HIGH NOON — A Fairy Tale

"Look at that big hand move along
Nearing High Noon!"
— Tex Ritter

I know you've been waiting all day for this one, but I GOT NOTHING! In fact, my little cherubs and seraphim are so upset that they didn't come through for me, that they've asked me to tell them a bedtime story.

So I thought and I thought, and then I remembered HIGH NOON IN HARTFORD CITY. Now, this is only a fairy tale, and it's not true even one little bit. I don't want you reading into it anything...

Once upon a time there was a beautiful cowgirl who lived in Hartford City, but she was very very sad. ALl her friends had deserted her, gone to places where the Evil UA-Trolls didn't live and prices for renting the old campsite were so much cheaper! All she had left was her beautiful silver pony, whom she named...Trigger!

Well, one day she woke up and realized that she was on the verge of being tied to a railroad track and plumb run'd over! So she said, what can I do? What can I do? And Trigger, every the faithful friend, whispered in her ear...send out the word to our old friends and ask them for help, the horse said. But be sure to set a deadline, so we won't be tied to the railroad tracks.

Oh, she replied, a deadline! What sort of deadline???

And Trigger thought and thought, and finally he said, "I've got it! HIGH NOON! Friday! Just before the Big Campfire Singalong!"

"High noon it is," she said.

So the word of the cowgirl's plight went out far and wide, and was met with a great rolling silence. The deadline drew closer and closer, and no words. Just when she was on the verge of despair, word came that TWO COWBOYS were riding to her rescue!!!

"Only two," she thought. "I'm not THAT old and ugly!!!"

One cowboy, one of her oldest friends, rode from the East, his magnificent lever action rifle in his scabbard. He was wounded, though, and had recently lost his brother. But he rallied himself and rode to rescue the cowgirl, because it had to be done.

The second cowboy rode from the West. He was a paladin of sorts, a known chaser of lost causes; his emblem was that of St. John the Divine, and upon his snow-white breast he bore the magic numbers 1...9...1...1...

Oh, tell us more! Tell us more! say the cherubs and seraphim, but I've got to go eat a really expensive dinner in Vegas!!! Besides, not a word of this is true...really...really really...