US Marshal Robert Sullivan tracks wanted criminals across the Pacific Northwest. At times: depending on the criminal--they test him and he has no choice except to 'lay them down'; he met Lucas Ripley during his most recent trip and they form a friendship and brotherhood lasting a lifetime.
US Marshal Robert Sullivan tracks wanted criminals across the Pacific Northwest. At times: depending on the criminal--they test him and he has no choice except to 'lay them down'; he met Lucas Ripley during his most recent trip and they form a friendship and brotherhood lasting a lifetime.
A tall, bearded, not-so-dark stranger strolled into a saloon (Dakota Territories, 1800s) and up to the long, sparsely-populated bar. Every head in the place swiveled to track his progress..."Whisky," he ordered in a deep baritone.
"Sorry, friend. All out," the barkeep smirked, which elicited guffaws from the nearby patrons.
"I'll have one anyway," replied the stranger. Something in his eyes alerted the bartender to a subdued violence lurking beneath the customer's placid demeanor...he poured the shot and pushed over. "Two bits," he grunted.
The man in black laid ten dollars next to his empty glass. "And a bit of information. "I'm lookin' for a man calls himself Rebel Jack--out of Texas."
"Texas, huh? Can't say I've ever been, Friend...and I don't know no Rebel Jack Corman."
"The name's US Marshal ROBERT SULLIVAN...and I didn't mention Rebel Jack's last name."
Licking his lips, 'Rebel Jack's' beady eyes dart about, and a sheen of perspiration dotted his upper lip. "M-Marshal--I -I got a family now...coupla kids..."
"Right. Yeah. That stagecoach driver and his shotgun rider had families, kids...what theyi never had was A CHANCE--you and Manny Mata shot 'em in the back; closed caskets after the sun and rain and vultures."
Jack started sweating harder. "Look, Marshal: Manny's back in Mexico-"
Marshal Sullivan offered a slow smile in response. "He WAS. Put him in the ground outside Falfurrias, Texas. C'mon Jack: let's go."
"I gotta tell my wife, Jack stammered, grabbing for a sawed-off shotgun secreted beneath the taps; simultaneously Robert reached across his body, drew, and fired, striking the wanted man between the eyes. To his left, out of the corner of one eye Robert detected a flash of movement as he dropped to one knee and fired again, killing the back-shooter with a shot to the neck.
The Marshal's head jerked to his rear as a beer mug shattered and a body crashed to the floor behind him...a blond man nearly as tall as he sat at a poker table, a smoking pistol in his hand. The men exchange nods before Robert retrieved an an unbroken bottle of booze and another glass, which he filled with amber liquid. "Marshal Sullivan." He handed one of them to his new friend. "Lucas Ripley." They touch glasses and drink. "What next, Marshal?"
"Oregon. Not sure after that."
Lucas thought a moment before saying "Might I ride along?"
Robert split the reward of $500 with Lucas (despite the latter's protests) and the next day they strike out for Washington State.
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Their route through the Dakotas lasted one week and one day; they spent the time getting to know one another: Lucas is an Australian, three years in the US, and married with two children. He fought on the UNION'S side during the Civil War due to 'his marriage to a mixed-race woman'. "I agree that I had a vested interest in the war's outcome but I like to think that apart from that self-interest I would have made the same decision."
Two weeks later the two men part ways in Oregon, with the lawman continuing on to the Washington Territory, to his home near the Columbia River. His horse 'neighs' loudly entering the 'door yard' (known now as a FRONT YARD) and a boy-child exploded from the front door, yelling "¡PAPI!"
A female contralto called "¡Papa; no corre, Amor!" [don't run Baby/Love!] A beautiful Latina with a girl-child in her arms walked out, a huge smile on her face. The baby on her hip grew agitated, squealing excitedly when she spied her father. "Geee-aw!" she shouted.
Robert leaned down and scooped up his son, urging his horse forward at a slow gallop. He slid off of his animal cradling his firstborn. He exchanged kisses with his wife and daughter before telling his son to stay with his mother while he tended to the horse. A dinner Andrea asked quietly "Did you have to shoot them?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry."
"No choice. They forced my hand."
Andrea said "I KNOW that, Roberto; of course you would never kill anyone unless you had to. I am on your side-ALWAYS. Also, your in-laws would like to see the babies, if that is fine."
Sullivan stretched, yawned, and replied "In the morning... I'm done in."
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In Oregon, Lucas Ripley, his wife and children, sister Jennifer, and in-laws sit around a big dining room table finishing lunch.
