Chapter 1

A dry tumbleweed rolled across the dusty desert plain, indifferently ambling over the emotionless face of an armadillo. The animal gave no response, parched and mummified as it was. What started as a simple search for food and drink on the open rock flats hadn’t panned out, making the creature another victim of the harsh Arkansas sun. The oppressive waves of heat blasted the flat rocks, keeping in time with the slow, steady pulse of a horse and its rider. The horse was jet-black, save for the glistening sweat pulled forth by the sun. It made no mind or effort to dispute its lot in life or raise any kind of protest for its situation. The man atop the horse portrayed a mood as black as his steed, his fine jacket and bowler hat dark as well. His pale face held a neatly trimmed black handlebar mustache, waxed into perfect shape. He, too, made no protest about his situation despite the sweltering heat that he felt under his jacket.

The rider and his horse sauntered along the rocky plateau under the baking sun aiming for the shaded cover of a nearby river bank. Within thirty yards of it the cowboy and his horse
approached a little ridge with a bluff. Small, scruffy bushes gripped the edge obscuring a small depression beyond the ridge from view. It was a minor detail, a drop of only a couple of feet. Nothing in and of itself presented any challenge to the rider’s progress to the cool, green paradise in the distance.

As the rider approached the outcropping of sparse foliage there was a rustle, conveniently just out of view below the ridge. Now odds are, out in this country, the odd rustle could be as harmless as a prairie mouse. At worst, it could be a rattler. The thought of the latter was enough for the cowboy to rest his hand on the butt of his Colt revolver. The fact that the rustle came from the one and only spot on the entire landscape that he couldn’t see made him cautious enough to wrap his fingers around it. The rustle turned into a scuffle and slowly grew into the sounds of steel and leather, rock and hooves, clumsily scraping together in an inept ambush attempt. The rider slowly pulled his iron from its holster and rested it on top of his saddle horn in preparation. When the first gun muzzle appeared above the nearest bush along with the corner of a dirty, weather-beaten hat, a voice muttered to itself. The rider leveled his iron, aiming towards his would-be hijacker.

“Now hold on a minute, partner,” came a greasy voice from under the hat. “That there is an act of hostility towards a man of the law.”

A round, dirty face emerged from behind the bush. Filth and stubble blended together in a mottled, uneven tone. Large jowls shook under the ugly face. Carrying on the theme of dirt and stubble, he was covered with a thin layer of greasy sweat which caused him to glisten like a Christmas pig. His eyes were small, beady, and unnaturally close together; sunken and deep under a small, but pronounced brow ridge. Overall, his face looked as if it had shrunk somehow and been placed on a head two sizes too large. The muzzle of the rifle held tightly in his hands looked open toward the cloudless sky as if hoping for the blue expanse to give up some rain for its parched throat. Beige cowhide pants and pale blue shirt topped with black suspenders were visible under the man’s open jacket. The jacket was a dark navy, or at least, after years of dust, dirt, and neglect, it made the worn and frayed garment look that dark; it could have been lighter. Beside the lapel, pinned over his heart was a tin star.

Behind him approached another man, equally dirty and greasy. This one was thin where the other was fat. He had the same beady eyes tucked under the same pronounced brow ridge, but the rest of his face was harsh and narrow with rat-like features. A bushy, unkempt mustache took up a quarter of the man’s face; almost, but not quite hiding his pointed upper jaw. A severe overbite gave his mouth a gawkish, horse-like appearance. He wore a faded red shirt under blue suspenders that struggled to hold up a pair of denim coveralls that appeared several sizes too big for him. Over his trousers, he wore a gun belt that held a shiny, seemingly expensive six-shooter on either side of him. They looked to be made of polished silver with mother-of-pearl handles. His right hand rested on the handle of his gun, ready to draw. The other hand held a leather strap, a bridle attached to a large mule being reluctantly pulled along. This man also wore a tin star pinned to his chest, matching his companion’s.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” the cowboy said. “No disrespect meant to the law. If you don’t want to be greeted like bandits, you might not want to sneak up on a man like bandits. A fellow could get himself a dose of lead if he happened upon a stranger jumpier than me.”

The lawmen were rustled, jumpy and indignant, the portly one lowering the muzzle of his rifle in self-defense.

“Was that a threat, mister, are you calling out the law?”

“Sure sounds like it to me, Leroy,” the thin rat-faced lawman chimed in.

“Now hold on there, gents,” the black-clad rider responded calmly. “I didn’t intend to offend anyone or call anyone out. I’m simply telling the God’s honest truth that it can be dangerous to sneak up on unsuspecting strangers.”

“Cletus says you’re calling me out, you calling my brother a liar? That’s three charges then: threatening the law, trespassing, and insulting an officer,” Rat Face added.

“Trespassing?” the rider replied indignantly. “That’s crazy, this here is open territory. It ain’t trespassing on land if it ain’t owned.”

“Sir, you’re calling Cletus a liar again, so that’s two counts of insulting an officer. You may not know the rules and borders around these parts, Mr. Fancy Pants, but Sheriff Behan says ignorance of the laws ain’t no excuse for breaking them,” dirty Leroy proclaimed confidently. “You see, stranger, this here is the town of Burlton, and the mayor of Burlton, he has declared the town closed to outsiders for the public safety.”

“That’s preposterous, sir,” the lone rider replied. “Burlton is another ten miles east of here!”

“’Twas ten miles east of here up until about a year ago, smarty pants,” Cletus, the rat-faced deputy, responded with vehemence. He pressed his face within inches of the stranger. “The mayor done declared the town limits is now ten miles outside of the old limits in all directions, and that any outsider is to be considered trespassing on account of public safety.”

“Is that so?” asked the black-clad stranger. “Y’all are closing off your town to people on the outside to keep you all protected. Is that it?”

Cletus looked at him with a sneer. “Yeah, you never know what kind of stranger is going to come in and pose all kinds of danger to our respectable townsfolk, so we’d rather have y’all strangers just stay away. We like to keep to ourselves. Y’all are violating the laws of our territory.”

“Hush up,” interrupted his round, dirty-faced companion. “This is what we’re going to do: You’ve got some charges against you that you have to answer to now, so you’re going to put that gun away and we’re going to escort you into town. The sheriff and the judge can determine how severe your punishment is.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s right,” Cletus said. The narrow-faced lawman looked at his companion nervously, back and forth from him to the rider.

The stranger slowly returned his gun to his holster in compliance and raised his hands into the air.

“That’s the smartest thing I’ve seen you do yet, Mr. Fancy Pants,” said the fat, jowly lawman. “Now ride.”

#

Hours later the trio rode into the town of Burlton. The two lawmen on donkeys kept their weapons aimed at the well-groomed stranger atop his horse. The stranger’s hands gripped the bullhorn on his saddle with exhaustion as they slowly sauntered into town. The town looked dismal. The few people scattered among homes and stores nervously looked out their windows and watched the trio pass by. The buildings themselves looked like they hadn’t been kept up in years. Paint peeled and wooden boards hung loosely on many of the buildings. The town looked anything but prosperous. Large tumbleweeds blew across the streets. A mangy, stray cat bolted across the dusty road and was soon followed by a thin, emaciated dog.

The trio slowly rode past the funeral home where a tall, gaunt man who appeared to be the Undertaker stood in a black hat, grinning in a sickly manner. Nearby, a small funeral procession was leaving the building. Two horses and a wagon pulled a buggy with an open casket on it and came to rest on the side of the street for public viewing. Cletus rode up beside the stranger, kept his gun trained on him, looked at the casket, and then at the mysterious stranger.

“That there was an awful story. This is what happens when you try and cross the law in these parts.”

“Cletus, shut it,” said his rotund companion.

“No, no, Leroy, I do believe he needs to hear this. That fella right there, he was a dandy just like you. Same kind of hat, he was British though, he wasn’t even from around here. He used to run that clothing store right over there. Now, my other brother, he took that over now on account that the owner’s dead with no kin, but this man here, being left out on public display, there’s a reason for that. Sad story, really. He tried to defame my dear father. My daddy is the mayor of this town, and this uppity British fellow, he started saying very disparaging things about him. Calling him a criminal, even! Can you imagine that? A former sheriff, now the mayor, accused of being an outlaw? Well, the people of Burlton didn’t buy that story, not at all. Crazy fool. When he realized what he had done and that all the people in town continued to support my honorable father, well, he just couldn’t live with the shame anymore and blew his own brains out.”

“Cletus . . .” The man’s jowly face shook as he shot him a glance of disapproval.

“Well, that’s all, stranger. Now you know what happens when someone around these parts tries to disparage the good people of Burlton.”

The stranger’s gaze left Leroy and Cletus and moved to the casket. He stared somberly for a moment before glancing back at the lawmen, his teeth tightly clenched. After another fifty yards, they approached the sheriffs’ station. Cletus raised his gun into the air and fired it, getting the attention of townspeople.

“Fine people of Burlton, y’all hear this. We got ourselves an outsider trespassing in our fair town, and now he has been brought in. This is what happens to those who violate our laws.” Leroy rolled his eyes and looked over at Cletus, but kept his shotgun leveled at the stranger. “This here gentleman has trespassed in our town, and he is now charged with multiple offenses. He is being charged with trespassing in our fair town as well as threatening the law, if you can believe that. And, insulting an officer!”

Leroy cleared his throat and chimed in, “Two counts of insulting an officer.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Cletus said. “Two counts of insulting an officer, and now he will be set to face judgment on these charges, witnessed by myself and my honorable brother, Leroy, deputy of this here fine town.”

Throughout the speech several other deputies and an older, more distinguished gentleman in equally filthy, worn attire exited the sheriffs’ station They all wore tin stars. It seemed obvious that the oldest man was the sheriff and the rest were his deputies. The sheriff looked at the stranger intensely and then spit a dark wad onto the dirt. He stared into the stranger’s eyes.

“What do you say to these charges, stranger?”

The man on the horse looked at him innocently. “I do apologize, sir. I did not intend to offend anybody, and I did not know that I was trespassing.”

“Ignorance of the law is not an excuse to disobey that law,” the sheriff said loudly for his deputies and any townsfolk peering out windows and poking around outdoors to hear. “Dismount, sir.” With that, the stranger raised his hands and slowly complied. “So, what say you to these charges?”

“I told you, sir, I didn’t know. If people are unwelcome, you might think about doing the courteous thing of putting up a sign…”

“Again, ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking the law. I’m going to have to ask you to release your gun belt until we have passed appropriate judgment on you. It is prohibited for any resident of Burlton to carry a firearm within the town limits unless they are a duly appointed officer of the law.”

With the stranger’s hands raised, Leroy nervously reached in and unbuckled the man’s gun belt, being careful to keep his own gun trained on the stranger as he slowly slid the belt off. Cletus unstrapped the man’s saddle and lifted it off his horse. The man’s property was piled on the front porch of the sheriffs’ station and his horse was tied to a post there.

“I’m afraid you are going to have to be held in a cell and your belongings will be held here until we can properly sentence you.”

The stranger lowered his hands slightly and looked up at the sheriff. “Now, sheriff, I do believe if you’ll allow me, I can resolve this situation.” With that, he slipped one hand into his jacket.

Cletus jumped and shouted, “He’s reaching for an iron!”

All the lawmen simultaneously rushed to grab their weapons. Cletus fired, the bullet whizzing over the stranger’s head. The stranger turned to Leroy and pushed his shotgun barrel to the sky with one hand and knocked out the portly lawman with the other.

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