I.

All the men left had all abandoned themselves. None would even dare speak of what they had to do with their families and loved ones.

“What a poor scenario you fellows are in. This town looks…”

“Yeah, we know…” said Cowboy Number #1.

He was the man that RuBaut-Chao guessed to be The Real Deal. He had no clue.

“Don’t you keep any pride for such a place? Doesn’t all this destruction, refuse and I’ve been told there are…”

“Aw, shut up, you stinker. You dandy. I should have shot you as soon as I saw that stupid horse of you and yours. Are you the only one who knows how to ride it? You carry such an air and yet you were the one at the front of the carriage.”

“I bet I’m a better shot than all of you.”

“And I don’t doubt that! Think of all the time you’ve had, all the shells and hunting rifles, exotic and bespoke – you may well be the best shot this town has ever seen.”

“So why aren’t any of you afraid of me?”

“Because we know you are the type to ask questions like that if pushed to a certain point.”

“And what if I’m lying to such a degree that that is exactly what I wished to be seen as.”

“Well. What if.”

“Indeed. What if?”

“Can I get you a drink of some Messican uh….”

“Yes.”

The two men sitting in the decrepit, seemingly abandoned bar. The two men. Rubaut-Cho found the proprietor, off osmewhere in the hidden whorehouse rooms, and struck a quick little piece of trust with him. Maybe left some cash. Threw a hefty billfold on the bar, too. Like a man that wanted free reign. Or maybe he just went for a piss. Cultivating mystery like this – Anser liked all this, despite his sour countenance.

“Look at this bottle. This is what we drink; I will let you use me as target practice with that slick cannon outside if we can finish this rotten, rotten stuff.”

“Mm. I don’t care about any of that.”

“And I don’t care to stay long.”

“I think I will pick my own bottle.”

Anser got up to do just that and ibe one look up in the eyes of Rubaut-Cho indicated he would be much better off playing trust-games right now. He grabs the bottle and tips his head back and serves himself a good four-shots, then continues to the bar to find his preferred drink – and then does another four-or-so shots – right from the bottle, just standing there. He burps. He pulls out his little gun – looks over at the dandy and KABOOM! he bellows.

“What a darling little thing you have there. Did you get it from Herr Dunsen over in Sante Fe?”

“You are just too keen – I sure did! What a fascinating bespectacled little kraut.”

“Ah – you didn’t hear?”

“Do I want to?” he tosses the first bottle over to Rubaut-Cho.

“Don’t worry – he is fine – but on the run. William Tell game.”

“Who’d he…”

“My brother.”

“No shit.”

“Nope – no problem. I wanted that cock sucker dead for too long. He liked to rape – and it was never worth it unless he put a baby in his victim. He must have had…”

“Sixty-six. I know of him. He is a legend now. The funeral was rather bizarre and heartbreaking.”

Anser was starting to get a pleasant buzz. Not even the grim subject matter could keep the telltale waves of sweat – and heat – and idle tap-dancing of sorts.

“A legend, huh.”

“I mean… We have an awful lot of those these days. So I ain’t putting much stock in til…. Well, you wanna know my measure?”

“I sure do.”

“I know if someone’s a legend if I see kids playing – ynow – cowboys versus indians, and well, kids like to show off, so they’ll each play a different guy, and you can hear them…”

“Sayin’ I wanna play him or some other guy, I got it…”

The door opened and the room was dusted as he entered – the man they had just talked of in the past-tense – Anser’s brother. Dripping in oil, missing a chunk of his arm, the widest smile Anser had ever seen of all the men in his family. Such a great big smile – beaming so intensely that he felt lucky his hand was already in his inner pocket, next to the discreet little gun.

“It’s so good to see ya, big brother. I can barely see you on account of all this muck and oii and, well, maybe telling you the story might add some valuable context. But I gotta ask real quick brother – do you have daddy’s little gun with ye? Ye know the one… And can I get a drink? I… don’t care what kind. I really, really, really….”

He spaced out, picking out a tuft of hair that was most certainly non-human from a hard-to-reach spot on his back. Anser finished his sentence, and then told him he lost the little gun in a poker game.

“Oh, dang. That’s OK. Such is what happens in times like these.”

“Yeah. Dang indeed. It’s good to see you, brother.”