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Short Stories & Tall Tales
Witness to a Death
By Christopher Scott
My name is Jason McCord. The year is nineteen and thirty-seven and the following tale is a recollection of something I seen with my very own eyes when I was quite young. I’m seventy-six now but I remember it as if it were yesterday. The year of this recollection was eighteen and sixty-six. My pappy, Marcus McCord, was the sole owner and resident bartender of the “Muddy Boot” saloon in a small Arizona town called Sage City.
Now Sage City was a town not much different than the transient bloom of an Arizona cactus. It quickly blossomed and was as pretty as could be, but then just as quickly, it died out and withered away. It was left to the elements where it stood for some time as an empty shell of a town long gone, and ever so slowly it gave way to the harsh and unforgiving desert from which it had once blossomed. Eventually, it disappeared as if it had never existed.
But I remember it…I remember when that town had life, and plenty of it.
My mother, God rest her soul, had died after a long and drawn out bout with the fever. We buried her amongst the sage on a desolate patch of wind-swept desert. It was a most fitting place for the hard and harsh tempered woman I had known her to be. She had been gone for close to a year on the night of my recollection. At that time I was quite a handful and I had become somewhat of a burden to my pappy in those days, but under the circumstances, he did the best he could to raise me proper. He even employed the help of a young and beautiful barmaid named Miss Libby to help him with the matter. Together, they tried to do what was right, but then keeping me occupied in the small living quarters at the back of the saloon was no easy task. So for a couple of years I spent my fair share of time in that back room occupying myself with whatever I could find. I believe the resourcefulness and vivid imagination I developed later in life was propagated in that back room.
Pappy spent most of his day tending the bar while Miss Libby affectionately tended to the customers and, for the most part, I did whatever I pleased. I have to admit, I still hold some fond memories of that back room. In fact, come to think of it, I lost my virginity in that very room some years later… but that’s another story.
As it was, Pappy had given me strict orders. I was to keep myself occupied and not come out into the saloon for any reason. But, being an easily bored and highly inquisitive young child, from time to time I would sneak myself out and hide under a flight of stairs that led to the second floor where my pappy rented out several rooms. Two were for the evening, rented out to those just passing through, and one rented out at an hourly rate.
On one particular day, I had wondered out from the back room and was setting in my usual spot under the stairs looking out over the front parlor. It wasn’t much to look at, now that I think back on it. But at the time it seemed quite spectacular. There were two large front windows facing to the South where I could see the street and catch a small glimpse of things happening on the other side of the glass. The sun poured in through those windows and lit up the room quite nicely, all the way to the back of the room where it reflected off a large mirror that adorned the wall behind the bar. Several tables were set up in an area between the bar and the windows. During the Summer months, the front door was always open except for the batwings of course. From my vantage point, I could see the comings and goings of all the saloons customers.
As they came in, I always saw their boots first and soon got to where I could tell the type of person coming through the batwings before they even swung open. If the boots were old and dirty, it was usually a buckaroo stopping in for a quick drink as he took care of some pressing chores in town. If the boots were clean, it was usually one of the town’s other business owners stopping by to jaw with Pappy or possibly conduct some sort of business transaction. But, if the boots were not only clean but the pant legs were tucked neatly into the boots, it was for sure Mr. Tyson, the local Banker. He was a tubby little man, short in stature with a big bushy moustache and fancy clothes. And as always, he carried his ever-present cane, not that he needed it for any physical ailment he may have had. I figure it was more of a prop, possibly to help him feel important in his own mind due to the fact that he was so damn short. I’m sure that fact had an effect on his self-assurance to some degree. Tyson, as he was called, would come by on his lunch break almost every day for a drink. And every once in awhile, on special occasions, he and Miss Libby would disappear up the stairs for a little while.
As I was saying, on one particular day I was sitting in my usual spot under the stairs watching several men entertaining themselves with a friendly game of cards at one of the tables and listening to Charlie Fingers play the piano. Did I mention that the Muddy Boot had a piano? Yes, it had one, but nobody knew how to play it. That is until one day, right out of the blue, this young skinny feller walked in through the door. Without a word, he headed straight for that piano and sat himself down and began to play. For over an hour he either caressed that ivory till you wanted to cry or he made those keys jump to a lively rhythm like I’ve never heard before. My pappy offered him a job right then and there. He couldn’t pay him much in cash but he offered him free drinks, whatever tips he could collect and his own room. Charlie took him up on the offer. He stayed around for a couple of years till one day he just didn’t show up no more. I heard some time later he had wandered down South and started playing with some other musical type folks for some real cash money.
Now where was I? Oh yes, under the stairs. Keeping myself low and out of sight as I did, I never could see the tops of any of the tables but, I could see just as plain as day what went on down below.
Of those card players I was watching, two of the men were cheating. They kept tapping each other with the toes of their boots in some sort of coded message before they played their hand. Miss Libby paid no attention. She was at another table sitting close to a handsome young wrangler while he bought her drinks and whispered close to her ear. I don’t know what he said but I remember he sure made her laugh.
As I sat under those stairs observing the room I saw a pair of boots like I had never seen before come up to the batwings. They were shiny black and adorned with silver spurs held in place by a tooled leather spur strap and a small silver button. They didn’t come in right away. They just stood in the doorway for a bit as their owner surveyed the room. When he finally did push his way through the swinging doors I could see he was not one of my pappy’s regular customers. From my vantage point, this stranger was tall and very well dressed. He holstered a silver gun on each hip and was smoking a short thin cigar. So much thick blue smoke curled up under the brim of his black hat it looked like his head was on fire. He stopped right in front of me. He was so close I could have reached out and grabbed his leg. I’ll never forget the way his deep thundering voice boomed across the room as he made his presence known.
Gritting the cigar tightly between his teeth, he spoke.
“My name is Samuel J. Blackstone and I’m lookin’ for a man named Jason Perry.”
Jason Perry was one of the card players I had seen cheating. The other players with him slowly pushed themselves back away from the table leaving Jason in an exposed and vulnerable position. He had no choice but to fend for himself. He slowly stood up. Charlie Fingers stopped playing and the room became deathly quiet.
Pappy spoke up right about then.
“I don’t know who you are, mister, but this here is my saloon and I don’t want any gunplay inside this room.”
Jason Perry chimed in, “I don’t know who you are either, mister, but I’m not lookin’ for trouble, in fact I’m not even carryin’ a gun.”
“Do I look like I’m here to shoot somebody?” Blackstone said.
“Well let’s hope your not,” answered Pappy.
“Well the truth of the matter is, I am,” retorted Blackstone. “I’m here to send Jason Perry to his grave for the killing of my brother Peter Blackstone. Does that name sound familiar, Perry?”
“Your brother accused me of cheating at cards. He had it coming.” Replied Jason.
With speed and an element of surprise Perry revealed a hidden revolver from behind his back, but before he had a chance to fire off a single shot, Samuel Blackstone drew both his pistols and fired, throwing Perry back into his chair with such force it caused the chair to tip back and rest itself against the wall. Perry sat there with his chin in his chest and if it wasn’t for the blood running down his shirt, you would of thought he was asleep. Before Blackstone could holster his guns, Pappy had unloaded both barrels of a sawed-off shotgun he kept behind the bar. Blackstone hit the stair rail and collapsed to the floor right in front of me. The rowel on his right spur spun like a top. It was the only thing that moved.
Now it may have been a fair fight between Blackstone and Perry but my pappy had warned the stranger about gunplay in his saloon. And although Jason Perry was not a model citizen, neither was my pappy. Besides, they were friends, and there was no way Pappy was going to allow his friend to be shot down without some sort of retribution. He got away with it only because his was the only saloon in town and nobody who saw the incident wanted to get on pappy’s bad side for fear they would be ex-communicated or worse yet, the saloon would be shut down. So consequently, they all agreed in their own minds that pappy was justified in shooting the stranger and without further questioning, that’s the way the Sheriff took it.
As for me, I was so shaken by the whole incident I high tailed it into the back room and crawled under the bed. I had never seen men killed before and I thank the Almighty that I never have since. It was an awful sight. One I will never forget for as long as I live.
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