took two coffins

I found a saloon not far from the livery stable, and went in to get a drink or two.  It was late morning on a Tuesday, and the place was pretty much empty.  There was the barkeep there of course, and a little dude I took to be the piano player....and a kind of  hard case looking character at the far end of the bar, with a bottle and a shot glass.  I'd bet that was his own bottle from behind the bar....he was one of those men who leaned into the bar rail like he'd been born there...he had a black hat with a band of gold pesos, an ancient buckskin shirt with fringe and leather lace, and denim britches stuffed into fancy-stitched boots, with silver spurs.  A big Texas toothpick was in a nice bead-work sheath on his left hip.  The piano dude looked like he could use a drink, so I got another glass from the barkeep, and poured him one from my bottle.  I asked him who that was down at the other end of the bar.  He leaned close and spoke low...."That's Billy Buckshot, a feller yuh don't want to ever rile up."  He took another sip of whiskey.  "Oh" I says, "Is he a dangerous man?"  "Dangerous enough" replies the dude.  "How come he's got a last name like Buckshot?" I wondered.  "Well, you can't see it from where we're standing right now, but on his right hip he's gotta sawed-off double-barrel 10 gauge hanging there.  It ain't in no kinda holster, so he don't hafta draw it you see....he can just reach his hand down and push at the sorta pistol stock he got on it, and the barrels will just spring up at cha."  Was the reply I got.  "Well" says I, "That does sound dangerous."  "Yup" says the dude "Last fella that riled up ol' Buckshot....well, he got blowed clean in half.  They had to use two coffins to bury him."  That image took me somewhat aback for a moment, but then I had to chuckle at the macabre humor of it.  Mr. Buckshot, looked up the bar at that, and gave me a hard squint.  I turned away from that look.  The tall clock near the piano started striking noon.