Windy Butte, New Mexico

Just as his gun was being lifted out of his holster, my.45 was pressed against his throat. His bushy gray eyebrows raised in disbelief. "I recommend you just relax, or this gun might go off." He dropped his gun back into his holster. "Now hold on, maybe I'll reconsider I believe I will resign. Just don't pull that trigger. Please take that gun outta my throat?" "I will, but first I want you to listen to each word that comes out of my mouth, very carefully. Do you think you can do that?" I pushed the barrel against his throat a little harder. He barely nodded his head, indicating that he understood. "That's good. That's very good. Now, here's what you're going to do. You'll unpin your badge, and lay it on the bar. Then, you'll take your pistol out of your holster, and lay it on the bar. Do you understand?" "Take it easy. Look, I'm taking it off." He removed the badge and laid it on the bar. "Now, the gun." He reached down and lifted it out of the holster and laid it next to the badge on the bar. "Now, I would suggest that you mosey on down to the livery stable, saddle your horse, mount up, head any direction, leave town and don't look or come back! Ever! Understand? I would be very upset if one day I looked up, and saw your ugly face." "Yes, sir. I understand completely. I'm outa here!" With that, he walked out the door and started running toward the livery stable.