I Ought To Make You Eat That Rag

Dry Creek, Wyoming

1889

Wes reads the list.

“No bacon?”

His stepfather, House Peters, grits his stained teeth.

“You got bacon money, boy?”

“No.”

“No, what…”

“No, sir.”

Wes Wilson’s ten-year-old brother, Wyatt, huffs, his green eyes widening. “If you didn’t gamble away the money we got from selling our milk cow, we’d have enough for bacon and plenty more.”

House raises his beefy hand. Wes pulls Wyatt into a protective bear hug.

“You leave him alone.”

“Me and Zooks was at Andersonville durin’ the war. We was lucky to get a piece of moldy bread once a week and ate worms to survive. Best mind your manners, boy. Just ‘cause you growed an inch or two in the past year don’t mean you can take me.”

“Go ahead, try.”

House grunts, lowering his hand. His best friend, Gadzooks “Zooks” Fowler, helps him save face by saying, “Aw, let him be, House. He can’t fetch us those fancy cigars you like if you tan his hide so bad he can’t sit in the buckboard.”

House strokes his scruffy beard. “Git. And don’t be dawdlin’ pettin’ some mangy dog or playin’ ball with some other dirty kids.”

The pair watches the boys climb into their rickety buckboard.

“Wes is gettin’ biggity, House. When he grows out, he’ll be a bear like you. You might wanna ease up ridin’ him.”

“Useless, the both of them. Mary coddled them…”

“They were her blood,” Zooks reminds him.

“And when the cholera took her, I was stuck with ‘em. The farm ain’t worth a hill a beans. I’d love to make tracks outta this rat hole, but my pockets is empty.”

“I heard Carlton Payne is hirin’ at his mine.”

House grunts, spitting on the ground. “You know what happens to men who work the mine. If black lung doesn’t get ‘em, then cave-ins do… But wait a minute, them two scruffs know how to use a pick and a shovel. I’ll sell ‘em to Carlton.”

Zooks scratches his stringy dirt-blonde hair. “There’s a law agin’ that, House.”

“Okay, I can’t sell ‘em. But I can rent ‘em.”

***

Wes gently pulls on the reins as their tired mule pulls up in front of Ready’s General Store.

Danton Davis, a former hooligan who underwent a name and attitude change in order to become Dry Creek's recently minted deputy, watches the pair of boys enter the store. He doesn’t like the look of the gangly older boy, or the bright red bandanas traditionally worn by trouble-making cowboys that he and the shorter, dark-haired boy are wearing. The twenty-two-year-old deputy follows them inside.

Store owner Elgin Ready shakes his head at the sight of the raggedly dressed boys.

Wes hands Elgin the list.

“What’s this? You two don’t have a pot to…”

Wyatt looks at Elgin dewy-eyed. “We really need these supplies, Mr. Ready. I’m getting tired of hearing House’s stories about when he and Zooks were prisoners at Andersonville.”

“Andersonville? House’s lies are bigger than his belly. Your stepfather may look old, but he’s only in his thirties. He spent the war here in town, skipping school.”

“You know how things are on the farm,” Wes says. “We ate the last of our scrawny chickens last week and sold our last cow. House is too lazy to help out. The summer’s been hard on the garden, too. All we have to show is a few potatoes and some greens.”

The bald proprietor’s eyes moisten.

“Your Pa’s no good. But something’s gotta give, boys. You owe me two hundred dollars.”

“We’ll make good on it, Mr. Ready,” Wes replies.

“Yeah, but when?”

Elgin exhales heavily as he heads to the backroom.

“Someday, Wyatt, when we own the farm, we’re gonna have a hundred beeves and crops that’ll stretch up to the sky. We’re gonna be able to come into town with our heads held high.”

“And we can buy some bacon. But House has got a lot of years left… Years he can still starve us and beat us.”

Wes’s eyes narrow. “House keeps a lot of guns around the house… If one of them was to go off…”

Wes glances at Danton, who pretends to be looking through a catalogue.

“I need you to do what we talked about,” Wes says to Wyatt.

“But it’s wrong. Mr. Ready treats us square…”

“Just do it!”

Wes picks up a sack of bacon, tossing it to his brother, who takes it outside and hides it in the buckboard.

Danton takes his badge out of his pocket, pinning it to his vest.

“You’re under arrest for theft, boy.”

Wyatt grabs Danton from behind. Danton frees himself from the boy’s grasp, pushing him to the floor.

“You just bought yourself a peck of trouble, little man. You just jumped a peace officer.”

Intending to scare the boy, Danton reaches for his gun.

He realizes it’s missing.

He turns back to see Wes holding his weapon.

“And a pick pocket to boot. Put the gun down, son. I’ll let the little one go free and just charge you with thievin’.”

Elgin comes out of the backroom, gasping in horror.

“Criminy! What are you doing, Wes!”

Dropping the supplies, Elgin boldly yanks the gun from Wes’s hand.

Danton takes the gun from Elgin, waving it at Wes. “You ain’t gonna like the food in jail, son.”

“It’ll be the first time I've had regular meals in over a year.”

Picking himself up off the floor, Wyatt blocks their path.

“No.”

“Get outta the way. The only reason you’re not goin’ to jail is I don’t feel like readin’ you bedtime stories every night.”

“I said no. Wes is all I have in the world.”

“It was just a sack of bacon,” Wes pleads. “We’ll pay for it.”

“They’re good boys,” Elgin says. “You heard Wes… They haven’t had a decent meal in ages. They’re smart boys. They could amount to something if we lead them down the right path... I remember a snot-nosed boy who used to steal apples from me when he thought I wasn’t looking…I won’t press charges.”

Danton eyes the boys' red bandanas.

“Those are pretty decorations.”

“Our Ma gave them to us,” Wes replies. “You remember her, don’t you? Yeah, you can change your name, but not your past. She was the only member of our family who ever treated you right.”

Danton’s mocking smile dissipates. He yanks Wes’s bandana from around his neck. “So, you’re hungry, are you? I oughta make you eat this rag. Now, git.”

***

Rush Williams has been a gambler for a dozen years and has never seen a shakier shakedown than the one he’s witnessing.

Danton lays his cards on the table.

“Look at all them pretty hearts. See if you can beat a flush.”

House sucks on his cigar. Letting out a stream of pungent smoke, he shows his cards. “I believe I can. Full house. Kings and tens.”

Rush whistles with derision.

“You people are amateurs.”

“You can either join in and show us what a sharp you are, Williams, or shut your big bazoo,” House snaps back.

Zooks deals the next hand. The three men play cat-and-mouse with their hands until House drops out.

“I’m raisin’ the bet to a hundred and fifty,” Zooks declares.

Danton looks at his cards, studying Zooks’s grimy grin.

“I’ll take one card and raise the pot to two hundred.”

Zooks passes him the card.

“You need to develop a better poker face, boy,” House teases.

“I ain’t takin’ advice from a clodhopper who just folded.”

“You watch your mouth, boy. That badge ain’t a bulletproof shield.”

Danton snickers. “Just ‘cause you got a lot of guns, House, don’t mean you know how to use ‘em. I recall when we was kids, you blowed a hole in your boot loadin’ a pistol.”

“Can you two stop jabberin’ like a couple of old biddies?” Zooks asks. “I’m raisin’ the pot to three hundred and callin’ you, Deputy Davis.”

“Three hundred is all the money I got in the world. I was gonna use it to buy the old Waverly place and set myself up here in town. I’m movin’ up in the world, unlike some dirt farmers I know.”

Danton puts the money in the pot and lays down his cards.

“Three aces.”

“Royal flush,” Zooks replies, gathering up the money. “Looks like you changed yer name, Deputy, but not yer luck.”

Danton springs to his feet. “I don’t know how you four-flushers done it, but I know you bilked me.”

House slowly rises from the table, cracking his knuckles. Zooks stands, and the two bullish men glare at the slightly built deputy.

“You never could stand comin’ up short,” House adds. “Go lick your wounds somewheres. How about you go and sit in the yard of that house you ain’t never gonna have?”

Danton storms out.

Rush clicks his tongue. “Like I said before. You two chiselers are amateurs, passing cards to each other under the table, hiding them in your sleeves.”

“You’re a lyin’ sidewinder, Williams,” House replies.

Rush pulls out a derringer, pointing it at House. “Prove me wrong, lunk-head. Roll up your sleeves.”

House slowly complies. A pair of aces falls to the table.

“I’m sure Deputy Davis would love to have you two as his guests in the jailhouse,” Rush says, “but it doesn’t have to be that way.”

“I got three hundred dollars to help you develop a case of forgetfulness,” House replies.

***

His bald dome shiny with sweat, Elgin rushes into the Marshal’s office.

Elderly Marshall Hod Peete lowers his newspaper, glancing at Elgin over the top of his spectacles.

“Somebody make off with a few peppermint sticks, Elgin?”

“I went out to House Peters's ranch to give the Wilson brothers some food to tide them over… You’ve got to go to House’s ranch! Hurry!

***

Marshal Peete lowers his glasses, examining House and Zooks’ bullet-riddled bodies propped up in rocking chairs.

“These two are shot all to hell.”

Danton climbs the porch, waving a red bandana.

“I think I know who done it. I found this in the barn. It belongs to Wes.”

“You think a sixteen-year-old boy did this here overkill?”

“I heard him threaten to kill House the other day. Him and the little one was conspirin’ to take over the ranch.”

Marshal Peete looks around at the broken fencing, parched garden, and the tilted smokehouse.

“Wes was willin’ to kill for this?”

***

Wes stands proudly at attention on the scaffold as Marshal Peete reads his sentence.

“Any last words?”

“I’ll say it again. I didn’t kill House Peters and Zooks Fowler.”

“Gotta admire you for stickin’ to your guns.”

The hangman fits the noose around Wes’s neck.

“Where’s Wyatt?” Danton asks. “You two was always joined at the hip. You rode into the ranch pretty as you please, all alone, and didn’t put up a fight.”

“Because I’m innocent.”

***

Danton smiles to himself as Wes dances at the end of the hangman’s rope.

He glances up the street as the crowd disperses.

A boy sits on a horse, staring mournfully at Wes’s swinging body.

Danton recognizes the red bandana around his neck.

By the time the deputy fights his way through the crowd, Wyatt is gone.

***

Royce Milne smiles weakly at the green-eyed man hovering over his deathbed.

“Nice hotel. I always wanted to die in style.”

“Rest a little. You’ll be fine.”

“No, Parish, this is it... I told you my weak heart would get me someday…”

“You’ve been like a father to me, Royce, ever since you found me hungry and alone out on the trail.”

“And you remind me of my boy. He and my wife die in a fire, and you come along to help heal me. We sure were some team. Did all right for two drifters turned hired guns. How many men did we kill over the last twelve years?”

“Thirty, thirty-five.”

“Takes skill and steady nerves to put a man down. You’ve got more sand than men twice your age, Parish. You’re already a legend… What you’ll need to stay one is in the closet.”

“It should be buried with you.”

“That’d be a waste… Take it. I want to die knowing you’ll be safe… Unkillable.”

Crossing the floor, Parish opens the closet door, looking inside.

***

Elgin looks up from his ledger into the warm smile of a green-eyed stranger. The well-dressed man is wearing a long, heavy frock coat, a form-fitting black suit, a white shirt with a stiff collar, and a stick pin on his lapel.

He tips his hat. “Hello, Mr. Ready.”

“Have we met before?”

Reaching into his pants pocket, he places two hundred-dollar bills on the counter.

“This is for the Wilson brothers’ account.”

The man tips his hat, sauntering out of the store.

***

Wiping sweat from his brow, Elgin bursts into the Marshal’s office.

“Your pants on fire, Mr. Ready?” Deputy Marlon Pugh asks.

Elgin points at the wanted poster behind Marlon.

“I knew it was him the moment I looked into his green eyes.”

“Parish Pearson is here? He’s wanted in three states.”

Marlon’s broad grin accentuates the gap between his front teeth and his baby face.

“I’m gonna be the man who captures the killer who can’t be killed!”

“Wait for Marshal Davis to get back from Medicine Bow. You’re still green. Danton’s been in charge here for a dozen years since he took over from Marshal Peete. He knows how to handle hired guns like Pearson. Pearson’ll kill you before you can blink.”

Marlon considers the prospect of facing Pearson alone.

“I heard he killed three drovers guardin’ Earl McClannahan’s sheep durin’ the Crowheart Range War. Put a bullet through one man’s cup as he was raisin’ it to his lips.”

“I read he killed four men stealing cattle in Abilene,” Elgin recalls. “Took one out from two hundred yards as he was trying to get away on his horse… Then there was Ryne Risling. The deadliest gun in Tombstone and the bodyguard for John King Nash, the biggest rustler since Old Man Clanton. Risling had fifteen notches on his gun. He ambushed Pearson. Swore with his dying breath that he put three in Pearson’s back. That’s how Pearson came to be known as the killer who can’t be killed… But I’ll say one thing about Parish Pearson. The man is a gentleman, polite, and well spoken. There was one thing I thought was unusual about him. He’s wearing a heavy frock coat in August.”

Taking a deep breath, Marlon says, “I’m twenty-three. It’s time I made a name for myself. I can’t turn tail just ‘cause I’m facin’ a legend.”

His courage renewed, Marlon moves to the door.

“You’ll be readin’ about me in the papers, Mr. Ready!”

“Yeah, in the obituary section,” Elgin mutters.

***

“PARISH PEARSON!”

Parish slowly turns to face Marlon as the townspeople scurry for cover.

“I was once as green as you, Deputy. I was lucky to find someone kind enough to teach me a few lessons in life.”

Marlon’s voice shakes. “Drop your guns, Pearson. Consider yourself my prisoner.”

“Lesson one. People have few friends, but many enemies. Cherish the former and kill the latter. Lesson two. Don’t ever bite off more than you can chew.”

“Well, I never had much interest in schoolin’.”

Silence pervades as Parish and Marlon’s stares lock.

“…And lesson three?...” Marlon squawks.

“If you draw down on someone, prepare to kill or be killed.”

Marlon pulls his gun out, firing two shots.

Parish remains standing, his smile turning into a condescending leer.

“You should have paid closer attention in class, Deputy.”

***

Danton enters The Lavish Lounge, where Parish Pearson is playing solitaire.

“You shot my Deputy down like a dog. I’m here to return the favor.”

Parish slowly lifts his head, dissecting Danton with his vibrant green eyes.

“Do I know you?” Danton asks.

“Yes, you do.”

Hoping to catch Parish looking at his cards, Danton draws his gun, blasting him in the chest.

Parish calmly pulls out his revolver, firing twice.

Danton watches his blood spread across his shirt as he collapses to the floor.

Parish leans over Danton. Blood spews from Danton’s mouth as he struggles to speak.

Danton stares into his green eyes.

“…Wyatt… It’s you…”

“That’s right. And you’re Frank Peters. You spent your life pining away for my mother. Did you kill my real father in the hope that she’d marry you? Your brother, House, beat you to it. You stood by as he abused my mother, me, and Wes.”

Danton coughs, blood spilling over his lips. “…I tried to make up for House’s behavior. I changed my name, became a lawman… But House and Zooks cheated me out of all the money I’d saved. That’s why I killed them… You should thank me…”

“For framing my brother for the two murders you committed? Wes and I were out hunting. We came back to the ranch and found House and Zooks dead. Wes knew we’d get blamed, so he sent me to town, and Elgin Ready hid me in his store. I left Dry Creek the day you hanged Wes, vowing that someday I’d return and avenge his death.”

“… Nice touch changing your name to your mama’s maiden name,” Danton says. “I changed my name too, but not my luck…I don’t understand how you’re alive… I hit you square in the chest. I killed you.”

Parish reaches inside his long coat, pulling out a dented iron breastplate.

“A gift from an old friend.”

Parish drops the breastplate. It hits the floor with a loud, deathly thud.

Parish places his gun next to Danton’s head, cocking the trigger. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulls out a red bandana, stuffing it in Danton’s mouth.