There died the man you mentioned, a brave, foolhardy sort. I reckon he thought the man would fight fair, old Black Tom, but Black Tom pulled a gun in the end. Gunned ’em down by that there tree. Leastways, that’s what I’m told. I didn’t see it myself, you know. I know they argued, argued all the time. Couldn’t never figure what they was, friends or enemies; well, Jonny, guess he was hot under the collar or something. Mad, face red with it to hear the barkeep tell it. Barkeep, old Westerson, he’s the man you should talk to, he tells them, if they wants to fight, get out and don’t go busting up the bar. So, they goes out to the tree by agreement. Then the shot. Lots of townsfolk heard it; came running. Jonny, he’d taken off his belt, hung his gun on a limb, and he was dead, his face pale, his chest all red with blood. He’d taken his jacket off too, like he was fixing to box. I wonder now and again what had got him so mad. Black Tom would never tell. Never got the beginning, reckon we’ll never find the right ending either. Some say a woman, some say money, others, that Tom had tricked Jonny good with one of his pranks, but it do seem strange, to an old sinner like me, that Black Tom ‘uld do ’em like that. Do ’em in dirty, but not run away. Black Tom, he wasn’t afraid of any fight. Whatever Jonny found out, Tom was willing to die to keep any one else from knowing, and I guess he did just that.
Grave Secrets
Tale Told 