Greetings, Old Hoss

Utica, Wyoming

1891

Seneca Welch reaches under the bar for his shotgun, pointing it at Buck Savage, the acknowledged leader of the quartet of saddle tramps harassing him.

A former boxer, the burly bartender with the handlebar mustache still has an intimidating physique that ripples with muscles, and he can still wipe the floor with any man brave enough to challenge him.

Tall with curly hair and mysterious dark eyes, forty-two-year-old Buck Savage’s swarthy looks belie his quick, felonious mind. He keeps company with twenty-four-year-old Swede Hanis Beldrivian, a short, beady-eyed rascal better known for his cattle rustling skills than his courage, and the beefy Blaine brothers, square-jawed twenty-year-olds, who can go from respectful to destructive within four shots.

And the Blaine’s have already had six shots.

“I said, you can pay me the twenty-five dollars you owe me and take that bottle of rye with you. But you will get out of my establishment and do it now.”

“Don’t you think raising that iron to make your point is overkill, Seneca?” Buck comments.

“I figure if I’m gonna blow a hole in somebody, I wanna make sure they’re dead.”

Buck’s playful tone dissipates, his voice turning threatening.

“…Like my sister…”

“Here we go again,” Seneca gripes.

“That’s right, again. And again, until I hear you admit you killed her.”

“Your sister was a wild cat that needed tamin’, just like you. She was too full of vinegar to ever be sweet.”

“So, you beat her to death. You’re a real brave man.”

“She was comin’ at me with a knife,” Seneca says. “She’d had a snootful and then some.”

“Liar! Beatrice was a teetotaler.”

“And Lincoln’s favorite actor was John Wilkes Booth. She was mad because one of the doxies from the Essex Theater came up to me in the street and got friendly. We screamed at each other, and when that didn’t work, we got drunk. Next thing I know, Beatrice is comin’ at me with a knife. We struggled, and I pushed her away. She fell sideways and hit her head on the side of a table.”

Buck downs a shot of rye. “Then how’d she end up with bruises on her arms, legs, and ribs?”

A wobbly Hanis tries to intervene.

“You two been barkin’ at each other about this for over a year. Why don’t you put that broomstick down, Seneca, and you and Buck settle it like honorable men?”

“Fists?” Buck questions. “Seneca can only fight washed-up pugs or afeared women so slight they can blow away in a breeze.”

“Afraid of a fair fight, Savage?” Seneca counters. “I hear they invented the word backshooter because of you.”

“How about takin’ me on, wife beater?” Bo Blaine, the oldest of the brothers, says. Bo still sports a scar along his cheek and resentment in his heart from the last time he didn’t heed Seneca, who broke a bottle over his head.

“Or me?” Bob Blaine adds.

In a show of his mettle, Bob pats his gun.

Thinking Bob will draw on him, Seneca gives him both barrels of his shotgun, blowing Bob off his feet.

Bo pulls out his gun but is so drunk that it flies out of his hand. Chasing it, he dives for the floor.

Buck draws his gun, firing at Seneca. One shot catches Seneca in the shoulder, a second hits the mirror behind him, and the third shatters a glass on the bar.

Seneca reaches for his revolver, which he keeps beside the shotgun under the bar. He aims at the retreating trio, who run through the batwing doors and into the street.

Marshal Wade Templeton and his wife, Mercy, are in his office, casually sipping coffee. The couple has been married for six years but still acts like newlyweds. Both led checkered lives before they met: Mercy as a dance hall girl and Wade as a hired gun partnering with Buck Savage.

Clean-shaven, with light blue eyes, the rangy Marshal looks much younger than his forty-one years. Thirty-two-year-old Mercy is Utica's most beloved beauty, possessing enticing emerald eyes, long, silky blonde hair, and a buoyant personality.

Hearing the gunshots, Wade rushes to the door. Seeing three men run up the street toward the livery stable, he straps on his revolver.

“Don’t be a hero. Our anniversary is in two days,” Mercy reminds him, kissing him on the cheek.

“I’ll stall Templeton,” Buck says to Hanis and Bo. “Bring me my horse.”

Buck fires his gun in the air. People on the nearby sidewalks scatter, running down the street or ducking into stores.

Two men rush out of the hotel. Before the stocky man carrying a shotgun can raise it, Buck cuts him down with a bullet through the heart.

The second man, a slim, bearded ex-soldier still wearing his army hat, bravely stands his ground. One of his bullets passes through Buck’s open coat, the second through his hat.

Buck shoots the man twice in the chest.

The man’s body pitches face-first into the mud, making an almost comical squishing sound.

Waiting for her husband in their buckboard outside of Blake’s General Store, Patience Purdue gasps as a bullet whizzes past her head, striking a nearby post.

Another shot nearly hits one of the horses, which whiny nervously.

Buck fires at water barrels, signs, and windows. Patience grabs the reigns as the horses rear back, baying loudly as they break into a full gallop.

Hurrying along the wooden sidewalk outside Mrs. O’Keefe’s Dress Shoppe, Adelaide Dowdy manages to corral four of her five children and push them inside. Her four-year-old, Stanley, thinks the popping noises mean it’s the Fourth of July. He wanders into the street as Patience’s buckboard careens down the street, splashing waves of mud.

Watching across the street, the hairs on the back of Mercy’s neck stand up as she sees Stanley tottering toward her.

“Go back, Stanley!”

Patience pulls back on the reigns, but the horses continue their mad dash toward Stanley.

Running out to the center of the street, Mercy picks up Stanley, tossing him toward the sidewalk.

The buckboard runs over Mercy, continuing down the street.

Wade and Buck stare at one another, lowering their guns.

“Greetings, Old Hoss,” Buck says. “I was thinking about that time on Heaven’s Cliff the other day. We had a hog-killing time…We had plenty of money in our pockets, more liquor than we could drink, and those Mendoza sisters… Yee-hah! Even the best soiled doves couldn’t hold a candle to those two. I loved how it snowed everywhere else but never on Heaven’s Cliff because it was so far up in the sky. Great view from up there, too. It’s like we were on top of the world.”

“We were,” Wade says remorsefully.

“That badge looks all wrong on you, Old Hoss.”

“Give up, Buck. Don’t make me chase after you.”

“You know, I always wondered which of us was faster,” Buck says. “Maybe it’s high time we found out.”

Hanis and Bo ride up.

“C’mon, Buck, saddle up! You two lovebirds can reminisce some other time,” Hanis shouts.

Drawing his gun, Bo fires a round at Wade. The bullet dives into the mud at his feet.

Wade raises his weapon, putting a bullet between Bo’s eyes.

Buck looks at Wade one last time as their horses gallop out of town.

Wade and Seneca stand over Mercy’s body. Wade has been standing in the same spot, wordlessly, for nearly half an hour, tears running down his cheeks.

“… Face down in the mud… Like a broken doll,” Wade mutters. “…She was so beautiful… Look at her now…”

“Patience Purdue sends her condolences. She’s in ruins. She’s afraid to face you.”

“…I don’t hold her responsible for this…”

“I spoke with Diggs, the mortician,” Seneca says. “He says he can keep Mercy…fresh, I mean preserved, until you get back. Where are you goin’?”

“Hunting.”

Hanis rubs his hands together, noting he can see his breath.

“Hate the cold, always have.”

Buck continues to search the cramped cabin for ammunition. “Stop complaining. Aren’t you from one of those places where the sun never shines?”

“Det finns inget dåligt väder, bara dåliga kläder,” Hanis replies.

“You want to try that in English?”

“It means there is no bad weather, only bad clothes.”

“Next time, we’ll go shopping for fur overcoats before we kill someone, okay? For now, we’ll hold up here for a few days ‘til we’re sure.”

“Sure of what?”

Buck shakes his head dejectedly.

“Sure of what, Buck?”

Buck moves to the window, cautiously drawing back the curtain.

A voice in the distance yells, “Come out with your hands up!”

Buck sighs. “Sure that Marshal Templeton didn’t follow us.”

Hanis finishes the last of the beef jerky. “No food, no fire. We been here for a day and night now. You know how I hate bein’ caged up. Comes from those five years I did in prison, just me and the rats. I gotta get outta here, Buck. I say we rush him. I can take him. I’m twice as fast as him.”

“You stay put and get a hold of yourself. Wade’ll put a bullet in you before you can cuss yourself out for bein’ such a lunkhead.”

“Seems silly for us to sit here freezin’ to death with a chord of wood not more than twenty feet from the front door.”

“Wade is sitting in the snow outside in weather near zero. Imagine how cold he is. Maybe that’ll warm your heart,” Buck responds, pulling a thin blanket closer to his body.

Hanis looks out of the frost-covered window.

“I see smoke out there. He’s made himself a fire.”

“Well, then, we know where he is. Come dawn when he’s asleep, we’ll make a break for it,” Buck says.

“Somethin’ tells me that’s what he wants.”

Hanis looks over at Buck, who is sound asleep, cocooned in several blankets on the bed.

Grabbing his rifle, Hanis quietly slips through the door. Affectionately patting his horse on the neck to keep it quiet, he climbs into the saddle.

Buck wakes up to the sound of gunfire. He counts four shots, followed by the brisk winter wind whistling through the cabin.

He looks out the window and sees that Wade’s fire has been extinguished.

“Land sakes, Hanis got him!”

A horse whinnies in the distance. Buck can see the shadow of a man on a horse moseying toward the cabin.

Throwing open the front door, Buck rushes out to greet Hanis.

The horse halts in front of him.

“Well, what do you know, Hanis. You finally backed up that big bazoo of yours.”

Buck looks up at Hanis.

Hanis is lashed to his saddle. His head, pierced by two bullets, is slumped against his chest.

Buck feels the barrel of a gun against the back of his head.

“Hanis was fast, but his aim wasn’t very good,” Wade says.

A cheering crowd follows Wade as he leads Buck’s horse to the jailhouse.

He pulls the bound outlaw down from his saddle.

“You’re getting kind of rough, Marshal.”

“Two days with you would make a pillow prickly.”

A pair of well-dressed men block the doorway to the jailhouse.

The heavy-set man brushes his waxed mustache with his finger.

“I’m Zyland Boathouse, and this is my partner, Voorhees Ardoin. We’re from the Pinkerton Detective Agency, and we’re here to take charge of the prisoner Efram Harold Savage, otherwise known as Buck Savage.”

“He murdered two men and is responsible for the death of my wife. He’ll stand trial for his deeds if I can keep him from getting lynched first,” Wade replies, smirking at Buck.

“Savage and his gang were hired guns for Cactus Cooney in a range war in Laramie a few months ago,” Boathouse says. They killed Marshal Rudolf Ney and four cowboys in a gunfight and probably ambushed half a dozen others. Our need for justice trumps yours. You can have him back after Laramie hangs him.”

Buck snores loudly.

Boathouse grumbles. “He’s making more noise than the engine.”

“I wish I could sleep like that,” Ardoin replies. “The train’s motion makes me more sick than sleepy.”

“So, you’re wide awake?” Ardoin’s porky partner asks.

Ardoin shifts his bony frame uneasily in his seat as the train whistle blows.

“Yep. I got more sizzle than a firecracker.”

“Good. Watch Sleeping Beauty while I go outside for a smoke.”

Ardoin gives Buck a long look, then goes back to surveying the passing countryside.

Buck suddenly vaults forward in his seat, slamming his skull off Ardoin’s. His nose is broken, and Ardoin barely has time to react as Buck wraps the chain attached to his handcuffs around his neck. He doesn’t stop pulling until Ardoin’s eyes bulge out, and he lets out a final defeated gasp.

Searching through the dead Pinkerton agent’s pockets, Buck finds the key to the handcuffs, freeing himself.

He takes Ardoin’s gun and money.

The half dozen passengers in the car look away as Buck storms down the aisle.

Easing open the door, Buck puts the gun to the back of Boathouse’s head, pressing the trigger.

Boathouse blows out a last puff of smoke as Buck pushes his body off the train.

Bracing himself, Buck jumps off the train, rolling into a clump of tall grass.

After walking for several miles, Buck spots a ranch with frisky horses running around in a corral.

“They’re not going to miss one filly,” he says aloud, jumping the fence.

Buck throws open the front door of the modest but well-kept home.

Sensing Buck’s barely contained anger, Eleanor Pierce puts the pan of cornbread she’s holding on the kitchen table.

“Me and your scallywag bartender of a brother have had our last set to. He shot one of my boys. The Marshal got another.”

Eleanor wipes her shaking hands on her apron, unaware that tears are streaming down her cheeks.

Buck dabs them away with his thumb. Brushing back her hair, he recalls a time when the now plain-looking woman was a bright-eyed, freckle-faced beauty.

“Where’s Rufus?”

“He went to town for supplies.”

“Good,” Buck replies. “He’s at an impressionable point in his life. Best he doesn’t see this. What’s he now, fourteen?”

“Sixteen. He’s rambunctious. That part of him reminds me of Seneca.”

“Well, we all have our crosses to bear.”

Buck draws his revolver.

“You aimin’ to kill me in cold blood, Efram?”

“I used to like it when you called me that. And yes, It’s no less than what Seneca did to my sister.”

“You know I ain’t like him, Efram.”

“No, you’re not. You were always hard-working, churchgoing, and kind. That’s what’s going to make your passing painful for Seneca.”

“Don’t do this, Efram. You know I always liked you. We were like kin ourselves growin’ up.”

“I let this fester in my head long enough, Ellie. The scales have to be balanced. Angel for Angel. Sister for sister.”

Buck draws his revolver.

“…I thought you loved me, Efram…”

Closing his eyes, he shoots Eleanor.

“…I did…”

The shot catches the attention of Rufus, who is polishing his saddle in the barn. Rufus hides until Buck rides out.

Rufus covers his dead mother with a sheet. Pulling down his father’s ancient shotgun from over the fireplace, he begins tracking Buck.

Buck sits atop Heaven’s Cliff, enjoying the view.

He smiles to himself when he hears a horse approaching.

Wade dismounts, his gun hand close to his revolver.

“Greetings, Old Hoss. Guess I wasn’t too hard to track in the snow. I heard you liked being a lawman, but this relentless pursuit stuff is a bit much.”

“You killed the woman I loved.”

“She came between us when we were partners, and now her death has come between us again. The irony is we never met. Too bad, I heard she was a real beauty. When you returned from the Broken Spike ranting about some dance hall girl you were in love with, I thought you were joking. Then you were gone in a flash, and I heard you’d married your angel and found your true calling as a lawman… So, how do you want to do this? Should I count, or do you want to do the honors?”

“Why not surrender?”

Buck smiles sardonically. “I can’t let people see you bring me into town in handcuffs twice. How’d that make me look to the rest of the boys?”

“There are no more boys, just you.”

Reaching into his coat, Wade takes out a picture of Mercy. Kissing it, he lets it drop to the ground, uttering, “…Three… Two… One…”

Rufus climbs up the hill to the top of the cliff in time to see Wade and Buck draw their guns.

Wade’s bullet buries itself in Buck’s chest next to his heart. Buck’s bullet hits Wade in the gut.

Both men drop their guns, falling to the ground.

Holding his stomach, Wade struggles to his feet, his wound dying the rich earth crimson.

Groaning, Buck pulls himself up, shocked at the amount of blood pouring from his chest.

Wade and Buck charge one another, trading punches until both are battered and nearly out on their feet. Grappling with one another and growling like savages, the pair laugh hysterically as they toss one another from side to side at the cliff's edge.

Rufus aims his father’s rifle at Buck.

Still struggling, both men disappear over the side of the cliff.

Buck Savage’s body was found during the spring thaw. Wade Templeton’s was never recovered. Some say that if you go to the top of Heaven’s Cliff, you can hear Wade calling out his wife’s name.