Blood and Silver in San Antonio

Long ago in San Antonio, there was a man named William “Buck” Taylor. He lived near the heart of town where a saloon stood. Above its entrance hung a wooden sign that read The Longhorn Tavern, dusty and riddled with bullet holes.

Buck was an old-school cowboy, carrying two six-shooters in dark brown leather holsters at his sides. He was known for his deadly accuracy—he hadn’t missed a shot since he was thirteen.

No one ever got away from him. Riding and roping were his way of life, raised on a farm from dawn till dusk, always in cowboy boots and hats. He was both fierce and kind—seemingly contradictory, but true. He never left town or mixed with strangers beyond his circle.

His favorite pastime was playing poker and farmer’s bridge in the saloon. Anyone caught cheating quickly found themselves nursing a broken nose, a busted head, or both. Everyone called him Buck the Taylor, and when he was angry, Buck the Wild.

His wife was Julia Mae Taylor, known to all simply as Buck’s wife. They had two boys training to be cowboys, called Buckaroos, and two young girls. The children would be damned if they ever talked back to their mother, for Buck made sure they learned their place—sometimes with harsh discipline.

Buck worked hard to provide for his family, but he also knew how to enjoy himself. Daily gambling, weekly fights and bull riding, and the occasional brawl were the right kind of excitement for a Texan cowboy.

Visitors were rare but welcomed. When one came, Buck would often place their head on the bar, six-shooters aimed at their temple, demanding gold and silver.

He wasn’t stingy though; he shared with his friends and children.

One day, an old friend, Tom, arrived and said, “There’s a rollin’ rig comin’ down from the north, loaded with supplies. Folks ’round here call it a wagon trail.”

Buck squinted, the sun shining in his blue eyes. “Ain’t but one way to find out what they’re haulin’,” he said with excitement.

The next morning, six men rode out on horses, carrying ropes, bags, six-shooters, and extra bullets in case of trouble.

At dawn, the riders smoked atop their horses. Buck hopped down, pressed his ear to the rail, feeling the vibration of steel. Dark smoke appeared in the distance.

As the wagon came closer, Buck shouted, “’Bout damn time, boys! Let’s ride!”

He snapped the reins; the horse snorted and took off down the trail. They rode hard toward the train.

Buck’s eyes glazed as they neared the train. Four men jumped onto the wagon, rushing toward the conductor. Buck held his guns at the conductor’s head and shouted, “Hold that wagon right there!”

A young man aimed a gun at the conductor’s head while Buck and his men filled bags with tobacco, coins, guns, clothing, and booze, tossing them to the guards outside. Buck approached the conductor and said, “You ain’t gonna jaw about this with nobody, or you’re a dead man.”

They made eye contact as the raiders mounted their horses and rode back to town, shouting “Yee-hawww!” and firing shots into the air.

When they arrived, Sheriff Jed Morgan and his men waited, holding double-barreled shotguns. Jed wore a golden star badge on his chest and had a thick brown mustache. Though older, he was deadly serious.

Buck dismounted and looked Jed in the eye. “Sheriff Jed Morgan, you don’t have life. Just walkin’ around town with your boys, tryin’ to make some business.”

Jed stared back, “You’re nothin’ but trouble in my town. Should’ve been dead and buried a long time ago. Your pa was a man folks respected, but you—havin’ money and a good family—still out here robbin’ and bringin’ your bad ways to my town. What in hell makes you do that?”

Buck smirked, “Sheriff, don’t get your britches in a twist—this here’s just for a damn bit of fun.”

Jed and his crew tied the six men and took them to jail. “I’m fed up with all your trouble. Tomorrow at dawn, y’all’re gonna face a firing squad right behind this building,” Jed said angrily before leaving.

The next morning, the sound of the firing squad woke the town. Jed arrived and looked at the bodies—but he was too afraid to face the firing squad behind him. The bodies in the suits were the firing squad crew themselves.

From behind, a voice said, “Old man, this here’s a town of cowboys and rough men. You’re dreamin’ if you think you hold this town in the palm of your hand. This town belongs to me and my kind of trouble. Ain’t no one tellin’ me what I can or can’t do.

I decide who walks through my town and how they get treated. I decide who gets a chance at livin’ and who gets sent to meet their maker.

That shiny badge you wear means nothin’ to the folks ‘round here. Takein’ money from criminals and lettin’ ‘em loose only turns this place into hell. I’m the law—and a man of peace.

Why? ‘Cause I don’t let no man come here and lay a hand on my wife or my neighbors’ women. I don’t steal from the poor or let the rich crooks stroll ‘round robbin’ the honest folk.

I take from those rich sons of guns and give back to the folks robbed by scoundrels like you. I keep the crazies outta my town, keep my kids safe from bein’ sold off like cattle.

You’re done, Jed. I’m Buck the Wild, and right now, justice rides with me.”

Jed looked into Buck’s eyes, tears forming. The sun caught Buck’s silver shooter, reflecting on Jed’s face.

Then came the bang of justice as Buck pulled the trigger and brought justice back to San Antonio.

The End