feather

“C’mon, just grab it” Raylan muttered softly as sat hunched behind a stack of spent whiskey barrels just off of the side of Martel’s only saloon. He reached to his side and slid his Peace Makers out of their holsters, slowly shifting his gaze from the porch of the General Store to the cylinders of each of his .45 long colt revolvers. He took a deep breath and tugged the brim of his hat down slightly to shield his eyes from the hot Nevada sun.
The shopkeeper brushed his broom from side to side, clearing the covered porch of debris dragged in by his patrons and passerby’s . As he was nearing the edge of the porch, he cocked his head and started walking toward something that he knew didn’t belong to his store.
Raylan saw the shopkeepers attention shift and began to move across the cover .
“What in tarnation…” the shopkeeper proclaimed, as he spied the wooden doll with a painted face, laying on the deck. He looked up and scanned the main street of Martel, seeing only the normal townspeople going about their business. He pushed his hat up onto his head and wiped his brow. “ I guess you’re going inside.” He said.
As he lifted the doll, what he didn’t see was the fine strand that was attached that rolled around the corner of the store that snapped and the sequence of mechanical events that followed as he headed into the shop with his newfound treasure.
Raylan hustled toward the main street and paused just before emerging into view, eagerly waiting for his plan to unfold.
As if orchestrated, majestic white birds started emerging from the alley, one or two at first, stealing the attention of the passerby’s, after 7 or 8 poured out into the main street, the people were murmuring, putting off their business to see what all the fuss was about. By the time all 14 pelicans had wandered from the confines of the box they were stashed in on to the main strip, the town was in an uproar. Barbers put down their shears, cowboys put down their beers, and they started gathering around the birds that seemed to mysteriously appear out of nowhere.
“What kinda bird is that?” was spoken. “ Whats a pelicut?” another asked. “ That’s a PE-LI-CAN” another voiced chimed. The clamor finally aroused the attention of Sherriff Mozzely.
The distraction had worked and as Raylan saw the Sherriff heading toward the crowd, he started making his way toward the Sherriff’s office. Nobody seemed to notice him as he slid from building to building and to the doors of the law. He pulled out his six shooters and burst through the swinging doors, leveling his guns across the room with hammers drawn, scanning for any sign of movement. Finding no one, he holstered his guns, and quickly started searching the office. Pushing aside papers and small bottles of snake oil, he frantically moved around the office. Panic started to build, and his distraction wouldn’t keep the Sherriff at bay for long.
“Relax Raylan,” he reminded himself . As he steadied, he made his way to the cellar stairs where the evidence lock up was located. He took the stairs slowly and quietly, each step of his boot raising a little more dust, the stairs moaning in protest to his invasion. He braced his hands on the door as he poised himself to kick it in, when the door gave way to the weight of his hands and slowly creaked open. The air was dry and musty, as bits of light shone through the floor, tearing through the dust that he had raised since invading the building. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw what he had come for.
The Sherriff pushed his way through the bustling crowd, offering Lawmen words like “Just calm down folks” and “ I’ll take care of this,” as he broke through he final ring that had formed around the birds. Mozzley couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
”This is Nevada, there’s no sea birds here” he thought . He hadn’t seen a seabird since he lived in California, a different life, back before the law was his way.
Back when… and then it all happened, in his mind, as if in a dream. He saw the beach where he had killed the girl, for a measly 14 pieces of silver. His head started to spin, the voices all blended into one collective droning sound, as he slowly had the presence to start counting the birds. He knew what the answer was before he started counting, but the sheer disbelief of the events made him count anyway. They were raising their heads, cawing at him. He snapped out of his trance and spun around, scanning the crowd.
“RAYLAN!” he yelled manically. He pushed his way through the crowd, running toward the station, slowed by puzzled townsfolk looking for answers.
He fumbled for his gun as he charged in, wildly gazing around. He dashed for the cellar stairs, his boot heels sliding off of the steps as he skated down them clumsily, barely maintaining to stand. He raised his gun and rounded the doorway leading to his storage room.
Raylan shot out of the darkness and drove a knife into the Sherrif’s chest. Mozzley reared back against the wall of the evidence room and collapsed, gasping for breath.
“ Never expected I’d find you, huh?” Raylan asked, not caring for the answer.
He opened up the locket that bore a picture of he and his wife before closing it and putting in his pocket.
“ Raylan, please,” the Sherriff choked.
A shot rang out, cracking sharply in the warm Nevada air. As the townsfolk whirled to find its source, 14 startled pelicans took flight, confusing things further. Raylan Dumont walked quietly out of town.


Cramp 988 words
14 Pelicans| Western
Roland Bontempo