This is a work of fiction any similarities between the characters, events, or locations in this story and actual locations, events, or people are purely coincidental.
© 2004 Warlord
The State of South Dakota is relatively new, as states go. It was admitted to the Union in 1889. In 1858 when Minnesota was admitted to statehood, what is now North and South Dakota was a single territory. Much of it was Indian Reservation “as long as the grass shall grow and the sun shall shine.”
In 1874 the sun quit shining as gold was discovered in the Black Hills of far western South Dakota. The town of Deadwood gained worldwide prominence as a home of easy money and even easier death. The Indian was pushed out of the sacred hills; George Armstrong Custer felt the last sting of their annoyance!
As the gold played out, Deadwood fell on hard times. The frontier history could not make a living, even with the flow of tourists visiting Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse. In a state so sparsely populated that they have only a single congressman, there was little money for redevelopment. The South Dakota Legislature decided to play along with the Deadwood frontier history of a wide-open town. They passed laws allowing blackjack and slot machines in Deadwood bars and saloons.
I was on my way to Deadwood today, but not for the gambling. Not that I am averse to an occasional hand of blackjack. I was to be in the home of so much history for a Frontier Action Shooting Round Up.
Frontier Action Shooting is a series of matches fired by modern day cowboys and cowgirls dressed and armed like the frontier’s desperados. Deadwood hosts the Midwest Regional. Think Sturgis with horses and Colt 45’s instead of hogs!
I am William Ebenezer Anderson, traveling from my home in Minnesota. My father decided at my birth that an Anderson needed a distinguishing characteristic. It is only by the grace of God and my mother’s strident insistence that Ebenezer was not my first name!
Anyone named William who shoots in an Old West costume should be clear that his nickname would certainly end in “The Kid.” I took the inevitable with good grace despite my partners-in-crime occasionally ribbing me about my age far exceeding any possible “kid.”
In the pickup as we crossed the Missouri River on I 90 was one partner, Krista Calder. I was 24-year-old Krista’s mentor and coach in both Frontier and Modern action shooting. Conversely, Krista’s skill and competitive drive forced me achieve at a higher level than I was really used to. With my age twice hers, it was a symbiotic and wholly platonic relationship.
Krista shared a characteristic with most women I had coached in that she was very coachable, with very little “attitude” when her technique was corrected. She also had the best hand/eye coordination of any man or women I have ever been around.
During matches, I wore three handguns. All Colt Single Action 45’s. I wore a seven inch barreled Colt in the strong side holster under my right hand. The four-inch barreled Colt was in a radical cross draw on my left next to my belt buckle. Another four inch barreled Colt was in a skeleton shoulder holster under my left arm.
Krista had a slightly different arsenal. She had a double holster set with a short-barreled Colt on each side. She had another long barreled Colt in her radical cross draw. I asked her about a shoulder holster once. She said, “Not likely with these babies impeding my draw,” as she lifted her more-than-a-handful breasts.
She laughed happily at my obvious embarrassment, and never failed to remind me of our conversation whenever we passed a holster display at the matches.
Krista was an athletic honey blonde. She had a clean natural beauty that fashion models would kill for. Krista was, as she demonstrated, amply endowed, with a tight butt and six-pack abs. She had long well shaped legs. Year round she had an all over tan that complemented her complexion nicely.
Krista competed at the cutting edge of speed at the matches. She was going to find out in Deadwood if she was the fastest woman in the Region. Krista could draw and hit a target equating to a man’s chest at seven yards in twenty-five hundredths of a second including reaction time. In fanning events she could empty her gun into the same target in less than a second. She was ambidextrous during events -- nearly equal with either hand!
Krista’s favorite Colt had an ivory grip, with a silver snake inlaid in the grip. It was a “dedicated fanner,” with no trigger and a flatter hammer spur. The action was strengthened, and had the half and quarter cock notches removed, to lessen the constant battering of the mechanism from fanning. Krista usually wore half gloves just covering her palms, leaving her fingers bare.
For much of her shooting career, Krista competed in matches as her alter ego Crystal. Lately Krista was being introduced at her speed matches as Snake. She loved it -- said the new name took several hundredths off her time in fanning events alone.
She also shot in mounted events. Her Appaloosa horse, Duke, was in the trailer we were towing. Mounted shooting exercises involve shooting several targets from horse back at a full gallop. Krista was an accomplished horsewoman who taught Duke to ignore the gunfire. Actually I think she taught him to love the noise! Duke seems to prance when Krista completes a run -- shooting practically between his ears.
When they go up to accept the inevitable ribbon or trophy that he and Krista win with regularity, Duke preens as if he were solely responsible.
Krista also taught Duke to ride English. She competes with him in Novice jumping events around the area. I usually drive the pick up towing the trailer to those events.
Krista and Duke are attempting to teach me to ride. Krista gets me up on his back at every opportunity. Duke, for his part, acts as if she put an infant or invalid on his back.
Duke and Krista, together, travel at a gallop that would put Secretariat to shame. For me, Duke cannot be persuaded move much above a walk.
Krista has me ride her Duke in mounted shooting events. He takes it with good grace until trophies are announced. It takes little imagination to see Duke’s reproachful look when awards conclude without he and I walking to the judge’s stand.
The handwriting is on the wall. At some point Duke and I will be jumping fences. Krista is adamant that I WILL ride English. Even Duke seems resigned to teaching me. That is why my tack and even my saddle are in Krista’s four-horse trailer.
Duke is a classic Appaloosa color of blanket with spots. He is buckskin colored with a white blanket on his hindquarters. The dark spots form an irregular pattern inside the white blanket.
We were at the Interstate 90 rest area overlooking the Missouri River. We had removed Duke from his trailer to let him roll on the ground and then walked him in the pet area.
Duke always attracts a crowd. He seems to take his celebrity seriously, understanding he is an ambassador for the Appaloosa breed. Duke is especially patient with children. He puts up with indignities from children that would certainly get an adult kicked. It is really only a matter of time before Duke has his own sitcom!
As we got back on the road, I glanced at Krista. She had her bucket seat fully reclined as she tried to nap. I looked at her tee shirt that said: “Not Everything is FLAT in Minnesota.” The shirt was so tight (and stuffed with her tits) that much of her six-pack was visible. Her nipples, stretching the shirtfront, confirmed the absence of a bra.
I don’t know why it aroused me. We shared a room at every match or riding event. The Krista dress code was similar to the dress code at a nudist camp. She would strip and dress in front of me and expect me to do the same. But today the tee, and the very low-rise hip hugger jeans, had me on edge.
To take my mind off the entrancing view, I thought about my upcoming performance at the Round Up. I was not a specialist like Krista, much more a generalist. I was in the top twenty-five in most events, top ten in a couple. The events I won were combination events that used two or more guns in the exercise.
My favorite combination event is “Stagecoach.” Stagecoach starts with the contestant perched on a bench eight feet off the ground. The perch is the same height as the seat on a Wells Fargo Stagecoach. The shooter has a rifle, shotgun and any handguns on the bench. I have a Winchester lever action in caliber 44-40 and a twelve-gauge double-barreled coach gun for this event.
At the whistle, the shooter engages targets with any guns he chooses. The shooter is then expected to grab the moneybox, climb out of the coach and move through a “Hogan’s Alley” of pop up targets to the finish line. Time stops when the moneybox crosses the finish line. Best score is a combination of accuracy and fastest time. I win the event even with my lack of foot speed because of my accuracy with all three type firearms.
My other winning event is “Main Street.” Main Street starts with the contestant on a balcony platform, ten feet off the ground. You shoot at targets appearing in windows, then leave the balcony and move through the Hogan’s Alley of pop ups to the opposite end of the street to cross the finish line, concluding the exercise.
I win this because I take extra time shooting from the balcony with my rifle before I start the walk. I use a special rifle as well. I have a Winchester that fires 50-95 rounds. This big, powerful round allows me to hit targets all the way to the end of the street.
Main Street combines speed and accuracy with the extra spur of disqualifying the contestant if three targets are missed. The logic being, dead contestants can’t finish and three live “bad guys” are enough to make one dead contestant.
Krista and I compete together in Team Main Street. She is so quick, that we set a record in our last joint competition. We bettered the best time by a full second with no missed or passed targets.