MAD DOG DONALDSON

A short story by Dan Jire

If you had told me when I got out of bed this morning that today was the day I died, I might’ve laughed at you. The Wild West, as those back east liked to call it, had started to simmer down. There were real towns and real nice places to live. There was even law you could appreciate here in our little town of Pinewood.

On account of the heat, I’d planted my keester in Old Mac’s Saloon. Whole town had decided to take the day off except Mac. He still had a healthy slab of ice keeping the beer cold—and just enough energy to keep my glass full.

Of course, being that the whole town was in one building, we all had to look when someone walked in. If it weren’t the wind, it were a stranger to all.

I almost laughed then and there when it would just happen to be Mad Dog Donaldson who walked through the door when I was sitting so nicely on a stool already. Of course, this Mad Dog was looking for a fight.

When he told us his name was Mad Dog Donaldson, the whole place went quiet and still like a cow out of grass.

“I don’t need no more trouble. But I can hand it out if that’s the way it’s gonna be,” he told us. Had a good and stern voice. Raspy from smoke and vile words. He handed out his first share of trouble to Old Mac. He wanted the hard stuff, but Mac doesn’t share that with strangers. Mac liked to know who could handle their drinks.

“You gettin’ smart on me! I should gun you down right here.” He showed the pistol he intended to use. I hadn’t seen anything like it before. It was so shiny it looked as if it had never been fired.

Our fine Sheriff Roy Woods stood up and he got to see that black hole all pistols pertained to have.

“Not in here. No, sir,” Sheriff said. Pretty darn certain, he didn’t even blink. Then again, my eyes were a bit more fixed on this Mad Dog.

“I can do my killin’ in the heat too, Law Man.”

“Why don’t you just go back outside?” I said from the comfort of my stool.

“Don’t you know who I am? I’m Mad Dog Donaldson.” He growled.

“Of course you are,” I said.

He slammed the door on his way, yelling back at me, “I’ll give you two minutes to say your goodbye’s and get yourself a gun. Then you better be out here.”

All the eyes turned on me. Annie’s were the saddest. Oh sweet Annie, if I were a younger man when I met you, I wouldn’t have wandered so long. I would’ve married that woman the day she become one.

“Oh don’t do it, Joshua. We’ll stand by you. He can’t get all of us. He only has six bullets. We’ll have him tackled before he can reload.”

I laughed a little. Don’t know why I liked being called Joshua. Felt like all the love in the world when it came from sweet Annie’s lips.

“That’s six too many, Annie. Besides he don’t scare me none,” I said.

“I swore I wouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain no more. “ Sherriff said, “But Jesus Christ, Joshua, don’t you know who Mad Dog Donaldson is?”

The room erupted, everyone trying to tell me the worst story they had heard attached to that name.

Bad, terrible, no good things. The massacres, the petty thievery that always amounted to something cold blooded. It all had kept me up late at night just thinking about it. They spoke with hatred and they spoke with fear. There wasn’t an ounce of respect. All they wanted was Mad Dog to either leave them alone or get dead real soon.

And now he was here among them.

Fear is the only thing Mad Dog Donaldson ever gave the world.

The Sheriff refused me his pistol. I hadn’t carried one in a year, not since I settled in Pinewood. Weren’t any good reason for it, not until today.

Annie tugged at my sleeves.

Maybe I had a look on my face, but she gave up and backed away, like she was trying not to get bit by a rattlesnake. Brought the start of a tear to my eye.

“You’d have him gun down an unarmed man?” I asked the Sheriff. He glared at me and then unbuckled his holster. Then he stuck me with his star.

“Make it legal. That way if he kills you, they’ll bring all the marshals down on him once and for all.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” I muttered.

It was hotter than I remembered. It should’ve started to cool off. After all, it was almost suppertime and yet the sun still blazed like it was noon. What was it back east that had driven me west? Was it too much shade? That couldn’t have been it.

Just seems it’s a lot easier to get a fresh start where no one else is fighting to be. But then you get the lawless and ruthless. You get carried away thinking it all belongs to you, everything that’s not under the cover of shade. And you get to thinking others owe you for stepping out in your sunshine.

“Not so yellow after all.”

I’d heard better greetings in my day. I turned and faced him in the street. He sneered in the shade of his hat. His fingers began the tickle the air as if he’d done this before.

“You really want to make a name for yourself?” I asked.

“I’ve got a name,” he said sternly, then burst into a great big laugh. “Are you expecting pity ‘cause you’ve never heard of Mad Dog Donaldson?”

“I’ve heard of him,” I said.

He pulled his pistol and his shot rang out. Only he was already falling to his back because I’d shot first before I ever spoke.

It felt awful to kill a man again. It reminded me why I quit. Why I didn’t want to pull that trigger ever again.

“You killed Mad Dog Donaldson!” Sheriff Roy Woods ran towards me and patted my back. Sure enough, the whole town of Pinewood had been peaking through cracks and knew what happened as fast as the Lord. “I bet there’s some kind of reward for that! Annie, get on the wire! We have Mad Dog!”

“That was a quick shot,” Old Mac proclaimed.

I let the pistol droop in my grip. Too much familiarity, I thought. I couldn’t have handed it over to the Sheriff fast enough, but something about it wanted to stay in my hands. I would’ve dropped it if it had been mine to drop.

The Sheriff clenched my hand, shaking it and staring straight into my eyes. Apparently, they weren’t a window to the soul. Couldn’t be.

All kinds of hooting and hollering filled the hot air around us, but I know it weren’t Mad Dog Donaldson lying in the dirt. No, Mad Dog was still on his feet and in my boots. I could’ve corrected the stories that would come this day forth, but truth was I liked these people. I liked that they thought I was better than the thug I’d let Mad Dog become.

Here I was just Joshua and Mad Dog was finally dead.

I had witnesses.

THE END.