"That's the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard." Jack Marston sighed as he stood up and walked away from the campfire.
"How would you know? Were you there?" The Fiddle Man barked at Jack.
"Yes. For the record… Jack Marston didn't spend himself pissin' his fright away while his daddy got beat up by the Cowtipper before a cougar wandered in and took out the Cowtipper for him."
"Well, how the hell did you know?"
Jack Marston showed them the scar on his cheek while unholstering his guns and twirling them in his hands. "Cause I am Jack Marston and I was there."
"Holy shit! Killer outlaw!" The Fiddle Man's face was masked with fear. "The papers said he murdered a Bureau man and his entire family for kicks! I'm outta here! With me, my band!" In a speed that bewildered Marston, the Fiddle Man had set up his carriage at a record speed all by himself and kicked off. A few seconds later, Jack heard the sound of a carriage being toppled in the far distance. Following was the sound of a cougar roaring and a man screaming until all was suddenly silent.
"Um… what just happened?"
"Aw, geez… don't hurt us, mister!" The remaining of the band, none of who had followed the Fiddle Man, cowered.
"Relax. The papers tell bullshit. I only killed the Bureau man, I didn't touch a hair on his family. Besides, it wasn't just for kicks. Rest easy, now, the lot of ya. I don't hurt innocent people unless they not so innocent underneath."
"Really? Well then… does this mean that the Terrible Cowtipper was actually real? I thought it was just some bullshit tale the Boss made up like most of his other happy crappy."
"Well… sorta. Not the way he tells it." Jack said. "There was no shoot-out that resulted in John Marston slayin' over a hundred cow tippers, or a fatal three-way between him, the Terrible Cowtipper, and a wild cougar. In fact, he didn't even deliver the Cowtipper back to the authorities. The Bureau showed up directly to Beecher's Hope and dragged the kid away screaming."
"So what happened to the Terrible Cowtipper then?"
"I don't know. Maybe he's rottin' away in a jail cell. Or maybe he's out there somewhere…" Jack thought. "But enough of that. I'm off to bed. I've had enough verbal craziness for a night."
Jack Marston was dreaming peacefully. It was an odd dream, of a man erecting a fence around his house in the frontier while the sun around him set. But before he could see this dream to fruition, he felt a sharp kicking in his ribs. Jack woke up sharply, and swore before grabbing his guns and pointing them at his attacker. Was it the Fiddle Man, out for a late-night bit of revenge? But instead it was merely that goddamn girl he saw hanging around the campfire who was dressed like a boy.
"What the hell do ya want, ya tranny punk?" Jack muttered rather grouchily, because it was a second earlier than when he normally woke up and he had not yet had his coffee yet.
"I need ta talk ta ya. You see, I was hitchin' with them musical fellas not for the sights but for a personal vendetta of mine…"
"Goddamn it, talk then. You lucky I ain't the kind of fella who'd blow out a kid's face just for wakin' him up early." Jack continued to mutter.
"You might say I was out for a bit of red dead retribution." She tossed a poster at Jack's feet. Jack looked down. It couldn't be… his pa had put this man behind bars. But sketched out on the poster in front of him was none other than the face of the Terrible Cowtipper himself, albeit with some differences. For instance, the rogue actually had some facial hair for once. Jack then noticed the reward for bringing in this felon, dead or alive.
One hundred thousand American dollars.
"Jesus Christ! All this for one lousy cowtipper?" Jack asked, astonished.
"He ain't no lousy cowtipper anymore. He's changed…" The girl clenched her fist.
"What do you mean?"
"No one knows for certain, but while this fella was in prison after John Marston helped put him away, his mind became warped and fixated on the one family he blamed for his downfall. He don't even tip cows anymore."
"So why they still callin' him the Terrible Cowtipper on this wanted poster?" Jack asked.
"Well, you see, he's now simply choosin' to gun down the cows with a giant gatling gun, and no one in Armadillo knew how ta' spell Terrible Cowmassacrerer. But the cows ain't the only thing he's gone murdering. He knows that it was a trio of Marstons that ended his first reign of terror. A Pa, a Ma, and a son. So any family with a role just like that he adds to his kill count. My family was one of them. And they ain't the first or the last."
"Jesus… and you went after him for revenge?" Jack said, bewildered.
"Yeah, guns I have on me belonged to my own Pa. But the more time I spend on the road, I realize I'm outta my league. Can't even fire this without the recoil makin' a laughingstock outta my aim. Can't even dress like my regular self cause of all the sickos roamin' these roads. But then last night I realize that I'm now in the very company of the notorious Jack Marston himself. And I thought to myself, maybe I can be trained by him to shoot like a Marston."
"I'm sorry. I can't do that." Jack shook his head. "My life and my Pa's life ain't no glamor shows. Go on back to your home and fami" He shut his mouth as he noticed her expression. "I'm sorry. I forgot."
"Listen to me, Mr. Marston. I have nothing left to go back to. My entire family's dead and my guns' are all I got to make somethin' right of their passing."
"I'll do it."
"Do what? Train me."
"Aw, heck no. But I'll hunt him down for ya. And I can lend ya all of the cash rewards. Ain't any cash sum or killer in the grave ever gonna be big enough to replace a lost family, but it will help get ya back on your feet to whatever future you have."
"I wanted to be the one that put a bullet between his two egg whites, but I guess the money is fine… enough. Thanks, I guess." The girl said, looking at the ground. "You sure you don't want the bucks, mister? $100,000, I mean, that's gonna be enough to clear that big bounty the Bureau placed on ya."
"It was more than enough to clear my name. But you gone need it more than me. I'd just lose it in a hand of poker anyhow." Jack said as he whistled for his horse. "Where you gonna be. I need to know where I'm gonna deliver the reward when I put that Terrible Cowtipper down."
"Plainview. Don't worry about my own safety. I may be no good with a pair of six-shooters, but I'm handy enough with another old tool of my Pa's." She took out a hunting knife. "What about you? Where are you gonna go after huntin' him down? You still a wanted man, after all."
"What my father did. Ride forward and hope that my compass will lead me to the place where I wanna end up. Giddy-yup!" Jack whooped as his horse reared upward, the cries of the mare resonating across the landscape. And with a flurry of hooves, Jack was off to put an end to the Terrible Cowtipper's crime spree for good.
TO BE CONCLUDED
