No Leprechauns At The OK Corral

by dcat

"There is no way that that is what I think it is," Mark McCormick shouted as he sat up in the dusty ground and stuck out his hand toward the sharp object. He quickly felt it prick his fingertip and pulled it back to look at it. "Is it?" he asked.

"All depends," Milt leaned over the opposite direction and spit on the nearby dirt, "What is it you think it is?" He tossed back the question. "And quit shoutin', no sense in giving away our exact location, they already know we're out here."

McCormick squinted as the hot sun beat down on him, his focus seemed to be off. "I think it's barbed wire."

Hardcastle nodded, "You'd be right then, 'cause that's exactly what it is." He spit again and murmured under his breath, 'Damn greenhorn!"

"You want to tell me what exactly is going on?" McCormick asked him, still attempting to make sense of his surroundings.

"I think you're sun-touched, that's what I think is going on," the Judge answered him. "Look at ya, it's not like you got shot or anything. One minute you're running alongside me and the next second you're lying down in the dirt and I had to drag you over here. And there's not a mark on you, did you just pass out?"

McCormick gave himself a quick once over and sort of dusted himself off. His confusion was evident. "Hardcase, what exactly is going on?"

"Hardcastle, Hardcastle!" Milt answered his question with one of his one, "Did you hit your head when you fell, is that it?"

Mark's right hand went up instantly to his curly head of hair and he tried feel if there were any lumps on his skull or any blood. "It doesn't feel like it," he said, with a bewildered frown. "But something is definitely not right."

"Well, ya've been confused since I've known ya, that's nothing new," Hardcastle chuckled.

A couple of gunshots rang out around them. The Judge returned fire and looked back to see that McCormick was safely out of the way this time. He reloaded the gun in his hand.

"Judge, where are we and what exactly is going on?" McCormick demanded.

Now it was the Judge's turn to show his irritation. "McCormick, honestly, we haven't got time to get into all of this right now. In case you haven't noticed, we're under fire here. You know when I let you out of the jail, I thought you were a pretty smart kid, but now I'm really starting to wonder about you." Milt paused and glanced at the kid who still was more than perplexed about the recent turn of events. "I let you out of jail to give me a hand, remember? You stole a horse and the sheriff caught you red handed, but it turns out you had more than an axe to grind with this Mort Caudy fellow. That's him and his gang across the way, seems they want you dead and they're not afraid to take me out right along with you and I don't cotton to that. Honestly, I think you must have banged your head on the way down. This ground is pretty hard, haven't had a lick of rain in over a month."

Mark looked at the ground, "Maybe I did hit my head, because none of this sounds familiar at all Judge. Are you sure it was a horse I stole? That doesn't sound right."

"Of course I'm sure, what else would I lock you up for. You're certainly not the type to put a slug in a man and you're not the town drunk. Besides horse thief, what else is there?"

"I don't remember stealing anyone's horse."

Hardcastle rolled his eyes. "Don't get started on that again, I've heard your sad story too many times already. It wasn't your horse, you gave it away, fair and square. You can't just go and try to take it back and think nothing will happen. You know we hang horse thieves around here?"

McCormick looked over the rather flat landscape around them. Aside from this shack they were holed up behind and what looked to be a one room house across the way, there wasn't a tree anywhere near by to be hung from.

Hardcastle must have read his mind. "They're building a gallows back in town."

McCormick swallowed hard. "Judge really, you gotta believe me here."

Milt cut him off, "I already told you that I did, that's why we're out here. I want Caudy and the rest of them. If we can round them up, I can all but guarantee that you'll be a free man. Caudy there, is a murderer, we both know he killed that Johnson fellow and that horse you stole is out there in his corral. Near as I can figure it that should just about get you off the hook. You gotta trust old Hardcastle right now."

A few more errant gunshots rang out.

"How many of them are there?"

"I counted eight, give or take," Hardcastle spit out on the ground again, much to McCormick's chagrin.

"Is that a new habit?"

"Spittin'? Hell no, what ever gave you that idea. I've been spittin' since I was six years old. Got the aim of professional you might say, can hit just about anything you point out. See that post over there?" McCormick nodded and Milt let out a perfect stream that hit the post dead on. "You give it a try, penny says you don't even get halfway."

McCormick wasn't about to shirk away from a bet, even if it was only a penny. He took a long hard look at the waiting post and let out a perfect trail of spittle that landed right on the edge. He grinned as he saw it strike the post.

"Lucky shot." Milt reached into his pocket and pulled out a penny and handed it over to the kid. "That was an easy one, you still have a lot to learn about spittin' kiddo."

"So how are we going to get out of this one? Eight to two is pretty miserable odds, even for a spittin' professional like yourself Judge." He let out a confident grin.

"You can start by picking up that rifle and loading it. You do know how to handle a rifle don't ya?"

McCormick turned to see the longest rifle he'd ever set his eyes on. "If you're counting on us shooting our way out of this one Kemosabe, I think you should come up with another plan." He grabbed the rifle and looked it over from top to bottom and shakily began to load it.

"Leave it to me to get a regular greenhorn. Where'd you say you were from anyway?"

"New Jersey."

"Good Lord, I suppose you don't have any need for guns way back east there. Do you fellas even put up your dukes and land a punch every once and awhile?"

"We have our share of crime if that's what you're asking," McCormick said smugly. "Caudy's horse ain't the first one I 'borrowed,'" he grinned.

"I know that too, I got a wire back in my office that said you been in the state pen, you got a real knack for trouble kiddo."

A flurry of gunfire rained down on them.

"I think Caudy's sending us a message," Mark said. "Maybe we should consider high-tailing it back to town."

"No sir, we're not running away. I chased him out here and I'm not about to let him go waltzing off with me trotting back to town with my tail tucked between my legs."

"Judge, you don't really talk like this. I think you've been watching too many westerns. It's finally getting to you."

"You're starting not to make any sense again. Maybe the state pen messed up your head huh? You wouldn't be the first one, but all you did was a two year stretch, could be you went in touched."

"I'm not touched," McCormick raised his voice and quickly ducked down as some more gunfire rang out. "What is our plan?" He asked in an exasperated tone.

"If you can assure me you know how to use that Winchester there, I'd like you to aim it right at that hitching post out front of the house. Can you do that?"

Mark peered around and spotted the object and nodded.

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes, I can hit that, remember the spit? There's nothing wrong with my aim."

"Well, what I'm going to do is go grab that horse you're so fond of and ride it around this barn and then right up to the front of that house. As I'm getting close to the house, you fire that rifle. Then I'm gonna dismount and head for the door. As soon as I kick in the door, you follow me in and make sure that Winchester is reloaded. With your two shots and my six shooter here, we'll have just enough to take them out."

McCormick began to laugh. "Are you crazy? Now who's touched? What happens if there's nine people in there?"

"Ever hear of a ricochet? There's been lots of times when one bullet has killed more than one man, sides, if we're not that lucky, then that's what you use your fists for."

McCormick rubbed his face in disbelief. "Judge, you've had some dumb ideas before, but this one, I don't know"

"If you have a better idea kiddo, now's the time to tell me, otherwise get that rifle loaded and get ready."

"I don't have a good feeling about this one Judge."

"Nonsense, a plan's a plan." The Judge moved around to the other side of McCormick and began to sneak off toward the horse. "Remember, when I come riding in, let loose with that rifle."

"You got it," McCormick said, lacking enthusiasm. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, wishing that this was all some sort of dream, but when he opened his eyes, the crazy Judge was inching ever so close to the horse. "I wonder if he's even a real Judge," McCormick said aloud.

As planned, Hardcastle mounted up on the horse and rode around the barn and in just a few seconds came racing up to the front of the house. On cue, McCormick fired off his two rifle blasts at the hitching post, reloaded just as quickly as he could and started running all out toward the door of the house, where Milt was just about to kick in the door. Gunfire was blazing all around them.

The Judge laid his right boot into the door, startling the nine men who were inside. Like a regimented drum beat, Hardcastle poured out his six shots into the first six men he lined up in his sites. McCormick followed in through the doorway, skidding over porch board that was slightly sticking up. As he began to tumble to the ground, he aimed the rifle and pulled the trigger, putting a slug into the next man. When he hit the ground sprawling out, he pulled his trigger once again and the poorly aimed shot ricocheted off the coffee pot on the stove and tore into and through the eighth man's shoulder, and coming to rest in the ninth man's thigh.

By then Hardcastle had reloaded his six-shooter and had it aimed at the wounded, but very much alive gang of eight. He stepped over to McCormick who still was lying face down on the ground. "You can get up McCormick, it's all over, and we didn't even have to use our fists. Nice ricochet."

McCormick lifted himself off the ground and saw the entire Caudy gang before him, each one of them holding on to their wounds. "You knew there was nine in here all along, didn't you Judge?"

"I wasn't sure, those twins always confuse me. Now listen, take that horse you like so well and get back into town and get Sheriff Harper out here on the double. Tell him Judge Hardcastle sent you."

Before he left the house McCormick had one last question for him, "Are you even really a real Judge, Judge?"

"O'course I'm a real Judge, got elected eight consecutive times to office already. The Governor appointed me back in '68, he knew he was getting a real bargain back then, since I'm also the mayor, the town dentist and I run the funeral home too."

McCormick shook his head in amazement.

About an hour later McCormick came back not only with Sheriff Harper but with several other deputies as well. They rounded up the Caudy gang and took them back to town in buckboard they had brought out.

"You didn't have any problems convincing Harper did you?" Hardcastle asked him.

"No, well, yes, at first I did, but then I explained about your spitting' prowess and then he believed me right off. But the real clincher was when he asked me what year the Governor appointed you, and I had the answer. Good thing you told me. You're quite a legend Hardcase!"

The two of them walked out of the house and stood on the porch. "I got two bits that says I can hit that hitching post from here," Hardcastle said, loading up a loogey.

The distance seemed a bit too far for McCormick to believe. "You're on," he said, reaching into his pocket to see if he could cover the bet.

"Watch and learn kiddo, watch and learn."

OOOOO

McCormick shot up straight and let a laser beam of spit go flying across the hospital room.

"Hey," Hardcastle scolded, "What's going on? What do you think you're doing, you're in the hospital, would you relax?" He grabbed a few of tissues from the table and walked over to the door and wiped up the offending mess. "What's gotten into you?"

McCormick reached his hand up to his head and felt dizzy all at once and leaned back against the pillows. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"That must have been one helluva dream kiddo," Milt said, tossing the Kleenex and coming back to sit along side the hospital bed. "You have a concussion, but the doctor says you'll be fine. We found you sprawled out in the dirt. You must have hit your head pretty hard to knock yourself out like that. They just want to keep you here overnight, and for obvious reasons."

McCormick cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to do that," he nodded toward the door, referring to the spitting.

Hardcastle acknowledged him with a nod of his own and then glanced up at the TV that was hanging on the wall. It was a western with John Wayne starring in it. "You're missing a great movie."

Mark rubbed at his temples. "What happened?"

"Well, you decided to go in, guns a-blazing. You nailed three of them though, the cops said something about a ricochet. I would have liked to see that, and with a rifle no less." Hardcastle glanced over and saw the confusion on the kid's face. "Don't worry about it now, I'll fill you in tomorrow. What was your dream about?"

McCormick put his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He took several deep breaths. "I'm not sure," he opened up his eyes. "I think it was a little bit of everything."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think it was part of whatever or whoever we were after, and part of it was that western," he nodded toward the TV, "and part of it was just I don't know it's all just kind of foggy right now."

"What does spittin' have to do with it?"

"I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."

Hardcastle was intrigued. "Try me."

"Well, you know how we bet on our pulse rates….."

The End.