Jingle

The jingle of his spurs announces his presence. He is a specter from hell. He slams the dutch door into me when he sees me carrying the heavy brass spittoon outside to dump it. Swaggering to the bar he drops a coin onto its sticky surface.

I retrieve the mop from behind the bar and smear the spillage out into a fan shape. In a few minutes no one will notice the brown stain that will match he rest of the floor.

"A bottle of 100 proof Louisville amber, no switching my booze unless you want to die."

The barkeep sets a new bottle on the bar, picks up the gold coin and tests it with his teeth.

"You will like this it is the best whiskey any where out west."

"I want a woman! Who is around that is sober enough to service a real man's needs?

I knew the answer to that question. My ma is the only one who isn't sleeping off the hell of this life.

The barkeep yelled "Mary, get your ass down here now. A real man needs servicing."

When she came down she cringed when she saw who her customer was to be.

He grabbed her long walnut colored hair and jerked her to her knees.

"Do me here Bitch!"

Old Clem the teamster was passed out with his face on the table, his gun butt was sticking out so my nine year old hand had no trouble removing it from his holster. I held the gun out of sight until I was close enough not to miss.

Bam, bam, six times it belched flame and smoke. He slid to his knees saying, "Didn't know the little bastard had it in him."

In a few seconds the evil had transferred itself from the dead man to me, something I will have to live with for the few short years I will have left.

"Did you see, that? The Sweetwater kid just shot Vicious Vern dead in his tracks."