Well, I hope you guys like colorful language , 'cause there's plenty of it in Part 7... which could just as easily be titled "Tex and the Sheriff both try to do something nice for the other, and then both get pissed off about it."
Also, in response to the people who've asked why the chapters are so short...it's because they're not actually chapters. They're scenes, like if you were watching an old Western film. Sometimes there will be gaps for the viewer to fill in :)
They rode into town amid a cloud of kicked-up dust. The Sheriff had trained Goddard to sit behind him in the saddle, and the dog panted happily as the horse galloped, ears flapping in the wind. Tex frowned. When charging into danger, it was always best to look as intimidating as possible, and the sight of a goofy, drooling dog was likely to have the opposite effect.
Once they reached the square, however, Tex began to understand the Sheriff's lack of caution. It wasn't a proper brawl at all, merely a belligerent man yelling insults at another fellow across the street. Still, just to be safe, Tex drew both guns as she dismounted. She approached the shouting man and found him to be squat, unkempt, and ugly, with a bulbous jaw and hair that hung over his eyes. He clutched a near-empty jug of Flurp in one fist, and there were purple stains all up and down his striped shirt. The target of his jeers was another story altogether: a story that began with 'tall', continued with 'tan', and ended with 'exceptionally, fantastically good-looking'.
"Get back here, Injun Nick, y'hear me?" yelled the squat man. "Yer dumber 'n a rocks of box...pox of..." His face reddened from the exertion of trying to form a coherent sentence. "Box a rocks! I said it before, Ninjun...Injun Nick, an' I'm a...ssshay it again: this town ain't big enough fer the two of us!"
Injun Nick affected amused indifference. He pulled a cigar from his buckskin jacket and popped it into his mouth, then proceeded to chew on it, unlit, as though it were a stick of candy.
The Sheriff threw up his hands as he dismounted. "Really Butch? Again? How many times do you plan on disturbing the peace? So help me, I will throw you in a jail cell if you keep this up!"
Butch stumbled around to face him. "What're you on 'bout? Jim-Jam-Jimmy? Yyyy'know, I used to beat the tar outta dandies like you when I weren't only THIS high!" The drunk swung up an arm to indicate a child's height, and he nearly pitched backward in the process. "Tha's howsiss...how izz..how..."
"Hang it all, Butch, it's 9 in the morning! What is the matter with you?"
"Well, if you want my expert opinion," remarked Tex, "I'd say he's three sheets to the wind, Sheriff."
"I know that! I'm asking him why he feels the need to be this inebriated before the midday mark!"
Butch's observational skills must have been operating on a delay, because he suddenly gaped up at Tex. "Wait just a damned minute, isssss'at a lady?" He lifted his hair out of his eyes to get a better look. "...It is a lady! Well I'll be a son of a! I didn't know you'd gone 'n got yerself a hanger-on-er, Sheriff. Dad-blasted…how come I'm the only man in this whole damned...this whole damned town who can't get hisself a woman?" He pointed a calloused finger up at Goddard, who still sat in the saddle. "You let your doggone...dog...you let him ride in yer pillion, but you still get a woman, an' I don't? It ain't fair! I wouldn't piss on your teeth if your mouth was on fire!"
"Oh, that is charming, Butch. But she's not my woman. Think of her as...my deputy for the rest of the week. I'd watch your mouth around her, if you know what's good for you. She possesses a short temper and an itchy trigger finger."
Tex gave both pistols a flashy twirl, but Butch had already turned back to Nick. "This is your fault! You take all the good ones...girlsh, every girl I set my eye on, you gotta come in an' steal her away. That's whatchyare, Nick...a thief. Thief thief thhhhhief. You think you're ten feet tall and bulletproof, but you're no better 'n me!"
Injun Nick tossed back a lock of raven hair. His voice, which was gravelly and disaffected, added to his suave demeanor. "Uhh...I hate to break it to you, Butch, but you're ten pounds of ugly in a five pound bag. You're never gonna get girls looking like that. So yeah, if you're wondering why Britney went for me last night instead of you, it's cause you smell like the northbound side of a southbound mule. Might wanna work on that, padre."
Nick flipped up his jacket collar, repositioned the cigar in his mouth, and headed off down the street. He walked with a pronounced limp, Tex noticed – a stark imperfection in his otherwise flawless appearance.
"Northbound side of a–!" spat Butch. "You! You gotta face like a bulldog lickin' wizz off a nettle! Come back here! I'll beat you like a rented mule, you half-breed Comanche gimp!"
Nick stopped in his tracks. He hesitated for several seconds before strolling off again, and Tex knew that Butch's epithet had angered him. Nick tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked off, whistling lazily. This time, though, he camouflaged his limp with a swagger.
Butch continued hurling insults into thin air, and Tex scratched her chin in thought.
"If you're wondering about the limp," said the Sheriff, answering Tex's unspoken question, "the origin story grows more spectacular with every retelling: grizzly bear attack, wrestled God, that sort of thing. Personally, I think he just broke his leg a lot as a kid."
Tex stared after his retreating figure. "Mmm, I see. A tall dark man with a mysterious wound. How...intriguing."
The Sheriff took one look at her expression and frowned. "I wouldn't set your sights on Nick Dean, if I were you. He's a trapper by trade, but his real profession is womanizing. He's a rounder, Vortex, and he's got lovers and debts in every town from here to San Antonio."
"What's this?" She whirled round to face him. "Concerned for my easily-besmirched honor, are we? I appreciate the sentiment, but if you'd care to see the morrow, I suggest you mind your own business. I've been managing my own affairs since I was fifteen, thank you very much, and I don't intend to stop now."
"Suit yourself."
Evidently Butch needed no provocation to change targets, because he turned to the Sheriff and narrowed his eyes. "Hey, I heard that. You laughin' at me, huh? You think that's funny?"
"What? Butch, I wasn't talking to –"
"Huh?! You...you and yer woman, you think I'm funny? I'll show you funny!"
He pitched the Flurp jug at the Sheriff's face, and Tex didn't think – she just raised her pistol and fired. It was an incredible shot, and the ceramic container shattered in midair. Butch fell clean over from surprise, the horses bucked, and Goddard was nearly thrown from the saddle. Shards of pottery exploded outward; some landed, tinkling, on the dusty street, and the rest rained down on the Sheriff. Most of the fragments bounced harmlessly off his vest, but one grazed his cheek and left a small cut. He shook the largest of the chunks from his hair, before turning on Tex with a venomous glare.
"What are you trying to do," he yelled, "pepper me with shrapnel? You can't just blow up a ceramic vessel three feet from my face, you trigger-happy imbecile!"
"What?" Tex shouted back. "You insufferable ingrate! I just saved you from getting smacked upside the head with a big fat flying jug!"
"I would've dodged it! I'm perfectly capable of holding my own in a dangerous situation. I'm not some incompetent first-timer who needs protection, least of all from an unscrupulous, uneducated degenerate like you."
The reproof stung more than it should have, and she retorted with vitriol. "Uneducated?! You think this is a 'dangerous situation', and you're calling me out for ignorance? Hell's bells, how sheltered are you?"
"Sheltered? Just because I don't fraternize with the dregs of society–"
"Hey! I don't fraternize with anyone unless I'm – hey, what the – whoa now!" Tex nearly toppled sideways as Butch grabbed hold of her leg. He snagged her coat with his other hand, then proceeded to haul himself up arm over arm, using her clothing as a ladder. Butch had changed his tune, as drunken louts are wont to do, and he babbled out apologies as he steadied himself against her. If she was scandalized by the physical contact, Tex gave no sign of it. Instead, she favored the Sheriff with an angry glance.
Uneducated. I'll show you uneducated...
When Butch finally regained his balance, Tex patted him on the shoulder. "Good news, my inebriated friend. Excessive alcohol consumption has impaired your judgment, so you won't understand the gravity of the charges I'm about to convey upon you. Let's review...disorderly conduct, public drunkenness, coarse contact with a lady of good standing... And then there's assaulting an officer of the law, which is a class six felony, and is gonna earn you a year in the big house, minimum. Now, a proper lawyer could probably get that charge knocked down to misdemeanor simple assault, but seeing as there's no courthouse or judge or anything in this two-bit town, you'll have to settle for justice the Texas way."
He blinked stupidly. "The what?"
"Goodnight, Butch."
Tex punched him in the face, and he was out cold before he even hit the dirt. He lay there, snoring, with a dimwitted look on his face, and Tex turned back to the Sheriff in triumph.
Mr. Neutron appeared mildly stunned. "You...you didn't inform him of his rights," he blurted after a moment.
"He's plenty informed already. See? He's exercising his right to remain silent even as we speak."
The Sheriff looked down at Butch, then back up at Tex. He frowned. "I don't understand you, Vortex. Killer, vagrant, quick-draw...attorney? You'll have to forgive me if I don't see the connection. Is there an explanation for any of this?"
Tex shook the soreness from her knuckles. "I used to be someone who mattered, Neutron. Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime." Grabbing both horses by the reins, she turned and strolled off toward Libby's Juke Joint, her coat billowing behind her. She motioned for him to follow. "Come on, Sheriff, we've done our civic duty."
"But...but we can't just leave him in the middle of the street!"
"Sure we can."
"Look, Vortex, Butch isn't all bad...I mean, sure, he is a bully and an ignoramus, but he's a first-rate carpenter, and he's really only a nuisance when he's intoxicated..."
"Don't get your dander up, Sheriff. He'll be fine. At any rate, he'll be sleeping off this bender for a coon's age...and in the meantime, I believe you owe me a drink. Horses saddled in one minute and forty five seconds, remember? It's time to pay up."
The Sheriff regarded the outlaw with something akin to resentful admiration, then trotted off after her.
At long last, I have achieved my dream of using the iconic phrase "this town ain't big enough fer the two of us".
And now, a minor note on Butch. It's tough to convincingly age-up a minor character in the best of circumstances, but add on a regional accent, a time period shift, AND a drunken slur...well, not sure how well I did. I figured "town drunk" was at least vaguely similar to "school bully", since both are people you just wanna deck in the face.
HISTORICAL SHIT AND BULLSHIT SHIT
-The Comanche are a Plains Indian hunter-gatherer tribe with a horse culture. Their historic territory consisted of present day eastern New Mexico, southern Colorado, northeastern Arizona, southern Kansas, all of Oklahoma, and most of northwest Texas. I figure Nick's Dad was of European descent, while his Mom was a Comanche from the latter locale.
-A Class 6 Felony is the least serious of all the felony charges; however, the designation is almost certainly anachronistic. I tried my best to find a listing of period-accurate legal terminology for the state of Texas, but no luck. When all else fails, you sometimes have to make shit up. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
-Those of you who are familiar with the history of law may wonder why the Sheriff mentioned "reading Butch his rights", when this protocol (known as Miranda Rights) wasn't made mandatory until the 1960s. The Sheriff was referring to Butch's 5th Amendment rights (the part of the Bill of Rights that allows people to keep silent in order to avoid self-incrimination), and he was doing it because he's a good guy. 'Cause honestly, out in newly-settled territory, lawmen could do pretty much whatever they wanted with minimal oversight.
-Vocab:
*Pillion - a pad or cushion for an extra rider behind the saddle on a horse
*Three sheets to the wind - rip-roaring drunk
*Don't get your dander up - chill the hell out
*The big house - prison