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Living With A Gun
A&E Section
By Slade Colter
Cole woke up cold with all the blankets and an extra quilt up around his neck. The sun wasn’t out yet, and he had no idea what time it was. Under his breath he muttered a curse about moving to Yuma for the warmth. He kept moving south to escape the cold.
He reluctantly climbed out of bed and threw some work clothes on. Striking a match and looking at his silver Waltham pocket watch revealed the time to be 6 a.m. He thought that as long as he was up, he might as well get a head start on some work.
Cole lit another match and brought the oil lamp to life. It filled the pitch-black hotel room with a dim yellow glow and he adjusted the wick length to provide more light. Disassembling his six-shooter, Cole cleaned the parts of black powder residue from the previous day’s altercation. As he scrubbed the soapy water through the barrel it occurred to him how close he was to ending up in jail.
A man had come to town looking for him. Apparently, he did a building-to-building search until he finally found Cole eating a meal in the hotel restaurant. With a Rebel yell, the stranger rushed in with guns blazing. Cole had just put a forkful of roasted chicken in his mouth. The assailant’s anger got the best of him, and he missed every shot.
Cole did not.
As the attacker lay on the floor, bleeding from the five bullet wounds he received, he croaked out “You killed my brother.” Calmly reloading the Schofield, Cole considered putting another bullet between his eyes, but everyone in the restaurant was staring at him. The irritation he felt at the foolish aggressor was quickly replaced by fear. The Sheriff would be here shortly. This situation will bring more attention to Cole, and he sure didn’t need that. The Sheriff was already suspicious of his doings. Although Cole wasn’t wanted for anything in Arizona, Colorado had a dodger out on him, and it was only one state away. Any town lawman could find it if he dug deep enough.
Sighing, Cole managed to get three more bites of food down before the Sheriff arrived. The other patrons described the scene as self-defense; that Cole was justified in protecting himself. Cole told his side of the story, adding that he hadn't ever seen the man before. He didn't tell the Sheriff that the stranger looked a hell of a lot like Stump Juice Carter, a man he shot dead in New Mexico. It would appear old Stump Juice had vengeful kin.
Begrudgingly, the Sheriff let Cole go, but not before fixing him with a cold stare. The same stare that all lawdogs give him. The I know you are trouble and I want you out of my town stare.
As Cole reassembled and loaded the Schofield, he thought it might be time to put up his guns and settle down. He had a good deal of money saved. He could turn his life around. Maybe open a mercantile. Marry a nice woman and have a passel of kids. Be the pillar of the community.
Cole chuckled at the thought as he shrugged on his long black frock coat. He picked up his shotgun and checked to make sure it was loaded. The stage leaves Yuma in three hours and he had better to get to his hold-up spot.
Cole grinned and said under his breath, "There’s always time to consider going straight after robbing the stagecoach."
A&E Section
By Slade Colter
Cole woke up cold with all the blankets and an extra quilt up around his neck. The sun wasn’t out yet, and he had no idea what time it was. Under his breath he muttered a curse about moving to Yuma for the warmth. He kept moving south to escape the cold.
He reluctantly climbed out of bed and threw some work clothes on. Striking a match and looking at his silver Waltham pocket watch revealed the time to be 6 a.m. He thought that as long as he was up, he might as well get a head start on some work.
Cole lit another match and brought the oil lamp to life. It filled the pitch-black hotel room with a dim yellow glow and he adjusted the wick length to provide more light. Disassembling his six-shooter, Cole cleaned the parts of black powder residue from the previous day’s altercation. As he scrubbed the soapy water through the barrel it occurred to him how close he was to ending up in jail.
A man had come to town looking for him. Apparently, he did a building-to-building search until he finally found Cole eating a meal in the hotel restaurant. With a Rebel yell, the stranger rushed in with guns blazing. Cole had just put a forkful of roasted chicken in his mouth. The assailant’s anger got the best of him, and he missed every shot.
Cole did not.
As the attacker lay on the floor, bleeding from the five bullet wounds he received, he croaked out “You killed my brother.” Calmly reloading the Schofield, Cole considered putting another bullet between his eyes, but everyone in the restaurant was staring at him. The irritation he felt at the foolish aggressor was quickly replaced by fear. The Sheriff would be here shortly. This situation will bring more attention to Cole, and he sure didn’t need that. The Sheriff was already suspicious of his doings. Although Cole wasn’t wanted for anything in Arizona, Colorado had a dodger out on him, and it was only one state away. Any town lawman could find it if he dug deep enough.
Sighing, Cole managed to get three more bites of food down before the Sheriff arrived. The other patrons described the scene as self-defense; that Cole was justified in protecting himself. Cole told his side of the story, adding that he hadn't ever seen the man before. He didn't tell the Sheriff that the stranger looked a hell of a lot like Stump Juice Carter, a man he shot dead in New Mexico. It would appear old Stump Juice had vengeful kin.
Begrudgingly, the Sheriff let Cole go, but not before fixing him with a cold stare. The same stare that all lawdogs give him. The I know you are trouble and I want you out of my town stare.
As Cole reassembled and loaded the Schofield, he thought it might be time to put up his guns and settle down. He had a good deal of money saved. He could turn his life around. Maybe open a mercantile. Marry a nice woman and have a passel of kids. Be the pillar of the community.
Cole chuckled at the thought as he shrugged on his long black frock coat. He picked up his shotgun and checked to make sure it was loaded. The stage leaves Yuma in three hours and he had better to get to his hold-up spot.
Cole grinned and said under his breath, "There’s always time to consider going straight after robbing the stagecoach."