AL MARGEN DE LA LEY (THE OUTLAW)

The sound of a rooster woke Jack from his slumber, which had been a short one. He groaned in frustration and slowly slid out of bed, wearing only his long johns. The rooster kept crowing as Jack snatched up his revolver and loaded a few bullets into it. He slowly exited his room and quickly found the annoying fowl, which was just wandering aimlessly around. Jack cocked his weapon and fired a single shot into the rooster's body, shutting it up and killing it instantly. Satisfied, Jack went back to his room and got dressed. Once he had finished getting dressed, he stepped outside again and heard a Mexican freaking out about his rooster.

"Alguien ha matado a mi gallo!" The man cried. "Quien mato a mi gallo?"

Jack chuckled as he walked to the small cantina in town. He purchased a small bottle of tequila and walked back outside, where he sat at one of the tables and quickly downed most of his drink. Having made this purchase, Jack had just spent most of the money he had brought along. I'm gonna need more pesos if I want to stay here, Jack thought.

Jack swallowed down the last few drops of tequila, enjoying the taste of the beverage. Better than whiskey, he thought to himself. He stood up and walked to his horse, mounted it, and pulled out his father's old map of Mexico. "Might as well have a little fun while I'm down here," Jack said aloud. "I think I'm gonna get the money the way my Pa did when I was a kid." Jack studied the roads on the map and decided to stake out the main road southwest of Chuparosa. He folded the map back up neatly, put it away in his satchel, and headed off to his destination.

Once there, he went to the top of a ridge south of the road and pulled out a pair of binoculars, waiting for a target. He didn't want to just rob the first person that passed by; he was looking for a big score. He was waiting for some kind of stagecoach or freight wagon, and the first one of those he saw, he would attack. He didn't know exactly how that would all go down, but he did know that he could probably overpower anyone who was on the coach.

A few hours passed with no sign of a stagecoach or freight wagon, and Jack began to grow impatient. He didn't expect one to come right away, but he figured he'd have gotten one by now. Be patient, Jack, he thought, they'll come soon enough. Sure enough, just a few minutes later, a fancy-looking dark stagecoach came passing by. Jack read the words "N. W. Dickens' Elixir" on the side and recalled having held a bottle that said the same thing just the day before. He must do a good business. He's probably got a lot of money.

A small semblance of morality, however, made Jack hesitate. Should I really be doing this? he wondered. I don't know if Pa would approve of this. But what does it matter? He's dead, and he was like this when he was my age. And besides, I need money, and I might as well have fun while getting it. Ain't that right? I never did have toys or anythin' to play with when I was a kid. I ain't gonna let this morality bullshit stop me now. Time to move in on this Dickens fellow.

Jack nudged his horse forward, drawing his revolver as he did so. When he reached the wagon, Jack pointed his gun at Nigel West Dickens and yelled, "Put yer hands in the air, mister! Yer bein' robbed!"

"Please, sir, leave me be!" Nigel begged. When he caught sight of his robber, however, he gasped. "Oh my God," he mumbled. "It can't be. No no, that can't be you! You look much too young!"

"What are you babblin' about, old man?" Jack asked, annoyed.

"You...you even sound young!" Nigel laughed. "John, I told you my elixir works! Not so skeptical now, eh?"

"Huh? John? You have me mistaken for someone else, you stupid old man," Jack said. "Now I want you to give me your money now!"

"I...actually don't have much in the way of money. But, tell you what, you let me go and I will give you a free bottle of my elixir! It will rejuvenate you, it will improve your appearance, and..."

"Are you callin' me ugly?" Jack asked, his temper rising. He tensed his finger on the trigger, preparing to fire.

"No! Dear God no! I just...please let me go!"

"If you got no money, you're useless to me anyway," Jack said. "Go on now. And don't stop, 'cause I might change my mind." To his surprise, Nigel didn't move an inch; he just kept staring at Jack, trying to figure out why he recognized him. After a few seconds of silence that seemed to drag on, Jack said, "Well, get a move on, mister! Now!"

"Just a moment, sir. I swear I've seen you before. Perhaps you've heard of John Marston?"

"John Marston is my father," Jack said. "I'm Jack Marston."

"You're John Marston's boy?" Nigel laughed. "The resemblance is uncanny! John and I were close partners. He helped me close many sales back in the day."

"Wait, he mentioned some sleazy guy who was selling snake oil and claimin' it could cure everything. That was you?"

"Yes! Yes, sir, that was me. Mhm. Did he ever tell you of the time we escaped from Plainview?"

"Escaped? So much for 'the customer is always right'," Jack quipped sarcastically.

"Ah, you even have your father's sense of humor," Nigel remarked.

"Listen, as much as I'd love to hear stories about what you and my father did years ago, I really oughta be on my way."

"Ah, very well. But let me give you a piece of advice, young man. You shouldn't be robbing people like this."

"How is what you do any better than what I do?" Jack asked.

"What I do is more honest than what you do, Jack."

Jack chuckled. "Now who's the funny man?"

"Well, I must be off. Jack, it was a...uh, pleasure to meet you. And listen, I feel as though I owe your father a debt, and while you and I have gotten off to a...shall we say, tragic start, if you need anything from me, I'll be in Escalera for the next week. Come find me."

"I'll try my best not to," Jack remarked. "Goodbye, Mr. Dickens." Nigel rode off further down the road and Jack returned to his scouting position on top of the hill. That was strange, Jack thought. I never knew I'd run into someone from my father's travels. Well, except for Edgar Ross. Jack chuckled to himself as he recalled the day he had killed Edgar Ross. Though he had killed a couple men before then, that was during the assault on Beecher's Hope and those kills were in self-defense. Edgar Ross was Jack's first cold-blooded kill, and he had made several others after that, each becoming more enjoyable to him. He grinned as he recalled the looks on each man's face when he killed them, the fear in their eyes as they knew it was the end for them.

I don't even know why Pa gave this up, Jack thought. This is a hell of a lifestyle! I'm havin' the time of my life! Jack became lost in his thoughts, and almost didn't notice the large wagon that was passing right in front of him. Jack snapped back into reality and thought of how best to proceed. He saw that there were three army officers on the wagon and two on horseback, but there were no other soldiers besides them. Jack pulled out his scoped carcano rifle and rested it on the large rock that he was hiding behind. He took careful aim and prepared to fire.

The first shot hit the soldier that was driving the wagon directly in the shoulder, and he fell to the ground. As the other soldiers quickly scoped the area for the attacker, Jack fired another shot, sending a bullet through the skull of one of the soldiers on horseback. Jack's third shot missed; the bullet hit the sand next to the other soldier on horseback.

The three remaining soldiers finally located the source of the shooting and began shooting at Jack. Jack put his carcano rifle back in its sling and pulled out his Schofield revolver. Jack returned fire and easily took down two of the soldiers. The third soldier timidly approached Jack's hiding place, scared out of his mind on account of his dead comrades. Jack laughed as he heard the man praying in Spanish, and he shouted, "Prayer ain't gonna save your life, amigo." Jack moved out of cover and the man screamed and clumsily aimed his gun at Jack. Jack shook his head and shot the man just above the heart.

Having finished his work, Jack walked slowly to the wagon and looked inside. To his delight, the army had been transporting money to be added to the country's reserve, and by the looks of it there were thousands of pesos right in front of Jack. Knowing that he couldn't just roll into town with all this loot, Jack again pulled out his father's map of Mexico and looked for a good place to hide his new-found fortune. He decided to hide it just south of his current location, directly south of the bend in the road so that he could remember where it was.

Once he had driven the wagon to its hiding place, he grabbed a few hundred pesos and put the money into his satchel. He then whistled for his horse and hopped on, still ecstatic over his first robbery and how large it was. I bet that would have made Pa proud! Jack thought arrogantly. He rode quickly back to Chuparosa, and once he arrived he walked into the cantina and bought drinks for everybody there, much to their delight. Jack's sudden influx of money made one Chuparosan suspicious, however; Cole watched Jack's party with narrowed eyes, and he made the decision then to keep an eye on the suspicious Jack Marston while he was in Mexico.

Meanwhile, the soldier that Jack had shot in the shoulder had survived the attack. Once he regained consciousness, he crawled to the side of the road, but with no horse or wagon, things looked bleak for the man. After fifteen minutes, a lone rider from America came across the wounded Mexican soldier, and the man said, "Senor, I can give you a ride to Escalera if you want me to."

"Si, I would like that very much," the man said, grunting. The American helped the soldier onto his horse, and together the two rode to Escalera. Once there, the soldier was moved to the hospital, but not before he told another soldier in town, "Send a telegraph to President Reyes. A thief has just stolen ten thousand pesos!" Following these orders, the soldiers quickly rushed to the telegraph office and tapped out the message.

Just a few seconds later, Abraham Reyes's personal telegrapher received the message and called on him. "Senor Reyes, one of our wagons has been robbed. Ten thousand pesos has been taken."

"Que?" Reyes asked angrily. "What did I tell them about moving money like that, huh? They should never have that much money in just one wagon! Dios mio! Who robbed our wagon?"

"I don't know, Presidente Reyes," the man responded, afraid for his life. Reyes was well-known for having a short temper and killing anyone who caused his temper to blow. "But whoever he was, the soldiers told me he was wearing a cowboy hat."

"A cowboy hat? Many people in this country wear cowboy hats! Was there anything unique about this man? Anything at all?"

"They said he had some kind of feather in his hat. The hat was black and it had a feather."

An idea as to who it could have been popped into Reyes's mind. "It could have been the gringo that played a small role in my coming to power. His name was...uh...Ron. No, wait, it was...uh...oh! John! John Marston! Haha, he must have come back to Mexico."

"You mean the man that was looking for Escuella and Williamson? I remember him. Why would he be going against you?"

"I don't know, but I want to talk to him. I need you to tell my soldiers in Escalera to find where John is staying. Tell them to search all of Nuevo Paraiso for the man with the dark cowboy hat with the feather. I want him brought to me so that he can explain what he has done, and then maybe we can have a drink and think about old times. And just maybe he can help me with other matters too."

"Maybe, senor."

"Don't just stand there, you campesino! Go! Get the word out!" The telegrapher scurried away and Reyes sat back down at his desk.

John Marston, Reyes thought. I never thought I would see that man again. What could he be doing in Mexico? Maybe he has returned because he thinks I need his help. I could use an extra gun, and John was always good with his guns. This may be just what Mexico needs to put down the criminal rebels. I cannot wait to speak to him again.

"Alright, how do you like that?" Jack yelled to the crowd as he bought them each their fifth shot of tequila. The crowd cheered and Jack laughed, appreciating all the attention. Cole remained seated at a table outside the cantina, staring coldly at Jack, disapproving of his actions. Jack looked at Cole and motioned toward the cantina, but Cole shook his head and lifted his hand, signaling that he wasn't interested. Jack sighed and turned back to the crowd, who remained jubilant and happy.

An hour later, most of the crowd had dissipated and Jack drunkenly approached Cole. "Alright, why didn't you let me buy you anything?" he mumbled drunkenly.

"I knew there was somethin' wrong with you the moment you came to Mexico, Jack," Cole said coldly, his eyes narrowed. "You're nothing more than a pathetic excuse for a man. Hell, you're so immature I shouldn't even be calling you a man. Your father would be ashamed of you."

"Take that back, you bastard!" Jack said angrily. He threw a punch at Cole, but Cole simply caught Jack's fist and took a step back.

"I don't want to fight you, Jack," he said.

"Then you're a coward," Jack sneered. "I bet I could take you on any day."

Cole shrugged. "Probably not. But are we talking guns or fists?"

"I'm a Marston. We settle our scores with our guns."

"Fine. Meet me here at dawn. We'll have ourselves a duel."

"Alright then. I hope you make peace with God tonight, 'cause you ain't gonna be alive tomorrow."

"It's you that needs to make peace with God, Jack, and not just because you're going to lose this duel. See you in the morning."

When Jack returned to his small room, he sat down and took his gun out of its holster. He pulled a rag out of the small nightstand and started cleaning the weapon. He wanted it to look its best when he killed Cole. Cole ain't nothin' but an arrogant idiot, Jack thought. He must have a bigger death wish than I do. What kind of idiot challenges a Marston to a duel and expects to win? I'll make his death quick so I can send a message to everyone else not to mess with me.

Once Jack had finished cleaning his weapons, he noticed something he hadn't seen before. Engraved on the barrel were the initials "L.R." What could that mean? Jack wondered. He recalled that Landon Ricketts had given his father the revolver three years earlier, so he guessed that the initials belonged to the famed gunman. The only man that could beat a Marston in a duel is a Ricketts, Jack thought jokingly, chuckling. He placed his revolver neatly on his nightstand, removed his gun belt and his rifle sling, and went to sleep, mentally prepared for the next day's duel.