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Forgive Us Of Our Debts So We Can Be Debt Free E Rocco Caldwell
"Step right up here beside me," Coltrane said to the black man that followed him inside. Coltrane's throat was dry and dust nestled in the cracks of his eyes. He placed the Spencer rifle gently on the counter of the saloon before pulling off the worn leather gloves. He noticed the black man stood at the entrance of the saloon. "I said step on up here now!" He voice held authority and the black man moved up to the bar. Coltrane used the gloves to break free the dust and dirt caked on the oilskin drover duster and shotgun chaps he wore. The saloon was silent behind the whacks of his gloves.
"I don't rightly think that's a good idea, sir," the black man said. He wouldn't lift his eyes to anyone inside the dark saloon that reeked of stale beer and cow urine. Coltrane faced the stubby bartender.
"Get him a glass," Coltrane demanded. The bartender started over at the patrons and hesitated. His nervousness took his hand to the black bowtie dug into his thick neck. His eyes were too close together for Coltrane's liking and his waxed mustache was plain silly. Coltrane used his left hand to open the duster enough to reveal the handles of the Colt peacemaker and the Schofield stuffed at his waist. The bartender knew Coltrane through rumor and reluctantly sat another glass on the counter. A few soft protests rose from the patrons inside the saloon.
"I don't need no trouble," the black man said. "We are just trying to make a living in Free Town."
"What's your name?" Coltrane asked as he poured substance from a brown bottle into the glasses.
"Lincoln Washington. It's my free name," the black man said proudly.
"It's a fine name for a free man." Coltrane handed Lincoln one of the glasses. He read the riddle in Lincoln's face along with the sheer fear. "A free man faces his fears." Lincoln accepted the glass and a few chairs slid over the wooden floor but no one rose. "I owe you a debt, Mister Washington. One I've been carrying since that damn war."
"Let it be, sir," Lincoln said. The whites had already burned half of Free Town a few days ago and tensions were high between the blacks and the whites. Lincoln went to the sheriff of the town but discovered the sheriff had been the ringleader.
"I would like too but the debt I owe you can't easily be forgotten." It was during Bull Run and Coltrane had fallen to three bullet wounds. The Confederates were going around bayoneting any union troops still alive when out of the blue Lincoln pulled Coltrane off the battlefield into a grove of trees and nursed him until a column of union troops arrived. "I just can't forget it."
The hinges on the wooden doors of the saloon squeaked as someone walked into the saloon. The pinging of spurs indicated more than two. Lincoln recognized the sheriff and a couple of his deputies. All were armed with Winchester 66s. Their tin stars glittered from the luminosity of gas lamps inside the saloon. The sheriff was a lean man with a face harder than the earth. He lost an eye but didn't wear a patch instead let everyone see the black empty socket. He chewed tobacco some of the substance stained the black duster he wore. But what caught a person's eye were his bright orange boots.
"What the hell is going on in here?" The sheriff barked and then wiped away the thin line of brown saliva spilling down his chin. Coltrane lifted the glass off the counter and sipped the warm bitter liquid. His eyes were locked on the large fancy mirror that showed most of the saloon. He figured if it went down in the saloon he could get one maybe two before one of them got him and if that happened he was pretty sure he would get the last one before he died.
"Sheriff," the bartender said casting eyes on Coltrane. "This gentleman forced me to pour that nigger a drink." The sheriff spat on the wooden floor of the saloon where other wads of tobacco dried. He smoothed his boot over the fresh wad.
"That so," he said cracking a smile. "Who the hell does he think he is coming in here and breaking good white folks' law?"
"The name's Coltrane, Bob Coltrane, sheriff and I owe this man a drink!" The sheriff stopped chewing and his two deputies' faces paled. They all knew who Bob Coltrane was and what his reputation spoke of. Coltrane didn't take his eyes off the mirror. "Lincoln, I suggest you move away." The black man stepped away unsure why Coltrane asked him. Others in the saloon already knew because they were moving to the rear of the saloon. The sheriff swallowed some of the tobacco he was chewing.
"We don't want any trouble here, Mister Coltrane," the sheriff said.
"You got trouble, Sheriff, when you and a bunch of these fine town folks decided to burn the blacks out of free town. See, Sheriff, I owe Mister Washington my life and I hate owing debts!"
In a flash Coltrane spun. His duster fanning open and both guns in hands Lincoln heard the triggers pulling back just before the bangs. It was uncanny how precise Coltrane was striking the Sheriff in the throat and hand before hitting both deputies in the faces. None of them got a round off. Coltrane finished his spin and jammed the smoking colt into the face of the bartender.
"You want to tell them anything else?" Coltrane asked. The bartender pissed his pants and shook his head. "I don't think it would matter now anyway." Coltrane sat both guns on the counter to let them cool. He turned to Lincoln. "Are we even now, Mister Washington?"
"Mister Coltrane, they are going to be coming after you, the bank and railroad and all. That's who wanted us out of Free Town," Lincoln said. "What you did here is just caused a whole lot of trouble for you."
Coltrane's shoulders sagged. "What you're telling me is that the debt I owe you isn't paid off yet!"
"You don't owe me a thing, sir. I pulled you off that battlefield because you are a human being. You are one of God's children like all of us. I did what God wanted me to do and you don't owe me nothing!"
Coltrane managed to grin. "You're wrong! Those three lying over there aren't human beings, human being don't lock children in a school and burn it down!" Lincoln was surprised Coltrane knew all that happened in Free Town. "Besides, a man can't live owing!"
There was a dust storm brewing on the plain of Kansas as Coltrane lifted himself on his horse. Lincoln watched him from the porch of the saloon. "That banker lives in Topeka so I guess I'll take a little ride over there to say hello and remind him of ten black children burned to death!" He pulled a stick out of his saddle bags that had a cloth wrapped around one end. He rode his horse to one of the gas lamp posts and jammed the cloth end into the gasoline. He lit it and as he rode away tossed the torch into the sheriff's office.
READER'S REVIEWS (2) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"What happens next????????? Loved the imagery in this story, I could picture every moment. Please write more..." -- Buxton.
"I will! He's on his way to Topeka!" -- e. rocco caldwell.
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