Kid Lay

by Boyd Neisler

die, then you die on the gallows. Second, look to your right, in the door of the gun shop. What do you see? I’ll tell you what you see. You see the barrel of a Henry 44-40 pointed straight at you. Even if you should out draw me, you will die. Either way, you are a dead man if you pull iron. So now do the sensible thing and drop ‘em on the ground and come with me.”

  “Can’t do that Sheriff!” The young man known in these parts as the Kid Lay replied. “It just wouldn’t look right, here in front of all my friends. Call off your rifle; this is between you and me.”

  “Kid, I don’t mean to bust your bubble, but you don’t have that many friends, and the rifle stays.”

  “Well, I guess when I kill both ya lawdawgs that will make me the fastest gun in town. I’ll open up this town, and then I’ll have lots of friends.”

  “Kid, I know you been reading those dime novels about how the gun slick always has the fastest draw, shoots straight and sends the other fellow to Boot Hill. Believe me, it don’t always work that way. Even if you get lead in me first, I’ll put a hole in you before I hit the ground. You’ll get a bullet in the biggest part of you. A belly shot person is not a pretty sight. You’ll die very slowly and very painfully. There is nothing the doctor can do to help you--a little laudanum to ease the pain. Either way you die here on the street or on the gallows. Now, what do you want on your marker?”

  “You can put Kid Lay if you beat me.” The kid boasted

  “Have it your way, now fill your hands.”

  Tex Ewalt, (a noted gun slick traveling in the area,) had told the kid, by removing the trigger he could gain a good half second draw time on his opponent, showing him his own modified pistol. Following his advice the kid had the gunsmith work over the hammers and triggers of both guns just the day before. The spring tension on the hammers had been tightened along with the knurled grooves filed until they were smooth and the trigger removed. All he had to do was pull the hammer back as he drew the pistol and then slip his thumb off of it and the increased spring tension drove the hammer forward into the cartridge.

  “I’ll show you.” The Kid said going for his right hand streaking for gun on his hip.

  Sheriff Price’s hand flashed to his side, in one smooth liquid motion, he had his thumb over the hammer pulling it back as his hand easily pulled the Colt clear of the holster ready to fire. Squeezing the trigger was all that was necessary for the Sheriff to do, ending the Kid’s short time on earth.

  Grabbing for the gun, he saw the Sheriff had already pulled his gun and it was pointed straight at him. He knew at that moment he was bought and paid for. If the Sheriff so desired, he could shoot and kill him in the name of self defense. The Kid knew his actions in the next blink of an eye would determine his fate. All the days and weeks of practice were paying off for the Kid. His hand was automatically pulling the gun from his holster; his thumb pulling back the hammer. Fear suddenly overtook him half way out the holster causing his thumb to slip from the slick surface the hammer. At that same moment, the same sudden fear caused the kid’s bladder gave way and he began to involuntary wet his pants. His thumb slipped from the hammer. The bullet fired from the holstered gun, downward toward the ground, only instead of the bullet hitting the ground, it hit the Kid’s booted foot. He would see later at the doctor’s office he had shot off two of his toes.

  Pain caused the Kid to fall to the street, when he attempted to grab and hold the now bloody booted foot. Rolling over toward a hitch rail, he rolled into a pile of fresh horse manure and puddle of urine from the just vacated horse. All this time yelling and screaming as loud as he could.

  “Shut up!” Sheriff Price yelled with his cocked pistol pointing at the Kid, walking toward him, he kicked the dropped gun out of the way. “Real easy now, slip that other shooter out and toss it to the side.” Once both pistols were out the Kid’s reach, the Sheriff eased the hammer down on his pistol and slid it into its holster. “Kid”, the Sheriff said with a chuckle, “I want you to know, you are the first gunman I have ever had shoot himself for me. I really appreciate that. Now get on your feet and head toward the jail and maybe one of your good friends will get the doctor to meet you there.” Jim said, shaking his head and laughing.

  “I can’t get up.” The Kid whined with a sobbing voice.

  “You should have thought of the consequences before calling me out. Now get to your feet like a man, or crawl like a snake. I don’t care either way.” Sheriff Price said picking up the Kid’s guns, looking at them for the first time. Seeing the missing triggers, he knew what had happened as he shoved them in his waistband.

  With the kid still lying on the ground, the sheriff said. “Kid, I’m going to ask you one time and one time only, and I want your word on it. Am I going to regret not killing you later on?” Before the kid could answer, the Sheriff had pulled his pistol from his holster and fired five shots as fast as he could thumb back the hammer making it sounding like a short roll of loud thunder. Each shot just shaved the fabric of the inside of each elbow and the inside of each knee with the fifth just grazing his crotch. “If I thought for a moment that you would get a crazy idea later on down the road, just know that each of those bullets could have been in your knees and elbows. That way, I wouldn’t have to worry about you back shooting me. In fact, your biggest problem would be going to the privy and wiping yourself. Also, if and when you should decide to start a family, you wouldn’t have to worry about any of your own kids.” He said looking at the fifth shot.

  Two days after the big shoot out, the town had taken on its normal activities. Sheriff Price was walking toward the Busy Bee Restaurant just as Dr. Beaman was coming out.

  “How’s the kid coming along Doc?” Jim asked the older man.

  “He’ll be up and around in another day or two.”

  “Good, I have several projects lined up for him to do, in order to pay your bill, and the city fine for discharging a gun in the city limits. Miss Millie wants her house painted. Gus at the livery has some fence and corral work that needs to be done. You know of anything around here that needs repaired or painted, because if you don’t someone is always need a new privy dug.”

  “Widow Smith needs someone to get her garden ready for planting; I need the windows washed at both my office and at home.” The doctor replied.

  “How much does he owe you?”

  “Well,” the old doc said, scratching his nearly hairless head. “I amputated two toes, he’s been laid up for about two days, he should be up and around in two more, so oh, about six dollars should be about right.”

  “Your six, the city’s ten, that’s sixteen, then after he pays fifty cents a day for food and room, it seems he will have about thirty two days to work off.” Turning, Jim started down the street, when he stopped and turned to the doctor. “Before you turn him loose, get me or my deputy so we can explain to him again what he is to do and why?”

  “Sure thing Jim;” he said as he turned walking in the direction of his office.

  The next two days passed without incident. Since entertainment was scarce, the gun show was still the topic of conversation in the saloons and among the spit and whittlers in the chairs in front of the general store facing Main Street.

  Stepping out of his office, Jim watched as his deputy and the Kid on his make shift crutches come down the street from the doctor’s office. It looked like the Kid was having a rough time of it, with a couple his toes missing on the right foot. However, Jim had no sympathy for him. He had really tried his best to get the kid to throw down his irons and come peacefully.

  “How you feeling Kid?” Jim asked.

  “Foot hurts like blazes.” Came a surly reply.

  “We might as well get right down to business then; Doc tells me you owe him six dollars for his services. You got that?”

  The Kid shook his head side to side.

  “Then how do you intend to pay that bill?”

  “Wasn’t figurin’ on needin’ no money to pay him.”

  “Your figurin’ ain�
��t worth spit!” Sheriff Jim hurled back. “You owe the city ten dollars for failing to check your firearms. Don’t suppose you have that either.”

  A slow shake of his head was the only reply the Kid had.

  “We are going to make it as easy on you as possible, Ernie, the gunsmith gave you two dollars apiece for your irons.”

  “Why, I just gave ten dollars apiece for them last week.” The Kid blustered.

  “That was before you blotched them up so bad, that you are lucky to get anything for them. He also gave you five dollars for the holster rig. That makes nine dollars. That pays Doc and gives you three dollars toward the ten you owe the city.” Gus said if you want to sell the horse he could give you fifteen for it and ten for the saddle and riggings. If that is agreeable, you can leave our fair city with twenty-eight dollars in your pocket.

  “How do I get out of town if I sell my horse?”

  “Kid, I’m tired of calling you Kid, what is your real name?”

  “William Lay of the Fort Smith, Arkansas Lay’s”

  “Well, Bill, you don’t mind if I call you Bill? Come to think about it, I do believe you might have earned a gun slick’s name for your performance. Let’s see, we can call you Three-Toe’. Yeah, I like that ‘The Three-Toe Kid’. No, that don’t sound quite right, we got to get you last name in it. How’s about ‘The Three-Toe