Son Of A Legend

He hadn't been out riding in Cholla Springs since he was a kid. He had spent the last few years in hiding after he avenged his father's death. He was just nineteen when he killed the retired government official. He was so bent on revenge and justice that he completely forgot about himself, his dignity, his independence. He wanted to be a writer, not an outlaw. Watching the body of Edger Ross float away down the river, he turned away and threw away his gloves that were stained in blood. He knew that he was now an outlaw and his only option was to hide.

However, he wasn't getting younger and he needed to find a way of making some quick and honest cash. Realising that there wasn't a bounty on his head, he put his fears aside and emerged from his hiding place at Rathskeller Fork. The sun was bright, the air was crisp and the mood was set. He knew that the only place to help get him started was at Armadillo, the town where his father once stayed. He packed his things, gathered all the money he had left, mounted his horse and headed off towards his destination. He had a life to rebuild and a legacy to continue with. His name was Jack Marston.

Armadillo didn't change in appearance what so ever. It was still a small, wooden mess of a town when Jack rode in on his exhausted horse. The 24 year old was a little weary of the place as his paranoia swept through his mind. He was convinced that the lawmen were onto him and all he wanted to do was to keep on running. However, he knew that he was exhausted and he still had the right to a room at the saloon. Dismounting his horse, Jack stepped inside the saloon, pushing his fears aside. He couldn't care about the law for now. He just wanted to sleep. As he approached the bar, he to take one thing into account. Marshal Johnson wasn't around anymore which left Armadillo, practically defenceless. He sat there in solace. He was going to be alright.

A few hours later, Jack had knocked back a few shots of whiskey. So far there was no disruptions of any sort. There were still no lawmen and oddly enough, there was now gang trouble. Everything seemed quiet, too quiet and yet somehow, it seemed unsettling to him. Finishing up his last drink, he headed up towards his room. He wasn't going to witness any action for the rest of the day. He knew that if he could get some sleep, then he could press on during the night.

Jack's room was small with a bed at one end and a armoire at the other. Next to the armoire was a chest and small tin bath tub. It looked like crap, but Jack couldn't care less. He placed his bags down on the bed and stepped out onto the wooden balcony. The sun had now began to set and the local prostitutes were out on their local shifts. The sound of drunken ranchers and thugs could be heard downstairs along with the sound of the pianist, playing a tune. Cigar smoke filled the air as it seeped out through windows of the Saloon. The place had become an outlaws paradise.

A local man then approached Jack with a suspicious look on his face. Jack had slumped himself over the balcony when the man stood next to him and tried to attract his attention.

"Say mister, have I seen you before from somewhere?" he asked pointing his finger in Jack's face.

"I don't think we've met friend." Jack replied as he refused to make eye contact with the stranger. "I haven't been here in five years."

"Are you sure?" the stranger confirmed as he scrunched his face. "Because you look very familiar? You look like that legendary gun fighter who died up on the Great Plains? What was his name….John Marston?"

"Well how could I be a dead man?" Jack replied as he lightly chuckled under his breath. "You must be mistaken?"

"Huh, fair enough." the stranger replied as he tilted his cap and turned to leave. "Sorry to bother you mister."

"That's quite alright, friend." Jack replied as he kept his gaze fixed on the sunset. "Have a good evening."

The stranger went on his way and made his way into the bar area, leaving Jack alone to his thoughts. The stars began to appear in the sky as the Moon began to replace the orange glow of the sun. The people were in for a clear night, but as for the long silence, Jack had a feeling that trouble was going to appear real soon. He wanted to keep a low profile until he could make it to the family home at Beecher's Hope. He decided that it was now the time to get his weapons and gear ready.

He fastened his back duster coat and his holster belt before draping his bandolier over his shoulder. He was armed with his father's double-action revolver and he had to make sure that it was fully loaded. He had also brought with him a Henry repeater rifle in which he purchased from a store on his way to Armadillo. The cover of night meant danger and he didn't want to be killed on the spot. Within minutes, he was ready to leave, but he wasn't going anywhere just yet. The sounds of screams echoed from the streets along with the sounds of galloping horses and revolver fire. Trouble had just come into town.

Rushing back out onto the balcony, Jack looked down to see three thugs on their horses rush into town, firing their revolvers in the air. they were very tatty looking, which suggested that they came from a poor area. The middle rider appeared to be dragging a man across the street with a lasso around his neck. Jack could see that the man was on the verge of dying and just had to help him. drawing his rifle, he aimed for the rope that was strangling the man and fired at it. the single bullet, snapped the rope in half and the man was free. Jack leaped from the balcony and landed on the street below, rolling on impact. He attended the man to see if he was alright, but the trouble was far from over.

The rider's had heard the shot and began to back on themselves. Jack was now in their path and if the young Marston didn't act quickly enough, he was sure to get trampled. Pushing the barely conscious man out of danger, Jack drew his revolver and fired at the attackers. The left rider received a bullet in the chest while the other two men took a bullet in the head. The three attackers then fell to the desert road, lying in a pool of their blood. The danger appeared to be over.

After he looted their bodies for spare cash and weapon parts, Jack returned to the injured victim to attend to his wounds. A deep gash formed around the man's neck where the lasso had been digging into him. His heartbeat was faint and he was barely breathing. As Jack knelt beside him, a crowd began to form.

"Someone get the doctor out here!" he shouted as the towns porter rushed towards the doctor's office. "This man's dying!"

Amongst the confusion, the porter returned with the towns doctor. Jack stepped aside as he watched the doctor and few other men, carry the injured man into the saloon.

"This man needs a room to rest in?" the doctor said as the saloon manager stepped out into the seat. "There's no room in my surgery?"

"He can have my room." Jack replied as he offered the vacant space. "I was just about to leave anyway."

"Thank you." the doctor nodded in gratitude as he helped the man upstairs.

Jack mopped the sweat off of his head. So much for keeping a low profile now that everyone saw what he did to the attackers. Now he felt that everybody knew who he was and had no choice but to reveal himself to the people. Sitting back down in the saloon, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and waited for the first person to question him about the incident. So far, no one was interested, that was until a familiar face came along.

The stranger had returned and pulled up a seat infront of Jack.

"That was mighty fine shooting you did there friend." He said, grinning. "Why I haven't seen any fine shooting like that since John Marston was hear, and you tell me that you're not him? Well I gotta' now mister, who are you?"

Jack looked up at the stranger for the first time and looked into his eyes. Finishing his whisky glass, he finally began to speak.

"My name is Jack." He answered. "Jack Marston."

"Jack Marston?" the stranger gasped. "Are you John Marston's son?"

"I am." Jack replied as he got up to leave. "Oh and I appreciate it if you don't tell anyone that I was here. You see, I'm not a gunslinger or a bounty hunter. I'm a rancher and I'm going home."

With that, Jack left the saloon and mounted his horse. Tugging at the reigns, he rode off into the night. He had a farm to run and a name to continue. He was Jack Marston.

And that was my Jack Marston short. Please read and review it as it may influence my decision to make a second chapter. Thanks.