ON MY DUFF by Dan Duff Worker; One who or that which does work. Laborer.

Back in the day when I was working every day it just never occurred to me that the next morning I would not wake up to the alarm, take a quick shower, grab a cup of coffee and a piece of peanut butter toast and head for the job. There were times when I would change jobs and take a new position. I would worry myself silly until I went into the new job and signed all the papers and took on whatever the job called for. I just needed to know I was gainfully employed and that my family would be provided for. It is almost beyond my comprehension even now that I could be in a position where I would wake up everyday unemployed. Even though I am now retired I do have a little bit of money coming in to help stay off the creditors. When we leave our little gated community and drive toward town we drive down the road past some commercial property and then on the right side of the road there is a trailer park. There are probably two hundred trailers in that community and they are all occupied by illegal Mexican workers. Even the best of these mobile homes look like they have outlived their usefulness by twenty years. Everyone from the INS. To ICE knows they are there. The local police departments know they are there. The people who live around here know they are there. They don’t cause any trouble and there are always 25 or 30 of them standing by the road every day waiting for someone to come along and hire them for day labor. Every day these men wake up unemployed. Every day they must go out and stand along the highway sometimes all day and may or may not get any work. Now with the economy getting worse there are more and more of them standing along the highway. Some go up the road a ways to try to set themselves apart from the herd so to speak. Some go a mile or two up the road to a shopping mall parking lot and others hang out at the corner gas stations. I find myself with real mixed emotions about these men. I have seen them work. They work hard and long hours for a fraction of the money that most Americans would work for. They don’t put up a fuss because even with what little they make they are able to send much needed money to their destitute families in Mexico. At the same time I abhor those contractors and people who will work these people and pay them cash so as to bypass the tax laws and all the normal paperwork that normal companies have to deal with when they hire labor. I also see where this adds an extra tax burden on people who are employed by legitimate companies. When you think about it for a moment this is sooo un-American. This type of workings hurts the people who do the work and it affects everyone who lives in this country. If this is as far as this went, I could almost give them a pass but it goes a lot deeper than just day workers. These people come from all over Mexico and other Latin American countries that do not immunize their citizen against childhood diseases and potentially contagious diseases. In the past few years back on page twenty two of the local newspapers we are seeing outbreaks of TB, whooping cough, measles and even scarlet fever. Outbreaks of sickness that have been all but dead in this country for many years. Now about here the writer should be asking the government just what they are doing about the problem, but as I see it, it is not a government problem. It is a we problem. You see if we didn’t hire them, they would all drift back to Mexico on their own and the problem would go away on its own. If we were not so greedy to get the house painted or the lawns redone to look like Better Homes and Gardens just up-chucked all over the back of our property, we wouldn’t have this problem. If companies didn’t make it a point to do whatever it takes to make the bottom line look better, we wouldn’t have this problem. If I were one of those guys I too would probably pay seven hundred to a thousand dollars to some coyote to sneak me across the border in order to make some of those magic American dollars to send back to my family who live in conditions that makes even those trailers in the trailer park look like first class accommodations. It is not up to a government agency, it is up to us.

The Luck of the Draw
by Dan Duff

The sun was beginning to set as Lewis Coleman walked out into the middle of the dusty street of Piney Junction. The sweat trickled down his back and Lewis couldn’t decide whether it was the temperature or his nerves that was causing it. This meeting was a long time coming, but Lewis could not figure why it had to be, then again, he knew deep in his heart it was the only way to get this thing settled.

At the other end of the street stood Charlie Kincaid. Tall and thin, he did not make for much of a target. He was laughing and had just tossed an empty short bottle of whiskey toward the hitching post in front of the saloon. Charlie’s Colt Peacemaker was riding low on his hip and his holster was tied down.

The sun was casting long shadows in this place of destiny. Only one or maybe no one would walk away this day. Both men had self imposed reputations to defend. Both men had crafted their ability to stand and draw or so they hoped. Both men knew they would be starring death full in the face at this meeting.

They began to walk toward each other. Each mans eyes were stayed on the others. One mistaken blink was all it would take for iron to be drawn in a fraction of a second and death would be traveling at great velocity. If either had any kind of an edge now it would be Lewis. He had purposed to walk into the street with the sun at his back. He had seen enough gun play and this sort of thing to figure out a few things. For one, always have the sun to your back so as to be able to see your opponent clearly and second you wanted to be able to see their eyes. When you were getting ready to draw many a man had gone down because they watched the other mans hands or his fingers. It was the eyes Lewis knew that would be the give away, the moment when the draw would actually happen.
The two men were within twenty five feet of each other. Usually he would carry his pistol with an empty chamber under the hammer but a while ago he had loaded that sixth round into the empty chamber. His nerves had been somewhat calmed by the whiskey, but Charlie knew he was not up against a hot headed wrangler in off the range for a Saturday night howl. The man he faced today was like no other he would ever meet. You see Lewis Coleman was Charlie’s best friend. Charlie too was dripping sweat this sunset.

No one spoke as the two men stopped and planted their gun hip solid into the dirt. The time for talking had past. There was no negotiations for either party in this argument. Only the guns would speak. Only the singing of the rounds as they broke the air between them would be heard.

The two men looked long into each others eyes. Both hoping deep in their heart that by some miracle or divine intervention they might be spared this moment. None came and in a moment Charlie’s gun was coming up out of the holster and the silence of the hour was broken by the sound of a single gun shot.

Twenty years ago these two men were boys living on adjacent farms in the middle of cattle country. Their small twenty and thirty five acre farms was enough to provide their families with the necessities of life. Their dads both hired out to Deckard Zicafoose’s large cattle ranch after their crops had been planted and could stay gone on cattle drives over into Kansas. They both could not wait until their dads returned from these drives because they always bought presents back and it always seemed like Christmas in the middle of the summer.

The boys had been taught to ride and rope before they were fifteen and from time to time their dads would allow them to strap on their side arms and practice drawing with empty guns. Sometime Charlie’s dad would load blanks and let Charles practice his draw and get the feel for the sound of the weapon’s report.

On Saturday they liked to get their chores done early and go into town. There were a couple of girls in town they liked to accidentally meet up with and offer them stick candy from the General Store. Charles had his eye on Marjorie Sweetwood, but always kept his eye out for her two brothers. Whether the threat was real or not Marjorie had let him know in no uncertain terms that if he was anything but a gentleman around her he would have the brothers to deal with. If the truth be known it was probably the control she felt she had over Charlie that really made her blood run fast.

Lewis was more cagey than Charles and instead of looking up Linda Springer when he hit town, he would head for the feed store and hang out for awhile. Linda’s dad was the town sheriff and more than likely would be sitting around the pot bellied stove swapping tales of his younger days as a Texas Ranger. The old man liked Lewis and knew he had an eye for his daughter. Sometimes old man Springer would invite him for supper and while the old man sat next to the fire place spitting his tobacco juice into the fire Lewis would talk with Miss Linda under the supervision of Mrs. Springer. However, after awhile the spitting would become more rapid and this was the signal that Lewis had worn out his welcome and it was time for him to hit the trail. He would meet up with Charlie at the stables and they would ride the moon light back home.

On one of these trips Charlie began to talk about the up coming cattle drive and how he glad that he was finally going to be part of it. He had heard a lot of stories about what happened at the rail head at Abilene and like a kid caught up in a once upon a time story Charlie talked of little else. He spent more time with a gun strapped on and finding new ways to fast draw. Once in town he had spent almost all his money on cartridges for his .44 colt and in the evenings you could hear the gun shots coming from a far off hill side. Charlie was learning to draw faster than the eye could catch it. and Lewis began to fret over his friend.

One Saturday night after a nice chicken dinner at the Springers, Lewis brought up his concerns with the sheriff. Mr. Springer looked into the fire for the longest time and then with a heavy sigh he began to tell the story of a boy from down in Waco. He recalled that the boy was the son of a preacher, but seemed to be obsessed with handling and drawing a six shooter.

"One night in the lower part of Waco the boy was in the saloon and a half drunk braggart by the name of Donald Sivy began to challenge anyone in the place to a show down draw in the streets. The young man finally had a chance to use his skills that he had been perfecting for so long and now here in this sawdust floored saloon he was about to get what he figured was his calling.
In the street the braggart laughed at the young upstart. Maybe he saw the young man shaking a bit, but what the braggart took to be fear was the young mans anxious moment to get this thing started. The braggart went for his weapon and the young mans quickness caused an audible awe as he drew and fired before the braggart’s gun cleared the holster.

Almost laughingly the young man went over to the shaking body in the dirt. His eyes were already fixed in death, the braggart lay staring up at the young man. The young man suddenly looked into the eyes of death and the reality of what had happened sunk into his brain. This was not tin cans on a rail fence. This was not a white piece of cloth on the bark of a tree. This was the real thing. This was what it was like to kill another man. The fight had been fair. The other man had drew first, but death, no matter how you see it is for all time.

The boy was applauded and the small huddle of men suddenly had discovered a hero. They took him inside and bought him drinks. For two days the party continued. Long after the braggart had been planted in boot hill the young man continued to reveille in his victory.

On the third morning he woke, his head three times the size it was last week and full of the worst guilt he had ever experienced. He left town quietly and drifted across Texas. Everywhere he went he was recognized, and had been dubbed the Waco kid. There would be other challenges. With each one the Kid seemed to be even quicker than before. After awhile he couldn’t go anywhere without a challenge or from feeling of the ever hanging weight of guilt.

One morning he woke up in a stable. Broke and with no way to make a dollar except by showing off his gift at some saloon, he decided as the boy in a bible story his father used to talk about, to go home. He knew in his heart that facing his father would be much harder than any of the gun slingers he had to face down. His father was a preacher of the gospel and had little use for gun slingers. He saddled his horse and tried to ride quietly out of town. As he headed down the sun baked street a man walked out into the street
and stopped him. He had heard of his reputation as a gun hand and wanted to see if he was as good as everyone said. The young man was tired, hungry and was in no mind to have to prove himself anymore.

Without warning his lightening fast hand drew his gun and shot the man down in the street. Like a flash he spurred his mount and headed south as fast as he could. He did not stop until his mount gave out and had to be rested. Into the barren waste land he traveled. He traveled at night and by passed any thing that resembled civilization. Living off prairie chicken and rattle snake. He had sunk lower that the belly of the snakes he shot for food. He was wanted for murder. He probably had a price on his head. For all he knew the wanted posters were already distributed to every lawman in Texas. For some reason the guilt of the murder was not much different from the guilt of all those men he had gunned down in so many streets. His only option he could think of now was to make it home.

In the wee hours of the morning, he walked his horse as quiet as he could into his fathers barn. He would not wake anyone at this hour, so he unsaddled his mount and made his bed in the hay loft above.
At sun up he heard horses riding into the yard and an authoritative voice called out his name. He heard the screen door close and his dad telling the riders that he was not there.

"He’s wanted in Clairmont for the murder of Carl Harris."

The law would not take his answer for the truth even though he was a man of the cloth. They insisted on looking. After a minute the voices were coming toward the barn. By this time the young man was down out of the loft and had saddled his mount and tried to make a break for it. He fired a shot just to scare the posse, to give him that fraction of a second he might be able to use to escape in the early dawn hour. A shot rang out from a Greener shot gun and the escapee felt an instant burning of his insides. As suddenly as he had mounted to ride he was falling off the horse. A mothers scream and a fathers shout and then silence. The young man lay dead. No longer the Waco Kid, no longer a killer on the run, but a mother’s child laying in the dewed grass of his fathers home.

I tell you that story Lewis, because I was there as a young Texas Ranger on my first assignment. I was the one with the Greener. I was the one who brought the young man out of his saddle that morning so many years ago. I knew his father well. He was Pastor Ambrose at the local Methodist Church and that boy was his son Kenneth. If you don’t want Charlie to wind up like him, then I’d say you better be trying to talk some sense into him."

Old man Springer went back to starring at the fire, Lewis said goodnight and headed out to meet Charlie for the ride back to their farms. All the way Lewis watched his friend and wondered what he could possibly do to keep him from becoming another Waco Kid.
A couple days later as Lewis sat on the front porch after supper looking up at the stars it came to him. If anyone was going to get to his friend it would have to be him. The only way he could get his friend Charlie to put away this idea that he would be the fastest gun around would be to beat him at his own game.

On Saturday the two young men were going into town and after a few minutes of silence Lewis spoke: "Charlie, I have been giving it a long thought and I have come to the conclusion that I am going to ask Sheriff Springer for a letter of introduction. I think I would like to join the Texas Rangers."

"I don’t know Lewis. I never gave that a lot of thought, In fact, I was thinking we should just stay in Abilene on the next cattle drive. There will be a lot of opportunities for us to get jobs there."

Little else was said between them as they rode into town. They dismounted and hitched their ponies to the rail outside the general store. Of course Lewis drifted toward the feed store and Charlie hung out at the general store waiting for the Sweetwoods to come in from their farm.

Lewis was invited to the Springers for supper. As they walked to the house that backed up the Sheriff office and jail, Lewis discussed his plan with Sheriff Springer.

"It’s pretty risky Lewis. You only have one chance and if you fail you may lose more than a friend."

"It’s a chance I feel I have to take. I feel like Charlie wants to head off like that boy in the story you told me about, the Waco Kid. I just gotta try."

On the way home that night Charlie was even more quiet than when they rode in.

"Charlie, you and Marjorie have a spat?’

"Well, in a way. Her two brothers were asking my intentions toward their sister and to tell you the truth Lewis I think we should just head for Abilene and forget this town. . I just figured we owe it to ourselves to check out a few trails before we settle down."

"What did you tell them?"

"I kinda told them to mind their own business. When I made up my mind I would let them know. I also told Marjorie the same thing. I guess I just don’t like feeling cornered."

The next couple of weeks were going by pretty quick. Lewis was working on his plan to try to turn his friend around and of course Marjorie trying to get Charlie to commit himself.

"You should be worried about your own future and what commitment you need to make Lewis Coleman", retorted Linda Springer one Saturday night after supper. "I have invested a lot of time in you and it’s about time for you to make some decisions."

Had these gals met up and discussed this? It seemed like someone was trying to work both ends toward the middle. Lewis hedged the question without committing either way.

He liked Linda enough to marry her and he still felt that he wanted be a Texas Ranger and that was also something that he had not brought for her attention. Right now he had some unfinished business to attend to before he could settle all of this. His friend was getting edgy and wanting to move on. Lewis wanted more time to see if he could convince his friend of a better path to travel.

A month later Lewis had finished his plan. He didn’t know for sure how or if it was going to work, but it would be now or never. He had bathed and shaved and put on his best broad cloth britches and strapped on his .44 Colt. He had done the same thing for the last few times when they headed into town. The cattle drive was set for the coming week and he wanted to get this thing settled with Charlie before they left. He had tried to bring up the subject on several of their rides into and going from their Saturday trips into town.

He picked up Charlie at his gate and they rode into town. Charlie seemed happier than Lewis had noticed for a while. They rode in an almost sing song gate. Their horses joining into the spirit of the moment with their drum like clip clop rhythm.

"You know we have round up starting nest week and then in a week or two we will be headed for Abilene."

There was almost a smile on Charlie’s face when he said it.
Lewis kept quiet and didn’t answer. The closer they got to town the more Charlie talked and the less Lewis did. When they got to the general store, the Sweetwood wagon was sitting there and Jim and CK were idling at the hitching rail.

Charlie lit down from his mount and started into the store. Lewis dismounted and tied up at the hitching rail.

"Where are you going," asked Jim Sweetwook, the older of the two asked.

"Going into the store. Maybe I’ll buy some candy and see your sister".

"I don’t think so. We think you are taking advantages toward our sister and we say, until you can come up with just what your intentions are, you just keep moving down the street," retorted CK chiming in with his brother.

Charlie’s gun hand went for leather but Lewis grabbed his arm and kept him from pulling his gun. Charlie struggled for a moment and then relaxed. Lewis let go of his arm and pulled him back to the rail. Lewis knew Charlie had been practicing his draw and knew that these two farm hands would stand no chance at all against him.
Come on Charlie, lets mosey down the street a ways and cool off. But Charlie was hot and to just mosey wasn’t going to cool his blood any.

"Its your fault Lewis, you should have let me put those Sweetwood boys in their place once and for all."

"No Charlie, if you had slapped leather it would have been murder, pure and simple. The law would hunt you down and make you pay for the rest of your life or maybe even with your life. Let it go!"

"I won’t let it go, I’m going back and finish this."

"No you‘re not Charlie, you’ve been dying to use that gun ever since you learn to shoot and its time you realized that with carrying a gun also comes responsibility."

"Let me go Lewis Coleman, you are not my keeper and you will have no say in what I do or don’t do."

Then the light that Lewis had been trying to turn on for a month finally blinked on.

"OK, you itching for a fight? Then look at me. I’ll scratch that itch for you. You want to test that gun on someone? Then here I am. Test it on Me!"

Charlie looked at his friend and a look came over him. Not a friendly look, but a look of someone with a lot of pent up anger. The blood was still at a boiling point and a grievance unsatisfied.

"You ain’t no Texas Ranger yet Lewis, I would think twice before you dare give me a challenge."

"I don’t want to challenge you Charlie but it would be a lot better than the murder you were planning with those Sweetwood boys."

"Then pace yourself off Lewis and be ready to defend yourself."

So here they were, here in the late after noon of a hot summer Saturday. Charlie and Lewis who had been best friends since they could hold on to church pew and walk were now pacing themselves off for gun play.

"Wait", said Charlie, then he drifted into the saloon, leaving Lewis to wait. Charlie took shade at the feed store and went inside to see if the sheriff was there. He and the town’s undertaker Charlie Lobban were holding court at the pot bellied stove.

"What are you and Charlie doing in the street," asked Lobban.

"Me and Charlie have a little difference, my friend Charlie wanting to blow off a little steam."

"Is this your plan Lewis? Maybe I ought to get involved", said the sheriff."

"I just soon you didn’t sheriff. I think I can handle it if you don’t mind."

Lewis checked his gun and pulled the piece of leather strap off the hammer into the back of his holster and waited for Charlie to come out of the saloon.

What was in reality a couple of minutes felt like an eternity. Lewis stood at the window and waited for his friend. This just had to work Lewis said to himself. He looked back over the past few weeks and remembered the endless hours he had gone into the woods in the back of his father’s farm and had practiced until he could clear leather and fire in a split second. His rounds had almost cut that old oak tree in two.

Charlie stood at the bar and asked for a short bottle. He knew one drink would not calm his nerves to the point he didn’t look like a man with palsy, so he drank deep gulps in hope it would take effect immediately. He finished the bottle except for one last drink and walked into the street. As he did he saw his friend emerging out of the feed store.

His tall stature and broad chest looked even larger as he stopped some twenty paces away.

Charlie took the last drink and threw the bottle away then set his eye on Lewis. He had dreamed of this moment, but never did he think he would be looking into these eyes. He knew if he hesitated his chances would lessen. It had to be now.

Charlie’s hand felt the handle of his gun and the weight of it as it started up out of the holster, but before his hand even had a good grip a shot rang out and Charlie felt and heard the slug as it went by his left ear. His hand relaxed and let the gun slide back into the holster as he looked at Lewis and knew in his heart that this was his day to die. He waited for the next shot, but it never came. Lewis still had the gun pointed at him and he could see his trigger finger in the trigger guard. No second shot rang out. Charlie was
both amazed and relieved. He had no idea a man could be that fast. Least of all his friend. He felt the sweat trickle down his back and thought to himself, "Thank God it was my friend Lewis or I would be dead for sure."

Lewis’ voice rang out, "are we finished here Charlie?"

Charlie could not speak, but only nod his head that he was.

Charlie walked over to his friend and as they stood in the street Lewis asked Charlie, "Do you want Mr. Springer to give you a letter too? I think you and I will make great Texas Rangers."

Charlie again nodded his approval.