The Wild West

Tombstone is a dangerous place for a gun slinger. Especially an out-of-towner. Men live and die by the speed of their draw. If you weren’t quick, then you had to make up for it by being sly. Or bluffing.

But bluffing is a dying profession in Tombstone. Literally.

This particular day, about high noon, when all the important things happen, a cowboy comes sauntering in on his horse. Stereotypical type of ruffian. James ‘Jimmy’ Allan’s his name. Though nobody from these parts are familiar with it. Yet.

Chewing tobacco, hat tipped forward, trying to look mean and staring daggers at anyone game enough to be looking his way.

He thought he’d come to the legendary town and make a name for himself. This is where The Earps come from, Doc Holliday, and others who are known far and wide for their exploits, gun fights and show downs.

He slides down off his horse, right there in front of the saloon. The sounds of honky-tonk piano spills out through the front doors. Followed by a drunk who’s being evicted for getting a little too friendly with one of the bar girls.

Jimmy swaggers up and decides this is his big chance to impress. He bursts through the door, legs apart, arms at his side, fingers flexing. But no one seems to notice.

He spots the piano player with a cigar sticking out of his mouth and lighted candles on each side of the piano. He draws, twirls his six shooter three times and shoots out the flame on the left side candle. He blows the blue smoke curling from the barrel of his gun and returns it to his holster.

Everyone stops and stares for a few moments. They then drift back to what they’re doing. Everyone except the piano player. He just keeps on playing.

The gun slinger repeats the performance. Draws from his left hip, spins the gun fours times and shoots out the flame on the right side candle. He gets the exact same response from everyone, but the piano player keeps on playing.

So the cowboy pulls both guns. Spins and twirls, crosses over his arms, shoots the cigar out of the piano players mouth with his right and shoots it again with his left while it’s flying up though the air. But the piano player just keeps playing.

Discouraged, the gun slinger retreats to the bar. The barman comes up and Jimmy orders a drink. The barman pours the drink and comments on the fine display of shooting. He also offers a bit of advice.

“Firstly,” starts the barman as he points at the holstered guns hanging down on Jimmy’s sides, “I’d file the sight off the end of the barrel and smooth her right down.”

“Whys that?” asks Jimmy leaning on the bar, as he pulls out one of his guns and fondles it gently as he caresses the fixed iron sight with his finger.

“You don't need it seeing as you shoot from the hip and it only hinders a fast draw,” replies the bar tender.

Jimmy nods as he slowly turns his gun over, looking it over, taking in the wise words of a man he knows has served drinks to the toughest, meanest sons of bitches the wild west have ever seen.

“Then,” continues the barman, “I'd file off that there trigger guard and again smooth it right down.”

Jimmy looks at the man and raises his eye brow, “What? I don’t need that either?”

“Nope you don't need that either,” repeats the barman, “you could get your finger caught in it one day and it could cost you your very life.”

“Thanks. Mighty appreciated,” responds Jimmy. “Anything else you suggest?”

“Yep, there’s one other thing,” replies the barman.

“And what is that?” asks Jimmy eagerly. This barman has had some mighty fine advice, and he must be saving the best for last.

“Lastly, I'd cover both guns, all over, in Vaseline.”

“Vaseline?” queries the gunslinger, “but won't that make ‘em slippery?”

“Well you see, that's the whole idea,” says the barman, “ ‘cause when Wyatt Earp over there finishes playing the piano, he's gonna come straight over here and shove those guns right up your ass!”