Chapter 1 of book 4 - Buell

CHAPTER 1

I stared into the muzzle of the stubby pistol. Over the top of the barrel, the terrified eyes of my best friend blinked rapidly as he took careful aim. ****. I’m as good as dead and I don’t know why.

I knew the gambler was a cheat. I’d been watching him all evening and had done the same thing twice during the past week. And he was good. There wasn’t a mark of any kind on the decks of cards we’d been using and I’d looked real close. But I knew he was crooked. Trouble was, Simon didn’t believe it, and that irritated the hell out of me. Always slow to get riled up, Simon would give the devil himself a place in the shade.
Simon Steele. We’ve been friends since I was old enough to know what a friend was. When he’d decided to leave home in Nebraska, I came along. I suppose the fact that the sheriff was real interested in me had a little to do with it, but mostly, I just wanted out. That was five years ago, in 1868. We wound up at a whorehouse saloon just outside Fort Laramie in Wyoming Territory. Amos McCaffrey, the man who owned it, hired Simon to run the place. And Simon made a real success of what had been almost a pigsty when we arrived. And me? I’m Buell Mace. Amos hired me the same time he’d hired Simon. Actually, it was the day before. Matter of fact, he hired me as soon as he’d seen what I could do with this .44 Remington I have hanging on my right hip. Hired me to keep the peace and here I stand about to take a bullet in my head.

I’d finally seen all the cheating I could stomach and two minutes ago had called the bastard’s hand. I knew he had four Kings and I know that was the best hand at the table. He’d done exactly the same thing at least three times before. And always when the pot was big enough to double or triple the money he’d lost setting the suckers up. I’d called him and he’d tried his luck one last time. Now he lay dead on the floor, his legs all tangled up in his chair and Simon was about to do something stupid.
I don’t know why it is but in a situation like this, it seems we have all the time in the world. I noticed the smoke from my two shots still hung in the air. The smell of it struck me as pleasant, as it always did. There were three others at the table besides Simon, the cheat, and me. Two seemed to be struck dumb and the third was crawling as fast as he could toward the front door. Why he was crawling seemed a reasonable question but somehow, right at this moment, not a very important one.

Then Simon’s pistol moved away from my face and pointed off to my right, toward the bar. I realized then what was going to happen and suddenly things were no longer happening in slow motion. Matter of fact, things were happening way too fast.
“No, Simon. Don’t!” But I know I’m too late.
The pistol shoots sparks and flame and the slap of the concussion hits my face. Gawdamnit, he’s just shot the bartender and the scattergun Twiggs always had handy was unloaded. I know. I’d emptied it the night before. Twiggs had always smiled a lot and not just when he heard a good joke or when one of the girls stroked his face with a perfumed hand. He smiled all the time. And I can’t trust a man who does that. My suspicions had just been confirmed.
I turned, ears ringing like a June church bell, and saw Twiggs slump between the pump handles on the bar. And he stuck there, the shotgun clattering onto the floor the other side. Dead eyes stared back as a trickle of blood run down his face and onto the bar. Simon’s shot had lifted a small chuck of scalp off Twiggs’ head, right at the hairline. I looked back at the others.
Amos stood with his hands on his hips, looking at me. I know what he’s thinking. I’ve developed quit a reputation with the U. S Army and they’re not going to be happy about another dustup here at the saloon. Matter of fact, the snooty Provost will be looking to hang somebody. And Simon. My gawd, he looks like a drowned pup. Oh, well, I’ve been thinking about leaving anyway.

“I’ll help ya out, Amos.”
Really, it’s simple enough. Simon had shot in self-defense but the Provost was going to make him uncomfortable for it just the same. Sonsabitchin’ Army. My front sight settled on Twiggs’ pale forehead and then the scene disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
All the color drained from Simon’s face.
“It wasn’t loaded,” I said.
“What? What’s not?” Amos looked perplexed.
I could see Simon was about to lose control. “I unloaded his shotgun, Simon. Last night. You didn’t have to shoot.”
Simon’s face twisted in a grimace and his eyes glazed over. “I’ve become you,” he said.
I thought he was going to cry.
“I’m just like you.” Simon he slumped onto a chair and his pistol clunked to the floor.
“We’re gonna have a hard time explaining this to the Army,” Amos said.
I looked at him. I’d always liked this squat no-nonsense man. He reminded me a lot of my pa. “Tell the Provost I did it. He’ll believe you. Matter of fact, he’ll want to.” I dropped my pistol back into the holster and looked at Simon. It was obvious there wasn’t a lot I could do for him right now. The Army would be here in a hurry. Someone would go tell, no doubt about that. I glanced at what was left of Twiggs. The .44 had done its job. I nodded at Amos and left. What I need now is a good head start, but to where?

Clouder..

[griz]

Sounds like a good 'un, clouder. I like that "first person" style.

As always very interesting read clouder. The first person style is working quite well so far.

[SouthernMoss]

Enjoyed it, Clouder. It reaches out and grabs you right off the bat.

Once again in the 10 ring, my friend.

I gave the competition a few more specifics to find this.


swede

[pickenup]

Keep em commin, even if it is ONLY enough to wet the whistle.

my whisle it wet


more more more

I want to hear about the whorehouse part

[Gunfyter]

A new Zane Grey in the making?

[Smokin Guns]

but once again...where is the part about Smokin Guns...?...

[Shooter45]

I came back here expecting Chapter II and all I find are comments.

Lookin good Clouder. Keep goin.