The Old Prospecter

An old prospector shuffled into town leading an old tired mule. The old man headed straight for the only saloon in town to clear his parched throat.

He walked up to the saloon and tied his old mule to the hitch rail. As he stood there brushing some of the dust from his face and clothes, a young gunslinger stepped out of the saloon with a gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. The young gunslinger looked at the old man and laughed, saying, ‘Hey old man, have you ever danced?’

The old man looked up at the gunslinger and said, ‘No, I never did dance, — just never wanted to.’

A crowd had gathered quickly and the gunslinger grinned and said, ‘Well, you old fool, you’re gonna’ dance now,’ and started shooting at the old man’s feet. The old prospector, in order to not get a toe blown off or his boots perforated, was soon hopping around like a flea on a hot skillet and everybody was laughing.

When the last bullet had been fired the young gunslinger, still laughing, holstered his gun and turned around to go back into the saloon. The old man turned to his pack mule, pulled out a double barreled shotgun, and cocked both hammers back. The loud, audible double clicks carried clearly through the desert air. The crowd stopped laughing immediately. The young gunslinger heard the sounds, too, and he turned around very slowly. The quiet was almost deafening. The crowd watched as the young gunman stared at the old timer and the large gaping holes of those twin barrels. He found it hard to swallow. The barrels of the shotgun never wavered in the old man’s hands.

The old man said, ‘Son, did you ever kiss a mule’s ass?’

The boy bully swallowed hard and said, ‘No. But I’ve always wanted to.’