Just For Fun Books

“We put him to the test that afternoon after the Kid woke up. I piled every weapon we had into the wagon and trucked the arsenal halfway across the San Simon Valley. One by one I fired off a round from each of the borrowed weapons and wrote down the order in which I had sent the reports. When I returned at midafternoon, we compared my notes to the Kid’s. Jack had not once failed to identify gun make and model, caliber, and brand of ammunition. He was even able to tell whether I had fired off a report with my right or left hand. Lord knows how he did that.
I, of course, had to see it for myself. We sent Pate off to the South Pass of the Dragoons and he commenced to fire off rounds at dusk. BAM! came the first report, aborning to us from the distant mountains and then quickly disintegrating into the maw of the desert sky.
“Remington forty-four,” Jack said. “Eighteen sixty-nine model.” He sat on a rock with his hands splayed over his stumpy knees and his head cocked for the next selection.
POW!
Jack pursed his lips. “Colt’s Lightning . . . forty-one caliber . . . iv’ry grips.”
BOOM!
At this report Jack chuckled. “Well, first off . . . forty-five caliber Peacemaker, seven-and-a-half-inch barrel,” he announced proudly. Then he smiled. “That ol’ dodger Pate . . . he’s a slick one, tryin’ to pull one on me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Along with the Colt he let go with a derringer, thirty-two caliber. Sounded like it ain’t been cleaned in a while.”
I sat down next to Jack and draped my arm over his rounded shoulders. “Jack, I believe you’ve given credence to the saying that every man on this earth serves a role.”
Jack gave me a look. “ ‘Serves a roll?’ Are we in the restaurant business again?”
― Mark Warren, The Westering Trail Travesties, Five Little Known Tales of the Old West That Probably Ought to A' Stayed That Way