[DL] Valentine's Labors Part 6

[Michael Cone <Michael.Cone@phoenix.edu>]

The Conclusion


	Yup. Back inna saddle that just don' fit like it used ta. And now ya
gots ta share with a little bugger that is down right unhealthy fer your own
good. Mister, folks these days don' get told the stories of heroes comin'
back to save the loved ones, or defendin' the town. They get the stories of
the dead climbin' out of the graveyard ta hunt the living. Ta eat. That's
why I was so scared when my eyes opened back up again. I was one o' them.

	Now, lots o' folks just don't like the fact that sometimes things
get back up. Its understandable. They ain't supposed ta! So its not like ya
can just go strollin' back inta town after getting' put six feet under.
People get skittish. The real reason they get worried is that sometimes that
little mischievous imp gets the reins in his claws and goes for ride. That's
when things get real nasty. Cause you don' get ta remember what happens when
it gets hold and runs off with yer bones. I have empty spots in my head;
some of them are too long by half. Sometimes, if yer in a real unlucky
stretch, ya find out just what happened. Other times ya get somebody who
recognizes you and wants ta have a word. Or an exchange of lead. An' jus to
add the icing ta the cake, you heard what I can do. I imagine how much of a
mess a little spirit devoted to trouble could cause with my body. My skills,
my guns. My talents. Now its startin to sink in. Think about what that
means, ta try and keep going with that on your head.

	I didn't have much 'cept what was in my pockets when they buried me.
It took some rooting around but I managed ta dig up some other clothes from
what was left of the mission. At least they wasn't covered in bloody tears
and sportin' the odd hole in a spot or two. I dunked my head in the surf and
tried to clear my head of everything, but that damn little chucklin' sound
kept goin' on in my ears. Sometimes it whispered ta me that I belonged under
the sand or inna box. Tough to listen to sometimes. It took some time but I
finally left the ruins of the Temple of the Ghost Wind and headed north to
Shan Fan. When I got there I found out that I had been under for eleven
days. 

	No one in town had any idea what had gone one except that late one
evenin' somebody spotted smoke from down south and some of the deputies had
ridden up to find th' place goin' forty licks a minute. Odd thing was, no
one ever mentioned anything about given me a little burial. I get back ta
that inna little bit. No body would say anything about that twice-damned
murderin' gunslinger neither, but I could understand why folks might be a
tad shy about that talk. So I left Shan Fan to find Blackfeather and see if
there was any more stories that I needed to hear. Stories about havin'
somethin' laughing at ya from the balcony inside your head.

	It took me almost four years to track down that half-breed teacher
of mine. I could talk fer days about some of the things I got myself inta
and outta all over the country at that time. Remember that crazy Frenchman,
Xerxes Rober? That wild one with all of the blimps and his crazy talk about
the new independent state o' California? I ran inta him. I could give ya
stories that would fill a wagonload o' dime novels. Lessee, there was that
little Chinese sorceress gal, th' Empress of Ghosts. I tangled with her on
and off for almost two years runnin'. Last I heard she had gone back east
fer somethin and never came back. 

	I made a long ugly name for myself in the books o' the Black River
Railroad. That owner gal Devlin could make a shark give up dinner. She also
got more than a few real special ladies on her payroll, believe you me.
Seems he got it in her head that I just had to go to work fer her. After the
third try I started getting' the point across with a little lead punctuation
for effect. Then it wasn't "on th' payroll" any more, it was "under th'
tracks". That was some ugly times. That woman would sell your own mother
back to you in pieces if she thought she could make the sale.

	But that's a tale for 'nother night. I suggest you hunker that
pretty little head o' yours down there 'cause there's somebody creepin' out
on the balcony.  I'm about to make the hotel owner real mad...