Times Past: 1950/1875 Death Is the Lady’s Companion
Sept 10, 2023 16:01:31 GMT
johnreiter902 likes this
Post by lee on Sept 10, 2023 16:01:31 GMT
All-Star Western Presents:
Times Past: 1950/1875
Death Is the Lady’s Companion
Casper, Wyoming—1950
“Mr. Grey?”
The voice was soft, an attempt to be unobtrusive so as not to startle the old man sitting by the window. Despite the fact that he was only a few days from his 95th birthday, Louis Grey looked at his guest with a clarity that the young man had not have expected.
“Ya must be that Ross feller they was tellin’ me about,” the old man said with a smile. “Well, don’t ya just stand there, son. Come on in and grab a seat.”
Adam Ross took an instant liking to his host and knew, if nothing else, this was going to be a memorable visit. He slid his chair around to where he could look at Louis directly and sat down. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”
“Yer a mighty polite young feller,” the old man grinned, “but let’s drop this “sir” nonsense right now. It makes me feel old.”
Louis cackled at his own joke and Adam couldn’t help but laugh along.
“So,” Louis said after a few moments, “the marshal tells me ya want to know about the past.”
The young man had been told ahead of time of Mr. Grey’s nickname for the nursing home’s director.
“He’s not senile,” the man had told Adam, “he calls me that because he says that I remind him of a federal marshal he once knew.”
“Which one?” Adam had asked.
“Don’t know,” was the reply. “That old codger won’t tell me.”
Adam could tell there was a great deal of respect in the director’s voice, and, after meeting the man, he could easily see why.
“Yes, Mr. Grey,” Adam told him. “I'm doing a series of articles for a magazine, and I thought you could tell me about some of the characters you met back in your younger day.”
“I reckon I kin do that. Do ya got a pencil handy?”
“Even better,” the young man told him. He opened up a case that he had brought with him to reveal a reel-to-reel tape recorder.
“Well, ain’t that fancy.”
Adam smiled as he put the first reel on. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said. “If at any time you need to take a break, just say the word.”
“That’s mighty kind of ya,” Louis shot him a wink, “but, I figure yer the one what will need a break afore I'm through.”
“I might at that,” Adam laughed.
“Let’s see,” the old man began. “I was nineteen years old, so that means it was...”
* * * * *
Joshua Flats, Wyoming—1875
Constance Varney was, by far, one of the prettiest gals he had ever laid eyes on. Well, him and every other unattached cowhand in the region.
Her hair, wound neatly into a bun, was the color of the sun in the late afternoon; golden with just a hint of orange, hardly noticeable unless one was standing close. It wasn’t hard to imagine it loose and falling down across her shoulders, but he found he was fond of it just the way it was. Pulled back, it gave you a good look at her face.
The good Lord must have decided to really show what He could do, because Constance’s was nothing shy of angelic. She had the slightest splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose, but it didn’t diminish her beauty in any way, if anything, it caught one’s attention and enhanced what they saw in her face. Her lips framed a smile that was so warm and pleasant, any other expression would have seemed out of place. The only part of her face that wasn’t pleasantly burned into my mind was her eyes. It wasn’t that he hadn’t looked at them, he had; the problem was that when he looked at them, he looked into them. And to look into them was to risk losing yourself forever.
They all tried to win her heart, but they had done it all friendly-like. They did a fair amount of ribbing to each other, but they all figured she was worth it. Shoot, they even told her that her youngest suitor wasn’t even a man yet—that he was still somewhere between grass and hay. He didn’t really mind. Like I said, he thought she was worth it.
Unfortunately, she was also a gal whose beauty could cause a lot of sorrow. Unwanted advances, the forwardness of strangers, unseemly words besmirching the honor of a lady; them kinds of things makes a man step up and that usually leads to violence.
Like now.
Constance Varney, that lovely flower, was the reason four men—four good men—had died. She was also the reason that a man known as Jonah Hex met the youngest in the street, and, when the smoke cleared, was carried off in a pine box.
It had all started a week earlier when “Skinner” Jake Tarr and his band of no-accounts had ridden into town on the run and still looking for trouble. He had seen Constance and decided that he wanted her. We had heard of the man before, and by all reports, what Skinner wanted, Skinner got.
Red Spinley was a mouse of a man. Since he had come to town with Tarr, he always seemed to be around. He was a sneaky little sidewinder whose sole purpose was to keep his ears open and report back to Skinner what he heard. It was him who found out the names of Constance’s suitors and passed them along.
When they found out what Skinner was up to, seven of them got together and went to have a talk with the man. He told them that Constance must be some kind of special woman for so many men to try to protect her. After that, he asked them who was going to protect her when they were dead. They were shaken when they returned to their homes.
It wasn’t long after that when the killing started. Skinner’s men began to catch the suitors alone and pick fights with them. Each one of them resulted in gunplay, and the suitors were easily outclassed. Out of the seven who paid Skinner a visit, four were dead.
Maxie and Shank decided that they wanted no part of what was happening and lit out for parts unknown. They tried to talk the youngster into going with them, but he just couldn’t leave Constance to that skunk. Trouble was, them leaving left the youngster to face Skinner’s men all by himself.
Then this Hex feller came riding into town.
If trouble were a person, this would be him. Most folks were trying hard to put the War behind them; Yanks and Rebs was working together to make themselves homes where they could have a wife and raise a swarm of young’uns. Then this Hex feller rides in still wearing his Confederate Gray coat and hat. He sat in his saddle the way most men would sit in a rocker, like it was the most comfortable seat around. His hands held the reins of his hammerhead roan in a position to where they were never far from the twin .44 Colts resting on his hips or the Sharps .50 slung in a scabbard on his saddle. There was no doubting that this man was a born killer.
And if his manner wasn’t enough to make you nervous, his face would. At one time he must have been a fairly handsome feller, but something happened along the way to change that. The right side of his face was scarred something terrible. A strip of flesh looked as though it had melted just below his eye and dripped to the corner of his chin, hardening once they were connected. The skin had pulled down, making his right eye seem larger than normal.
The gunslinger climbed off his horse and hitched him outside of the Box Canyon Saloon. Inside, he ordered a whiskey then walked over to a table occupied by the youngster. The youngster was looking out the window.
Hex made some small talk, then glanced out the window to see what held the young man’s attention. It was Constance. He made a comment, words were exchanged, and then he walked out into the street. The youngster checked his pistol, got up, and walked out to meet the stranger. Nobody expected what happened next.
Hex twitched, the youngster drew, and then it was over.
The youngster tried hard not to notice when he saw Spinley high-tailing it to find Skinner. Instead, he helped the sheriff and the undertaker load the body into a box and carry it into the undertaker’s parlor.
“Sure enough, Skinner,” Red told his boss. “I seen it with my own two eyes.”
Skinner looked at the little man. “You mean to tell me that that young cowpoke beat Jonah Hex to the draw and plugged him?”
“I seen the blood with my own eyes,” Red swore.
Skinner was silent for a few minutes. When at last he spoke, he had a mischievous glint in his eye. “That gets that bounty hunter off of our trail, now we just got to get rid of the kid and that little filly will be mine.”
“You got an idea,” Spinley snickered. “I kin see it in your eyes.”
“You bet I do. We’re going to call the kid out.”
“But...but he killed Jonah Hex.”
“Yep. And to beat that gunslinger to the draw, he must have cheated. That means it was murder.”
Spinley was starting to see where Skinner was headed. “So, we are just helping out the sheriff to do his civic duty and clean up the town. Now that you mention it, boss, I believe I did see him slip something into Hex’s drink.”
Skinner looked at Red. “First thing I need you to do is to start spreading the story about what you saw.”
Red nodded. He sat for a few seconds then realized that Skinner meant for him to start immediately.
By noon of the following day, the story was being well circulated. Not only that, but it had grown, even more wildly than Skinner had expected. Not only was the youngster being accused of slipping something into the stranger’s drink, but people were now thinking that, since it was over Constance, he might have been the one who killed the others.
During this time, the youngster kept himself scarce. He knew that he was innocent, but he didn’t want the people to jump the gun and take the law into their own hands. The sheriff spent a good part of the afternoon trying to calm the growing sense of mob mentality that was beginning to build. Having been in the saloon, he didn’t believe a word of the rumors.
Bright and early the following morning, Skinner and his men decided to make their play. They arrived at the Bar 8 where the youngster worked as a ranch hand and, at gunpoint, demanded he be turned over to them in the name of the law.
“You got no law-given authority ‘round these part,” the youngster said.
Skinner glanced at his six-shooter. “This is all the law we need.”
“I reckon I might have a thing or two to say about that,” the sheriff said, stepping out onto the porch, a Winchester cradled in his arms.
“You know the kid’s guilty of murder,” Skinner told him, his surprise at the man’s presence well hidden.
“An’ whut murdah would thet be?”
At the sound of the long southern drawl behind them, to the man, Skinner and his riders were shaken to the core. Slowly, he turned to see the bounty hunter standing behind them, his twin Colts drawn.
“This ain’t possible,” he said. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“ ‘Pears thet some feller made hisself a mistake,” Jonah said.
Quick as a wink, Skinner turned his gun on Red Spinley and put a bullet through his jaw. The little man toppled from his saddle and fell to the dirt.
Before he hit, the sheriff had his Winchester to his shoulder and several more armed ranch hands had appeared. Skinner knew that if it came to a fight, he and his men stood a good chance of dying from a sever case of lead poisoning.
“Ah reckon if’n ah wuz you, ah’d be lettin’ muh irons hit the ground.”
Not in a particular mood to die right now, Skinner took Hex’s advice and let his pistols fall; his men did so as well.
Jonah looked at the youngster. “Didn’t quite figgur on takin’ so many back alive. If’n yore boss’ll loan yuh out, ah could us a hand herdin’ these owlhoots back tuh Lar’mie. Ah’ll even split the reward with yuh.”
The youngster glanced at Bar 8’s foreman. The man nodded.
“Tell Constance that when I get back, we’re gonna have ourselves a wedding,” he said.
* * * * *
Casper—1950
“So,” Adam said as he turned off the recorder, “why was Jonah Hex still alive? I though him and the youngster had words over Constance.”
“They did,” the old man said. “I jest never told ya what them words were.”
Adam waited.
“When I was sittin’ in the saloon, Hex seen me watchin’ my Connie. He told me that I was right lucky to have a girl that looked like that. When I explained the situation, he told me that he was trailin’ Skinner and had an idea that would help us both out. I was all ears.”
The young man’s mouth had dropped open. “You mean you were the youngster?”
“Yep. Anyways, when we went out into the street, I angled my pistol upwards just a little so that the bullet went over his head.”
“What about the blood?” Adam asked. “Red said he saw the blood.”
“Jonah had himself a flask of whiskey inside his coat. On his way out the door, he reached in and unscrewed the top. When he fell, the whiskey is what Red saw spillin’ into the dust.
“As I was helpin’ box Jonah up, I quickly and quietly let them in on the plan. At nightfall, the undertaker road out to the Bar 8 in his wagon and snuck Jonah into the barn. You know the rest.”
Adam leaned back in his chair and looked at Louis. He began to smile. “So, do you have any more stories you’d care to share with me?”
A gleam appeared in the old man’s eye. “I reckon I know a few more. Have you ever heard of a feller by the name of Matt Savage?”
(Definitely not) The End
Times Past: 1950/1875
Death Is the Lady’s Companion
Casper, Wyoming—1950
“Mr. Grey?”
The voice was soft, an attempt to be unobtrusive so as not to startle the old man sitting by the window. Despite the fact that he was only a few days from his 95th birthday, Louis Grey looked at his guest with a clarity that the young man had not have expected.
“Ya must be that Ross feller they was tellin’ me about,” the old man said with a smile. “Well, don’t ya just stand there, son. Come on in and grab a seat.”
Adam Ross took an instant liking to his host and knew, if nothing else, this was going to be a memorable visit. He slid his chair around to where he could look at Louis directly and sat down. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”
“Yer a mighty polite young feller,” the old man grinned, “but let’s drop this “sir” nonsense right now. It makes me feel old.”
Louis cackled at his own joke and Adam couldn’t help but laugh along.
“So,” Louis said after a few moments, “the marshal tells me ya want to know about the past.”
The young man had been told ahead of time of Mr. Grey’s nickname for the nursing home’s director.
“He’s not senile,” the man had told Adam, “he calls me that because he says that I remind him of a federal marshal he once knew.”
“Which one?” Adam had asked.
“Don’t know,” was the reply. “That old codger won’t tell me.”
Adam could tell there was a great deal of respect in the director’s voice, and, after meeting the man, he could easily see why.
“Yes, Mr. Grey,” Adam told him. “I'm doing a series of articles for a magazine, and I thought you could tell me about some of the characters you met back in your younger day.”
“I reckon I kin do that. Do ya got a pencil handy?”
“Even better,” the young man told him. He opened up a case that he had brought with him to reveal a reel-to-reel tape recorder.
“Well, ain’t that fancy.”
Adam smiled as he put the first reel on. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said. “If at any time you need to take a break, just say the word.”
“That’s mighty kind of ya,” Louis shot him a wink, “but, I figure yer the one what will need a break afore I'm through.”
“I might at that,” Adam laughed.
“Let’s see,” the old man began. “I was nineteen years old, so that means it was...”
* * * * *
Joshua Flats, Wyoming—1875
Constance Varney was, by far, one of the prettiest gals he had ever laid eyes on. Well, him and every other unattached cowhand in the region.
Her hair, wound neatly into a bun, was the color of the sun in the late afternoon; golden with just a hint of orange, hardly noticeable unless one was standing close. It wasn’t hard to imagine it loose and falling down across her shoulders, but he found he was fond of it just the way it was. Pulled back, it gave you a good look at her face.
The good Lord must have decided to really show what He could do, because Constance’s was nothing shy of angelic. She had the slightest splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose, but it didn’t diminish her beauty in any way, if anything, it caught one’s attention and enhanced what they saw in her face. Her lips framed a smile that was so warm and pleasant, any other expression would have seemed out of place. The only part of her face that wasn’t pleasantly burned into my mind was her eyes. It wasn’t that he hadn’t looked at them, he had; the problem was that when he looked at them, he looked into them. And to look into them was to risk losing yourself forever.
They all tried to win her heart, but they had done it all friendly-like. They did a fair amount of ribbing to each other, but they all figured she was worth it. Shoot, they even told her that her youngest suitor wasn’t even a man yet—that he was still somewhere between grass and hay. He didn’t really mind. Like I said, he thought she was worth it.
Unfortunately, she was also a gal whose beauty could cause a lot of sorrow. Unwanted advances, the forwardness of strangers, unseemly words besmirching the honor of a lady; them kinds of things makes a man step up and that usually leads to violence.
Like now.
Constance Varney, that lovely flower, was the reason four men—four good men—had died. She was also the reason that a man known as Jonah Hex met the youngest in the street, and, when the smoke cleared, was carried off in a pine box.
It had all started a week earlier when “Skinner” Jake Tarr and his band of no-accounts had ridden into town on the run and still looking for trouble. He had seen Constance and decided that he wanted her. We had heard of the man before, and by all reports, what Skinner wanted, Skinner got.
Red Spinley was a mouse of a man. Since he had come to town with Tarr, he always seemed to be around. He was a sneaky little sidewinder whose sole purpose was to keep his ears open and report back to Skinner what he heard. It was him who found out the names of Constance’s suitors and passed them along.
When they found out what Skinner was up to, seven of them got together and went to have a talk with the man. He told them that Constance must be some kind of special woman for so many men to try to protect her. After that, he asked them who was going to protect her when they were dead. They were shaken when they returned to their homes.
It wasn’t long after that when the killing started. Skinner’s men began to catch the suitors alone and pick fights with them. Each one of them resulted in gunplay, and the suitors were easily outclassed. Out of the seven who paid Skinner a visit, four were dead.
Maxie and Shank decided that they wanted no part of what was happening and lit out for parts unknown. They tried to talk the youngster into going with them, but he just couldn’t leave Constance to that skunk. Trouble was, them leaving left the youngster to face Skinner’s men all by himself.
Then this Hex feller came riding into town.
If trouble were a person, this would be him. Most folks were trying hard to put the War behind them; Yanks and Rebs was working together to make themselves homes where they could have a wife and raise a swarm of young’uns. Then this Hex feller rides in still wearing his Confederate Gray coat and hat. He sat in his saddle the way most men would sit in a rocker, like it was the most comfortable seat around. His hands held the reins of his hammerhead roan in a position to where they were never far from the twin .44 Colts resting on his hips or the Sharps .50 slung in a scabbard on his saddle. There was no doubting that this man was a born killer.
And if his manner wasn’t enough to make you nervous, his face would. At one time he must have been a fairly handsome feller, but something happened along the way to change that. The right side of his face was scarred something terrible. A strip of flesh looked as though it had melted just below his eye and dripped to the corner of his chin, hardening once they were connected. The skin had pulled down, making his right eye seem larger than normal.
The gunslinger climbed off his horse and hitched him outside of the Box Canyon Saloon. Inside, he ordered a whiskey then walked over to a table occupied by the youngster. The youngster was looking out the window.
Hex made some small talk, then glanced out the window to see what held the young man’s attention. It was Constance. He made a comment, words were exchanged, and then he walked out into the street. The youngster checked his pistol, got up, and walked out to meet the stranger. Nobody expected what happened next.
Hex twitched, the youngster drew, and then it was over.
The youngster tried hard not to notice when he saw Spinley high-tailing it to find Skinner. Instead, he helped the sheriff and the undertaker load the body into a box and carry it into the undertaker’s parlor.
“Sure enough, Skinner,” Red told his boss. “I seen it with my own two eyes.”
Skinner looked at the little man. “You mean to tell me that that young cowpoke beat Jonah Hex to the draw and plugged him?”
“I seen the blood with my own eyes,” Red swore.
Skinner was silent for a few minutes. When at last he spoke, he had a mischievous glint in his eye. “That gets that bounty hunter off of our trail, now we just got to get rid of the kid and that little filly will be mine.”
“You got an idea,” Spinley snickered. “I kin see it in your eyes.”
“You bet I do. We’re going to call the kid out.”
“But...but he killed Jonah Hex.”
“Yep. And to beat that gunslinger to the draw, he must have cheated. That means it was murder.”
Spinley was starting to see where Skinner was headed. “So, we are just helping out the sheriff to do his civic duty and clean up the town. Now that you mention it, boss, I believe I did see him slip something into Hex’s drink.”
Skinner looked at Red. “First thing I need you to do is to start spreading the story about what you saw.”
Red nodded. He sat for a few seconds then realized that Skinner meant for him to start immediately.
By noon of the following day, the story was being well circulated. Not only that, but it had grown, even more wildly than Skinner had expected. Not only was the youngster being accused of slipping something into the stranger’s drink, but people were now thinking that, since it was over Constance, he might have been the one who killed the others.
During this time, the youngster kept himself scarce. He knew that he was innocent, but he didn’t want the people to jump the gun and take the law into their own hands. The sheriff spent a good part of the afternoon trying to calm the growing sense of mob mentality that was beginning to build. Having been in the saloon, he didn’t believe a word of the rumors.
Bright and early the following morning, Skinner and his men decided to make their play. They arrived at the Bar 8 where the youngster worked as a ranch hand and, at gunpoint, demanded he be turned over to them in the name of the law.
“You got no law-given authority ‘round these part,” the youngster said.
Skinner glanced at his six-shooter. “This is all the law we need.”
“I reckon I might have a thing or two to say about that,” the sheriff said, stepping out onto the porch, a Winchester cradled in his arms.
“You know the kid’s guilty of murder,” Skinner told him, his surprise at the man’s presence well hidden.
“An’ whut murdah would thet be?”
At the sound of the long southern drawl behind them, to the man, Skinner and his riders were shaken to the core. Slowly, he turned to see the bounty hunter standing behind them, his twin Colts drawn.
“This ain’t possible,” he said. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“ ‘Pears thet some feller made hisself a mistake,” Jonah said.
Quick as a wink, Skinner turned his gun on Red Spinley and put a bullet through his jaw. The little man toppled from his saddle and fell to the dirt.
Before he hit, the sheriff had his Winchester to his shoulder and several more armed ranch hands had appeared. Skinner knew that if it came to a fight, he and his men stood a good chance of dying from a sever case of lead poisoning.
“Ah reckon if’n ah wuz you, ah’d be lettin’ muh irons hit the ground.”
Not in a particular mood to die right now, Skinner took Hex’s advice and let his pistols fall; his men did so as well.
Jonah looked at the youngster. “Didn’t quite figgur on takin’ so many back alive. If’n yore boss’ll loan yuh out, ah could us a hand herdin’ these owlhoots back tuh Lar’mie. Ah’ll even split the reward with yuh.”
The youngster glanced at Bar 8’s foreman. The man nodded.
“Tell Constance that when I get back, we’re gonna have ourselves a wedding,” he said.
* * * * *
Casper—1950
“So,” Adam said as he turned off the recorder, “why was Jonah Hex still alive? I though him and the youngster had words over Constance.”
“They did,” the old man said. “I jest never told ya what them words were.”
Adam waited.
“When I was sittin’ in the saloon, Hex seen me watchin’ my Connie. He told me that I was right lucky to have a girl that looked like that. When I explained the situation, he told me that he was trailin’ Skinner and had an idea that would help us both out. I was all ears.”
The young man’s mouth had dropped open. “You mean you were the youngster?”
“Yep. Anyways, when we went out into the street, I angled my pistol upwards just a little so that the bullet went over his head.”
“What about the blood?” Adam asked. “Red said he saw the blood.”
“Jonah had himself a flask of whiskey inside his coat. On his way out the door, he reached in and unscrewed the top. When he fell, the whiskey is what Red saw spillin’ into the dust.
“As I was helpin’ box Jonah up, I quickly and quietly let them in on the plan. At nightfall, the undertaker road out to the Bar 8 in his wagon and snuck Jonah into the barn. You know the rest.”
Adam leaned back in his chair and looked at Louis. He began to smile. “So, do you have any more stories you’d care to share with me?”
A gleam appeared in the old man’s eye. “I reckon I know a few more. Have you ever heard of a feller by the name of Matt Savage?”
(Definitely not) The End
