He had checked into the hotel: shaved, took a bath, and put on the cleanest dirty shirt he had. Combed his hair and wiped his boots off with spit and the shirt he was about to put on. He then looked out the window; it was 10:00 AM on the clock above the saloon he was in yesterday. Then tightening his gun belt, he went down stairs of the hotel, out the door, across the street to the saloon, then as Blue walked through the door he walked up to the bar, ordered a whiskey with a beer to wash it down. Two young gunmen were standing along the bar: fiddling with their shot glass. He hadn’t seen them in the saloon the previous day, although he recognized most of the others–regulars.
A young man at his right, blond hair, medium build, about five food eight inches tall, perhaps 22-years old or there about was checking Blue out; first his height, his build, and then how his holster was, and his gun handle. Then his partner, a little taller and heaver pointed to a picture on the wall.
“Is that you, old man?” the black haired fella said.
Blue jerked off his leather hat, saying, “Does it look like me?”
“I heard of you, Arizona Blue. Fast as fast can be but not faster than my friend standing by you,” he said with a cocky voice.
They were part of the new breed Blue thought, as he looked at both of them, one on each side of him. The blond next to him and the black dude farther down the bar. They’d shoot you in the back that was the kind they were, thought Blue.
The blond stepped back: “Meet you in the back of town, Mr. Blue. See how good you really are.”
Blue stood there with his whiskey in one hand, the other close by his gun handle; the hell with it take this kid out he told himself, but on my wedding day (?) so he questioned himself.
Said Blue with a hesitant voice, one he never had before,
“I’m getting married, flea’s, so it’s your lucky day, go home.”
Momentarily he felt odd, he should take care of these two, right here and now, it was his style. Why let another man have a chance to plan your killing.
The two men walked out of the bar, and then Ben asked,
“A local lady I gather?”
“Yaw, your sweet little Ella,” answered Blue.
“Ella,” replied Ben surprised, “she’s a pretty one all right.” Ben thought he best leave it at that, in case something wrong came out of his mouth, and he might not live to regret it, remembering what the previous day had brought.
Blue looked at the clock in the bar, it was 11:00 AM. He then took his second drink: he drank it down quick, and walked outside.
The blond kid stood in the middle of the street, said,
“I wish somebody would tell me, Mr. Blue, the true story of you, the coward part”.
Nobody had ever dared call him a coward before, and lived to tell about it.
“Where is your buddy,” asked Blue.
Blue turned to face the bond gunfighter, his hand going slowly down to his gun side. Both were thinking: would it happen here. It was becoming too much for Blue to back away he couldn’t take it.
“Okay, kid, I’ll meet you in that empty lot by the outskirts of town, no need to mess up the street here with blood.”
This was not what he wanted at all though. He wanted to marry that woman that made him laugh. She would be a good sidekick, a good wife he thought.
Ella came up from the church hearing there was to be a gunfight. She stopped at the edge of town and stood by an old broken down shack that once housed slaves. Several townsfolk were there already, but she moved a little farther away from them, standing alone for a moment. Behind her were two houses with backyards and fences dividing the three acreage [open area land], where the two men stood twenty-five yards apart.
Blue looked to his right, there was Ella: she was pretty as a sparrow, and all dressed in white. He smiled; she had decided he was the one she wanted to marry and that as long as he married her he could do what he did best.
Never had she known such empty stillness, as she stood there. Her body was like a storm that wanted to break open the clouds.
“I’m ready boy, go for it, “said Blue. The boy went for his gun but before he could clear his holster, Blue shot him in the heart. The boy went back a foot but not down. Blue looked dumbfounded. He knew he hadn’t missed.
The boy was laughing so hard he didn’t even aim the gun now dangling in his hand. He had on a metal vest that started to shine as one of the buttons broke off his shirt. Blue looked closer, squinting his eyes, trying to make heads or tails out of this drama.
Something else was wrong: Blue didn’t see the black guy. He looked over to the fence; there were now a dozen or more people watching. The sheriff, Ella, and her dad stood by the shack on the right. All of a sudden Blue caught a glimpse of a gun pointing at him coming out from behind the fence. It’s the other man, thought Blue, but before he could pivot his body to position himself, the fragments from the shotgun hit his chest like a dying buffalo: thus, he rocked back and forth, and then fell to his knees and then flat on his face.
The dark young man jumped out from behind the fence,
“I killed Blue,” he yelled.
Ella, frozen in shock, grabbed the sheriff’s six shooter, and aiming it carelessly at the man, shot him four times, once in the foot, then in the shoulder, and as he fell to his knees, a bullet hit his chest, and his eye. The youth was blood soaked on the ground, next to dead. Her eyes lifted up and over to the blond, he knew if he shot her, the town folks would hang him but if he didn’t, she’d shoot him. Within ten seconds a bullet hit her forehead and she dropped to the ground. Then the fire works started, several guns started shooting at the blond. The gunfighter went down hitting the dirt like a chicken with his head snapping every which way.
Ella’s father, picking her up, with her last words she asked to be put by Blues side and buried next to him. And her father did as she asked, putting her hand into his, and turning him over so she could see him. He had a smile on his face. As she laid there: 10-seconds of life left, she whispered to her father,
“You know daddy, one day out of my life, today, was better than all the rest.” And she died, and was buried by him. Their tombstone read, Mr. and Mrs. Blue: Sidekicks.