The Gunfight

Big Frank Corbin, a dwarf, knew he was in trouble when the smoke cleared away, and he saw that the Peckerwood Kid was still standing. Not only still standing, but it is also without any bullet holes anywhere. Frank thought he must have been shooting high. He had missed with all twelve shots. Missed the Kid, that is. He had shot two horses and a dog. But not the Peckerwood Kid. He knew, he just knew, he was finished. He’d never be able to reload in time. The Peckerwood Kid looked at Big Frank with some amusement. He wondered who Big Frank was shooting at. There was no one else around. He, the Kid, wasn’t known for being very bright. Maybe not, but he was bright enough to know that if Big Frank wasn’t shooting at him, then there was no sense attracting his attention and having a good laugh. The Kid was good, but, as they say, there’s always someone better. The Kid had heard that but didn’t believe it. It certainly wasn’t Big Frank. The Kid had finally realized Big Frank had been shooting at him.

Trouble had been brewing for some time between Big Frank and the Kid. It started with the horse that wouldn’t break. The horse wouldn’t break, but he would break bones and kick the Hell out of anyone who tried. No one could ride him. Peckerwood gave it a shot and failed. Big Frank said he could do it.

The Kid’s mother was the cook,did the laundry, and cleaned the house. She was too important to the Haskins for anyone to cross her. She was too big for anyone to sass her. She was strong enough to scare everyone. Many a fight she broke up by breaking the arm of someone getting on her nerves. She once pulled an Indian off his pony for shooting an arrow into her butt. The chief whacked him for pissing her off. He might have to move the tribe to safer ground. Maybe up along the Little Bighorn.

The Kid knew he was a great shot and could draw quickly. He wanted to drift along, play cards while choosing a whore to play with, and shoot someone from time to time to keep his name going around. Mama said he’d do such a thing. She didn’t want to drag him home, dead or alive. Nothing he wanted was going to happen, so he might as well not try it. He also had better not try it and have her come and get him. Word of that would certainly get around.

Big Frank considered himself to be the best bronco buster in the world and had the broken bones to prove it. Some of them hadn’t been set that well, and he walked a little funny. The Peckerwood Kid found Big Frank’s walk to be very amusing and never missed an opportunity to say so.

Big Frank got the bronc saddled and ready to ride. He walked up to that horse and whacked it as hard as he could right between the eyes. That bronc never even blinked. Big Frank didn’t seem to notice that, and he certainly should have. Then Big Frank gave the bronc a carrot to eat. The horse spit it out, and Big Frank didn’t pay any mind to that either. But he should have. Now he figured that he had that horse right where he wanted him. He put his foot into the stirrup and started to lift his other leg over. That bronc took off. He dragged Big Frank around and around. He made a beeline for the hitching post in the middle of the pen. The horse just barely missed the post. Big Frank didn’t miss it at all. He hit it with his head. The other cowboys got him free and dragged him out of the corral. Big Frank was a little dazed from this. The Peckerwood Kid, not a very tactful man, told him he had a pretty big lump on his head.“You look like you have two heads there, Frank. And they’re both ugly.”

Big Frank was a little too dazed to reply. He was too dazed to know who he was, much less who was talking. It sounded like Peckerwood bit Big Frank couldn’t be too sure. He took the rest of the day off and slept. In the morning, he decided to get to work. Injuries never stopped him. Bob Hastings for sure never stopped him. Even a broken arm could let him ride herd. A broken leg? As long as someone helped him get on the horse, he was fine. A head injury wasn’t going to stop him. He never used his head except as a place to hang his hat on. He asked the boys to saddle a horse for him. They did. He then asked which one was his. There was only one. They put him back to bed. After that, the Peckerwood Kid always asked Big Frank how many things he saw and what they were.

They had come into town early on payday. They immediately went to the saloon to get drunk. Big Frank was in his element now. Even if he saw two drinks in front of him, so what? He’d just drink them both. He was feeling pretty good, leaning against the bar, one foot on the rail. He needed to go to the outhouse. As he went to leave, he fell. His boot was stuck between the rail and the bar. Someone had to help him get free. This time, the Peckerwood Kid didn’t say a word. He just laughed.

Big Frank couldn’t take any more of this. That’s when he challenged the Kid to a gunfight. Out in the street to settle this. One was going to walk away, and one was going to be carried off on a board.

The Kid looked down the street at Big Frank. Twelve shots! He missed with twelve shots! Now the Kid had him. The Kid took very careful aim at Big Frank and pulled the trigger. Click. Click? Click, click, click. Oh, shoot! Forgot to load the pistol. Now Big Frank was doing the laughing. He was also coming down the street. Shoot! Now, Big Frank was mad a would surely hit the Kid’s butt with a rock.

This time, the Kid wouldn’t be getting any help from his mother.

“Always drink upstream from the herd.” – Will Rogers

“Never drink unless you’re alone or with somebody.”

If you’re riding ahead of the herd, look back to ensure it’s still there.

Don’t squat with your spurs on.

Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear, or a fool from any direction.

Speak your mind, but ride a fast horse.

“I’m not afraid to die like a man fighting, but I would not like to be killed like a dog unarmed.” – Billy the Kid, in an 1879 letter to New Mexico Territory Governor Lewis Wallace.

“Just cause trouble comes visiting doesn’t mean you have to offer it a place at the table.”