Tiny Bill wasn't exactly the smallest guy around. It was an ironic name, since he towered over most of us townsfolk and stood taller than a lamppost. Nobody knew exactly what he weighed, but we guessed he was about an easy three hundred pounds or so. Usually when he walked into the bar, the old wooden floor would start to vibrate just a little.
He had no clue that I was staring directly at him. The massive cowboy was hunched over at the edge of the bar, and slowly drinking from an old dusty bourbon bottle. Who would notice the skinny blue-eyed cowboy drinking alone at the edge of bar counter? I blended in here more than anyone ever would.
It was oddly quiet in the bar tonight. Usually the cowhands would crowd the only bar in town. If you were lucky a fight would break out. If you were unlikely you would end up on the cold pavement outside. I was too small to fight, and small enough to slip out of the back of the bar.
Besides for the old barkeep and a couple of older cowboys from down near the encampment, the bar was near empty tonight. Sally did her best to sing some county blues. She definitely hadn't aged well, and her voice cracked like an old whip hitting a rusty metal box. She still sang decent, well enough for her voice to echo against the thin wood panels around the bar. I felt bad for her, because she was singing and nobody was listening.
There wasn't much work in this small Montana town, and most of the cowhands had gone back home for the winter months to see their families. So here I was sipping on my drink, talking to nobody and listening to old Sally try her best.
Sally's singing slowly started to get better as the drink warmed me up on this cold Montana night. I wonder what the old cowboys were talking about in the back corner of the dimly lit bar. They were probably talking about the war, and probably something I knew nothing about. Or maybe they were just talking nonsense as they drank the night away.
The barkeep called my drink bourbon, but this was wasn't like anything I'd tasted before. The sly old barkeep probably bought a bucket of hooch off those weird Thompson boys over near the railroad station. They had humongous ears, and talked funny. Rumor has it that their momma drank when she was pregnant, and her boys came out all funny. But as weird as they looked, they were pretty resourceful. If there was something illegal in this town, they always had their hands in it. They were arrested so much the only cop in town knew their middle names.
The barkeep paid no attention to me, and was too busy chewing up something fierce. I could smell his weird chewing tobacco from back where I was sitting. He offered me some and I politely refused. I was more interested in the giant cowboy sitting alone at the back of the bar. He was wearing a worn-out black cowboy hat, and his boots were up on the bar table in front of him. He struck a match against his brass belt buckle, and sparked up his cigar. It was clear he had not a care in this world.
I pretended to continue with my drink, not wanting to get myself thrown through the rickety saloon doors. I started to shake, realizing that he caught me staring back at him in massive bar mirror behind the barkeep. He stood up and his small bar chair dropped to the floor. The wooden floor beneath me creaked loudly as he slowly approached me. I pretended to look down into my drink, as I felt the heat from his cigar on my right cheek. I was certainly getting thrown across the bar. The massive cowboy standing directly behind me didn't seem to amused, and was probably hoping for some good entertainment.
"Ain't nobody teach you it ain't polite to stare boy," He said, pressing his arm hard against my shoulder.
He had a strong accent, it was clear he was a cowboy most of his life.
"I'm sorry," I stammered, nearly wetting my dirty blue jeans.
He let go of my shoulder, and yanked me off my chair. The massive cowboy pulled me off the bar stool like I was a rag doll, while he casually puffed on his cigar. Nobody in the bar even looked in our direction, and old sally kept singing her raspy melodies. The old cowboys at the back took no notice, and kept right on drinking. Nobody would mess with the guy who could rope an angry bull with his bare hands.
He continued dragging me, right through the old saloon doors.
"Get up on my horse," He said, with his massive hand pushing against my back.
I could barely hoist myself up. His massive brown horse was almost as big as he was. In all my years of being a cowboy, I'd never seen a horse like the one he had.
He grabbed my waist with both hands, and tossed me high up on the horse. He treated my body like I was some sort of toy. For a second I thought about reaching for my small black revolver. It was buried deep inside my left cowboy boot, but I could barely reach it. Besides he would probably blow my hand right off by the time I could get to it.
I took a deep breath as he undid the reins and climbed up behind me. The poor horse was probably struggling under both our weights, but it was the least of my problems. I could feel his chest pressing against my back as we rode in silence for next twenty minutes. The smell of his cigar blew back into my face, as we rode quietly into the night.
He suddenly snapped the reins, and we stopped at a small river next to the edge of town. I was still shaking all over, and was sure he was going to end me right here. He would probably lift me up and toss me over the cliff, and I would roll into the fast moving river. If I was lucky the current would kill me before the cold did.
"I didn't mean any harm," I said, as he dragged me off the horse by my shirt collar.
He let go of my collar, and shoved me into the cold muddy ground. He stood up tall, and stared down at me from under his big cowboy hat. I was still trembling, when his voice broke the silence.
"So why was you staring at me all night?" He said, as he tossed the rest his cigar into the river.
I had to come up with something, or he was going to end me.
"I'm into guys," I blurted out loud, hoping he wouldn't be to upset.
"Do I look like a gay to you?" He said, reaching for his shotgun.
"I guess not," I said, still trembling on the cold wet ground.
I quickly got down on my knees, and closed my eyes tight. The cold double-barrel of his shotgun pressed hard into my forehead. It was clear he was about to end me. I quietly prayed, hoping that God would forgive me for being what I was.
