Crack Shot: Western Erotica by Dale Chase

Author:Dale Chase [Chase, Dale]
Language: ile
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781602829411
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2013-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

Picture Show

When I was asked to act myself in a picture show, which didn’t seem an act to me, I knew the West had been tamed and, further, had been made to pretty up and dance. Still, I accepted employment with the Hennigan Motion Picture Company because I wanted to set things right. I thus found myself once again wearing a badge, chasing outlaws, and bringing them to justice. What rankled me was they got more screen time.

It was 1924 and the lawless West was a thing of the past. Me too, I suppose, though I was only sixty-two. Having been young in my law-enforcement career, I’d known Earp and Masterson and even Tilghman, who I heard was making his own picture show. I hadn’t their stature, as they’d cleaned up Kansas and Oklahoma and a few other places, but I’d still done my part as marshal of Globe, Arizona, which enjoyed a silver strike equal to that of Tombstone and drew its own brand of lawlessness. I kept order there for six years and believe I contributed much toward the quality of life, though I’m known mostly for bringing in the outlaw Frank Parrish. But now I’m an actor.

I’ve already ruffled the director by refusing to wear a god-awful getup. After some arguing, I was allowed to dress correctly in plain and durable clothes. I did agree to ride their horse, as I have none of my own and he’s an agreeable sort, likely never ridden more than one scene at any given time. The saddle and rig are plain and durable, as am I.

The motion-picture business is a wonder filled with noisy people, amiable horses, and cranking cameras, but it does come together and I do my piece, draw down on a man, and bring him to justice. I get paid for this, which is amusing, as it’s more than I got for the real thing. I find myself doing what they want, getting along, and can’t help but feel my oats when playing my younger self, which is a most welcome development at this stage of life. Then one day my co-star, the actor Reed Reynolds who plays my deputy and who had to be taught to sit a horse, is thrown and breaks his leg. Though I’m not consulted on his replacement, I step up to Gilbert Goode, the director and suggest, “Why not get the real deal? He’s got a ranch up around Sacramento.”

Goode doesn’t initially bite, and I see he’d rather get some actor names into the picture. One historical relic may be enough but then he surprises me, leans in, and says, “You think he’d do it?”

“He will if he knows I’m on board.”

Goode, a small and energetic fellow whose black hair is in retreat, ponders a bit, then concedes. A shout is given to his assistant. “Locate Arlen Kight in Sacramento.”

Three days later my former deputy arrives at the Arnold Ranch and walks right up to me. I haven’t seen him since we parted in 1891, but it doesn’t matter.

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