Re: Is it always this quiet in here?

A Fistful of Cogs
by "Leo"

A man with several days' growth of beard balances himself on a precarious perch beneath a desert tree's limb. There's a noose around his neck, fastened to the creaking limb. A rider's horse can be seen kicking up dust in the distance. A haunting, whistling sound is heard.

The rider reins in his sweating horse right at the base of the tree. Pulling out his six-shooter, he inspects the empty, cavernous chambers in the cylinder. Casually, yet deliberately, he inserts six caliber 45 Long Colt Folding cartridges. He lifts his head, wordlessly boring into the frightened man with a searing, seathing glare.

The Sheriff from Detroit races up in a cloud of dust, the nostrils of his horse wildly flared. The gnarled rider slowly holsters his iron, his finger tentatively resting on the gun's hammer. "Leo", quips the lawman, "there are better ways to inspire greenhorn folders than making them stare up the barrel of your Colt. Put it down now!" Sheriff Prime spits a brown stream of tobacco on the ground, all the while maintaining eye contact with Leo.

Unnoticed until this tense moment, freshly-deputized Tennessee Bill nudges his horse forward of the sheriff's. "Leo's right, Sheriff! These new S-M Ranch hands need some inspirin'...Now you know Leo didn't put that noose around that pilgrim's neck. But I say, we make the greenhorn sweat - see what he's made of! Don't need no soft Easterner SETI types pretendin' to be Folders around here. We'll get to the truth, by God!"

Frontier justice is what is was, by God. The Sheriff called up a council of hon'rable men from the Crossroads Boarding House. We done removed the rope from the tenderfoot's neck, seeing he was bout to kick the bucket outta fright. Ol' Bill grabbed Mr. Phoenix by the shoulder, put the fear of God in 'im, and demanded he show the palms of his hands. Leo said in front of all them assembled, "betcha his hands are as smooth as baby cheeks - gotta be a soft New York store clark". Never heard such midnight quiet out of those uncivilized ranch hands -- young Phoenix thar staring at Bill and Leo with fire in his eyes. As sure as hot on Texas in Summertime, them was Folding calluses on poor Phoenix' hands! Mind you, not big, leather-like calluses, but calluses none the less.

Well, no apologies needed - you know how rough and tumble it is out here. Not men lacking in proper Western respect though, we done bought Phoenix a bubbly bath and hot shave at the Crossroads. We entreated Mr. Phoenix warmly-like to settle in the hereabouts and to hire on at the S-M Folding Ranch. Good man, that Phoenix. Good man. Spect to see good work outta 'im.