Reading and Righting

Reading and Righting

Ricky Pardue buried his Ma by his Pa up in the Boot Hill Cemetery as close to the old pear tree as he could get them. His Pa died of accumulated ills and despondency associated with his time fighting for the Confederacy's failed secession, and his Ma died not long afterwards of consumption, according to old Doc Gibbons. His Pa never was right after he came home from the war, and his Ma just seemed to have wasted away.

Ricky had picked some of the daisies his Ma had planted by the porch, now going to weed without her there to take care of them. He put them in an empty bean can with some well water, and placed them on her grave. "Sure do miss you Ma,'' he said to the large stone he had placed to mark her grave. Only rich people had proper grave stones.

While reflecting on his mother's life, Ricky watched as the school marm walked up the hill into the cemetery and stopped in front of another new grave. He had never seen her up close and was surprised that she wasn't much more than a kid herself and quite pretty. He approached her and getting her attention said, "Sorry for your loss, Ma'am."

"Thank you," she said, and then as an afterthought, "He didn't have to die. Did you know my father? He was a carpenter and we moved here when he was hired to build the school I now teach in.".

"Can't say that I did Ma'am. I ain't never done much socializing. Sure wish I could've gone to that school he built, though. I keep feeling like I'm missing out on something, though I don't know what."

They talked. He learned that Cynthia preferred to be called Cindy and that her father had died in a mysterious accident when he had refused to sell his store front to the saloon keeper next door who wanted to expand his business. And now the saloon keeper was badgering her to sell.

She learned that she was talking to the local hero featured in the newspaper who had been forced into one gunfight with a carpetbagger and into another gunfight with a man who had sought him out for the purpose of having a gunfight. She also learned that he could not read the stories written about him.

They talked for a long while, and left with the understanding that he would start coming to the school when classes were dismissed and Cindy would teach him to read. He did and she did. Both eagerly looked forward to their meetings. Ricky learned to read, and Cindy found a loyal friend and protector, which loomed more and more necessary as pressure to sell her father's property increased with not so subtle threats about accidents and fires.

Against Cindy's stated wishes, after some broken windows and someone torching Cindy's buggy, Ricky declared, "Enough is enough. I'm gonna have a talk with the saloon owner and put a stop to this. We need to set things right."

Ricky sent word to the saloon owner that he was coming to talk with him. The next afternoon Ricky saddled his strawberry roan and strapped on the pair of pearl handled pistols, all of which he had appropriated from the gunslinger who had sought him out. Riding into town to face the saloon keeper, he hoped that the implied threat of his being there would be enough, but if it wasn't, so be it. He would do anything for Cindy.

The saloon was not very busy in the middle of the afternoon. It did not have swinging doors. It was far too dusty for that, but there was a long oak bar with a brass rail. Behind the bar was an array of bottles, many of them empty, but multiple bottles of whiskey and rye. The saloon keeper sat at a table with a grubby looking armed man that Ricky assumed was the bouncer. At another table across the room sat three men, armed and with a near empty whiskey bottle on the table between them. They all watched Ricky closely as he approached their boss's table.

The saloon keeper looked at Ricky for a moment, then with a slight shrug dismissing Ricky, resumed his conversation with his bouncer.

"Sir," Ricky ventured, clearing his throat, "We need to talk about Miss Cynthia and her property."

Pushing his chair back from the table the saloon owner said, "I have no business with you and nothing to say to you, Mr. Pardue. And those shiny pistols you are sporting don't scare me in the least.".

Ricky heard the scraping of multiple chairs being slid at the table behind him.

"It is time for you to leave, Mr. Pardue."

"No, not until we have an understanding and set things right about Miss Cynthia."

Ricky saw a slight nod to the table of men behind him, the bouncer rising from his chair while reaching for his gun, and the saloon owner raising a small Derringer.

Ricky was back in his back yard, drawing two pistols simultaneously while twisting and dropping to the ground with both pistols blazing.

When the shooting stopped, two of the men at the table behind Ricky lay dead and a third lay dying, his pistol, unfired, in his hand. The bouncer lay dead on the floor, his gun by his hand. The saloon owner, the first man shot, had fallen forward onto his table. His Derringer hung loosely in his limp hand.

Ricky stood and holstered his guns. People started cautiously entering the saloon. To no one in particular, Ricky said, "I just wanted to talk."