The Legend Of Snake Two-Guns
Bandit O'hara

 

1.


Welcome!
We seldom have any strangers here at this time of the year. You look cold. Why don't you sit down and get yourself something warm to drink, you look like you need it. You can join me here at the table, and if you don't mind spending two drinks or three, I might entertain you with some local stories. I grew up here, you know. Every single stone here is my friend. And there are a lot of stories to tell, some wild, some romantic, others funny or sad. Or violent. I have one for any taste. But my favorite is that of the infamous Snake Two-Guns. I guess you never heard of him in the big city, have you? It is about the biggest local myth we have here.
Just give me a whisky, it will take a while and speaking makes me always thirsty.

Alright, the man who soon gained notorious fame as the outlaw Snake Two-Guns was born under the flaming red sky of the Mexican sunset. He was baptized as Edward Gordon Sanchez in a church not far from the border to the Arizona Territory. His mother, Lynn, was a Christian teacher, offspring from a wealthy and noble family who had avoided involvement in the Civil War by moving to the young country. She gave up the luxury and the privileged life for the love of a man � and because she was pregnant. She got married to Pablo Sanchez, a skilled gunsmith, who gave up his job, as the religious belief of his young wife forbid her to live with a man who made "devilish tools of death". With the money they got from the sale, plus the savings Lynn had, they opened a saloon for the farm and ranch workers in a small border town. The only thing Pablo retained from his former profession was the rifle under the bar on which he insisted as well as his masterpiece - two twin revolvers, perfectly balanced and deadly accurate, each with a handle of fine ivory. He had named one Luck and the other Chance and their name was engraved on the barrel. He kept both in a wooden frame behind glass, and a small brass plate read

Luck and Chance for the Skillful Hand.


Much to the dismay of Lynn, Pablo announced at Edward's christening that his son would receive them one day.

Until Edward was five years old, the young family lived undisturbed and peacefully. The saloon proved itself as a true bonanza and the charming Lynn was much appreciated in the local congregation.
Then came the evening which was to change their course of life forever.
The saloon was the usual busy place with farmhands and cowboys wanting to flush the day's dust down their dry and thirsty throats. Nobody really cared for the strangers sitting in the corner of the room. Not until there suddenly were shouts and fists and broken glass and guns in the room. Pablo had calmed down many brawls before, if not by appeasing and authority then with his double barrel shotgun. Unable to make himself even heard by the suddenly violent crowd, he sent a shot to the ceiling trying to identify the root of the mess. His life lasted five more seconds when he jumped over the bar hurrying towards the strangers, four more seconds until two roses blossomed on his forehead and chest, abruptly ending the dreams of the young family. Pablo died with his shotgun in his hands, not even having seen the faces of his murderers.


Lynn took her five-year old, sold the saloon and returned into the bosom of her family which received her with some relief that this unfortunate episode was over. Edward was accepted without much enthusiasm, and behind his back and that of his mother, he was termed not seldom as the 'half-breed bastard'. But even if they had not underestimated how much a bright boy recognized of the things around him, he could have told by their faces. His mother tried to provide him with all the love she could find in her heart for him, but even though she considered him all that she had left from her beloved husband and though she even kept the two pistols for him, she also feared and prayed for his soul as she thought she would see some violent heritage in his eyes.

2.


Edward could later not regard his childhood as being a particular happy one, thus, it was of mutual interest when he was sent away to receive education in a better boarding school and subsequently signed up for the military. He had grown into a strong and handsome man, clearly showing his Mexican origin and a hint of aristocratic dignity he adopted by his upbringing. Especially his time in the military were golden years for Edward. He quickly got himself some reputation for his outstanding shooting skills, which soon gained him the nickname Snake, as his fellow soldiers admired him for being as quick and deadly as a rattle snake. His superiors appreciated him as a skilled and intuitive strategist. One could think he'd have a lot of friends around him all the time, but he carried in himself the melancholy and thoughtful loneliness of a denied and father-less child, keeping him isolated from the others. However, there was also another thing. There always seemed to be something dangerous around him, a fierceness that could not be tamed lurking behind his words, his gestures. You could never really pin it down, but it was there and sometimes it would strike from nowhere. Just like a Snake.

Snake retired from the military at the age of 27 and settled down in a frontier town where he found employment as a deputy, and not long after was elected the sheriff of this county. Snake kept the peace and was a respected member of the community, his air of danger and distance giving him a strong note of authority. For five years, Snake kept the peace, for five years it looked as though he had finally found his place.

Then, one night a group of seven masked riders come into town and started to rampage throwing windows randomly with stones they had brought with them.
Snake, alarmed by the noise like the rest of the village, was on the road in no time. He fired his Winchester into the air, causing the gang to turn their horses and face him.
For a moment both parties eyed each other warily keeping the tension between them. Seven dark figures, the brim of their hats covering what the cloth that hid mouth and noses had left free. Ghostlike shapes in the dark, stirring horses with nostrils blowing out steam in the cold. Snake knew something was wrong, but what was it? Bandits throwing stones at windows?
Suddenly the situation exploded as the smallest rider made a quick movement drawing a revolver.
Snakes are quick... and snakes are deadly. And over the bang of the shot Snake heard the agonized "Nooo...!" of a kid's voice. Within seconds he realized with horror what had irritated him...the riders seeming unusually small, their apparent nervousness when being confronted, the fearful looks they gave each other.... nothing fitted, now it all fell apart and eight-year old Billy dropped in slow motion into the dust, his toy gun still firmly in his hands.
The horrified screams of the remaining boys and the by-standing citizens echoed in Snakes head, cascaded to an unbearable inferno of voices hammering down on him, breaking on the inside walls of his skull....until he noticed that his own voice was the loudest of them all.

There was an investigation and a trial. The group of friends, bored with their usual games, had been eager to make 'something happen' and had talked young Billy into it with promising an adventure, even carving him a wooden pistol...
The boys got punished and Snake was released from all charges. Still he felt he could not stay in what he had considered his home for nine years. He knew he could not carry on with a life that involved violence and that had now brought grief and desperation to Billy's family. He would never forget how Billy's mother broke down in the court room, and the hateful look his father gave him.
Deeply shocked he renounced violence and destroyed or sold all weapons he had - all but the two pistols with the ivory handle. Luck and Chance was all he had left from his father.

3.


The tragic events of that night were a call of vocation to Snake. His mother had been right all the time. Weapons are the work of the devil. Had not his father found a violent death? Would not his life have been a happier one? Having dedicated the most part of his life to weapons as tools of killing and authority Snake saw only one way of washing his tortured soul clean and finally receive absolution from his sins... He had to bring the word of the Lord to those in need. He had to save souls instead of destroying lives. That was the only answer, the very message that was delivered to him by Death Himself instead of by an Angel of Mercy.

Snake crossed the border, returning to the country of his birth. He felt reborn into a new life where he would find peace in the love of God.
Snake started anew taking an education as a clergymen, and it was that time that love finally found him, like a reward from Heaven sending Mary-Ann to him. She was the one who understood him, who could drag him out of his loneliness and shatter that cage of isolation. For the first time Snake knew, he had arrived home. The Demon was defeated.
When Snake got his own congregation, Marc was three and little Emily had just been born. The young family moved into the small but neat house not far from the church. Snake preached the Word of the Lord, his Son and the Holy Ghost, he helped those in need of spiritual counsel and comforted those who lost loved ones, many of them by force in that unstable times.
Every Sunday, he spread the word that violence and killing was blasphemy in the face of the Lord, and that only those will find forgiveness who turn their back on bloodshed and pray for their souls for they have sinned. And that the Mercy of the Holy Lord will fall on those who dedicate their lives to love and care for their fellow humans.
Amen.

This way, six happy and peaceful years passed.


4.


They came on Sunday when Snake was preparing the service in church while Mary-Ann and the kids were still at home. They were seven, like the gang of the boys so long ago...

Snake was worried, when he did not find the faces of his family among the congregated citizens. He tried to calm himself down, inventing 1000 reasons for their absence, still none of them was really convincing. The time seemed to be at a standstill, though Snake tried to hurry through the service in order to escape from church which felt rather like a prison to him now.
When he had finally finished, he rushed past the crowd, ignoring the wishes to have a word with him on today's sermon, turning heads as he accelerated, vaguely nodding to his sheep.

He covered the few steps to his house almost running, then he stood, as he found the front-door open. Old gears jumped into place, old instincts, almost forgotten, set back in. Shadowlike he approached the house and sneaked in... he froze.
His family was there.
It is often said, that dead people have something peaceful about them, but there was nothing peaceful in this scene, that burned itself deeply into Snake's memory and would haunt him in his dreams for evermore.
There they were hanging, neatly lined up next to each other, their feet hovering like two foot over the ground. Their arms were spread, fixed with long steely bolts to the wooden wall behind them. Blood covering their lifeless body, the wall, the floor, it's smell forcing Snake to throw-up while sobs would not come... not yet. Their still open eyes were telling him about the pain and the horror they had experienced in the few last moments of their lives. And in their blood written above them stood "Where was your God when you took my son... You will be next."
Snake fell on his knees, the desperate outcry that finally came out of his mouth resembled that one of that kid who saw his friend shot. Crying and sobbing now paved their way, leaving him helplessly crumbled and shaking on the floor until his weak whimpering turned slowly, but increasingly into an animalistic roar of outrage and despair as the demon raised its fiery head again.

Hours passed... nobody came to look after the priest... maybe they all had their own little sorrows, maybe they did not care, maybe they were afraid, bewildered by his behavior after the service. He sat alone, rocking his body back and forth in desperate agony only watched by the dead eyes of what had been his family when he had left the house in the morning.
God had betrayed him...
He looked at the writing on the wall...you will be next...
Suddenly Snake went calm... the hot anger he felt gave now way to a coldness that filled up all of his soul..."Yes," he thought..."I will be next. But I will not go alone..."
Snake rose to get his father's pistols.

The day had passed and darkness had found the town when flames shot through the windows of the wooden house and consumed everything that Snake had considered all his life and happiness for such a long time.... and that now was gone for good.
The street soon filled with horrified citizens, lining up in a fruitless effort to extinguish the flames and save the already crumbling building.
Nobody took notice of the man that left the scene... and Snake went unrecognized.
Edward Gordon Sanchez died in the flames together with his wife and children.

The same night, Snake stole a horse and made his way over the border.

5.


The murderers of his family had made no secret of their identity and Snake knew exactly where to find them. He had no intention to hide himself.
It was noon when he rode down the main street of the village he had once sworn to protect. People stared at the dark man whose face they thought they remembered, but nobody greeted or made an attempt to speak to him. He had ridden for three days and nights and if not his wild appearance or the cold eyes in his unshaven face had not kept the people away, the stench surely would have.
Snake headed for the only hotel of the town, while he hardly noticed the people's glances or how they stuck their heads together and whispered. Good. Soon his enemy would get the word of his arrival.
Having reached his destination, Snake took a room for a week and left a notice to be delivered to the father of dead Billy-boy:




I have come to re-unite you with your son.
You can pick time and place.
Bring your friends and let's see, if you can deal with a single man.
You have shown that you can with unarmed women and children.
Rest in piece.

Snake




Snake knew they would come.
He knew the father of poor Billy would not let this provocation unanswered. And after all he knew, the man was eager to get him and finish the business. Well, not nearly as eager as Snake was.
He was not worried that his opponent would assassinate him from behind. A man who was not able to let his son rest in peace and even killed the family of the man he deemed responsible for the much too early death of his offspring would want to look that man in the eye when he took revenge. That was no matter of honor, just a matter of satisfaction.
The outcome would be a duel, and it was no question if the old man would bring some of his thugs with him. Of course he would. And of course Snake would not leave the place alive.
So, this was one last task he had to accomplish until he would see his beloved wife and children again.
Until then all he could do was wait.
Alone. Brooding in his hotel room, again and again pulling the silver amulet out of his shirt and opening it to reveal the last photographs of his family. The only link to his past now. All he had left. All besides Luck and Chance and cold hate.

Two days passed until the hotel boy knocked onto his door to present him an envelope.
The small piece of paper in it had only one line.

Friday at sunset. The old cemetery.


The old man truly had a sense for a dramatic setting.

6.


Friday meant three more days of waiting. Snake made the best he could out of the time. He strolled the roads, updating himself on any new additions to the town he once had known all too well. The old graveyard lay about one mile away from town. It was a place where the natives once had buried their dead and the settlers had continued that tradition until the local priest forbid to use the ancient heathen ground. Instead, the community now buried their perished in the holy soil next to the newly build church.
The old bone-yard was deserted and avoided. It was a creepy place, one that played the key role in the local ghost stories that transient visitors brought with them into all the region.
It lay on the top of a hill in the Arizona plains and was meanwhile overgrown by the sturdy brownish grass that grew into the broad horizon.
Nobody would disturb them here. Snake wondered if even anybody would come to collect the dead bodies this encounter would surely leave. Or if they'd rather leave them to be a feast for the vultures.
Snake patrolled the area every day. He needed to know every little detail of the place. Every stone he could use for cover. Every dip, he could disappear into. He knew the old man would not play fair. Luck and Chance might not be enough, Snake would have to use every little advantage he could find. He tried to figure out where they would come from and what was the best position to await them.

Friday finally dawned. Snake set out for his patrol one last time. He approached the hill when he suddenly froze and listened into the wind. Voices. Men cursing and laughing and the occasional cold noise of metal hitting stone.
Snake dropped into the grass. His military training and the reconnaissance paid off now.
Silently, ghostlike he crawled towards the scene. Three men with shovels came into view, two were digging, while the man, he dreaded so much, was directing them. How easy it would be to take him out right now, but Snake would not give him the gift of an easy death. Another pair was smoking a little aside, watching their Master and their buddies working. And two more were working crouched on the ground, fixing two pieces of wood together for a cross. That made them seven. Snake moved to a position where he could overlook the situation. The three were standing knee-deep in a hole which was a bit more than six feet in length. Soil was piled up next to it. A grave.
Snake's grave.

Snake retreated slowly. His mind working heavily. Seven men - at least - involved in this. He did not know if there were more, but seven already was a tough enough call. Snake knew he was a dead man walking, still he wanted to take out the whole gang. Nobody who spilled the blood of his family was to live. He would take them with him.
And Snake already knew how. If they wanted him in his grave, he would do them the favor. He would have prayed, had he known whom to pray to. He would have to rely on Luck and Chance.

7.


Snake returned when the low sun cast long shadows, but was still way from kissing the horizon. He sneaked towards the hole he might never leave again. He checked the surroundings. All deserted. It seemed even the coyotes avoided that godforsaken place.
Snake drew one of his revolvers before he peeked into the dark grave. He wanted to be sure that his enemy had not had the same idea he had. All clear.
He slipped into the hole and pulled the dark brown blanket he brought over himself. He melted with the ground around him, becoming literally invisible. From his hideout snake observed how the light around him grew darker and took the typical orange of the sunset in the prairie. He cocked his guns and waited.

He heard them coming. The wind carried the sound of their horses towards him. His ears followed how they dismounted. He tried to figure out how many of them had come. He was not sure. He had to wait. The footsteps came closer. He heard how the men wondered, if he had chickened out. He heard them making fun of his alleged cowardice. He heard, how they joked about his family and how they had screamed and pleaded before they died. But even that could not dispel the coldness he bore in his heart ever since he exploded in that desperate rage the day he found his loved ones dead. All rage and anger he would ever have felt in his entire life concentrated in that one moment. So he managed to stay calm. Waiting until the first two heads appeared over the rim of the grave...
His guns spat fire against their faces. Snake saw one head explode in a red burst while the other tumbled backward maybe two steps until he collapsed. Snake jumped to his feet, crouched until he could allow himself a quick look-around for orientation. He heard the surprised shouts of the others telling him their positions.
Obviously only the seven had come. Five more to go.
Snake rose out of his grave like a ghost. Luck and Chance sang their song unisono and their bullets found their target sending two other thugs to the ground, dead or wounded. The moment of surprise was gone and the counter-fire set in. Hot lead was now swarming around him like angry bees, Snake standing in the midst of the fire like an Avenging Angel from Hell. He gave one more as a present to the vultures. Where was the old man? Snake shot his sixth victim in the back when the man tried to flee in panic. Where was the old man?
Snake knew when he turned and faced the bastard aiming at him calmly with a Winchester.
He saw the puff of smoke just the blink of en eye before he felt the hot impact on his chest, sending him back into the grave behind him. And everything faded...

8.


Snake woke up with the taste of blood in his mouth and a raging headache that threatened to let his skull explode. Why was he still alive? Carefully he touched his chest where the bullet got him. Sharp edges of cold metal. It was already... or still ... to dark to see anything, but Snake's stomach was suddenly full with heavy lead. He knew what he had in his hands. And what probably had saved his life.
Snake rose slowly, testing his body. Apart from some bruises, that rifle hit and the subsequent fall into his grave had left him unhurt. He needed to know why.
Snake took a glance outside. He was alone with the bodies whose clothes were thrashing in the sharp wind. His last, his biggest enemy had left the place. He obviously had not checked if Snake was really dead. The old man had wasted the one chance he had.

9.


The horizon bore it's silver lining in the West when Snake started his way back into town. He must have been unconscious for an hour or two at the most. Snake had a pretty good idea, where his opponent would be. Now, after all the killing had been done. Now, that the old man thought he had his revenge, even when he had wasted six men's live for it. Being 'dead' gave Snake all the time in the world. And every step towards town brought him also closer to having the open debts finally paid. It took about one more hour to return to his room. Hurrying would make no sense in that situation. He knew the old man would stay all night at the place, where Snake suspected him. Snake waited until the door fell shut behind him, then he took of his coat and his shirt.... The amulet, the silver amulet with the only surviving pictures of his family, was no more. Instead dangling on the chain was a piece of shattered metal. Deformed and compressed beyond repair. The front side had a hole, the backside bulged out and was responsible for the black contusion on his chest. The bullet was a flat molten piece of lead that still stuck in the destroyed souvenir, amalgamated unto it. Snake stared. He felt how sobs were rocking his body, how hot tears were falling on his hand and the metal. He realized it, but still he felt distant, like it was not himself who was crying over those he lost. In this disconnected state all he could think of was that his family was sacrificed a second time and this time for saving his life.
Snake packed his things together. He would leave this place for good this night. But first he had some unfinished business.

10.

When Snake approached the small church, he knew he had been right. There was a faint light coming through the windows and the old man's horse was tied outside.
During his time as a sheriff here he had had some discussions on religion and belief with the old man. After all the blasphemy and revenge he had committed, the son-of-a-bitch now wanted to safe his soul. To wash his hands clean and beg for redemption and forgiveness. The town was a peaceful place and the church was open to the faithful whenever they felt the urge to talk to their God. Snake demounted and tied the reigns next to the horse of his opponent. He checked the old men's saddle bags. The Winchester was in its holster behind the saddle. The revolver belt with the colt was stowed in the right bag. Just as he had thought. The old men would not take weapons into a church. Not after what sins he had already loaded upon his soul.
Snake almost smiled when he moved to the door.

The church was quiet inside, the far side of the nave enlightened by dozens of burning candles.
Snake saw the old man kneeling in front of the masterful crucifix that was the local reverent's most valuable treasure and all his pride. He heard the murmured words of the old men, assumingly desperately praying for his soul. His last opportunity for presenting himself in a more favorable light, before he would actually go to meet the addressee.
Snake approached slowly, Luck in hand. His boots seemed to disrupt the silence with every step he made, but the old man did not move nor even paused in his prayer. Only, when Snake stood behind him, the old man spoke.

�Why do you disturb an old men in his mourning. Please go away, I want to be alone.�

�Because I have come to get you, old man.�

Now, finally, the old man jerked around. His eyes widened with shock and horror.

�You? No, that can't be. You are dead! I shot you!�

The old man tried to turn and flee, but with a quick move Snake grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and forced him back on his knees. The cold click of a pistol being cocked filled the room. Snake held the him tightly, the barrel resting on the back of the old man's balding head.

�Well, you were praying. Go on, I am interested in what you have to tell your God.�

�You will not shoot an unarmed man, will you? You have been a Sheriff. A man of the law. You have been a priest! You will not commit murder in a church, will you?�

There was panic in the old man's voice. Snake could feel no pity. He just felt disgust when he heard the murderer of his family begging for his own life.
The old man cried now.

�Please, don't kill me... have mercy with me old fool. You are a Christ...!!�

The old man's voice pitched. It was time to end this.

�I said pray!�

Between sobs the old man managed to press the syllables...

�Holy Lord, forgive me for I have sinned. Oh, my God...�

�There is no God around here for you. There is only me...�

The thunder of the shot tore the silence apart, spattering blood, bone and brain matter all over the crucifix. Jesus witnessed the slaughter with expressionless eyes.
Snake let go of the body that fell onto the floor with the sound of a wet pouch.
Still he felt no triumph, not even pleasure or relief. Numbness filled him instead. Numbness and weariness. He had expected to feel at least some change. But there was nothing. No distant echo of satisfaction for having taken vengeance. Maybe there was a cosmic law of justice, maybe there was a concept of honor somewhere that demanded revenge. But Snake knew that for him all had been in vain. Devoid of any sense. He was as lonely as he had been before and even more so, as his soul was now lost forever without any hope for deliverance. The way back into civilization was no longer open for him.

And this is where the story ends. Snake mounted the horse of the old men, leaving behind the one he had stolen in Mexico. The town people found a mess in the next morning and when they tried to put the pieces together during the next days and months the Legend of Snake Two-Guns was born. Some say, he set out into the mountains and lived there alone until he finally died in some cave, others say he went back to Mexico and started a new life.
Ask three people, you'll get three different versions. But all of them, tell the story of the man who came back from the grave. Many say it is because, Death himself was too afraid to take him. And if that was true, he might still be haunting the mountains or wherever he retreated to. Even until today, the local folk sometimes claim to have seen a dark figure with an air of cold danger that passed them by on the road or was seen on the horizon.
Nobody knows. All I can say is that until present day the grave that was dug for the priest that fell from God still lies open on the hill of the old graveyard.

THE END


      

 

 

Copyright © 2009 Bandit O'hara
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"