REMEMBER MY FAMILY
Honky tonk piano music blasted from the piano at the Blackwater Saloon, but Jack Marston didn't pay much attention to its sweet sound as he downed his tenth shot of whiskey. Abigail, his mother, had died just a few short hours ago. Jack was now an orphan, left alone to fend for himself in a world that was changing fast. Jack decided to drown his sorrows in whiskey immediately after burying his mother. He had never had the liquid before, but now, he welcomed its bitter taste.
Milford Weaver, the bartender, silently watched Jack with sad eyes. He didn't know exactly what Jack was going through, but he could guess that it wasn't good. He knew the Marston family well; Jack's father, John Marston, was a popular figure in Blackwater folklore. John was a former outlaw that had rescued his family after they were taken away by the government by hunting his old gang down. John was later gunned down by the very people he had helped, betrayed in the worst way possible.
With bloodshot eyes, Jack murmured, "Another shot, please," slamming his glass down as he did so. Milford grabbed the whiskey bottle from the counter and poured the last of it into Jack's glass. Jack downed it in one go and shuttered, drunk and miserable out of his mind. Suddenly angry, Jack threw the shot glass at the wall and it shattered just above the head of a blackjack dealer.
"What the hell?" the dealer asked wildly, flipping Jack off. Jack just scoffed and looked away, not in the mood for a fight.
At this point, Jack just sat there, thinking about everything that had happened to him in the last few years. He remembered the day his father came home; Jack was frustrated that John had been gone for so long, but he was also happy to see him. They had spent some quality time together; John taught Jack how to hunt and shoot straight, and Jack always tried to pay attention to his father's teachings. There was one time he was arrogant enough to hunt a grizzly on his own, which almost cost him his life, but his father had stepped in and saved the day.
Ever since the day Edgar Ross had sent that Army posse to Beecher's Hope and John had died, Jack suspected that he knew something was coming. He remembered that John didn't look at all surprised when he saw the first group of soldiers coming toward the ranch, and he remembered how calm John was when he told Jack to stay in the house. Jack remembered just how terrified he was when he heard the gunshots. He tried to run outside to help John and Uncle, but Abigail had stopped him. She told him that she wanted him safe.
Just a few minutes later, he and his mother were escorted by John to the barn, where they hopped on a young pinto and rode quickly away from the ranch. Not even half a minute later, they heard the sound of gunfire; first six shots went off, then dozens more. Fearing the worst, they galloped back to the ranch and, to their horror, saw the bullet-riddled body of John Marston.
Damn that Edgar Ross! Jack thought to himself. That backstabbing son of a bitch deserves to burn in Hell for what he did to my Pa! I oughta kill him now!
Jack stood up to leave, but almost fell down on account of how drunk he was. Noticing this, Milford stepped out from behind the bar and put his arm around Jack.
"Come on, boy, I got a room upstairs you can stay in," Milford said. "You ain't in no riding condition tonight." Milford and Jack climbed up the stairs and Milford unlocked a room on the left. He helped Jack into the room, and once Milford left, Jack took his gun belt off, collapsed onto his bed, and passed out.
The next morning, Jack awoke with the worst headache imaginable, completely hung over from his night of drinking. He couldn't remember much about the previous night, or even how he had managed to get into the saloon's only sleeping quarters, but the one thing that he did remember was that he wanted to kill Edgar Ross. Filled with vengeful anger, Jack slowly got up and grabbed his guns. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and hooked his gun belt to his waist, his father's Schofield revolver in the holster, along with several rounds of spare ammunition. Once he was ready, Jack grabbed his hat, put it on, and headed down the stairs.
The saloon was completely empty, save for Milford and one lone cowboy, who was covered in trail dust and looked like he had just been on the trail. As Jack got closer to the man, he noticed a glistening badge and correctly guessed that the man was a federal marshal that had returned from a bounty hunting mission. Jack approached the man, wanting to ask him about Edgar Ross, and cleared his throat to get the man's attention once he had reached him. The man looked over at Jack and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Howdy mister," Jack said in as friendly a voice as he could muster.
"Hello, boy," the bounty hunter responded, tipping his hat. Jack did the same in response. "You need something, boy? Come, sit, let me buy you a drink."
"That's alright, mister, I had enough last night," Jack said. "Do you know a man named Edgar Ross? I'm trying to find him."
"I've heard the name, but I've never seen him or talked to him myself," he responded. "You might want to try asking somebody from the Bureau; they would know more about him than me. In fact, there's a Bureau agent at the Blackwater train station. He's waiting for the next train to Armadillo. Some kind of business down there. You might benefit from talking to him."
"Thank you for your help, Mr..."
"Morris. Walter Morris."
"Mr. Morris, you have a wonderful day," Jack said. Morris waved as Jack left the saloon and mounted his father's old palomino, which was hitched on a post outside. He clicked his tongue, sending the horse forward. Being in no rush, Jack walked the horse over to the train station, where, sure enough, a Bureau agent was standing on the platform. Jack led his horse to a hitching post near the station and hitched it. He then approached the Bureau agent and got his attention.
"Hello, sir," Jack said cordially. "You work with the government? You one of them agents?"
"Sure, son," the man responded. "Why you ask?"
"Did you work with a man named Edgar Ross? I have something for him." A bullet, Jack thought to himself.
"Edgar Ross? No, but well knew of him. Fine man if you wanted results. Won himself a chest full of medals. I think he went and retired about a year ago. Last I heard him and his wife moved out to a cabin on Lake Don Julio. Lucky guy, getting to take it easy. Beats fighting crime in this dump, that's for sure."
"Well thank you for the information, mister," Jack said, tipping his hat. The man did the same. Jack mounted his horse again and rode to Lake Don Julio. While he was riding, he thought out loud, "That bastard won medals? Good God, they must not know nothin' about him! I wouldn't give him a medal if my life depended on it! He don't deserve any of the recognition he's got. And who the hell decided to give him those medals? Whoever it was must've wanted somethin' from him, tryin' to kiss his ass like that. Damn them. Damn them all."
Jack continued to talk to himself as rain started to fall on the landscape. "It always rains when you don't want it to," Jack said, frustrated. "It don't matter; rain or shine, I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch who shot my Pa." The remainder of Jack's ride was uneventful, and once he had reached the cabin, he hid behind a rock and pulled out his binoculars, intending to find Ross before killing him. The only person he could see, however, was a woman, presumably Ross's wife, who was sitting out on the porch and looking out toward the lake. Jack decided to ask her about Ross's whereabouts, so he descended the hill and approached the small cabin.
"Excuse me, ma'am," Jack said.
"Hello, young man," Ross's wife, Emily, said, smiling.
"Hi."
"What are you doing out here? Are you out visiting the lake with your family?"
A pang of pain hit Jack when he was reminded of his dead parents, but he hid this from Emily and instead said, "No, ma'am. I was looking to deliver a letter to Edgar Ross."
"Oh, that husband of mine," Emily said. "That bureau just won't get its talons out of him, even though he's retired. Edgar gave them some of the best years of his life; they ought to let him retire in peace. They'll not rest til they've killed him with worry, and he's such a sensitive man. I'm sorry, I shouldn't get so angry. I don't suppose any of this is your fault. There's no reason to worry about him nowadays."
"Well where is he?" Jack asked.
"He and his brother Phillip went hunting on the south side of the San Luis River. Be careful crossing over. They were saying it was dangerous."
"I sure will, ma'am," Jack responded. "And don't worry about a thing. I'm sure your husband will be just fine." Emily smiled and waved goodbye, and Jack hopped back on his horse and galloped away.
Jack rode his father's old palomino through the Mexican wilderness, hell bent on finding Edgar Ross and killing him. He didn't know what he was going to say, or if he would even say anything, but he did know that he wanted to kill him and that nothing would change his mind. This man deserves to die, Jack thought to himself. The bastard never cared about no one but himself. As Jack continued along the trail next to the San Luis River, he noticed a camp in the distance. That's where he is, Jack thought, focusing his gaze on the small camp. When he reached it, there was only one man there. Jack dismounted his horse and gave the man a friendly grin.
"He there, mister! How's the hunting?" he asked casually.
"Oh, pretty good, son," the man responded. "Got me a few rabbits, coyote, elk. Still looking for some trophies for the parlor."
"I got a letter here for Edgar Ross," Jack lied. "You know him? I heard he was down in these parts from his wife."
"Course I know him, he's my brother!" Phillip Ross stated. "He's gone downriver to duck hunt. Must be a pretty important letter to have come all this way."
"Yes, sir, real important. I'll be on my way home as soon as I deliver this message."
"You best be off then." While Jack walked toward his horse, Phillip called out, "Just don't get on his bad side! He's got a filthy temper." Jack spurred his horse forward toward the river. His heart was racing and he was beginning to sweat nervously. In just a minute or so, he was going to be face-to-face with his father's killer for the first time in years. A huge mixture of emotions overwhelmed Jack and almost made him stop and turn around. But he had made the conscious decision to do away with Edgar Ross, and he wasn't about ready to let his out-of-control teenage hormones stop him.
In the distance, Jack could hear gunshots, and he guessed it was Edgar Ross hunting ducks. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva as he dismounted his horse near the place where he had heard the shooting and walked quickly to the retired Bureau agent. This is it, Jack thought, the moment I've been waiting three years for. It's time to get it over with.
"Excuse me," Jack said, getting Ross's attention. "You Edgar Ross?"
Ross squinted at Jack. He vaguely recognized the 19-year-old's face, but couldn't quite put a name on it. For this reason, he asked, "Do I know you?"
"Forgive me for startling you, sir. I have a message for you." Jack moved forward slightly, then continued. "My name is Jack Marston. You knew my father."
Ross paused for a second. He knew both John and Jack; after all, he was the one who was responsible for John's death and Jack's and Abigail's kidnapping. Chuckling, he said, "I see. I remember your father."
"I've come for you, Ross," Jack said, his eyes and voice filling with anger.
This kid can't be serious, Ross thought to himself. This has got to be a joke or something. Humored, he chuckled harder and said, "And you, boy, have sure as shit found me."
"You killed my father!"
Ross's humor began to fade, and annoyance took its place. "Your father killed himself with the life he lived," he argued.
"You killed him! I saw you!" Jack began to raise his voice, his anger ever-rising.
"You keep saying that."
"You sent him to do your dirty work, then you shot him like a dog!"
Ross's temper had reached a critical point. "And I'll shoot you like one, too, you little piece of trash. Now get out of here before I kill you as well!"
The kid will back down now, Ross thought. He doesn't have the guts to shoot me. To his surprise, however, Jack's response was, "I ain't goin' nowhere, old man." He then proceeded to take a couple steps back. Knowing a challenge when he saw one, Ross dropped his shotgun and also took a few steps back. He and Jack put their hands over their revolvers, ready for the draw.
The two men stared each other down, waiting for the standard five seconds to pass. Ross wasn't expecting anything like this to happen; he figured that if someone from his past was going to come after him, he'd be able to detect it in time and take care of it. Jack, on the other hand, had been planning this almost since the moment his father was gunned down. This wasn't just a simple matter of dueling to Jack; this was an act of revenge. In addition, Jack was depressed enough that he didn't actually care if he won the duel. He wanted to avenge his father's death, but with Abigail gone he didn't think he had much to live for.
Five seconds passed by quickly, and it was time to draw. The elderly Edgar Ross was still quick to the draw, but the younger, more agile Jack was a worthy opponent. Within less than a second, Jack had his gun up and firing just as Ross had his gun up and ready to fire. Five shots from Jack's Schofield revolver were discharged, ending the life of his father's killer. Ross's lifeless body fell onto the river bank.
Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He had finally gotten his revenge. He looked down at his gun, formerly his father's gun that he had gotten from famed gunman Landon Ricketts, and briefly pondered what he had done. In avenging his father's death, he was now a stone's throw away from the very life that his father never wanted him to live. There was no turning back now.
Jack holstered the pistol and approached his horse. He patted the horse on the neck and quickly hopped into the saddle. Taking one last look back at Edgar Ross, Jack Marston rode quickly away from the scene of the crime.