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A Reluctant GunfighterChapter 6 free porn video
True to his word, the marshal showed up at the classroom on Monday with four more deputies to be trained. This class went smoother than had that first one where we were out in public, but it was pretty much the same, other than that. I did take the time to make sure that every student was wearing his shoulder holster in the proper place and was comfortable with it. The next two weeks of classes went the way of the first class of students, and the marshal showed up for the final session to see how much progress had been made. These deputies may have been just a little more skillful than that first class, or I now had some experience with teaching, because the training went a bit easier. The marshal paid me the $100 I had coming and promised to be back on Monday with the last class.
Sure enough, the next class of deputies showed up, and everything went well for the next two weeks. I "graduated" my last class of deputies on schedule and the marshal paid me my $100 fee. The only problem now was that I had no more students, so I closed up the barber shop building and went back to being a bum between shows. Man, I was bored, so Sally suggested that I advertise in the Amarillo Gazette for students. Jake had signed us up for another six months' worth of shows at $150 per show, so we would stay in town for a while.
This time, the saloon owner didn't consult with Jake, but went ahead and enlarged his saloon. He did take up over half of the vacant lot, so I was going to have to hold any future classes in the old barber shop. Shit, we were rolling in money by now, Jake was taking in $1,050 a week, and I was getting $325 of that. Sally also got $325, and Jake kept the rest. We didn't argue with the division; after all, it had been Jake who had gotten us set up in such a sweet deal, and he handled all of the negotiations. I just showed up to have fun doing my act, so I had no complaints.
Sally and Jake cooperated to make up my advertisement for the newspaper and also designed a handbill to be given out all over town. Sally even came up with a catchy logo: a target with bullet holes punched through the bull's eye. All of a sudden, I had students! In only 4 days, I had enough for two classes, one in the morning and one in the afternoon; plus, I had a waiting list. I only took in five students at a time for a class, since I was limited on space. I charged each student $50 for the two-week course, and I never had a serious complaint about overcharging, though there was some joking about highway robbery with a gun.
My back wall was getting pretty badly chewed up with catching bullets, so I had a new adobe wall built in front of the existing wall over a Sunday, just to be sure that no bullets went through it. Just after I had the new wall put in, the owner of the business on the other side of the alley from me stopped by to see if he was going to start collecting bullets. He was relieved when he saw the new wall and thanked me for being a good citizen. He even posted one of my handbills in his store!
Business got so good that I needed a receptionist, so Sally took over that job, and I paid her $10 a week, which was an exorbitant amount for that position, but Sally was my friend, and she needed something to keep her occupied. Jake even suggested that I might want to start selling elixir on the side, but he broke up laughing before I could turn him down.
I got Sally a desk and a chair for her to use in a little reception room affair we made by partitioning off about eight feet in the front of the building. It helped her to stand the noise, too.
I had been in business about five months when a gunsmith approached me about moving his business next door to my school. He said that he could see a steady stream of potential customers walking in and out my door, and he wanted a piece of the action. I suggested he talk to the saloon bartender who was the owner of the lot and make some sort of arrangement. They did, and the gunsmith moved in a few weeks later. He was fully competent at his job, so I had no compunction about sending customers to him, and he sent people to me to learn how to use their new guns. I liked this arrangement, too, because he kept me up to date on all of the new guns that came out, and there were a lot of them.
Every once in a while, the marshal sent his deputies to me for a refresher course, and I charged the city $10 for that. It was a one-day course, and the deputies appreciated the opportunity. It was interesting that Amarillo had a drop off in most violent crimes when the word got around that I had trained them in shooting.
Life drifted along like this for almost three years, and I was about to celebrate my 17th birthday. Jake, Sally, and I were the only ones in town who knew my true age. I knew that I would lose customers real fast if they knew that I was a teenager. I looked to be in my mid-20s, so nobody felt demeaned by learning from a "kid."
Two weeks after my birthday, disaster struck! The saloon where we worked had a big fire and burned to the ground. To compound the tragedy, the owner, who lived in the building, was killed in the fire. Jake and Sally were out of a job, and my income was cut way back. Fortunately, none of us were big spenders, so we had quite a nest egg in the bank. I had over $50,000 and Jake and Sally had even more, so we could retire from show business if we wanted to.
Jake was approached by several saloon owners about moving our show to their places, but our hearts were really not in it. Jake and Sally wanted to go back to Austin, and I thought that it was about time that I went back to New York City to visit my parents. I had not seen them, or communicated with them, for about five years, so I was way overdue. I closed my shooting business and drew my money out of the bank in the form of a note that the banker assured me would be accepted by the largest bank in New York City. I did promise to come back to see him if there was any difficulty with that.
I bought some clothes that I thought were appropriate for the trip and left by train for New York City. It was an uneventful, but very tiring, trip, and it took almost two weeks with all of the changes I had to make, but I finally made it. I was very foolish in that I had not made any attempt to tell my parents that I was returning—I wanted to surprise them.
At the station, I hired a cab to take me and my luggage to the address of their home, and I was staggered when I arrived to find an empty house! I asked at the nearest neighbor, but all of the information they had was that my mother had died shortly after I had disappeared, and my father had sold the house and moved into a hotel suite, they did not know where.
In desperation, I had the cabby take me to my father's place of business, but there was no sign of a Bartholomew & Son business anywhere around. I asked in several adjacent offices and found someone who had known my father. He told me that my father had lost all interest in maintaining the business after my mother died. Finally, about two years ago, my father had sold out and sailed for Europe, with no plans to return. He had not left an itinerary, so there was no way to trace him. For practical purposes, I was now an orphan! My selfish obsession with the Wild West had cost me my family!
I found a hotel and checked in. For the first time in my life, I got drunk. I was so disconsolate that I stayed drunk for a week, never leaving my room, but having meals sent up whenever I felt hungry. I finally broke out of my blue funk when one of the chambermaids had to push me onto the floor to change the sheets on my bed. I never did find out who she was, but I owed her my life and my sanity.
I came to on the floor, not knowing how I had gotten there, but realizing what a sorry mess I was. I vowed then never to take another drink of hard liquor, and I have stuck to that vow ever since.
I bathed and shaved, got dressed, and went to visit the bank where my draft was placed. Somewhat to my surprise, there was no argument about depositing my check and arranging an account. I drew out $100 and set about to visit my old home town.
Out of habit, I was wearing my gun in my shoulder holster under my suit coat, so it was impossible for the casual observer to know that I was carrying a gun. I decided that a walk in Central Park was what I needed to clear away the last vestiges of my hangover. I was walking in one of the more secluded sections of the park when I heard a woman scream out a protest. I immediately turned my attention to her plight and headed toward the source of the cry of distress.
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