Author's Note: rated 16+ because of the use of the word "bitch", referring to a female dog and the consumption of alcoholic drinks. Western slang is used heavily in this piece, will post a reference link with Chapter One. If you have any question of meanings, just tell me. Most can probably be figured out through context.
“As I, and everyone else in this room said before, get the hell out!” Mattox shouted at the top of his lungs, shoving the old mutt out the room with the tip of his well-worn leather boot. He flailed his arms about too, just for good effect. The old bitch turned to give him one long, hopeless stare, before waddling falteringly out of the bar room. No one said a thing else about it. There was nothing else to say; Mattox was law. Completely. He let out a 'harrumph' and went back to his card game. Joe sat up and let out a sound that could challenge the yawn of a waking bear. He stretched and threw down his hand.
“Ace-high,” Joe crowed with a delight shining on his wrinkled mug nobody had seen in years. Mattox merely raised an ever curious blonde eyebrow, pushing back his flat-top hat with a wicked grin.
“Well, I'll be acock!” Mattox cried with a heavily greased, well-matured laugh. “Guessin' you fixed yourself a win, eh, Joey boy?” his addle-brained companion waggled his big-eared head from side to side, smiling like some wildcat. Sure, he coulda won—if Mattox was blinder than that abandon down the street. The cowboy tipped back his hat even further and leaned up, taking a good gander at the flush Joe laid down on the wobbly table. The lines on his dirt-stained forehead seemed to grow and contort like shadows until he looked up again, looking mighty gleeful. “Know what kinda hand you sat down there, Joey?” he prompted, sticking a toothpick between his set teeth.
Joe shook his head, guffawing. “A royal flush, ain't it, Tom?” Tom Mattox twirled the toothpick between his tanned fingers and halfway smirked, still playing with the hand he held.
“No, Joey, this is a royal flush, see?” he thrust out his cards, lying them flat on his side, pointing to each card separately—to the ten, jack, queen, king and ace—then he turned to Joe's and stabbed at them affirmatively. “You's only got a straight flush—meaning I'm ace-high.” Joe eyed his own cards dejectedly, not seeing that his cards were out-ranked by Mattox's. But they were, so he forfeited with a sigh.
“Alright, you slick cowpoke, you win as always.” he spit out his chewing tobacco and spun towards the door in his chair. He jerked his thumb towards it and frowned glumly, “Guessin' I'll just absquatulate...” he stood up slowly, like some old cookie not wanting to leave his post at the head of the wagon just yet. Mattox threw him an appropriate look of shame and disappointment, slapping the table generously.
“Ah, come on, Rosin Jaw, stay for 'nother round—swear, I'll get you some Adam's Ale if you do,”
Joe made a face but took his seat again, laughing, “Gawd, no, all's I'll drink is some cider brandy. Rustle me up some of that and I'll stay.”
Mattox licked at his chapped lips and thought it over before signaling for the bartender to fix them up some. He'd pay, seeing as Joe was his only friend around here. Actually, anywhere, now that his only tie to society was up and dead. He didn't like talking 'bout it with anyone, even Joe. It was hard enough even thinking about it at night when he was trying to get some shuteye. He sighed, remembering how lately he had just been shadow riding, not looking at much else but his wavering shadow flickering across the sand. Where had he been traveling to these days? Couldn't even recall it, shuffling up the deck as he tore at his upper lip with his teeth. He felt all balled up and balmy trying to scrounge up his past, wishing his old friend was around to show him where to go—what to do. They were just fixing to start another round when the bar dog showed up with their drinks.
“Howdy, boys,” he cried with the ease of a barrow-tram, grinning like a fool, like most did. Mattox didn't like being smiled at by nobody but Joe these days 'cause it made a man out to be more suspicious than he probably was. He smiled gentlemanly enough to the man anyways, thinking he should be kinder to folks, so that they wouldn't run him off so often.
“Slim,” Mattox said with a cough, gesturing to an open seat. “I'd invite you to play, but seems as if you's got a job to do,” the bartender chuckled, wringing his hands softly.
“Sure do, don't we all?” the man scratched at one of his dark ears and looked about, wishing to take a seat. He just leant in for a moment, whispering, “You're a twister, ain't you?” Mattox nodded a little, crinkling his brow in thought.
“Sure am,” he replied.
“Well, I heard Miss Sue's got a job for ya, that is, if you can find her a doctor for her pregnancy.” Mattox gave him a strange look and laughed shortly.
“Ain't you got a doc 'round these parts?” Mattox asked, setting down his hand without a thought to Joe, who was reading them with a frenzy that could beat a bangtail. The bar dog shrugged, looking quite light upon the subject.
“Heck, no, ain't seen one here since Darnell took the last one and bed him down.”
“Ah,” Mattox mumbled thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin. “You referrin' to Darnell Jones, that thieving outlaw everyone's been tryin' to catch?”
“Yus, sir, that'd be the one.”
Mattox considered it, tapping one hand's lengthy fingers on the table. “Well,” he figured after a moment, looking as if he had just come upon a revelation. “Guess I'll just have to get both of 'em, won't I?” the bartender blinked slowly twice, before standing a bit back. Joe sniffed and narrowed his eyes in confusion.
“But why?” Joe finally asked. Mattox shrugged, taking a strong gulp of his cider.
“'Cause that fine woman's in need of sumthin' and so am I. We all needs a little justice here an' there, especially me—an' my friend up on boot hill,” he was quiet for a second, seeming to lapse into a tiny period of mourning, not expecting himself to actually say anything about him. His voice was shaking slightly as he stood, “So, I'm gonna get me a doctor an' a bushwhack, no matter what.”
And with that, assuming more of an affected attitude than he wished, Tom Mattox left the saloon with a mission in mind and a place to scurry to. Sure, it didn't make quite sense out loud, but when a man needed something to stir his courage and his mind, he found it.
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