A
young boy named JD grew restless in the city. A boy filled with
wanderlust he really meant no harm.
+ + + + + + +
JD
Dunne was finally in the West. The stagecoach ride had been long and
he was hot, tired and dusty...but he was in the West.
"Four
Corners."
His
ears perked up. This wasn't his stop, but somehow it just seemed
right. His right hand reached down and caressed the Colt Lightning on
his hip. His mother had bought him the matching pair for his
fourteenth birthday. They were his prized possession. He knew how
much his mother had had to save to buy them. He wasn't supposed to
take them off the mansion grounds. He could still hear her words,
loud in his head, like she was still here. "Don't take your guns
to town, son. Leave your guns at home, JD. Don't take your guns to town."
He
could still remember his response. He'd laughed and kissed his mom
and said, "Your JD's the man. I can shoot as quick and straight
as anybody can. But I wouldn't shoot without a cause, I'd gun nobody down."
He
grimaced. It felt odd to have the guns on his hips, in plain view of
God and everyone. His ma wouldn't have liked that. But, his ma was
dead now. The guns were the epitome of everything he wasn't supposed
to do. He was supposed to go to college, not come west. He wasn't
supposed to carry the guns, not in public anyway. But, he was in the
West now...and you carried guns in the West. He'd read the dime store novels.
Besides,
there wasn't enough money for school.
So
here he was, in the West.
He
felt the stagecoach coming to a stop. He jumped off before the
wheels even stopped turning. He looked around, taking in the sights
and sounds of the town. To his left was a saloon, most of the noise
seemed to be coming from there.
His
guns hung at his hips. He reached down and felt the ivory grips of
his Colts; just reassuring himself that they were there, if he needed them.
He
pushed his way through the batwing doors. He looked around, this was
his first saloon. A red-coated gambler held court on a raised surface
to his left. A long haired man and a menacing looking man dressed in
black sat at a corner table, quietly talking. A black man and a huge
bear of a man were seated at a table to his right; both looked up and
gave him an appraising glance, then went back to their conversation.
JD
walked up to the bar, where a tall man with a black mustache was
flirting with the pretty dark haired bartender, and laid his money down.
His
mother's words echoed in his head. "Don't take your guns to
town, son. Leave your guns at home, JD. Don't take your guns to town."
He
drank his first strong liquor then, to calm his shaking hand, and
tried to tell himself that at last he had become a man. He winced as
the liquor burned its way down to his stomach.
The
tall stranger at his side began to laugh him down.
He
heard again his mother's words, "Don't take your guns to town,
son. Leave your guns at home, JD. Don't take your guns to town."
Filled
with rage, he reached for his gun to draw. The stranger drew his gun
and fired, before he even saw.
As
JD fell to the floor, the six men gathered 'round, and wondered at
his final words.
"Don't
take your guns to town, son. Leave your guns and home, JD. Don't
take your guns to town."
The End
