Eyes fell upon Timothy as he walked into the saloon. He looked around for a moment, then saw an empty chair at a long table. He walked over to it and sat down.
"Whadda ya think yer doin'?" growled the man at the end of the table.
"Sitting here... You have a problem with that?" replied Timothy.
"As a matter o' fact ah do. Yer sittin' here interrupted ma game."
"Your game?"
"Yessirree. Ma game."
"What is your game, if I may ask?"
The man looked at the table, then answered, "Shoot 'em."
"Shoot what?" asked Timothy.
"Ya ask a lotta questions, ya know..." grumbled the man. "These almonds."
"Almonds?" Timothy laughed. "Almonds aren't used for that!"
"And so then what do ya suppose they're used for?" asked the man.
"You eat them. You don't 'shoot them'..."
"Oh really?" The man raised one eyebrow.
"Yeah, really." Timothy shook his head in disbelief.
"Do ya really think that that's the way ya use 'em?" asked the man.
"Yes, I'm positive."
"Well then... You can eat 'em, I'll shoot 'em. Whoever gets rid of 'em all first wins." The man loaded his pistol.
"Alright then." Timothy smiled and stood up.
"On three. One... two... three!" The man threw seven almonds in the air in a line and blasted them all to pieces.
Timothy grabbed the bowl of almonds, poured them into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
"Done!" he triumphantly called.
The man's jaw dropped. "What in the blazes? How did you do that? Well, looks like you win."
"So... what do I win?" asked Timothy eagerly.
"Nuthin'." The man put his pistol back into its holster.
"What? I won!" Timothy grew angry.
"Ya sure did, but I never promised ya a prize..."
"But I-" Timothy suddenly felt ill.
""Oh, I forgot ta mention. Those almonds were from 1790. They were ma great-great-great-grandaddy's almonds. He grew almonds and kept a pouch of them with him."
Timothy suddenly felt nauseous and light-headed. He staggered into the saloon and collapsed on the floor.
"Shouldn't have eaten those almonds..." muttered the man.