A FISTFUL OF JUSTICE

When Archer Fordham returned to Blackwater, he decided to avoid the police station for the time being. He needed time to figure out an excuse as to why he didn't return with Jack Marston. In order to think this through, Fordham went to the Blackwater Saloon, hoping that alcohol would soothe his nerves. As he entered, however, he noticed a familiar face sitting at the end of the bar. Nathan Covington, Fordham's temporary replacement as chief of police, was gamely conversing with the bartender, seemingly in a good mood. Just as Fordham was turning to leave, Nathan looked in his direction.

"Fordham! You've returned!" Nathan said excitedly. He got up from his position at the bar and approached Fordham. "So? How did it go? Is he locked up?"

"No," Fordham answered quietly.

"Then you killed him. Not an issue, I was just wondering."

Fordham sighed. "I didn't kill him either. I…I couldn't find him."

Nathan stared at Fordham with a look of confusion on his face. "What?"

"I couldn't find him," Fordham repeated. "Mexico's a big country. He's hiding somewhere, but I don't know where."

"Well, go back there and find him, then," Nathan said. "What's stopping you?" When Fordham didn't answer, Nathan said, "Let's sit at the bar. I'd love to hear you explain yourself." The two men sat at the bar, but neither man spoke for several minutes.

Finally, Nathan spoke up. "Let me get this straight. You, chief of police Archer Fordham, are given the simple task of bringing Jack Marston back to the States. And you, chief of police Archer Fordham, have the audacity to return empty-handed? What the hell happened down there?"

"I told you, I couldn't find him. He's disappeared. It would take too long for one man to find him now."

"I think you're lying, Archer," Nathan said, his voice becoming more aggressive. "I ask again. What happened down there?"

"Mr. Covington, I must ask you to calm down."

"Why the hell should I?" Nathan asked, slamming his fist on the bar. "That bastard is still out there. I thought you were better than this, Archer. I've known you for five years. You've done some amazing things and you have determination that can't be bested. The Archer I know wouldn't simply give up and come back with his tail between his fucking legs. He would keep hunting until he finished the job."

"Just as I told you before I left, Jack Marston will not be a problem until such a time that he returns to the States. If he ever does, that is."

Nathan looked shocked. "Does he have you eating out of his palm or something? Because it sounds like you're on his side."

"What are you trying to say?"

"You are in cahoots with him, aren't you? I knew there was a reason why you were being so protective."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Fordham said in an uneven tone. His nerves were starting to get the better of him, but he kept as calm a composure as possible.

Nathan was able to see right through this. "You're clamming up, Archer. You know you've violated your oath to protect and serve the citizens of West Elizabeth."

"Jack Marston is not a danger to anyone in West Elizabeth!" Fordham argued, his voice beginning to falter. "I haven't violated any oath."

Nathan returned Archer's aggressive comment with one of his own. "You're breaking the law, Archer! I ought to arrest you right now." The two men glared at each other. The other patrons of the saloon had stopped chattering amongst themselves and were now watching the fight unfold before them. Even the piano player stopped and was watching the two lawmen argue.

"Your evidence is purely circumstantial and would never hold up in a court of law," Fordham said. "Just the mere thought of being on the same side as Jack is preposterous."

"Exactly. So why are you, then?"

"I'm not. Why won't you believe me?"

"Liar."

Fordham stood up. "I'm leaving."

"Not without handcuffs," Nathan sneered, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. Fordham quickly spun around and punched Nathan hard in the face. Nathan fell to the ground as the crowd let out an "ooo" in unison. Nathan quickly stood up and drew his gun, aiming it at Fordham. The crowd screamed and many of them broke and fled the saloon.

"Archer Fordham, you're under arrest! Save yourself the trouble and come with me." Realizing that he was already in enough trouble, Fordham surrendered. Nathan quickly pulled Fordham's pistol out of its holster and put the handcuffs on Fordham's wrists. The two men left the saloon, Nathan's pistol jammed in Fordham's back. The arrest attracted a lot of attention; Blackwater's citizens couldn't believe that their once loyal and trustworthy chief was now being placed under arrest. Nathan led Fordham to the Blackwater police station and locked him up in one of the cells there.

"Consider yourself lucky I didn't put a bullet in you," Nathan said coldly. "You assaulted an officer of the law. I had the right to kill you, but I didn't, out of respect But that's the last ounce of respect you'll ever get out of me. I don't know what Marston told you, how he got you to turn against the people of West Elizabeth, but I now consider you as low as him. As of right now, you are officially relieved of your duties as chief of police. I'll act as temporary chief until a new one can be formally elected. Enjoy rotting in jail, Archer."

Two days after Fordham's arrest, Nathan called for an emergency meeting of Blackwater police, marshals, and Bureau of Investigation agents. To him, finding and bringing Jack Marston to justice was a top priority, and he didn't care how he got this done. In attendance were Drew Blankenship, the man Jack had maimed in the gunfight at Beecher's Hope; the other two Bureau agents who had taken Drew to Blackwater and survived the ordeal; head of the Blackwater branch of the Bureau of Investigation Robert Quinn; and several other officers and agents. They all gathered in Fordham's old office, which was now Nathan's office.

Nathan started the meeting. "After the unfortunate events that unfolded at the Blackwater Saloon two days ago, I feel now more than ever we need to bring Jack Marston to justice. I had to arrest one of our own and one of our best, Mr. Archer Fordham, who was turned against the law by Mr. Marston. Based on all of the evidence we have and the fact that Jack turned Archer, we can assume that Jack is attacking West Elizabeth while operating in Mexico. I fear he may be building a gang, and when that gang gets large enough, he will return to Blackwater and terrorize the town. We need to act fast."

"What evidence do you have to support your theory?" Robert Quinn asked. "In order to earn the support of the Bureau, you need to convince me of your theory."

"Certainly," Nathan said. "We all know that almost a month ago, Jack killed one of the Bureau's best former agents, Edgar Ross, in Rio Del Toro. The crime was most likely a crime of passion, a method of seeking revenge for the death of his father three years ago. This shows that he's not above killing men of the law in order to satisfy his blood lust."

"And we're currently investigating that crime," Robert said. "But this still doesn't prove your theory. After all, who's to say that Jack wouldn't be satisfied after killing the man responsible for his father's death?"

"Good question," Nathan continued. "Drew, would you care to explain what happened when we tried to bring Jack in for questioning?"

Drew sat in a wheelchair, his legs having been amputated. He wheeled to the center of the room and turned to face the small crowd. "There were twelve of us. We simply went to the ranch on Beecher's Hope to question Jack about Agent Ross's death. When we arrived, Jack opened fire. Killed all but four of us, including one of your own Bureau agents, Robert. Howard Sawicki. And he put me in this wheelchair. I'll never walk again. He may be just a kid, but he needs to be brought in immediately, dead or alive."

"And we are investigating that event as well," Robert said. "There's no doubt that Jack Marston is a dangerous fugitive, but your theory that he is attacking West Elizabeth from Mexico still holds no weight. Mexico is out of our jurisdiction. How could we send somebody down there to get him?"

"These investigations are taking far too long," Nathan argued. "We need to act now before it's too late."

"There are procedures that must be followed, Nathaniel. You know that."

"I understand that, but we do need to take action now. Jack fled to Mexico after the events at his ranch, and we sent Archer Fordham down to Mexico to apprehend Jack. Somehow, Jack convinced Fordham to let him be and even sent him back to the States. When I tried to arrest Fordham, he showed signs of aggression and violently assaulted me. I was lucky to get out of that situation alive. Jack must have told Fordham something, because he not only disobeyed his orders, he also violated the oath he took to uphold the laws of this land by assaulting me and assisting that bastard outlaw."

"You may have a point there," Robert said. "Still, it doesn't prove Jack is trying to build a gang. Where are you coming up with that nonsense?"

"I don't know. It's just a theory. But would you like to take the chance that I'm right and sit around and do nothing? Or would you like to give this the importance that it deserves and bring Jack to justice before it's too late?"

Just then, a courier entered the meeting. He was just a small boy, no older than ten, and he carried a newspaper with him. The boy approached Nathan, handed him the newspaper, and said, "The man at the desk downstairs told me to give this to you." He then left without another word.

Nathan opened the folded newspaper and gasped at what he read. The paper told the story of the Chuparosa massacre, how a group of rebels had fought against the Mexican Army. The paper sensationalized the event, calling it "the biggest battle that Mexico has seen since the Reyes Revolution." Nathan recounted this to the group of lawmen.

"Something tells me that Jack Marston was behind this," Nathan said. "Mexico has been in turmoil for a while now, and a group of renegade rebels has been building against Reyes's government. It could be that this is the gang that Jack Marston has been building up to strike against us."

Robert squinted at Nathan. "Continue."

Nathan stood. "We need to act now. If Jack is really the leader of a force of Mexican rebels, there's no telling when or where he will strike."

"We have no jurisdiction in Mexico," Robert repeated.

"That's why we need to go off the record. This could potentially become a problem. We need to rid the world of the Marston Menace before he rids the world of us."

Robert shook his head. "I apologize, but I can't approve of this."

One of the lawmen present at the Beecher's Hope shootout spoke up. "Mr. Quinn, if I may, I think Nathan is right. We need to move in and take care of this issue as soon as we can."

"You may be with him, but I'm not. If President Reyes found out, it could cause an international incident. And we have to do everything we can to avoid situations such as those."

Another man, the telegrapher, entered Nathan's office. "Could you please give us some privacy?" Nathan snapped. "We're having a private meeting. Knock next time."

"My apologies, Mr. Covington, but I think this is relevant to your meeting. You may want to see this." The telegrapher brought the message to Nathan, who read it aloud.

"To my American compatriots, I have located the outlaw Jack Marston as you requested. He is somewhere in Nuevo Paraiso. You have my permission to come and get him. – Abraham Reyes"

"There you have it," Nathan said victoriously.

"Well I'll be…" Robert said. "This being the case, I think I know exactly who we can send to capture Jack Marston. He's the Bureau's top contracted bounty hunter. He's brought in over two dozen bounties and isn't above taking drastic measures to accomplish his mission. His name is Walter Morris."

"I like this idea," Nathan said. "But where is Walter Morris? He can be a tough man to find. He drops off the map completely when he's on a bounty hunting mission."

"He's not a difficult man to find if you know his favorite hangouts," Robert said. "He's not currently on assignment with the Bureau, so you'll likely find him bounty hunting in Thieves' Landing."

"Officer Brandt, I want you to go to the saloon in Thieves' Landing," Nathan said to one of the officers in the room. "Change out of your officer's uniform first; they hate us over there. With any luck, Walter Morris will be there."

Less than a day later, Officer Brandt entered the Thieves' Landing saloon, dressed in an elegant suit similar to the ones that the high rollers in Blackwater wore. He stuck out like a sore thumb, but hardly anyone paid any attention to him as he strode through the room filled with smoke from cigars and cigarettes being smoked by lazy patrons. Brandt was told that Morris was tall and thickly built, so he kept an eye out for anyone who would fit this description. After a half hour of unsuccessfully staking the place out, Brandt was offered a drink by the bartender.

"Hey you, you've been standing around for half an hour," the bartender said. "You gonna sit and drink, or you just gonna keep standin' there?"

"I'll have a drink," Brandt said, approaching the bar.

At that moment, unknown to Officer Brandt, Walter Morris entered the saloon and sat down at the liar's dice table, preparing to verse the other two men sitting at the table. When Brandt finished his drink, he looked behind him and saw Morris. Morris was indeed tall; at 6'5", he towered over everyone else in the saloon. He was built like a solid oak, with shoulders as broad as a lumberjack's. A thick, uncombed beard covered the lower half of his face. He wore a tan Boss of the Plains hat that was covered with a fine layer of dirt. A volcanic pistol hung from a holster on his hip, and across his back was slung a buffalo rifle, one of the most powerful guns on the market. Morris's appearance alone made Brandt afraid as he approached the liar's dice table.

"Are you…are you Walter Morris?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Morris squinted at him, almost appearing angry, and said, "No, I'm Carl Harrison. Who are you?"

"I'm Zachary Brandt. Perhaps you've heard of me?"

"Never known you 'til today, sir. Come join us in a game of liar's dice." Unsure of whether he had actually found Morris or not, Brandt sat down tentatively and placed the five dice in his cup.

In a hushed tone, Morris said, "You found me, but don't use my real name. I'm undercover. The townspeople here know me by name, but they don't know my face yet. These two are associates of mine. We're watching one of the most wanted criminals in West Elizabeth, Zebedee Nash. He frequents the Landing here and we're gathering up enough evidence to bring him in without a fight. But we're ready to fight if need be. Did they send you to assist us in this?"

Before Brandt could respond, Zebedee entered the saloon. "Speak of the devil," Morris whispered. Without warning, Zebedee drew his pistol and fired at the ceiling. Several saloon patrons fled the saloon, while four others, members of Zebedee's gang, drew their guns and aimed them at the lawmen sitting at the liar's dice table.

"Which one of you is Walter Morris?" Zebedee asked, aiming his gun at Brandt. "We know you've been spyin' on us. You think you're smart, but we ain't as stupid as you think we is."

Morris bravely stood up. "I'm Walter Morris, Zebedee. I'm surprised you were able to find us out. Good work. Boys, give Zebedee a round of applause." Everyone but Brandt clapped and Morris began laughing. "What you gonna do about it?"

"I'm gonna kill you," Zebedee said, moving his aim to Morris. "Ain't it obvious?"

Morris chuckled. "You're gonna have a hell of a time tryin'," he said. With surprising agility, he leaped at Zebedee as both parties opened fire. Zebedee had little time to react as the giant man landed on him, knocking the wind out of him. Morris blocked Zebedee's feeble attempt at a punch and closed his fingers around Zebedee's throat, choking him. One of Zebedee's men prepared to shoot Morris, but Morris saw this and kicked a chair in his direction, knocking him over and allowing one of his men to gun the gang member down. The squabble lasted only fifteen seconds, and at the end of it, Zebedee and three of his gang members were dead. The last one surrendered and Morris quickly slapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. The other two lawmen hogtied the criminal and rode off to Blackwater jail, leaving Morris and Brandt behind.

Brandt had assisted in fighting off the criminals, and he looked at Morris in awe once the ordeal was over. "So you are as good as they say you are," he said.

"Of course I am," Morris said. "So, why did you come find me?"

"Chief Covington sent me here to give you an assignment."

"Chief Covington? What happened to Chief Fordham?"

"He assaulted Mr. Covington in the Blackwater Saloon. Mr. Covington thinks Archer was turned against the law by an outlaw named Jack Marston. Have you ever heard that name?"

"Never heard of a Jack Marston, but the name 'Marston' sounds familiar. Wasn't it a Marston who killed Dutch van der Linde's old gang of outlaws three years ago?"

"That was Jack's father, John. Surely you must know who I'm talking about now."

"I do, but the fact that John Marston's boy is an outlaw sure is surprising. I suppose the new chief wants me to hunt down this Jack Marston character.

"Precisely. Would you be able to do it?"

"Of course. Do we have any clues as to his whereabouts?"

"He's in Mexico. Somewhere in the vicinity of Nuevo Paraiso. But he could move at any time."

Morris frowned. "Hm. Never been to Mexico before. Well I'm sure I could manage. If the order's comin' from the new chief, I suppose I don't really have much say in the matter anyway."

"Jack Marston better watch out," Brandt remarked. "The best bounty hunter in the West is coming his way."