Dirty Dan

Buckeye, Arizona

1888

Dan Dobler slithers down Main Street spitting tobacco juice, his blind, milky left eye enhancing his threatening personality.

Dobler’s poverty-stricken appearance and penchant for violence have earned him the nickname “Dirty Dan.” Townspeople find it hard to believe that the twenty-six-year-old Dobler is heir to Calvin “King” Coleman’s “King’s Ransom,” the largest ranch in Buckeye.

A curious hound dog trails Dobler. He turns toward it, kicking it in the side.

“Git away from me, ya mangy cur!”

The dog barks angrily at Dobler, nipping at his dusty pants. Pulling out his revolver, he shoots the dog.

Dobler glares at a passing couple. “Ya want some too?”

Dobler resumes his predatory pace down the street.

Eight-year-old Brighton Greenwood, the precocious son of Reverend Ethan Greenwood,

sneaks up behind Dobler, pretending to draw a gun.

“BAM! Gotcha, Dirty Dan!”

Whipping out his revolver, Dobler spins around.

“How many times I gotta tell ya not to sneak up on me! One’a these days someone’s gonna blow your block off! And don’t call me Dirty Dan!”

Brighton runs off singing, “Dan, Dan, Dirty Dan!”

Three men chat at a back table in The Big Buck Saloon.

A natty dresser, gambler Chance Bordeaux seldom loses and abhors cheating. His face a mass of scars, husky rancher Dalton Kean has survived through his wits. A veteran of the war between the states, fidgety Mayor August Smead avoids confrontation to keep his heart and tongue from jumping.

“I seen Mercy Coleman today at the bank,” Dalton says. “That gal’s a peach.”

“She should be runnin’ King’s Ransom, instead of that chuckleheaded brother of hers,” Chance replies. “I never understood how a brother and sister could be so different.”

“Easy. They ain’t brother and sister,” Dalton replies. “Katia, King’s first wife, whelped Danny. That’s why he’s a Dobler instead of a Coleman.”

“Mercy is Ka..King’s daughter by Priscilla, his second wife,” Mayor Smead adds.

“Katia come to this country from Austria. Couldn’t speak a word of English. Rumor was she was a mail-order bride,” Dalton says. “Cal didn’t know she had a little boy until they got here. Katia was miserable in Buckeye. She wandered a lot. But she found a friend in Laudanum. It numbed the loneliness, but it made her crazier than a loon.”

“Calvin said she threw herself da…down a well,” Mayor Smead says. “Dobler went from bein’ a respectful boy to an ob…obnoxious, thick-headed, hard case.”

“Sounds just like the piker who owes me seven hundred dollars,” Chance says.

“Consider yourself havin’ got off cheap,” Dalton replies.

Dobler bursts into the Big Buck, his gaze dwelling on Dalton, Chance, and Mayor Smead.

“Ya got a reason behind that spiteful look, Chance?”

“I got seven hundred reasons.”

“Ya don’t know dung from wild honey. I won that hand, ya four-flusher,” Dobler insists.

Chance snorts with derision. “I saw you pull those two queens outta your sleeve.”

“I ain’t never cheated nobody in my life.”

Dalton hoots. Dobler cocks his good eye at him. “What’s so funny, flannel mouth?”

“I wish them ponies you sold me could talk.”

“I sold them to you at a cut price.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me they belonged to your father,” Dalton replies. “I was lucky Cal believed me when I told him a rustler had sold them to me, which wasn’t too far from the truth.”

“Ya see? Everythin’ worked out fine,” Dobler says. “Is that Smead you’re sittin’ with? What are ya starin’ at ya stutterin’ coward? I bet ya bought them medals ya say ya got in the war at some dime store. Ya hear me ma...Mayor?”

Katie “Kitten” Alonzo sighs deeply. The raven-haired, former cantina singer is proud of her lavish establishment and well-healed clientele and doesn’t want to put either in jeopardy.

Wynn Tessier checks under the bar for his shotgun. The bartender’s muscular 6’ 4” stature is impressive, but even he is wary of Dobler.

“In town long?” Wynn asks.

“Long enough to make folks wish I wasn’t.”

Dobler points to a bottle of whiskey.

Kitten confronts Dobler. “I thought I made it clear you are not welcome in my place if you do not pay up.”

Reaching into his grimy pants, Dobler pulls out a wad of money, throwing it on the bar.

“Ya wanna roll out the red carpet now, ya greedy strumpet? Whiskey, Wynn, until I can’t feel the pain no more.”

Lifting her voluminous skirts, Kitten huffs, turning away.

“Where ya goin’, senorita?” Dobler bellows. “That money ain’t just for the drink. I’m payin’ for you to purr.”

Her cheeks flushed with anger, Kitten snarls, “I will say it again, and I will keep saying it until it penetrates that thick monument you call a skull. I would not lay with you for all the money in King Coleman’s safe.”

“One word from me and my daddy and his boys’ll burn this chicken shack down.”

Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, Dobler downs half of it. He smashes it against the bar, waving a broken shard close to Kitten’s face.

“All I want is a drink and a poke. And what do I get? Bad whiskey and worser attitudes! Ya’ll think ‘cause I got half as many eyes as you that I got half a brain too. Ya forget who I am, missy. My name means somethin’.”

“Yes, it means you are the motherless, second-hand son of a great man. You are…”

Dobler moves closer. “Don’t say it, Kitten.”

“DIRTY DAN!”

Dobler slashes Kitten. Blood spurts from Kitten’s cheekbone as she paws at the wound.

Dalton, Chance, and Mayor Smead rush to Kitten’s aid.

Wynn jams the shotgun in Dobler’s back.

“Ya wanna back shoot me, Wynn?”

“Turn around so I can blow off your ugly face.”

Raising his hands, Dobler slowly turns around.

“I bet that painted cat wishes she’d listened to me now!”

Smiling, Dobler slowly backs out the door.

Deputy Elmer Clegg spots Dobler prowling through town.

Hastening down the street, he cuts Dobler off.

Dobler studies him with a milky, amused stare.

The twenty-two-year-old, wispy deputy is dressed in flamboyant white cowboy garb with furry chaps, a wide white ten-gallon hat, an embroidered vest, and expensive white boots.

“Circus ain’t in town for another two months, cuz,” Dobler says.

Elmer fumbles for his gun.

“I heard you cut Miss Alonzo.”

“She’ll get over it when Daddy hands her more dinero than she makes in a year. Ya wanna point that thing somewheres else before it goes off?”

“You gotta answer for what you done. Cousin or no cousin.”

In one swift motion, Dobler grabs Elmer’s gun, slapping him.

“Try it, boy.”

Elmer raises his hands.

“Go back to the farm, Elmer. Ya ain’t got the sand to play lawman. You’re a disgrace to the law.”

“…So are you...”

Dobler opens Elmer’s revolver. Dropping the bullets on the ground, he tosses the gun back at him.

“Next time I take this from ya, I’m gonna use it on ya. Cousin or no cousin.”

A concerned crowd shadows Dobler as his odyssey of terror continues.

Turning to face them, Dobler’s good eye focuses on Bud Cummings and his wife, Precious, owners of the general store.

“Well, if it ain’t Mister and Misses high fallutin’. Overcharged me for a bag of nails just ‘cause my daddy’s King Coleman. I’m gonna pound them nails into yer heads.”

Chris Harte breaks through the crowd. The sturdy, forty-ish Marshal has a talent for appeasing Dobler and his victims.

“I hear you don’t like dogs.”

“That flea-ridden cur attacked me.”

“Did Kitten attack you too?”

“Yeah. And that snapperhead Wynn threatened me with a shotgun.”

“If Kitten presses charges…”

“Ya gonna take the word of a calico queen over King Coleman’s son?”

In a low and sure tone, someone in the crowd says, “Stepson.”

“Which one of ya yahoos doubts my right to call myself King Coleman’s son?”

“STEPSON.”

Dobler turns toward the sound of the voice.

Brandon Crowfoot points a shotgun at Dobler. At 6’ 3” with high cheekbones, intense blue eyes, and a muscular build, the Navajo deputy cuts a fearsome appearance.

Brandon and Dobler lock eyes. Dobler flinches, looking away.

“You can stay in town, get drunk enough to assault someone else, and end up in jail,” Chris says. “Or you can apologize to Kitten and compensate her and everybody else you’ve beaten or bamboozled. Then you can ride out.”

“And I’ll come back with my daddy and our boys. We’ll cut through Buckeye savage as a meat axe.”

“Get out,” someone in the crowd whispers.

Quickly, the entire crowd starts yelling, “GET OUT! GET OUT!”

Dobler stomps toward the livery stable.

He hears someone following him, laughing at him.

“BANG! BANG!”

Pulling out his gun, Dobler spins around, firing in the direction of the voice.

Shot between the eyes, Brighton Greenwood falls backward, dead.

Brandon calmly walks up behind Dobler, slamming the butt of his shotgun against the back of his head.

Dobler sits on the edge of his bed holding his head in his hands.

“Coffee…I need coffee…”

“You’re gonna need a lot more than just coffee,” Chris says.

“My daddy pays ya enough side money to make things go away.”

“Yeah, to replace the windows and furniture you break. This time you done somethin’ that ain’t goin’ away.”

Dobler lets out a phlegmy laugh. “Can’t say I never do nothin’ halfway.”

“Keep up that sense of humor. You’re gonna need it.”

“You tell my daddy what happened?”

“Your sister was in town when it happened. She went home last night,” Chris replies.

“Mercy? I can hear that needle-nosed know-it-all now. ‘See father? I told you he was a no-account. You can’t let Daniel run the ranch. I’m much smarter than he is.’ Bosh.”

“It’s true.”

“Ya enjoyin’ seein’ me dance with the devil, dontcha, Marshal?”

“It’s the little pleasures in life that help me get by.”

Brandon enters carrying a cup of coffee as Chris turns to leave.

“Keep an eye on him for a while. I’ve got to try and find us an honest judge. I’m also gonna make arrangements for my wife to visit her sister in Medville. Maybe your wife should go along.”

“That’s right, Crowfoot, ‘cause when I get outta here I’m gonna give her a good poke then scalp her!”

“Do you want to drink or wear your coffee, Dobler?” Brandon asks.

Dobler’s smile disappears when he notices the coffee is steaming hot.

As Chris leaves, Brandon says, “Buy Miranda a ticket.”

“So, the mighty redskin has a weakness,” Dobler says.

“Miranda is not a weakness. She is my strength, my heart.”

Dobler grunts. “Well, la-de-da. When she was mine, she was like a Mustang, wild and free.”

“She was your slave. You tried to sell her.”

“She obeyed me ‘till you come along. Ya took away the thousand pesos I was gonna get for her. Then ya took my eye.”

“I warned you not to pull that knife.”

Dobler grits his teeth. “Ya made me ugly.”

“You were already ugly on the inside. I just made your ugliness easier for people to see.”

Seeing Reverend Ethan Greenwood at the door, Chris sighs heavily.

    “I must see Dobler. I have to know why.”

    “You’ll be leavin’ disappointed. Dirty Dan doesn’t know what responsibility is.”

    The two men head toward the cells.

    Dobler sits up on his bed. “Well, I must be goin’ to hell.”

    “What brought you to the moment when you killed Brighton?” Ethan asks.  

    Dobler rubs his forehead with his grimy hands. “My mama killed herself. And my daddy…He was happy she was gone.”

    “Maybe he was happy because her suffering was over,” Ethan offers.

    “I never forgave him. And I made sure people would never forget me the way they forgot her. Ya think there’s a place in heaven for good people in so much pain they killed themselves?”

   “There might be,” Ethan answers quietly.

    “When she died, the pain of it drove me off my rails. People scorned me for the way I behaved. ‘Dirty Dan… Dirty Dan,’ they’d whisper. So, I decided to show ‘em just how dirty I could be…”

A dozen horses gallop into town, led by Calvin “King” Coleman. Tall, weathered, and lean, the silver-haired fifty-two-year-old rancher’s expression is grim and authoritative.

Mercy rides next to Coleman. Petite, freckled, with long, flowing red hair and an aquiline nose, the eighteen-year-old cowgirl is her stepbrother’s opposite - well-dressed, intelligent, and refined.

Stepping down from his horse, Coleman strides into the jail, followed by half a dozen well-armed men.

Chris sits at his desk, cradling a shotgun. Coleman leans down, his dark eyes narrowing into slits.

“I thought we had an understandin’, Marshal.”

“I don’t understand murderers.”

From his cell, Dobler shouts, “It was an accident, Daddy! I didn’t mean to!”

“You never do!”

Coleman and his men move toward the jail cell. Rising from his chair, Chris blocks their path.

The men point their guns at Chris.

Mercy shouts “No!” and the men freeze. “Let them parlay one-on-one like sensible people. Wait outside, boys.”

Coleman turns to Mercy. “You too, unless you have something to say to your brother.”

“I’ve got plenty to say to him, but I’ve been trying to cut down on my swearing.”

Coleman strides into the backroom where Dobler lies curled up in the corner of his cell.

“Least you can do is stand up and face me.”

Dobler springs to his feet.

“I thought he was gonna kill me, I swear.”

“You’re just as crazy as your mother. One sip of alcohol and what little sense you got falls off you like sweat.”

“All you ever had to say was that you loved her and none of this would have happened.”

“I didn’t love her… She was cold, cruel. It’s time you know the truth…Your mother didn’t kill herself. She ran away. She abandoned you.”

“But the ball she gave me, the little wooden horses, playing together in the field…”

“That was my sister Annabelle. She gave you those toys and played with you. She gave you the love you remember. When the fever took Annabelle, it broke you.”

“…No, it was my mama who loved me, cared for me…”

“All Katia ever did was complain that you kept her from having a life. I came home from a drive more than once to find you tied to your bed and her in the breeze.”

Dobler’s head droops. “…She never loved me...”

Coleman turns to Chris. “I’ll make sure he never comes to town again. I’ll give the preacher ten thousand and Kitten five. Danny’s never done a lick of work, but he’s all I got as an heir.”

“You’ve got other kin,” Chris points out.

“Elmer? I’ve left more intelligent life in the latrine. Besides, he’s chosen his lot in life. He wants to be you.”

“I mean Mercy. She can rope and brand better than Danny, drive a herd better than Danny, and balance a ledger better than him. And your men jump when she speaks.”

“I can straighten him out.”

“How many times have you said that, Cal? We’re takin’ him to Tucson in two days for trial. You wanna help Danny? Hire the best lawyer money can buy.”

Coleman’s jaw tightens. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Chris. You’ve got two days to release him or die. We’ll be back then. You won’t make it to the station alive if you try to put my boy on that train.”

Chris and Brandon meet at the jail the next morning. The office is empty.

“Where the devil is Elmer?”

They rush to the backroom.

Elmer is laying on his back on the floor, his eyes vacant, a pool of blood under his head.

Dobler’s cell is empty.

Riding full bore, the pair reach the crossroad leading out of Buckeye. Brandon suddenly pulls his horse to a stop.

A white horse stands by the side of the road, kicking at the dusty ground.

“That’s Elmer’s horse,” Chris notes.

    Brandon stares up at a large oak tree.

   “What’s wrong?”

Chris follows Brandon’s gaze, looking up.

Dobler is hanging from the tree.

King Coleman and Mercy lead an army of riders into town, where Chris and Brandon are waiting.

Perched confidently on his horse, Coleman looks down at the two lawmen.

“So, what’s it gonna be?”

“There won’t be a trial…” Chris says softly.

“That’s more like it.”

“…Danny’s dead…”

Coleman raises his hand. His men point their weapons at Chris and Brandon.

“Wait! Let them explain,” Mercy says.

Coleman gives his daughter a stern, exasperated glance. “This is the last time I kowtow to you, missy.”

Chris speaks in a calm, measured tone. “Elmer’s dead too. He struck his head on the cell bars tryin’ to keep Danny from either escapin’ or bein’ taken.”

Coleman’s anger dissipates. “Poor Elmer. He wasn’t nothing but a gentle fool… How did Danny die?”

“He was hanged.”

“You let them lynch him? Who done it? The Preacher?”

“He was conductin’ mass when Danny was killed,” Chris replies.

“Then Kitten was behind it.”

“She’s been in Tucson with Wynn seein’ a specialist ever since Danny cut her. I wish we had a better explanation than ‘I don’t know,’ but a lot of people carried a grudge against Danny.”

“He’s right, Father,” Mercy says. “Maybe it was someone Danny cheated in a card game or a ranch hand he beat up for fun.”

“Next thing you’ll be tellin’ me is he hung himself.”

The blood drains from Coleman’s features.

“He always said he wanted to be with his mother.”

“Now he is,” Mercy says.

“Maybe now he can take a breath from all the misery that swallowed him up,” Coleman says.

Mercy motions for the men to lower their weapons.

“Who’s gonna run King’s Ransom?” Coleman mutters sadly.

“The answer is closer than you think,” Chris says.

Coleman turns to his daughter, smiling. “Let’s go home, boss.”