Note: The following will be much more amusing if read in a hick accent. This will also induce some cringing and may be highly annoying. Read at your own risk.
Head Rancher Uriah “Lizard-sticking” Kingsly didn’t have a son. Leastways there was no young’uns about his place (making exception of the time Lucy Grace’s girl set a spell). Though no folks thereabouts believe him much, he told Ray, his head of ranch security and right hand man, that he was sure he did have a young’un somewhere. “And if it be, then he’ll have hisself the best pistol I ever done own. I called it “Acero”, which means steel, and I never missed a shot when I used it, ner lost a fight, neither. It had a shiny white handle which jist fit perfect in my hand, and a steel barrel with gold flurishes and my name engraved in it. My old friend Merle, an Indian, gifted it ter me. When we was in love, I gave it ter Nora Mae, and if I knowed her a bit, she’d ‘ve given it ter ar son.”
But when Uriah died — it was sudden like, he warn’t above forty years old —no young’un had showed hisself. Now Rancher Kingsly had quit a bit’er property thereabouts, and piles o’ gold besides. His name might’er bin prophetic-like, fer he was jist about the king of the ranchers. So his havin’ no son made a piece o’ talk fer the town folks to chew on. They were started ter hear that Uriah didn’t make Clay, his sister’s boy, his successer, but Ray Crawfish. Ray told the blunt farmers, when asked, that Uriah gave hm the persition in trust. One day soon Uriah’s boy would show hisseln, and he’d take over tuh ranch.
Will, that got folks’ tongues waggin fer a spell. It also started the biziest years of Ray Crawfish’s life. Folks of all descriptions said they was Uriah’s young’uns. Uriah’s ranch was so expansive, even folks from out er state cem ter see Ray. But each one was terned away, fer not one had a gold-engrave pistol. Ray never told nobuddy what he was lookin’ fer, but palightly insisted they go back home. Eventually even folks as was needin’ the money real bad got it through ter their brain batter that they was tryin fer nuttin, as things settled down real quiet like.
But this didn’t satisfy Ray. He always insisted he was holdin’ the persition in trust. He told his cowboys, “You know I cen’t handle a herse tuh way I used ter, but whin I stay at home from tuh cattle drives, I’m jist about et up with worry about you boys and my cows. If I warn’t duty-bound to watch over this ranch fer Uriah’s he-ir, then I would be fixing to retire. Mebbe try sumtin peaceful like raising beans.”
“Ray, even Uriah knowed he didn’t have no young’uns,” they said. “It was jist his way of leaving ya the ranch. Being direct warn’t his way. The idear of a son were jist wishful thinkin.”
Ray stayed firm. He would not pass the ranch ter Clay, or ter any of the ranch hands. Instead, he finally compromized by announcing a contest. It had been siven years since Uriah’s death, and he had not once even heared about the pistol. A shootin’ contest oughta bring it out, though. He still didn’t tell no one his real reasons fer the contest; he simply announced he would select an he-ir from the winners.
