Excerpt,
From the Ashes
~*~
I was ready to dig into a second helping of beautiful fried eggs. Out on the street was a ruckus. I turned my head to see what it was. From right outside the door we heard a little boys’ voice, “Mr. Simpson! Mr. Simpson!”
We stood and one of our local youngsters, Billy, who knows everything, blasted through the door.
Winded, he yelled out again, “Mr. Simpson!”
Jim tried calming him down and asked, “What’s the commotion about?”
In his excitement all he could yell out was, “Johnny… aaaat ttttthhhe saaaaaalllloooon.”
Out the door we went. The Saloon Johnny normally attended was three doors down. Jim got through the door before me, all I heard was, “SON, NO, DON’T!”
Through the door I stopped, and not more than two feet in front of us, we witnessed Johnny enraged and grabbing at his six-shooter. Jim’s call out was enough to get Johnny’s attention and the gun slipped back into his holster.
Standing at the bar, the obvious target of Johnny’s rage, was a drifter. I say obvious because when an opportunity of a gunfight presents itself, those individuals who are not involved tend to maneuver in such a way to provide a clear path for those who are involved.
Now, I had written many accounts of shooters on the frontier, also witnessed a few first hand, I was sure this individual was a shooter. Calm, left hand on the bar, his right hand placed the beer he had just sipped, back on the counter. It was obvious Johnny intended to draw on him and shoot him in the back.
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From the Ashes,
DMK