One Bullet Left

One Bullet Left

  By John Martyn

  Quarter Store Books, Acworth, GA

  Copyright 2013 John Martin

  The Riata Gang; notorious for simple rebel rousing and basically being a nuisance. One night they went too far. Now someone is killing them one at a time. Only two remain alive.

  One Bullet Left

  All it took was one wrong look, just a one eyed stare full of hate.

  “What d’ya think you’re starin’ at, one-eye?”  At least once a week Jethro Blackthorn and his cousin Jeb had the same fight.  One of them would get all liquored up and start razzing the other, who was just as drunk. A predictable argument that always ended in the same way: a fight between cousins.  The Deputy Sheriff would humiliate himself in the process of breaking it up and then send them home to sleep it off. The folks in that small town didn’t seem to mind, they just saw it as free entertainment.

  Jeb didn’t answer, but continued with his one eyed gaze of discontent.

  “Now tell me,” Jethro chuckled as he looked around at the audience that had begun to gather.  “I’ve been curious,” he looked around again for effect, “What do you do if somebody asks you to keep an eye on somethin’?”  The ever-increasing crowd laughed.  Jethro turned toward the bar and leaned on it.  He knew how to play the gathering crowd. “Tell ya’ what,” he looked around again, “seein’ as you work at the post office,” he smiled, “I’m 'spectin’ a package, so why don’t you keep an EYE out for me and let me know when it gets here.”  The sound of the crowd’s laughter began to rise.  “Of course,” he cleared his throat, peeking over his shoulder, and smiled as he shrugged while holding his arms in the air by his side, “you won’t be able to watch for anybody else’s mail…‘cause you ain’t got but one eye!”

  The crowd roared in laughter, while Jeb stared, fire in his eye and fists balled as he stood on the edge of erupting into a fit of rage.  To him, Jethro had gone too far, crossed the line, stepped into the one topic that he knew Jeb would respond to.  He had enough and wasn’t going to sit back and keep quiet about it any longer.  The crowd’s anticipation rose to a new peak as the realization that a physical altercation was imminent.  He rose from his stool and staggered.  A slight rumble rose from the crowd and continued to grow.

  Jeb slammed his hands onto the bar and yelled at a level that made it difficult to understand. “NOW LOOK!”  He took a deep breath and shook his finger at his witty cousin, and then continued in a lower, more audible tone, “I done told you, I don’t like nobody jokin’ me about my bad eye.”  He stumbled a few steps closer.  “You know I lost it during the war.  Heck, we all lost somethin’ in that war.  Shoot,” he shrugged, “we’re lucky to even be alive.”

  “Calm down, ya’ sensitive drunk.  I’m just joshin’ ya’ a little.”

  “No you ain’t,” he pointed as he staggered closer.  “You know how much of a sore spot my bad eye is.  You just wanted to get my goat.”

  “Yeah, I know it’s a sore spot for ya’ Jeb,” Jethro hung his head, “and I’m sorry you got a bad eye.”

  Jeb, still swaying, came closer, breathing heavily staring at Jethro; his expression started to change. “Okay,” he smiled, “I guess it’s just the liquor talkin’.  I can’t never stay mad at you anyway.”  As he walked back to his seat, everyone noticed that his swagger was a little more composed as if he were trying to harbor some form of dignity.  He tripped over his own feet, stumbled a little and bumped into a man sitting at the bar.

  No one seemed to notice the man before Jeb bumped into him.  But when he was finally noticed, everyone later remembered that he seemed oblivious to his surroundings.  He just sat there and stared at the wall.  Jeb apologized and the man still didn’t move.

  The town’s deputy sheriff leaned against the bar and had been monitoring the situation, enjoying the show as much as anyone and giving the two men a little leeway for the sake of entertainment.  He intended to put a stop to all this nonsense before it went too far, as it often did.  The deputy caught Jeb before he reached the ground, smiled and shook his head as he put Jeb back onto the stool.  His eyes caught the quiet stranger and the expression on his face changed.  After studying the stranger for a moment, who continued to stare into the wall behind the bar, nursing his drink and ignoring his surroundings, the deputy returned his attention to the drunken cousins.  “You two have had enough.  Go on home and sleep it off.”

  “Awe, c’mon deputy,” Jethro replied, “I was just havin’ a little fun with him.”

  “Well, that’s all good, but enough is enough, Jethro.  Get your stuff, pay the bar keep and go home.”

  “Okay, your right.”  As Jethro walked toward the door he stopped to look at his cousin.  “I wasn’t really talkin’ about your bad eye,” he smiled and changed his tone as he prepared to run, “I was talkin’ about your good one.”  As he said this he ran for the door.  The crowd in the bar erupted into laughter.

  It took a moment or two for Jethro’s comment to sink in before Jeb reacted.  “WHY YOU...” Jeb lunged at his cousin but bumped into two men on the way.  Those two men bumped into two or three others and everyone involved spilled the contents in their mugs on several people nearby.  Words were shouted and punches were thrown.  Those who weren’t involved with the immediate incident found the situation amusing until the fight that ensued had reached them.  Within minutes every person in the bar, with the exception of two men, was involved in an all out brawl.

  To say that two men weren’t involved in the fight was not completely true because the deputy stood neck deep in his attempts to stop the brawl. The other, the stranger that had been bumped into just minutes before continued to sit in his stool, staring, oblivious to his surroundings.

  The deputy, in his attempt to bring order to the situation was being tossed, pushed and knocked around.  He even had to duck a couple of punches when he stood still for too long trying to catch his breath.  Standing still during a fight made you a target in a brawl, especially in the frontier west.  The only person in that particular fight who seemed unaffected by this unwritten rule was the stranger at the bar.

  Fighting his way through the crowd, the deputy found the two feuding cousins, the initiators of the chaos.  They were too drunk to even make their own fight look real.  Swinging and missing each other, while almost falling over with each attempt to connect with the face of the other.  The deputy grabbed them by their collars and threw them outside.  “I said go home!”  He bent over and placed his hands on his thighs in order to catch his breath, “And sleep it off!”  He stood, sighed, dusted himself off and stomped back inside.

  On his way back in he had to duck a shot glass, a couple of bottles, a chair and a few more punches.  He found a table in a relatively safe area and stood on it in order to see everyone and be seen by everyone.  He shook his head as he drew his pistol, fired one shot into the air and yelled with his best authoritative voice, “THAT’S ENOUGH!”  All eyes turned to him as he continued, “Every one of ya’ get out of here before I arrest the whole lot of ya’.”  The crowd continued to stare in wonder.  “I mean it,” he said as pointed his pistol into the air and fired once more.  “NOW, GET!”

  With the echo of the deputy’s gun ringing in their ears, most of the crowd exited with extreme haste.  A few men stayed thinking that they could finish the card game so the deputy drafted them to clean up the mess.

  Noticing that he had worked up a thirst, the deputy went over to the bar to get a glass of water.  As he sat in the stool, he noticed that the stranger that he had seen before still hadn’t moved.  Now that, he thought, is even strange for a stranger.  He studied the stranger for a moment before
asking for the water.

  Slowly the owner of the place stood up from behind the bar and looked around to make sure that the coast was clear before he began cleaning up the mess that was all over the counter in front of him.  The stranger still didn’t move or even seem to notice what was going on. The deputy continued to study the man with great suspicion.

  He was a regular looking man.  Although there were no scars, bad eyes or anything that would make him appear that he may be an outlaw, something seemed amiss.  He even had all of his teeth.  That was strange in those parts for anyone.  He hadn’t shaved for a while, but, who had?  Like many other travelers that went through that town, he wore a hat and a duster, but the deputy still had some sense that something was odd about him, other than his behavior, or course.  He looked like just another nomad, traveling across the plains, but his hat and duster were mighty clean for such a traveler.  Too clean.  As a matter of fact, they looked new.

  The stranger pulled back his duster to reach in his pocket, pulled out a single gold coin, tossed it on the bar and got up to leave.  The coin or the way the man left without saying anything didn't bother the deputy, but the shiny new pearl handled silver six-shooter the man had on him