Lharry Bee from Old Laramie

Lharry Bee from Ole Laramie

It was near sunset when the stranger rode into town, and about the same time I heard the music. Somebody was whistling this song that was plaintive and haunting. Made cold chills run up my spine, and I expected some tall, enigmatic cowboy, but it was just this rider. He parked his horse in front of the Red Dog Saloon, and was just sitting on him when I came by.

“Pardon me, Mister,” he said kind of tired like. “You got a medicine man, a sawbones of sorts in this here town?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered politely, seeing he had a big hog leg strapped to his gun belt, “Old Doc Simmins gotta office jest over the hardwhar store.” Then I noticed he was riding mighty high in his saddle and commented, “You a set’n kind a high on that saddle, ain’t ya, mister?”

“Yep, got this gunny sack full a feathers, cause I got me a problem with the big H.” he said.

“Got a case of the ‘roids, huh?”

“Yep, got ‘um bad. Gotta see yore Doc. Simmins.” he said.

“What yore name be, if you don’t mind me a askin? I mean, I ain’t never seen you here before.” I said.

“Name’s Lharry Bee, from old Laramie.”

“Pleased to meet ya, Larry.” I said.

“Hit’s Lharry, not Larry,” he corrected.

“Yeah, pleased to meet ya Lharry,” I said kind of slow to be sure to got it right, because I was still a looking at that hog leg he was a toting. Had a barrel big enough to shoot shotgun shells.

He pulled his horse back into the street and mossied over to Doc Simmons side. Then I saw him climb the stairs, real slow.

He told Doc Simmons about his problem, but Doc don’t do that kind a doctoring. He mostly cuts out bullets, wraps up cuts and prescribes turpentine and whiskey for colds and agars. Usually gives them some turpentine first and if that don’t work then the whiskey. Or maybe it’s the other way. No matter, by the time the whiskey is finished, if they ain’t well, they don’t know it after a fifth of that rotgut.

Doc told him he was in luck cause Doc’s brother-in-law was in town and he was a doctor in the big city. He had gone to doctor school and everything. Only problem was, he didn’t bring his doctoring bag. So, they cast about looking for want they could find and come up with a couple of old Barlow knives, a pair of scissors and a needle and thread from his wife.

So with the instruments ready, Lharry Bee came in and since they did not have anything to put him to sleep, they gave him a fifth of whiskey and commence to get to the seat of his problem.

They said it was a success, but when Lharry woke up, he was less than enthusiastic about the success. “WHO WAS THAT MASKED MAN?” he shouted at Doc! “I think he done shot me in the butt with a silver bullet!” he whined.

He lay around town for a week or so hoping to find Doc’s brother-in-law but never found him. Finally he was able to ride out of town, real slow…and there was that durned music again. Whatever happened to Clint Eastwood, anyway?