Nov. ‘24
COLD LEAD
Welcome to the world of Cold Lead! A Wild West zine containing stories of gunslingers and cowboys. This is sure to be a wild ride, thank you for your support we hope you enjoy this first issue.
Cole Stubbs was surrounded. The gang of outlaws had him caught, dead to rights. But he was wondering why they hadn’t just dry-gulched him. Why would they take the time to wake him up if they were going to kill him anyways? He thought as the three riders looked down at him from the opposite ends of their rifles.
They were a mangy lot, the big rider out front with the scraggly beard and bullet riddled hat spoke first. “Don’t you even think about making a move or we’ll blow your head clean off,” he snarled.
Cole’s gun belt was a few yards away from him near his saddle that he had just doubled as a pillow not ten minutes prior. Even if he’d managed to dive for it and draw, he’d be filled with lead at the range these outlaws were at.
“Well, seein’ as you fellers done me the courtesy of showing me your faces before putting me out of my misery, I was hoping to ask you one more kindness before I meet my maker,” Cole said calmly, quite unlike a man who feared his impending demise.
“And what’s that?” asked the scrawny one with missing teeth to his left.
“You mind if I build a smoke?”
“We do mind,” bellowed the big one again.
“Where are the others, and where is the loot?” the third man asked in voice that sounded more intelligent then his dusty demeanor let on. The big man was the muscle, but this man was the brains. The one who allowed the big man to think he was the leader but really pulled all the strings.
The scrawny one was a dime a dozen hangers-on type of outlaw who drifted from one outfit to another trying to prove himself. He was nervy and would likely shoot first from fear, he would likely be the one that Cole would need to take out first.
The smart sounding man showed his hand with his questions. He wanted to know where Cole’s partners Bill and Rig were and whether they’d indeed recovered the stolen gold from the Wells Fargo hold up the week prior.
They likely wouldn’t kill him until he gave them a satisfactory answer to one or both of those questions. Cole needed to draw this out a bit longer.
“My memory is a lot better when I’m dragging a smoke. My papers and tobaccy are all right there next to the fire,” Cole said making sure he slowly pointed towards the fire which would put him farther away from his gunbelt than he already was. This fact seemed like a reasonable trade off to the smart sounding outlaw because he spoke up once more. “Fine. Make it quick,” he said irritably. The scrawny man was now looking around the camp into the surrounding trees to see if he could spot Bill or Rig through the morning mist. His partner’s comment about their whereabouts was now more front of mind than Cole. The big man, however, was still focused on Cole.
Cole knelt slowly to pick up the leather sack that held the fixings for a smoke. He began building a cigarette carefully, keeping his eyes fixed on it as if he were truly savoring his last smoke. If things went south that actually might be the case, he thought. But Cole Stubbs had shot his way out of worse scenarios than this one.
“Get to talkin’ boy!” It was the big man again.
“Well as far as my partners go, I don’t know where they’re at. Rig likes huntin’ so they may be out lookin‘ for mule deer. I much prefer beef, so I’ll settle for this jerked stuff in a stew if it means I can sleep in a bit,” Cole said as he finished neatly wrapping the tobacco.
“And the loot?” asked the smart one impatiently.
“Oh that? We have it in a hidey hole roundabout these parts. You mind if I light this?” Cole asked. He took their silence as a yes, albeit a reluctant one. He knelt down, cigarette in one hand, leather pouch in the other. He lit the cigarette and stayed crouched on his haunches and took a long drag with his eyes closed.
In an instant, Cole scooped up some of the hot coals and ash surrounding the fire using the leather sack and threw it at the big man in front. The man’s horse reared up violently knocking him to the ground. Cole reached for the small pocket advantage he kept in his boot and took a single shot at the scrawny outlaw as he dove backward.
It hit the man’s chest and he was gone before he hit the ground. Once the only bullet was spent from the small gun, he grabbed the hunting knife that was tied to his thigh and threw it at the smart outlaw.
The knife flew straight and true, but the man was ready for it. He slid from his saddle narrowly escaping the blade and drew his gun before his feet touched earth. Cole didn’t have any more weapons so he dove once more to try and take shelter behind a nearby tree. As he flew, he heard two shots in quick succession. Then all was silent.
Cole opened his eyes and patted his body to check for any bullet holes. None.
“Cole? You breathin’?” It was the familiar raspy voice of his friend Bill Huston.
“I do believe I am,” Cole said as he stood to his feet with the lit cigarette still in his mouth. Cole looked to see that all three outlaws had been taken out as Rig and Bill emerged from some brush about thirty yards away.
“If I’d’ve known we was being hunted, I wouldn’t have gone hunting this morning,” shouted Rig. The men laughed.
R.A. Ingram is the author of the Marshal Maverick Adventures series and the producer of this little zine.
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Copyright R.A. Ingram 2024