Arizona Blue-Gunfighter
In: Another Town
[--Five]
[Cheyenne - 1878]
The Man called Arizona-Blue
He was known as Arizona Blue because Arizona was where he came from and he had the deepest blue eyes any one had ever seen. In a gun fight he never blinked them once. It was amazing folks would say after watching him have a show-down with another gunfighter. It was as watching a bullfight; that is to say, Arizona being the picador and the matador: the wind would circle his feet, his hand would fly off, and the sun might even be in his way, but he never blinked, nor smiled, nor moved his hands once situated, unless to draw. That is what his opponents feared the most. No bluff.
He was a tall man, medium build, had broad shoulders and a wild look to his tan; a muscular face with a bronze reddish-brown penny look.
He had big hands like John L. Sullivan, who he had met once in a barroom fight in Boston. He had just become Heavyweight Bare Knuckle Champion a year earlier. Blue liked following the news when he could; and he liked Sullivan because he claimed he could lick any man in the house, and he did. Although Sullivan was about 2 ?inches taller then blue, Arizona could put up a good fight himself he felt with John L., but his forte was guns, not knuckles, he’d tell himself. And in a similar manner, like Sullivan, he claimed he could out draw anyone, anywhere; and he did. Therefore, he always felt they had something in common.
Arizona wore a buckskin coat and was clean shaven, but had thick long busy sideburns, the same as his hair, and thick eyebrows; He had deep-pitted eyes, high cheekbones, and a thick-looking jaw; he was mean, handsome and boisterous; a deadly combination in any town.
His horse, Dan, a solid creature with a long mane, was all a cowboy could ask for. He was brownish in color with legs like a deer and a heart that could outlast the best of any Indian horse. What Blue didn’t want was to ride into a feud between sheep and cattle ranchers, and homesteaders; and he knew each town had its demons.
—With such men came the tired look. As he sat on his horse, allowing himself to catch his breath before he entered the small Wyoming town in front of him; thus, he thought of the lonely journey he had coming up from Pueblo along the Continental Divide that stretched from Colorado to Canada. The Marianne Bow Mountains, he captured sight of and the long dusty cactus along the way. He was nasty dirty:
“Another Town,?he whispered to himself, as if waiting for old Dan to comment (his horse).
His eyes then made a half circle [18--degree circle]. He had seen his share of these dusty little towns in Montana, Arizona territories, and Wyoming; Deadwood in the Dakota’s; the old trail town of Cody; and of course Tombstone, to mention a few. This one he hadn’t been to, called Cheyenne. He knew it was a cattle area although. He had met some time ago, a woman called ‘Cattle Kate?while in Cody. She was quite plane he thought, but had her charms, and Blue knew she’d have her day because she was always ending up with a few extra mavericks, but could never prove she was the rustler. Thoughts just circled his mind as he scanned the territory and town around him.
It was back in the l860s, the Homestead Act which allowed men to buy land as cheap as a $1.25 an acre; it made many a man rich. And still was making men rich. The thought of lots of jobs around this area, crossed Blue’s mind as he looked up towards the hot summer sun, its blinding beams. He wiped the sweat off his brow. Moved a bit within on his saddle trying to catch a glimpse of a supply store—what the sign read on the building; his horse was wet with sweat, and thirsty. He looked down to the horse’s profile, and smiled. He didn’t smile much, but to old Dan he made it a point to do it often.
“Ok, old Dan,?said Blue, “let’s sees what the town has to offer!?And he kicked his horse lightly, and down the hill he rode, toward Main Street. He arched his back, his plaid shirt opened to catch the breeze as he rode down; he pulled a little tighter on the reins, to control his horse a ting; put a flat affect on his face, so no one could read him.
Notes by Rosa Peńaloza: Writings by Dennis Siluk/2001; unpublished; number five of the series of five episodes. Three episodes published in the book, “Everyday’s an Adventure?002. This one was taken out of mothballs, and rewritten; it was supposed to have been the first of the series, four years ago, and not fully completed. The author is still looking for number two, which also has not been previously published and would compliment this one I expect. 7/2005 Revised. As with most of Mr. Siluk’s stories, he was in Cheyenne, in l969, and that is a story of its own. What I remember him telling me was: “I was on my way back with a friend from California to Minnesota, we stopped and picked up a few other friends in some desert town and John was drunk all the time. When we got to Cheyenne, he was walking down main street urinating on the side walk, by a grocery store, it was noon or so, and I had to grab him so the police would not put us all in jail for being stupid kids, I was 20-years old, and was traveling around the country; he just happened to go with me this time.?There is more to the story but that was the funny part I thought.
Dennis Siluk is the author of 30-books, and is finishing up two at the moment; he lives in Minnesota and Peru. His books can be seen on most web sites that sell books his site is http://dennissiluk.tripod.com