IMAGINATION'S PLACE
FICTION

THE WAY IT WAS DONE
By Gerald A. Polley

All rights reserved.

        The burly, dirty man dragged the young girl through the bar's doors and up to the bar, throwing some money on it and screaming 'Whiskey!"
    The girl screamed out "Somebody please help me!  He killed my parents, stole our belongings!  His friends are selling them at the store."
    The man backhanded the girl, and she backed off. "Stop your lyin'!" he screamed.  "I bought you fair and square!  No more of your fussin'.  You're mine now!  No more back talk!" 
    There were a group of people eating at tables at the other end of the room.  One of them rose, picked up a shotgun, and snapped it into the brace he wore on his left leg. 
    "I don't think she's lying!" the man snapped.  "I think she's telling the truth.  Move away, miss."
    The girl quickly backed off before the burly man could grab her.  "Now, this ain't none of your business, mister!" the man growled. 
    The man walked out of the shadows, and the U.S. Marshall's badge on his jacket became clearly visible.  "Men like you," he answered, "doth be my business!  Stand and deliver! Your pistols or your life!"
    The burly man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  "I tell you, she's mine!" he snapped. 
    Suddenly his hand flew to his gun.  It wasn't even half out of its holster when the shotgun flipped up and a single barrel exploded!   The man was slammed backwards into the bar.  His back exploded, buckshot and bone plastered the wall behind him.  The man got a strange look on his face, his lips seemed to move as if he was saying something, and he slumped to the floor.  The marshal broke the shotgun, reloaded, snapped it shut, and put it back on his leg, turned, and headed out the saloon door.
   "Chaw!" he snapped, "Cobb!  Look after her!"
   A burly man rose from one of the tables and came over to the girl.  "Come over here and sit down, miss!" he remarked, spitting into a spittoon. "You hungry?"
    "Not right this minute!" the girl answered.  "Who was that man?"
   The big man laughed as two shots rang out.  "That there ain't no man," he answered, "that there's William Walker!"
   "Oooh!" the girl sighed.  "That was The Silver Dollar Kid?"
    Everyone in the bar laughed.  "Don't ever call him that to his face, miss!" her befriender answered.  "He really don't like it!"  
    Everybody laughed again.  The girl sat, a plate of food was sat before her, and a glass of beer.  She found she could eat after all.  Some time later the marshal returned. 
   "My God!" the young woman remarked, "He looks like a boy!"
    "That's one hell of a boy!" another man answered.  "I've seen him kill at least ten men myself.  He's just plumb good at it!"
     The marshal sat down at his table and began to finish his meal.  "Cobb!" he spoke up, "I bought a trunk from the storekeeper.  He's putting the young lady's things in it.  Load it on the stage and get her a traveling cloak.  I'm headed off east.  Just got a telegram.  Take her to Devlin. Send a note to the Howards' ranch.  Tell them their son still owes me several day's work and to come in and see my wife."
    The burly man smiled.  "That's gonna be one happy young man!" he remarked. 
   The young woman looked worried and the man laughed. "Don't you worry, miss!" he comforted, "You're going to be just as happy!"
   Again there was a round of laughter.  The marshal got up, put on a battered hat, and a trail coat.  The young woman noticed his hands trembled when he wasn't concentrating on doing something. "My  God!" she muttered, "Everything in the stories is true!"
   "Ayah!" her companion remarked.
    The marshal headed out. "Well, folks!" the stage driver called out, "Lunch is over. Gotta get back on the road.  Why don't you folks go get loaded up while we're gettin' this young lady her things?"
    "No, sir!" an older woman snapped, "You go do your staging things and I'll see to the young woman's needs!  She might need some things you men wouldn't think of."
    There was a bit of laughter again.  "I don't have any money," the girl sighed.
    "Now, don't you worry!" the stage driver answered, taking two twenty dollar gold pieces out of his pocket and giving them to the older woman, "we'll get whatever  you need and William will reimburse us, he always does!"
    "But how will I reimburse him?" the young woman asked.
    "By just livin' a good life!" the old woman answered.  "And when someone else needs a helpin' hand helpin' them out.  That's all he ever asks.  Ain't ever known him to demand anything of anyone, unless they're on the wrong side of the law."
     Some men were picking up the body.  "I don't think I'd want to be one of them!" the young woman sighed. 
    "Amen!" another man at the table put in.  Everyone got on the stage.  The town sheriff promised the young woman her parents' bodies would be recovered and properly taken care of. 
    "My  goodness!" the young woman remarked as the stage door was being shut, "I've heard that young man is a monster, a devil.  But he seems more like an angel to me!"
    "Amen, sister!"  the man on the stage remarked.  "Praise The Lord, amen!" 
    "Yah!" the stage driver cried and snapped the reins.  The horses started off.  The young woman was going to a new life.  She wouldn't be at the marshal's house when he got back.  She'd be with her husband, and she'd be very happy!  Many times she'd tell people of the day an angel with a shotgun had saved her.  It would be a story her grandchildren would know, and each time she'd tell it their eyes would be filled with wonder. 

THE END

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