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 CharlaXTitle16

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CharlaXTitles
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Justice Butler
CharlaXTitle16
 Pierce Butler was a tall man he limped on his left and dragged a small valise his Law papers there was a torn place on the left hand corner of the bag. He carried a small derringer a .46 caliber over and under that fired two shots almost simultaneous at once. He wore a homespun coat with fur lining it was made from a dead skunk is what everyone always said about him it was ermine fur almost mink. He carried a flask of Whiskky made of malt in his left side pocket of the over coat it was so cold in Montana in the winter of '87. He held the strap of the Law valise and dragged and limped his way to the house up on the hill near the road way under the ledge and over the ridge there was ice here and there in the shadows as he limped and dragged his way up. The mesicans came out of the cactus to his left side and one on his right side they looked beano tough one had a curved blade with a carved handle made like a Messiah. The other one actually connected with a fist to his right side before he was derringered. The slug tore open his sleeve and messed up his fight. The other man swore and dropped the knife the fight was over. Justice Pierce Butler kept on to the top of the rise and looked back not at all but just laughed and thumbed a bullit in the chamber of his small gun and put it home happy that he had not had to kill the men and was almost home. He dug at a cactus thorn that plugged his boot on the foot that hurt and he laughed like a man let loose from the noose. The papers he placed near the table and then grabbed a big bottle of stinking gin. His horse was alive and plenty of hay in the barn the mesicans were still out there somewhere and HE loaded his Sharps rifle the thing lay beside him  on the table he lay some of the papers there idle and went to find some food. There was liver so old that the blood was not red but black as the skillet of irony he used to make the new gravy of gravity. He slurped at the gravy like soup and swallowed the meat in great bites missing chews so his stomach had something to do. The Whiskky was empty and so was the gin when the wind indeed out of the south to the north again with a blowing sound like the mourning of trees and birds too long in the storming west and the eastern skies making wings out of feathers and feathers out of lies like hydroplaning giants skiing behind boats long forgotten ropes hanging in the water beside them just dopes drowning in their own furrows and sorrows they hope for the Justice of a Pierce Justice man. Mister Butler to yew and to ewe and to you. He passed wind then lay down near the table his hand on his very small gun and he praid. Justice Pierce Butler at home in his grace.


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