The Spurs of JML

By Paula R. 


Disclaimer:  Lancer doesn’t belong to me – there is some legality referring to a copyright, etc.  I wouldn’t hesitate to take them if they were offered to me, especially one dark-haired, blue-eyed former gunfighter.

Note:  This offering consists of six one-hundred-word (including titles) drabbles.  I wrote these over a year ago and forgot about them.  These drabbles are not beta-ed, so any and all errors are my own.  Any and all feedback or constructive criticism is welcome. 



Part One:  Johnny Madrid -- The Gunfight 

The jangling of his spurs marks his progress along the boardwalk and into the street.  The sunlight glints off the rowels as he takes his place across from me.  He takes his time to pull a leather glove onto his left hand before turning to face me, flashing a cold smile.  I’ve heard that Johnny Madrid is known to use the spurs and that smile to unnerve his opponent. 

It’s all over in a flash. 

He walks over to me, kicking my gun away; and the last thing I see is his spur. 



Part Two:  Scott 

I hear the jangling of spurs as he approaches.  He’s in no hurry although he knows I’ve been waiting for him.  Each footstep is marked by the metallic clinking of the spurs.  I wonder how many men, waiting for Johnny Madrid, listened to the sound, anticipating the confrontation to come as the jangling came nearer.  Did it chill their blood; did it make them sweat knowing the jangling announced the approach of Johnny Madrid? 

The jangling of spurs announces his approach.   I smile as my brother, Johnny Lancer, walks up and puts his arm around my shoulders.



Part Three:  Teresa 

The jangling of spurs announces his approach.  He’s been working hard, trying to please Murdoch. 

Sometimes I fear he won’t come back when he goes out the door, spurs jangling in a static rhythm – the noise the spurs make as he storms out after an argument with his father.  I feel out of sorts when I hear that angry sound fading away as he crosses to the barn.  It won’t be until I hear the musical jingle of his spurs when he returns that I begin to calm.  That’s when I know my “brother” has come home.



Part 4:  Murdoch 

The jangling of his spurs announces his approach.  There’s a musical quality to it.  Marking time with his footsteps – a rhythm that seems to echo my heartbeat.

It can also be an annoying sound.  Staccato footsteps, hard downbeat of his heels, clanking spurs, indicating he’s angry or in a hurry.  The sound seems to set my nerves on edge…or is it the thought that he may be heading into a dangerous situation?

I listen to the jangling of his spurs.  The sound that is reassuring to me.  For it tells me that my son, Johnny is home.



Part 5:  Jelly 

The boy’s spurs hang on a peg.  It’ll be a while before they jangle agin.  I tole ‘em my elbow was signalin’ somethin’ bad was gonna happen.

He rode out on that green-broke horse ‘cause his own horse, Barranca, pulled up lame.  Scot was with him and saw the horse spook and throw Johnny.  The boy fell on his shoulder dislocatin’ it and hit his head on a rock.

Doc Jenkins says he’s gotta stay in bed a few days.  I gotta go now to take my turn keepin’ him there.

Them spurs’ll be janglin’ again soon.


Part 6:  Johnny 

I spin the rowel of my spur.

“Murdoch, my spurs are tools I don’t like using, but I wear ‘em should I need ‘em.”

I pull my gun from my holster, holding it so he can see it.

“Like my spurs, my gun’s a tool I don’t like to use, but I want handy if I should need it.”

“You won’t need either of those ‘tools’ at the dance,” Murdoch says scowling at me.

I smile as I think about the filly I’ll be with after the dance and how even my spurs ain’t gonna tame her.





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