Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Bullets Met in Border Towns

Latigo Flint had to grow up fast and he had to grow up mean. (The way the very toughest men are made.)

Not much is known about Latigo Flint's childhood--what little of it there was. Legend has it, an old Gypsy was present at Latigo Flint's birth and he took one look at Latigo Flint and promptly prophesied he'd meet his bullet in a border town somewhere east of Nogales, Arizona.

They were just east of Nogales at the time.

That old Gypsy must have been sorely tempted to shoot the infant Latigo Flint and solemnly declare:
"And so it has come to pass--the prophecy fulfilled."

But of course he didn't do such a ghastly thing. Or he tried to but then the spirit of a wolf suddenly possessed the infant Latigo Flint and the terrified Gypsy ran screaming into the night.

There are differing accounts.

On one point, however, history is quite clear: At the age of six, Latigo Flint was in fact ambushed by renegades in a border town somewhere east of Nogales--shot four times and left in the street to die.

And right about then is when Latigo Flint had to grow up. And grow up he did--fast and mean as a matter of fact.

The story goes that young Latigo Flint strapped on pistols that hung practically to his ankles, and tracked those renegades through the badlands for months before finally catching up in the cruelest stretch--a craggy, twisted, sun-ravaged wasteland known as The Bleachbone Bluffs.

According to legend, young Latigo Flint faced them down and taunted them viciously. Apparently even going so far as to gesture at the renegades' eyes and declare that they had "poop-eyes"... that all their eyes were made of poop.

At which point, it's said, one of the renegades went for his gun--followed shortly thereafter by a series of ragged screams in gun smoke gloom as splattery evidence of death dripped like tears down canyon walls.

And then in the silence previously interrupted only by moans, came the rattle of hoof on stone, and there on the bluff stood a donkey named Vengeance. And he came to young Latigo Flint--that six-year-old killer-of-men--and he nuzzled Latigo Flint's baby face with his velvety nose. And then they rode off into the sunset again. Just a boy and his donkey named Vengeance.

The End


***



This is a very special story. Mostly because it's about me... but partially because it has a donkey named Vengeance in it.

Anyway, it was a difficult story to name. So many titles would have worked. It could have, and perhaps should have been called:
A Donkey Named Vengeance

But then of course, The Legend of Latigo Flint isn't bad either; likewise The Bleachbone Bluffs.

In the end I decided to call it Bullets Met in Border Towns--for reasons I no longer recall.



(Hey, could have been worse... I almost named it: Poop-Eyes--The Bad Guys' Eyes Were Made of Poop.

And honestly now, who would ever want to read something like that?!)

9 Comments:

At 3:45 AM, Blogger Lightning Bug's Butt said...

Say, if you're ever near Nogales again, look me up.

Also, can you ride horses as well as you sling iron? Probably not, I know. Because you're so good at the latter. But still, can you ride?

 
At 6:42 AM, Anonymous ATD said...

Again, Latigo Flint charms us with glorious tales of gunfighting and donkeys in the wastes of the bitter Southwest.

Actually, I believe this is the FIRST tale that depicts him (albeit his six-year old form) actually shooting people! As I read of young Latigo's quest for vengeance (well, actually, I suppose that it could be said that Vengeance found him...) I cheered that little gunslinger with all the strength that comes to someone reading a blog on the internet only minutes after having woken up -- at 6'o clock in the morning.

Perhaps they were more lenient to cases of deadly manslaughter in border towns somewhere east of Nogales, committed by six-year olds.

~ATD

 
At 9:03 AM, Anonymous Nicolas Papaconstantinou said...

I'm not sure it actually says anywhere specifically that Latigo shot the guys... but that they ended up dead, there's no debate...

I love the director's commentaries you've been putting on the recent pieces, by the way, Latigo. As always, you both rock AND roll...!

 
At 11:23 AM, Blogger OldHorsetailSnake said...

After you killed the Poop-Eyes gang, the donkey appeared. Since there were only you and the donkey, how come you know his name is Vengeance? It could have been Faunteleroy, for instance.

 
At 3:14 PM, Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

Or Truffles. Or Pardon. Or Turn The Other Cheek

Great story, interesting to see how the boy became the man and how we in society as a whole need to step in with some sort of after-school program to prevent these bloody massacres in town East of Nogales.

But this won't do, Latigo. No it won't do at all. These stories about 6 year olds. I can't get all turned on by a child, it's icky.

I am a housewife, I need The Flint to be a man, a squinty-eyed man.

Dammit.

 
At 9:32 PM, Blogger Ari said...

Aww, not The Ass of Vengeance?

 
At 3:03 AM, Blogger Helga von porno said...

Pardon is a great name for a Donkey. I can't believe that this is the only time L. Flint shot anyone. "Poop for eyes, eyes made of poop" is good. There is an old English folk song about a handsome fairy raping a good christian girl but the fairy queen getting jealous and turning his eyes to wood. The singer sang unaccompanied, and she was blind.

 
At 2:05 PM, Blogger Cindy-Lou said...

Those must have been some long pistols. Or you had very short legs for a six year old.

 
At 1:30 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Can I ride LBB?!!! Can I ride?!!! I ride like a demon who escaped hell on the back of a flaming squid. Once some scientists crossbred a cougar with a bull and entered it in a rodeo and I was the only one who rode it--all the other cowboys took one look at what was lurking in the chute and promptly died of fear.
(And someday you and I will meet. It's not even a question of if... only when.)

Yeah, I'm a charmer all right ATD. Hey! Do you really draw those meteorological cartoons? I've never seen their equal. Propriety demands I don't fully reveal what happens in my trousers every time your meteorologist looks my way.

LISTEN: Everyone needs to click on ATD and read all his meteorological cartoons. I mean right now. (Unless it turns out he didn't actually create them... in which case we should throw rotting things at ATD tell him he has poop eyes--that his eyes are made of poop. But somehow I don't think that will be necessary.)

I'm very glad to hear you like them Nicolas. Frankly I have no idea what works anymore these days. I just sort of lurch and scream and see what sticks on the wall.

You're old and I adore you Old Hoss... this and this alone keeps you from meeting a Donkey most decidedly named Vengeance!

Oh, rest assured Sam--lounging in your tub, extendable shower nozzle in hand--I'm a man. A man, a man! The sort of man this world hasn't seen in quite some time... but I'm a also a child--something to do with the galaxies and that everyone is a child compared to the age of stars.
(Yeah, I don't really understand it either. Doesn't mean it isn't so.)

That's another story Ari.

I've shot lots of people Helga Von Porno. You were right to doubt. Most of them deserved it. The few that didn't probably would have.
(Whatever lets us fall asleep at night, right?)

The pistols were very long dear Cindy Lou, very long. My height at six was above average. My tally of men killed at the age of six broke the graph. Broke it bad. I'm Latigo Flint goddamnit!

 

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