by Chuck Buda
“If we is all making it up then how come it happens every year at the same time?” Randall Gilbert challenged the Mayor.
Mayor Samuels poured another drink. His hand was starting to shake as the whiskey accumulated in his blood. He watched his fat fingers as they grasped the shot glass. The argument was getting to him and he wanted to regain control of his emotions and the situation before things got out of hand. He let go of the shot glass and reached into his jacket for a cigarette. As he licked paper and stuck it between his lips, the Mayor made eye contact with Gilbert. Philip struck a match on the table and fired up the Mayor’s cigarette.
“Thank you, Philip.” The Mayor nodded at the man and breathed smoke through his hairy nostrils. “All I am saying is that we need to stay calm so nobody else gets hurt.” His voice was serene and the angst in the crowd was soothed into silence. “I, personally, don’t believe in ghosts. That’s not to say that they don’t exist. However, we owe it to each other to look out for one another. We have wives and children to think of. We have livelihoods to protect. And if everyone runs through the streets hollering and shooting then we stand to lose more than we gain.”
Some of the men nodded, in understanding if not in agreement with the Mayor. A few others peeled away from the crowd, whispering as they left. Those that remained looked to the Mayor for more guidance.
As he took the cigarette from his lips, an ash tumbled down his black coat. Mayor Samuels downed another shot and made eye contact with each of the men surrounding his table. He smiled internally at his ability to turn an argument in his favor. His skills had served him well in gaining office and keeping him from getting punched out as a youngster.
“I will personally guarantee that there will be no ghostly troubles tomorrow. I will walk out into the middle of the street, at high noon, and show everyone that there is nothing to be scared of. You have my word on it.” The Mayor nodded emphatically to put an exclamation point on his promise.
Several men whistled their shock while a low rumble of excitement worked through the crowd. The Mayor overheard a few comments like “he’s crazier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs” and “don’t he know he’s fixin’ ta die” and “that’s why he’s Mayor of this here town.” He grinned with confidence at the men and placed the cigarette back into his lips. Then he ordered up a round of whiskeys on himself to a pleasing bunch of cheers and claps. The crowd dispersed as the men scooted to the bar to collect their free drinks.
Mayor Samuels kept the grin on his face but he was shaking inside. He did what he had to in order to maintain control of his town. But deep down he knew the ghost was real. He saw it with his own eyes too. And he was scared to death of what he had promised the folks. He gulped the huge lump that formed in his throat and reached for the bottle with a shaking hand. The Mayor snatched up the bottle quickly before anybody could see his fear and he poured a large drink. The neck of the bottle clinked the glass several times as his hand continued to shake. Luckily, nobody noticed as the saloon had returned to regular festivities and loud banter.
The Mayor admonished himself for making such a wild claim as taunting the apparition. His mind flipped through an inventory of possible excuses to recuse him of his promise before high noon. But he knew he had to go through with it for the good folks of his town. He loved this town and most of the people who lived here. His political aspirations aside, he really enjoyed building this small town into the hub of businesses that it had become. And he would do anything to protect these good people. Even if it meant he had to die to do it.
Philip slapped the Mayor on the back as he went to a table in the back corner of the saloon. Mayor Samuels smiled up at him and winked to show his mirth and confidence. The men bought it, for now, he whispered to himself. He glanced around the bar and drained the glass. The burn of the alcohol flaming his throat and then his gut. He crushed out the butt of his cigarette on the floor and began praying to God to save his soul. The Mayor wanted to make his peace in case he succumbed to the ghostly gunslinger tomorrow afternoon.
Chapter 3
James was stocking a shelf with bars of soap. The cheap ones had no smells whatsoever. The more expensive ones had nice fragrances that brought to mind sun-washed fields or flower gardens. He liked to sniff the soaps before stacking them on the shelves. Of course, he made sure to look around before smelling them to make sure that nobody watched him.
The chime above the door jingled as a new customer entered the general store. The store was named Miller’s after the proprietor, Mr. Miller. Ed Miller. James liked Mr. Miller. He was an older gentleman with a horse-shoe shaped patch of gray hair around his shiny bald head. Mr. Miller was tall and thin, but exceptionally stronger than he appeared. James struggled lifting a crate of fruits one time and Mr. Miller came to his aid. Rather than grabbing one side of the container to help James, Mr. Miller hoisted the crate up onto the counter himself. And James noticed the man didn’t even strain or grunt to do it.
“Good day, Edwin.”
“Well, good day to you, Mrs. Walsh. You look lovely as usual. What can I do for you today?” Mr. Miller was successful for more reasons than being the only store in town. He knew how to extend the highest levels of courtesy and service to his customers.
James stopped listening to their exchange as he bent to grab more bars of soap. He sniffed the bars while he was squatted down to avoid detection. As he was about to rise and continue stacking he overheard Mrs. Walsh mention the name “Earp.” His ears immediately pricked up and and he rose to pay closer attention over the shelves.
“Why, he did so much to clean up the hooligans in this town but I wonder if he could have done anything about that dreadful ghost.” Mrs. Walsh spoke with her hand resting on her fair cheek.
“Well, I don’t know what a man can do against an other-worldly spirit, Mrs. Walsh. But I certainly felt safer with Wyatt Earp as marshal over Sheriff Morgan.” Mr. Miller saw James watching them. “Do you need help, James?”
“Uh, no, sir. I couldn’t help but hear you talking about Wyatt Earp. Did you say that he was sheriff here?” James felt the excitement swelling in his gut.
“Yes, but what does that have to do with stocking the shelves? I don’t pay you to stand around and talk, you know.” He smiled back at Mrs. Walsh and continued their conversation.
James dropped the bars of soap back into the crate and walked around the shelf. As he approached the counter, Mr. Miller was laughing about a story from the past. The story involved Wyatt Earp cleaning out the saloon single-handedly. Apparently, two men got into an argument over who was going to buy a patch of land just outside of town. One thing led to another and the men began fighting. However, as the brawl ensued, several other men got stepped on or shoved by the fighting men. Soon thereafter, the fight escalated to about ten men. And it seemed that Wyatt Earp beat all ten men into submission, several with his famed pistol-whipping. James was delighted with the tale and let out a loud and drawn out, “Whoa.”
“James, I told you to finish stacking the soap. There are a lot more things that need to be shelved and I can’t have you standing around. Now get back to work.” Mr. Miller got irritated and the wrinkles on his bald head stacked up as his eyebrows came together in anger.
“Sorry, Mr. Miller. I just love to read or hear about Wyatt Earp. He is a hero of mine and I just can’t help myself.”
“Well, I don’t know if I would call him a hero.” Mr. Miller straightened up. “He was a fine marshal and kept folks safe but he had his moments. The man knew how to live it up and he probably caused as many problems as he solved.”
“And he was quite a character with the ladies, too.” Mrs. Walsh blushed. She moved the hand from her cheek and patted her handbag in embarrassment of her affection for the legend.
“I wish I could meet him someday. I’ve learned so much about him and I would love to get to know my fa…, uh, my famous hero. I, uh, should get back to work on those soap bars, I guess. Sorry, Mr. Mill
er. Sorry, Ma’am.” James backed away and hurried to the crate of soap. He narrowly missed slipping up. His mother had warned him not to mention Wyatt Earp was his father since it might attract attention.
“What a nice young man. I haven’t seen him before. What is his name?”
“James. James Johnson. He came into town about a week ago with his mother and a little brother. He’s been a big help since joining us here in the store. But sometimes, he needs to concentrate better on his work.” Mr. Miller glowered over his nose in James’ direction. James smiled and waved a bar of soap before placing it on the shelf. He got away with one this time but he had to be more careful in the future.
James’ mind wandered while he worked. His thoughts bounced between his mother and Carson, and the stories of his legendary father. He was happy that they had moved from Iowa to Kansas. It had given them a fresh start and they were doing better here. He had a job. His mother had a better position so she didn’t have to whore anymore. And Carson seemed happier in the new place. It was easier for Carson to forget that his mother was “away” with relatives since he didn’t have all the old reminders that existed in Iowa. He still asked James for when she was coming home, but the questions were less frequent since they had moved. James hoped to hide Carson’s mother’s passing from him for as long as he could. Hopefully, forever. Carson was slow so he might be able to pull it off. Sometimes he felt guilty about hiding the facts from Carson, but he knew it was best for his little friend to protect his fragile mind.
James sighed out loud which drew the attention of Mrs. Walsh and Mr. Miller. He nodded and smiled and they went back to conversing. James wondered what the ghost gunslinger looked like. Was it fully visible? Or was it white like they described in those scary chapbooks? Could a ghost really shoot a gun with real bullets? Or was it all make believe as Mayor Samuels touted? James was fascinated with this story and he couldn’t wait to find out more about it tomorrow at noon. He smiled to himself as he daydreamed about a possible new adventure.
Chapter 4
Carson giggled while he watched James’ expression sink. James couldn’t believe he had been bested yet again by Carson’s skills with cards. He slapped the table and pushed his chair back to stand. Carson collected the cards and began to shuffle for another game.
“I told you to pay attention.” Carson grinned from ear to ear with satisfaction. James shot Carson a look of frustration and then turned to grab a mug of water from the counter.
“I did pay attention. I always pay attention. I swear, one of these days I will beat you at poker and I will dance around you in celebration when it happens.”
Carson kept shuffling. James gulped the water down and then walked over to the window. The night sky appeared as a translucent, deep blue with the full moon rising. He breathed in the crisp air as he watched some party-goers walk towards the saloon. James appreciated the fact that he and Carson were able to eat and play cards in the room. He didn’t miss the long nights on the porch back in Iowa. He did miss their favorite hiding spot though.
“I wonder what the gunslinger will look like.” James’ mind forwarded to the much-anticipated sighting. In fifteen hours he would know whether the legend was true or not.
Carson paused and stared at James’ back as he continued to stare out the window. “I bet he will be whited and creepy.”
James turned to face Carson. “You mean white, not whited.” James approached the table and sat down. “And you’re just repeating what I said yesterday. I have to see it but Mr. Miller and Mom might try to stop me.”
Carson looked confused. James continued anyway.
“I heard Mr. Miller and Mrs. Walsh today at the store.” James leaned across the table and spoke in a hushed voice as if to avoid detection. “They said Wyatt Earp was here in town a few years ago and he busted men up. But he left town before the appearance of the ghost.”
Carson swallowed loudly and hung on every word with wide eyes.
“Don’t you see? This is my chance to outdo my father.” James looked for recognition in Carson’s face but found nothing. “I’ve always wanted to follow in my daddy’s footsteps, but this time, I have a chance to do one better.”
Carson blinked at James. James sighed and put his head in his hands, elbows resting on the table. He loved Carson like his little brother but sometimes it was difficult to communicate with him.
“I can make a legend of my own if I can figure out how to get rid of this ghostly gunslinger.”
Carson nodded in understanding. Finally, James thought to himself.
“But I thought we were going to do adventures together.” Carson emphasized the “together” with a hurtful whine.
“Oh yeah. Of course. We will both go on lots of adventures. But this one might be too…well, I mean, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, buddy.” James tried to convey his worry for Carson without crushing his hopes for fighting evil with James. “A ghost might be too scary for you. But I know you could whoop a whole saloon full of cattle thieves and cheaters.”
Carson sat up straight with pride. He seemed satisfied that James would include him in taking out the bad guys.
James rubbed his temples. He struggled to figure out how he could help the town with the gunslinger. It would be difficult since he didn’t know what it looked like or where in the street it would show up. And he just didn’t know enough about the history of the legend. Who was the gunslinger? Had he lived in this town in the past? What was the significance of the date and time that it appeared? James had so many questions and not enough answers.
“It’s going to be difficult tomorrow. Mr. Miller already warned me that if I was going to come home for lunch, like I normally do, then he would make me leave the store early to avoid noon hour. And Mom said if I came home for lunch she would make me eat a long, slow lunch so that I would be stuck here in the room at the same time. I’m trapped on both ends.” He looked at the ceiling in search of a solution.
“Maybe you can left the store early and then don’t come home on time.” Carson spoke while he flipped cards over on the table. The first card was the one-eyed Jack. The second card was a four of clubs.
“You’re a genius, Carson.” Carson beamed at the high praise. “You figured it out. I will leave early to come home for lunch just like Mr. Miller said. But on my way home, I might just find myself getting carried away with something that keeps me from getting here. That way I can watch for the gunslinger and figure out how to defeat him.” James slammed his fists down on the table in excitement. “Then I’m on my way to becoming a legend like my old man.” He was ecstatic with the possibilities.
Carson shuffled the cards quickly and then stared at James as if to plead for another game. James nodded and Carson started dealing happily. James lost himself in thought, trying to determine the best vantage point for the noon-time shoot out. He knew that being anywhere in the street was dangerous. And he wouldn’t be able to watch from Miller’s. He ran through a list of locations between Miller’s and their room above the saloon. Each option had its pluses and minuses. James would have to finalize scouting the perfect spot on his way to work in the morning. He drummed his fingers on the table as he thought. As he came back to the present moment he thought Carson had said something to him.
“I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“I said, back to square one.” Carson looked annoyed at having to repeat himself.
“Back to square one.” James echoed Carson. He scooped up his cards and fanned out his hand. “Aw, jeez.” James studied his cards to find two threes, a ten, one jack and one queen. He clearly tipped the awful hand to Carson.
Carson giggled out loud, laughing so hard that he let slip some loud gas. Both boys stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Then they both burst into raucous laughter.
Chapter 5
James swept the general store’s porch. All morning he had tried to find a way to work out front but Mr. Miller had thwarted his plans several times. James h
ad tried to redo the window displays so he could keep an eye on the street. Mr. Miller asked him to toss out the older produce instead. James attempted to wash the store windows but Mr. Miller had him dust the shelves.
While Mr. Miller ducked into the stockroom for a customer, James snatched up the broom and went outside to sweep. He wanted to finalize his plan for the annual apparition and he needed to see the various locations. Things hadn’t worked out as he had hoped this morning. His intentions were to scout out safe viewing locations while he walked to work. However, James got waylaid by Miss Lark. The beautiful, young school teacher was struggling to carry a stack of supplies. James had offered to help her and she accepted his offer happily. When they arrived at the schoolhouse, Miss Lark engaged James in a conversation about the legend of the ghost. The discussion had turned into an inquisition about his background and the town they used to live in before moving here. James was exasperated by how many questions the woman asked. Each time he answered one, another question soon followed. And he didn’t want to rush things since Miss Lark was very pleasing to his eyes.
As he swept around the salt barrel, James spied the clock tower down the street. It was quarter to noon already. He noticed that the street had far less activity than usual for this hour of the day. Apparently, the townspeople took this legend very seriously and did their best to avoid an ill-timed stroll downtown.
James picked out two potential locations for his watch. One spot was really close to the action. It was a long horse trough in front of the post office. For some reason the trough in that location was a few feet from the post office’s porch. All the other troughs in town were situated right up against the porch boards. So this spot left some room for him to squat low enough behind the wood to protect himself. The problem with this location was that it was very close to the rumored area where the ghost would appear.
