1873
They straggle into town from time to time. Angry men, weary of traveling, weary of being driven by their anger. And they all want to kill him.
Waring found this one behind Stabler’s barn, passing a bottle with a couple of tough-looking hombres from Mex Town.
“I have a message for Arango. He ain’t gonna like it.”
The vaquero wears two guns. He rests his palms on them. “English not so good, senor.”
“In that case, I’ll just give you the gist of it. It’s mainly contempt. Contempt and scorn. We’ve been playing a game, him and me, and I’m winning. Arango took my woman and he took my child. But the woman died and I took the child back. He followed me and killed everyone in the wagon train I was traveling with. But I doubled-back and killed everyone in his damn village. I killed the women. I killed the children. Maybe I killed your woman? Maybe I killed your children?”
Now they both have their palms on their guns. “So run along now. Tell your boss what I told you.”
The man is smiling and his English is a lot better. “Senor, I am not going anywhere.”
“You won’t give him my message in this world? Go on and give it to him in the next.”
And now it gets loud.
Over the years, Waring has learned to rock from side to side as he fires. So far, this has worked well for him. He gets hit less and the movement doesn’t affect his shooting all that much.
This time is no different. He’s unhurt and the other guy is dead. And since he has his gun out, he keeps shifting left and right and firing and takes out the rest of the fuckers.
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It was shortly after this that the good town people of Rubio City, New Mexico made Jeff Waring their Sheriff.
----------Tim Kirk---------- 