This was new to Billy, but he was ready to go. As he sauntered down to the town, he felt the inside of his pockets. He felt the wad of cash in his pocket and happily pulled out his gun.
Once in the main street of Abilene, he realised that he had been missing more than he knew. There were cowboys everywhere, some he knew some he didn’t, and all of them were shouting, screaming, hollering and shooting guns into the air. Some staggered around drunk, others slumped against the wooden walls of the saloons and hotels. As Billy looked around him, he saw two cowboys walking slowly towards each other, hands over their holsters. As he watched, they started to shoot at each other. Billy turned away, cringing, and even as he turned he could see the undertaker scrambling quickly out of his shop carrying a tape measure. When he turned back around, he saw the marshal ride up on his white horse, dismount, grab the surviving fighter by the elbow and push him, still protesting, to the nearby jail.
“Hey cowboy!”
The shout came from somewhere above him. Billy looked up and round and noticed a large balcony above him.
“Yeah you, the guy with the Stetson!”
“What’s up?” Shouted Billy in reply
“You play”, hollered the voice back, “only we need a fourth player”.
“Play what?” Billy was confused, but he listened with enthusiasm.
“Poker of course!” A large man appeared in the doorway of the saloon next to him. “Come on, they’re waiting for you!”
“But I don’t play!” Billy objected.
“Oh you’ll learn quick enough”, protested the man in the doorway.
Billy found himself being dragged into the saloon. Once inside, he just stood and gaped.
“Never been in a saloon before?” The bartender was calling to him.
Billy went over and sat down at the bar.
“How can you tell?”
“Experience” came the answer, “I see a lot of guys like you. I’d be willing to bet that you grew up on a farm or homestead.”
“You’d be right!” Billy stared at the bottles of whisky and scotch lining the shelves behind the bar. The smell overpowered him and he coughed. As he turned round to clear his throat, he noticed the stage. On it, danced four hurdy-gurdy girls in large floaty skirts that were being lifted in all directions. Billy just sat and gaped.
“Whisky. It calms the nerves.”
Billy started. He turned and took the shot glass from the barman. He drank it in one gulp and asked for another.
The music was getting louder, and after the third whisky, Billy was ready for anything. Suddenly, he felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned to see the man who had dragged him into the saloon earlier.
“You playing then?”
“Sure, why not?”
They walked over to a table at which two others were shuffling cards. The older one looked up.
“Just go with your instincts” he said with a malevolent grin, “it’ll come natural! Trust me”
Billy pulled out the cash he had been given in his last pay package. The player opposite him started to deal.
By the time they had finished playing, Billy had run out of money. He had no possessions to trade. He staggered out into the street. As he swaggered through the mass of people out late, he started to sway. He eventually slumped down next to the bank and fell asleep.
Billy awoke soon after to find himself drenched in rainwater and looking up at the thunderous sky. The heat during the day had caused a huge storm to brew complete with lightning and thunder. Someone started to slap him as he drifted into sleep again and he awoke with a jump.
“Come on”, said an urgent voice, “Quickly, the Cattle are stampeding!”
Although Billy was inexperienced, he knew exactly what this meant. He got up quickly and felt the blood rush to his head. He was cold and wet, with a terrible headache, but he wasn’t going to let the cattle get away. They were worth a lot to the owners and could cost the cowboys their jobs.
He joined the crowd of cowboys already grabbing horses and riding towards the herds of rampaging cattle. He grabbed his horse from the stands and jumped on.
Even with the rain beating down and his head throbbing, Billy remembered exactly what to do. After riding for about an hour, he and many others finally caught up with the cattle. As a wrangler, Billy usually looked after the horses, and didn’t have much to do with the cattle, but as cattle were prone to stampeding, he had had a little experience with this sort of thing. He joined the flank riders and grabbed his rope from the side of the horse.
By dawn, the rain had stopped, but it was still relatively cold. There were many, many cowboys still following a huge stampede of cattle. The swing and flank riders had managed to get around the front of the herd and were trying to get them to turn round.
“Hey you with the rope!” Somebody was shouting to Billy. He recognised him to be the same Trail Boss that had been on the cattle drive with him the day before. As he rode alongside Billy, he called out, “Bill, get out in front, we need more people.”
As Billy rode out in front, his head started to throb. The whiskies of the previous night had taken over. He swayed over the horse, and as he tried to turn round, he lost his balance, slipped and fell from his horse.
“Help”
Billy cried out as he fell, but the noise of hundreds of cattle stampeding over the dust drowned him out.
Next morning, Abilene went about its business as usual. The only person even remotely remembering Billy, the young, lonely cowboy, was the undertaker, whistling happily as he counted the profits of the night before.
