KIOWA Oil and Gas 2 : 1921 FORD PICK - UP

The summer of ´26 found Ty McLeod both discharged from the Army and running from the mafia gangs of the East. So, he was given an ultimatum : ride West or die. He read in the "Dearborn Independent" (Henry Ford´s newspaper) that, driven by the growth of the automobile industry, the total U.S. pipeline mileage grew to over 115,000 miles. Most of it sprawled across the West.

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The Morgan brothers follow the little ´21 Ford pick-up rolling into their gas station.

" Know that guy drivin´ in ? "
" Never seen that pick-up in these neck of the woods."
" Good pick-up though. "
" That´s a drifter´s ride, Morty. I´m 'a git my shotgun "


Ty McLeod pulls the brake bringing the pick up to a jolting stop. Like a lazy spider crawling out of a tin can he steps out, one long leg at a time, and stretches his skinny frame, reaching for the clear blue skies. He looks up, way up, holding his cowboy hat as he takes in the majestic Colorado Mountains. Row after row of gargantuan stone peaks enclose the Watchatee Valley.Morty rises from his rocking chair and slowly walks over to the pick up.

"Hi there, stranger. Welcome to Smokey River", he says, holding out his hand. Ty looks around and dusts off his jeans. He stares at the gas station sign over the small house.
"You folks the Morgan Brothers?"
"In the flesh. This here is my brother Dusty. I´m Morty"

Dusty tips his hat from the porch, a suspicious look on his face.

" I want some gas" snaps Ty.
"If you ask politely..." hollers Dusty from the porch, narrowing his eyes.
"Now, now, Dusty," says Morty in a shaky voice, trying to calm his older brother down
"the young fella ain´t lookin for trouble, just wants a lil´ gas".

Morty smiles raising his eyebrows, his "Coolidge 4 President" campaign button fastened to his denim overalls.

"Well if he asks nicely he´ll get it!" Dusty holds his shotgun on his lap.

Ty freezes on the spot as if 10 million volts were shooting through him. He stares at the old man and cocks his head, as if staring at some oddity in a petting zoo.

"I know ya didn´t just say that ol' timer" moans Ty as he slowly walks to the porch and up the steps, hands on his hips, defiant.

"I know ya weren´t talkin ta me , were ya ole' timer ? "

Ty cooly tips back his tattered straw hat as he leans on the porch railing.

"Oh, I ain´t been polite enough fer ya ?" he asks mockingly.
" Maybe I should change my ways just for a couple of old faggots in the middle of nowhere."
"Why you no good..." Old man Dusty reaches for his shotgun next to his rocking chair.
"Dusty no!!!" screams his brother, raising his hand and running to stop him.

The gunshot blast echoes through the valley, over the trees, across the river, and up into the mountains. Dusty slumps over, falling off of his rocking chair, a hole where his tired, wrinkled heart use to be. Ty slips his .22 back into his boot and lazily walks over to Morty, shoving him back in his chair,

"Morty is it ? Well, Mor-Teee" Ty sniffs, looking around, "You heard of self-defense, right, old feller ?" Morty nods, his face twisted in sorrow, his lips shaking in anger."Well if you haven´t, that was it right there...Heck! the ole man´s got his very own finger prints on his shotgun and everythin´." He lets out a chuckle, shaking his head in amazement. "And finger prints are nine-tenths of the law, granpaw."His eyes widen in amusement. "Ha! That even rhymes old timer!!! Nine-tenths o' the law, granpaw!"Morty looks at his brother´s dead body lying on the porch. "Get up, Dusty" he whispers."Look at me when I´m talkin to ya, ya old ****!" Ty yanks the old man violently by his collar."Now you´re gonna sit yer *** down on that chair yonder, and watch me fill up with gas and take the money from yer register and then, and then blow yer brains out, got it ?" He lets out a bone chilling howl that echoes through the woods and down the roaring Smokey River. "Cuz ,ya see, we´re gonna make like old Dusty over there went crazy and tried to shoot me but I had to shoot back in self-defense." Ty raises his eyebrows like he´s thinking. "But that leaves you, dudn it. Well let´s just say you got yerself caught in the cross-fire, right, Morty?". He let´s out another thunderous banshee-like yell as he takes his gun out of his boot."Man Murders Brother, Kills Self" He says to himself as he cocks his .22, "Love the sound of it already!"A thunderous wave of industry is now rolling West again like a freight train, Ty Mcleod on it like a bull rider.