Streets of Old Laredo: Episode 1 – Enter Bowlegweemiss
October 9, 2006
The sun come up on the streets of Old Laredo to find two snake-bit, third rate, side-winding, desperados discussing some fearsome feuding to come.
“I never met the horse I couldn’t wrestle to the ground and teach to whistle,” said Tex, spitting a contemptuous blob of tobacco.
Old Seamus looked up half-ways from his groveled crouch. “I don’t know Tex, this horse ain’t like the others. I seen him reading a magazine the other day. I think he’s got you scouted.”
Tex reeled off a edifying backhand, then smiled with broken toothed nonchalance. “Shit Seamus, I done fought smarter critters than that. There was this one badger what had done his Doctoral Thesis. I mean he hadn’t defended it yet, but I suspect he would have passed… If’n I hadn’t staved in his skull with ma’h boot heel. Heeeyaheeeyaheeeaya.”
Seamus cracked a freshly broken toothed smile of his own at the memory, he’d hated that uppity badger. Still, his gut wouldn’t quite settle. “What if he has a knife boss, you know how prone to stabbin you is?”
Tex drooled out a exceptionally long strand of tarry mucous then sucked it back up, real meditative like. “Let me tell you something about horses Seamus. They hate knives.”
“I shoul’da know’d you had it covered Tex, I get so stupid I should just cram my belly full a rocks and drown myself in the river.”
“I reckon you might want to consider that sometime Seamus,” offered Tex encouragingly, “but today we got’s business with a horse named Bowlegweemiss.”
And off they went to tend to that exact business.
Now the walk over to the corral was more than a few miles so the boys got to talking.
“Tex, you reckon I’ll ever find me a women to settle down with?”
Tex considered a moment then answered, blunt as always. “No, I reckon you’ll die alone Seamus. Hell you’re so ugly, and honery, and stupid, and greasy, it’s all I can do not to punch you in the face when I look at ya. Women, they tend towards real particular so I imagine they’d smash your face flat with a shovel afore they took up with ya.”
Seamus hung his head and searched his feet for hope. “What if I found a real ugly blind girl what didn’t know no better; you figure I could get into her good graces?”
There was such a desperate wheedling tone to Seamus’s voice, Tex was inclined to be generous. “Well, if she was blind enough, and couldn’t smell no stink, and maybe a little slow like she been kicked in the head… I reckon you’d stand as good a chance as anyone what was loathsome and creepy.”
Buoyed by visions of his future half-wit, insensate wife, Seamus picked up the pace so they cleared the last hill before sundown. Looking over the rise they spyed the horse in question hunched over a crude oven in the corner of the Corral. Striding down plain as day (they were sidewinders not bushwackers), Tex called out to his foe. “You best be done your women’s work horse, you about to catch a powerful beatin’.”
Seamus placed a sly hand on his boss. “I say we let him finish up baking that pie so we’s can take it when were done with em’.”
Tex licked his dry cracked lips, “I suppose I ain’t in no hurry.”
Bowlegweemiss pulled his pie from the oven, looked Tex square in the eye, then turned his hooves upwards letting the pie fall to the ground.
“You provocating me, horse,” Tex growled.
Bowlegweemiss shook his head in an exaggerated negative then deliberate stepped onto the pie and ground it into the sun hardened mud.
“Noooooooo, we was gonna eat that pie,” Seamus squealed dejectedly.
Tex patted Seamus shoulder then laid a hard eye on Bowlegweemiss. “That’s all right Seamus, I guess we will just have to have ourselves a big ol’ horse pie instead.”
Bowlegweemiss goggled at the grizzled gun slinger momentarily then let out an amused whiny.
Tex flushed, then recovered. “That ain’t what I meant and you know it, horse. We fightin’ for sure now.”
Bowlegweemiss delivered a sly wink to the ladies in attendance and began stretching in a most casual fashion.
Tex brought up his hands and began to stalk his equine foe. “Quit stalling horse, and don’t be winking at no human ladies neither.”
Shooting the gunslinger a flat hateful glare Bowlegweemiss raised up on his hind legs, and curled back his forelegs like a hoofed John L. Sullivan. Prancing from left to right, Bow, as his friends called him, gracefully circled the badly outsized Tex.
“Oh you can dance, you can surely dance, but dancing won’t fight me down.”
To be continued in Episode 2: We’s a fightin’
- Enter Bolegwemiss
- We’s a fightin’
- The Hangin’ Judge
- The Aformentioned Hanging Judge
- The Conclusionation