Chapter 4

We were finishing up our latest tour through Amarillo and deciding where to go next. Jake said, "What the hell, let's head fer Santa Fe." Neither Sally nor I had any objection, so that was where we headed. We had no particular schedule to keep as long as we didn't get caught by cold weather, so Jake asked a bartender where we should head. He said that there was a town about 15 miles west of Amarillo that had a hall that could be rented, so we headed for Jamestown.

We showed up pretty late in the day, since we had gotten a late start, so we rented a couple of rooms in the hotel: Jake and Sally in one room and me in the other. I never gave any thought about why those two always slept in the same room; I was just glad to have a room by myself.

The next morning we met for breakfast and Jake went to see about renting the hall for one night. Before long, he came back with a funny look on his face. "That hall we wanted ta rent burned down last week, so it ain't available. But I got us a deal, but I want ta see ifen y'all got any objections afore I agree ta it. There's a saloon in town what puts on shows fer the patrons, an' the owner's heard 'bout our show. He wants ta know ifen we'll put on our regular show in his saloon fer a flat fee of $50 per night ta run fer a week. It ain't as much as we could make in our own show, but the work is steady an' we don't have ta travel. Also, we kin make our own side bets on Jeremiah's shooting ifen we wants ta."

Sally and I talked about it for a few minutes and agreed to give the idea a try. It was only for a week, and we could put up with almost anything for that length of time. Jake went back to the saloon and agreed to the deal. We were to start that night, and we were to do only one show.

The show started at 9:00 PM with 20 minutes of dancing by Sally. Jake played his harmonica, and the piano player played along with him. They had rehearsed a few times that afternoon, so the music wasn't too bad. That dancing was a real hit; we could all tell by the amount of drinks the bartender sold. There was a regular theater-type stage with footlights and everything; it was a real first class place to perform.

There was an intermission of 15 minutes before I was to perform. Jake got up on stage when it was time and went into his usual line of lies about me being the best pistol shooter in Texas. He talked for a couple of minutes, then offered to take bets on my shooting ability. The target was about 65 feet from the stage, a pretty tough shot for most people. He got a few bets, probably more than we normally could have gotten without the liquor consumption. Anyway, I used my little .22 to keep from deafening everybody and proceeded to make every one of my shots. I was surprised to see that I had made $45 from the side bets.

There was another intermission of 15 minutes, then Sally did her sexy dance for 20 minutes, since the only women present were the whores that regularly worked this saloon. That dance really sold the drinks. The bartender could hardly keep up with the orders. By now, enough alcohol had been drunk to make for a rowdy audience, but I only had to speak to one customer to keep things under control.

I was due up for another show after the usual intermission. The place was really crowded by now as the word had spread about the show going on at the Cattleman's Rest Saloon. We actually had a problem getting a safe clear line of fire between the stage and the target, there were so many patrons in the saloon. Jake gave his little talk, again, and asked if anyone wanted to make a little friendly wager. Business was brisk, now, with so many men in the saloon who thought they knew how to shoot.

I repeated my slow shooting exhibition at first to let the late arrivals know what I could do. Of course, I hit the target every time. Then I went into my fast shooting of five shots without a pause. This really got their attention! I closed my act with the nine-shot burst that caught everybody by surprise. Jake collected $110 for each of us in bets for that second display.

We had another intermission, then Sally put on a display of sexy dancing that would have caught the attention of a 100-year-old rock. That really sold the drinks! I had to fire off my .44-40 TWO TIMES before the place calmed down! The whores were fighting off the customers by the time she finished dancing.

Jake collected our $50 from the bartender and we left the saloon headed for bed. We had hardly reached the street when Sally, who was walking between Jake and me, was accosted by a galoot dressed like a cowboy. Jake tried to send him on his way with a little polite urging, but the damned fool wouldn't listen. Finally, I was forced to speak to him through my .44-40 poked into his back about kidney level. A few words from my lips and a few pokes from the gun muzzle finally got through the galoot's fool head and he left. We continued on to the hotel and gave the matter no further thought.

We slept late the next morning; it must have been almost 8:00 AM when we met for breakfast. The restaurant was about to close, but stayed open long enough to serve us. It seems that the owner had seen our act the night before. We thanked him for letting us in so late, but he offered to stay open for us to come in at 8:00 AM every morning we were in town, if we wanted him to. We thanked him profusely and said how nice we thought that would be.

We walked out of the restaurant and on down the street. Sally was window shopping and Jake and I were talking about nothing much when a shout was heard behind us. A "dudey" looking cowboy came strutting up to us and made an insulting remark to Sally about not wanting to spend some time in his bed the night before. Jake and I took exception to this, but I was the only one wearing a gun, so Jake let me do all of the talking.

I spun the galoot around and demanded that he apologize to Sally. He said, "I don't apologize ta any whore I decide ta talk ta. Ya better mind yer own business, or I'll blow yer fuckin' head off."

Now this was too much—nobody is allowed to call Sally a whore, even if she is one! I was angry when I said, "You better watch your mouth or I will blow YOUR head off."

The argument had attracted the attention of several passers by, and they stopped to gape. However, the galoot was not about to back down. He stepped back about five steps and said, "DRAW!" He had already reached for his gun, carried in the conventional manner, tied to his thigh. I had never had somebody draw on me before, but it was obvious what was going on, so I did not hesitate. I simply used my usual pattern of drawing from my shoulder holster and blew a hole in the idiot's chest with my .44-40. My opponent had not finished his draw when I shot him.

Applause rang up and down the street as people reacted to my action. It seemed that this was the town bully, and he had the reputation of being a fast draw. I couldn't help it, when I heard that I just snorted. This fool didn't stand a chance against me; I still can't understand how he could get the reputation as a fast draw. At first, I just stood there looking at the dead man, not feeling anything—just standing there. Then it dawned on me that I had killed my fourth man before my 15^th birthday. The funny thing was that I did not feel any kind of remorse; I only felt that, like the others, he had gotten what he deserved.

Jake called for the town marshal, but he was told that the town didn't have one. The job was open if he wanted it! Jake declined about the time the undertaker showed up with his buckboard to haul off the dead man. He, too, was surprised at which one of us was the dead one. Jake went through the corpse's pockets and came up with a little more than $25. It turned out that this galoot had so much money on him because this was the day he collected for his protection racket. I spit on the body and told the undertaker to haul it away; he could sell what was left, the gun, clothes, etc., to pay for the burying. I didn't expect any "funeral" expenses.