Grant Guy writes

Mothers Could Be the Death of You

Billy meant no harm when he said,

         "Your momma swears louder than a woodpecker."

He was not even referring to the mother of the shootist who had rode into town only ten minutes before. He was talking about the mother of Freddie Hubband, the apprentice undertaker. But the shootist thought Billy was talking about his mother. He swirled Billy around like a top and said,

         "We're takin’ it out ta the street."

Without the pause, and before his words had dried in the hot Arizona air, the shootist was on his way to the street.

         "No man lives ta insult my momma," the shootist said without looking back.

The saloon doors swung closed behind him.

Billy had never strapped on a holster before. Nor did he want to begin now. 

         "I just ain't goin'. He can start without me."

Billy crossed his arms in front of him as he perched himself up on a bar stool. But immediately someone lifted his one hundred and forty pound body off the stool and strapped a holster around his waist. Someone else was pushing him out the door. He called out to Freddie to help. Freddie had disappeared out the back door. Billy dug his heels into the floor so hard he cut grooves in it.

Billy was soon out the door and he was heaved out onto the street. He landed on his hands and knees. Stayed frozen where he landed.

         "Get up ya mangy piece of turd or ya'll die there."

Billy slowly struggled to his feet. His limbs shook. Billy nervously stepped further toward the centre of the street.

         "I'll let ya draw first," the shootist yelled.

Billy could already smell his death. He reached for the gun in the holster. His fingers trembled and the gun tumbled to the ground. He stooped for it. A bullet burst a cloud of dust just beyond the useless gun. Billy jerked his arm back. He stood straight, looking at the man who was about to kill him.

The shootist fired a second shot. If Billy wasn't too busy pissing and shitting his pants he would have heard the bullet whiz past his left ear.

The shootist snorted,

         “What a poor excuse fer a man”.

The shootist holstered his Colt and walked back into the saloon.

Freddie Hubband looked out from behind the curtain of the undertaker’s. He wondered if Billy and he would still be friends in the morning.

Billy remained motionless on the street for a couple of minutes before he walked stiffly back to his shack behind the barbershop. He borrowed the barber’s tub to wash himself off.

"Mothers everywhere, go ta hell," Billy cursed. "An’ leave me alone."

 

The Gunfight --Roger Payne