The Mason County journal. [volume] (Shelton, W.T.) 1886-1927, 1889-06-07
<--rv~---,-----<--7--s 2
THE WESTERN TERROR.
The Pctulant Pop of His Gun Punctuates
Peace No More.

Peace No More.
The Terror shows up once in awhile
in some of the small towns In New
Mexico. and is encountered in the cat
tie country at rare intervals, but his
occupation is gone. The march OF
civilization has been too much for him.
The once numerous and thrifty class
have been thinned down until only a
laughing stock is left. was in Chey'
enne when Speckled Tom, Big Pete or
Wild Charley used to come dancing
into bar-room with gun in either
hand and sing out:
..Now then, hands up!"
Every hand went up.
ssMebbe thar's some catamOunt yere
thinks he can take the twist out my
coat tails!'
If there was he didn't come to the
front.
Hands down."
Every hand dropped.
.'Pm taking up collection fur the
benefit of Bill Jackson's wilder and
anybody who feels like contributing
will be afforded an opportunity"
We all felt like it. Indeed, every
man was anxious to part with dollar
or two. l saw four Terrors killed 10
that town, each one dying with his
boots on, and was giving one of them
q drink of water when he shivered,
took a long breath, and died as he saidi
Il was a-trying to git up to ten, and
hev stopped short at seven. could
tally eight on you, but I've lost my
popper!'
followed the Terror to Laramie.
and many of an evening as sat in the
Office of the hotel he entered, with cat
like tread, and opened a sudden fusil-
lade on lamps. keyboard, ceiling and
doors, observing at the fms: S~
"'Scuse me, gentlemen, but its just
my way If any of you don't happen
to like my way, please mention it!'
We always made haste to assure him
that his way was AL, full jewelled and
extremely pleasant, and that we should
feel honored if he drank at our ex-
pense. One night a boy from Nebraska,
who was strange to our ways. and who
had his ear barked by bullet, hauled
out and plugged the Terror plumb cen
ter. He expressed his sorrow when
too late. 1 had my coat under the Ter
ror's head when the death rattle came
to his throat, and he whispered:
Its mighty queer. isn't it? I allus
hated you fur them red whiskers, and
1 had dropped in tonight to fill you
full of leadr'
followed the Terror up the Gunison
valley. He was getting attenuated and
losing his sand. When he had a street
row he sheltered himself behind post,
and when he ''let go" in a saloon there
was suspicious uncertainty in his
tones as he clicked his guns and said:
I'm just awaiting fur some kyote to
move an eyelash or stir his tongue"
We not only moved, but we even
ventured to offer him advice. and by
and-by the day came when l turned a
corner to find him dying at my feet. ]
was loosening his neck-band as he
opened his eyes and said:
''Downed by burned bullwhacker,
who didn't know which end of his pistol
went off,
met the Terror for the last time at
Custer City. l was sitting in saloon
when the door was kicked open with a
great crash, and he appeared with a
revolver in either hand. He had long
hair, a big hat and buckskin suit.
He hungered for gore-not the sor.
adulterated with cottonseed oil anG
warranted No. l, but the red blood
fresh from the human system and
served up in puddles on the newly
mopped floor. He whooped. He yelled.
He cracked his heels together. He
snapped his right-hand gun. but it was
cheap cartridge. He snapped the
other, but there was only a dull click
Then a small man with a bald head
and bow legs and consumptive look
came out from behind a curtain and
knocked him down, and flung his guns
into the street, and whistled for a
policeman. Next morning l was in
court when the Terror pleaded guilty,
and added:
Your Honor, made fool of N.Y.
self. If you'll let me off I'll go back to
pushing wheelbarrow at ten shillings
day."
Poor Terror! lament his downfall.