Dicing With Death - Part 1

It was a normal day in the fine town of Tombstone. Folks were going about their business: working, praying and urinating into the horse trough outside the saloon.

But on the far side of town, where nobody ever goes, three cowboys had found something mighty strange. It looked like a dice, but why in tarnation was it so dang big?

They took it to the smartest folks in Tombstone to find out why. The blacksmith and the undertaker couldn't figure it. Even the schoolma'am, with all her fancy book-learnin', didn't know what to do.

"I'll take a hold of it," the sheriff said, gesturing with his pistol. "Make sure no varmints don't run away with it."

That night, the sheriff woke from a terrible dream. He dreamed that his legs were stuck to the ground, and that huge dice were rolling all around him, like boulders. And then he heard someone moving outside. Someone was creeping up on him.

He waited for the no-good son of a gun to show himself.

The sheriff leaped out quicker than a rattler on a prairie dog. The stranger was done up like some kind of sailor, all in special cloth, with a hat like he was keepin' bees.

"Don't shoot!" he cried, throwing up his arms.

"Huh," said the sheriff. "Seems you're as yeller as your britches, son. Now, tell me what the Sam Heck you're doin' out here, and where this big ol' dice came from."

"The dice come from far away," the man stammered. "But it's a long way from Tombstone."

"Well," said the sheriff, "turns out I can ride pretty well. I'll just fetch my hoss."