Short Story: Mighty Fine Shootin’

Mighty Fine Shootin' Cover

Hello everybody!

I know this is a little odd but I wrote a western short story. And it won’t be in two parts. It was literally an hour project, half hour to write and another half hour to edit. I know it is not my genre and everything but I enjoyed writing it and I just want to share with you guys! I apologize if there are typos.

Other than that, enjoy!!

I taken one glass o’ drink and was on my second when a burst of hot air came from the outside. The two swinging doors slammed against the saloon walls and then shut. The newcomer walked slowly up to the bar. I gasped when I realized he was just a boy. No more then fifteen, he dressed and acted just like a man. His boots were made of scuffed leather, jeans worn, faded checkered shirt, and a dusty hat pulled down low over his face.

“Just water,” the boy said, carefully setting his elbows on the counter. The fat bartender gave a brief nod, eying the boy with interest and handed him a glass of water.

The boy took a drink, but I noticed it was with his left hand. His right he left hanging freely by his side, and that’s when I saw the gun. It was tied down just below the hip, the butt smooth and shining, but used. I reckoned it was used. How had a simple boy acquired as nice a gun as this?

The boy finished drinking and set the cup down. He let out a long breath.

“Ah. That’s what one needs out here. Just a good plain glass o’ water,” he smiled up at the bar tender. “How much do I owe ya’?”

“Oh that’s alright. I’d never turn down any kid who wanted some water,” the bartender said kindly and grinned back, but the kid wasn’t smiling anymore. I seen how he stiffened up at the word “kid”.

Just then the doors blew open and a tall man, gasping for breath raced into the saloon and looking around, took a seat in the very back. He pulled his hat low over his eyes and tried to look inconspicuous.

Then the doors swung again and two massive men, their arms corded with muscles and their chests nearly bursting their shirts and vests walked in, their eyes a sweepin’ the place. When they spotted the man that had just come in, bent over and breathing hard, they walked right up to him and grabbed both of his arms.

“Please! I don’t owe you anythin’ I just-” his plea was cut off as one of the men planted his fist the size of a small melon into the man’s stomach. He gasped and tried to double over, but the men were holding him too tight. They slammed him back into the wall.

“I think you do owe us somethin’, Trace Gorden,” one of the men hissed.

He whimpered.

“Please,” he gasped again, but this time one of the men smashed an elbow into his jaw. He groaned loudly and went limp. The two men chuckled to themselves and started searching the man’s pockets, looking for something. Money I assumed.

I glanced around the saloon. It was mostly empty, just morning and not many men thirsty for a good drink yet, but the few people that were here just ignored the man’s troubles and continued about their business.

The bartender had his back turned, washing some cups.

Then a sharp challenge rang out.

“You gonna’ steal an unconscious man’s money?”

I whirled around, and saw it was the kid standing next to me. His jaw stuck out and his eyes were narrowed to slits. What I could see between the slits the eyes were deadly. Dangerous and deadly.

His right thumb was settled into his belt, but his fingers flexed, and I knew he was ready to go for his gun.

The two men dropped the limp man and turned to the kid. He didn’t flinch. They took a step closer.

“I think it’s time to teach a kid about an important part of life,” one said.

The other chuckled.

“A beating?”

“You move one step nearer to me and I’ll blast your brains out. Or we can have a fair fight. Any old stupid kid can pull a trigger, right?”

The two men looked at each other. I saw what was in their eyes. Uncertainty. I woulda’ been too if I had been in their boots. I knew this kid had something in mind, but could he really draw fast? Could he beat both men to the draw? Even if he was fast he would only be able to fire at one before the other had his gun out. Unless he was really fast.

The two men went for their guns. I dove behind a table but peeked over it too watch. I was just in time to see the kid drawing the gun out of his holster. I hadn’t even seen him drop his hand from his belt.

The gun came up and fired into the first man’s stomach. He reeled and grasping at a table, leveled his gun and the barrel exploded with flame, but his knees gave out as another of the kid’s bullets slammed into his ribs and his shot went wild, straight up into the ceiling. He screamed and fell on his knees, raising the gun a third time, but a final bullet hit his chest and he was out of the fight.

The second man was just leveling his gun to fire, taking more careful aim then the first man and fired, but the kid dropped to his knees and the bullet clipped his shoulder. It smacked into the bar counter.

The kid’s revolver blew flame, and then once again in almost the same movement so both shots sounded like one continuous explosion. The man had taken both of them in the stomach but he was still at it, struggling to raise his revolver one last time. The kid sidestepped, and then fired his last shot. It hit the man’s chest and he dropped his gun. He looked around for it slowly, his eyes glazed over.

“Well I’ll be darned. I’ll be…” he toppled over and didn’t speak again.

The kid flipped open his gun, dumped the cartridges out, and loaded up as fast as he could. Then he closed the cylinder, holstered it, and walked out of the bar, leaving me, the bartender, and the few people in the saloon just a starin’.

That was mighty fine shootin’ it was. Mighty fine shootin’.

And I seen it all.

The End

Copyright © 2018 Caleb E King

Well, there you have it. I hope you enjoyed this little short story! Totally not my genre but it was super fun to write!

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6 thoughts on “Short Story: Mighty Fine Shootin’

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