Years ago when I lived in Dayton, Nevada, I agreed to meet a friend for dinner in Virginia City. We set a plan to meet at the well-known Bucket of Blood Saloon for a drink before dinner. I got there early, found a seat at the corner of the bar and ordered a drink. While I waited for my friend, I noticed that the Native American fellow sitting next to me was pretty drunk.
The band, which was set up on the dance floor next to the window, started playing a patriotic song, and the guy next to me took offense that a cowboy on the dance floor didn’t take off his hat in reverence. At least that was the story I heard after what happened next.
He got up and walked down the bar toward the window to the dance floor and without warning sucker punched the hat-wearing cowboy. In what seemed like a nano-second, five cowboys grabbed the Native American guy, dragged him alongside the bar right in front of my face and threw him outside onto the wooden sidewalk. And just like in the movies, they dusted off their hands, came back inside and that was the end of that.
Written by Susan 5/14/18