I’d seen the posters around town. So I knew this might be the last night I’d see my Papa. So I waited, mouse quiet under a coat at the saloon.

The music and laughter crept along the boards and nuzzled up next to me. As I warmed up on that July night the coat breathed out its mix of horse’s sweat and smoke. Comforting, smelt like my Papa himself. And there I slept.

The shots woke me. Glass breaking and a hollering like no other. I peeped out, just long enough to see that ‘Dead or Alive’ reward being claimed.


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