I’m over my interruption snit and back to finish Chapter 7 of Trouble in Taos. If you want to see the first four installments, you’ll find them here, here, here, and here.
There’s still time to enter the Nine (should be eight) Missing Words contest. Send your answer to email@example.com with the subject Nine Missing Words. Include your name (fake if you don’t want people to know who you are,) and mailing address (real if you want to get the Trouble in Taos coffee cup for winning.) Today’s letter scramble is for word six and it’s UYO (not really a tough one.) That makes the scrambled phrase - ___ _ TRIPTREE GILTH SUEHO UYO EENRV ___ ___. The deadline is Wednesday, Midnight EST. The winner (and last section of chapter 7) will be in this blog on Thursday.
Batwings and Strangers - Part Five
Another stranger looked over Estevo’s new doors. He watched Slimy dancin’ like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Estevo was beaming. His batwing doors and guitar player were drawing new people already.
But there was something about the feller lookin’ in that made me uncomfortable. He wasn’t nodding his head to the music; he was just watching Slimy.
The seaman said you’re in danger now, make way, make way.
The stranger propped open one of the doors and pulled a revolver from his holster.
For what you approach is no garbage scow, make way, make way.
That’s what was botherin’ me. He looked like a gunman, and that’s why he was watchin’ Slimy. He was here to kill Slimy.
She may be small
“Slimy!” I shouted. “Watch out!”
for eight tons
Slimy jerked as the man squeezed the trigger.
Lowell played a bad chord on his guitar, the first ugly sound since he tuned the thing up. The right side of his forehead cracked open with blood and other stuff flying out.
What a shame, I thought, that a man who played so nicely should have an ugly chord be the last thing he played.
Slimy had his shotguns out and fired four barrels into Estevo’s new batwing doors. It turns out that those fancy doors weren’t much good at absorbing shot. Wood splinters joined shot in ripping flesh and blood from the body of the stranger.
I don’t know if he was named Ernest Felthousen. Considering Colmes’s accuracy in other matters, he probably made the name up.
Estevo, showing unusual bravery, was the first to the spot where the stranger fell. He picked up a bit of wood from the floor and searched the remains of his new doors for the place to put it.
Jacques went over to Lowell. He sat on the floor and cradled the bloody head of the guitar player on his lap. “What’s the rest of the song,” he whispered.
Lowell Sparger was a good way past answering.
Neither Flossy nor Two-Bucket Joe moved away from their stools, and I refused to look over and see why.
Slimy stepped over to me and very awkwardly gave me a slap on the shoulder, as if to say, “Thanks for the warning, Buddy.” Then, still dancing a bit, wound his way over to his stool by the wall, shouted, “Make way,” and sipped his water.
He didn’t try to tell any stories the rest of the night. He just shouted, “Make way,” every once and a while. No one asked him why he was doing it. I don’t know if he could have told us if we had.
Keeping with the western theme, here's a video for all those fans of 90s educational video games... yes, both of you.
Not keeping with the western theme, here's a vid that's slightly funnier.