Lillian had the fastest gun in the west.
It didn’t start out that way. In the beginning it was just a normal gun. Neither fast, nor slow. Just an ordinary Colt 45. Shoes were optional in Birds Eye, Wyoming. Guns were not. You never knew what rough and tumble characters would stumble into the general store.
Lillian was working behind the counter one day when a strange gentleman in a large top-hat walked in.
“What can I do for you?” Asked Lillian.
The man didn’t respond, but looked silently at the display case.
“Need something?” Asked Lillian.
“Got any kerosene?” Asked the man.
“Sure. How much you need?”
“How much you got?”
“About thirty gallons.”
“I’ll take it all.”
“How many lamps you got, mister?”
The man just grinned, and laid a bar of gold down on the counter. Lillian couldn’t argue with that.
The next week Lillian took the train to see her sister in St. Louis. She settled down and looked out the window as the train began to speed up. It kept speeding up. It sped faster, and faster. She looked up, and saw the man in the top hat making his way down the aisle.
“Kerosene sure makes the train go fast.”
They came to a corner, and the train jumped to tracks. All that remained was a heap of twisting, churning steel. Lillian untangled herself from the wreck, and crawled out. She had a few bruises here and there, but she was mostly ok. The man in the top hat was sprawled out beside her, obviously dead.
She looked at the wreckage, then looked down at the colt revolver strapped to her waist. For a few moments it had been the fastest gun in the west.
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