Orrin and Elizabeth: How the West Was Won

Old Orrin and Miss Elizabeth shuffled down the dusty street, kicking up tornadoes at their feet . Orrin still thought of himself as a repo man, but now he heard laughter more often than he smelled fear as he passed by, while Elizabeth, she was the one who cast her lot with whoever came out on top. So here they were, old Orrin out to get his saddlebags back, and Elizabeth with her eye on the gold they were said to hold, trudging down a dusty Kansas street. They walked awhile before Orrin noticed her, and said Whachadoin here, could get scary. Mute, she smiled, she always smiled, and held tight to the cold, hard derringer hiding in her purse. The saddle was in the hands of the Middleton boys, young and wild and ready to fight, and when the old man and young woman turned the corner, there they were, drinking, laughing, preening. Wantmysaddlebags, said Orrin, reaching for a .44 that didn’t clear his holster before the younger Middleton sent him to the dust, heart exploded. Now the legend part, as Miss Elizabeth drew her tiny pistol and put a slug of lead in the kid’s forehead, spinning him around, causing his trigger finger to flex and killing his brother, no more than a spectator by then, as he himself died in the dirt. The lady Elizabeth vomited, then headed for old Orrin’s saddlebags , where his treasure was said to reside, but her hand emerged with a tin of lard and a can of beans to go uneaten that night. She shrugged and smiled that smile, knowing the day would come when it would replace the pistol and she would live the life of the lady she was.

Bluejay

Veteran of old My Poetry Forum before its hiatus. Happy to be back.

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