My one and only Western story. :)

Realized I never posted this....here goes: 

A short half-fictional (as in dreamt in the dark hours of a long wintry night about five years ago....see note at end) 
account by the illustrious Marjolaine B -
Talentedly put down in written form in 2011

     It was a small, smoky room. The clapboard walls, creaky floor and long table were all of primitive wood. Dusty saddles joined bulging holsters in rows on the walls.

     On benches surrounding the table, men of every description dug into the steaming repast which graced the tabletop.

     Suddenly, the loud bandy of words and friendly jests quieted as the floorboards creaked under the heavy tread of a new pair of boots. Two massive, weather-beaten hands added a heavy holster to the wall of tack. The newcomer joined the men without a word and, relieved, the group of ranch hands resumed their hollering.

    Within minutes, however, the door flung open again and a dark figure stood framed in the doorway. Silence reigned as the men stared first at the ominous character in the doorway, then back the first silent stranger. Tension vibrated through the air, but the door only swung slowly shut as the dark man took a reclusive spot at the table.  But- he did not remove this holster, and his long fingers grasped the weapon even while he ate.
     Minutes passed. The ranch hands expected the second stranger to make a move any second. But it was the first who slowly arose, his head reaching close to the low, dusty ceiling. He strode to the rough wall laden with belongings and,buckling his bulging holster on, he disappeared through an adjoining doorway.
The second stranger’s hand clasped his own holster at his side as he made his way to the same doorway.
     In this room, the effulgent sun gleamed through a single polished window onto the white washed walls and unusually pale plank floor. Startling in contrast to this peaceful room, the two weather-beaten men faced eachother, hate gleaming from their eyes.

     Even while their eyes burned into eachother’s, the tense hands strayed to the revolvers, which had so long remained silent. Quick as a flash, without the blink of an eye, two shots abruptly roared out.

     Both men swayed a little as a dark stain appeared on each shirt. They stepped forward, and with a final effort, grasped right hands with all their strength.

‘‘NOW we are friends’’ they stated simultaneously, before collapsing to the wood floor

*************************************

Note: This story entirely true, written from a real dream. (seriously! Everything I wrote happened in the dream, and we think the end is hilarious! If only all life's problems were solved this way!)
The question is, are dreams fictional or not? One thing I know, I own the copyright to this dream.
YET I have heard various and sundry reports of others claiming to have dreamt this dream (to be sure, after I told them about it), but-beware! This is a Mazzou Special, and she guards it with care! Any other individual claiming to own this dream will be sued accordingly. Thank you. (*smile*)