The Wicked Match in the Powder Barrel

In a town in a small, rural area in Ontario, a family with a long line of troublemaking taunted and aggravated everyone and anyone they wanted so much that the residents hated them enough to conquer the wicked with wickedness but justified it.

"You'll never beat those som'bitches. Whatev'r you got they want, they take it and beat you for having it first," Harley Langford said to the rest of the fellas at the coffee shop. 

"They need to be dealt with, and nobody needs to discuss how or why, do they?" Charlie Swanson said. 

"I don't know about that. We do that we're as bad as them, ain't we?" the preacher asked as he added sugar to his coffee. 

"Easy now, fellas, we got company," Harley said. 

The conversation went from what to do about those people to weather, crops, cattle and horses. Nobody gave Johanna or Jim a look when they entered the coffee shop together. The owner and missus were on edge, though everyone could see. And Jim had that bastard, ugly, fighting look, which made matters worse. 

"Morning, folks," he said as he and Johanna entered the shop. "We came for some eggs and bacon." He smiled at the old couple who owned the place. 

"Sure. How do you like your eggs? And will that be crispy bacon or what?" Dunwoody said. 

"Now, Dunwoody, you say Johanna doesn't know how to cook? We aren't here for you to cook for us; we came to take all your bacon and all your eggs," Jim smiled and looked around. 

Just then, the Sheriff Jim Platte came in. "Hope there's no trouble here this morning? Is there any trouble here?" he said.

"Nope," Jim said. "Dunwoody is giving us all his bacon and eggs all cause we're out at our house." Jim smiled at the lawman, who stood at least a foot lower than Jim. 

"Now, hold on a minute. That ain't how it works here. You just go on and get your own bacon and eggs, Jim. It's called farming. You ought to try it. Instead of stealing everything from everyone else," the men at the coffee round table stood with their guns drawn. 

Dunwoody pulled his Kong gun out and pointed it at them both, and the good sheriff had his gun trained on Johanna. 

"Now a wise man, Jim, Johanna, would just go before it gets ugly," Harley said. Harley was one of the few men in town taller than Jim and not easily intimidated since he had the strength of five men. 

"Well, I see how it is here. Johanna and I aren't stupid, so we'll go. But I have boys, and when all of us come around, y'all better hope y'all's together like this again, or someone's gonna die." He took Johanna's hand, and they left the shop. 

"We need to get our men together and kill those sonsabitches," the sheriff said. "Since that family came to town, everyone's on edge, and something was pinched by those boys and Jim," he said. 

"Don't let her fool you," Harley said, "that Johanna ain't any better." 

"Set up the meeting for this afternoon. Tonight is the night. Or it won't happen.," the sheriff said. 

The men put their guns away and strategized how to deal with these folks. They were to meet at three back at the coffee shop, but the owners were too close to be there. 

At three, every male in town filled the coffee shop. The meeting wasn't long. Each man grabbed a box of shells and a hooded garment. Just after dark, they would strike since Jim would be in the barns with his boys. The posse would attack those in the house first, and when the men came in to save them, they'd shoot them like fish in a barrel. 

Johanna called out the door, "Jim, boys, dinner in ten minutes. Hurry on up now with the chores, ya hear!" 

They answered, and that was it. No movement from the barn. The men from town entered the house and shot everyone they saw. Not one left standing. 

The barn doors opened, and Jim and his boys came out. They were picked off before they made it to the house. They dropped like lead balloons and hit the ground hard. One needed another shot to kill him, but Jim got him directly in his temple. 

The townsfolk gathered later to discuss the next steps regarding the bodies, house and barns. Each man took back what was theirs and then burned the barn to the ground. Once the house was emptied, they discovered a child hiding under a bed. A girl of seven or eight years old. They allowed her to live, and she went to live with relatives in another town. 

The house was burned to the ground, and the land was sold between neighbours on both sides who had endured the worst of Jim and Johanna and their family the most. 

There was no reason given for the deaths, and since everyone had on covered garments, nobody was able to identify any of the shooters. But every man from the town was there. 

"Doing it this way," the sheriff explained at the three-minute coffee shop meeting. "Otherwise, everyone would point fingers, and the wickedness of the wicked would continue since guilt would eat people up for taking another man's life. This means that everyone must fire their gun at the targets. Understand?" 

Everyone in the place agreed, and the sheriff adjourned the meeting. Nobody cared they shot a woman or children of such wicked people. 

They wrote on their tombstone when they put the family in the ground and a marker where they lay. 

Jim and Johanna Bristol and their family lie here. James, Robert, and Clay, along with sisters Mary and Sally. The most wicked of the wickedness ever seen in the town and the last of its kind. 

Two days later, the town was back to business as usual. Nobody blinked an eye, and relief played a huge part in the Sunday social, where everyone in town came out and enjoyed themselves—the first time anyone could remember since Jim and Johanna arrived in town.