Based on the story 'Someday'
He was chased into town by the winds of a typical Territory dust storm.
No one noticed his arrival because he was lost in the fog of dust and grit that kept eyes squinting or averted to avoid being assaulted by the granular invaders. As always, he kept his head down, preferring to avoid contact with people because they reacted in two ways. They were either happy to see him or they would chase him away. More often than not it was the latter. Homeless and drifting, he kept off the boardwalk, sniffing the air, trying to determine which was the best place to go.
Trudging past the livery, he wrinkled his nose at the acrid stench of manure, hay and horses. While the smells were distinct, there was no promise of food here and so he dropped his head and kept going, feeling the dirt scratching at his skin through the strands of black, some of which was starting to show grey. He was not old, but he had lived a hard life, evidenced by the ribs that were visible along his body.
Food. It wafted through the stale, dusty air, refusing to be swept away by the harsh scraping winds. His stomach shifted beneath the flesh, prodding his brain into investigating further. Following the scent of spices and meat, he climbed onto the boardwalk, much to the disapproval of those who finally laid eyes on him. Their brows arched in curiosity and distaste, but these were reactions he was accustomed to. They stepped aside and let him pass, fearful touching him might scald or infect them with his bedraggled state. Sadly, his head drooped lower and continued on his way, following the scent.
Entering through the batwing doors, the room beyond it was full of smell, foods, liquor, tobacco and sweat. He was able to navigate through it easily, following the smell of meat and something else...
***********
Ezra Standish, currently holding court with a number of his associates and one or two cattle pokes in town, grinned when he placed his cards faced down on the felt table, exuding triumph. Flashing his trademarked gold tooth smile, the presentation resulted in groans of exasperation as he reached for the sizeable pot he had just won. Glancing at the clock, he noted the time and realised he had about thirty minutes left in the establishment before he had to get moving.
Ah the life of a married man and a father, he lamented briefly and then recanted because he would not trade his current circumstances for anything. He owned the Standish Tavern he was presently in, he and his associates still rode together, and in the evenings, he went home to break bread with his lovely wife and the twins. Julia did not mind if he returned to the saloon after the meal, perfectly aware of what kind of man she married, as long as he shared dinner with his family.
Reaching for the stake, something invaded his nostrils with such speed, he had little time to realise what was happening before he let out of powerful sneeze that not only displaced his cards but sent the notes flying across the table.
As the money scattered, Ezra saw the less than scrupulous patrons of the bar scrambling to collect the errant notes that landed on the floor.
“Keep your hands off my winning... AH CHOO!” Ezra managed to get out before he sneezed again.
“You alright Ezra?” Nathan Jackson, who was capable of hearing a sneeze, sniffle, groan or stray ‘ouch' like a hawk honing on a field mouse at 100 paces, stared at him with concern. “You coming down with something?”
“I was fine...AH CHOO!” Ezra sneezed again. This time he managed to get to his handkerchief.
Meanwhile, Chris Larabee who had been at the next table merely glanced over at the men attempting to steal Ezra's winnings on the floor and shook his head slowly for the thieves to reconsider their actions. Instead, they placed the cash on the table before the gunslinger decided to press the point with the medium of his peacemaker.
“Hey boy!” Someone called out.
Nathan immediately stiffened and so did the rest of the seven. All stood up at the remark, searching the saloon floor for whoever had made the offending remark. Once Chris stared into the crowd with his hard gaze, everyone fell silent. While Nathan seemed bothered by the comment it was his friends who took more exception at the statement.
“We don't put up with that kind of talk around here,” Vin Tanner glared at the mystified faces. “Whoever said it best leave if you got a problem with our friend here.”
“I didn't mean him!” An older man who looked like he'd just come in from the trail declared hotly. “I meant HIM!” He pointed at the floor, in a totally different direction from where Nathan was standing.
“What?” They all looked as the dog ran through the collection of tables. It was shaggy, covered in dirt, it's dark hair turning grey as it meandered through the people and furniture. Almost on cue, Ezra exploded loudly into another loud sneeze. The animal, who appeared somewhat emaciated was making a beeline for Inez who chose that exact moment to emerge from the kitchen, carrying out a plate of food.
“INEZ WATCH OUT!” Buck warned as she was searching for the table where the food was expected.
“What?” She started to say when the dog brushed by her leg. This was followed by Mrs Wilmington uttering a surprised cry, causing the tray of food in her arms to become unbalanced, before its entire contents landed on a rather large, menacing-looking man at a table. The bath in hot food sent his companions into loud chortles of laughter, which he did not appreciate in the slightest. Furious, he threw a meaty fist into the face of his laughing associate, who in turn tipped over on his chair, and struck someone in the back, who was sent stumbling forward into another table, upending all the glasses of alcohol in a spray of amber fluid.
“What the hell!” Came the indignant reply and then everything went to complete hell.
***********
THIRTY MINUTES LATER
After the pandemonium of the bar brawl had settled down and the Standish Tavern was left in shambles with patrons strewn across the room, some unconscious, others recovering from an assortment of bruises while some returned to the bar to resume drinking, now that the interactive live entertainment was over for the evening.
Tables and chairs were broken, the floor was littered with glass, the front window with the nicely painted name of the establishment was shattered, probably when the fool who threw a punch at Chris Larabee was sent through it by the irate gunslinger. Nathan was standing over Josiah, taking a look at the cut the man had acquired when a bottle of Red Eye had come in his direction before he had time to duck.
“Come on darlin',” Buck Wilmington could be heard pleading. “It's not my fault if that saloon girl pushed you out of the way so I could protect her. It's my anima...
“If you say animal magnetism, you can sleep with Beavis tonight!” Inez snapped back in turn.
“I can't believe this was all because of a dog,” Vin surveyed the scene and saw no sign of the animal who had caused this ruckus in the first place. It had been years since the Seven had gotten into an old-fashioned bar brawl and despite the carnage surrounding him, Vin couldn't deny it had been fun.
“Where is the offending mongrel anyway?” Ezra demanded, still holding a handkerchief over his face, except now it was not just for sneezing but to stymie the blood flow caused by one brawler who tried to administer his own version of an antihistamine by way of his fist.
“I have no idea,” JD replied, trying to fix his hat that got stomped on during the brawl, unaware it was actually Buck who did the deed. After all these years, Buck still thought JD's hat was stupid.
“Well you're the sheriff now,” Ezra grumbled. “I demand you arrest the animal for property damage.”
“I ain't jailing no dog Ezra,” JD stated, deciding the tin star had to have some dignity after all.
“I think it took off when things got nasty,” Chris pointed out.
“Good,” Ezra stated firmly. “At least that's the last I'll see of the wretched creature.”
***********
Departing from the calamity of the saloon, the dog resigned itself to another hungry evening when it encountered a young boy, being beset by some older ones who were taunting him. He had dark gold hair and sea green eyes. No more than ten years of age, he was trying with little success to wrestle away the odd contraption stolen away from him by the group of older boys, who sneered and laughed when they smashed it against the ground.
The dog didn't like bullies and went charging to the rescue, biting one of the thugs in the seat of their pants and barking loudly enough to chase the others away. When they fled, like all cowards who were surprised tended to do, the dog went to the boy who was staring at the ground, clearly upset by the broken object. Licking his face in an effort to offer comfort, the boy looked at the dog with a smile and ran his fingers through its scraggly fur, before scratching him behind the ears.
“What's your name?”
The dog's answer was a happy wag of its tail.
“You're pretty hungry,” the boy observed the protruding ribs and his frown indicated he did not like that much. “Come on, let's get you something to eat.”
Half an hour later, after the dog consumed the left-over mince pie the boy had fed him, the animal found itself covered in bubbles as his new friend attempted to wash the dust out of his fur. Half-submerged in soapy water, the dog stood still as the boy lavished him with hygiene.
“I'm going to call you Dusty,” the boy said washing behind the dog's ears. “I think it kind of suits you.”
“Mom said you could keep him?” The boy's sister asked.
“Yep,” Peter Standish grinned happily. “She says that any dog able to protect me from the Conklins can stay. Besides, I just know dad will love him.”
THE END