Teaspoon Hunter drawled, "I was twelve years old when I saw my first gunfight." He paused, lost in his memory of that day so long ago. "My pa and I were in San Antonio pickin' up supplies. He'd gone inside the mercantile before the ruckus started down the street.

I'd been set to follow him inside, but the noise drew my attention away from the mercantile and down the street. I stepped to the edge of the porch, leaning against the post, and watched as two mean-looking men in broke free from the group outside the saloon, and strolled out into the middle of the dusty street.

One of the men, this one dressed in black, except for a brilliant red vest, walked several paces away from the other man. Then he turned and faced his opponent.

Both were wearin' gun-belts slung low on their hips. As I continued to watch, they lowered their hands until they were hoverin' over the butts of their guns, and steadily eyed one another. I didn't move or breathe, waitin' in wide-eyed anticipation, along with several other people who'd lined up on either side of the street, for them to draw their guns.

It happened in quick-silver motion. One moment, both gunfighters were standing still, glaring at each other, and the next moment they'd drawn their guns and fired. The scraggly-looking one closest to me, rocked back on his heels, as the left-side of his head exploded. He crashed to the dusty street and lay still.

I whirled around, hastily averting my gaze, as my stomach clenched unexpectedly. I stumbled forward until I was pressing my forehead against the front wall of the mercantile.

I'd never seen someone shot before. Or seen them die. Tears sprang into my eyes and threatened to spill over. I hastily squeezed them tight and prayed I wouldn't get sick.

It was there that my Pa found me a few minutes later. He'd heard the gunshots and came looking for me when he realized I hadn't entered the mercantile behind him.

He didn't say anything to me. He simply grabbed me by the arm and dragged me inside. He planted me in one of the chairs by the wood burning stove while he finished his shopping and paid the bill.

It wasn't until we were in the wagon on the way home that my Pa spoke.

Son, seeing a man die isn't something you'll ever likely forget. I want you to remember what you saw and how you felt at seeing it. Guns should never come into play in an argument, unless you plan on killing someone. They should never be the first tool you use in solving a disagreement with anyone.

Always give your fellow man the opportunity to prove themselves to you. Some will prove worthy of your trust, while others will not. Never expect all men to treat you in the same manner that you treat them.

Be honest in everything you do in life. Be loyal to those who've earned it. Forgive the faults of your friends, and they will most likely forgive yours.

There will come a day in your life when you will have no choice but to use a gun to protect those you love or defend yourself.

Remember these things I've told you and you will do well in life.

Teaspoon's words voice faded as he glanced around at the group of boys gathered on the porch of Emma Shannon's house. All six had signed up to ride for the Pony Express and been assigned to the Sweetwater station for him to train. Train them he had. He'd even shown them his bag of tricks, wanting them to be as prepared as possible for any given situation they came across while they were on a ride.

All he had left was to share with them his vast knowledge of life and hoped they learned from what he taught them without experiencing firsthand some of the same mistakes he had over his life.