EXODUS IN MEXICO
Jack galloped back to the ranch as quickly as he could, wasting absolutely no time in getting ready for his escape. He climbed up into the attic and packed as many weapons as would fit in his saddle bag, which included his father's high-power pistol, a Winchester repeater, some throwing knives, a sawed-off shotgun, and a scoped carcano rifle. Jack doubted he would need the scoped weapon, but he figured it was better to be prepared. He grabbed ammunition for all of these weapons and climbed back down the ladder.
Next, Jack went to his dresser and packed a few things from there, but he realized that he didn't have enough clothes so he decided to see if any of his father's clothes would fit him. He quickly walked over to his father's room and opened the large dresser. From there, he grabbed a poncho that his father had received from some Mexican when he was down there, a bandolier, his father's old duster coat, and his father's old map of Mexico. He also found a few Mexican pesos and packed those as well. He put on the duster and bandolier and walked to the kitchen, grabbing as much food as he could. Once all of this packing had been completed, he hopped back on his horse and rode away.
While riding, Jack could do nothing but think to himself. He wondered why Fordham had shown mercy, and especially wondered why he was so willing to let Jack go. He couldn't help but feel that was a little suspicious, even given Fordham's opinion of his father. But was that even the truth? Jack was under the impression that lawmen were constant liars, and so he considered the possibility that all of this was a trap. Are there gonna be federal agents waiting for me at the border? Jack wondered. I sure as hell hope not, for their sake. I'd shoot 'em all down before lettin' them take me.
Within two hours, Jack had reached an oil mining town called Plainview. He wanted to stop and rest a while, but he figured he should keep going. Still, the welcoming wave of town residents was enough to get Jack to stop just near one of the oil platforms. Can't hurt to stop for a while, Jack thought to himself. He got off his horse and approached a small table, where a strong-looking gentleman waved toward Jack and asked, "You wanna arm wrestle, kid?"
"I'm good, thanks," Jack responded.
"Aw, come on! You look like a healthy and strong boy. Can't hurt you to try."
"Alright then," Jack said, "but get ready to lose."
"Ah, the arrogance of youth!" the man said, chuckling. "We'll see, boy. We'll see." Jack sat down and extended his arm out, and the man did the same. The two men clasped their hands together and prepared to go. "I'll count to three," the man said. "One, two, three!"
At his signal, the man began pushing. Jack pushed as hard as he could, and surprisingly took the man down in just a few seconds. The man shook his arm and said, "Damn, boy, you got skill! Care to put money on it this time?"
"Don't have much money, sir," Jack said.
"How about two bits?" the man asked, ignoring what Jack had just said. "That ain't much."
Jack sighed. "Alright, fine," he said. The two prepared to arm wrestle again, and Jack counted down this time. "Three, two, one!" For some reason, the man pushed much harder this time, and Jack struggled just to stay even with the man. After fifteen seconds, Jack began to weaken and the man began pushing even harder. Just a few seconds after that, Jack's hand was slammed down onto the table.
"Hey! You went easy on me so I"d bet and you'd win!" Jack snarled, his eyes narrowing. "You cheated me!"
Laughing, the man said, "Oh come on now, this land is full of cheats and liars like me. It's nothin' new. Now pay up."
"I ain't payin' you," Jack said. "You're a rat bastard!" Upon hearing this, the man stood up, grabbed Jack by the collar, and slammed him onto the ground. Jack grunted as the man climbed on top of him and began punching him in the face. Jack wiggled free after a few seconds and managed to get a good punch in.
By now, the fight had drawn a small crowd of workers. They were letting out cheers such as, "Come on, Buck! He's just a kid! You can take him!" and "The kid's pertty tough. He might actually win." The group began placing bets on who the victor would be; most people's money was on Buck, but some people bet on the strange kid who had just rode into town.
Jack and Buck stood just four feet apart, both men seething with anger and waiting for the other to make a move. Jack faked a left and threw a right, and his punch landed on the side of Buck's jaw. Buck staggered backward a couple steps but quickly regained his stance and threw a hard left. Jack tried to move out of the way, but the punch still landed on his shoulder. Buck then proceeded to tackle Jack to the ground again, and he held him there for several seconds until Jack finally squirmed free and moved backward a few yards.
Frustrated and not knowing what else to do, Jack pulled his revolver on Buck. Buck drew his own in return and the Plainview residents fled for cover. Jack opened fire and Buck did the same. None of Buck's shots hit Jack directly, but one of them pierced his duster. Jack's shots, on the other hand, were more accurate. Two bullets pierced Buck's chest, killing him instantly. Jack found himself suddenly laughing and cheering at his newest kill. He walked over to Buck's body and looted it. He discovered that Buck had no money on him, but he did have a bottle with some kind of liquid. Jack examined the label, which read, "N. W. Dickens' Elixir."
A second later, a hail of gunfire was directed at Jack by many of Plainview's residents. Knowing he was heavily outnumbered and wanting to get to Mexico as quickly as possible, Jack hopped back onto his palomino and galloped away. Some of the people gave chase, but they retreated as quickly as the pursuit had started. That was fun! Jack thought. It was wrong, but it was fun! Jack rode along the San Luis River toward the Ramita de la Baya Bridge, more ready than ever to enter his new home. One problem he encountered, however, was a problem that just a week before hadn't existed. Border patrol.
One of the border patrol agents signaled Jack to stop, and Jack's anger and frustration boiled to a critical point again. "What do you want?" he asked angrily.
"Calm down, boy," the lawman responded, not recognizing Jack. "We're just here to protect our borders. Now are you affiliated with any gangs around here?"
"No, and if I was I certainly wouldn't tell you," Jack said. "Now why the hell are you here?"
"We've increased border security ever since a top agent in the Bureau of Investigation was murdered several days ago," the man said. "Edgar Ross retired last year but remained one of the Bureau's closest contacts until his death."
Jack suddenly thought of a way to get past border patrol. He lied, "But he was a good man. Who killed him?"
"We're sure it was Jack Marston. You know who he is?"
Doing everything he could to keep from laughing, Jack said, "No, sir. I never heard of no Jack Marston."
"We want to bring him in as soon as we can. It'll be trial and the rope for him, the bastard outlaw. Why would anyone want to kill Edgar Ross? He was a good man, damn it! And his family! They're so devastated!"
"I don't know, sir," Jack said, feeling no sympathy for Ross's family.
"That's why we have more border security. We don't want anythin' like that to happen again. You understand now?"
"Yes sir," Jack responded.
"Alright, I'll let you be on your way if you answer one question for me. Why are you going to Mexico?"
"Just look at my saddle bags," Jack said, pointing at them. I'm goin' on vacation for a couple weeks. I'm meetin' my family in...uh...well I can't remember how to pronounce the name of the place, but I know exactly how to get there."
The agent nodded, satisfied with Jack's response. "Alright, be on your way then." As Jack rode toward the bridge, the agent noticed the bullet hole in Jack's duster. "'Scuse me, kid, but where did you get that bullet hole?"
"Oh, it ain't a bullet hole, sir," Jack said casually. "Just a moth hole." The officer thought about it for a second, then shrugged and motioned Jack onward. Once Jack was out of earshot, he began laughing at the stupidity of the agents. Typical lawmen, Jack thought. That's funny; they didn't recognize me!
Back at the border checkpoint, one of the other agents present slapped the one that had let Jack pass. "You idiot!" he exclaimed. "That was Jack Marston!"
"What? Why didn't you do somethin' then?"
"Why didn't you? We got a clear description of the boy from Blackwater, and you...hell, I don't even know why you're workin' for the government, you stupid jackass!"
"I didn't know!" he argued. "And why didn't you do somethin'?"
"I was waitin' for you to do somethin'!"
"Well why can't we just saddle up and follow him?"
"We don't have the authority to do that! We'd have to get permission from the Mexican president, which is why we gotta let our bosses know he's gone to Mexico! Come on!" While a few of the border patrol agents stayed behind, three of them rode to Armadillo, where they wired to Blackwater that Jack had fled to Mexico.
Meanwhile, Jack had stopped near the spot where he had killed Edgar Ross. Phillip had been in such a rush that he had forgotten to take down his camp, and Jack decided to rest there to try and find a place to stay in Mexico. He pulled out his father's old map and looked for the nearest settlement. According to the map, the nearest settlement of size was Chuparosa, so that's where Jack decided to head off to next. Before leaving, Jack pulled out a couple slices of bacon from his saddle bag, started a fire, and cooked himself up a meal. As he ate, he wished he had packed coffee beans so he could enjoy a nice cup of coffee.
Once he finished eating, Jack climbed back onto his horse and rode for Chuparosa. On the way, he tried to figure out a way to get a house. He remembered a few years ago that his father had mentioned something about owning a home in Chuparosa, but he didn't know if it had been sold since then. If it has been, I'll have to take it by force, Jack thought. It was dark by the time he reached Chuparosa, and most people were in their homes, save for one man who looked more American than Mexican. Jack tipped his hat, but the man just glared at him, as if he knew exactly who he was and what he had done.
The man spoke up. "You new to town, kid?" he asked.
"I guess I am," Jack said. "Are there any homes available 'round here?"
"There's John Marston's old home," the man said, pointing toward it. "It hasn't been occupied since his last trip down here."
"How do you know John Marston?" Jack asked.
The man squinted. "Wait, you kinda look like him. You wouldn't happen to be his son, would you?"
"Uh...I am, I guess," Jack said.
"You guess? Or you know?" The man laughed, offering Jack his hand. "I'm Cole. Pleasure to meet you...Jack, right?" Jack nodded as he shook Cole's hand. "How is your father?"
Jack sucked in a deep breath and turned away, horrible memories flooding back into his mind. Cole seemed to understand and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I've been in Mexico for the last ten years of my life; I rarely ever hear what happens in America." Jack remained silent, so Cole added, "You're welcome to stay in his old home. Like I said, nobody's been there for a long time. I reckon it's dusty, but it'll do for you."
"Thanks," Jack mumbled insincerely. He walked into his father's old room and dropped his gun belt on the floor. Unexpectedly, there was a knock on the door. When Jack opened it, Cole was on the other side.
"Just one question, Jack. What are you doing all the way in Mexico?"
"I couldn't stay in America anymore," Jack said. "I got nothin' up there. My family is dead, my dog's run off to who knows where, my farm's about to be reclaimed by the county. I don't know, just seems like everyone up there is out to get me."
"I know what you mean, Jack," Cole said. "That's my father and I came down here ten years ago. To get away from it all. Were the newspapers botherin' you too?"
"No," Jack said, "and what do you mean by that? Why would the newspapers want anythin' to do with me?"
"Well, John was pretty famous and you're his son, so I just assumed that you'd have a lot of journalists knockin' on your door."
"Never spoken to one in my life," Jack said. "How come they were after you and your father?"
"Let's just say we're both well known up there," Cole said vaguely. "Anyway, my father's dead too, so I guess it doesn't matter."
"Who are you?" Jack asked again.
"Just a stranger, Jack," Cole said mysteriously. "Just a stranger." At that, he left Jack alone. What was that about? Jack wondered. Who could he be? Someone famous? His father, too; maybe the family is famous. I don't know; that guy is weird. Jack removed his hat and laid down on the dusty bed, but sleep eluded him. He kept thinking of the men he had killed, how he had felt nothing when he shot them. I'm becoming a cold-hearted killer, like Dutch's men when I was a boy. I should've known it would happen sooner or later. After several hours, Jack finally fell asleep.