Chapter 1

Shit! I am getting tired of this nonsense real damned fast. Sure it puts food on the table and a roof over my head, but this business has settled into a real rut! As usual, here I am in the middle of the street of some nameless Western town at high noon about to fight a duel as the standin for the hero of another movie I can't remember the title of.

The whole operation has become such a cliché that I can't remember whether I am a sheriff, a marshal, a Ranger, or a vigilante. Not that it makes any difference. My face will never show up on the screen, I'll only be photographed from the back. I'll bet I have the most photographed ass in Hollywood! I'm the ideal size and shape to be a substitute for the hero. I'm an even six feet tall, so my height can easily be adjusted to match the regular actor with special boots. I have broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips, and am pretty much standard beyond that.

The fact that I have blue eyes and brown hair makes no difference. My "regular" facial features keep me from being a star, though I do get some parts as the side kick. If I was a little "prettier," I might be a Western movie star, but no luck so far.

The one thing I have going for me is my ability to draw a pistol faster than anyone else in the business. "If you need a fast gun, hire Craig McCallister for the part." My agent uses that as a mantra, I think. I can work from the thigh, the belt, or from the shoulder holster with either hand, though I prefer the shoulder holster. No good reason—it's just more comfortable that way.

Anyway, here I stand waiting for the signal from the director. Hell, this is a big deal in my acting career—I actually have some dialog, and I can sound so much like the star that I don't even need to be dubbed. That's worth a little extra cash. I'm fresh from the makeup trailer, so I don't even have a sweat worked up, yet. The director likes that because it suggests that I am cool and calm as I meet the villain in the climactic scene.

OK, the sun is just right and everything is ready. The director has his hand raised to signal us to begin the action, and then all hell breaks loose! There is a tremendous BOOM! All of the lights seem to flash to twenty times their normal brightness, and I am knocked to the ground.

The shock of the explosion, or whatever it was, was enough to knock me out for a moment. The next thing I know is that I am lying on my back in the middle of that damned dirt street and the place stinks of horse shit. That's something new. That's a little more realism than the set decorators usually go for.

When I look around, though, I'm in for a big shock. This ain't the same town that we were using for a movie set! For one thing—it's a lot bigger. It's full of people all dressed in costume. There is traffic on the street, all of it horses or mules or oxen. Dammit, no wonder I smell horse shit, I'm lying right next to a pile of it. I hope I didn't get any on me or my clothes.

At that moment, I hear a yell of exasperation, and I look up to see that I am in the way of an ox-drawn wagon. "Why did ya decide ta sleep off yer drunk in the middle of the street? Git out of the way, ya damned stupid galoot!"

Considering the size of the ox that's staring me in the face, I decided to follow the advice I had just received and move out of the way. I struggled to my feet and staggered to the wooden sidewalk where I plopped my ass down and tried to figure out what was going on. I sat on the sidewalk with my feet in the gutter and rested my head in my hands.

I was there for a couple of minutes when I hear a woman's voice ask, "Are ya all right, Mister? Ifen ya are sick, there is a doctor right down the street."

I was surprised, so it took a moment for me to react properly. I guess I was still acting in character, because I stood up to face the woman and tipped my hat. "No, Ma'am, I'm not sick. I was just resting for a minute. Thank you kindly for your concern."

"Ya are welcome, but do not rest here. Come on inta the saloon where it's cooler an' ya kin buy us both a beer."

Now that was an invitation that sounded like it had merit—a lot of merit! I followed the woman into the saloon, and we walked up to the bar. "Two beers, George. One fer my friend an' one fer me."

The bartender set two large, overflowing glasses down on the bar in front of us and said, "That comes ta eight cents, Mister."

I was stunned for a moment at the price, and I dug in my pocket for some change. I pulled out a quarter and said, "Sorry, that's the smallest I have."

The bartender picked up the quarter and looked at it kind of funny. "Hey, Mister. Is this real money. I ain't never seen nothin' it like afore."

"Sure, it's just a quarter. You now, 25 cents."

"It sure does look weird, but I will take yer word fer it ... Here is your change."

I turned back to the woman I was with and raised my beer. "Cheers." The woman smiled and said, "Well, now, that is right nice of ya. What is yer name, Honey? Mine is Amy."

"How do you do, Amy? It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Craig McCallister."

"I swear, Craig, I never met a more polite man. Would ya like ta come ta my room fer a little sportin'?" As she said that, Amy raised her skirt and I saw that she was naked under it! Her pussy hair was a jumbled mass of white crust, so I had no doubt what she was offering.

"I'm sorry, Amy, but I cannot manage any of that right now. However, I'll pay your usual rate for the answers to some questions."

"That is a crazy proposition, but I could use the money. Sure, come on." Amy led me up some stairs to a tiny room. We went in, and there was nothing there for furniture but a bed covered by a filthy mattress. Amy gestured for me to sit down, and I hesitated a moment, but I figured that I had been lying on my back in the street in horse shit, an the mattress couldn't be any worse.

I sat down, and told Amy that my real problem was that I had lost most of my memory, but I was too embarrassed to admit it. However, she had been so kind to me that I was sure that I could trust her. Therefore, the first thing I needed to know was what was the year and what was the season.

She said that it was early spring of 1867. She went on to say that this was Santa Fe, NMT (New Mexico Territory). She also told me that my paper money was no good; she didn't believe me when I said that it was real. People would take gold, silver, or copper coins or gold dust and nuggets, but that was all. I had about $2 in change, but I would be dead if people tumbled to the fact that it was steel just covered with a thin veneer of silver. I had to have a source of "real" money very damned soon or I was going to starve.

We talked for about 20 minutes, and I gave Amy a quarter for her time. I got the hell out of there before she recognized that the money was not really silver.

I needed a job real damn quick, but I thought that I needed bullets even quicker. All of my bullets were only blanks and were filled with mostly talcum powder to simulate the smoke from black powder. My guns were modern replicas of the Starr DA in .44 caliber. I hoped like hell to find bullets that would work in my gun. I also had four extra cylinders in a special bandolier that had been part of my costume.

I didn't know where else to look, so I stopped into the first general store I came to. Maybe I could get a job as a clerk. Damned if a holdup wasn't in progress! I don't know what came over me, since I am not normally foolishly brave, but the clerk was a woman, and she was obviously scared to death.

The crook didn't notice me, he was too intent on the woman that he was threatening with a knife. Rape was written all over the situation, so I slipped up behind the thug and stuck a gun muzzle in his back. For those that don't know, even a blank can kill at this range. The thug felt the muzzle stuffed up tight against the small of his back, and he sure as hell should have known better.