The sun swung high that afternoon. A little settlement in the middle of North Dakota paid it no mind, it was a fairly regular ocurance, crisp and dewy in the morning, sweltering and dry in the afternoon. It was a small wonder where all the dew and moisture went, lips often chapped and skin not staying sweat slicked for long under the sparsly clouded violently blue sky.
On mainstreet few complained of the heat, only the old and dainty or children made note of it in anything more than passing conversation. As it turned out, something far more noteworthy was happening in the road, and many eyes peered intently from windows and rooftops.
Standing alone in the middle of the street on this day were two men, the both of them farm hands, and the both of them broiled into a steaming angry kind of madness. Earlier in the day one of them had gone and done a terribly unchristian thing, pinning to a wall and forcing his way with the others eldest son, himself a man but of rather...different...mind. It was unthinkable to the townsfolk how or why it could have happened. Nobody had been around to witness the tall lithe gentleman in the button down white shirt drunkenly picking on the young man, teasing about how long it took him to buck hay bales or properly saddle a horse, how he did it like a girl. The lads indifference had only spurred the man to anger, the end resulting in a fit of rage and a shouting of "little bitch, gunna act like a girl gunna get treated like a girl!" where upon the man had knocked the boy into a stall and thrown himself atop him, holding his throat and drunkenly grabbing and tearing at the groin of his pants.
Aside from the trauma the young farm hand had suffered a great deal of bruising and what the town doctor could only imagine was a fractured rib.
Dust swirled about the street as the two men stood, one staggering, one quivering with rage, an over the hill father standing near to the bank, the white shirted man beneath the horseshoers faded hand painted sign. Only a moment before he had been within the hotel his room was rented from, on the first floor downing shots in a heated game of cards. His only regret standing there was that he had spilled his last shot as the scruffy potbellied farmer had grabbed him by the shirt collar and jerked him over backwards from his chair, dragging him kicking and hollering out into the street, rudely off the porch into the dust and scrubby grass around the porch. By the time he had righted himself the man was a good distance away, loudly proclaiming for all to hear "Let it be known, this man Jacobs has done the devilish deed of laying his filthy hands and body upon mah son! Ah Aim to challenge him for his deeds!"
Staggering to his feet Mr. Jacobs dusted the tight riveted denim pants hugging his well toned thighs, his alcohol swirled brain sort of jittering his vision, a few buttons pulled from his shirt down near his belly button. A stiff gusty breeze caught the flap of shirt on one side, ruffling it up his tanned belly, shimmering with sweat in the heated afternoon air. the other man was taller, himself roughly 5 foot 6 inches without hat or his fancy embroidered brown boots.
His build was quite lithe and toned, well muscled arms and thighs, he could have been mistaken for a rigorously trained calveryman were it not for his unkempt hair and clean shaven face. He didn't have the cold weather beard and was not nearly weathered enough to have been a soldier, though on occasion he had wore a uniform of the government enlisted in order to get free room and board, or a free shot or two of whisky in various towns along the frontier, quite a conman that Mr. Jacobs!
Had there been a trial, he likely would have easily lost, the farmer a well respected member of town. As it stood currently, word had made it's way around enough that the outcome either way of this moment did not favor Jacobs. The sheriff, also the town judge, having decided this traveler would swing by his slender frail and smooth skinned neck for what he done.
The towns deputy, a frantic panicked man not much more than a boy himself inquired, reaching for his own hip holstered revolver "S-s-sherrif...should we stop them?" taking a step from the jailhouse porch. The sheriff scolded, leaning on the railing quick to halt him wth a hand across his rapidly breathing chest "Ain't gunna do no damn fool thing, thems is madder than stirred up hornets, you walk between em yer liable to get more than stung!"
Inhaling a bellowing breath the farmer began to shout something but the younger man in white, feeling the confidence of the firewater running through him was full up of lectures, reaching down with what he perceived to be lightning speed for his holstered gun, finger for a split moment fumbling on the single button clasping the sun warmed weapon in place. A single shot rang out, so fast nobody was able to avert their eyes, all watchers taking in the moment that M.Barnards shot dead the rapist Jacobs.
Flying true as possible given his enraged state the single shot left the barrel of the farmers gun full of fire and brimstone, acrid scented gunpowder smoke trailing the first few inches, undissipated from the air as the lead shot thought nothing of the sweat soaked thin white fabric of the young mans chest. It lightly kissed and the tender young flesh and pushed through it, through the almost nonexistent layer of fat and then directly into taut muscle and sturdy bone. A single rib shattered as the fragmented round and bone shards instantly peppered the mans heart and lungs.
He stood for a moment, eyes half lidded, one would think they would flare wide but his death so instant his eyes only saw darkness before he even started to fall backwards. Only a little puff of his shirt and a slight red mist that nobody could see indicated he had been shot, the bullet not exiting his back, fragmented enough to rattle around his young chest. A second after impact his spine simply gave out, causing him to crumple like a rag doll, falling to his knees heavily, little puffs of dust blowing away on the breeze as his tightly booted feet splayed with toes outwards, heels clicking together. His upright torso falling backwards, head staring down at his chest, chin to collar bone as his back thumped heavily to the ground, the momentum jostling him and causing his tightly muscled legs to spring out from under his pert rump cheeks, kicking out his heels and then splaying his legs as his bent upwards knees fell splayed, heels still together as if he had been sitting like an indian guru before falling over dead.
The crowd gasped and cheered about the time his hands fell palms up at his sides, fingers quivering and twitching, one hand clenching and relaxing, as if he were milking his hard penis to a dirty photograph. His head bounced, jarring his thin dry lips open to expose tobacco tinted but otherwise fairly nice teeth and a curled back pinkish tongue , lungs jostled and grunting an exclaimed "UNGh!" sound from his dead lips, kicking with them flecks of thick slippery saliva that spattered his upper lip, nose and cheek as his head hit jarringly and rolled in the dust onto it's side, ear and one open eye pressing to the horse hoof churned up dusty street. The fine dirt clung to the saliva and to his open eye and cheek, darkening as the moisture soaked into it.
Some of the more calloused townsfolk simply laughed and turned away, having something new to talk about, some women cried at such a sight, though their kids for the most part thought it was the most amazing thing ever, just like a real life version of those indian stories they had all heard about by drunken relatives!
The sheriff wandered over quickly, laying a hand on the farmers shoulder as he stood gun still extended breathing heavily, speaking calming words to him and telling him that would be quite enough for one day as the man Jacobs lay forgotten in the street while the mortician was called.
On mainstreet few complained of the heat, only the old and dainty or children made note of it in anything more than passing conversation. As it turned out, something far more noteworthy was happening in the road, and many eyes peered intently from windows and rooftops.
Standing alone in the middle of the street on this day were two men, the both of them farm hands, and the both of them broiled into a steaming angry kind of madness. Earlier in the day one of them had gone and done a terribly unchristian thing, pinning to a wall and forcing his way with the others eldest son, himself a man but of rather...different...mind. It was unthinkable to the townsfolk how or why it could have happened. Nobody had been around to witness the tall lithe gentleman in the button down white shirt drunkenly picking on the young man, teasing about how long it took him to buck hay bales or properly saddle a horse, how he did it like a girl. The lads indifference had only spurred the man to anger, the end resulting in a fit of rage and a shouting of "little bitch, gunna act like a girl gunna get treated like a girl!" where upon the man had knocked the boy into a stall and thrown himself atop him, holding his throat and drunkenly grabbing and tearing at the groin of his pants.
Aside from the trauma the young farm hand had suffered a great deal of bruising and what the town doctor could only imagine was a fractured rib.
Dust swirled about the street as the two men stood, one staggering, one quivering with rage, an over the hill father standing near to the bank, the white shirted man beneath the horseshoers faded hand painted sign. Only a moment before he had been within the hotel his room was rented from, on the first floor downing shots in a heated game of cards. His only regret standing there was that he had spilled his last shot as the scruffy potbellied farmer had grabbed him by the shirt collar and jerked him over backwards from his chair, dragging him kicking and hollering out into the street, rudely off the porch into the dust and scrubby grass around the porch. By the time he had righted himself the man was a good distance away, loudly proclaiming for all to hear "Let it be known, this man Jacobs has done the devilish deed of laying his filthy hands and body upon mah son! Ah Aim to challenge him for his deeds!"
Staggering to his feet Mr. Jacobs dusted the tight riveted denim pants hugging his well toned thighs, his alcohol swirled brain sort of jittering his vision, a few buttons pulled from his shirt down near his belly button. A stiff gusty breeze caught the flap of shirt on one side, ruffling it up his tanned belly, shimmering with sweat in the heated afternoon air. the other man was taller, himself roughly 5 foot 6 inches without hat or his fancy embroidered brown boots.
His build was quite lithe and toned, well muscled arms and thighs, he could have been mistaken for a rigorously trained calveryman were it not for his unkempt hair and clean shaven face. He didn't have the cold weather beard and was not nearly weathered enough to have been a soldier, though on occasion he had wore a uniform of the government enlisted in order to get free room and board, or a free shot or two of whisky in various towns along the frontier, quite a conman that Mr. Jacobs!
Had there been a trial, he likely would have easily lost, the farmer a well respected member of town. As it stood currently, word had made it's way around enough that the outcome either way of this moment did not favor Jacobs. The sheriff, also the town judge, having decided this traveler would swing by his slender frail and smooth skinned neck for what he done.
The towns deputy, a frantic panicked man not much more than a boy himself inquired, reaching for his own hip holstered revolver "S-s-sherrif...should we stop them?" taking a step from the jailhouse porch. The sheriff scolded, leaning on the railing quick to halt him wth a hand across his rapidly breathing chest "Ain't gunna do no damn fool thing, thems is madder than stirred up hornets, you walk between em yer liable to get more than stung!"
Inhaling a bellowing breath the farmer began to shout something but the younger man in white, feeling the confidence of the firewater running through him was full up of lectures, reaching down with what he perceived to be lightning speed for his holstered gun, finger for a split moment fumbling on the single button clasping the sun warmed weapon in place. A single shot rang out, so fast nobody was able to avert their eyes, all watchers taking in the moment that M.Barnards shot dead the rapist Jacobs.
Flying true as possible given his enraged state the single shot left the barrel of the farmers gun full of fire and brimstone, acrid scented gunpowder smoke trailing the first few inches, undissipated from the air as the lead shot thought nothing of the sweat soaked thin white fabric of the young mans chest. It lightly kissed and the tender young flesh and pushed through it, through the almost nonexistent layer of fat and then directly into taut muscle and sturdy bone. A single rib shattered as the fragmented round and bone shards instantly peppered the mans heart and lungs.
He stood for a moment, eyes half lidded, one would think they would flare wide but his death so instant his eyes only saw darkness before he even started to fall backwards. Only a little puff of his shirt and a slight red mist that nobody could see indicated he had been shot, the bullet not exiting his back, fragmented enough to rattle around his young chest. A second after impact his spine simply gave out, causing him to crumple like a rag doll, falling to his knees heavily, little puffs of dust blowing away on the breeze as his tightly booted feet splayed with toes outwards, heels clicking together. His upright torso falling backwards, head staring down at his chest, chin to collar bone as his back thumped heavily to the ground, the momentum jostling him and causing his tightly muscled legs to spring out from under his pert rump cheeks, kicking out his heels and then splaying his legs as his bent upwards knees fell splayed, heels still together as if he had been sitting like an indian guru before falling over dead.
The crowd gasped and cheered about the time his hands fell palms up at his sides, fingers quivering and twitching, one hand clenching and relaxing, as if he were milking his hard penis to a dirty photograph. His head bounced, jarring his thin dry lips open to expose tobacco tinted but otherwise fairly nice teeth and a curled back pinkish tongue , lungs jostled and grunting an exclaimed "UNGh!" sound from his dead lips, kicking with them flecks of thick slippery saliva that spattered his upper lip, nose and cheek as his head hit jarringly and rolled in the dust onto it's side, ear and one open eye pressing to the horse hoof churned up dusty street. The fine dirt clung to the saliva and to his open eye and cheek, darkening as the moisture soaked into it.
Some of the more calloused townsfolk simply laughed and turned away, having something new to talk about, some women cried at such a sight, though their kids for the most part thought it was the most amazing thing ever, just like a real life version of those indian stories they had all heard about by drunken relatives!
The sheriff wandered over quickly, laying a hand on the farmers shoulder as he stood gun still extended breathing heavily, speaking calming words to him and telling him that would be quite enough for one day as the man Jacobs lay forgotten in the street while the mortician was called.