20) Callooh Callay, No More

Let me tell you the tale of old Chuck Quickshoot. He was a cheerful, glass half full of moonshine kind of guy and spent most of his days riding the dangerous Wild West. Chuck had humble roots as a blacksmith’s son and by god he was good at it. He could smelt pistols and bullets more aerodynamic than what you could buy with a cow for on the black market. With each weapon created, a Callooh Callay could be heard across town.

On his twenty first birthday, when his Pappy was old and dying, he was given the sturdy steed Buckington. His Pappy told him to go out and see the world. With his perfectly crafted guns and his new life partner, Chuck sold the blacksmith business and went wandering around the country with a Callooh Callay.

The first year of Chuck’s adventures were relatively uneventful as he tried to find his calling. He was no good at farming, nor could he find joy in bar work. It was in fact when he was working behind the bar that he discovered his talent for shooting. A stubble chinned punk accused Chuck of giving him a single when he asked for a double, and a duel was quickly agreed upon outside. Ten paces were agreed upon and before the bald headed punk could swivel on his boots he was shot right out of them. It was then that Chuck collected his last wage and began life as a vigilante for justice with a Callooh Callay.

The police didn’t like Chuck all too much. They knew he was a good kid and meant well, but vigilante justice was bad justice. Chuck didn’t listen to their warnings and continued murdering murderers and stealing from thieves. His shooting abilities became legend to all, including the Sheriff. The law enforcer spent many a day twisting his grey moustache trying to find a solution to Chuck. He liked the kid very much; he was well mannered and a kind fellow. To the Sheriff’s sorrow, only one solution had a satisfactory conclusion. The Callooh Callay had to end.

The Sheriff took his finest pistol, a golden single barrel beauty and saddled on his horse. He found Chuck tending to Buckington outside a motel. It was there the Sheriff challenged Chuck to a duel. Chuck reluctantly accepted, for he also respected the Sheriff. Many powerful law enforcers liked to wave what was in their pants around for everyone to see, but not the Sheriff. He listened to the people and acted on their benefit. It just made Chuck sad that their benefit was his death.

They agreed on three paces and turned their backs on one another. The sun was at its highest point. The motel owner had been called out to count the paces.

One: the rattle of the star studs on their boots.

Two: the gust of a dusty breeze.

Three: one shot.

Chuck hit the floor with a Callooh Callay.