Mallory & Kell
The Courting Of Mallory
Part 3: The Shooter
by Michael Sutch
by Michael Sutch
Kell strapped on the new Colt Peacemaker he had purchased the day before. Then he rummaged through the cluttered jumble of his possessions in the old wooden trunk at the foot of his unmade bunk and finally came up with a box of shells. He clicked home six cartridges in the finely oiled cylinder and slid the gun into the holster that rode high on his scarred belt. He grinned at Mallory who, with military precision, was putting the final crease and tuck in his own tightly made bed.
"You're lookin' at a new man," Kell said. "This here is the first day in the life of Kid Kell!"
Mallory surveyed him with exaggerated thoroughness and then said slowly, "Looks remarkably like the old Kell."
"Shows you what you know. Startin' today I'm gonna practice with this piece of iron 'til I'm the best shooter in this whole country."
Mallory frowned, wondering how such a foreign bit of ambition had lodged in his friend's mind. Then he noticed the spreadeagled, dog-eared, print-smudged copy of a dime novel lying on the floor next to Kell's bunk. Stretching up on tiptoe he could just make out the illustrated cover which read "Wild Bill, the Pistol Dead Shot."
"I see," he said.
"Yep." Kell grinned. "Come on out to the fence back of the outhouse and I'll show you how a real shooter shoots."
Mallory shook his head. "I can't, Kell, I have to get ready."
Kell drew his head back in surprise, causing a thick forelock of his unruly mop of red hair to cascade down over his eyes. He brushed it back with a lightning swift flick of his left hand.
"What are you talkin' about? Today is Sunday. Old Sandy's checkin' up on the herd. Ain't nothin' we have to do today."
"I have to ride out with Miss Allie after church," Mallory reminded him.
"You're not really goin' to do that, are you?"
Mallory opened the chest at the foot of his bunk and took a can of boot black from its accustomed place. At Kell's question he stood up stiffly, a faint red flush on his cheek.
"I said I would."
"Yeah, but she don't really expect you'll be there, Mal. Heck, everyone she ever asked probably turned her down."
"I said I would go, and I'm gonna go." Mallory said stiffly.
Kell grinned. "Suit yourself, partner. You surely do love gettin' yourself into trouble. Kid Kell, now, I'm off to practice up on shootin'." And he left the bunkhouse, banging the door behind him.
Mallory stared after him, glumly. In a moment a thought occurred to him and his lips formed a smile. Then he made his preparations for riding out with Miss Allie. He blacked his boots, polished his belt buckle, and got out his best pair of trousers and his sunday shirt from the pressing frame which had been weighed down by his Bible. He washed his hands and face and carefully parted his hair down the middle of his head and then slicked it down. He took very special care in shaving and and even more care in trimming his moustache. Then he brushed his Stetson, laid it on his well-made bunk and got dressed. Last of all he strapped on his gun-belt. He looked in the cracked mirror tacked to a center post, smoothed his moustache with a finger and nodded to himself with approval. If he had to ride out with Miss Allie, at least he could look a picture. And he thought he looked a very good picture, indeed.
Mallory stepped out of the bunkhouse and closed the door quietly, firmly behind him. From out back came the sounds of intermittent gunfire. He smiled a small smile again, but went to the tack room and got his saddle and bridle, then went to the corral, called his mare Windy and saddled her. He led the horse back of the bunkhouse, past the outhouse, to the weathered old wooden fence that marked the south pasture. Kell was there quick-drawing and firing at a couple of rusty old airtights propped up on fence posts. Mallory noted that none of the cans had any holes in them and certainly none moved from Kell's latest barrage. It was as he expected. He had seen his friend at target practice before.
"How's it going?" he asked.
Kell frowned at him. "Well, I reckon I'm gettin' a little better. Here, I'll show you."
He reloaded, holstered, and got into a little bit of a crouching stance, his right hand hovering over the butt of the pistol. Then he quickly drew, fanned the hammer back with his left palm, and fired. He fanned and fired five more times. None of the airtights perched on the fenceposts moved.
"See," Kell said. "I'm gettin' a little better."
"How can you tell?" Mallory asked.
"What do you mean, 'how can I tell.' You could see it for yourself. Them cans moved a hair each time I fired."
"No doubt from the breeze caused by a passing bullet."
"Exactly. None of them shots couldn't a' been a eighth inch wide. You seen that, didn't you?"
Mallory frowned at the three cans standing lonely and naked on three weathered gray fence posts.
"Well..." he said.
"Yeah?"
"Don't you think you should aim?"
Kell was flabbergasted. "Aim! I was aimin'!"
"You were shooting from down by your hip. How can you aim from down there?"
"That's how Wild Bill does it. He's a dead shot that way. It takes too long to raise a pistol up to eye level. The other guy would 'a drilled you through the heart 'fore you could git set up to shoot."
"Maybe," Mallory admitted. "But you aren't Wild Bill."
Kell looked disgusted. "I know that! That's why I'm practicin'."
"I think he'd have told you that shooting ain't just speed, it's accuracy too."
"I'm fast, Mal, you know that. Nobody's faster than me."
Mallory nodded his grudging respect. "I've never seen anyone quicker than you, Kell. You're a natural that way. Heck, I think you might of out-drawn Wild Bill."
"You ain't never said nothin' more true, partner!"
"But the safest place for Wild Bill, could he be here, now, would be standing right in front of you."
It took a second for Kell to register Mallory's words. Then his ruddy face flushed an even deeper color.
"I suppose you think you could do better."
"I do."
"Then let's find out, Mister Oh, So Prissy Neat."
"Let's do," Mallory said.
Kell reloaded and took up his stance. Mallory dropped Windy's reins and moved to join him. "You take the one on the right and I'll take the one on the left. Whoever hits his target first can take the center one."
"You're on," Kell said. "Say when."
"When", Mallory said.
Kell drew and fan-fired six times in succession before Mallory had his pistol clear of his holster. But Mallory calmly raised his weapon and took aim. He fired. The can on the left leaped into the air.
Kell grunted. "Luck."
Mallory aimed at the center can and fired. It jumped into the air. He grinned at Kell.
"It don't mean nothin'," Kell said.
"Sure," Mallory agreed.
"Go on, get out of here before I get riled, Mal. Take your gal Miz Allie," he snidely emphasized her name, "out to Rose Hill."
Kell tried to maintain a glare, but his eyes fell before Mallory's steady gaze. Mallory decided to leave before Kell recovered his self-composure. He mounted Windy and rode off to keep the date he didn't want.
(c) 2014 by Michael Sutch
