The Rifleman

Mark enjoyed hanging out in the dusty streets of North Fork with his buddies Nick and Timmy while his Pa was shopping in the mercantile and squeezing Miz Millies titties. They would walk along chewing a piece of straw. They stopped by the livery to watch the Smith shoe a horse. Went by the carpenters shop and watched while he worked on a wooden rocking chair he was making for the nasty Miz Annie with cup holders in the arms that could hold a wine box. But they most of all they loved to stand across the street from the jail whenever there was some excitement.

Sometimes the excitement was when they would bring in a dead body after Mark’s Dad had shot them. That happened at least twice an episode. Sometimes they would be there when Sheriff Micah would let out the soiled doves that he had arrested when they got too rowdy over down below the deadline. They would stumble out all rumpled with their lipstick smeared and the feathers in their hair all awry. Sometimes one of their teats might slip out of their low cut saloon girl outfits. Once one of them came out in only her pantaloons and lady things. Timmy really loved that. He rubbed a hole in his favorite pair of overalls that time.

So they were excited when they heard some arguing and the door of the jail burst open. Micah was giving the bums rush to the town drunk Chief Stalking Horse.

“All right you can go now Horse. I told you once and I won’t tell you again. Stop getting drunk and singing Mexican songs and peeing in the horse troughs. Now go find somewhere to sleep it off.”

The Chief wobbled up from the thoroughfare but it seemed like the street had begun to spin. He stumbled over to the hitching rail across the street where the boys were standing and leaned over the rail. Mark and Nick instinctively grabbed his arms and held him up so he wouldn’t fall again. He grasped on to the rail and braced himself while he waited for the spinning to stop.

“Are you feeling poorly Mr. Horse” Mark asked. “We can help you go to Doc’s if you want.” “No sick. Just tired. Me no stay in this one horse town no more. I leave now.” “Where are you going off to Chief” Nick asked as he held on to the Indian with one hand while he held his nose with the other. The Chief smelled right ripe and he was trying not to be sick his own self. “You lived here all your life.”

The Chief straightened himself up and tried to stand with a little dignity. A tear escaped one of his blood shot eyes as if someone had thrown garbage on his moccasins. “Me move to Florida. Me cousin is a Seminole and he told me to move down to the reservation. In Boca. Lots of firewater and squaws with no taste. Me happy.” He tottered off on to the road out of town.

“I am going to miss that drunk ole Indian” Mark said. “Why is that” asked Nick? “Because he was entertaining when he would sing all those Mex songs and act like a lovesick calf.” “That’s true” said Timmy. “But you know what I miss. Miss Millies teats. Let’s go down to the Mercantile and look in the windows.” The boys all nodded and walked off in the other direction.

Teats always win out.