I just had a feeling . . . . a sense that something was different about my little hole-in-the-wall border town where I always felt I could be out of reach of the long arm of the law. But I'm guessing since my escapade into chasing down and hanging a card shark, that maybe word got around. I had to see what was going on. I swallowed my last shot of tequila and chased it with cerveza and stepped out the back door of the Rosie's Cantina. As I rounded the side of the building to the front, I stopped in my tracks and quickly retreated back to the side and peered around the corner to observe an unfamiliar figure sitting on the boardwalk in front of the saloon across the street. After several minutes of assessing this individual, I came to the conclusion that he was not from around this territory - he was well armed and dressed in a fashion that did not indicate he was a working man. It was my calculation right then he was either a Pinkerton man or a bounty hunter.
As I continued to watch him start to move about the town without any purpose or reason as if he might have been looking for something.
There was something about his beady little eyes that was unnerving . . . . . .
He slowly moved from one end of town to the other, even making his way down to the livery . . . . . . I guess he checking on who was coming and going through town. Fortunately, I had tied my horse up behind Rosie's Cantina when I had returned to town.
I quickly returned to the back of the Rosie's Cantina retrieve my horse and started to exit town behind the buildings on foot in the opposite direction. When I got to the far end of town, I cut up an alleyway between two buildings. I figured if I mounted my horse once I entered the main street, I might be able saunter out of town without raising suspicion, then lickity-split down the trail. But, low and behold, that son-of-a-bitch made his way up the other side and tried to bushwhack me before I could make a clean getaway! Sneaky bastard ! ! !
Well, DAMN! After a lengthy, running firefight, it came down to a showdown straight down the middle of main street. I reloaded my guns, moved into the street and called him out. And now it's come down to this - a test of speed and accuracy. The way this ends is - the citizens of this fly-trap of a town have a new grave in their cemetery outside of town . . . . . . and I'm still here to tell the story. It turns out he WAS a bounty hunter . . . . . and apparently not a very good one.
The saga continues . . . . . .
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