Tired Hound

By J. Han

All of my books ask the same question. If things were different, would things be different?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781463440688

J. Han

The existential ramblings of a borrowed soul; or maybe relativist musings, no, I'm rambling, I can smell it, damn.

Book preview

Tired

Hounds

J. Han

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© 2012 J. Han. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 3/6/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4634-4068-8 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-4069-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-4070-1 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011913820

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CONTENTS

Duck

Tired Hound

Just A Few Words.

Oh no, Ono

Chunk Bros.

1789 Squared

Cold Draft

Duck

Jace and Stearns have been sitting outside this flea bag hotel since early morning waiting for the last piece of the menagerie to arrive. It’s got to be one hundred degrees in the shade, dry as hell, and choke on it dusty. They don’t even know the bastard. Just told not to come back without him or they were out of the deal.

Someone got word that he was going to pick up a bounty on a few guys that had been hanging around the Badwater Saloon waiting for things to cool down. Nothing cools down in Badwater in summer, it’s a stones throw to the Rio Grande, the southwest, what a hell-hole.

The rest of the gang is waiting out of town in a wash. Only place within a ten mile radius that has a few scrub trees to offer a little shade outside of town. What do a couple of dry gulching back shooters, an old washed up sheriff who thinks he’s a gunfighter, and two goddamn farm boys have in common, not a damn thing. What’s the one thing that brings any group of half-assed misfits together, money, gold in this case, a shit load.

The farm boys Able, and Jake, had a drunk old man that brought them up. When he wasn’t beating them, he was telling them an old war story about how he and some of the boys he fought with in Texas during the Civil War stumbled across two Confederate officers leading a pack mule on the other side of the river in Mexico. There were only the five of them, against two well armed officers, with a river in between. They were supposed to be doing some reconnaissance so they had some time, but with just an old lifer corporal leading them, that mule looked pretty damn interesting. It was 1865 everyone knew it was almost over, and there were all kinds of rumors that the Rebels were hiding anything of value. Shadowing the officers proved easier then they imagined. The Rebs seemed to be a lot more concerned about what was on the south side of the river, then any interference some Yanks from Ohio might bring.

It was starting to get dark, so the Yanks crossed the river, typical an inch deep, but a mile wide. The Rebs spotted them, and started to move south, but not like you would think, riding hard, and hell bent for leather, they were being cautious as hell, keeping ahead, but just barely.

The Corporal told us if we didn’t catch’em before night fall, we were heading back, he didn’t want to make it through the damn war just to die in some God forsaken desert south of the border. The rest of the troopers told him he could head back anytime he wanted, he didn’t say much after that, just rode drag.

It was pretty dark, and they were getting into some very hilly country. Nobody was following a trail in the dark, in these hills, and in this shit, they decided to wait till morning and try to pick up the trail in daylight. Then they heard a big commotion over the next rise, they were a hell of a lot closer than they thought they were, but maybe wishing they were a little farther away. All five of them dismounted, and crawled up to the top of the hill on their bellies, only a few shots were fired, then silence. They had six shot Colt revolvers, and Sharps breach loaders, it should have been quite a stand. Instead they peered over the top of the hill but couldn’t see a goddamn thing, and each one in turn felt either a knife or a few arrows tear into their backs.

The boys old man was tough as leather, he took a Bowie knife twice in the back, and was left for dead like the rest, but managed to turn over on his back so his blood would mix with the soft dirt to stop the bleeding. At least that’s what he told the boys, stupid bastard got lucky and slid down the hill a bit when the Mescalero that almost killed him kicked him just enough to roll him into a furrow, and turn over.

When the old man came out of it the next morning the buzzards were already working on his compadres. The only bit of luck he found in this adventure was that the mule didn’t run off with the rest of the horses, he’s at the bottom of the hill drinking some water that spilled out of a cask that had been slung over his own pack saddle. The farmer was lucky he had the proper gristle, or he would never had made it, crawling down the hill in one hundred degree heat, was hard enough, but climbing up onto that saddle was like scaling Everest. It took him three tries to make the summit, that was one patient ass, he almost made it on the second try, but slipped and fell hard starting the bleeding again. He had to make it on the the third try or he was done. His back was wet with blood, as he knelt next to the mule holding on to the wood brace on the saddle trying to muster all the strength he had left to drag himself up onto that wood frame. Damn if the old bastard didn’t do it, the mule reeled around when he finally wedged himself into the brace. He found himself staring into the mouth of a cave about fifty yards away, but even in a stupor he realized it wasn’t a mouth. Two sloping hills climbing up to two perfect rounded mounds with the hole nestled between. A perfect woman’s bottom, even in his condition this would be hard to forget. He slumped over in the saddle, and hoped for the best. Passing out shortly after starting it was up to the mule, and damn if the little ass didn’t bring him home. I guess animals can smell water, because the mule brought him back to the river, and a scout troop found him still pasted inside that wooden brace, with that old mule drinking away standing in the river.

The old fool had run out of luck. One of the wounds from the knife nicked a kidney, and by the time they got him to a field hospital he was burning up from fever. He survived the kidney, but the infection spread to his right leg, and the Docs in that war would just assume take a leg as look at you. Without so much as a by your leave they dumped what was left of the old man on a decrepit paddle- wheeler headed back up the Mississippi to the Ohio, and home.

I guess he had a reason to be permanently drunk, hell just the pain, but he told the boys the story a hundred times saying he was sure of one damn thing. Whatever was on that sweet old mule didn’t leave with those two slaughtered Reb officers, and sure wasn’t on him when they saved his tired old ass. The old man talked all the time about how he was going to get in his rickety old buck-board, harness up his broken down plow horse, and find out what was in that damn cave.

When the old man died the boys couldn’t pay the back taxes on the farm so they were outdoors. They worked their way south on a paddle-wheeler moving goods to New Orleans, and then with just enough money to buy a couple worn out old nags started for West Texas.

The fools actually had the sense to acquire a map, but came back to form when they realized it was a lot harder reading a map then they figured. You’d think even a moron could follow a damn river west, but they came to the studied conclusion that if they didn’t get some help they were gonna wind up buzzard bait. The only reference the old man gave them for the place to turn south was several miles west of a little town that had a ferry-raft spanning the river. They were camped right down on the silt next to the river, with a nice little fire, and you could smell the little catfish cooking over the flame. Right on the river between Texas, and Mexico they didn’t call this place the bad lands for nothing, it wasn’t that someone wasn’t going to leave them in a dry gulch dead and naked, no, it was amazing that it hadn’t already happened.

That’s when Sheriff Dave, and his two prisoners Jace, and Sterns happened across the luckless pair. The two idiots did have an old Army Colt that was loaded with charge, and ball. A black-powder relic from the early war, surprisingly they were both decent shots there wasn’t a whole lot to do on that old farm.

That Sheriff was out hunting bounties, the two desperadoes he was dragging back to Badwater were worth fifty bucks a piece, the most money he would see since going out on his own at the invitation of his previous employer Badwater.

The boys were camped only about a half mile out of town when they decided to give up, and head east back to the Mississippi. Fate always seems to take a hand just when you would be so much better off if she cashed in and went on her way. Sheriff Dave rode into the little camp leading his catch of desperate men, wondering just how green some bastard would have to be to camp this close to the river. He could tell from their gear that they were a couple sod-busters from up north. It had been six years since Lee surrendered, but Dave was a son of the south, Stars and Bars, damn Yankees, and he never missed a chance to get a little even.

Abe and Jake were plenty surprised both jumped up, Abe tripping backwards over the rock he was sitting on, and Jake running straight into the river, but fortunately for him he didn’t draw the hog-leg from his belt, Dave would have dropped him, and his brother just for having the audacity to pull iron.

It was awkward for a moment, but then Dave and the prisoners started laughing at Jake waist deep in the river, Abe joined in, and Jake slapped the water, and laughed at himself. I guess Dave still had a little sheriff in him, wasn’t gonna kill them just for being stupid. The sheriff yanked the two cowboys down off their horses by their belts, their hands were tied behind them, and shoved them down onto the dirt. The boys were looking back, and forth at each other then at the cowboys then at Dave. He told them not to worry they’d keep. Then introduced himself as the sheriff of Badwater, and he was taken the two in on a bounty.

The boys took a long look at each other, they had already decided to quit, but this was to good. They asked how far to town, and if the town had a ferry across the river. Although Dave was nowhere near Badwater during the conflict he arrived shortly after heading west, he had lost everything so there was no point going back to Atlanta. He did a few favors for merchants in the town getting rid of so called tax collectors from the north. Nobody asked any questions, and they decided to make him sheriff so if anyone did ask about the damn carpetbaggers he would tell how the bastards collected the money, and moved on down the line. Poor old Dave had been in the town for to long and he knew to much, he could bring back far to many skeletons to suit the powers that be. This was different he had heard war stories from half the drunks in town about some Confederate gold hidden outside of town, and it all started with some delirious old Yankee who lost his leg. The one thing that was consistent with every story was an old ferry across the river that was destroyed shortly after the war, the little Mexican town on the other side was raided by Indians, they didn’t leave a stick, or a person standing, and Badwater didn’t want to be next.

Dave asked why they needed a ferry. Hell they could wade across right here this time of year. There were a lot of quick looks back and forth between the boys, not exactly poker players. They were in way over their heads, and they knew if they didn’t get some help they’d end up giving up and going home with nothing. Then they told Dave the whole story. That the old man was their dad, and he told them the story a hundred times, but of course leaving out the crucial part about the whores ass, that’s what they called it, X marks the spot.

He told the boys he had heard the story from every drunken asshole in the damn town at one point or another. That it was just the fever talking, or the liquor. Forget it and go home before you wind up in a shallow grave, or your hair hanging from some buck’s belt. Probably the best advice he could give, but after you trek a thousand miles the boys weren’t hearing what’s best. They had nothing to go back too, might as well risk their lives on the gold then just kick around West Texas till a rattler or a bullet ended their days.

Dave had heard this damn story so many times he just couldn’t possibly take it seriously. But his life was in the shitter, being sheriff in that ramshackle little town was bad enough, but chasing down the kind of scum he was dealing with, for bounties, damn. This could not get any worse, he felt like an idiot, but asked the boys to tell that damn story one more time. It was the same old shit, he told the boys that nobody knew for sure if the Rebs buried anything let alone a cache of gold, and even if they did nobody knows where, I’m not risking my hide in old Mexico wandering around looking for the bones of some damn Yankee troopers on a ridge.

The boys kicked the ground a few times trying to think of something to say that would convince Dave without giving him the vital information about the location. They just kept staring back and forth wondering if they should take a chance, or if they really had any choice?

No luck, it was a stalemate. Then Jace spoke up, the two cowboys were listening intently everyone in the territory knew the story. Jace told Dave that he must have given the tale quite a bit of thought, he never heard anyone figure out that part about the troopers lined up on that ridge marking the treasure. Sheriff Dave told him to shut up before he came over and put him to sleep with the butt of his Colt. Jace didn’t even hesitate, he told Dave that the boys weren’t as stupid as they looked. They were leaving something out, they knew something about the location, they knew how to get to the gold.

Dave laughed hard and long, then told Jace that they were just as stupid as they looked, otherwise they wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave out the critical piece of the yarn from their new pardner Sheriff Dave.

The die was cast, a bunch of losers waiting for the end of a rope, or belly shot on some dirty killing floor in a nameless saloon. Dave was taking the cowboys along to, he knew they would need all the help they could get once they crossed the Rio Grande. That’s when Jace brought up the Duck. Tom Ducky was a real pistollero, he wasn’t known for anything else, no war hero, no lawman, no nothing, he was a bounty hunter who brought them all in dead. Young, old, woman, you name it, people were known to break out across two states to try and save themselves. Sterns the other cowboy piped in with, Dave would have never caught them had they not been so worried about the Duck on their trail.

Dave asked what in the world would Tom Ducky be doing in a town like Badwater, and why would he bother with a couple two bit punks like you guys? Jace had an answer, they were running with a gang out of East Texas, that had robbed a couple of banks filled with Yankee gold from up north, payrolls for the railroad, money to buy beef, and horses. They had someone on the inside. The railroad wanted the money back bad, and they wanted to know who was on the inside even more. When you hire the Duck you are ready for some serious shit. We started out with thirteen guys six hundred miles east of here, by the time we reached Badwater there were only five of us left. He got back more than half the money from the poor sods he killed tracking us shortly after the robbery. We thought we were home free, nobody had any idea who, what, when, or how, but home free. The Duck was like a bloodhound relentless, and cold as ice they never had a chance. Three of the gang members were in the saloon at the bar, Jace, and Stearns were supposed to be outside watching the street. When Tom showed up they hid hopping to get away in the confusion after he dealt with the boys in the bar. Well Ducky always carried a twelve gauge sawed off shotgun that had a five shot cylinder like a revolver. It never left his left hand, when he walked into the saloon he saw five guys lined up at the bar drinking together, and assumed it was what was left of the gang. They didn’t see him saddle up to the bar a few feet away, and they didn’t get any warning from lookouts in the street. It was crowded and dark in the saloon. Your looking for five guys, and they’re five guys standing there drinking. He could only recognize the poor bastard on the end. Who knows, tired, fed up, wishing it was over, but he turned towards them, and opened up with the twelve gauge right down the line. They never knew what hit them it was over in a second or two. That was all the warning you got five on one, hell most of the time that was all the warning you got period. It took all of one moment for the bartender to scream at Tom that the two guys on the other end were his cousin and brother. The old fool reached under the bar for his own persuader, and a split second later the loud crack of a Colt 45 ripped one right through the bartenders ear. The room was full of gun smoke people scrambling and screaming trying to get out of there. Everyone was pushed up against the walls, and trying to spill out the doors. The gun fight was over, the smoke had cleared. Tom stood motionless hovering over the bodies, he had already reloaded the shotgun, as far as he was concerned it was over.

How do you tell someone like Tom Ducky that he made a mistake, and killed the wrong guys, very carefully. First you get everyone you know who has a gun, then after everybody gets good and drunk you start talking about a necktie party. It had been two days since the massacre in the barroom, Tom was just sitting on a rocker outside the bar waiting for something to happen. There were people in town who thought he was waiting for the towns folk to make a move so he would have an excuse to kill everyone, and nobody was going to put it past the Duck. This wasn’t the first time that it had happened, it’s how he got his nickname. A bunch of farmers looking to homestead down from Oklahoma territory got between Tom, and a couple wanteds up on the Panhandle. It was pretty hard to say who shot who, but when the smoke cleared both the cowboys, and the whole damn family, five people, two women, a mom, and a young girl were taking a trip to boot hill. After that the joke was to yell duck when Tom would step into a saloon, and everyone at the bar would jostle each other around laughing, and grabbing their chests. There’s a rumor that he shot a guy in Austin for being a little to forward when he pulled the joke. You have to be pretty damn stupid drunk to try that joke anymore.

The townsfolk were getting real nervous, and sent a rider to a cavalry post a days ride away, for help. This was the end for Tom Ducky, and he knew it, he wasn’t planning how he was going to wipe out the town, he was hoping some bastard would step up, and put a bullet in his brain, he just wanted it to be over.

That’s when Jace, and Sterns stepped in, they thought they would have to do some tall talking just to get Tom not to take them in, but he was actually damn glad to see them. You bastards are damn lucky just to be walking around, shit I killed everybody, he said. It was obvious to the cowboys that Tom wasn’t exactly there, he stared off into space rocking back and forth in the rocking chair, looking pretty goddamn crazy waiting to either dissolve or explode. Some people were leaving town, they didn’t want to be part of the next joke. The boys told him they had a job for him if he was up to it, he didn’t say a word, just stood up out of the rocker climbed up onto his horse at the railing, and waited for one of the boys to point. The Duck slowly began to ride out of town with his head hung low, and prospects for his life even lower. Jace, and Sterns were about ten feet behind him, and in no hurry to catch up, the townsfolk that were out on the street were clapping, and giving the boys a general ovation, Jace even took off his hat, and waved in recognition. Sterns said, shit asshole he’s right there are you trying to get me killed?

As they headed out of town the boys were pretty pleased with themselves, they thought they were going to be doing a lot of powerful bowing, and scraping to pull this off, but they knew without a real gunman like Tom that gold didn’t mean shit if you weren’t around to enjoy the spoils. They continued to ride with a few silent stares between them, neither was sure if the Duck was himself, but right in his head or not they bet on the horse, deciding not to tell the others, and just let it play out.

A mile or so out of town they caught up with one of the fleeing expatriates, she wasn’t leaving because she was afraid of Tom, the bartender was her lover, and his wife was pretty goddamn mean, she didn’t want to end up stabbed in some back alley, or run out of town by the local hens. Jace rode up next to her, and told her they were going on a dangerous mission, and might want to have a little piece of tail first, it could be their last.

She laughed and told him, I’m not one of General Hookers girls, just heading to the next town cowboy, so keep it in your pants. Her name was Louise a little English rose who came out west from New Orleans for her health, there wasn’t much call for a lady in these parts, but she could sing a little, and recite some poetry, so she could get by in some of the bars if she played a little loose with the owner, and turned saucy for the clientele. Not much of an accent, and actually she sounded more French than English when she wanted to, the cowboys liked to hear that qui, qui, crap over a beer.

Jace told her, Texas is back that way bitch, I didn’t say anything about paying for it, this could be my last chance to get laid before I’m dust on the prairie, I’m gonna have a little skirt, and yours will do. She turned to look behind her at Sterns, and Tom. Sterns was smiling at her it seemed like a damn good idea to him as well. Tom still had his head down, a wide brim black hat, a full slicker down to his boots, and the perpetual extension hanging from his left hand the meanest looking twelve gauge ever crafted. Louise twisted around in her saddle looked back at Tom and said, hey Tommy do you plan on giving me a good greasing as well? He never even lifted his head just pointed back towards Badwater with the shotgun, as he twisted his coat opened displaying the most famous Colt in the territory. Special made by an ancient Mexican gunsmith, it was the coldest piece of death dealing iron in Texas. Only had a four inch barrel, no sight, no trigger, or guard, with a derringer handle, and he wore it in a belly holster always a split second from his right hand. He already had the Colt during the war, there was no telling how many poor bastards met their end from that instrument of death.

Louise said, Ahhh!… Oh! boys he’s displaying Excalibur some heads may role. Then she stopped talking and pointed towards a small party of Indians across the river. Tom never even looked, but Jace, and Sterns came to attention, and I don’t mean over Louise. Jace told Louise to go ahead, and head back to town, that the tribe would be more then happy to show her a good time, before stretching her out over an anthill, and skinning her alive.

Jace was serious, come on bitch you wanted to go, get your ass moving. He wanted to divert the attention of the Mescalero so they could make their move into Mexico unfettered. Stupid ass had the fever, as soon as the bucks finished with the quail they would track the Blue-legs down, and cut them up for the buzzards as well. Both of the farm boys still wore cavalry pants yellow stripe, and all. They might as well have waved a flag saying kill me first.

Louise told the boys, ah come on fellas you know mine’s sweet, I was just kidding before you can have all you want, I will take care of you. Jace gave out a nervous laugh, and said, I’m gonna wear your sweet little bitch ass out, whore. Sterns told him to shut up, and get serious. Slap it down, what are you a goddamn farmer, quit worrying about getting your wick wet, and start thinking about losing the tail.

Finally Tom looked over in the direction of the braves, four or five young bucks with maybe three old rifles between them, they knew it was Ducky, everyone in the territory knew the Duck when they saw him, stupid assholes better be kidding, if they’re worried about those wet nose kids I’m wasting my time.

Jace looked hard at Tom and said, this is my deal you just take orders, and do what your told. Sterns dropped his reins, and put his hands out in clear sight, then he told Jace, you have completely lost your mind bummer, Ducky I’ve got no part in this.

Now how stupid can a cowpoke be, he’s looking right down the barrel of the twelve gauge and he thinks he’s giving orders. Tom said, I’ll tell you what kid were gonna follow you all the way back to your camp, and if this deal isn’t as sweet as you let on, your gonna get your chance to show me how good you are with that Peacemaker.

Tom told the boys to ride up front, and lead on like they had a future. Jace actually looked over at Sterns like he wanted to make a move, Christ asshole, Sterns said, I’m about to step into the biggest deal I’ve ever seen, and your determined to end my days before I get a chance to even see that gold.

Tom stopped his horse, gave a sideways look to Louise who was riding next to him, and said, It’s my little English Rose, these two ridiculous bastards brought me out here to chase some old ghost story about some fools gold that some Johnny Reb slackers hid in Mexico at the end of the Civil conflict between the States. Do you want their horses, I could just wound them a little, and leave them for that Mescalero war party to finish off? Christ kid… people have been talking about that gold for years, not only doesn’t anybody have the faintest idea where it is, the old cripple who told the story wasn’t even sure the gold even existed.

Jace was so incensed he was still contemplating wheeling around and drawing on the Duck. Sterns begged him to calm down, and then he told Tom about the two farm boys from Ohio. That it was their old man who told them the story, and although they wouldn’t say exactly where the treasure was buried he was sure they knew something, a mark, or a tell, that pointed the way.

Louise told Tom she had not been on a treasure hunt since she was a little girl, and her father would hide chocolates in the backyard, and give her a map to find the sweets. Then she said, Tom you know your done here, you will never live that Badwater nightmare down, what else have you got to do, I would like to find a little gold, I have run out of chances to, I’m done.

All in all Tom’s mood was changing, it’s amazing the effect a skirt can have on a man even when nothing else makes a dent. Still Tom said, babe people would expect this kind of thing from these two, but I’ve got a rep, or at least I did, goddamn it if I start chasing around the southwest looking for pie in the sky, they’re going to think I went soft in the head. I’ll be seeing punk gunmen in my sleep. Louise didn’t bat an eye, yea Tommy, and that’s going to make your life different from now, huh?

Tom dropped his head for a moment, he knew he was done, he’s been killing poor souls for the last seven years. But this last fiasco in the bar was to much, you tell yourself all kinds of shit to get past it when you think they probably deserved it anyway, but two innocent men in the wrong place, wrong time, he wanted out before he wound up on the wrong end of a rope.

He asked the cowboys, what the hell do you need me for anyway, your well armed, you know where you think it is, why cut me in? Jace said, I don’t think we need you for shit, and unless that little bitch plans on taking me for a ride, she’s headed back for town. Goddamn it Jace it was your idea to bring him in to begin with you stupid bastard, now that he knows the play we can’t just let him walk, Sterns said it so now he had to figure a way to take it back without looking like a complete fool.

Louise knew the cowboys couldn’t find their ass with both hands. She also knew she was just as near the end as the two boys, she had run out of country, no place left to go. Ah, come on Tommy I don’t want to watch you bury these two, and I have never seen a pot of gold, what is a day or two, besides if you do not come along that little boy is going to wear me out, he said so. Louise and Tom have known each other for years they both like to play poker, and drink, so they’re friends, but that’s all, she already had an interest, and Tom kept thinking she would still be set if he hadn’t put a 45 slug in the fat old bastard’s ear.

Tom said, you know what she’s right, I don’t have a goddamn thing to do, or a reason to give a shit, I’m taking a goddamn holiday in Mexico. I’m gonna watch this performance like it was Edwin Booth doing Shakespeare, but I’ll tell you this kid that woman didn’t get this far because she’s easy, step careful son.

Jace had finally calmed himself down, then he told Tom, you’re here to watch my back, were going in to Apache country, and I want to make it back. The bitch can come along if she want’s to, but she’s not getting a share. The only thing she’s getting is my dick the first chance I get.

Tom said he liked the part about watching their backs, and for the two of them to move along, he couldn’t wait to meet the two farm boy Leprechauns that were going to lead Lady Louise to the pot of gold.

Louise laughed, the boys looked stiff, and nervous, then Louise finally said, boys this is Tom, the Duck, Ducky, I saw him make a grown man wet his pants, a pool of piss on the floor when he realized who he had just called a cheat, I’ve seen him kill six men facing him, half of them with their guns already drawn, if you two pud’s want to die here and now at least tell me where to find the farmers first?

The boys looked back, and forth between themselves several times neither one or both together had the stones to draw down on the Duck. Talk is cheap, but Jace knew he had no chance, and Sterns never wanted any part of it from the start. The boys were beginning to regret the whole damn idea, but they convinced Sheriff Dave they could make it there and back again, if the Duck rode shotgun, just a silent nod meant they would come back to this play later when they had a shot at his back. They started to mosey along, Louise said, subtle boys, very subtle he didn’t notice a thing. She began to see how desperate, and alone she truly was, but every gambler knows the deeper the dept, the harder the bet.

They continued to ride along the river trail, everyone deciding to wait until the odds were better, for whatever suited the play. Tom kept glancing over at Louise hiding behind the brim of his Stetson, she must have made a quick getaway, because all she was wearing was a peasant dress with sandals. She always had a wave of chestnut brown hair over her shoulders, dark brown eyes, and a smile that just invited you in, but with a perfect hourglass figure, and a little to much cool alabaster skin showing in a borrowed Mexican disguise, he thought she might be running from more than just a mad housewife. He forgot himself for a moment taking in her bare leg from above the knee to her little barefoot, her sandal dangling from her toes. He finally looked up only to find Louise staring back into his eyes, he shook his head, and then ran his hand over his face a few times bringing his attention back to the two drygulchers in front of him, between the three of them he wasn’t going to be getting much sleep. Louise cooed, damn I’m not going to have to worry about you to, am I?

Tom found himself stepping back, like how the hell could so much go wrong in so short a period of time. It’s not as though his life was anything special, but he knew who he was, he could deal with the world around him, up until this morning people treated him with respect. Now it was going to be fear, not the kind of fear people hold for someone that brings them to account, but the fear you feel in your gut when you come across a mad dog, and you hope you aren’t the next victim. He always felt like he was doing the right thing, like he was called to it the same as a preacher, or a priest. Like a goddamn angel of death. He started to think back over the last few years after the war, it was not very good. A war can do some funny shit to a man, finding out your one great talent is Armageddon for everything around you, for the first time in a long, long time all the iron he was carrying seemed to get real heavy. He found himself wondering if those kids actually knew something, maybe it was time to move on, because one thing was for sure, he completely lost track of the two back shooting bastards he’s been riding drag on which means a shallow grave can’t be far behind.

The Duck came out of the daze, I guess having a reputation for being an insane killing machine has it’s advantages. Nobody even noticed that he had checked out for five minutes, and was having manic lapses of consciousness, while in a life redeeming epiphany of logic, and lucidity. Unfortunately as he glanced around all three of his compadres were staring at him like he was on fire. Shit, so much for subtle.

Jace told Tom the camp was just over the next rise, but before they rode in they better make peace, or they were gonna spook the farmers, and the whole deal would be a wash. Tom told the kid that he thought the deal was a joke, but he had nothing else to do for the moment, besides someone had to protect them from the Lady.

That was the last time Jace tried to hustle the Duck, he would bide his time, wait for the right chance, and shoot him in the back on the very first opportunity. Tom decided that if there was any kind of gun play from then on, Jace was gonna be the first S.O.B. to eat lead regardless of the consequences.

Over the rise, and into the valley of death, just when Tom thought the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. Who does he find waiting for him in camp, but Sheriff Dave. Tom was the reason Dave found himself unemployed, stealing money from the town, shaking down the local businesses, and making himself scarce whenever any real trouble blew into town. He wanted to pinch himself, he was wondering if he was still sitting on that dusty old porch in front of that old saloon sleeping on that rickety old rocking chair, Christ what a goddamn nightmare.

The cowboys were talking to Dave, everyone was getting off their horses, even Louise walked over to Sheriff Dave and gave him a hug and a kiss. For a moment Tom wondered if the farmers had a grudge on him as well. He thought for a moment why not just kill everybody right now, and end this story, but I told him there was still some pretty funny stuff, so instead he decided to turn over a new leaf, from now on let the other guy have the first shot, I’m not killing a soul unless they try to kill me first. Not really the right time for life altering philosophy, but do or die Tom was about to claim a metamorphosis, from a raging, killing, mad dog the Duck maniac, to a skirt chasing, heavy drinking, slightly dishonest sonofabitch, just like everybody else.

Sheriff Dave hadn’t seen Louise since he was shit canned from Badwater, the Millers ran the whole damn town, and owned most of it, including the saloon. He thought they were pissed off because he was nailing the Lady behind the bartenders back. Tom shot the bartender, and his brother probably the damn dog catcher or some such thing, he knew the Duck was responsible for the Millers finding out about him, he had a big old shit eating grin on his face as the cowboys filled him in on the festivities. Louise was looking pretty damn good, and he hadn’t had any since he was escorted out of town. He figured he would take up right where he left off, as he listened to the boys recant the Duck’s predicament, he also began to grope, and fondle Louise with everyone including the farm boys enjoying the show. Dave was getting a lot of encouragement, it was dark except for the fire, and everybody was wondering how far Dave was gonna go. Then Dave caught Louise off guard, he lifted her right off the ground with his hand between her