Out comes the Colt Revolver, the barrel aimed at his head. The bullet shot, the echo vibrated. A night of gut spill and no mercy, twas a night, a feared night. The black jacket man on his saddle, a gun in each hand. Men dying and blood shed aplenty. The Colt Revolver in his glory screamin’ the message of God through the barrel of his gun, and I remember clear. The demons fought and hollered screamin’ and one after one dropped silent.

The horse’s cry and the screams filled the night. Children withdrew and the women retreat. A sight seen and dreaded by all, what a night. There I was in the middle, on the ground, head to the sky. Bullet’s flew and their memory branded into all. Seconds to dawn and I remember the instant the red jacket man and his surrender. His face blank and white and stained. A new eye dead center, black and hot, smoking and dangerous. Red tears had resonated, spilling. The black jacket man rode off, singin’ tunes. The victory kept and never forgotten. The wife and kid afraid in the bar and I on the road. The hair in my eyes, the vision blurred, the men all dying and dogs out now; they lapped it up, every drop; none left in the end. The cries I recall filled the night and the sorrow from the black jacket man, that glass circle eyed Colt Revolver and his night jacket flail. His steed of darkest black and power like no other a dot in the dust toward day break. Red jacket to the ground his fear from those vanished and gone forever. The black eyes dull and grey and dead.

Sky open and clouds apart. The sun radiant shining and glorious toward us then. The crimson sheet on our town flushed out the life. The black jacket man we’d see again.
*
Kit the collector dropped in to snatch a drop and catch the courage, drunken fall his way to glory again. Ten large on the Colt Revolver and that’s how we knew. Commercial art and night ink flew the black jacket man to life on the wooden post upon tavern wall. What a sketch and how real it seemed. The slick dark hair and circle glass eyed man, his jacket black as night. A furious lookin’ white Colt Revolver drawn and resonated like face to face fear. The God gun, and that’s how he came to be. Colt Revolver, feared, God-fearer. Word sings the common bout slayin’ demons from town and town again and the Colt Revolver spewing smoke from the black jacket man. After one it’s said, the red jacket, while the red jacket man’s after the black jacket. Calibre the name and whispered. The battle of both and both on bounty. Colt and Calibre, invisible men, or as it goes travelin’ tongue like coyote call. Once recent I listened to the tale. Twas bout the Colt Revolver and Calibre and the gun shot blood spill night of not too long before. Went like this the night I heard:

One man with a black jacket dark as night came walked in the bar head down eyes hid. Snatched a sip a red and sat his back on comfort. The red jacket upon the barge an anger most dreadful, eyebrows narrow. Both eyes hid by circle eyed glass of fuchsia tint. One hollered and challenged and lunged, the other sped around and cuffed the one till the one dropped and hurled around the other with a bash to the back and a gun to his head. The black jacket ended up on his knees with his hands in coat while Calibre grinned a wild one with his 36 stuck high on the Colt’s head. They say Colt smiled before taking the bullet, then whirling around to return a 44 shot to red’s chest. Either of them lived is yet a tale untold and thought on day in day out. Not a man don’t see the black jacket and red jacket.

Kit and his bleach blond hair got cocky over Captain Morgan’s and flashed his green jacket whirlin’ outta there. Kit don’t believe in gun powder but carries the blade on his side. Some say Kit’s trained and molded hard and tough flaw free and masterfully craft. Others say he turn white tail to anything and brags rights to get the gold.

Day end and sun down, 70 shots a day fired I reckon. One day gone, one more to go.

Tens a hundreds next day in town gatherin’ round the gallows upon the treason of a dead man to be. A thief and con, murderer and adulterer. The worst of the worst, born to die. Man had tears in his eyes and the clouds were amuck in the sky and crying for him.

The rope round his neck and ready to fall when the heavens declared a song. Town turned and felt the wind, watched the black jacket ride in and wield the Word shot, snappin’ the rope settin’ him free. Don’t know why but I reckon it’s the black jacket’s heart beating kept that deadman ‘live. Black hair swayed like branches in wind, his hidden eyes gleaming behind fuchsia glass. Hat off I waved to the black jacket. Man whirled his stallion round and vanished as a dot.

A rival card played by the red jacket, Calibre on the other side a town. Pulled his 36 on the free man and set him free again. Town grew all crazy in a mix of relief and scorn. The red jacket spilled a cry and grinned a wild one, prancin’ on two horse legs, whirled around and took down the road.

Just as the goin’ got again, a heavenly echo resonated through the town watched the red jacket stumble saddle. Town turned watched the black jacket back gun wielded faced right on red. Calibre veered and galloped and trounced toward town, pullin’ his 36 on Colt Revolver.

Both men path cleared through town in a joust a guns and bullets, flyin’ and whizzin’ through the air both takin’ shots and both narrowly escapin’ death smile. A discreet blur of passed shots and anger and screamin’ and wild calls and town cheers.

Kit sat in the back waitin, his time shinin’ take em out I bet he thought. Blade wield green jacket flash and into the sky he lunged. Blond hair whizzin’, slashin’ across the red jacket like butter with his blade. Kit landed and red jacket stumbled, white hair tumble.

Then Kit fell silent and cried red. The bullet lodged and nothin’ else said, Kit the collector laid out lifeless, a 36 his ticket to freedom. Calibre twisted and shout the name of Lord in vain, grinning his wild. His glasses flew off pale face and landed in wet dirt next to Kit. A 44 came close to ticketing red jacket, while Colt sat still white gun in the air. Calibre shot a scowl and his black eyes gleamed and coward. Horse cry and fell silent, sprawling to the wet ground. Rain wash and blood spread, horse died and Calibre hindered. Runnin’ now and out the town black jacket followed, swiftly pickin’ him up from the scruff of red jacket. Tossing to the ground and piling his body with 44s, the Colt Revolver screamed salvation frenzy smoke and burn. The Calibre closed and face skyward broke open by hot lead.

White light spewed behind the clouds and resonated round the black jacket man. Victory kept and never forgotten always fresh in mind. Dogs came out lappin’ the remains, every last drop. Not one woman sane or child calm. Every man and girl screamin’ and shocked. Day end and one more to go I reckon. I think we’ll see the black jacket man again.


Nathan Malec
Feb 11/08

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