The Rocking Chair Gang- Chapter one

Old friends come to town to help their old buddy, Walt Spencer.

Walt Spencer is not a young man by a long shot, but that does not mean he is ready to be put out to pasture. When he stepped down in Hickory Corners, no fanfare awaited him, just a dusty, wind-swept street. People passed him by without a glance whatsoever, except to notice he was a new face in town, and then they went on their way without a backward glance.

Being over sixty years old, Walt did not move around as easily as he once did, though he could still move when he needed to. He wiped out his hatband before placing it back on his head. Looking up and down the street, it looked like every other town he'd been in since he left home in Indiana. Usually, the Livery was located at the end of the main street on either side of town; however, in this town, it was smack dab in the middle of town. Seemed strange to him, but who was he to place it other than where it is needed the most?

As he put his horse up, the man working there asked if he was in town for business or pleasure. He responded that he had not decided yet, and time would tell. The man whose name is Gabe Crane acted like he had not talked with anyone in a long, long time, let alone someone around his own age, give or take a few years.

"What's your handle, Stranger? If you don't mind me asking?"

"I go by the name of Walt Spencer now," I replied.

"I guess that is good enough as any other. I've known many men over the years who changed their handle for one reason or another. Hell, my own name I was born under is different than the one I use nowadays. Changing mine was over a woman; she was married, and I was a damned, young fool. Can't say as if I have changed all that much since that time either. Enough about me. Will you be in town long? Not that it matters much to me." He turned his head to spit out the chaw that had been puffing out his cheek.

"Where do you recommend a feller could get a decent meal to eat at a reasonable price?"

"I suppose Ma Smolley's is as good as any. I eat there most every day, and it has not killed me yet. " Gabe said, patting his gut hanging a little over his belt. "Want some company? Why, it's been only five hours since I last ate something."

Chuckling, Walt asked," Which direction?"

"That way." Gabe pointed to their left, and he started walking. His bowed legs made good time. It did not take more than five minutes to reach Ma Smolley's.

It is bigger than Walt thought it would be, and the place was hopping with business. At the door, they both paused to dust themselves off as best they could. Satisfied with their expectations, they went inside. A few glanced their way, though most of them just continued to eat. A couple even said Howdy to Gabe, and he returned the greeting. Making their way towards the back to a couple of empty seats, they had to weave through the tables.

As soon as they had seated themselves, a waiter came over to take their order. "I assume you will be ordering your usual meal, Gabe."

"Yes, Sir!" He spoke, showing he had some manners.

"And you, Sir?" He turned to Walt.

"Double portion of Stew with a half a loaf of bread, and plenty of coffee to wash it down with." He nodded, wrote something down on a notepad, and walked back toward the Kitchen.

Soon, another waitress came over with a coffee pot and poured them both the hot, black coffee, strong enough to float a horseshoe. The kind that most everyone West of the Mississippi drank. The kind that puts hair on a man's chest.

Walt Spencer sat back, looking around at those surrounding them. Townsfolk and Ranchers, travelers and Drummers hawking their wares up and down the land. Anyone who wants a decent meal they did not have to cook themselves. When their food arrived both of them dug in and no other talking took place, for in the West, eating was a serious business You never knew when your next one would come along. Finally, after two plates each and a loaf of Bread, they sat back in ther chairs drinking coffee and their talk resumed. Nothing really important, the usual stuff discussed every day at every table.

Feeling generous and thankful for the company, Walk paid for both meals. As they stood up to head outside, a group of rough-looking men strolled inside, acting as if they owned the place. Walk has seen their kind many times over the years during his traveling phase.. Some of it on the side of the law and a few times on the other side, away from posses and neck-stretching parties. Without seeming to do so, he slipped the thong off his six-shooter and stepped away from Gabe Crane. Gabe looked sideways without turning his head, hoping he would have a place to dive in case the shooting started.

The group of six men was all in their twenties except for the tall, rugged man who clearly is the man in charge.. He pushed his way through people, not around, as they headed for the table Walt and Gabe had recently been sitting at. When they reached Walt, he stood his ground, his arms hanging loosely by his sides.

Richard Jones looked down on Walt even though there was maybe a three-inch difference in their heights, "Move, Old Man." He growled.

Walt gave him a little smile and said only two words, " Go around."

Richard took half a step backward as I had slapped him. Guess he was not used to someone standing up to him. The man behind him in the Yellow shirt and Black vest pulled his hog-leg, and I shot him between the eyes.

"Stupid does as stupid does". In a fraction of a second after the shooting, my six-gun was pointing at Richard's face. "Anyone who moves, I am going to put a bullet in that smug face of yours."

"You made a huge mistake, Mister. I will not forget this."

"Hope you don't.. You'll live longer." I waited with my six- shooter pointed at him, and a moment later, he stepped sideways to walk around. My gun never moved an inch from Richard. Slowly, I backed toward the door, never leaving my eyes from the five rough men still standing.

Gabe and I high-tailed it back to the Livery. "Whew, that was tense." He stammered out.

I nodded. "Who the Hell was that bunch?"

"Bar R J. The grumpy one is Richard Jones. Son of the founder of the Ranch and a big pain in the ass around here. He holds a grudge something fierce. So, watch your back."

"I always do," I replied.

I gathered my saddlebags, bedroll, and Henry rifle. I sauntered to the Hotel and booked a room, second floor, corner on Main Street. The balcony stopped with the next room, and I was glad it did not reach my windows. Harder for someone to come calling during the night.Been through that before and did not want a repeat. With my belly full for the first time in many days, I felt tired and lay down across the bed still in my boots. It had been a bright, sunny day when I lay down, and the sun still shone through the windows.

A commotion on the street below my window up at the windows of the Hotel, searching for something important to them. Their eyes drifted to the balcony next door, and I quickly figured that the fourth man was trying to figure out how to get into my room. Good luck with that unless you can fly.

Soon, my attention was drawn to boots in the hallway outside my door. I stepped out of the direct line of the doorway and watched as someone turned the doorknob. Slowly at first, and then when it would not turn, they shook it in frustration. I waited for the next act in the play, and it came pretty fast. Boots take three fast steps, and one boot crashes through the door. I let the man's momentum carry him across the room. I grabbed him by the back of his vest and hurled him through the window into the street below.

The R J riders watched in horror as the flying glass preceded their buddy through space, until he hit the hard dusty ground with a sickening thump. The man did not move. I was already out of the room when bullets started firing upwards. The other guests flew out of their rooms in a panic, screaming for the hotel manager and the Sheriff. I stood calmly at the end of the hall. For a few minutes, lead tore through the Hotel's walls, and I waited. As soon as the firing stopped. I cautiously stepped back into my room and gathered up my things.

Walking down the stairs as the Sheriff and the manager came up, I jacked a shell into the chamber of my Henry rifle. They looked at me as if they had seen a ghost. I smiled, and it was not a friendly one. I didn't speak to either of them. At the bottom of the steps, I turned and walked through to the back door and out into the sunshine.

I walked along the back of the buildings of town, headed for the Livery. I have slept in many haylofts over the years and figured one more night would not kill me. I also wanted to be close to my horse if I needed to leave town in a hurry, as I had in the past.

Gabe's eyebrows lifted as I came through the back door. "Noisy neighbors at the hotel. " I gave as the explanation.

"I heard something like that going on down that way." He replied with a smile on his bearded face. Then he added, "Now what are you going to do?"

"Well, I think I might stay around for a while, but I need to send out a few telegrams." When Richard Jones and his men tried to shoot me to rags, they declared war, and I required cavalry. Old friends who I have trusted with my life in the past and still do today. I looked down the street, wondering where the Telegraph Office was located and how exposed I would be walking to it.

"How far is the Telegraph Office from here, and which side of the street?" I now turned back to look Gabe in the eyes.

Gabe spit before answering. "At the other end of town near the Stagecoach depot. There is not really any way you can reach it without being seen. " He looked at me while reaching for a bottle of Whiskey he had hidden next to the open door. He took a long drag and handed it in my direction. I took it without hesitation and drank a gulp, which burned on the way down, then hit my stomach like a ton of bricks.

I gasped out loud, "Holy Hell." I coughed and had trouble for a moment to breathe..

Gabe smiled. "Good stuff, huh?"

"Yeah. Like paint thinner." I replied.. "You want to take a walk with me?" Looking at him after staring down the street for a few moments.

"Hell, No!" He exclaimed, but picked up a shotgun nevertheless, a ten-gauge.

We started from the Livery, and with each step, our eyes searched every direction for any R J ranch hands spending too much time looking in our direction. Gabe had both barrels loaded, and I had a shell jacked into my Henry's chamber. We were ready for trouble and expecting it, but hoping it would not come our way. We nodded at everyone we passed. Our walk was not quick; it was steady, deliberate. Both of us at our age had done this many times in the past.

Halfway to the Telegraph Office, the first signs of trouble arrived. Two drunk hands from the R J ranch stumble out from the Saloon. Upon seeing us, they came in our direction straight away. Both could barely stand and had to cling to each other. Then they started cussing at us, trying hard to rile us into a fight. And that was when I noticed a couple more R J ranch hands had come out of the same Saloon. Only these two were sober as hell.

"Trouble from the Saloon," I whispered to Gabe.

"I see it clearly. The two drunks would cause trouble, and when we react, the other two shoot us down." He stated out dryly, then spit.

Three feet from us, we sidestepped the two drunks easily and continued on our way, ignoring them. The two sober ones stood with mouths open. We did what they did not expect us to do. We briefly nodded as we passed by, turning to not present our backs to them. The Telegraph Office stared at us in the distance. With every step, our heads swiveled searching out anyone hidden in the shadows.

As we neared the front door, someone's boot scraped against wood to the right of us. A glimmer from a rifle barrel was all it took for Gabe to turn slightly and pull one of the barrels. A scream split the air.

"One down." He said, and those two words were all that was needed.

Inside a nervous telegrapher sat, eyes wide as the door opened under our hands. He gulped one, twice, and after the third time he gasped out, "Can I help you?"

Walt looked at him over the counter. " I need to send out a few telegrams and I do not want anyone else to know what is inside them...Understand?"

"Ye Yes Sir. " The telegrapher stammered out.

Walt wrote down one sentence..Need your help. Arrive cautiously. Then he signed it with only two letters...F. M. I need this to go out to these men in these towns. There were five names and five different towns.."How much, Mister?" And he waited.

"That will be two dollars, Mister."

Walt dug into his pocket and took out two dollars in coins. He set them down on the counter and refused to remove his hand until the telegrams were sent out. Gabe stood with his back toward him, watching the street out front. The Sheriff stood by the corner, then knelt by the body. He knelt there for a few minutes. Slowly, he stood and shook his head. He'd seen too many bodies hit by a shotgun blast in the past. He looked around, and someone pointed to inside the Telegraph Office. He strolled toward the door.