On a recent windy November evening, the town’s sheriff and a handful of his deputies, clad in duster coats and Stetson hats, smoked on the porch outside the county jail, their Colt revolvers holstered and their Winchester rifles stowed away.
The men knew they were powerless against the trouble headed their way.
On the opposite side of the muddy main street, a crowd gathered inside one of the town’s two saloons. Townspeople cheered a troupe of women who were line dancing to country music in matching red-checkered shirts, cowboy boots and hats.
The revelers knew this might be their last hoedown.
For all its trappings of the Wild West, this town was nowhere near Dodge City or Deadwood or the O.K. Corral. The biggest giveaways to its actual location: The cowboys and cowgirls were all speaking German and eating bockwurst (and all the guns were props).
The men knew they were powerless against the trouble headed their way.
On the opposite side of the muddy main street, a crowd gathered inside one of the town’s two saloons. Townspeople cheered a troupe of women who were line dancing to country music in matching red-checkered shirts, cowboy boots and hats.
The revelers knew this might be their last hoedown.
For all its trappings of the Wild West, this town was nowhere near Dodge City or Deadwood or the O.K. Corral. The biggest giveaways to its actual location: The cowboys and cowgirls were all speaking German and eating bockwurst (and all the guns were props).
... read the full article here: The New York Times
