The Gunman Twirled His Gun To Show Off... The Old Man Sighed 'Put That Toy Away, Son. Or Get Hurt.'

Video Description

Pride comes before the fall, they say, but in the dusty saloons of the Old West, pride often came before a bullet. The stranger walked into McAllister's Saloon like he owned the whole Montana Territory. Couldn't have been more than twenty-five, with a pearl-handled Colt gleaming at his hip and a smile that said he'd never lost at anything in his short life. The kind of young gun who practiced his draw in front of mirrors and counted his kills like poker chips. Old Samuel Creed didn't even look up from his cards. He'd seen a hundred like this one, maybe more. Boys who thought a fast draw made them men. The whiskey-soaked floorboards of frontier saloons were stained with the proof of how wrong they usually were. The youngster made his way to Creed's table, spurs jingling with each deliberate step. The piano player's fingers stumbled over the keys. Conversations died like candle flames in wind. Even the two ladies who worked the room backed toward the bar, their practiced smiles fading. That's when the stranger did it. Standing right there, three feet from where Samuel Creed sat studying his cards, the boy pulled his Colt and started twirling it. Fancy spins around his finger, flipping it, catching it, showing off like a circus performer. The nickel-plated barrel caught the afternoon light streaming through the dusty windows, flashing like lightning. Samuel finally raised his eyes. The old man's face was weathered as drought-cracked leather, mapped with lines that told stories the young gun couldn't begin to read. He sighed, long and weary.