It was summer once more for Armadillo, and Herbert Moon was ready for the influx of traders and adventurers coming into town for business. He was also ready for foreigners, as shown by his loaded double-barrel shotgun under his store counter. I'm Herbert Moon, thought Herbert Moon, waiting for business at the counter. Since waking up before sunrise, taking a brief bath, and cursing the Jews for the colder-than-usual bathwater, he had been standing in his store for hours, with an odd enthusiasm and sense of wonder. It was two hours of strangely enthusiastic leaning before his first customer came into the store, a cowboy from off the trail.
"Good morning, sir!" The stranger said, coming up on the counter. "Would you happen to be selling any rope? I seem to have damaged my old rope steering some cattle." Herbert Moon smiled, seeing this as a great opportunity to not only make a sale, but to drum up some repeat business.
"I can assure you there is nothing Jewish-made in this establishment, sir!" Herbert Moon blurted out, turning his back and reaching for a coil of rope behind him.
"Uh, that's great," the customer said, clearly disturbed and puzzled by Herbert Moon's anti-Semitic outburst. "How much for the rope?"
"A good-looking kid like yourself?" Herbert Moon asked, not knowing that in a hundred years, his statement would appear quite homoerotic. "You can have it for, say, two dollars."
"That seems perfectly reasonable," the stranger said, putting down two coins gently on the counter. As he reached for the rope, Herbert Moon grabbed his wrist, gripping tight.
"Now, how many Jews did you say you were gonna hang up with this rope?" Herbert Moon stared into the cowboy's eyes, his eyes cold and dead.
"What the hell, man?" The cowboy protested, clearly confused and scared. His hand shook as he struggled to escape Herbert Moon's death grip. But Herbert Moon had played this game before, and his grip of steel held strong. He stared forward with a look that made the cowboy 100% certain that he was about to either be murdered or molested. And Herbert Moon stayed silent.
"Seriously, man," the cowboy said. "You have three seconds to let go of my hand before I shoot you in the face."
Ten seconds later, the scared and disturbed Louis (the famed Jewish Cowboy of New Austin) left Herbert Moon's store with his rope, vowing to never return. Herbert Moon smiled to himself, making sure to recall the story to his poker buddies. I should remember to tell all the fellas about how Herbert Moon managed to trick the Jew from my shop. He was snapped from that thought by the sound of a bear-trap going off outside. Herbert Moon's Jew trap has been activated! He hurriedly put up the 'closed' sign in his window, and went out the back door. Herbert Moon is so clever, Herbert Moon thought to himself, as he came up on the bear-trap outside, a few feet from the door. There was a man dressed in a suit trapped by the leg, struggling to pry the jaws off of his leg.
"Oh, thank God!" The sharp-dressed man cried. "I was taking a shortcut through town to get to the chapel and I stepped on this thing! You got to get it..." Herbert Moon tuned out, knowing all too well what tricks the Jew would attempt to use on him. First, reason. "... the bleeding's not that bad, but..." Then, straight-up Jew magic. "... please, you gotta get this off of me, I'm almost..." And last, the same trick that all deserving victims of Herbert Moon's Jew trap used: playing dead. Herbert Moon stared forward as the suited man clearly attempted all three tricks, ending with playing dead. Herbert Moon took a notepad from his pocket, and jotted down a brief note as the crows began to swarm the still-warm body.
"HERBERT MOON REPORTING IN. JEW TRAP SET OFF AGAIN. CONSIDER POSSIBILITY OF JEWISH REVOLT. HERBERT MOON, ENDING COMMUNICATION." He went inside the shop, changing the sign again to 'open', and resumed his usual lean at the counter.
He would do so for the next ten hours. Straight.
The following night, Herbert Moon sat at the saloon poker table as usual, having just finished the story of how he bravely defended his store from a wave of Jewish attackers earlier in the day. The other men at the table were obviously not amused.
"That's a, uh, a fine story, Herbert. Now, for God's sake, just deal the damn cards already, will you!" One of the other players shouted. Herbert Moon proceeded to deal from the deck of cards he'd been handed over an hour ago, and the first game of the night was about to kick off.
"Wait, wait! Hold it! New player, coming in." A player called. Herbert Moon sighed, reshuffling the cards. The new player sat at the table, a weathered and scarred cowboy. "What's your name, partner?"
"John Marston," was the reply. Herbert Moon's right eye twitched.
"I heard John Marston used to be a hired killer for the Jews," Herbert Moon to no one in particular, drawing out the last word for effect. All eyes at the table stared at Herbert Moon for a second, before the usual post-terrible-thing-Herbert-Moon-said resuming of poker. The first round was wrapping up, with a mere ten chips in the pot. Herbert Moon called out Herbert Moon's hand.
"One pair," Herbert Moon said, revealing his cards to show a five of clubs and a five of spades. John Marston showed his cards, revealing two sixes and two eights.
"Two pair," he proclaimed.
"BULLSHIT!" Herbert Moon shouted, standing up from his seat. "This man is a cheat!" There was an uncomfortable silence, not uncommon to the poker games Herbert Moon took part of. "This deck is rigged! Rigged, I say! Herbert Moon demands we count each card in this here deck!" And so the five players did so, with much disgust for Herbert Moon. The total cards added up: 52 cards, 4 of everything. Herbert Moon sat down, stealthily reaching for his piece at his belt.
"You, sir," John Marston said, "are a poor loser. But I don't hate you for it. What do you say we play another round, and maybe your luck will change tonight?"
Herbert Moon did not have the time to be delayed by anymore Jew magic. Herbert Moon had to act fast. As John Marston shuffled the deck and began dealing the cards, Herbert Moon drew his revolver and pointed it at Marston, screaming gibberish and foaming at the mouth. Everyone at the table, with the exception of Marston, threw their hands into the air. Marston, however, frowned and quickly punched Herbert Moon in the nose, sending him to the cold floor dazed and unarmed. At first, everyone stared at Marston, but they quickly nodded in approval and applauded him for finally dealing with the insane shenanigans of Herbert Moon.
"Mr. Marston, we beg of you," one of the players said. "You have no idea what it's like to be with this lunatic every single day. Please, take him outside and talk some sense into him. And if that don't work, beat it into him." Marston nodded in agreement, and punched Herbert Moon again in the face as he attempted to get up. He took a coil of rope from his hip, and hogtied Herbert Moon just as Herbert Moon was futilely reaching for his weapon laying across the room. Marston grabbed him and threw him up over his shoulder. Marston stepped outside, as Herbert Moon was screaming for his life.
"I'm Herbert Moon, help me!" But to Herbert Moon's great surprise, none of the townspeople came to his rescue. "Oh Lord, why have you abandoned your best friend, Herbert Moon?" Marston threw down his hostage in the street, letting Herbert Moon land hard in the dirt.
"Sounds like you need to learn to watch your mouth, friend." Marston said, cracking his knuckles. Herbert Moon struggled in his restraints, to no effect.
"But I'm Herbert Moon!" Herbert Moon argued. Marston sighed, and picked him up once more. He carried him down the full length of Armadillo, allowing Herbert Moon's head to connect with each and every store window, door, and windowsill. He threw down Herbert Moon at the outskirts of town, and stared into his eyes.
"Herbert Moon, if I ever hear you causing trouble in this town again, I will come back here and rough you up something terrible." He uncut Herbert Moon's ropes, and let him climb to his feet. "Maybe a day in the desert or two will do you some good. Take some time to think. Go on, take a real long walk." Herbert Moon stood silently, before throwing his arms into the air, tilting his head back, and giving out a long, drawn out cry.
"HERRRRBERRRT MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!"
John Marston did not hesitate. The gunshot rang out all over town. He walked very slowly back towards the saloon, his mind running a mile a minute. Should he have shot the unarmed man? Should he have given him a second chance? He made it to the steps of the saloon, where the poker players were standing. Marston approached them, lost for words to explain what had happened. The poker players stared forward, but not at Marston. Marston turned slowly, to look across the street. He too, was horrified and surprised by the sight.
"I'm Herbert Moon! I've just been robbed!"