A little poser for all of you Ronaholics out there - see from the dialogue how many of Ron's films you can spot in this little story. There ain't no prizes, so why not do it for the sheer hell of it.

 

 

Picture it if you will.

Two partners kicking back in a saloon just outside of nowhere USA. The year is 1888. One man is a young gunslinger who has yet to make his mark on the world. The other gunslinger is older and finds that although he has left his mark ... so too has the world left its mark on him. Looking around the bar, the older man sighs and notices that his usually chattery sidekick has fallen asleep at the table across from him.

Looking into what will be his seventh pint of beer, the old slinger slurs “Remember me? ‘Cause I sure remember you, you sonofabitch” before slugging down the remainder of the glass. He has decided, several pints ago in fact, that were he not forced to be in this little town on business, he would never have stopped in the first place. “Not much to do for an old reformer like me” he mumbles to himself and snickers, before kicking his younger companion in the shins. “Are you awake sinner ... real nice party ain’t it?

The younger man wakes with a start and rubs the grit from his eyes, just as a beautiful young lady walks past. The younger man grins, showing several gaping holes and thinks a woman and her mystery, before launching himself out of his seat and heading off in the lady’s direction.

“Nice of you to join us” mutters the older man.

As he watches, the younger man attempts to engage the young woman in conversation to remarkably poor results.

“You know, I can’t lay off the tall ones ... how you doin’?” slobbers the young ‘slinger.

The young woman fixes him with her steely grey gaze and pulls him closer before whispering in his ear.

“Thinkin’ with your mouth closed would be somethin’ of a challenge for you, wouldn’t it boy.” She shoves him against the rim of the bar, slaps him forcibly and wanders off to find bigger and better opportunities. The old ‘slinger laughs so hard, that the chair under him threatens to break and as his sides heave. He gasps “Tryin’ to attract them ... not scare them off!”

The younger man flames red.

“Shit, you’re right! What am I supposed to do?”

“Haven’t you been paying any attention today?” Feeling slightly tipsy and therefore as though he owns the world and all who reside in it, the older man gets to his feet. “Hmmm ... well ... like my Daddy said right before he killed my Mom ...want anything done right you gotta do it yourself” and with that, begins to amble off in the direction of the young lady.

The young gunslinger, being quite a bit more drunk then the older man, but also feeling as though the world is his to do with as he sees fit, makes one of the biggest mistakes of his short life.
“You gotta be fuckin’ joking” he snarls and pulls his guns out of their holsters.

“Back off” he shouts at the old man, who, having gotten to be an old man through highly trained instincts of self-preservation, has already stopped walking and is slowly turning to face his companion.

“Now is not a good time for game playing” whispers the older man, although the intention is clear even if the words themselves are barely audible.

Feeling slightly self-conscious and extremely out-gunned, the younger man attempts to calm his partner.

“Easy there, sergeant - ”

The older man has had too much drink to be stayed so easily and takes a step towards his young companion, guns still holding their mark in the middle of the young man’s chest.

“Judas has no place in God’s kingdom. Now God told me of his glorious plan to start the world anew. Demanded that I separate those repentant from the transgressors ... do you accept God?”

“What the fuck??” cries the younger man, feeling his partner may have lost more then just his money in that last poker game a few hours ago. “You’re the one whose life is valuable ...you go first!”

“So it’s not the wolf that chooses the hunting ground but the hunter ... but I’m sure your grandfather taught you that.”

Realising that he is still pointing his guns at his partner, the younger man drops them to his side in an attempt to bring the older man around and out of the revelry he is currently immersed in.

“God, it’d be so easy. That’s right boy ... have no illusions” A cruel twisted smile crosses the older man’s face. “Just a little target practice” he mutters, more to himself then to the frightened young man standing two feet away.

“You lie,” stutters the young man, but even as the words leave his lips he is unsure of their strength.

Suddenly the old man begins to laugh, the force of which nearly knocks him to the ground. The young ‘slinger remains standing in the center of the room, a look of confusion and fear on his otherwise uncreased face.

“Bet you thought that was funny, huh??” Now laughing so hard that tears stream down his face, the older ‘slinger holsters his guns and motions for his partner to join him.

“Awwww ... man!!” Not wholly impressed but glad to still be alive, the young ‘slinger saunters over to his partner and tries to pretend he knew it was all an act for the amusement of the barflies.

Sensing that he has been fooled perhaps a bit too much by this little charade, the older man puts his arm around the younger man’s shoulder. Sobering himself up as best he can, but still chuckling occasionally, he decides it’s high time they found out if their bounty was in town.

“Right, lets see if our customer has arrived. You ready??”

“What?”

Chuckling, the old ‘slinger heads for the door and shouts over his shoulder as he exits.

“Coming kid??”

His young partner catches up with him, just as his boots hit the soft dirt that passes for a road in town. Having been there for only a few hours, the older ‘slinger has already voiced his disgust for the town and its occupants on several occasions. He considers voicing them again but is interrupted.

“We’ve got nearly 90 minutes! It’s about soup time innit??” The younger man flops down onto the nearest step and pulls a bag of, what could be beef jerky, out of his pocket. The older ‘slinger looks apprehensively at the little bag but joins his companion on the step.

“My own special recipe” garbles the younger man, his mouth full of what his partner hopes, is meat. He grins rather maniacally and nudges the older man in the ribs. “Made to the recipe of my dear dead mother.”

The old ‘slinger bites into, what could be jerky, with ravenous fervour and slowly licks his fingers appreciatively after it disappears. The young man looks impressed.

“That sense of humour again, huh??

His partner laughs and takes a swig from his canteen. Suddenly a look of fear races across his face and the young man turns to see what his partner is looking at. A cloud of horsemen is approaching the town in a hurry and even at a distance they are able to tell it’s someone they’ve been searching for. A gunslinger, one of their own , is on the bounty bill today but, unfortunately, the man they want is not alone.

“Uninvited guests. Son of a bitch! Man, you gotta admit, when they get an idea into their heads ...”

The young ‘slinger grabs his partner by the arm, cutting him off mid sentence, and tries to pull him back into the relative obscurity of the saloon.

“Come on man ... time to go ... time to go!!”

The older man regains his composure and instead of returning to the saloon, drags his young companion to their horses. The young ‘slinger is not convinced they can make a fast enough getaway and questions his partner’s decision; it’s not the first time.

“What do we do now man?? What if there’s more??”

The old ‘slinger smiles reassuringly at his partner in crime. Looking back at the approaching cloud, he chuckles. “More than two and less then a million.” Turning back to the business of saddling his horse, having decided their odds were better then most, he shrugs. “Today what we’re going to do is to lure the wolf out of his lair, to where we want him to be” and without further comment, the old ‘slinger reins in his horse, throws himself into the saddle and begins to ride out of town as fast as he can, with his companion right at his heels.

As their horses begin to put time between them and their foe, the old ‘slinger is thinking madly of a plan to put into action. Not surprisingly, he finds himself falling back on old habits for advice.

“Oh lord ... know you’re out there .. .give me a sign now ... talk to me”

As if listening to his prayers in the wind, there is a sudden rain of bullets from the group of riders following close behind the two ‘slingers.

“What kind of a sign is this??” mutters the old ‘slinger, rolling his eyes and urging his horse to greater speeds.

As the older man prays to his higher power, the younger gunslinger takes it upon himself to fire off his weapons in the general direction of their pursuers, in the hopes of getting lucky and taking one of the buggers out.

“Die motherfuckers!!” he screams into the wind and again the sentiment is met with gunfire from the men behind them, straining to catch up.

“You see, they’re stubborn!!” shouts the older man to his partner but with the sudden realisation that things are starting to turn in his favour. Ahead is a small gully with several rocky outcroppings and scraggy overhangs. He knows if they can reach one of those, they’d be able to make some kind of stand against their pursuers. He recalls that his young companion had purchased some dynamite not more then a few days ago, with the thought that it may come in handy at some point. The old ‘slinger smiles at this turn of fortune and urges his horse on with a quick jab of his heels. As they enter the gully with a flurry of dust and hooves, he pulls his horse up and is nearly run over by his partner who is still taking potshots at their adversaries.

Furious, the older man grabs his companion by the belt and hauls him off his horse.

“Silver don’t do jack shit! Don’t waste the ammo!!” he bellows to his partner. It dawns on him that the young man is doing nothing but agitating the situation.

They take cover in a rocky outcropping and the young man’s fury at the situation is tangible in the air.

“This sucks!! They set a god damn trap ... it’s a god-damn ambush!!”

The older man is quiet but confident.

“I think not. Set the detonators and I will detonate, spreading death like wildfire.”

The older man’s confidence does nothing to settle the fears of the young ‘slinger, as the sound of enemy horses approaching becomes horribly apparent. The gang has managed to track them to their hiding place with relative ease and are slowly advancing up the hillside to finish them off. They have been paid well and are in a hurry to collect their dues. The young ‘slinger eyes them warily as he shuffles around inside the saddlebags. Upon finding the sticks of dynamite, he quickly hands them over to his partner.

“How can you be so sure? It’s a mess down there ... is this the only way??”

The young ‘slinger’s fears grate on the older man and he has to calm himself in an attempt to refrain from shouting at the boy. He pulls the kid down behind the rocks into what he prays will be enough cover from flying debris and lights the fuses on the dynamite. Waving the lit explosives in the boy’s face, he begins to lecture.

“I’m not the mechanic here ironsides ... I mostly just hurt people. The ancient prophecies foretold us that those dark hearts would witness the light, shriek, weep and thrash and throw themselves upon the earth, but vengeance shall be mine!!”

With that the old ‘slinger tosses the dynamite into the air, closes his eyes and begins to pray.

“Oh lord...I hope you know that I have been pure of heart, so sorry that I have failed you lord and as I stand before you at the gates of heaven ... ”

The End?

So ... how many did you get?

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