Maple Springs was the sort of place that most folks passed through on their way to somewhere else. It was a small town situated ten miles from the Canadian border, quite a distance from Utah, consisting of just three buildings. Jailhouse, bell tower and a saloon bar. It had been Sheriff William Cain's home for the past five years.
As Cain strolled into town after three days away everything looked in place. As he finished unlocking the jailhouse he noticed a strange flag hanging outside the saloon. The Stars and Stripes had been replaced by a red cross on a white background. Cain strode over to the saloon to seek out Claudine, the busty barmaid, who he had been courting on and off for four years.
Finally after searching for ten minutes, there she was, his angel of the morning. Claudine was upstairs in the ballroom, stood behind the bar polishing glasses. The ballroom had a modest sized dancefloor that was surrounded by tables and chairs and a jukebox. The jukebox had been a gift to Claudine from Cain for Valentine's Day just gone. It was a strange machine as it would only play twenty four songs.
'What's going on with the flag outside Claudine?' Cain enquired.
'Oh Will, that's for the St George's Day celebration happening later on today and anyway you're back a day early.' Claudine explained.
'How could you allow this to happen?' Cain asked quizzically.
'Well the English fella paid in cash up front and he tripled my hourly rate.' Claudine beamed.
'That's dirty cash you're earning Claudine.' Shaking his head Cain left and returned to the jailhouse.
As Midday approached Cain suddenly heard the sound of metal clanking outside. He peered out through the downstairs window but could only see a shadow in the middle of the road. Cain went and stood outside on the porch to get a better view. There outside the saloon was a figure clad head to toe in armour standing six foot tall.
Cain took an instant dislike to the stranger and muttered under his breath, 'This Town Ain't Big Enough For The Both Of Us.'
Sensing Cain's hostility towards him the stranger decided he needed reinforcements. He strode purposefully over to the bell tower and picked up the extremely long rope dangling from the bell. As he struggled to find the end of the rope, Cain looked on glancing at his pocket watch, shaking his head.
After what seemed an eternity the stranger tugged on the rope three times. As the bell of St Mark tolled he turned and faced Cain, raising the middle finger of his right hand as he did so. Realising such a gesture might be considered hostile, the stranger retreated inside the saloon.
In the distance a cloud of dust swirled up to the sky. The rustle of tin foil and trampling footsteps could be heard. Cain became anxious, what if Maple Springs was about to be overrun by the swords of a thousand men?
Realising his trusty six shooter was no match for the approaching hoard, Cain retreated inside the jailhouse and watched as nineteen knights clad in silver foil chain mail with matching cardboard swords and shields marched into town.
With safety in numbers the stranger came out and stood by the knights. They all greeted him to a man, 'Hail Ironclad.'
Before entering the saloon further chants were heard as they all stood looking up at the flag. 'Hail St George. Hail England!'
What could he do alone? Cain's thoughts turned to his French ancestor, Joan Of Arc, whose ashes he kept in an urn on his desk. They had been passed down through the generations of his family and were a prized possession. What would she have done? She had experience of fighting Englishmen.
The ghostly figure of a waif like teenage girl in armour stood before Cain. 'I cannot help you, I was barbecued by the English in the fifteenth century. Anyway St George fought a dragon, not the French.' With that she vanished into thin air.
Maybe Cain should try and round up a posse? He did not want a repeat of the trouble that happened in Los Rancheros, the neighbouring town, nowhere near Bromley, two years ago. What he really needed was a sharpshooter. Someone like Josey Wales.
Cain's thoughts were interrupted by a gruff voice. 'You imbecile, I am an actor and director in my eighties and in real life I can't shoot for toffee. You need to get hold of Sgt Baker and his boys.' Cain pondered Clint Eastwood's words carefully.
Sgt Baker was in charge of the Canadian National Guard and would have the necessary firepower. Time to send an urgent telegram. Cain's message read, Urgent help required, Maple Springs overrun by Englishmen. Bring weapons and a dozen men. I predict a riot.