Episode 1: Beginning

• More: Shotgun Betty
• Published On: February 2, 2010
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Most days Betty just sits on the dingy remains of her front porch in her rocking chair, trying to look at ease, with one leg propped against the porch rail. Every few seconds she bends her knee a bit and let the chair ease forward and back. It’s hard to be at ease in this town; mines always collapsing, women left alone, men thieving in from neighboring ghost towns looking for money and unwilling women. Stilltown, South Dakota is no place for a widow.

Stilltown sprouted up out of the dust as a mining town. Some lucky bastard tripped over a pile of coal in the middle of the woods, word got around, and within a few months some trees had been cleared, a mine shaft started, and two saloons, a church, a dress shop, and a restaurant popped up in a dingy little row.

Out here everyone thinks they are above the law—out here everyone thinks they are a prospector; everyone is looking to get rich and start fresh. Things fall apart though and never go as planned. That’s how it happened for Betty. Her husband died in the big mine collapse, along with so many other husbands. At first she sat out on the porch waiting for news that he was safe, now she sits out there to keep what little she has left safe.

The Tale of Shotgun Betty from Shotgun Betty on Vimeo.

Betty holds her shotgun propped across her lap, wiping down the barrel with a ragged cloth each time she rocks forward. The shotgun is Betty’s weapon of choice. After the mining accident she picked up the skill. She had to learn how to shoot, and learn fast. Nothing’s easier to learn than a shotgun and to make sure the dead don’t rise up.

She comes out like this when there is a ruckus in town, just to let people know that her little cabin has a claim on it. The shotgun is cocked and ready, just in case someone approaches, just in case she has to blow out a knee cap. There is some kind of commotion almost everyday now, between the men riding in on trains and other men herding down cattle.

Yesterday a train came by, dropping off a few more vagabonds and ruffians to litter the one street of Stilltown. As soon as she heard the whistle blow Betty knew she would have to be even more on her guard for a few days while the new people staked out the area, tried to make a place for themselves where there isn’t room. When a train comes in sometimes half a dozen people go down.

Her face is dirty and solemn. Her dark hair has lost some of its curl and hangs limply in a low messy bun. If it weren’t for the glimmer in her eye and the occasional satisfied twitch of her mouth you might think she has given up hope. Too many of the others have given up hope. Most of the other widows have resigned to the circumstances, moving above the saloons for guaranteed food and some perverse kind of safety. Shotgun Betty is holding out for something else though. Nobody knows what.