Scott Mathews owned and operated the General Store in Laramie for over ten years. The store had been passed to him by his father. He was proud of what it stood for in his family; sacrifice, determination, and countless dreams for a better future. His father's dreams for a better life, continuing down the line of his only son. Scotts own son was three years old and getting into everything. Some days were challenging, but they were always worth it at the end of a hard day when he held his young son in his lap, holding him close as Martha cooked dinner.
Scott swept the last pile of dirt off the boardwalk onto the street and stretched his aching back. Long hours of stocking shelves and cleaning the persistent layer of dust that covered everything had tied his lower back in knots. It'd be good when this day was finally over.
An unexpected shortage of kerosene and three overdue deliveries weighed on his mind. To make matters worse, he still had the loan on the store, he couldn't pay. It pained him to call in good people's tabs when they fared no better than he did, almost as much as the idea of losing the store his father had built with his own hands.
Looking through the open door to his shop he eyed the till. Once the sales were counted today he might fare better. A small voice reminded him that slim chance was nonexistent. He was drowning in debt with no glimmer of hope in the near or extended future.
A small pair of hands grabbed onto his pant leg. Scott smiled as his young boy used him to hold himself up on his two small legs. There was nothing more in the world, save his wife, that he loved more than his beautiful son. Setting the broom against the pole closest to him, he scooped his son into his arms and smiled broadly at the giggle that melted his heart like butter.
"Scott have you seen Ben?" Martha stopped as she noticed their son was safe in his father's arms. The cultivated instinct to worry eased as she watched Scott cling to the young boy like a lifeline while stranded in the deepest part of the ocean.
She knew the worry unsettled her husband day and night as he fretted about overdue bills piling up. Even Martha caught herself tossing and turning through the night wondering what would happen when the bank took their beloved store. True to the honorable man he was, Scott refused to call in tabs before the designated time of the year.
Scott rested his chin tenderly on Ben's soft head, eyes roaming the busy street. Nerves calmed as he breathed in the sweet smell of his boy. Ben happily toyed with the strings on his father's apron with his small hands.
Scotts world veered and tilted as he tracked a gut wrenchingly familiar figure astride a pale white horse. A shiver snaked down his spine when the figure's eyes raked over him and his vulnerable family. Protective instincts surged to the forefront and he shoved Ben into his wife's arms.
"Scott-" Martha protested. There wasn't time to explain.
"Get inside Martha, now. Lock the door and not matter what happens don't open the door for anyone, even the Sheriff." Martha began to protest again, then she saw the look on her husband's face and she relented.
The pale horse stopped no sooner than Martha pulled the open doors of the store closed. The key scraping in the lock was a welcome sound to the fear coursing through Scott. The man swung his leg over the horse and dropped into the dirt. Swallowing the sudden dryness in his throat, Scott addressed the man.
"You're not welcome here, Hatch." Iron swelled in his voice as he attempted to chase the gunslinger off his doorstep. He wasn't going to allow this man to destroy everything he'd worked for.
"Now, that's no way to greet your brother now is it?" Hatch Matthews' steps on the boardwalk were like the stecotto of gunshots. Cruelly, Hatch crooked his thumb to where Martha and Ben had disappeared in the safety of the store. "You never told me you'd gotten married, or I had a nephew. What else have you hidden from your own kin?"
"You stopped being part of the family once you strapped on the gun. Why are you here? Why now? Pa's dead, isn't that enough for you?" Scott's words cracked like a whip exposing years of contention.
"Is there a problem here?" Scott cursed the arrival of Sheriff Cory. No one in Laramie knew his brother was a gunslinger and he wanted to keep it that way.
His focus drawn from his irritating brother Scott noticed the crowd of people who were looking at the pair, interested who the stranger was. Mort rested nonchalantly against the banister scanning the angry posture between the brothers.
"No, Sheriff. I was just explaining to this stranger here, the store is closed today." Sheriff Cory had to leave before he got hurt.
Something in the way Scott Matthews stood made Mort not believe a single word the man had just uttered. The lawman in him sniffed out there was something more going on between the two men, then they were letting on. One look at the stranger was all it took to discern this man was a gunslinger. Mort's right hand itched to touch the handle of his six shooter.
Staring down the stranger, Mort took in the man. He was entirely clothed in black from his hat to his boots. Icy, gray eyes looked out from underneath the wide brim of the strangers black hat. They carried the knowledge and mood of a callous, hunted man. This gunfighter was dangerous to himself and anyone who dared to step in his way.
"Is everything alright Scott? It's not like you to close this early." His comment addressed to Scott was subtle, but clear. Something between these two men was being swept under the rug and Mort wanted to know what.
"I've been promising Martha I'd take her on a picnic for months. I reckon it's time I made good on my promise." The lie tasted like vinegar on his tongue but he had no choice. Sheriff Cory was better off if he didn't know who this drifter really was.
Scott fought to keep his eyes from drifting to the left and giving away his lie. Mort studied him for a minute and then turned to the gunfighter. Clearly Scott was lying to him, but there had to be a good reason. It would come out sooner or later.
"Like the storekeeper here said, the store is closed. If you need to buy anything come back tomorrow." The black hat bobbed and the man moved to his pale mount. "And another thing, you have until noon tomorrow to leave Laramie. Should I catch you hanging around, I'll jail you first and ask questions later."
Hatch forced a cocky smile onto his lifeless face and locked eyes with the Sheriff. "You and I both know Sheriff, you have no legal right to run me out Laramie. Should you try…" Hatch flicked his left hand to where his hair trigger gun rested on his right hip. "I'll be within my rights to defend myself." Two cold eyes returned to his brother. "I should be around your store tomorrow, buying those supplies."
Mort waited until Hatch was entering the Hotel before he posed his question to the shaken storekeeper.
"Who is that Scott? Why do you seem to know each other?"
"I think he said his name was Hatch. That gun he carries says enough about how he earns money." Matthews grasped the handle of his broom and released the strings of his apron folding it neatly over his right arm.
"Forgive me for being blunt, but why did you close your store when he came up to you?" Mort was fishing for information Scott wasn't willing to give.
"Like I said before, I have a picnic to go to. If you have any more reservations just chalk it up to the fact I hate gunslingers-they're bad for business. Now if you'll excuse me…" Scott rapped on the front door and disappeared through the narrow opening Martha made.
"Breath out easy, that's it. Now remember to squeeze, not jerk." Slim sat in the shade on an old bucket against the barn mending a harness as he listened to the instructions Jess was giving Mike.
Jess' rifle was snugly fit against Mike's small shoulder as he sighted in a tin can set on an old log. The curtain stirred from the window in the kitchen as Daisy nervously watched Jess teach Mike to shoot. She'd argued with Slim and Jess for hours last night, pleading for them not to teach Mike how to handle a firearm. While she had avidly argued her point that Mike was too young, Daisy understood the need for Mike to protect himself. Shooting wasn't a parlor trick in the West, it was a necessity to survive.
"Now one last time before you start shooting, what's the most important thing when firing a gun?" Jess' hand was on Mike's small shoulder correcting the boy's stance.
"To hit the target." Mike's voice was barely audible over his tense concentration looking down the barrel.
"When?" Jess' question was short and to the point.
"The first time."
"Why?"
"Because I might not get a second chance." Jess pulled the stock of the gun further into Mike's shoulder so the boy wouldn't be hurt by the kick.
"That's right, most firefights are won in the first few shots. You'll never have enough ammunition to spend hours flinging lead at each other. Every shot needs to be worth it. We never waste ammunition. Ammo is precious, once you spend it all in a firefight, you're vulnerable." Mike nodded slightly to Jess' words. Satisfied Mike understood, Jess took a half step back. "How many bullets are in the gun?"
"Five in the clip and none in the chamber."
"Alright you're ready, what target are you shooting at?" Mike stalled at Jess' question about the target. The boy clearly saw there was only one target out in the open. Shrugging off his confusion, Mike answered back confidently.
"The can on the log." Mike was anxious to fire at his target and waited nervously for Jess to let him get to the 'fun part'.
"Put a bullet in the chamber." Mike pushed the lever on the rifle down and snapped it back up without removing the gun from his shoulder.
"Fire when you're ready."
Mike didn't need to be told twice. Taking a deep breath he pushed the air out as he brought the sights straight down onto the middle of the can. Waiting a millisecond for all the air to be released from his lungs, he fired.
Dread sank in the pit of his stomach as he shot went wild by two inches, missing the can completely and shattering a group of pebbles to the far left of his intended target. A cloud of dust billowed high in the air dispersing with the help of the wind. Disappointed, Mike lowered the muzzle to the dirt at his feet like Jess had shown him and waited for his mentor to say something.
"What'd I do wrong?" His young voice resounded with misery.
"Not hitting the target wasn't what you did wrong." Confused at Jess' comment, Mike turned around and offered the heavy gun back. "How many targets were set up Mike?" Jess held the gun upwards and checked the chamber to make sure the spent casing was filling the space and not a live round.
"One, the can on the log." Slim looked up at Mike's answer and scanned the shooting range he and Jess had set up early this morning after the stage had left.
Jess stepped in front of the sad boy and raised the gun. Pulling the lever into position he sighted and fired two times. Each shot sent the hidden targets swirling backwards before gravity brought them to the ground. Mike looked even more glum as he realized his biggest mistake-not paying attention to his surroundings.
Jess pumped the lever three more times ejecting the bullets from his gun. Then he set the gun down and pocketed his brass. Two small boots crouched in the dirt and picked out the remaining live bullets coated in fine dirt. Using his shirt to clean off the bullets Mike offered them to Jess in silence, gnawing on his mistakes. He'd wanted everything to be perfect, but nothing had gone his way.
"What was your biggest mistake Tiger?" The tone was gentle, non judgemental, yet it still cut Mike to the core.
Dropping his gaze to his boots, Mike shamefully answered. "I missed how many targets there were. I shot the target without seeing what was surrounding it. I'm sorry Jess."
"I'm glad to hear that, Mike. Shooting can seem fun to you, but you have to understand there's more to it than finding a target and pulling the trigger. Once you pull that trigger, you can never call that shot back." Placing a hand under Mike's chin he forced the youngin' to look him in the eyes. "I never told you how many targets there were because I wanted you to learn this lesson in the best way, a way you'd never forget. My way may seem cruel, but this way you'd never forget it. You always have to know what's around you at all times." Jess playfully scruffed Mike's hair to show the boy he wasn't mad.
Slim had been wary of Jess' method from the beginning. It was hard to teach a young boy about guns when at his age they looked fun. By scaring him slightly, he'd broke the barrier between fun and reality. Mike knew enough about gunfights to understand the hints Jess had been dropping by shooting the hidden cans. If the boy didn't pay attention enough he could be hurt or worse, killed.
"Come on Tiger, lets try it again." Mike beamed as Jess placed the rifle in the boys hands and pulled five fresh bullets out of his pocket and pointed to a group of cans perched to the boys left. "You've got the breathing right, but you're still jerking the trigger. Once you get that worked out, you'll be the best marksman this side of the Mississippi."
Slim smiled as Jess showed Mike how to load the gun, before fitting the stock to the young boys shoulder to try again. Jess had a way to get through to Mike without crushing the youngsters spirit. The demonstration with the cans had effectively helped Mike understand shooting the rifle wasn't for play anymore. With Mike past his tenth birthday, it was time he took a step into the real world.
"He has a way with Mike doesn't he?" Lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice Daisy beside him. "I'll admit, the little stunt Jess pulled almost scared me into an early grave."
"Ah Daisy, Jess did it for Mike's own good. It may have seemed a bit reckless but it stopped Mike from potentially hurting someone with his new skill. This way, anytime Mike takes a shot, his first instinct will be to look around, making sure he doesn't miss anything. Jess made his point known without leaving any room for error. Mike will never question the choice to second guess where he's shooting before he pulls the trigger." Sharp rifle shots echoed around the yard ceased for cheers as two cans were knocked down. "This way Mike knows what a gun can do while never breaking his spirit."
"How in the world do you two come up with these things?" Daisy pressed a hand to her chest.
"As I recall, my Pa taught me the exact same lesson when I was learning how to use a gun." Slim gave a short tug on his project, making sure his stitches stayed in place. "I'll admit, it was a lesson I learned well. A lot of people think the fault lies in the gun when someone is hurt by a firearm, but they're wrong. A gun's only as good or bad as the person using it. If you teach a man to use a gun for the right reasons-the right way- it's a tool, not a weapon of destruction." Slim put his mended harness down and stood.
"Do you think Jess' father taught him the same lesson? It seems learning how to use a gun would come from the father." Slim rubbed his chin as he studied the back of his partner.
"I don't think Jess' father ever taught him, that's why doing this for Mike means so much to Jess." It was hard to imagine what Jess' hard-knocks childhood would have been like. His partner never dwelled much on where he came from, at least not too willingly. Most of what Slim knew about Jess' childhood had been hardwon-fragments put together-by sitting at his partners bedside whilst fevers and nightmares raged.
"He's giving Mike a childhood he never lived." Daisy's words were heartbreakingly true. "Tell Jess and Mike to come inside for a slice of pie when they're ready."
"Am I invited?" Slim teased and flinched to dodge a swat by Daisy's kitchen towel.
"Sometimes I don't know who's the biggest child around here. Mike, Jess, or You. One more comment and I've half a mind to make you eat cold dinner for the next week." Daisy's reprimand carried humor as she twisted the towel around her hand.
Calling the pair on the far side of the yard, Slim headed to the house. He could already taste the sweet apple pie, every step bringing him closer to the heavenly smells emanating from the kitchen.
Hi everyone! I'm sorry to announce that updates may not be as quick as usual. Unfortunately I managed to give myself a large burn across the palm of my hand which makes writing painful to say the least. So... I'll try to get chapters out as soon as possible but there may be delays. Luckily, this chapter was already written.
Hope you enjoyed it and I'll be in touch!