Nobody knew why the drunk cowboy in the saloon at Nolan’s Hotel had it in for the clock – perhaps his time had passed him by – but he had already put two holes in its face with the Colts he had in each hand when he was distracted by the dude who had just walked in out of the cold night air. Oh, this dude was a comical sight to behold – fancy store-bought pants and boots from somewhere back east, silk shirt, covered over with a leather fringed jacket obviously intended as some sort of frontier veneer. His hat seemed over-sized and rested at an odd angle on his head. All of this was hilariously accented by the pince-nez spectacles perched on his nose.

"Hey look! Four eyes…! I say ol’ Four-Eyes here is going to treat!" the cowboy bellowed.
The dude let out a nervous laugh and tried to slink away to a quiet seat behind the stove, but the cowboy wasn’t through with his sport. The demands for the dude to set up the drinks continued, sprinkled with creative saltiness. The two Colts in the drunk’s hands had their hammers all the way back.
"Well, if I’ve got to, I’ve got to…" the dude sighed, getting up and looking past the cowboy towards the bar. Even if he had been stone-cold sober, the cowboy could never have seen the lightning-fast right jab that caught him on the chin, and once that connected, there was no accounting for the left cross and right hook that followed. Both pistols went off, probably without intent, but the slugs sunk harmlessly into the floorboards. The corner of the bar that met the cowboy’s head as he went down finished the job the dude had started. The cowboy was "down for the count" and then some.
The dude bent over him, but seeing that his lights were out, took his guns and requested some assistance from relieved patrons. Together they got him awake enough to be escorted to a shed that was locked after he was tossed in, and only unlocked in time for him to be forced upon an outbound freight train the next morning.
What the drunk cowboy didn’t know, and probably never knew, was that "ol’ Four Eyes," a.k.a. Teddy Roosevelt, had taken up boxing at Harvard, as part of his self-developed program for controlling his asthma.
"Revenge of the nerds" can be a real bitch…
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