Chapter Five

  He got to Deadwood on the second evening after departing from the reservation. The chestnut mare he had ‘borrowed’ from the US cavalry was not fast but durable. The army saddles were unforgiving and Jimi decided to stretch his legs a little before venturing into town. Groaning, he shook his legs to get the blood flowing again. He had had time to ponder the events at the butte when the warriors arrived for the guns. Looks far was with them and he felt her eyes on him during his demonstration of the rifles. Like revolutionaries the world over during the 20th century they took to the AK immediately. They raised their heads high and were warriors again. He gave them more than enough ammunition and wished them good luck with the war. Looks Far came up to him and looked into his eyes: ‘Do you know what you are doing, son of Twelvetrees?’

‘Yeah, I’m giving hope and pride back to our people’ he said, almost defiantly.

‘Can such things ever be achieved by war?’

‘Would you rather be dead?’

‘Ah, that’s always the question isn’t it? To kill to live, to make war for peace - there must be another way’

He understood how she got her name. She had a gaze that was somehow fixed on something that nobody else could see - in the far distance.

‘I wish there were, believe me Looks Far. But now I must go to find my mother. I hope we meet again to speak of such things’

‘Goodbye Twelvetrees - I hope you find what you seek’

What did she mean by that? He had the feeling she knew much more than she was saying  about this whole business. But now was not the time to try to understand the cryptic words of a woman, however wise and beautiful she was. He had to be a man of action - cool and decisive. Perhaps he should practice a bit more with the revolver? Hell, if he couldn’t shoot by now he never would. He mounted thinking ‘You think you’re tough Al Swearengen but wait until you get a look at me!’

The doors of the saloon creaked behind him as he strode to the bar. It was just about empty with a few people scattered among the tables - no one stood at the bar. 

‘Whiskey please’

The bar keep looked up, wiping a glass. 

‘We don’t serve no ‘skins in here’

Jimi beckoned him. As he approached Jimi grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face into the bar. 

‘Give me a whiskey, I won’t ask again’

‘Sure, sure thing Chief’ He struggled up to get the bottle.

‘Is Al Swearengen here?’

Suddenly he saw the reflection, in the mirror behind the bar, of a man with a rifle on the balcony above. He turned, crouched and drew the colt, all in one movement. 

Their shots were simultaneous - the mirror shattered and the man fell from the balcony. Jimi turned to see the barman reaching for a shotgun. Again the colt spat out its deadly contents. The barman froze with confusion as the hole in his forehead oozed a thin trickle of blood. He fell like a sack of coal does into a cellar. A fog of smoke hung in the air with the savoury smell of cordite. Crack! Jimi was spun like a top and fell heavily onto his back. As consciousness faded he saw the small feet of a woman next to his ear.

‘Hey, Al, I think he’s coming around’

The voice was familiar. He opened his eyes and struggled to focus.

‘Hello baby’ said Susan Truly.