[Clipart 020] Cowboy Kiddie

[Clipart 020] Cowboy Kiddie

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Cowboy Kiddie kicked open the saloon doors and sauntered in, fingers wriggling over his water pistols. His legs were turned as far to the side as they could go without popping out of his hip joints. The miners and charros looked on at him with contempt before their eyes sank back in their drinks. He scrambled to sit up in the bar stool but eventually hiked himself on to the seat, his eyes barely sitting above the counter.

“Haaaaaaaaaaaaady, parder,” Cowboy Kiddie said to the mustachioed barkeep with a tip of his hat. “Gimme th’ biggest, frostiest ol’ glass o’ root beer ye got behind that there counter over yonder!”

“We ain’t got root beer, William. I told you that last time and the time before.” The barkeep polished a mug with a rag. “We’ve got beer, whiskey, and water and I sure as hell ain’t gonna hear from your momma if you come home drunk again.”

“Weeeeell slap my horse an’ call me Nancy. I guess I’ll gets me one of them waters!”

The barkeep filled the mug with brown tinted liquid and plopped it in front of Kiddie. He downed the mug with a satisfied sigh. “Hit me ‘gin, parder.”

The barkeep filled the mug and placed in in front of Kiddie without a word. Kiddie rocked back and forth, imaginary drunk off of his imaginary alcohol. He was about to order a third when someone else kicked the saloon door open, causing one of the rickety doors to fly off its hinges.

“Which one of you’ns is Billy the Kid?!” The man spit a glob of tobacco at the spitoon. A sharp metallic sound echoed around the room as the patrons looked on silently.

“Heeeeeeeeeeyowdy thar paaaaaarder!” Cowboy Kiddie spun around in his chair and leapt to the floor. “My momma done named me William and as ye’ can see am I what y’all might call a kid. How may I be o’ service to yunsns?”

Kiddie walked over to the man and extended his hand. The man grabbed it and hoisted Kiddie into the air.

“I want y’all to tell me why you was messing around with my woman.”

“Parder, I ain’t know nothin’ no how about your lady friend. I do reckon that y’all are hurtin my lassoin’ hand, so would you kindly put me down on that there ground?”

The man threw Kiddie to the floor and spat a glob of tobacco spit onto his freshly washed faux leather vest.

“Hey, dude, that freaking hur–I mean that done stung me worse than if I square danced on a hornet nest,” Kiddie sniffled through his tears.

“Y’all should’ve thought ‘bout that ‘fore you fucked around with my girl!” The man pulled out a revolver and stuck against Kiddie’s forehead.

“D-d-dontche wanna wait until high noon so we can duel at twenty pa-”

The man smacked Kiddie across the face with the barrel of his gun. “Shut up! This ain’t no game!”

“Wells I reckon we gots us one of them Mexercan standoffs.” Kiddie reached for the pistol at his side. The man pulled the trigger. Kiddie’s gun dropped from his hand. The cap came loose when the weapon hit the floor and water spilled out from the transparent green tank. The man tapped Kiddie’s side with the toe of his boot. He didn’t move. The man walked out of the saloon.

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