Share Your Brother's Splatter Guard

Latigo Flint doesn't quite remember--has he mentioned infamous Fresno outlaw and pistoleer, Natches Murphy, before? If not he ought to be strung up, for Natches Murphy was the squinty-eyed gunslinger by which all other squinty-eyed gunslingers were judged. (Until Latigo Flint Himself of course.) On sheer style alone, Natches made Hickok and Earp look like sneezing drunks in a storm.

Handing out leather splatter guards to all the bystanders in the street was just one of the many savagely successful intimidation tactics enjoyed by Natches Murphy prior to facing down a deadly adversary.

It took a much braver man than most, not to come just a tad unglued at the sight of folks donning protective gear to shield themselves from the warm splatter of his blasted brains and bloody stew.

Natches would always make sure to hand the last, the one with a hole in front, to the youngest of two siblings in the crowd.
"Oh." He'd pretend to notice. "This one has a hole."
The father would finish fastening his and then lean over to inspect his child's.
"Have you any more?" He'd ask.
"I'm very sorry señor." Natches would reply. "The rest are at the cleaners."
"Well, it's not a very big hole, is it?" The father would muse, poking his finger through.
"True señor, it is not." Natches would shrug. "But certainly big enough for an eyeball to squish through."
"Ewwww!!!!" The little girl would scream and point at Natches Murphy's opponent. "I don't want his eyeball juice on me."
Natches would glance over at the hapless gunman.
"Sí, sí little girl, I don't blame you. It looks like a particularly smelly eyeball."

And right about then is when the guy would decide he really, really didn't feel like facing Natches Murphy anymore.

"Uh, look, I don't want the kid to be sad." He'd mumble. "And plus, I, er--just remembered I left a branding iron on a cow. I should probably go take it off before my barn burns down."

"AWWWWW!!!" The crowd would cry.

"These are adult-sized splatter guards." Natches would point out. "One would probably cover both."
"Of course." The father would exclaim. "Mary, share your brother's splatter guard."

And how the crowd would cheer when they saw the splatter guard was going to cover them both.

"Nope, nope, nope!!! Not necessary anymore!!!" The trembling gunman would shriek, hands clasped behind his head, as far from his belt as they'd go. "Not even Natches Murphy would shoot an unconscious man." Then he'd slam his head into a hitching post and the disappointed crowd would start to remove their splatter guards.

"Keep 'em amigos." Natches would say with a grin. "He'd planned to shoot me for smiling at his sister today 'till unease got the better of him. But despite his fear he'll be back in two months when the swell in her belly begins."

Bigots in the crowd would put it together and wish they had the nerve to reach. But they knew Natches Murphy was liquid death with a gun, and the function and purpose of splatter guards had seared their cowardly souls.

(Vaya con huevos, beaches.)