I guess it all began when old Aldiborontiphoscophornio (and not the one you are thinking of) rode into Mulch Gulch on the back of an ostrich. We don't get too many visitors in Mulch Gulch, and even fewer ride in on ostriches. As he rode in, people lined up to see this strange red-haired, bearded man with both hair and beard long enough to make him look like an Old Testament prophet. He even dressed strange-like: he wore one of them Scottish skirts, sandals, a white shirt and a leather vest. His hat was pale green. He rode up to my saloon, tied his bird to the hitchin' post, and walked through the swinging doors.
Maybe I should introduce myself. I'm old Bill Williams, and I run the Sixgun Saloon in Mulch Gulch. I've lived here all my life, and I ain't never seen anyone like old Aldiborontiphoscophornio before or since. An' I thank the Good Lord for it every night when I say my prayers.
"Howdy, stranger," I said. "Welcome to Mulch Gulch. Kin I getcha somethin'?"
"I would certainly hope so, my good man. But for now, I would rather enjoy a cup of your finest ale," he said.
"I'm all out of ale right now, Mister, but I do have some whiskey."
"I suppose that will have to suffice."
He sat down at the bar.
"Y'know, we don't get too many strangers here in Mulch Gulch," I said. "'Specially on an ostrich, dressed like you are."
"I should think not," he replied.
"What's your name, stranger?"
"You may call me Aldiborontiphoscophornio, my good man."
I swallowed. "Say that again?"
He sighed. "If you find that difficult to remember, I can tolerate being addressed as Al."
"Okay, Al. My name's Bill Williams." I held out my hand. He just looked at it. I pulled it back.
"Here's yer whiskey, Al," I said.
"You have my gratitude," he said, and sipped at it slow.
"Kin I get somethin' for yer bird?" I asked him, being sociable.
"No thank you. Azazel ate shortly before we arrived."
"Oh."
'Bout that time, Big Irving walked in.
"Whiskey," he grunted.
"Right, Irv." I got him his drink.
"Put it on my tab, Bill."
"You know I don't do that sort of thing, but heck, yer good for it. By the way, Al, that drink's worth a half dollar."
He tossed me a strange coin. "Keep the change, Mister Williams," he said. I looked at the coin. It was gold, it had strange foreign writin', it was gold, it was the size of a Mason jar lid, and it was gold. Or did I mention that?
"Thanky, stranger!" I said heartily, 'cause I was feelin' hearty.
"Do not mention it."
He made it sound like a threat.
At this point, I had to go to the cellar to get more whiskey, but some other folks in the bar told me what happened next.
"That's a right purty skirt, stranger. Why don't you get some real clothes?" Big Irv said.
"It's a kilt, my good man, worn by the Highland Scots for centuries."
"You one of them Highland Scots?"
"No."
"Then why the hell are you wearin' it? You a purty boy?"
"Watch it, Irv," said Mabel, my dancer. Everyone laughed.
"I wear it because it pleases me to do so."
Old Cory, he and his wife Phyllis are sheepherders, said, "Yeah, Irv. Jes like you like to wear lace panties under them leather britches..."
"Shut up!" Irv shouted, and with a menacin' glance at Cory and Al, he stalked out of the saloon.
Mabel walked over to Al. "Better watch it, stranger. That Irv's a mean one."
"I believe I can deal with him if necessary," Al responded.
"That's what Ed Kalvin said last year. Ed had a real nice funeral," Phyllis said. "Didn't even rain."
"I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself, good people."
"Meanin' no offense, Mister, but we don't give a damn what happens to you. We just hate to see Irv get too big for his britches. He's impossible to live with after he's gunned someone down," said Cory.
"I assure you that the potential occurrence of such an event will never be realized."
"Huh?"
"It'll never happen, my good man. Never."
About then I returned with the jug of the good stuff. "Well, now. Where'd Big Irv go?" I asked.
"He got mad at the stranger here and left," Mabel explained. "Cory didn't help matters none."
Al stood up. "Where is the best place to obtain a room for the next couple of days?"
"Right here, pardner. Only two dollars a night."
The stranger handed me another one of them strange gold coins.
"Where is the room?"
I led Al up the stairs to the best of my three rooms.
"Thank you, Mister Williams. I do not wish to be disturbed."
"Yes, sir."
He closed the door and I went downstairs.
"Sure is a strange bird," Cory remarked.
"What, outside on the hitching post?" asked Mabel.
"That, too."
Eventually, everyone went home. I was stickin' around to clean up. (Also I live in a room upstairs.) About an hour later, Al came down the stairs. He'd changed clothes. Instead of the ridiculous outfit he'd worn earlier, he had on something like a red and black choir robe. I assumed that was his nightshirt or something.
"Mister William, what, if I may ask, is 'Big Irv's' full name?"
I was startled, but I answered, "Er, Irving Bonn. Why?"
"The eternal question. Unimportant, my good man. Unimportant. I thank you."
He turned and went back upstairs. I stared after him fer a moment, and then I shrugged and finished dryin' up the glasses.
Th' next morning, I opened for business early. Big Irv came in and sidled up to the bar.
"Is that stranger still here, Bill?"
"Yep," I said.
"When’s he leavin’?"
"I dunno, Irv."
"He better leave soon."
"You scared of him, Irv?" Cory asked, comin’ in. Not a healthy question.
Irv stood stock still. Then he turned slowly and said through clenched teeth: "Would you step a little closer and say that?"
"Hey, Irv! No fightin’ in my saloon!" I reminded him.
Irv looked mighty upset for a moment, then sat down to drink. He didn’t say a word. Soon, Mabel and a bunch of other regulars were there. About a half an hour later, Al came downstairs, still wearin’ that robe. I decided it probably wasn’t a nightgown.
"Mornin’, Al. Sleep well?" I asked.
"I didn’t sleep. Eggs, please."
"How’d you want those done?"
"Surprise me, my good man." He sat down at a table.
I started scramblin’ up some eggs, an’ Big Irv’s voice rang out clear as day. "Wearin’ a dress now, an’ a right purty one, too."
Al just stiffened and ignored him. But Irv wasn’t about to leave him alone. He walked over to the stranger.
"This another outfit of them Highland Scots?"
"Actually, no." I noticed he didn’t add, "My good man."
"Now look, stranger, no one makes a fool out of me an’ lives to tell about it. I challenge you to a fight. You name time and place."
Irv stalked out.
Everyone was silent for a moment, and then Cory said, "When’s it gointa be? High noon?"
"You people seem to have a strange fascination for that hour. I myself have my own temporal preference."
"What’s that?"
Al turned to Cory an’ gave him a chillin’ smile. I was able to see it, too, and sometimes I can still see it in my nightmares.
"Why, midnight, my good man. Midnight, on the Hill."
The Hill. As in Boot Hill.
Al spent the rest of the day up in his room, stepping out only once to ask for a "bottle of anything, so long as it was about the same age as this Big Irv fellow."
"Why do you want that ?" I asked.
"No particular reason."
"Yeah, but it’s a right strange request!"
Al fixed me with a steely glare. "Religious reasons," he said coldly.
"Er, right." I gave him what he wanted, and he gave me another strange coin.
At about 11:30 P.M., dressed in a different robe that was completely black, Al emerged from his room again. He didn’t say a word to me, hopped on that bird of his, and went up to the Hill.
When I got there, a big crowd of people’d gathered ’round, nervously glancing at the tombstones, holdin’ lanterns and torches. Big Irv stood off by himself on a plot of ground that was free of graves, checkin’ his guns. Al sat on the ground near his ostrich, his eyes closed.
I checked my pocketwatch. It was 11:55.
I glanced at Al to see if he had any gun or anything, but I couldn’t see none.
People whispered nervously for about three minutes, until Al stood up slowly and then we all shut up.
"As the one challenged," he said, "I allow you the first blow."
Irv looked pretty confused, an’ I’m sure I did, too.
"No, Al," I says. "It’s a speed test. You draw at the same time."
"How quaint," Al said. "Very well. We shall begin."
They both stared at each other for a moment. The crowd was hushed. You could feel the tension. Then Irv pulled out a six-iron and fired twice.
Amazingly, though he had two big holes in his chest, Al just stood there an’ smiled--that same, chilling smile. Irv fired again and again with both guns, and still Al stood an’ smiled. Soon enough, Big Irv was out of bullets. He began to back away from the man who should be very dead, but wasn’t.
Suddenly, Al raised both hands high in the air an’ all the torches an’ lanterns went out. The wind picked up a bit, an’ I could hear Al shoutin’ in some strange language. In the moonlight, we could see him bring his hands together over his head and then swing them down in Irv’s direction.
And then we saw it. A stream of green fire shot out of his hands an’ Irv was thrown back ’bout twenty feet. He rolled down to the bottom of the hill an’ just lay there, smolderin'.
We stood around gapin’ as the stranger hopped up on Azazel and rode off into the sky, 'though I would've sworn the birds wings weren't big enough for it. The wind died down, the torches and lanterns lit up again, and several folk threw ’em to the ground.
I guarantee a faster exodus from anywhere ain’t never been seen.
Well, that was all ten years ago, an’ old Aldiborontiphoscophornio ain’t never been seen in these parts since, except maybe in the nightmares of the good citizens of Mulch Gulch. I swear, every word I just told you is true, an’ if it ain’t, may lightnin’ . . . er, well, let’s just say it’s true.