The Boss by Kristine Robinson

Author:Kristine Robinson [Robinson, Kristine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-09-20T18:30:00+00:00

~*~

“You mean to tell me that was you coming down from the mesa like a bat out of hell, firing over your shoulder like some kind of hired gun?”

The old man who had come to meet me when I tethered my horse at the rail by the saloon was what passed for the local lawman. I wasn't too impressed. He was old, really old, and his guns didn't seem like they'd been shot, shined, or cleaned in quite some time. There were spots of rust on the rifle he had slung over his back, and the bandolier of ammunition clanked against the pistols in his gun-belt.

“Yup, that was me,” I said. “I was shooting over my shoulder to try to make them slow down. I had no idea that those folks are prevalent out here.”

“They aren't,” the old man said. “They just recently posted up out there, and we've been trying to telegram the Marshals, but they seem like they don't want to come out because we all know that, by the time they do, the bandits will be gone. Doesn't send a very good message though not to respond at all, I say.”

I nodded as I stepped onto the boardwalk and made my way toward the saloon.

“I agree,” I said. “The Marshals act like they have better things to do.”

“Right now they seem more like debt collectors than anything else,” the old man said, hustling to keep up with me, all the while sounding like a broken wind chime with the racket his gear made. “I wish it wasn't like that because it leaves little towns like this place in a hard spot. I can serve as a lawman if I need to, but I'm not a good one. If I'd been younger, I would have been able to make it to the top of the saloon in time to help you, maybe even have shot one.”

I walked into the saloon, and the man followed, deftly moving behind the bar and pouring me a drink.

“This one is one the house,” he said.

Then he left me be, which I appreciated. I didn't ask him where he was headed to, but I got the feeling he was going up on top of the roof to make sure none of the bandits were slowly making their way to the small town under cover of darkness.

I sat there slowly nursing the drink he'd given me. Whatever it was, it was watered down, and the glass came to a cheating tapered bottom. I wondered if the owner was the kind of person who thought it a good idea to put the heads of rattlesnakes in his moonshine to make it more “potent.” I sure hoped not, the last thing I needed to worry about was getting sick from a concoction that didn't really make any sense. As my mind mulled over the murk I drank, my eyes roved the interior of the saloon. It was like the rest of them, or nearly. There was sawdust on the floor and spittoons.

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