THE CITY REBORN FROM THE ASHES OF AMERICA'S MOST DISASTROUS FOREST FIRE
Tales from the old-timer
Bad Day for Shorty
A grizzled little guy entered the saloon and took a seat at the bar. He had a cocky swagger, despite that he was only about five feet tall. His nose was bent first one way, then the other, from old saloon fist-fights.
He looked fiercely around the room. Danged fit aint startin in to rain, he began, and Ill fight any man will call me a liar!
Nobody objected to this opener.
Danged if old Stearns aint padlocked his blacksmith shop and went on a drunk, he went on, and Ill fight any man will call me a liar!
The bartender spoke easily, Shorty, we can see the padlock from here, and Hogan saw him passed out behind the Wells Fargo. You got to do better than that if you want to start a fight.
The little guy felt put down and quietly drank his beer a few moments, then started again. Be danged if I didnt see that calvary lieutenant go by on a gelding this morning ten oclock. Ill fight any dang fool will call me a liar on that one.
You aint got no luck today at all, Shorty, said the bartender. Four of us settin here seen him go by the tie up the horse by the sheriffs office. Went in there to talk about some Indians they seen camped by the creek. You cant start no fight on that one.
It aint no use, said the grizzled little guy. This town aint what it used to be.
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