THE HUSTLE

Western short story

The HUSTLE

“It ain’t goin’ to be good, son” said he.  “It ain’t goin’ to be good at all.  There’s three of them and only one of me.  I wish I had a holster for this gun.”  He snagged a fist at himself in the mirror. “ I hope you see the good in what you have done but I don’t feel this is agoin’ to make the least bit of difference.”

“I don’t know Dad” said he. “I think it will make the world of good for them to see someone to stand up to them.”

“I wish it were true but I see that it is going to lead to bloodshed and I don’t want that.  Well, pack your bags. We don’t want to be caught late runnin’ for the train.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to see that it is all going to be a fine time.  A fine time.  Now rest assured that I won’t be too afraid to see you in the morning in spite of the fact that I might be all beat up.  Now go see your Ma and tell her about it.  Now.  Geddit!  You hear? And now you tell her good!  I don’t want to find you lied or none, you hear?”  He yelled, and that was the last I thought of that. After all, he was my Paw and I know’d what he was like.  He was hell on wheels in a fight and I’d told him so just the other morn.

“There is a new one on the block, kid, and it’s agoin’ to hurt your feelings more than I can say that I can do nothing about the way your dad has been able to see for hisself that it’s wrong to be a fighter in this business, when you have to be able to see the end through without fightin’ with everyone you come up against. It stops the wheel of manufacture from turnin’ if you do that.  You have to be able to bring it to a standstill without bein’ a huge mess to pay show for it.  If you have to fight all the time then it begins to look like you can’t argue and that mean you can’t connect with the individual that you need to bargain with.  That means that you need to be able to get into the right frame of mind and for that you need to be able to get it in the en’ and not in the tween of the legs, if you get my meanin’.”

So said Andrew Spake when he heard what was going on, to me. He says:

“I wish to hell it wasn’t your father who did it to them and that someone else could be the one to get the s**t for it.”  He spat in the street. “This is goin’ to be a hard one to foller if your dad doesn’t come home tonight.  Strike breakin’ isn’t what it used to be and if the mine don’ open tomorrow then we is going to have to bring in some more men and that ain’ easy.

“Paw!  I heard tell that you did the same when you were young” said one of the young ‘uns to his dad. 

“Yeah son, I did but it was then and this is now.  I used to pack a 45 just llike your daddy” he motioned with his head to me “but I could always tell when to let up and I’m not sure your daddy can do you see what I mean?  If he shoots someone and I mean shoots to kill he could wind up in heaps of s**t and tha’ isn’t going to help no one least of which yourself and your ma.  Now get down and do some more writin’.  I want to see you spell your name by the end of the session and I do believe it has nearly come to a close” says my teacher drawing the lesson to a close with a fist of fine tower wine, as he called his drink.