Cowboys

Clarence ducked behind the wooden trough. He dodged to the side, firing his trusty revolver. He saw the spray of blood, hot and red. He shouted in triumph only to dart for cover when his shots were unexpectedly returned.

“I shot you, Black Bart! You’re dead!” he called.

“I’m tired o’ losin’,” snarled Black Bart. “I wanna win this time.”

“You’re wearin’ the wrong color hat.”

“How ‘bout we go’n be spacemen agin? I di’n’t mind them tentacled fellers so much.”

“The ship’s broke, Bart. You know that.”

“What if we was crash-landed?”

Clarence considered. “I s’pose,” he said reluctantly.