Playing Cowboys

by johnnedwill

Barney loved it when his parents took him to Frontier Land. The other kids in his class liked to go to the Fantasy Kingdom, Space Academy or even Dinosaur Island. Frontier Land had been popular once, but not any more. Some of the children made fun of Barney because he wasn't 'cool'. Barney didn't care. As far as he was concerned, cowboys were neat. Every time he road into Frontier Land on the buckboard of the claptrap Deadwood Stage, Barney felt a deep-seated thrill. Grizzled prospectors, saloon bar madames and high-noon gunfights - these were the things Barney loved.

"Barnabus! Stop wriggling!" Barney's mother chided him as she adjusted the collar of his flannel shirt. Visitors to Frontier Land didn't have to dress up in period clothing, but Barney insisted on it with all the enthusiasm of a nine-year old boy. His mother went along with him. She was wearing a period-authentic dress and bonnet, while Barney was wearing britches and a shirt. "What will the townsfolk think of you if you aren't dressed properly?"

"But ma!" Barney knew he was in trouble - Barnabus was who he was when his mother scolded him. He held still long enough for his mother to finish buttoning him up, then ran as fast as he could to the stage coach that was waiting outside the visitor centre.

"Howdy li'l pardner! The driver of the stage coach, wrapped tight in his faded Union Army greatcoat, grey whiskers drooping over the collar, looked down at Barney and smiled. "Good ta see ya again. Ya goin' into town?"

"Sure am, Mister Cranford." Barney reached up for the leather strap to pull himself onto the buckboard, but the old man stopped him.

"Sorry Barney. Can't come up less'n your mother gives permission,"

Barney glanced hopefully towards his mother, who had hitched up her skirt to hurry after him. "Please?"

Barney's mother glared at her son for a moment before relenting. "Alright," she said to Mister Cranford. "I give permission." She turned back to her jubilant son. "But if you misbehave ... ." She left the threat hanging.

Mister Cranford leaned down and, with a strength that did not fit with his pipestem arms, lifted Barney into the seat beside him. "There you go young 'un." He glanced back towards Barney's mother. "Do you need a hand, Missus Dravid?"

"No thank you. I'm good." Barney's mother pulled herself into the cabin of the stage coach, with only a little help from the other passengers already inside.

"Independent woman, your mother," Mister Cranford observed. "Y'all strapped in, boy?" He checked that Barney's lap belt was secured, before cracking the leather reins to set the horses going. The stage coach lurched down the dirt track, away from the visitors' complex at the Frontier Land entrance.

"She sure is," Barney replied. He held tight to the rails on the side of the swaying stage coach. "Who's in town today?"

Mister Cranford's lined face froze for a moment before answering. "All your favourites are there today, Barney."

"Mister Ford?" "At his store." "Miss O'Leary?"

"You'll find her in the schoolhouse." Mister Cranford chuckled. "Not that you'll be wanting to go there on a fine day like today."

"What about Madame Fifi?"

"Barney!" Mister Cranford give his young passenger a look of mock outrage. "How do you know about her? You shouldn't be goin' anywhere near the saloon - never mind Madame Fifi and her girls!" Then he winked. "You're too young for that."

Barney's cheeks turned red with embarrassment. He knew all too well about Madame Fifi's girls. "You always say that."

"Say what?"

Barney grinned. "What about Madame Fifi?" he asked playfully.

"Barney! How do you know about her?"

Barney grinned, then settled back onto the wooden seat and watched the dusty grasslands unfold around them.

After a journey of almost a quarter of an hour, the stage coach pulled into the town. 'Town' was a cluster of almost a hundred buildings, each designed to be a precise replica of some building from a Wild West town. Frontier Land also had outlying farms and a mine, but the town was where everybody went. There were stores, livery stables, a schoolroom, a chapel ... . There were also the inhabitants of Frontier Land, going about their daily business. Rotgut whiskey was sold in the saloon; the burly blacksmith shoed horses; and the saloon girls - ! Barney had become something of a pet to them, and always made sure to pay them a visit. Madame Fifi would even give him barley sugar twists "imported from la belle France". What more could a nine-year old boy want?

As soon as the stage coach slid to a halt on the main street, Barney swarmed down the side, his feet kicking up puffs of dust as he landed. Mister Cranford watched impassively from his perch, but his posture suggested he was ready to grab at the boy should something untoward happen. Just before Barney could escape into the maze of clapboard buildings, his mother leaned out of the stage coach's window. "Barney!"

Barney paused, his shoulders slumped, then obediently trotted back to his mother. "Ma," he groaned.

Mrs Dravid pulled up the sleeve of her dress just enough to reveal a black plastic band around her right wrist. "Do you have your pass?" She reached down for Barney's arm, but the boy pulled back.

"I've got it," Barney said, and held up his arm to show off an identical band. "Can I go now?" He waited long enough to see his mother's expression soften, then ran off, dodging the passers-by.

Mister Cranford waited a minute before clambering down from his perch to open the stage coach door. The first out was Mrs Dravid, who allowed the coach driver to help her. "Don't worry," Mister Cranford said to her. "He'll be fine. He always is."

Barney knew exactly where he was going. He had spent many hours exploring the streets of the town, getting to know everyone and everything. Today, his first stop was at the livery stables on the edge of town. It was where people who rode into town left their horses, so it was a good place to find out what was going on - better than Mister Cranford. Barney was not disappointed. A half- dozen horses were standing in the stalls, being tended to by Jonny the stablehand. Although he was somewhere in his early teens, he would sometimes deign to speak to Barney. Barney climbed onto the gate at the entrance to the stable's corral and waited for Jonny to finish his chores.

"Hey, Jonny!" Barney pointed at the horses. "Who do these belong to?"

Jonny put down the pail he was carrying and sintered over to the gate. "Hey, Barney. When did you get into town?"

"Today. Those horses. Come on, Jonny. You can tell me."

Jonny leaned close and beckoned Barney. "The Clancy boys. That's who."

Barney's eyes opened wide in amazement. "The Clancys? What are they here for?" Barney had heard about the Clancy boys. They had a farm to the north of the town, and rarely came into town except to trade for supplies and spend their money in the saloon. They swaggered about town as if it was their personal playground. Wherever they went, trouble wasn't far behind.

"What do you think, dumbass?" Jonny delighted in the insult. "I heard them talking. They're looking for someone. Way they were talking, there's going to be trouble."

Barney's eyes widened in anticipation. "Trouble? Like a showdown?"

Jonny shrugged. "Maybe."

"When?"

Jonny paused for a moment, motionless, as if in thought. "How would I know? But Sheriff Wilson's going to deal with them. He's getting a posse together right now."

"Wow." Barney dropped down from on top of the gate. "Thanks, Jonny." He didn't want to miss any of the action. Even though Frontier Land had been built as an amusement park, there was no schedule to what went on in it. The inhabitants lived their lives just like the people of the Old West did. Tensions built, incidents flared - all driven by what went on within the confines of the park. Even the visitors played their part in the ongoing dramas of Frontier Land. But there were still some tropes that only the most cynical could resist.

Word about the Clancys and their intentions had obviously spread around the town. The main street - the long, dusty street that formed the town's main axis - was lined with knots of people, anxiously switching their attentions between the saloon and the sheriff's office. With so many people gathered there, it took Barney a few minutes to find his mother.

"Ma!" Barney tugged at his mother's skirt. "Ma! Have you heard about the Clancys? There's going to be a - !"

Mrs Dravid spread her skirt and knelt down until she was almost eye-to-eye with her son. "The whole town knows."

"Where are they? Have you seen them?" The words tumbled from Barney's mouth, leaving him almost breathless.

"Do you mean the Clancys? I heard they're in the saloon, but I'm not going in there to look. That's no place for a respectable woman." Mrs Dravid stood up. "Nor for you, from what I've heard. Barney was about to reply, when the clock on the chapel began to chime the hour. The main street fell silent. A group of a half-dozen men walked out of the sheriff's office and onto the main street. Each of them was armed with a rifle or a shotgun. At their head was Sheriff Wilson, his tin star pinned proudly on the breast of his leather waistcoat.

"Sorry, ma," Barney said. He pulled his hand from his mother's grasp and ran to join the crowd of onlookers. He found himself sandwiched between two men dressed in dark woollen suits. Barney didn't recognise either of them. He tugged at the leg of the one to his left. "Hey, mister."

The man kept his eyes on the sheriff and his men as they formed a line across the street. "What?" "What's going on?"

"Sheriff's going to take on the Clancys. They went into the saloon and started causing trouble." Barney felt a pang of worry. "What about Madame Fifi?"

"I think she's in the saloon as well. She wouldn't desert her girls." The man looked down at Barney and grinned. "This is going to be good."

Sheriff Wilson stopped just before the door to the saloon. "Hey! Bob Clancy!" His voice carried across the street. "I know you and your brothers are in there! If you come out now, then nobody will get hurt!"

Barney held his breath, waiting for a response. He did not have to wait long.

"What if we don't, sheriff?" The voice was rough from years of tobacco and moonshine. "What you goin' to do then?"

Sheriff Wilson gestured to his men, who moved swiftly to take up positions to sides of the saloon, just out of sight from within. "C'mon, Bob. Don't make this any more difficult than it already is."

"You take another step and I'll - !" Bob began.

"And you'll what?" the sheriff called back. "I don't have any quarrel with you. If you come out now, then you can just walk away and I'll say no more. It's either that or you can hang for killing a man!"

The crowd began to pull back. They could sense that the conflict was about to break.

"I'm telling you one last time, sheriff!" This time, the voice from within the saloon sounded nervous and on the edge of breaking. "You and your men can - !"

As Bob Clancy uttered the curse, the sheriff barked an order, drowning it out. The members of the posse leapt from their positions and opened fire into the saloon. At the sound of the first round of shots, the crowd scattered seeking shelter. A volley of return fire came from within the saloon; stray rounds thudded into the walls of the nearby buildings and sent up spurts of dust and splinters.

Barney had dived behind a water trough, and watched the shootout with the protection of two layers of pine and a four feet of cloudy water. He heard Sheriff Wilson yelling orders above the screams of panic. He saw two of the sheriff's men drop, felled by bullets as they stormed the saloon. His heart leapt in time with the rhythms of the gunfire. And then - as son as it had started - the gunfight was over. The crowd, Barney among them, came out of their hiding places to view the aftermath.

The inside of the saloon was a scene of devastation. The gay velvet hangings had been ripped from their rails; the wooden tables had been overturned to be scarred by the impacts of bullets; the mirror behind the bar had been shattered into a thousand crazed splinters. Amongst it all lay almost a dozen bodies, stretched out on the stained floor. Barney, fascinated by it all, took a few hesitant steps across the saloon's threshold and stopped. Amongst the bodies was Madame Fifi. Barney's heart missed a beat, then he ran to her side.

Madame Fifi had been shot twice. The rounds had torn into her, exposing the components that lay beneath her synthetic flesh. A sticky, red oil dripped from torn tubes, to be soaked up by her velvet dress. Barney pushed a finger into the mess. It was warm. "Madame Fifi - are you alright?"

The robot madame struggled to sit up. "Bonjour, Barney." Her voice had lost its usual fluency. Instead it was halting and had a ragged, buzzing edge. "You should not be here. Why don't you come with me. I have some barley sugar twists. Your favourite."

Somebody grabbed at the back of Barney's flannel shirt, jerking him back from Madame Fifi. It was his mother. "Barnabus Dravid! I want a word with you!"

His mother had used his full, proper name. Barney knew he was in trouble. Reluctantly he let his mother pull him into the street.