Flumes Vol. 2 Issue 2 Winter 2017 | Page 23

“You’re going to need to pay for the pleasure of watching.” Wendell

took off his hat and passed it around. Patrons dug into their pockets, some

reluctantly, and once they’d invested in the entertainment, they got into

the spirit of the game. They slapped one another on the back and bought

each other drinks. And there was plenty of money to go around since they

were living in a boomtown in a boom time.

“How far is he going to shoot it?”

“Do you think he can shoot that thing?”

Clem clapped his hands and shouted to be heard across the crowd. “All

right fellows, let’s take it outside!”

“A hundred feet!” Someone shouted.

“Two hundred!” Called another.

this. Until everyone is clear headed.”

Wendell scoffed.

“Well how far did old William Tell shoot his arrow?” Smoke asked

Wendell.

“Well I don’t know. Maybe ten feet.” His chuckle was nervous—he’d

gotten himself into something, Clem might be right.

“If you wanted to kill yourself, it’d be a lot easier to just lay down on the

tracks!” a know-it-all yelled.

And so it was, with a good bit of pushing and jostling, the crowd worked

its way outside.

It was decided that Wendell would stand in front of the Great Northern

Hotel and Smoke would shoot his arrow from in front of the saloon, so the

summer’s late sinking sun was at his back and not in his eyes. Clem

walked through the crowd passing the hat, which filled to overflowing.

Smoke held the bow and took a last drink of whiskey (Clem had given

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Clem leaned in close to Wendell and Smoke. “Maybe we ought to wait on