"One Horse and Six Men" (Arizona Blue - Gunfighter)#13
Had he not gone into that backyard, or was it a corral? I’m not sure, I wasn’t there; had he not gone into that bar and just stayed at that hotel, until the wedding took place, that forenoon day he’d not have gotten killed, is what I’m talking about. Heart breaking it was to the city folks, that forenoon day, the day he got himself killed: well, I think most of the folks felt that way for his wife to be, it wasn’t Arizona Blue’s death I don’t think that they cared about so much. Anyhow, he had gone into that town, like it or not, and had he not gone into that town he would have gotten killed anyhow in another; everyone knew that; especially you folks.
No, it wasn’t his nature to live by such rules—any rules, and of course now he can’t go back can he. His bride to be is now in the grave with him. With all respects intended, he knew such a day was coming; the only thing he didn’t know, was how, when and where, not if. He killed something like 36-peple, so there can’t be a whole lot of sympathy for the guy; oh, I liked him myself, but he lived in a silent life of his own anyhow. Not many people in it, something on the order of anti social almost; or so a psychologist would call it. He liked the hear the sweeping winds of the mountains, and plains, and prairies. He knew people would not understand his ways, and so he shied away; you know, better alone, being alone, than in a crowed and being alone and not feeling free to be yourself; something like that.
He was a hermit on a horse you could say. He never asked for anything, such as, money he didn’t work for and gave very little mercy to his neighbor. He kind of felt I think, if you can walk, and talk, and bend your back, you didn’t need any—mercy that is. You probably know all this already, but if you don’t it’s a handful of nothing, but he had a charm about him. People resented him for being who he was; or who they thought he was. Even the women took his side. And there really was only one woman he loved, “The Lady in White.” Other than that, every time he opened his eyes he either saw Dan his horse, the sun, rain, snow, or mud. But I guess he made his own life, his own way, and that is saying a lot.
He saw many things in his life, and for a man of his day, he traveled a lot: he saw the ugly, the improvised, the greedy, and what he’d do most often was kick his boots to get the sand off, and leave town, usually after he killed someone. That was perhaps his plight.
He was either frozen half to death or overheated, there normally wasn’t an in-between. And towns, he saw many of them, so many he stopped counting long before he got killed, I assure you; and he left them all a little more mixed up than when he arrived.
—I am an old friend of his (kind of), and I tired to imagine how he died, but of course as I said before, I wasn’t’ there, but I was fifteen years before he died by his side, back in the 1870s, and this is where my story begins.
As I was saying, it was a long time ago, perhaps sixteen years ago, now that I think of it, since he’s been dead a year or so. I had walked out of my house, left my wife inside, and seven year old son, a crowed was accumulating by my door steps; I was the town marshal, back then.
I saw him in the crowd, he was standing in-between several of the fifteen or so men, no one noticed him, he wasn’t as famous then, as he was, afterwards. I suppose you could say this helped his infamous status, grow, and put a few notches on his belt buckle. Incidentally, my name is Shawn Cody Liberty; I was the town marshal in this little Ol town in Wyoming. He actually came through here a few times, this perhaps was his first.
As I was saying, or about to say anyhow, here I stood on my porch, looking at a hungry crowd, I had a drunk gunman in the towns jail cell, and the folks wanted me to let him go, in fear his father, with his gang would rape and shoot up the town. I can’t blame them, now that I think back, when I reminisce, but back then I was young, and this wasn’t the first time this happened.
This fella in the cell had been shooting up the town every time he and his father and gang members rode on through, even killed an old drunk back in 1867, a Veteran of he Civil War, likewise he had killed another drunk in a bar this time; I had to overlook it back then, and call it an accident, after he threatened several town folks he’d rape their wives and daughters should they not back him up; and I suppose they felt I could not protect them, and the old man would not be missed. So you see, things were not pleasing to me, when I saw this crowd, and I felt this was my fate, to die this evening, and I would have, I assure you. My wife tried to pull me back into the house, and the guys laughed at me, and it made me all the more stubborn to stay out and assure this would not happen again; that this man would face trial.
George Conrad, was the boys name in the cell, his father a big rancher about a hundred miles someplace outside of town, the Ranch was called: The Diamond C. A nice ranch I heard, the old man inherited it from his father, who was not a drunk, like him and his kid.
As the crowd started demanding his release, Arizona Blue, came up to me, whispered:
“Let’s kill them all….” Then he smiled at the folks, I’m sure they thought he was threatening me, informing me I should go along with the crowd, they kind of gave a grimace and low laugh. What could I say; they were here to kill me. Had I said ok, I’m not going to let them have George, I’m sure Blue would have walked away, not said a word, it was his style. These folks had guns standing in the street. Among them his brother Godfrey and father Tabasco, that’s what they called the old man, not sure of his real first name was, just his last, Conrad. Anyhow, they we were.
Yes, I trusted the man, he said he was Arizona Blue, and I had heard of the name, being a lawman, but was he that good, as good as it would take to outshoot all these folks.
Then I heard Mr. Conrad’s voice say (rough and bleak): “We want the keys to the cell or we’ll come in your house and find them, one way or the other.”
And Blue said, “Good, that’s what I’m waiting for….” Thus, he confirmed it, and I had to sand up now to the crowd, a lot of wisecracking going on as I looked at their faces; I knew this was it: the showdown.
—It was a shadowy twilight so I don’t know who shot first, but Blue skinned his gun so quick by the time I got to shoot, everything, and everyone was silent: voices, dogs, horses, no birds, no sounds: I shot one round, that was it, Blue shot six, and pulled out another revolver, and was ready to shoot some more, but all the folks hightailed it out of the street.
I looked about, six folks lay dead, and yes it was the brother and the father among the six.
“Listen,” I said to Blue, the crowd now gone, I was ready to ask him: did he have to shoot so many people, but before I could say another word, he said:
“Had to shoot the ring leaders first, they were the hot heads, and the ones next to them, they were kind of too close so I had to take them four down, couldn’t help it.” Then he added, “I see you got one!”
“Which one,” I asked, and he pointed toward the dead horse. He smiled at me, and that was the only time we both kind of had business together. Oh I had seen him pass through, and he always had a smile for me, so I kind of liked him. That George character, well, he ended up in prison for ten years, got out and became the town lawyer, believe it or not. He never really blamed Arizona Blue for killing his father or brother, he had said: it was like war back then: but I know he had some hidden resentment.
Notes: written 12/12/2005; note by the author: “I think my wife was very sad I published his death, and so, because the series went quite well, and many folks came to read him on the internet, here is one last glance into the chronicals of Arizona Blue, unless she harps on me again (I may have some episodes someplace around here if I can find them, and if I do, I’ll let you know; thank you all for your interest, it was fun; incidentally, I’ve been to all the locations, as I have for all my writings, or 97% of them). DLS” Dedicated to Rosa
No, it wasn’t his nature to live by such rules—any rules, and of course now he can’t go back can he. His bride to be is now in the grave with him. With all respects intended, he knew such a day was coming; the only thing he didn’t know, was how, when and where, not if. He killed something like 36-peple, so there can’t be a whole lot of sympathy for the guy; oh, I liked him myself, but he lived in a silent life of his own anyhow. Not many people in it, something on the order of anti social almost; or so a psychologist would call it. He liked the hear the sweeping winds of the mountains, and plains, and prairies. He knew people would not understand his ways, and so he shied away; you know, better alone, being alone, than in a crowed and being alone and not feeling free to be yourself; something like that.
He was a hermit on a horse you could say. He never asked for anything, such as, money he didn’t work for and gave very little mercy to his neighbor. He kind of felt I think, if you can walk, and talk, and bend your back, you didn’t need any—mercy that is. You probably know all this already, but if you don’t it’s a handful of nothing, but he had a charm about him. People resented him for being who he was; or who they thought he was. Even the women took his side. And there really was only one woman he loved, “The Lady in White.” Other than that, every time he opened his eyes he either saw Dan his horse, the sun, rain, snow, or mud. But I guess he made his own life, his own way, and that is saying a lot.
He saw many things in his life, and for a man of his day, he traveled a lot: he saw the ugly, the improvised, the greedy, and what he’d do most often was kick his boots to get the sand off, and leave town, usually after he killed someone. That was perhaps his plight.
He was either frozen half to death or overheated, there normally wasn’t an in-between. And towns, he saw many of them, so many he stopped counting long before he got killed, I assure you; and he left them all a little more mixed up than when he arrived.
—I am an old friend of his (kind of), and I tired to imagine how he died, but of course as I said before, I wasn’t’ there, but I was fifteen years before he died by his side, back in the 1870s, and this is where my story begins.
As I was saying, it was a long time ago, perhaps sixteen years ago, now that I think of it, since he’s been dead a year or so. I had walked out of my house, left my wife inside, and seven year old son, a crowed was accumulating by my door steps; I was the town marshal, back then.
I saw him in the crowd, he was standing in-between several of the fifteen or so men, no one noticed him, he wasn’t as famous then, as he was, afterwards. I suppose you could say this helped his infamous status, grow, and put a few notches on his belt buckle. Incidentally, my name is Shawn Cody Liberty; I was the town marshal in this little Ol town in Wyoming. He actually came through here a few times, this perhaps was his first.
As I was saying, or about to say anyhow, here I stood on my porch, looking at a hungry crowd, I had a drunk gunman in the towns jail cell, and the folks wanted me to let him go, in fear his father, with his gang would rape and shoot up the town. I can’t blame them, now that I think back, when I reminisce, but back then I was young, and this wasn’t the first time this happened.
This fella in the cell had been shooting up the town every time he and his father and gang members rode on through, even killed an old drunk back in 1867, a Veteran of he Civil War, likewise he had killed another drunk in a bar this time; I had to overlook it back then, and call it an accident, after he threatened several town folks he’d rape their wives and daughters should they not back him up; and I suppose they felt I could not protect them, and the old man would not be missed. So you see, things were not pleasing to me, when I saw this crowd, and I felt this was my fate, to die this evening, and I would have, I assure you. My wife tried to pull me back into the house, and the guys laughed at me, and it made me all the more stubborn to stay out and assure this would not happen again; that this man would face trial.
George Conrad, was the boys name in the cell, his father a big rancher about a hundred miles someplace outside of town, the Ranch was called: The Diamond C. A nice ranch I heard, the old man inherited it from his father, who was not a drunk, like him and his kid.
As the crowd started demanding his release, Arizona Blue, came up to me, whispered:
“Let’s kill them all….” Then he smiled at the folks, I’m sure they thought he was threatening me, informing me I should go along with the crowd, they kind of gave a grimace and low laugh. What could I say; they were here to kill me. Had I said ok, I’m not going to let them have George, I’m sure Blue would have walked away, not said a word, it was his style. These folks had guns standing in the street. Among them his brother Godfrey and father Tabasco, that’s what they called the old man, not sure of his real first name was, just his last, Conrad. Anyhow, they we were.
Yes, I trusted the man, he said he was Arizona Blue, and I had heard of the name, being a lawman, but was he that good, as good as it would take to outshoot all these folks.
Then I heard Mr. Conrad’s voice say (rough and bleak): “We want the keys to the cell or we’ll come in your house and find them, one way or the other.”
And Blue said, “Good, that’s what I’m waiting for….” Thus, he confirmed it, and I had to sand up now to the crowd, a lot of wisecracking going on as I looked at their faces; I knew this was it: the showdown.
—It was a shadowy twilight so I don’t know who shot first, but Blue skinned his gun so quick by the time I got to shoot, everything, and everyone was silent: voices, dogs, horses, no birds, no sounds: I shot one round, that was it, Blue shot six, and pulled out another revolver, and was ready to shoot some more, but all the folks hightailed it out of the street.
I looked about, six folks lay dead, and yes it was the brother and the father among the six.
“Listen,” I said to Blue, the crowd now gone, I was ready to ask him: did he have to shoot so many people, but before I could say another word, he said:
“Had to shoot the ring leaders first, they were the hot heads, and the ones next to them, they were kind of too close so I had to take them four down, couldn’t help it.” Then he added, “I see you got one!”
“Which one,” I asked, and he pointed toward the dead horse. He smiled at me, and that was the only time we both kind of had business together. Oh I had seen him pass through, and he always had a smile for me, so I kind of liked him. That George character, well, he ended up in prison for ten years, got out and became the town lawyer, believe it or not. He never really blamed Arizona Blue for killing his father or brother, he had said: it was like war back then: but I know he had some hidden resentment.
Notes: written 12/12/2005; note by the author: “I think my wife was very sad I published his death, and so, because the series went quite well, and many folks came to read him on the internet, here is one last glance into the chronicals of Arizona Blue, unless she harps on me again (I may have some episodes someplace around here if I can find them, and if I do, I’ll let you know; thank you all for your interest, it was fun; incidentally, I’ve been to all the locations, as I have for all my writings, or 97% of them). DLS” Dedicated to Rosa
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 5:42 PM
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