The Showdown

2007-01-31T16:59:00.001-08:00

The townspeople of Rhyolite were gathered, compressed in tight small groups. There was none of the hustle and bustle usually felt in this active little mining town. No smiling or bidding good day to one another. A front row seat to watch the death of one of it’s town members was no chatting matter. Only the chime of the spurs of the two men squaring off in the dusty road in front of them filled the air. On the Southern end of town stood Jefe, the town blacksmith, beloved by all. He had shod many a horse in his time and was an asset to the town, always there to lend a helping hand. To the North, Lee, the town bartender not quite as beloved but continually willing to lend an ear and share some advice. Formerly best friends, their love of a woman had torn them apart. Mesa Marsha, the most successful Madam this side of the Mississippi, had promised them each her heart. Neither of them knew, or cared, that her heart had been given away many, many times before. Her talents so tantalized them that they could no longer see logic. The death of the other was the only escape they could understand.

Lee could feel the weight of the holster at his side. He knew the workings of his Frontier Six-shooter inside and out. He knew of no other man who could whip it out as fast as he could. His focus was on the target in front of him. A formidable foe, Lee knew that Jefe wasn’t as fast as he was, but his aim was better. He concentrated on what he knew he needed to do. Only fifty feet in front of him was an opportunity for death to snare another victim. Would that victim be Jefe or would it be himself. Something broke his concentration. The yapping dog of Miss Asplund, the new school teacher, resounded in his ear. The dog broke free from her grasp and ran to Lee’s feet. Snarling and yipping, the pomeranian tore at his ankles. Lee kicked the dog and it flew in the air and landed in a clump, a broken mass of bones and fur. Miss Asplund cried out and tried to run to her pet, but the local store owner held her back, “It’s not safe,” he whispered in her ear.

Undaunted by his competitor’s ferociousness, Jefe growled, “It’s time to pick on somethin’ your own size.” He took a step forward and looked to his left. There stood Mesa Marsha. She gave him a lazy smile of encouragement and adjusted her skirt slowly, lifting her petticoats well above her ankle. Oh what a treasure she was to him. He looked back towards his competitor and didn’t notice her shift to bend over to towards Lee and give him a wink. The cruel vixen didn’t care who won. She’d been through this before and knew that months or weeks from now another man would challenge the victor to a duel.

The clock rang it’s first toll. A memory flashed through Lee’s mind of the old cattle herding days when he and Jefe would ride the range for weeks at a time. Jefe, a seasoned cowboy from Minnesota, had been Lee’s first friend on the job. The son of Mormon pioneers, Lee was used to hard work and his practicality and dry wit made them fast friends, a friendship that would never again be rekindled.

The bells rang out again. Two more rings and it would all be over. Jefe could feel nothing but rage and betrayal. The two men had come out to Nevada in search of gold and had found nothing but strife.

A third time they rang. Miss Asplund whimpered a sob into the arms of the store owner.

Four tolls. Shots filled the air. One of Mesa Marsha’s girl’s screamed. When the dust finally settled, the townspeople looked to see a victor. The horizon was blank. Neither man had survived. Jefe had been shot through the heart and had only one chance to look upon Mesa Marsha before he fell to the ground. Lee was not as lucky, Jefe’s notorious aim had splattered much of his head to the ground below and he died when the bullet met his brain.

The people of Rhyolite stood for a minute and one by one slowly turned away. Unsettled, they had hoped to be entertained, but instead found the cold hard facts of life. The last person remaining shed a tear. Mesa Marsha wept at her unfulfilling legacy of fun and debauchery. Tonight for the first time in twenty years, she would sleep alone.

All Frills and No Knickers

The Showdown