Author Topic: The Sheriff of Ford's Prairie  (Read 1771 times)

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Chapter 5
« on: November 28, 2012, 05:04:40 am »
Chapter 5


Robin wasn't the only friend Duncan had made in the short time he had been in Fords Prairie. On the nights that Robin was on duty...and there wasn't a good poker game going on at the Lucky Ace...Duncan could be found playing chess with Roger Wells and they became fast friends.
 
One afternoon while Robin and Doc Hudson were visiting the Lakota village, a group of young cowboys rode into town. Robin's new deputy, Robert Dixon, was able to disarm them (or so he thought) and they went inside the Lucky Ace. A couple of hours later one of the cowboys left the saloon, walked across the street to the General Store and went inside.


Roger was stocking the shelves behind the counter when the young man entered his store and walked up to the counter. “May I help you, young man?” Roger asked.


The young man pulled a piece of paper out of his vest pocket and handed it to Roger. “I need the things on that list,” he said simply.


Roger looked at the list of the usual supplies for several weeks on the road. “It'll take me a while to fill this,” he said as he headed to the flour bin to fill the first item on the list. “You're welcome to look around or you can come back in an hour,” Roger added as he scooped flour into a sack.


“Thanks,” the young man said as he wandered over to a stack of folded men's shirts. He took one from the middle of the pile...the only dark blue one in the stack...and unfolded it. He held it up to himself and checked the sleeve length. “How much for this shirt?” he asked.


Roger stopped what he was doing to look over at the young man. “That one's $2,” he answered and moved over to the scale to weigh the sack of flour.


The young man draped the shirt over his shoulder and moved to a stack of men's pants. He picked a pair from the pile and checked the tag for the size.


Roger saw the pair of pants that the young man was examining out of the corner of his eye. As he adjusted the scale he said, “those are $3.50. But the ones in the stack next to that one are on sale for $1.75.”


The young man moved to the sale pile and chose another pair of pants from that stack. Slinging both pairs of pants over his shoulder, he noticed a pair of chaps hanging on a hook on the wall and he walked up to them. “These look like they're handmade,” he said as he looked closer at the stitching.


Roger looked up to see what his customer was referring to. “They are,” he confirmed.


“How much?” the young man asked.


“$15,” Roger answered and moved on to the next item on the cowboy's list.


The young man worked his fingers as though adding in his head then he moved away from the chaps and began, slowly, wandering around the store.


When Roger finished filling all of the items on the list and had everything either in sacks or wooden boxes, he went back behind the counter and added up the purchases. “That'll be $50,” he announced.


“Add these,” the young man said, laying the two pairs of pants and the shirt on the counter.


Roger added the items to his previous total and said, “$57.25.” He held out the tally sheet for his customer to see.


The young man looked at the tally sheet, then took some coins out of his pants pocket, one of which slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. He bent down, but instead of retrieving the coin from the floor, he produced a snubbed nose revolver from under the bottom of his pant leg and straightened up. He pointed the gun at Roger. “Put it on my tab,” he said, sarcastically, and grinned.


Roger had built his store from the ground up ten years ago and the closest he had ever come to being robbed was when the Woodrow twins, each, tried to steal some candy. He wasn't about to let a single cowboy take him for $57 worth of inventory.


“And while you're at it,” the young man said, “fill a bag with what ever's in the cash register.” To put emphasis on his demand, he waggled the gun at Roger. “And make it quick,” he added.


Roger got a bag and opened the cash register. He slowly began to take money out of the register and stuff it into the bag. He was halfway done when Mirna, his wife, came downstairs and called out to him.


The unexpected voice from the stairway startled the young cowboy and he whirled around, pointing his revolver in the direction of the voice.


“No!” Roger yelled. “Mirna get back upstairs.” He reached under the counter and took out the shotgun he kept under there and leveled it off at the cowboy.


“Roger?” Mirna said from the bottom of the stairs...still trying to figure out what was going on.


As the cowboy whirled back around, Roger pulled the trigger of his shotgun. The young cowboy was hit square in the chest and was lifted off of his feet and sent flying backward and up against a display table. As his body slumped to the floor, Mirna ran from the stairway to her husband who wrapped his arms around her, protectively. Over his wife's shoulder he looked at the surprised look on the now dead cowboy's face. It was then that he decided it was time to retire and find a safer way of living. That night...over a game of chess...Roger told Duncan about his decision.


“Duncan.....I don't have a son to leave the store to and I hate the idea of selling it to just anyone,” Roger said as he chewed on the stem of his pipe. “I would, however, consider selling it to you....if you'd be interested.”


Duncan was surprised and looked up at his friend. “Me?” he asked, incredulously.


Roger nodded. “You have the respect of the other businessmen in town and have become a familiar fixture around here,” he said. “It wouldn't be like opening a store in a town full of strangers and whom you are a stranger to. Business would simply continue as it always has.”


“I don't know,” Duncan said as he stared at the chess board without really seeing it. His mind raced...listing the pros and cons of such a venture.


“Look.....it might take months to find a suitable buyer and Mirna is desperate for us to get out from under it as soon as possible,” Roger said. “The robbery really scared her. And me, for that matter. And I would hate to simply close it up. It's the only store in town. It would really put a hardship on the people I have been providing for for so many years....all of whom are friends.”


Duncan had to agree with what Roger had said. He continued to stare at the chess board in silence for several seconds then he moved one of his rooks and captured one of Roger's bishops. He sat back and looked at his friend and asked, “what kind of price tag are we talking about, Roger?”


Roger picked up the paper they had been keeping score on and tore off the bottom half of it. He wrote down a figure and slid the paper over to Duncan.


Duncan picked up the piece of paper and looked at it. He made some mental calculations then made his decision. He extended his hand across the chess board and said, “alright, Roger. You've got a deal.”


Roger smiled and shook Duncan's hand. “Thank you, Duncan,” he said. “Thank you.”


 
To be continued

 

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