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"The most famous "John Wayne" look-a-like, SASS #9772, wrote this book. I like this book because the plot was well done and makes you think as you read. So many westerns are fun to read, but they don't stick in your memory very long. This book will stay with you. Ermal is developing into an excellent western writer." Judge Roy Bean, SASS #1
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TO BOOK ERMAL AND/OR PAULA
A BRIEF PROLOGUE
The Destiny of a Fast Gun
February 2, 1871
A person’s destiny is next to impossible to see at the beginning of one’s life, for certainly no one can ascertain what he will become as it is not a person’s privilege to see. A “fast gun” was a euphemism that had not yet been established. To become a fast gun would certainly be a turning point in Matt Andersen’s career, a career he had not chosen, and for which he had not prepared himself, and as a man on the run, he called himself, Matt Jorgensen.
He would find out that his destiny was determined by a set of circumstances, none of which were under his control. But once he had attained the mastery of his calling, his destiny was sealed and his life took on a totally new meaning.
For two men to come together under the umbrella of similar circumstances and forge a re-lationship together in time and space would be an act of God no one could understand or envi-sion. Such was the case with Matt who became famously known as “The Brazos Kid”, and Rod Best, Marshal of Abilene. How they met and became the best of friends, in spite of their fierce competitiveness in a business that called for guts and glory, would plum the depths of their excit-ing and romantic adventures which they shared together as two of the bravest gunfighters in the history of America’s West.
One of the most infamous of days in the annals of Western folklore happened February 1, ’71. Matt Jorgensen, also called “the Brazos Kid”, and his friend Steve Andrews, rode into Waco, Texas were bent on spending the night earning some extra spending money playing that famous game of fortune, poker. Matt grew up in Bozeman, Montana and, with his brother, Lukas learned the game well enough to make some spending money.
Matt was now a professional hired gunman who, with Steve, his Civil War friend and companion, ran the Brazos Bar M Ranch south of Waco across the Brazos River. Both men were in their thirties. Matt stood six-feet four inches, with broad shoulders. His eyes were steely blue, and he had a gentle smile, which befriended him to the ladies. He wore denim pants, a dark blue woolen shirt and a tanned leather vest. A loose bandanna covered his throat, and a gray Stetson fit his head real nice. Tonight he just wanted to play cards.
Steve was a good-looking man with a bushy moustache and a full head of light brown hair hidden under his well-worn Stetson. His dimples let people around him know that he was also a gentle man like Matt, but firm. He was six-foot two straight up and down. He, too, wore a leather vest, but he wore his bandanna a lot looser than Matt, and his Stetson was black.
The men found themselves an active table towards the rear of the Green Slipper Saloon, and offered to join in as soon as a certain chair became vacant. The chair the dealer was sitting in was Matt’s favorite seat. He chose never to sit anywhere else, as an early acquaintance warned him to beware of card cheats and killers who walk behind unsuspecting players. Besides, he en-joyed having the wall to lean on from time to time.
“You can sit in right now, men,” the dealer offered as he shuffled the cards. “Sit down.”
“No rush,” Matt replied, standing at the bar instead. “Two whiskeys!” he ordered.
“Suit yourself,” the dealer continued. “Might not get another chance with all the cow-pokes pouring in this time of night.”
“The Red Garter’s down the street,” Matt told the dealer. “They can go there.”
“Thet one’s filled up already. What are you two waitin’ for, if I might ask?” The dealer started dealing the cards to the other two gentlemen.
“You’re sittin’ in my chair.”
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