A Tiff in Tombstone

There was a fracas in Tombstone yesterday. I was engaged in a friendly card game, minding my own business, when a fellow ran in and asked if I would please hold his pistol for him, as he had urgent business in Texas. I told him of course I would, for a small fee. He hurriedly pulled out a wad of bills from one pocket, said, “keep the change,” and skedaddled out the back door.

I happened to have a fine set of aces within easy reach at that moment and planned to double his largesse, but gunfire suddenly erupted outside. I sought cover. A minute or so later Marshal Earp strode in. He pulled me by my coat collar from under the table and demanded to know if I’d seen anyone run through. At first I denied seeing anyone, but he recognized the gun I was holding. He searched my pockets. When he found my holding fee, plus the tip the fellow had left, he put me under arrest. The marshal claimed that the man I’d assisted was really a cattle thief and I was in league with him. I denied it, of course. The marshal promised that I would hang.

I worked out a deal, though. I will show the marshal and his men the direction in which the fellow ran, and the marshal will release me – after deducting a small holding fee. It is not an exorbitant charge -- it exactly matches the amount that fellow paid me, plus the tip. I’m glad to know my prices are level with this area’s marketplace.

I expect to explain that later today when folks ask me about the price of Wizard Water^©.




[Thanks to the Booth Western Art Museum Cowboy Festival for another great event!]

Copyright © 2013 Laurie J. Anderson. All rights reserved.

Beaversharks and Rope Serpents

I must warn strangers to the Southern Appalachians about some of the native wildlife here. Many of you know to beware of bears and angry groundhogs, but there are other dangers not as well known.

Beaversharks, for instance, inhabit the mountain lakes and the larger rivers. They resemble small sharks, with very sharp teeth and powerful jaws, but possess large, flat tails. They only hunt at night, in packs, lying in wait in quiet pools of water for unsuspecting skinny-dippers. The would-be swimmers hear the loud slap of the beavershark tails and assume that a harmless beaver dam is nearby. They are mistaken, however. Those who jump into water inhabited by a pack of ravenous beaversharks will leave little for their relatives to bury.

Far more insidious is the rope serpent. The rope serpent, as its name implies, resembles a plain piece of rope. It is most often found lying near a body of deep water. When an unsuspecting hiker tries to pick up the “rope”, the rope snake wraps itself around the hiker and pulls him into the water. The hiker drowns and then the serpent, like a python, eats him whole.

The best way to protect yourself from beaversharks is to avoid skinnydipping at night. The next best thing to do is to toss a few cans of pork and beans into the water before you go swimming. If the cans disappear, you know that beaversharks are nearby. If you toss enough pork and beans into the water, the beaversharks will eventually develop gas and float to the surface, where you can pick them off with a rifle.

Do this from a distance, though, and only if the moon is full. I knew a man who tried this method but used a shotgun while hunting by torchlight from his rowboat. He got within ten feet of a large pack of beaversharks and began shooting. The creatures he hit sprang leaks and were propelled upward by the escaping gas. They reached their zenith at about 30 feet up and started falling back -- into the boat. The remaining gas ignited as the fish successively fell past the torches. Folks on shore said it reminded them of Gettysburg. The hunter survived, but will not admit to any error in judgement and blames his missing ear on General Sherman.

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Mrs. Doc reminds any children preparing reports for school that Doc gets all his facts from The Barnum Book of Natural History & Electrical Engineering.

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Mule Camp Revisited

I made a stop at Mule Camp this week, since enough time had passed since my last visit to warrant a renewed need by its residents for Wizard Water^©.




My clientele in this part of the country are mostly composed of hard-working cowboys ready for some form of entertainment. This describes my medicine show perfectly. They were amazed by the silver linking rings, amused by the jumping silks and awed by the properties of super-saturated Wizard Water^©.



These boys don’t get to town much, though, and I should have taken that into account when presenting one particular illusion. When I produced a colorful paper streamer from my mouth, some of the less sophisticated members of the crowd mistook it for a deadly, writhing air-snake.

Many ran, paying no particular heed to the store windows that obstructed their retreat. Those who did not run began shooting at the streamer. I had to end to the show abruptly and make a hasty exit towards the hills. Since the streamer was attached to me, however, many earnest cowboys followed, guns blazing, in an effort to detach the beast from my person.

I later learned from Jim Dunham that this was less due to concern over my welfare than a desire to be the first cowboy to possess an air-snakeskin belt.

Luckily, I was able to safely divest myself of the streamer, and when the ruckus died down I returned to the wagon. Since I hadn’t reached the sale portion of the show and was badly in need of funds, I prepared to perform again. Several shopkeepers whose windows and merchandise had suffered from the fracas however, kindly took up a collection in my name. They presented me with a handsome sum and urged me to take the show to Tascosa, where they said they know of certain other merchants in desperate need of a medicine show.

I should reach that town sometime tomorrow.

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Gun Fights

Lately I have been thinking about self-defense. I do not like using firearms, as my sense of self-preservation tends to interfere with my aim. Many fellows, when called out in a dispute, will rashly face their opponent. I think it is wiser, if running is not an option, to shield oneself first and then use a pistol to convince your opponent that you are not worth the trouble. The direct method has the advantage of ending disputes quickly. My “safety first” method results in less personal injury, but tends to take longer because it is harder to aim convincingly while ducking behind a horse trough.

Accordingly, I have developed a gun which can shoot around corners.

It requires only:

1. a mirror tied to a metal rod for looking over or around obstacles,
2. steel bullets, and
3. the ability to attach a very large magnet to your opponent without being noticed.

I am still working on how to overcome the latter challenge.

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Doc at a Cowboy Festival

My wife and I drove the wagon over to the Sixth Annual Cowboy Festival & Symposium at the Booth Western Art Museum in Cartersville, GA one wet night this past week. I was mighty glad the wagon top didn’t blow off on our way in to town, the way it did last year. The folks at the festival were right friendly, despite the occasional gunfight. A whole troupe reenacted the gunfight at the O.K. Corral, but nobody got hurt this time. I played some music on the jinglewhapper, and luckily didn’t get hurt, either.

I came out of the event lighter in bottles but heavier in trade goods – I got myself a hat, a coat, and four bottles of home-made barbeque sauce. The Missus enjoyed some good Dutch oven peach cobbler, bean stew and biscuits, and attended “Cowboy Church” outdoors on Sunday morning, preached by a genuine rancher (the only sermon she’d ever heard where cow poop figured prominently). Indians were present and dressed better than anybody. “Hopalong Cassidy”(aka Joe Sullivan) showed up late on Sunday afternoon, with a few things to say about my famous Skull of Cleopatra, but that’s another story for another day.