Editing Five of Hearts: 'Nightmare'

Gee, is was a lawng, lawng time ago. Is was when dis white hair was dark brown and dees knobby knees were brand new. Is was when I saw a Gun. The reel deel. 

Naw, naw, not that old shooter that there man had a few years back. That warn't no Gun! That were a cheap tossoff with a crude heart inna handle. You saw dat man die in his own blood. I sure wish youse hadn't...

Listen up, chilluns. My old bones won't be knocking around these here parts much lawnger, and I has more than a few stories what to tell you afore I goes. Gather round...I's only gonna say this once. 

I was 15, 17, hell, maybe 20-ish, Lord knows I can't remember. The part I remembers best is that I was cocky and oh-so-sure of mahself. 

Just loungin' around the saloon, I was, lookin' for a quick drink, smoke, or pick-up poker game. Like you, Johnny. Almost exactly like you. Yeh see, these here old bones are more mobile than you give 'em credit fo- 

Alright, alright, I'll continue! Gimme a sec to catch mah breath.

So, heres I was, and heres was old Mickey Malone. Yes, he sired old Pappy Malone, and yes, he sired Elizabeth, Johnny. Barely managed to make Pappy afores he died, anyway. 

This here Mickey what you might call a rustler. Dunno if that reely fits him, though, he was more of a killer whenever he put his mind to it. Mickey was a bad, bad sort, so naturally, every boy looked up to him and wanted to be menacing like him. What his only redeeming feature was that he was always kind to them, and proud as punch of his baby son. He lost his family to a fire, ya see. Messed with him real bad, it did. He-

What's that? The Gun? You just wanna hear about the Gun. Alright. Here's what happened.

A sneaky stranger cames inter town, and when Mickey wanted his gun, and sneak up to him in the middle of the night to get it, him what was blew Mickey's head off. 

Heh, he, he. Happy now?

Oh, so ''now'' you want to hear the real story. Well, that was the real story, Mary Ann. I'm sorry that Johnny had to spoil it for you. Okay, baby, I'll tell it. Thank you for saying please. 

Dis stranger comes up in the dusk, when the last line of sun is what's on the horizon. He's dressed all in a dark, dark grey. Not a straight black like his hoss was, though that hoss was a fine, fine Arabian. This hoss, though, made all the old 'uns who warn't nappin' set up and take notice. For its mane was white, and its eyes were a shade of pink. Like an albino, see, but it's coat should have been white, too, not this dull shade of black that what made this horse become part of the shade it crossed.

He rode up to our saloon and dismounted, and tied his hoss to the post. The hoss didn't twitch after he left it, but I's what saw it's eyes tracking him as he went into the bar. I follered him. Most everybody did. We's all wanted to see what this there stranger was, and a few stopped to inspect his horse. That hoss didn't move a muscle, not a whinny, not a tailflick came out of it. Even the flies just buzzed around it like it wasn't there. 

I entered the saloon. This man jest strode up to the bartender and held up his finger for one. Sat down and didn't say a word. Ignored all the glances directed his way. Just sat and drank his whiskey in silence.

He had finished his whiskey some time later, and jest stared into that there glass, ruminating. 

I was working up the courage to approach him, and I's almost had it, too, when we's all hear an agonized scream from outside, and a sound of sobbing. The stranger stirred a bit, and methinks that he sighed, but he still made nary a noise. He got up, with his gray leather greatcoat swirling around him, raised a finger for another, tossed the coin on the bar to get it, and turned on his heel and strode outside. His coat parted a bit as he turned, and I catch a dark flash, like light glinting off darkened steel. That flash stuck around in my eyes for an annoying time, so my vision warn't as good as it coulda been. 

I follered him outside, to find him facing Mickey Malone. Mickey was standing in front of Ralphie, a big lanky brute of a boy, with a habit of doing first and thinking later. Ralphie was sobbing. What remained of his hand was wrapped up in a crude hankie, with blood staining the dry dirt. The hoss was jest standing there, jest standing there...with blood trickling down its chin. I watched as a pink tongue stained with read cleaned its mouth off, removing th' criminal trickle. 

Mickey growled 'I don't know you or this devil beast of yours, but you best pay for this boy or geddouta town. We tolerate no killin' here.'

A coupla snorts arose at this, but Mickey shot a look at the crowd, and a few faces turned pale or ducked out of sight. 

The stranger finally spoke, his voice surprisingly loud and smooth. Slightly high-pitched, too. Curious for a man that size. 'Did he touch the horse more than once?' he said.

Mickey blustered 'So what if he did? Ain't no hoss got a right to bite off a young man's fingers!"

The stranger paused and turned his head, transfixing Ralphie with one eye. 

'Did he look in the horse's mouth?'

Ralphie gulped and turned pale.

The stranger repeated 'Did he look in the horse's mouth?'

Nobody answered.

The square was quiet. The silence of fear, pain, an' shame. 

'AAAAAH, WHAT'S ALL THIS DARN RUCKUS ABOUT? AIN'T NO SOUL DISCONSIDERATE ENUFF TO CAUSE THIS MUCH PEACE!'

Everybody snapped. The stranger and Mickey most of all, pointing their guns at Old Man Mallard who stumbled out of the bar with a bottle in his hand. He went crosseyed, starin' at the barrel that graced the end of his nose. 

'...well, barkeep said that yore rooms were ready, sire' he blubbered out, staining his pants, afore the cheap drink took its toll and he collapsed in the dust.