Chapter 1: Dammit, why are Mondays like this?

I'm a gunsmith and have been one for three years. Oh, I have been a lover of guns for as long as I can remember, and my ambition was to be an accomplished gunsmith when I grew up. I was fortunate that I lived in Arizona where the gun laws were not as restrictive as they are in most parts of the country.

I started out with a repair business in my garage while I was still in high school. Of course, I was too young to get a license to operate a normal gun repair business, but I was kept busy by the many adult friends of my father. My reputation spread until I was turning down routine jobs so that I could concentrate on the interesting and odd-ball jobs that showed up. My father was a big wheel in a software consulting business, so he had plenty of money to indulge my "hobby," as he called it.

By the time I was a senior, I had every tool and machine that I needed to build everything up to a machine gun from scratch. I was always careful to stay away from anything that smacked of being illegal, but I did build some interesting specialty guns for myself.

My main occupation was with repairing and modifying guns for my father's friends—the type of gun they did not want to take to a regular licensed gunsmith who had to report his doings to the feds.

One gun that I was particularly taken with was the USAS-12 combat shotgun. It was basically an American design, but it had been built in South Korea by Daewoo Precision Industries. Originally, there was some controversy over the gun's legality, and I am not sure how Dad's friends had acquired theirs.

Anyway, one Monday during the summer after I had graduated from high school, I was out in the desert "playing" with the shotgun. Mostly, I had been practicing with it as if I were about to have a duel with somebody from the Old West. I had rigged a sling for my shotgun so that I could carry it over my shoulder, and it would always be in position for quick use. I was also wearing a belt that held six of the 10-round box magazines, eight of which I had built myself. I was fully loaded with shells charged with #00 buckshot, so I was ready to fight a war if one should come up.

It was getting late in the afternoon and I had started home when I ran into a dust devil as I was walking back toward where I had parked my car. A dust devil is not dangerous, so I just stood still with my eyes closed and let it blow past me. I resumed walking toward where I had parked my car when I heard a great clatter of gunfire. At first, I assumed that it was a bunch of shooters out practicing like I had been doing. Then I heard some yelling which didn't seem to be appropriate for such an outing.

I walked a little further and saw over a hill what looked like a movie being shot. There were a number of wagons in a rectangle and a flock of Indians riding around the wagons. Both sides were shooting at each other, and an occasional Indian or horse would fall to the ground. It was amazing how realistic the downed men and horses had looked. I could understand it if the men were accomplished actors, but I wondered how they had gotten the horses so well trained.

I did not want to mess up the movie shoot so I stayed back where I thought I would be out of range of the cameras. This was fun to watch, but it was a little confusing. I could not see where the cameras were placed and the fight was running on much longer than it usually would for a movie.

I was getting pretty hot standing in the sun so I moved over to a more shady spot. This must have attracted the attention of a couple of the actors playing Indians. I could not imagine why it would be, but two of them turned away from the wagons and road toward me at a fast clip. I noticed that they were carrying lever action rifles so I knew that this had to be a movie. I figured the "Indians" were riding to tell me to stay away until the scene was complete.

Imagine my surprise when the Indians raised their rifles and started shooting at me. I was soon convinced that they were not firing blanks when several bullets kicked up dust too damned near me to be ignored. About that time, one of the bullets nicked my shirtsleeve. I suddenly realized that those two Indians were not fooling around and were actually trying to shoot me!

I didn't know what was going on, but it was obvious that I had to defend myself or I was going to be dead very shortly. I popped the safety off of my shotgun as I raised it to my shoulder. The range was a little long for my short-barreled shotgun, but I had plenty of ammunition so I went ahead and fired.

This shot did not accomplish much, but one of the pellets did hit an Indian in the chest. It did nothing to slow him down, so it probably did not penetrate very far, though it did cause enough of a wound for a little blood to flow. They kept coming so I knew they were serious and I had to defend myself equally seriously.

The Indians were moving fast, and, by this time, they had gotten close enough for my shotgun to make a difference. I fired at the same man again, and this time a handful of shot hit him in the chest and face. He fell from his horse, and I was sure that he was out of the fight, but the other man was getting damned close.

I fired at him and must have rushed my shot because only a few pellets seemed to strike him. At this point, I was in extreme danger and did not have time to fool around. With that in mind, I changed my aiming point from the man to his horse. This time, they were close enough for all of my pellets to hit something. I could not tell for sure where I had hit the horse, but it did stumble and throw its rider. I ran to check both of the downed Indians and saw that the first one had a broken neck, and the second one seemed to have a broken back.

I was an accomplished rider so I had no trouble mounting or riding the Indian's horse. It was so well trained that moving my knees and my heels were sufficient to guide the horse. I rode toward the continuing battle and could see by now that this was no movie shoot. I did not know what was going on, but it was now obvious that both sides really were trying to kill each other.

When I got close to the battle, several of the Indians turned toward me and began shooting. It was obvious that I had made a stupid and childish mistake when I had ridden toward the battle. Those damned Indians were going to kill me if I didn't get to shelter pretty damned fast. Not knowing what else to do, I waved my hat and shouted, "I AM A FRIEND! I AM A FRIEND!" as I rode toward the wagons as fast as I could get my horse to run.

I pulled the horse to a stop when I got to the wagons. I jumped off and slithered under a wagon as fast as I could move. I stood up on the inner side of the impromptu fort and looked around. A man came running up to me and said, "Welcome, Stranger. You are just in time to help us out. We can use every gun that we can get! What do you have, there?"

"This is a special shotgun that I have already used on two of the Indians out there. Where can I be the most useful?"

"I do not know that there is a good answer for that. Just pick a place and start shooting at any Indian you can hit. I will have to leave you now, so just find a place and get started."

I saw a wagon that did not seem to be fully defended so I slid down under it and tried to make myself useful. There was a problem in that most of the Indians stayed too far back for my shotgun. Every once in a while, one of the Indians would wander in too close, and I could shoot at the man. Otherwise, I spent most of my time shooting at the horses. I don't think that I killed many, but I did put a number of the horses out of action, and that was almost as good as hitting an Indian.