Young Writers Society

I never really written a western type story. This chapter pretty much describes the main character and holds explanations for the rest of my story. Let me know how it is!

Chapter 1

He was the best sharpshooter in the country, yet no one knew who he was. Every boy had hopes of shooting just like he, being just as sneaky, just as strong and agile, just as cool. Every girl dreamed of meeting him, of being swept off her feet by the one and only, falling in love with the bravest man of all times. Yet, no one knew who he was.

He was called the King. No one knew where the name came from, how it was thought up, why it was given to him, but it was appropriate, so it stuck. He was the King of kings, the Lord of lords, the Sheriff of sheriffs, the Bravest of the brave.

I dreamt of the King, dreamt of having such skills as he. The legends always intrigued me, how he was so skilled. I always wondered if the King was real, however. I have heard how he saved countless people, how he showed up to shoot the bad guy then run away to hide himself once again; yes, I wondered if he really existed.

My father was the sheriff of our small town of Ranger, looked upon with such respect from its people. Sheriff Beauregard Locksley was, sure enough, the best around these parts. No one expected the legendary King to show up at this small town, a town with a population of fifty-four. He had better cities to save. Besides, my father was skillful enough to defend the little people here.

His deputy, Deputy Luke Woods, was a funny man. I always enjoyed being with him when visiting my father’s office. He was a tall man with brown hair hidden under his black cowboy hat with a golden cord wrapped around on top. He wore round glasses on his nose and his uniform was of black from waist down and a blue shirt on top. He wore a badge on his shirt, though not as splendid on my father’s.

Luke Woods enjoyed his job as deputy of my father. He greeted everyone in Ranger with a hearty hello, a tip of the hat, and a funny, yet friendly, smile on his face. He was loved by everyone of the town, considered a friend by every resident. I noticed this when I was ten years of age.

My father did not receive such welcome. When he walked down the road and someone greeted him, he would only grunt and move on. When there was a fight in the bar, he would only shoot his gun to the ceiling and let the men leave, claiming it to be a misunderstanding. When a lady was in trouble, he would only pull the man away and shove him down the road, saying ‘better luck next time, lover boy.’ Yet he wore the badge of a sheriff and, therefore, no one could do anything about him.

The mayor of our city, Ms. Abigail Clark, never paid much mind to this. To tell the honest to God truth, I didn’t think she cared. The only thing she cared about, I noticed, was her money and my father. She was a beautiful woman with shiny brown hair and wore the most stylish of clothes, heels everyday, red lipstick on her lips to match her pink blush. It sickened me.

My father, however, fell for her every whim. My mother died at childbirth, so he was a widowed man, a bachelor once again. I didn’t want him to remarry, however. Every woman I saw was a friend, nothing more. I could never give her a hug good-bye when moving out, could never take orders from her when doing chores. If any one, Ms. Clark would be the last of them to marry.

She was young, as young as twenty, while my father was thirty-three. I was thirteen when I noticed something between the two. I started staying away from my father, sticking to Deputy Luke until I felt ready to confront my father about her. I knew a pretty lady like her could not be good news, especially for my father.

I had a close friend while growing up, besides Deputy Luke. Booker Davis was my friend throughout the years. He was a black man, tall and burly, strong for those of his age. I was white, tall, but not as tall as he, dark hair, and agile. I was fast and tricky, for my hero was the King.

Book and I would always ride out on horseback, playing cowboys. We always pretended one was the thief, the other the sheriff. I was usually the sheriff for I knew how they worked, how they caught the bad guys. Book was always the thief, for anyone could commit a crime. The only difference is how it’s committed, and Book was very creative.

One day as we sat in the saloon, drinking with Deputy Luke on his break, the conversation went to the King. How excited I was to talk of him! Deputy Luke had another legend to tell us and I was all for it, full attention drawn to him.

“Well, Boston Shoemaker, a boun’y hunter of sorts, was ridin’ his horse down the dusty road,” Deputy Luke said though his southern accent. “He was chasin’, chasin’ after his target, a thief who stole from the Centra’ Bank of the city of Shamrock, the Big City, right? Anyway, Shoemaker was gainin’ on ‘im, followin’ ‘im off the road and into the surroundin’ trees. That was when he was trapped! He was suddenly surrounded by three guys, two of them appearin’ out of no where.”

Book and I sat on the edge of our seats as he told the tale, awaiting the next scene to be told. “Well, Shoemaker could easily take on two, but the thief held a gun in ‘is hand, pointin’ at Shoemaker. He was trapped, had no where to go, until the thief looked away at the sound of rustlin’ leaves among the trees near and above.

“Shoemaker took ‘is chance. He fought the two men, knocked ‘em to the ground with punches and kicks ‘til they were bruised ‘n’ unconscious. He turned to the thief, but he raised his gun again, threatenin’ to shoot. They stood there for a long time, then the thief started backing away to make ‘is escape. Shoemaker was just thinkin’ up a plan to catch ‘im again when there was a gunshot and the thief landed, face firs’, into the ground. He didn’ move at all.

“Shoemaker looked up ta see who shot the bulle’, but all he saw was a black shadow fleeing from the scene. Shoemaker looked at the thief. He wasn’ dead, but was severely wounded and could be saved by the doctors. An’ that, my friends, is yet another save by the King, another guy shot, ye’ not dead, a man named Boston Shoemaker who became five hundred dollars richer.”

I asked him questions about the King’s shot. How far away was he? How close to the heart was it? Was it an accident to not kill him or did he want him to live? This last question I knew the answer to. He wanted the thief to live. I supposed he did not like killing people, did not believe in murder.

When I was sixteen, my father sent me to college, a university in which he expected me to learn about the law and such, to become a good citizen and sheriff if I wished to take his place in Ranger.

I was off to a most rocky start. I could hardly read, yet here I was, expected to know words such as ‘constitution’ and ‘permitted’ and ‘discipline’. I knew ‘law’ and ‘allowed’ and ‘get in trouble’. I was given a tutor, a female to my most unfortunate self. She stuck to me like glue as she taught me these higher level vocabulary words and more words I knew were not allowed to be spoken, though never heard of.

I was at the college for six years because of my lack of knowledge, but I passed at age twenty-three, the tutor left after two dreadfully long years. I left as soon as I could for Ranger, excited to see the familiar and friendly faces of the town.

My father was forty-three, still a healthy, working sheriff of Ranger. He was pleased to see me in my brown suit and blue shirt, dressed up as if a I were a lawyer. I most wanted to see Book and Deputy Luke, but my father instead pulled me into his office. This was fine, I thought, then I could see my friends afterward. However, there was one other in the office, and I wished I could disappear on the spot for my face flushed hot red.

Abigail Clark sat on my father’s desk, legs crossed, sitting most attractively on my father’s papers and desktop. She smiled at me, white teeth gleaming against her tan skin. I nodded with respect, but did not smile or give any show of likeness.

“My, my, so this is your famous Bradley Locksley?” she said smoothly. She slid off of the desk and walked up to me. If my math was correct, which I knew it was, she was thirty years old, seven years older than I. This gave me an excuse to feel uncomfortable around her as I did my tutor six years ago. Her baby blue eyes bore into mine as if she were reading my mind, yet giving me such an affectionate look, I wished I could run away and seek sanctuary in the beat-up chapel down the road.

“Yes, my son was sent to college, if you recall, ma’am,” my father said, standing proudly behind his desk, chin up. “I received letters indicating he excelled in his studies remarkably after a couple years of tutoring to catch up with the rest.”

“Yes, tutoring,” she said with slight distaste. She turned and walked back by the desk. She leaned over the desk, muttering to my father whose eyes were not looking into hers, but elsewhere. I flushed of embarrassment and was about to sneak out when Ms. Clark turned around again. To my horror and fright, I saw my father leave from behind his desk and out the door without a glance at me, but a somewhat jealous look on his face. The door slammed shut and I was left alone with Ms. Clark.

“Ms. Clark,” I said respectfully, “where is my father going?”

“Oh, don’t call me Ms. Clark,” she said, walking up to me, taking a breath that seemed to have enlarged her chest. “If you are to be the new deputy of Ranger, you ought to call me by my real name, Abigail.”

“New deputy?” I repeated with shock and backed away uncomfortably. “Ms. Clark, I’m only fresh out of college! Shouldn’t I take a smaller job than that?” I really did not want to replace Deputy Luke for he was an amazing deputy already and I would only make a mess of things.

“Deputy Luke is a disappointment,” she said coolly, turning away from my with disappointment herself at my cowardly actions. “He does not exceed your father’s exceptions and, therefore, is a waste of a deputy. You, however, being your father’s son, will prove a great addition to our police force.”

I glared at her. “I will not replace Deputy Luke,” I said coolly, courage building up inside of me. “However,” I said quickly, seeing Ms. Clark’s eyes roll, “I will accept the roll of helping my father.”

“You mean a sidekick?” she said with, yet again, distaste.

“Ms. Clark, I will not replace Deputy Luke,” I said firmly. “If you want my help, I will like to help, but I will not become an officer until I have earned the position.”

She considered my offer and I watched her carefully, my brow furrowed. Soon enough, she walked up to me so we were almost nose to nose, I taller than her now after these long years apart. She said softly, and sweetly, “Then call me Abigail.” She kissed her fingers then put her fingers to my lips and left the office with snotty grace and beauty. I was left frozen to the spot, rethinking what I just done.