Tom Swan is a young man growing up in the center of the Muscogee Creek Nation in Indian Territory. Taught by his father the art of handling a pistol he is led to a job of a shotgun guard for a payroll. As Tom becomes known for his abilities, a veteran U.S. Marshall working out of Fort Smith, takes young Tom under his wing to teach him about the right side of the law. They become a team to be reckoned with in the territory. He and his partner get into big business and big trouble where fast guns aren't always the answer.

When Quick Guns Ruled

By Lonnie Magee

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Lonnie Magee
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-4786-9

Chapter One

I watched the man's eyes. Pa had always said watch a man's eyes, they will tell you what he's thinking. I saw the twitch in his right eye and made my draw while stepping to my left. I felt the Colt buck in my hand and saw the red stain suddenly appear on the man's shirt pocket. The man was thrown over backwards, his pistol falling from his fingers to the floor.

"We saw it all stranger, he never gave you any choice."

"Just remember that when the local law shows up."

"That will not be any problem. The man you just shot ran the local lawman out of town last week."

"What was his problem? I only came in here to get something to eat. The caf was closed and the man at the livery said I could get a sandwich over here."

"He's been looking for a fight all day. He left and went home to get something to eat. We were hoping he'd not come back. He's shot a couple of local folks, and began to fancy himself a gun hand. We sure aren't going to miss him."

I'd grown up just north of the town of Okmulgee in what was known as Indian Territory. Our place was much like many others in the area. We'd first built with logs, then, later had added on with lumber bought at a local sawmill. The place was a hundred and twenty acres, twenty of which lay on the west side of a creek that was only good for the timber it raised, it flooded every spring. Some folks would have considered us poor, but we managed to keep body and soul together. We like so many others were thankful to have a home and each other.

My father, who was Irish, had moved into the territory riding a good stallion and leading two nice mares. He'd met my mother, who was a member of the local Creek tribe. They had been married six months later.

My mother had made the walk from Georgia as a small child. She was a very attractive tall lady and always seemed to have a smile on her face. She was the kindest person I'd ever known. I'd seen her catch flies in her hand and turn the outside the house. She was a fine cook and loved my father.

I'd been born a year or so aft er they had gotten married. I'd been their only child until a little over two years ago when my sister had been born. My sister was something special to all of us. A gift from God as my mother said.

My father was an easygoing sort of a fellow. He too, seemed to always have a smile on his face. He had many friends in and around the countryside. His horses, were well known around the area. He, like so many others, carried a pistol and I knew he knew how to use it.

I'd seen him draw, and shoot the head off a Copperhead snake that was about to strike my baby sister. My sister, who was barely walking at the time, had seen the snake and was reaching out to pick it up. My father had drawn, and shot the head off the snake so fast I'd not believed it.

That was when, I'd decided I needed to learn how to shoot a pistol. I had been surprised, when my father had said no. My mother however, seemed to think he should teach me. My father said he'd think about it.

Two weeks later, my father called me to the barn. My schooling, in learning how to handle a pistol, was about to begin. My father had handed me a small thirty eight pistol. He'd had it hidden in a box. He'd filed the front sight off , so that it wouldn't get hung up in the holster. I wondered, how I was going to aim the pistol but would soon find out.

"Tom, I've got the thirty eight for you, because it will fit your hand. You're too young to try to handle a forty five. The recoil, would be too much for you to handle. Now son, let me explain to you about carrying, and shooting, a pistol. You remember one thing, you can never take a bullet back, once you pull the trigger. The second thing, is never and I mean never, pull your gun when you're mad. That will get you killed. You have to be able to think."

"Now, let's get this holster rig cut down to fit you. Your being left handed, is going to be a problem for me, but we'll get it done."

I had been fourteen, when my training started. My father had shown more patience than I'd ever realized he had. He'd overhauled the holster, cut it down and installed a wedge of thick leather. The wedge, let the pistol set just right for me to make a draw.

My shooting at first was pathetic, to say the least. My father and I would reload the empty hulls, every night aft er supper. Aft er a few weeks, my shooting finally began to improve. Even my father had been surprised, by my progress. When I began to think I was getting good, my father had another surprise for me.

"Tom, you're getting pretty good. Now, put this holster on, and lets see what you can do with your right hand."

Needless to say, I was not happy. I'd worked so hard to learn how to shoot, but then to have to learn with my other hand, seemed to make no sense to me. My father had explained to me, his reasoning. What if your left hand gun was empty, or what if you'd been hit and couldn't use your left hand gun? Now it made sense to me, but it still didn't make me happy.

One day aft er chores, I had been working with my right hand gun, when my father came into the barn and watched me.

"Son, I think it's time I tell you about my past. I was your age when I killed my first man. My father had been gone, on a business trip. My mother and me were home alone, when a man broke into our home in the middle of the night. I had taken my pistol and shot him. I killed the man, Tom. I didn't know he was drunk."

"But Dad, I would have done the same thing."

"Son, I understand how you feel, but wait until I finish. Folks began to treat me different. I'd killed a man and I was to be watched. I'd not shown any remorse. The local people were uneasy around me."

"A couple of months later, I'd gone to town on a errand for my mother. I'd been called out by the brother of the man who I had killed. I tried talking to the man, but he wouldn't listen to reason. He had come to kill me, and intended to do just that. He left me no choice, but to face him. I'd removed the thong from my pistol, and got myself ready. I had watched his eyes, when I saw him start his draw, I'd drawn and shot him in the shoulder. He had figured me to be a kid, not knowing what I was doing."

"I had made a mistake then, Tom. The man was down and I didn't want to kill him. I'd put my pistol, back in my holster and turned to walk away. A friend had hollered, look out. I'd dove to the right, drawn my pistol, just as the man had fired. He had missed, I hadn't. He had intended to shoot me in the back, but to some folks that didn't seem to matter. I was too good with my gun."

"Over the next six months, I had been called out twice more, by some kill crazy fool wanting to be the next fast gun. I was just eighteen at the time, but my father knew what had to be done. He gave me a blooded stud, and two mares. My mother gave me sixty dollars, and a kiss goodbye. They suggested, I come over here to the territory and start over where no one knew me. Fortunately, I met your mother, and the rest you know."

"I'm glad you came here Pa, but I do have a question."

"Ask away son."

"Have you ever had a gun fight here?"

"No son, I've never drawn my gun on another man. I've not wanted to have the reputation get started again. I hope you never have to go through what happened to me."

"I hope I never have to draw against another man, but if I do, I'll know I have a chance to live. Pa, I want to thank you, for taking the time to teach me how to handle a gun. I'll try and make you proud of me."

A few weeks later, Pa and I took the wagon and drove down to the creek bottom. We had cut a bunch of trees down early in the spring. We had trimmed the limbs off the trees and left them to season. We had the large crosscut saw oiled and sharpened. We needed the wood we would cut to keep us warm through the upcoming winter.

I had just stepped off the wagon, when a huge wild hog came crashing out of the nearby timber.

"Shoot him, Tom!"

I drew my pistol and fired. The huge hog, suddenly fell forward and slid across the tall heavy grass.

"Pa, what caused him to come out of the timber like that?"

"I have no idea son, but we'd better keep an eye out."

We unloaded the saw, and began to saw the trees into stove lengths. I'd split the lengths when we got them home.

The rest of the day, seemed to fly by. With Pa and I pushing and pulling the saw, we finally got the wagon loaded. The acid smell of the oak saw dust seemed to fill the air. To me, it was a smell I'd always enjoyed.

"Tom, let's get home, we've got to take care of the hog before we can do chores. Besides, your mother is fixing a roast for supper tonight, I sure don't want to be late getting to the table."

Needless to say, I started the team for home. Pa wasn't the only one who didn't want to be late for supper. When we got back to the farm, Pa and I began getting things ready to butcher the hog. We set the tri pod up over the large cast iron pot. I began carrying water, while Pa carried wood and got a fire started under it. My mother and little sister, began getting things ready inside the house. Out here we wasted nothing, and everyone took pride in the jobs they had to do. My little sister Sarah, was busy sewing sausage bags together, while my mother got all the other things they would need.

Pa and I scalded the hog and scraped the carcass. We actually scalded the hog twice to get rid of all the heavy hair. Finally, Pa began cutting the carcass into the various parts. The hams, shoulders and bacon we'd put in a small smoke house. The rest we would salt and store in another larger smokehouse. Pa always wanted the hams, shoulders and bacon put in the small smoke house. It would keep us busy keeping a small fire going under it, but I knew it would be worth it when my mother began cooking them.

When we sat down to supper later that evening, everyone was tired, but in a good mood. My father was happy with the progress our small farm was making.

"Tom, if the Army takes the four geldings we'll have ready come spring we'll be able to get you a new pair of boots."

"Pa, I can make do with the ones I have. I can resole them and make them last."

"Son, you're growing, and I don't need you crippled. We'll get you a pair of boots just as soon as we sell the geldings."

I really did need the boots, but also knew how tight money was around the farm. My father had done a great job of making our small farm pay.

Being seventeen years old was not easy but, I'd already made my mind up, I did not want to be a farmer. What I would do, I had no clue but I figured I'd work it out sooner or later.

The next morning, aft er chores I began splitting the wood we'd hauled in the day before. It was hard work, but I enjoyed it. The sound, of the near seasoned wood splitting was a pleasant sound to me. My shoulders had begun to develop from all the hard word over the last couple of years. I was splitting the logs, while my sister Sarah, carried a small piece of wood and added it to the stack just outside the kitchen door. She was only four, but wanted to help like everyone else.

I'd been thinking about the coming winter, and what we would do to get ready for the spring planting. I'd again have the handles of the plow in my hands, and I was not looking forward to that at all.

While I was splitting the wood, Pa was working on a new round pen, to work the geldings in. We had them started, but we always wanted them to be better broke, than anything else the Army buyer would find in the area. So far it had brought us, the best price in the area. The Army buyer always came to our place first, on his swing through our area.

Later that evening, I finished chopping the wood. When the sun was low in the west, I saw Pa coming from the barn. He waved to me, and nodded his head at the pile of wood I had chopped, then stacked next to the house.

"Son you're making a hand. I'm going to hate to lose you."

"Pa, I'm not going anywhere."

"Son, I know that. I'm talking about later. You work hard, but I know you don't want to be a farmer."

"I guess you're right, I want to see some things and do something. What, I have no idea, but maybe I'll get things figured out."

"Just take your time son. Things are happening so fast right now all around us. Times are changing, and we'll have to change with them. Just keep your eyes open, things will work out. Now, let's get washed up and go eat, your mother has something cooking that smells awfully good."

"My mother had fixed us a wonderful meal. Southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes and fresh vegetables from our large garden, made a great meal.

I complimented my mother on the meal when I had finished.

"Before you get too excited about things, you men can go finish chores. The pie I have in the oven is not quite done."

"Son, let's get the last of the chores done, you need to work with your pistols for a few minutes anyway."

We went to the barn and finished the few chores. I"d just strapped my gun rig on, when Pa suddenly got up from where he was sitting and looked out the door of the barn.

"Riders coming, Tom, three of them. Take the thong off the hammer of your pistol, then stay out of sight."

I did as Pa had said, I'd eased over near the door. I could not be seen but could see some things through a crack in the wall.

"Evening gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

A tall, rough looking man, rode in front of three more rough looking men. The horses were all sweated up, it was plain to see they had been pushed, and pushed hard.

"Evening, you got any riding stock?"

"None that are for sale, we've got some young stock, but they aren't near good broke yet."

"How about those two?"

"Those belong to the boy and me. They aren't for sale either."

'Mister, you don't understand, we're not buying. We've got a posse behind us, and need those horses. Now get them out here now!"

"I don't think I'll do that boys, my son and I will be needing them."

"Farmer, I'll not ask you again, now get those horses."

My father amazed me, he stood there and just smiled at the man. That was when I saw the man suddenly reach for his gun. I didn't wait for Pa to say anything, I simply stepped around the door of the barn and shot the man.. I shot another, as he made his draw. I'd spun around, to face the other man who was suddenly knocked from his horse. I turned to see my mother set the rifle down by the door.

"Thanks Mom, I may have not got the last one."

"I saw you get the two, but the third was about to make it close. The rifle was handy, so I used it. Do you have any idea who they are?"

"The one who was doing the talking, said they had a posse on their trail. I figure we'll find out soon enough."

"Pa, I see a group of riders coming down the road. That may be the posse the man was speaking of."

We stood watching the group of men coming down the road. I waved my hat, to get their attention. That was when I heard the second man, I'd shot begin to groan. My father went to check on him. I noticed that Pa searched the man for weapons, and wasn't too gentle about how he did it. I saw Pa take a dagger from one of the man's boot top. He found a small double barreled Derringer in the other boot.

"Son, it looks like your bullet shattered his shoulder, take his horse and ride in to town, we'll need the doctor."

I took the man's horse, and made the short ride into town. I was lucky and found the doctor at his home. I told him what had happened and he asked me to help hitch up his horse. I helped the Doc get his horse hitched, then followed him out to our place. When we arrived, I could see the posse was busy. They were asking Pa how he had managed to catch the robbers. They told Pa, the men had robbed a small bank in the town of Slick, just west of us. One of the posse men was counting the money, they had found in one of the saddle bags. The bank robbers, had not had time to divide it up.

Two of the men, we'd have to bury. The weather, was far too warm to try and take them back to Slick. I got a shovel and went to work over on the north side of the barn. Two of the men in the posse, came over to help me and a short time later we had the men buried. There were no kind words spoken over them. They had killed a young man, who worked at the bank. He had just gotten married, the week before.

"Gentlemen, if you don't object, my son and I will keep the horses and rigs."

"Sir, you and your boy, keep the ones you want. When the doc has this one patched up, we're heading back home. I reckon we'll hang him, aft er the judge gives him a fair hearing."

"You think, he'll make it back there alive?"

"Sir, I'm not sure, but I don't really care. He shot two nice folks, who never did another human harm in their lifetime. If he makes it back there alive, I'll be the one to put the noose around his neck, when we hang him."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from When Quick Guns Ruledby Lonnie Magee Copyright © 2009 by Lonnie Magee. Excerpted by permission.
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