A Little Something...

Said somebody's been shot, somebody's been abused
Somebody blew up a building
Somebody stole a car
Somebody got away
Somebody didn't get too far yeah
They didn't get too far

Grandpappy told my pappy, back in my day, son
A man had to answer for the wicked that he done
Take all the rope in Texas
Find a tall oak tree, round up all them bad boys
Hang them high in the street for all the people to see that

Chorus: Justice is the one thing you should always find
You got to saddle up your boys
You got to draw a hard line
When the gunsmoke settles we'll sing a victory tune
We'll all meet back at the local saloon
We'll raise up our glasses against evil forces
Singing whiskey for my men, beer for my horses

We got too many gangsters doing dirty deeds
We've got too much corruption, too much crime in the streets
It's time the long arm of the law put a few more in the ground
Send 'em all to their maker and He'll settle 'em down
You can bet He'll settle 'em down 'cause

Chorus (x2)

********************

Micky sat in front of the tv as the evening news played and the anchorman told of the days events; murder, assault, theft. It seemed all the news consisted of was people breaking the law. He switched it off and picked up the book he'd been reading. It was a good western with the good guys getting the bad guys; justice always prevailed. He liked that. As he read, his eyes grew heavier and heavier and finally he drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~

The dust whirled around the horses feet as the four young riders came to a stop just past some trees at the foot of a small mountain. The short one with the English accent slid gracefully from his saddle and, holding the reins, peered closely at the ground.

"Can you tell which way they went, Davy?" the taller, dark headed Texan asked from atop his black horse.

Davy looked up at the man. "They went north, Mike." Then he mounted his gray mare and the four of them were off on the trail again.

They had been chosen by the sheriff to go after a band of thieves who had robbed the bank and killed the bank manager. The sheriff was drawn to the young men because of their ability to track anyone anywhere. How they had learned to do it, he didn't know, but they could and for that he was grateful. They never said no when he asked for their help, which he had done many times. They each were different and when they were together, they were an unbeatable team.

Finally, they came to a grove of trees. In the midst, six horses were tied and there was a campfire with men around it. Mike gave a signal and all four quietly slipped from their horses leaving them and creeping closer to the camp.

"There's six of them and it looks like it'll be pretty easy to take them," the young man with curly hair said. "They don't act as if they think they're being followed."

"That's a point in our favor," the blond said.

"Micky, you take the west. Peter, you take the east," Mike ordered with a wave of his hand in the direction he told them each to go. "And Davy, you take the north. I'll go in here."

They each nodded their confirmation and took their guns from the holsters hanging from their hips then made their way to the appointed corners. Mike walked into the camp behind one man and cocked his gun as he rested the barrel against the man's temple.

"Don't make a sound or I'll kill you where you stand," Mike told him in a very low, very ominous voice as he grabbed the back of the man's collar and yanked him to his feet. "Listen up," he said to the rest of the men. "If you do as you're told, nobody gets hurt. I'm taking you all into town for robbing the bank and killing the manager. You're surrounded so I wouldn't advise trying anything."

The rest of the men stopped what they were doing and looked up at the tall figure dressed in a black hat, black jeans, black duster and black boots. His face was even covered with a black beard and he looked sinister as he stood in the dusk holding a gun to their buddy's head.

"How do we know you got others watchin' us? Maybe yer just bluffin'", one of the others asked.

"Go ahead. Test me," Mike replied.

The man seemed to think it over and then went for his gun. Before he could get it out of his holster completely, Peter was beside him with his gun cocked and aimed at his head. The man looked Peter over. He wore light colored clothes; brown pants and a tan shirt with a vest that matched the pants. A suede, wool lined coat covered him and he wore wire framed glasses that made him look like a bank employee instead of some bounty hunter. He smiled at the man making him seem friendly.

Suddenly, one of the other men fired a shot and Mike and Peter disappeared into the shadows. Shots rang through the still night and in a matter of minutes, all was quiet. Three of the six outlaws were injured and the other three were holding their hands up in surrender.

"Guys, come on out," Mike called. From the shadows, Davy, Micky and Peter emerged, guns raised. They quickly went to work tying the men's hands and getting their horses.

As Micky helped one man onto a horse, the man commented. "You sure don't look much like a bounty hunter."

Micky was wearing a buckskin shirt and pants, much like an Indian's dress. He also wore moccasins and carryed a tomahawk with his gun. "Looks can be deceiving," Micky said as he hoisted himself into the saddle on the back of his paint pony.

Davy also didn't look the part. He wore a gray suit complete with a tapestry vest and imported white shirt, a long black overcoat and black leather gloves finishing his look. They were four very different men but they each brought a quality to the team that made them the best at tracking and bringing in the outlaws.

As they rode up in front of the sheriffs office, Mike jumped down from his horse and went inside while the others brought in the wanted men.

"Nesmith," the sheriff said. "Are they here?"

"All six, alive. The guys are bringing them in."

"Good. I knew I could count on you to bring them to justice." The sheriff counted up the money he had promised the four young men and handed it to Mike. "Thank you."

Mike took the money and looked at the older gentlemen. "It's our pleasure," he said with a nod of his head.

Within minutes, they were in the saloon sitting at a table.

Mike came in and stopped at the bar. "Whiskey for my men," he said to the barkeep. When he had the bottle in hand along with four glasses, he sat down with the others and poured them each a drink.

"Here's to serving justice," Davy said as he held his glass high.

The others raised their glasses also and agreed, then drank the liquid inside. Soon, they were feeling good, laughing and singing. Micky soon passed out at the table.

"Micky," he heard from somewhere far off. "Micky, wake up man."

He opened his eyes to see Davy, Peter and a clean shaven Mike looking down at him. Looking around, he discovered he was in the pad, in the nineteen sixties.

"You all right?" Mike asked.

"Yeah," Micky said with a smile. "Just had a dream after reading this book." He held up the western he had in his hand.

"Was it a good dream?" Peter asked as Micky got up from the couch and followed them into the kitchen to eat dinner.

"Yeah, it was cool. We were bounty hunters and we were after these bank robbers..."

THE END