A sleepy two horse town in central Texas. Where there’s not a sound to be heard, Besides the patter of a tumble weed That slowly works its way down the middle of the Stockyard Boulevard, past Leddy’s Handmade Boots and The Long Horn Saloon. The exception to this is when a cattle drive wanders its herd of longhorns into town.
See, we are a customary stop on the Chisholm Trail. A place where weary cowboys can put their feet up and indulge in a beverage. The Long Horn Saloon serves the drink of choice, Whiskey, straight.
Suddenly a gun shot echoes in the distance.
Pandemonium ensues. Tables are flipped, glasses are thrown. A group of bandits have made their way into town, Demanding anything and everything. Unopposed they ransack, Until they reach the band of weary cowboys in the far corner of the Long Horn Saloon. “I said, gimme me what you got” shouts the bandit, Unfazed, the cowboy closest to the bandit places his 7 and 8 of hearts down on the table and mutters “flush”. Visibly agitated, the Bandit cocks his pistol and points it directly at the cowboy’s head, “Don’t make me ask you again.” The cowboy slowly pushes his chair out and squares up to the bandit, Nose to nose they meet, unflinching they stare into the depths of each others souls,
Out of the corner of his mouth the cowboy spits his tobacco and says “Let’s settle this at the top of hour on the Stockyard Boulevard”. With only 10 minutes until noon the cowboy downs his whiskey, wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt and marches out. He stands unopposed in the middle of the street, dead silent. The sun is almost at it’s highest point, people solemnly file out on the balconies of the surrounding establishments, eager to catch a glimpse of the shoot out. Out comes the bandit with this hand grasped to his hip, nervously stroking his gun as he walks towards the cowboy. They meet in the center of the street, the crowd gasps. Each man digs his right heel in the dirt and spins 180 degrees, they now stand back to back, both firmly clenching their respective guns they begin to walk.
One, two, three. Each man simultaneously turns and fires. BANG, the sound of the bullets exiting the chambers reverberates down the street. Both men are still standing, the cowboy quickly glances at his chest, as the bandit suddenly drops to one knee, gasping for breath he reaches out to grab the cowboys leg as he crumples into the dirt and slowly releases his grip on his gun. The town’s people cheer, as the cowboy places his smoking gun back into his hostler. He walks over to the remaining bandits and mutters, “don’t ever let me see your faces again, you hear?” Cowering, the bandits nod and as quick as they can they jump on their horses and ride out of town never to be seen again.