Too Save a Brother

April Round-up Challenge

By jfclover

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On a cool September evening, Chick Longstreet stands outside the Sazerac, my eldest brother’s favorite watering hole.  We all know why he’s here, and we all know who he’s after.  It isn’t me or Hoss or Pa, it’s Adam, the man who shot and killed the gunslinger’s younger brother, Clyde Longstreet.  After Roy Coffee asked Adam to join the posse, he wanted to say no.  He detested hunting men, but when most men turned their backs and walked away, my brother felt it was his civic duty to help the sheriff. 

After the three cold-blooded killers—Chick, Clyde, and cousin Louis Longstreet—were surrounded, gunfire was inevitable.  Adam’s aim was true, and even though Doc removed the slug, Clyde died the following day.  Chick and cousin Louis were given five years of hard labor in the territorial prison.  At the three-year mark, Louis was stabbed to death, and at the five-year mark, Chick walked out of prison a free man. 

~*~*~*~*~

The day the elder Longstreet was sentenced, the outlaw vowed to settle the score.  Roy Coffee,  Adam Cartwright, and Jeff Owens had been safe for five years, but the tides have turned.  Things are different now.  No one messes with the Longstreet boys.  That’s a given, and with Clyde dead and buried and Chick on the loose, I wonder how long my brother has to live.

I’m not one to brag, but I’m a better shot than my eldest brother.  Adam and Hoss are good at other things, but neither brother is what they call a fastdraw, and neither brother would stand a chance if facing down a gunman, but I might.  At least, I stand a better chance than either one of them would in the same situation.

Chick wears dual pistols.  He looks the part, and he has plenty of notches on his belt.  Next to a man like him, I’m nothing more than a greenhorn kid with high expectations.  He might have cared for his little brother, but I care for my older brother more.

~*~*~*~*~

“I don’t want any of you boys going to town.”

“Come on, Pa,” Adam says.  “How long do you think we can hide out on the ranch?”

“As long as need be.  That’s how long.”

I watch my eldest brother cringe at being told what to do.  At his age, I might do the same, but Pa is right this time.  Why taunt the gunman by showing up in town?  It makes sense to me, but Adam is seething.  I understand his side too.  Everyone who lived in Storey County five years ago knows why Chick Longstreet has returned to Virginia City, and if Adam stays on the Ponderosa indefinitely, people will talk.  They’ll say he’s yellow, and a man can’t live a proper life if he’s labeled a coward.

~*~*~*~*~

We all know better than to disobey our father, but a man does what he has to do, and every chance I get, I practice my fastdraw.  During my lunch breaks and often before supper, I saddle Cochise and ride down to my hiding place, a patch of land cloaked on three sides that I discovered when I carried my first six-shooter.  I practiced then, and I’m practicing now.   If the opportunity presents itself, I want to be ready.

Cans topple from a boulder.  One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  It’s all I can fit in my saddlebags without arousing suspicion.  Seems all I do is set them up, and since each can is riddled with holes, my confidence is building.  Though accuracy has never been a problem, I’m getting faster.  By week’s end, maybe I can take on the gunslinger.  Maybe I can save my brother’s life.  Maybe Roy Coffee and Jeff Owens will breathe easier once Chick Longstreet is no more.

After lying back against a strong, tall oak, I rest my eyes and visualize the scene.  I ride into town, tie Cooch in front of the Sazerac, and walk through the batwings.  The gunslinger sits at a corner table facing the door, and even though he nurses a bottle of whiskey, he takes time to look up at me.  Our eyes meet.  His eyes narrow.  He knows why I’ve come to town, and his instinct takes over.  He’s killed men like me before. 

Longstreet eases up from his chair.  He enjoys the killing process, and he’s in no hurry to watch me die.  He wants to see me sweat, to shiver and shake, to change my mind and run, but I’m determined to stay strong, to do what has to be done to save my brother’s life, and I call him out.  The piano player lifts his fingers from the keys, and the room falls silent.

“This is a gift from my brother, Longstreet.”

“And who might that be, Kid?”

“I think you know.”

“Give it up, Son.  I don’t kill children.”

“You yella?  Afraid to step outside?”

“You’re testing me, Boy.”

“Good.  Let’s go.”

“Maybe you don’t hear real well.  I don’t go up against boys your age.”

Patrons scoop up their winnings.  They move away from felt-topped tables and clear an open space between the gunfighter and me.  If we want to shoot it out inside the saloon, that’s fine.  Only one of us will remain standing.

I steady my stance.  He steadies his.  Though I don’t know his dominant hand, all that matters is that I finish the job I came to do, but a sudden stab of pain makes me reach for my belly.  I can’t believe I’ve been shot, and I wait for blood to ooze through my fingers.  I wonder if  I’ll live or die, but when I open my eyes, all I see is Hoss standing over me with a stick that’s similar to a poker. 

“Wake up, Little Brother.” 

I jolt and scan my surroundings. 

“Hey?  Whatcha doing out here anyhow?” 

There’s no blood.  No wound.  Just a prod from an old oak stick. 

“Pa wants you home for supper.”

The End

4 – 2026