The Story Begins At A Funeral [FICTOID]

The best episode of my favorite Paramount western starts at Boot Hill.

Five mourners stand in the rain, looking down at a freshly filled graves.

The gambler tosses a poker chip on the mound of mud and says, “This weather chills me to the marrow.”

The dance hall lady wears what looks like a stole but in reality is her pet chihuahua wrapped in a fur blanket.  “He shouldn’t have tried to cheat me.:

The town drunk -- who is also the town doctor -- says, “He wanted to upgrade his lot in life.  Too bad he didn’t have a lot of life left.”

The town’s padre makes the sign of the cross.  “He promised an icon for the church.”

“And he didn’t deliver, did he?” says the dance hall lady.  “Always some grand scheme, always some big plan.  Never any delivery.”

“It was supposed to work this time,” says the padre.  “It was an offshoot of an already successful business.  It should have worked…it could have worked…”

“But it didn’t,” says the gambler.  “He always bet long odds, never a smart move.”

“He was looking for an epic win,” says the drunken doctor, tugging at his earlobe.  “It is chilly; perhaps you’d like to join me for a drink at the bar?”

The padre smiles but shakes his head.  The dance hall lady ignores the invitation.  The gambler turns to the hero and asks, “Want to come?”

“Nope.”

“You sure?” asks the doc.

“I’m sure.”

“You gonna just stand here in the rain?”

“Yep.”

“For how long?”

“Until I can figure out why I killed him.”

© Buzz Dixon