samedi 18 février 2012
the west ain't what it used to be, the oldtimer said. on these words the doors of the bar flew open and three men walked out, hands on their belts and hats on their heads. as they walked down the street they looked around squinting their eyes in a somewhat superior way. the townsfolk that were out on that particulary hot afternoon were startled at the sight of the three men, for they used to be known in this town. they were known as the Smith brothers, back in the days they were feared by all of the people for where they went they brought destruction and murder. in that time people would run back into their homes and hide behind locked doors for the rest of the day. but now it'd been so long since the Smith's were sighted committing any crimes, that fear had left the townsfolk, and some of em didn't even remember the Smith brothers.
poor townspeople, as dumb as cattle they went back to their business and didn't pay notice to the three tall men passing by. they didn't even see the oldtimer stumbling away. he had noticed it, the oldtimer, he'd not forgotten how Robert Smith killed reverant jones, slaughtered the O'haras, robbed the Brownville bank and shot billy boy junior. he'd not forgotten how billy boy was bleeding to death in front of the post office, lying face down in the scarlet turned dust.
sherif Dawson put down his weekly herald, got of his porch and went of to the shop to get some apples for his mum's apple pie. the sherif had never seen any of the Smith's. he only knew them from the old tales so wouldn't be able to recognize them if they crossed his path. he wouldn't arrest them for the 28 crimes they'd committed. but even if he knew who were the three men now walking about 20 yards in front of him he wouldn't have laid a hand on his gun. he wouldn't have shot a single bullet. Dawson was a coward. he was mummy's boy, nothing more.
as the Smith brothers approached they could see the thing that had shone in the sun from far away. it was a sherif's badge pinched on Dawson'd jacket. In olden times they'd shot at sherif's feet to make him dance as they did with all the sherifs in cactus valley. now though they only smirked at the sherif who was startled by this weird lack of respect. "hey you there!" he said "wipe them stupid grins of ya faces!"
Robert turned to Dawson and replied "you better try to wipe them of yourself boy."
Dawson opened his mouth to say something but nothing was heard.
the Smith's walked on and he followed them with his eyes his mouth still hanging open, disgusted at his own lack of courage.
oldtimer shook his head in disappointment and moved away from the window.