I wish I knew
what the Greats of the Old West would have done. The Rifleman would probably
have tried to wing at least two of 'em. Hec Ramsey would have fingerprinted the
deck. Duke Wayne would have punched all four of them red, white and blue.
Paladin would have had a gun in his sock.
I was reminded of
an old sandlot football play, called the postmortem. I would run out. The
quarterback would loft a high one to me. I would get my fingertips on it, then
have the wind knocked out of me. A full house does that to your three of a
I excused myself
to use the rest room and headed home. I rode old $35-per-week Paint onto the
Interstate and back to the bunkhouse where the little woman was brewing up a
kettle of precooked dinners.
There will be no
sequel, the interest rate on grubstakes being what it is.