Tom Swan is a young man growing up in the center of the Muscogee Creek Nation in Indian Territory. Taught by his father the art of handling a pistol he is led to a job of a shotgun guard for a payroll. As Tom becomes known for his abilities, a veteran U.S. Marshall working out of Fort Smith, takes young Tom under his wing to teach him about the right side of the law. They become a team to be reckoned with in the territory. He and his partner get into big business and big trouble where fast guns aren't always the answer.

When Quick Guns Ruled

By Lonnie Magee

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Lonnie Magee
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-4786-9

Chapter One

I watched the man's eyes. Pa had always said watch a man's eyes, they will tell you what he's thinking. I saw the twitch in his right eye and made my draw while stepping to my left. I felt the Colt buck in my hand and saw the red stain suddenly appear on the man's shirt pocket. The man was thrown over backwards, his pistol falling from his fingers to the floor.

"We saw it all stranger, he never gave you any choice."

"Just remember that when the local law shows up."

"That will not be any problem. The man you just shot ran the local lawman out of town last week."

"What was his problem? I only came in here to get something to eat. The caf was closed and the man at the livery said I could get a sandwich over here."

"He's been looking for a fight all day. He left and went home to get something to eat. We were hoping he'd not come back. He's shot a couple of local folks, and began to fancy himself a gun hand. We sure aren't going to miss him."

I'd grown up just north of the town of Okmulgee in what was known as Indian Territory. Our place was much like many others in the area. We'd first built with logs, then, later had added on with lumber bought at a local sawmill. The place was a hundred and twenty acres, twenty of which lay on the west side of a creek that was only good for the timber it raised, it flooded every spring. Some folks would have considered us poor, but we managed to keep body and soul together. We like so many others were thankful to have a home and each other.

My father, who was Irish, had moved into the territory riding a good stallion and leading two nice mares. He'd met my mother, who was a member of the local Creek tribe. They had been married six months later.

My mother had made the walk from Georgia as a small child. She was a very attractive tall lady and always seemed to have a smile on her face. She was the kindest person I'd ever known. I'd seen her catch flies in her hand and turn the outside the house. She was a fine cook and loved my father.

I'd been born a year or so aft er they had gotten married. I'd been their only child until a little over two years ago when my sister had been born. My sister was something special to all of us. A gift from God as my mother said.

My father was an easygoing sort of a fellow. He too, seemed to always have a smile on his face. He had many friends in and around the countryside. His horses, were well known around the area. He, like so many others, carried a pistol and I knew he knew how to use it.

I'd seen him draw, and shoot the head off a Copperhead snake that was about to strike my baby sister. My sister, who was barely walking at the time, had seen the snake and was reaching out to pick it up. My father had drawn, and shot the head off the snake so fast I'd not believed it.

That was when, I'd decided I needed to learn how to shoot a pistol. I had been surprised, when my father had said no. My mother however, seemed to think he should teach me. My father said he'd think about it.

Two weeks later, my father called me to the barn. My schooling, in learning how to handle a pistol, was about to begin. My father had handed me a small thirty eight pistol. He'd had it hidden in a box. He'd filed the front sight off , so that it wouldn't get hung up in the holster. I wondered, how I was going to aim the pistol but would soon find out.

"Tom, I've got the thirty eight for you, because it will fit your hand. You're too young to try to handle a forty five. The recoil, would be too much for you to handle. Now son, let me explain to you about carrying, and shooting, a pistol. You remember one thing, you can never take a bullet back, once you pull the trigger. The second thing, is never and I mean never, pull your gun when you're mad. That will get you killed. You have to be able to think."

"Now, let's get this holster rig cut down to fit you. Your being left handed, is going to be a problem for me, but we'll get it done."

I had been fourteen, when my training started. My father had shown more patience than I'd ever realized he had. He'd overhauled the holster, cut it down and installed a wedge of thick leather. The wedge, let the pistol set just right for me to make a draw.

My shooting at first was pathetic, to say the least. My father and I would reload the empty hulls, every night aft er supper. Aft er a few weeks, my shooting finally began to improve. Even my father had been surprised, by my progress. When I began to think I was getting good, my father had another surprise for me.

"Tom, you're getting pretty good. Now, put this holster on, and lets see what you can do with your right hand."

Needless to say, I was not happy. I'd worked so hard to learn how to shoot, but then to have to learn with my other hand, seemed to make no sense to me. My father had explained to me, his reasoning. What if your left hand gun was empty, or what if you'd been hit and couldn't use your left hand gun? Now it made sense to me, but it still didn't make me happy.

One day aft er chores, I had been working with my right hand gun, when my father came into the barn and watched me.

"Son, I think it's time I tell you about my past. I was your age when I killed my first man. My father had been gone, on a business trip. My mother and me were home alone, when a man broke into our home in the middle of the night. I had taken my pistol and shot him. I killed the man, Tom. I didn't know he was drunk."

"But Dad, I would have done the same thing."

"Son, I understand how you feel, but wait until I finish. Folks began to treat me different. I'd killed a man and I was to be watched. I'd not shown any remorse. The local people were uneasy around me."

"A couple of months later, I'd gone to town on a errand for my mother. I'd been called out by the brother of the man who I had killed. I tried talking to the man, but he wouldn't listen to reason. He had come to kill me, and intended to do just that. He left me no choice, but to face him. I'd removed the thong from my pistol, and got myself ready. I had watched his eyes, when I saw him start his draw, I'd drawn and shot him in the shoulder. He had figured me to be a kid, not knowing what I was doing."

"I had made a mistake then, Tom. The man was down and I didn't want to kill him. I'd put my pistol, back in my holster and turned to walk away. A friend had hollered, look out. I'd dove to the right, drawn my pistol, just as the man had fired. He had missed, I hadn't. He had intended to shoot me in the back, but to some folks that didn't seem to matter. I was too good with my gun."

"Over the next six months, I had been called out twice more, by some kill crazy fool wanting to be the next fast gun. I was just eighteen at the time, but my father knew what had to be done. He gave me a blooded stud, and two mares. My mother gave me sixty dollars, and a kiss goodbye. They suggested, I come over here to the territory and start over where no one knew me. Fortunately, I met your mother, and the rest you know."

"I'm glad you came here Pa, but I do have a question."

"Ask away son."

"Have you ever had a gun fight here?"

"No son, I've never drawn my gun on another man. I've not wanted to have the reputation get started again. I hope you never have to go through what happened to me."

"I hope I never have to draw against another man, but if I do, I'll know I have a chance to live. Pa, I want to...