Supratentorial Dust Storms and Tumbleweeds

Talk is Cheap (talk)

10-year-old Willy burst into his office in such a frenzy, that Sheriff Mendelsohn couldn't get a coherent sentence out of him. No matter. Willy's ma, Sophie–a widow–ran The General Store and everything bad that happened in the town of Locution always seemed to happen there. When Mendelsohn had sat cradling Sophie's husband as he bled to death, gunned down by bandits, he pleaded for Mendelsohn to look after his wife. 

Mendelsohn ran after the boy across the dusty main street, the only street, of Locution. The heat of the noon sun was holding most of the folks hostage indoors. The few horses hitched up outside the saloon swatted flies with their tails and kept their noses deep in the cool water trough. A faint breeze pricked the back of Mendelsohn's sweaty neck. He glanced across the barren dry fields beyond the town and noted the dark clouds forming along the front range. 

A storm's a brewing, he thought. 

Mendelsohn paused to catch his breath and straighten his shoulders before facing whatever was going down inside The General Store. He noted the impeccably polished leather saddle on the fine black stallion alongside the building.  The horse whinnied.

"Got something to say?" asked Mendlesohn. He didn't wait for an answer, but kicked in the door pistol raised. 

He didn't interrupt any action, everyone in the shop stood deathly still.  Except Harrison who always sat in a chair by the door reading the paper since the time he'd mouthed off to the wrong fella and gotten his back broke. He remained sitting. A tall stranger in black mask and cape stood at the counter. Mendelsohn caught the glint of three gold coins beside the register. Sophie stood frozen behind the counter and Mendelsohn could tell by the sway of her skirts her youngest child, who hadn't even spoken his first word yet, had buried his face in them. 

Beside Sophie stood her father, Al, with wild gray hair and a toothless snarl. He wore only a shabby red union suit. No doubt he was three sheets to the wind. In shaky hands, he held a shotgun pointed at the stranger's head. Al was shouting at the stranger but the liquor had done pickled his brains years ago and all that came out was nonsensical babble. 

Mendelsohn strode over to Al and lowered the butt of the gun. Then he turned to the outsider and looked him up and down trying to suss out what he was after. 

The stranger, maintaining utmost grace and dignity, produced a leather drawstring pouch and dropped it on the counter next to the gold coins. Mendelsohn gulped. He'd never seen that much money before. The town could really use that money. Certainly Sophie more than anyone, with so many mouths to feed and no husband. Maybe she was considering selling whatever it was the stranger was asking for. The town wouldn't judge her, no matter how sinful the sale.

"What tha'd feller ask you for that he'd pay that much," pipped up Harrison from his seat. Leave it to Harrison to ask a nosey question.

"Words," said Sophie, softly looking at the floor. "He wants to buy all the words in this town." At this Al got all riled up again and began frothing at the mouth. Mendelsohn ripped the shotgun out of his hands.  

"But talk is cheap!" protested Harrison. 

Harrison had alway been slow witted, but Mendelsohn immediately appreciated the significance of the stranger's request. The black cloaked man wasn't from these parts and he was more evil than Mendelsohn had guessed.  Words! The years of humiliation and shame he'd fought so hard to overcome flooded Mendelsohn.

He lifted his pistol and aimed it at the intruder's head. "Your mmm...mmm...money ain't nnn...nnn...no good in this town," hissed Mendelsohn. "So you best ggg...ggg...git."

The stranger stared at Mendelsohn long and hard. Then he turned swiftly on his heel and left the store. Mendelsohn followed him to the door and watched as he mounted his stead and disappeared in a puff of black smoke.