Arizona Blue—Gunfighter: Roofless Hades: in Mexico [Episode: #24]
Roofless Hades: in Mexico
Arizona Blue—Gunfighter
Episode: #24
[Mexico, Boarder Town—1868] Back across the boarder, from the Mexican Boarder Town Blue dashed, lest he end up in the roofless jail, in which he was in no shape for more punishment. Sheriff Diez was no one to fool with; he had his soldiers looking for him.
Blue, was vaguely aware of what he had done, but he knew he had plunged into his drinking vice—often remembering only fragments of his goings-on; for three-years after the Civil War, this blinding spree only showed him more ghosts of his past. He was now coming out of the haze, semi-consciousness from extreme intoxication as he hovered back and forth on his horse, crossing the Rio Grand, as if in oblivion. He had gained a little stamina after the fight, and pulled his body away from the bar, grimly making it across the boarder, in fear of being put into a Mexican jail, which he knew had only four tall walls, no roof, no breeze, just sun, and most men were left to die—more simply, forgotten by the local authorities, better than feeding bums and deadbeats. There was no sympathy in Blue’s cold eyes for the-men he killed, he thought them swine.
Blue’s head was still throbbing. He had drank too much tequila when he entered the adobe saloon, and was soaked and tired from a long ride crossed Texas to this Mexican boarder town of sorts, and into this small saloon, he had entered. That’s when it all started. His eyes looked like they were redden by the full dust of the ride, and drink. After several drink the bartender, said, in a questioning way: “That’s enough liquor Gringo! Why not just go sleep it off at the hotel…?” and before he could say another world, Blue commented, “And what business is it of yours?” putting a $20-dollar gold piece on the bar, “I hate to see someone drawn himself dead of alcohol, but if you insist…” and Blue whispered, “I insist…” and was given another glass of Tequila.
Blue’s face was that of a wild mans, hard looking and finely molded.
“After this gold piece is spent, you’re done here gringo!” said Lopez the bartender, and owner of the little adobe saloon. Lopez was a keen observer of men, being a bar owner for some thirty-years, and this man he was observing was no tenderfoot, but unstable, bad news, he told himself, ‘…best to get rid of him,’ he told himself in a mumbling way: before too much trouble starts and I’ll have to repair chairs and tables in the morning from the ruckus.
The Sordid Dive
Arizona Blue seemed out of place in this sordid dive, to everyone but himself. His blue eyes were fast as cats, he saw every movement in the bar.
“I should kill you just for you talking to me the way you have,” he told the bartender, staring at him with inflamed eyes, “your rotten–gut Tequila isn’t fit for swine.”
Blue was just getting his reputation, and few knew of him across the boarder, although the name was not unheard of, it was not as prominent as it would be after this occurrence. Like a snake leaping for a rat, he grabbed Lopez by the shirt, wildly, he pulled him halfway across the bar, his heart pounding, eyes glaring into Blues eyes, the wind knocked out of him for the moment, he had pulled his gun out so quick no one saw it until it was at the head of the bartender, “Who do you think your talking to! I’ve taken enough orders in the war, I’m not taking anymore from the likes of you!” commanded Blue.
Lopez’s face was likened to a red mask, terror sunk into his flesh. His legs were trembling, chest heaving.
Crash! From behind Blue came three men with chairs, a ferocious attack on Blue. One chair hit him to the right of the head, Blue fell to his knees, his knees buckled, but just as everyone thought he was through, he straightened back up, standing in front of the three men, whom had parts of chairs still in their hands.
Everyone was blinded by the red and blue flashes, from of Blue’s guns; two of the Mexican’s, fell to their knees, the third flew backwards over a table, all dead.
Someone had run out to get the sheriff; everyone else sat in horror wondering if they were next. That’s when Blue decided to go out the back way, and as the sheriff went into the bar, Blue had jumped on his horse, and headed for the boarder a mile or so away.
6/24 & 25/2006 [Lima, Peru]
Arizona Blue—Gunfighter
Episode: #24
[Mexico, Boarder Town—1868] Back across the boarder, from the Mexican Boarder Town Blue dashed, lest he end up in the roofless jail, in which he was in no shape for more punishment. Sheriff Diez was no one to fool with; he had his soldiers looking for him.
Blue, was vaguely aware of what he had done, but he knew he had plunged into his drinking vice—often remembering only fragments of his goings-on; for three-years after the Civil War, this blinding spree only showed him more ghosts of his past. He was now coming out of the haze, semi-consciousness from extreme intoxication as he hovered back and forth on his horse, crossing the Rio Grand, as if in oblivion. He had gained a little stamina after the fight, and pulled his body away from the bar, grimly making it across the boarder, in fear of being put into a Mexican jail, which he knew had only four tall walls, no roof, no breeze, just sun, and most men were left to die—more simply, forgotten by the local authorities, better than feeding bums and deadbeats. There was no sympathy in Blue’s cold eyes for the-men he killed, he thought them swine.
Blue’s head was still throbbing. He had drank too much tequila when he entered the adobe saloon, and was soaked and tired from a long ride crossed Texas to this Mexican boarder town of sorts, and into this small saloon, he had entered. That’s when it all started. His eyes looked like they were redden by the full dust of the ride, and drink. After several drink the bartender, said, in a questioning way: “That’s enough liquor Gringo! Why not just go sleep it off at the hotel…?” and before he could say another world, Blue commented, “And what business is it of yours?” putting a $20-dollar gold piece on the bar, “I hate to see someone drawn himself dead of alcohol, but if you insist…” and Blue whispered, “I insist…” and was given another glass of Tequila.
Blue’s face was that of a wild mans, hard looking and finely molded.
“After this gold piece is spent, you’re done here gringo!” said Lopez the bartender, and owner of the little adobe saloon. Lopez was a keen observer of men, being a bar owner for some thirty-years, and this man he was observing was no tenderfoot, but unstable, bad news, he told himself, ‘…best to get rid of him,’ he told himself in a mumbling way: before too much trouble starts and I’ll have to repair chairs and tables in the morning from the ruckus.
The Sordid Dive
Arizona Blue seemed out of place in this sordid dive, to everyone but himself. His blue eyes were fast as cats, he saw every movement in the bar.
“I should kill you just for you talking to me the way you have,” he told the bartender, staring at him with inflamed eyes, “your rotten–gut Tequila isn’t fit for swine.”
Blue was just getting his reputation, and few knew of him across the boarder, although the name was not unheard of, it was not as prominent as it would be after this occurrence. Like a snake leaping for a rat, he grabbed Lopez by the shirt, wildly, he pulled him halfway across the bar, his heart pounding, eyes glaring into Blues eyes, the wind knocked out of him for the moment, he had pulled his gun out so quick no one saw it until it was at the head of the bartender, “Who do you think your talking to! I’ve taken enough orders in the war, I’m not taking anymore from the likes of you!” commanded Blue.
Lopez’s face was likened to a red mask, terror sunk into his flesh. His legs were trembling, chest heaving.
Crash! From behind Blue came three men with chairs, a ferocious attack on Blue. One chair hit him to the right of the head, Blue fell to his knees, his knees buckled, but just as everyone thought he was through, he straightened back up, standing in front of the three men, whom had parts of chairs still in their hands.
Everyone was blinded by the red and blue flashes, from of Blue’s guns; two of the Mexican’s, fell to their knees, the third flew backwards over a table, all dead.
Someone had run out to get the sheriff; everyone else sat in horror wondering if they were next. That’s when Blue decided to go out the back way, and as the sheriff went into the bar, Blue had jumped on his horse, and headed for the boarder a mile or so away.
6/24 & 25/2006 [Lima, Peru]
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 5:10 PM
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