An Outlaw's Promise

     Clint had been bartending for the last uneventful half of his 65 years in this world. He smiled just enough at work so that anyone who happened to pick his brain would feel that he was interested even if he really wasn’t. On his face and hands were obvious wear and tear marks from the countless days of being a nomadic ruffian throughout the early rising sun of Nevada desserts. He found it a lot less stressful to pour drinks and pretend to be interested in the gossip of the locals. The townsfolk considered a Clint a local at this point but he would always say his home was somewhere else, lost to him in his old age.

            Just after all the clocks struck noon a new customer found his way walking through the double waist doors that continued to swing behind him. He was the first man in a long time that Clint had seen that just might be older than he was. The normal rustle of human life in the bar came to a stop for all but 2 seconds until he tipped his hat and let out a soft but audible “Howdy” as he walks up and sits down at the center barstool. Having such a visible pistol when walking from place to place had gone out of style. Margaret, the owner had almost dropped her entire tray of glasses to the ground after being startled by the newcomer.

“Hey there stranger, what can I get ya? The name’s Clint. Don’t see much of old folk out here these days”. Despite the skin slowly losing grip on the new customer’s body the way his jaw moved as his spoke made Clint’s stomach sink through the floor.

“Name’s Anton. I’ll take a Number nine, thank you. Y’know I could say the same thing about you ya wrinkly bastard.” He chuckled to himself as he spoke. “Haven’t seen an old soul in all 3 days I’ve been travelin’”.

Clint seemed even more shocked surely someone older than him would end up gunned down or dried to death out of thirst in this hot dust pocket.  “At your age?” he chuckled. “The hell could you be searchin’ for out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Anton’s smile started to fade as he glanced at his drink then at the counter before picking his head back up. “I haven’t seen my son in over 50 years. He ran out on me back when he was just a scruffy little shit. But I loved him I did… I still do. I don’t even know why he ran. But I know he went out this way. He’s probably dead anyways. But I still want to know what happened to him before nature catches up to me and realizes I’ve been living for too long.”

“Well fuck, I’m sorry I prodded. I’ve been out across this whole cursed desert, if he was out here I’ve surely seen him at some point. What was his name?”

“Wilbur Jakobs”.

Clint nearly collapsed to the floor as he heard this name. It had been so long since he had heard it out of anyone other than himself.  Maybe it wasn’t the same boy. It couldn’t have been. “Did your son have a scar right under the curve of his left calf?”

This sparked a sharp breath in Anton as his eyes opened wider as memories flooded his brain. “He did! He really did. He got it from messin’ with- ”

Clint’s own excitement cut him off. “Messin’ with a wolf cub… right?”

“So you really met him then huh? Is he alive? Do you know where he is? C’mon just tell me where to go. ”

“Sir your son was one of the greatest men I’ve ever met in my life and I truly mean that. Unfortunately about thirty years ago he disappeared in the dead of night. Probably had a bounty on his head none of us knew about”.

The sadness returned to the forefront of Anton’s countenance. “Oh. I see… Well you were close with him right?’ Could you tell me what he was like? I suppose it’s all there is left I’ll be able to find until the reaper and I have our final shoot out.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for ya but tell our story, take a Pain Killer on the house. You’ve earned it.”

“I should be glad I get any answers at all. I appreciate the free drink partner.”

Clint pulled up his own stool and poured himself a drink before he began his own narration. “Let’s just start from the beginning. I myself was orphaned when a group of banditos killed both my ma and pa before I could even have my fifteenth birthday. We were just traveling to go see the real mountains that I had dreamed of at the time. I didn’t leave the wagon for 5 days. I fed off the rations we had packed and did my best to give ma and pa the respect their burials deserved, ain’t much I could dig by myself though.

Just as I hooked my father’s Big Iron onto my own waist— it didn’t have a single notch in it. Pa was never a man for violence, just for emergencies. Anyways, just as I hooked it to my own body a new round of outlaws had stumbled upon our bloodied wagon. I saw about 7 of them all still youthful with the oldest being about 26 years. The youngest looked about 19 at the time. That’s when I met him. Wilbur Jakobs looked at me with a certain kind of optimism in his eyes and a confidence in his jaw that I was in awe. My hands trembled and my knees were weak as I attempted to stand up. He reached out his hand to me and said ‘Ya didn’t kill these folk did ya? You look a bit too soft to do somethin’ like that.’

Shaking, I grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes. He was actually an inch or so shorter than me but his personality was seven foot four. I struggled to get out a response. ‘These are my parents actually. Couple of mule riders must’ve thought we was merchants by the way they gunned us down.’

            Jakobs looked back at the oldest of the outlaws and he nodded with a smile. Then he spoke again. “Yer gonna get yourself killed next if you stay out here much longer. Just come with us for a little while. If ya like it enough we might even just recruit you, pipsqueak.”

            They helped me bury my ma and pa properly and then we were off. A week turned into a few months. Then it turned into a year. Next thing I knew I was an outlaw for over 20 years alongside your son. We mostly tried to steal from rival outlaws but a proper train heist every now and then was always invigorating. Over the next couple years I got to know your son more than any other man may have before me. His stare was hypnotizing. In a time where I was left with nothing your son took me in and taught me how to love even without my parents. The way he carried himself was my life’s breath. He truly was a good man at heart”.

 Clint took a short breath and looked at Anton to notice he was gripping his glass rather hard and no longer looking directly at him. He didn’t continue his story. He just watched and waited.

            “So that’s why he ran away” Anton said to himself. Clint seemed oblivious to what he even meant by that. Then it struck him.

“You didn’t know did you, Anton?”

“That he was… different? No. I had no idea. He must’ve been too afraid to tell me. Scared that I’d have him shipped to Siberia or somethin’ huh? Did he ever talk about me?”

“Only on very rare occasions, I may have loved him but that doesn’t mean I paid attention to every word he said. He did talk quite a bit.” The silence of the last three decades was started to weigh on Clint’s mind.  “Maybe he just didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“Did you know you were different too before your parents died?”

“Not exactly. We were pretty isolated for most of my kid years. It wasn’t until I was looking up at the scruffy grin and saw the light behind Jakobs eyes that I knew who I was. We taught ourselves how to be comfortable in our own skin. The man was convinced you would have hated him. I don’t even know why he believed it but he thought you wouldn’t love a son like him.” The grip on Anton’s glass grew stronger as he started to weep.

“I would have loved him just the same. He still would’ve been my boy. He still is…”

“Jakobs would have loved to hear you say that, truly. After our gun running days were over, most of our time together was actually here in this very saloon back when it was a dustier place. He loved the atmosphere. Especially Margaret over there, she was one of the first to support us despite being criminals. She knew we were virtually harmless.

            When he disappeared I decided to work here for the rest of my life in hopes that he’ll turn up one day. Death’ll catch up to us both soon enough, Anton. Should we just move on?”

A new voice chimed in “Death won’t be catching up to anyone until I get my hands on you again Pipsqueak.” Neither Anton nor Clint had noticed a third elderly man enter the saloon. Clint looked up from his glass of grief to find that very same jawline just a bit more wrinkled standing still an inch too short just as he used to right in front of him once again.