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The first, "The Cold Handed Gun" is my own. Though labeled as fiction the story is taken from one of the many tales told about and by my grandfather.

THE COLD HANDED GUN
by
Jason Carr

The cold wind whistled across the Texas plain, howling its way past the cabin on the knoll. Built to withstand Indian attacks, it was constructed of whole logs, with heavily shuttered slits for windows and only one door. Furthermore, its prominent location afforded those inside a clear view of anyone who tried to approach undetected.

From his hiding place behind a huge rock,. Ranger Jim Webster warily eyed the bare expanse of ground leading to the cabin and then glanced up toward the huge moon that was just starting its nightly flight across the sky.

Once more he searched the barren earth with an experienced gaze and reconfirmed his previous opinion - not a spot of cover anywhere! Shaking his head in resignation, Jim turned up the collar of his heavy jacket and proceeded to unbuckle his gunbelt. He carefully folded the strip of leather and laid it behind the rock, unconsciously hoping he would be alive to retrieve it later.

There were times when being the youngest Ranger in the band was not ideal and this was definitely one of those occasions. His youth and stamina was the reason he had been selected for this task.

Once more he glanced up toward the sky, praying that the clouds playing tag with the moon would hurry and give him some cover.

Remembering that his blond hair would stand out like a lantern beacon against the blackness of the earth, caused him to pull his dark, wide brimmed hat down tightly onto his head. The wind, ignoring the presence of his woolen britches, pushed its cold breath against his thighs and licked at the nervous dampness along his spine.

Jim hefted his huge Colt .45 in his hand, biding his time. His silent prayers were answered when the cloud edged the moon and the shadows became deeper. Without a whisper of sound, he dropped onto his belly and began to slowly crawl up the hill.

Even though Jim�s progress had to be nerve-wrackingly slow, his thoughts raced. At the governor�s special request he and the other Rangers had tracked the blood-crazed Donovan gang - Curly Jack, Slim Barnes and the Brady brothers - for almost two months.

Thick clouds were building to the south. Would they arrive in time to help hide him? He shivered. It was so cold. An hour passed. He decided to move. He crawled forward, gaining not more than a foot of ground before stopping to listen.

Another hour passed and it seemed as though the distance to the porch of the cabin grew further away rather than closer. And the cold was seeping into his bones. At last, the clouds obscured the moon.

Once more he paused. He cautiously lifted his head and scanned the remaining 50 feet to his destination. A sound drew his attention - snoring! He was so close now, he could hear the men�s sleep sounds. Another sound! Someone was walking cross the cabin floor. Immediately he lowered his head and hid the paleness of his face beneath his hat. Jim also realized the wind had stopped howling but it was growing colder by the minute.

He edged forward, using his elbows as levers. Finally he reached the place he wanted. Ten feet in front of the only door to the cabin he stopped. Plating his toes firmly against the ground, he spread his elbows and, taking hold of the huge Colt with both hands, he brought it to bear on the doorway. Then he began the hardest part of his assigned job - waiting until daylight.

Jim ignored the cold dampness flicking his hand until he realized the landscape was turning white around him. It was snowing? And there was nothing he could do! Retreating now was out of the question.
Jim braced himself and waited. It was so cold� so cold. The snow began to pile up; soon half of his body was covered. He tilted his head so the wide brim of the hat would cover the hands holding the gun. His body actually hurt with the cold; but he waited. So cold� so sleepy. Mustn�t sleep. Not Rangers� plan.

A noise from the cabin roused him. The men were stirring. He painfully raised his head and waited. He was so cold his stomach didn�t even both to growl when he smelled coffee boiling and bacon frying.

The door to the cabin finally opened and the members of Curly Jack Donovan�s gang stepped onto the porch.

"What the..?" cursed Curly Jack when he realized he was looking down the barrel of a huge .45.

"Don�t move, Donovan, or I�ll fill you full of lead." Jim wondered if that horrible croaking sound had been his voice.

Any thought of escape the gang might have had quickly evaporated at the sight of ten Rangers racing toward the cabin with guns drawn.

Two of the rangers lifted Jim to his feet.

Captain Parmer walker over and clapped Jim on the back. "Good work, Ranger. This will do down in the books, how we took one of Texas� meanest outlaw gangs without firing a single shot. You are a brave man Webster."

"B-b-brave, heck," stammered Jim through his chattering teeth. "I-i-t wasn�t b-bravery. M-my hands are frozen onto t-the g-gun. I-I couldn�t h-have p-pulled the t-trigger if m-my l-life had d-depended on it."

***
The End