Beats Entropy

(Click here for Episode 1: Enter Bowlegweemis)

(When we last left our tale of dirty side-winding Tex and Bowlegweemis were getting ready to tangle.)

“Oh you can dance, you can surely dance, but dancing won’t fight me down.”

And surely that horse could dance, all hip swiveling lightness and stutter step staccato; he shimmed a pace then snapped out a couple viperous jabs. Tex slipped the first but the second caught him square in the mouth. Spitting blood and curses the lanky outlaw skipped back a respectful yard. Seeing no opening he tried a little Man Talk to throw Bow off his game.

“Oh you pretty quick fur a horse, at least that what them fillies tell me.”

Bowlegweemis whirled accusingly to face the nearby betraying she-horses. A Palomino named Gertie looked shamefacedly away. Tex got off a three heavy punches afore Bow spun back to the business at hand.

“How that feel horse? Mmmm umm. It feeled like a month of Sundays brunches from where I’m standing. Heeeeyuhheeyuh heeehaha.”

Now anyone what was there could a’ telled ya it didn’t felt too good, but from looking at Bow’s face you could scarce imagine a butterfly had landed on him. The pugilistic duo circled again, careful to keep their distance and only commit when they had to. Tex tried every eye gouging, fish hooking, hoof-stomping, face biting, dirty trick he knew, but Bow were too savvy for it. Of a like situation, all of Bow’s tramplin’, fancy dancin’, mind trancin’ slickitude was wasted on the cagey Tex.

By this point the maddened crowd was wildly exhorting their respective favorites.

“Smash his gol’ durned bucktoothed face in,” cried a man with generous teeth of his own.

“Pry his spine out!” demanded the blacksmith, waving a crowbar well suited to the task.

“Choke him top-wise and hide the body,” muttered Pawtucket, tiny hands clenching rhythmically.

“Shut your gullets,” bellowed Tex, stomping a heavy boot into the round middle of the blacksmith for emphasis. “It’s pretty goddamn rude to talk when a mans fighting.”

Seizing on Tex’s distraction, Bowlegweemis tackled him to ground, locked eyes, and begin crushing his throat betwixt his vice like hooves.

“Don’t look in his eyes Tex, he got witch magic. I knows it,” shrieked a panicked Seamus.

Bowlegweemis flicked a jaundiced eye towards Seamus; undulating rays of yeller witch magic buckled the dumpy desperado to his knees.

Clutching his head Seamus cried out woefully, “Noooooo… Tex, he burn’n up my brain!”

Jaw clenched impatiently, Tex countered Seamus’ claims in a deeply constricted voice. “He ain’t got no witch magic, and you ain’t got no brain, so quit distracting me for I stomp your head open to prove both.”

Seamus jammed two fingers up his nose to stem the gusher of blood, cowered contritely to his feet, and began cheering on Tex in mushy nasal tone. “You got him Tex, that horse can’t choke for nothing.”

Enraged by the comment Bow looked up at Seamus, smiled cruelly, and began gradually increasing his choking pressure.

Praying the horse would keep looking away, Tex reached down deep into his boot and pulled out a clutch of fire ants, what he kept there for just such an occasion. Whispering real slow and slanderous like he riled them a mite. “I never see’d such sorry blob a’ malformed aphids,” then he shoved the enraged handful down the business end of Bowlegweemis’ sniffer.

Well you’d never see a horse jump so high, scream so loud, and shoot so many fire ants out it’s nose, if you lived to be a hundred. Tex was fearsome winded but he weren’t no fool; he knew he had to lay down a thunderous beating while Bowlegweemis weren’t thinkin clear. It pains me too much to give the particulars, he was fine horse and Tex were crazy mad, so I’ll just say he gave a whuppin’ like no feller of equine disposition ever took before. By the time Tex finished up the ladies was weeping, the gents was blanched white, and old Bow, he was crying uncle just like ringing a bell.

“I reckon you had enough Horse. Whistle for me an I’ll lay off.”

Proud as he was Bowlegweemis knew he’d met his match, so he twirlzed out a tune as best he could, and limped back to the stable less a horse than he’d began.

Tex brushed at the blood and smashed pie remnants staining his vest, sucked at a loose tooth, and smugly surveyed the traumatized crowd. “Let that be lesson to you folks. If someone says they can beat down any horse, they probably can. Cause it’s not really something you’d claim for no reason… most folks anyways.”

Seamus cavorted gleefully at Tex’s side. “Why I bet you could take a hundred horses at once, even if they was all standing on each others shoulders a half mile high!”

A contempt bordering on concern froze Tex’s features. “I swear to God Seamus, you almost scare me a little.”

A curious pride lit Seamus face, but before he could respond the crowd parted to admit a whole mess of well armed, no nonsense, big city lawmen. Tex’s hand strayed to his smoke wagon; the sound of a dozen or more rifles rising returned it to an upright position.

A rangy marshal rode forward a little. “M. Barstow, you wanted in Carson City for more crimes than I care to mention.”

“My name’s Tex,” said M. Barstow indignantly.

“Your name’s ”bullet-riddled corpse” if’n you don’t shut your mouth and keep your hands up,” replied the marshal.

(To be continued in Episode 3: The Hangin’ Judge)

1. Enter Bolegwemiss
2. We’s a fightin’
3. The Hangin’ Judge
4. The Aformentioned Hanging Judge
5. The Conclusionation