Lonesome Cowboy
New Member
1921 Ford Roundabout
The summer of ´26 found Ty McLeod both discharged from the Army and running from the mafia gangs of the East. So, he was given an ultimatum : ride West or die. He read in the "Dearborn Independent" (Henry Ford´s newspaper) that driven by the growth of the automobile industry, total U.S. pipeline mileage grew to over 115,000 miles. Most of it sprawling across the West.
* * *
The Morgan brothers follow the little ´21 Ford pick-up rolling into their gas station.
" Know that guy drivin´ in ? "
" Never seen that pick-up in these neck of the woods Morty"
" Good pick-up tho "
" That´s a drifter´s ride, Morty. I´m a get my shotgun "
Ty McLeod pulls the brake bringing the pick up to a jolting stop. Like a lazy spider crawling out of a tin can he steps out. One long leg at a time. Stretches his skinny frame reaching for the clear blue skies. Looks up, way up, holding his cowboy hat as he takes in the majestic Colorado Mountains. Row after row of gargantuan stone peaks enclosing the Watchatee Valley.
Morty gets up off his rocking chair and slowly walks up to the pick up.
"Hi there stranger, welcome to Smokey River" holds out his hand. Ty looks around and dusts off his jeans. He stares at the gas station sign over the small house.
"You folks the "Morgan Brothers" ?
"In the flesh, this here is my brother Dusty, I´m Morty"
Dusty tips his hat from the porch. A suspicious look on his face.
" I want some gas, which pump old fella" snaps Ty
" If you ask politely..." shouts Dusty from the porch narrowing his eyes.
" Now, now Dusty" says Morty in a shaky voice, calming his older brother down "the young fella ain´t lookin for trouble just wants a lil´ gas".
Morty smiles raising his eyebrows. His "Coolidge 4 President" campaign button fastened to his denim overalls.
"Well if he asks nicely he´ll get it" grumbles Dusty from the porch.
Ty freezes on the spot as if 10 million volts were shooting thru him. He stares at the old man. Cocks his head as if staring at some oddity in a petting zoo.
"I know ya didn´t just say that ol timer" moans Ty as he slowly walks to the porch and up the steps, hands on his hips, defiant.
"I know ya weren´t talkin ta me , were ya ole timer ? ".
Ty cooly tips back his tattered straw hat as he leans on the porch railing.
"Oh, I ain´t been polite enough fer ya ?" he asks mockingly
" Maybe I should change my ways just for a couple of old faggots in the middle of nowhere"
" Why you no good..." Old man Dusty reaches for his shotgun next to his rocking chair.
"Dusty no!!!" screams his brother raising his hand running to stop him.
The gunshot blast echoes through the valley, over the trees, across the river, up into the mountains. Dusty slumps over, falls off his rockin chair. A hole where his tired wrinkled heart use to be. Ty slips his .22 back into his boot and lazily walks over to Morty, shoves him back in his chair
"Morty is it ? Well Mor-Teee" Ty sniffs looking around
"You heard of self-defense right old feller ?" Morty nods his face twisted in sorrow, his lips shaking in anger.
"Well if you haven´t, that was it right there...Heck the ole man´s got his very own finger prints on his shotgun and everythin´" he lets out a chuckle shaking his head in amazement.
"And finger prints are nine tenths of the law, granpaw"
His eyes widen in amusement "Ha! That even rhymes old timer!!! Nine tenths o the law, granpaw!"
Morty looks at his brother´s dead body laying on the porch.
"Get up Dusty" he whispers.
"Look at me when I´m talkin to ya, ya old ****!" Ty yanks the old man violently from his collar.
"Now you´re gonna sit yer *** down on that chair yonder, and watch me fill up with gas and take the money from yer register and then, and then blow yer brains out, got it ?" He lets out a bone chilling howl that echoes through the woods and down the roaring Smokey River.
"Cuz ,ya see, we´re gonna make like old Dusty over there went crazy and tried to shoot me but I had to shoot back in self-defense." Ty raises his eyebrows like he´s thinking.
"But that leaves you, dudn it. Well let´s just say you got yerself caught in the cross-fire, right Morty?". He let´s out another thunderous banshee like yell as he takes his gun out of his boot.
"Man Murders Brother, Kills Self" He says to himself as he cocks his .22. "Love the sound of it already"
A thunderous wave of industry was now rolling West again like a freight train. And Ty Mcleod on it like a bull rider.
The summer of ´26 found Ty McLeod both discharged from the Army and running from the mafia gangs of the East. So, he was given an ultimatum : ride West or die. He read in the "Dearborn Independent" (Henry Ford´s newspaper) that driven by the growth of the automobile industry, total U.S. pipeline mileage grew to over 115,000 miles. Most of it sprawling across the West.
* * *
The Morgan brothers follow the little ´21 Ford pick-up rolling into their gas station.
" Know that guy drivin´ in ? "
" Never seen that pick-up in these neck of the woods Morty"
" Good pick-up tho "
" That´s a drifter´s ride, Morty. I´m a get my shotgun "
Ty McLeod pulls the brake bringing the pick up to a jolting stop. Like a lazy spider crawling out of a tin can he steps out. One long leg at a time. Stretches his skinny frame reaching for the clear blue skies. Looks up, way up, holding his cowboy hat as he takes in the majestic Colorado Mountains. Row after row of gargantuan stone peaks enclosing the Watchatee Valley.
Morty gets up off his rocking chair and slowly walks up to the pick up.
"Hi there stranger, welcome to Smokey River" holds out his hand. Ty looks around and dusts off his jeans. He stares at the gas station sign over the small house.
"You folks the "Morgan Brothers" ?
"In the flesh, this here is my brother Dusty, I´m Morty"
Dusty tips his hat from the porch. A suspicious look on his face.
" I want some gas, which pump old fella" snaps Ty
" If you ask politely..." shouts Dusty from the porch narrowing his eyes.
" Now, now Dusty" says Morty in a shaky voice, calming his older brother down "the young fella ain´t lookin for trouble just wants a lil´ gas".
Morty smiles raising his eyebrows. His "Coolidge 4 President" campaign button fastened to his denim overalls.
"Well if he asks nicely he´ll get it" grumbles Dusty from the porch.
Ty freezes on the spot as if 10 million volts were shooting thru him. He stares at the old man. Cocks his head as if staring at some oddity in a petting zoo.
"I know ya didn´t just say that ol timer" moans Ty as he slowly walks to the porch and up the steps, hands on his hips, defiant.
"I know ya weren´t talkin ta me , were ya ole timer ? ".
Ty cooly tips back his tattered straw hat as he leans on the porch railing.
"Oh, I ain´t been polite enough fer ya ?" he asks mockingly
" Maybe I should change my ways just for a couple of old faggots in the middle of nowhere"
" Why you no good..." Old man Dusty reaches for his shotgun next to his rocking chair.
"Dusty no!!!" screams his brother raising his hand running to stop him.
The gunshot blast echoes through the valley, over the trees, across the river, up into the mountains. Dusty slumps over, falls off his rockin chair. A hole where his tired wrinkled heart use to be. Ty slips his .22 back into his boot and lazily walks over to Morty, shoves him back in his chair
"Morty is it ? Well Mor-Teee" Ty sniffs looking around
"You heard of self-defense right old feller ?" Morty nods his face twisted in sorrow, his lips shaking in anger.
"Well if you haven´t, that was it right there...Heck the ole man´s got his very own finger prints on his shotgun and everythin´" he lets out a chuckle shaking his head in amazement.
"And finger prints are nine tenths of the law, granpaw"
His eyes widen in amusement "Ha! That even rhymes old timer!!! Nine tenths o the law, granpaw!"
Morty looks at his brother´s dead body laying on the porch.
"Get up Dusty" he whispers.
"Look at me when I´m talkin to ya, ya old ****!" Ty yanks the old man violently from his collar.
"Now you´re gonna sit yer *** down on that chair yonder, and watch me fill up with gas and take the money from yer register and then, and then blow yer brains out, got it ?" He lets out a bone chilling howl that echoes through the woods and down the roaring Smokey River.
"Cuz ,ya see, we´re gonna make like old Dusty over there went crazy and tried to shoot me but I had to shoot back in self-defense." Ty raises his eyebrows like he´s thinking.
"But that leaves you, dudn it. Well let´s just say you got yerself caught in the cross-fire, right Morty?". He let´s out another thunderous banshee like yell as he takes his gun out of his boot.
"Man Murders Brother, Kills Self" He says to himself as he cocks his .22. "Love the sound of it already"
A thunderous wave of industry was now rolling West again like a freight train. And Ty Mcleod on it like a bull rider.
