Issue 15: "Mind Steel Razor Trap"

1871:

The Roundyard Saloon sat on a lonely side street near the outskirts of Cheyenne. Due to its locale, business tended to be slow, but it had a fair share of loyal patrons that stopped by on a regular enough basis to keep the doors open and the booze flowing. And about two months before, that list of patrons increased by one (or two, if you counted the wolf that sometimes padded into the saloon right behind him). His presence had been greeted with a mixture of awe and fear at first, but after a while, it became hard to imagine what the place had been like before he’d arrived, and the atmosphere settled down accordingly.

On this particular day, most of the Roundyard’s eclectic patrons were gathered at one table, engrossed in a poker game that had been running almost since the saloon opened that morning, and there was a good chance that it would keep going until Miss Crawford, who owned the saloon, kicked them out at closing time. None of the men could really afford to lose the money they were gambling away, but that didn’t stop them from doing so anyways.

“Ah raise yuh five,” Jonah said, tossing in coins accordingly.

“I’ll see that,” Larkin replied. His coins clattered in, followed by Findley and Loy, who in turn jostled the elbow of the man next to him. “C’mon, Izzy, ante up,” Loy said.

Izzy continued to stare at his cards. “My wife is gonna kill me.”

“She won’t be home for another week. She never needs to know,” Mike said, sitting just off to the side of the group. “Now hurry up, you’re holding up the game.”

“Easy for you to say. You bowed out a half-hour back.”

“I’m just catching my breath, that’s all...and trying to think of what else I can hock.”

The men laughed at that, loosening the tension, but Izzy still didn’t toss in any money. Finally, he turned to Hex and said, “Give me ten bucks.”

“Ah ain’t givin’ y’all nothin’. An’ the ante’s only five, anyhow.”

“Yeah, but you never paid me for those two goats that wolf of yours killed. Two goats times five dollars a head is ten bucks...pay up.”

“Ah keep tellin’ yuh, Ironjaws didn’t touch yer damn goats.” At the sound of its name, the wolf in question lifted its head from beside Jonah’s feet to look up at its master. “There’s other wolves ‘round here aside from him, yuh know.”

Larkin groaned, “Just give him the money, Hex. You guys have been arguing over this goat thing since I met you. I’m sick of hearing it.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” Miss Crawford stepped out from behind the bar and sashayed over to them, holding an empty beer mug. “Everybody drop two dollars in here for Izzy...and that includes you, Jonah. This way, the blame’s spread even and nobody goes broke. Agreed?”

A low grumble circled around the table as each man dropped money in the mug. Mike tried to cry poverty, but Miss Crawford stood there looking at him like an impatient mother until he coughed up two bucks. She then set the mug in front of Izzy, saying, “Now, I don’t want to hear another word about your stupid dead goats. Ever. You got that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Izzy mumbled, then fished five dollars out of the mug and made his ante.

They made another circuit of bets around the table before finally calling. The men slapped their cards down on the table, and Loy let out a crow of delight when he realized he’d won the pot. “Come to daddy!” he said, grinning from ear to ear as he raked in the cash.

“He’s a worse winner than Lash,” Jonah grumbled. “Hey, Tick-Tock, whut time is it?”

Findley pulled out the ornate pocket watch that earned him his nickname and said, “About ten past five.”

“Dammit.” Jonah stood up from the table. “Ah’ve gotta be headin’ out.”

“And Mr. Bounty Hunter rides off into the sunset,” Mike said in a dramatic tone.

Jonah scowled and said, “Ah told yuh not to call me thet. Ah ain’t a bounty hunter no more, so quit callin’ me such. Ah’m just a regular fella now, same as yerselves.”

“Pardon my saying so, Hex, but you’re far from a ‘regular fella’.” Larkin scooped up the cards and tapped them into a neat pile. “You’ve seen and done things that the rest of us can hardly imagine. Sure, you’re not doing those sorts of things anymore, but that doesn’t mean your reputation ceases to exist. When people see you, they still see that reputation...and you’re probably gonna hear more people around town than just Mike calling you ‘bounty hunter’ no matter what you do with the rest of your life.”

“Thet may be so,” Jonah replied, “but Ah don’t want y’all ‘round here tuh call me such.” It seemed like an insignificant point to make, but he was adamant about making it. Ever since he’d promised Mei Ling that he would give up his life as a gunfighter, Jonah had strived to distance himself from that old life as much as possible. He’d even stowed away his Dragoons, gunbelts and all, inside a trunk at the foot of their bed, along with his old Confederate coat -- he still wore his officer’s hat, but he considered tossing that in the trunk from time to time as well.

“Okay, I won’t call you that anymore,” Mike said, then grinned. “How about I call you ‘Mr. Happy’ instead?”

“How ‘bout yuh quit yer clownin’ an’ shut yer damn yap fer a change?” As Jonah walked towards the door, Larkin began to deal out a new hand, and Mike finally decided to jump back into the game. Despite his harsh demeanor, Jonah actually did enjoy their company. Heck, sometimes he even liked Mike’s dumb jokes. “Mr. Happy,” Jonah muttered with a snort, then pushed the batwings open, Ironjaws trotting outside with him.

Jonah was making his way to the livery stable over on Cheyenne’s main street when he heard J.D. Hart call his name. The constable trotted up to him, saying, “Glad I caught you in town. Thought I was gonna have to ride out to your place.”

“Yo’re lucky Ah lost track of time...though Ah reckon Mei Ling will be disappointed yuh didn’t ride out anyhow.” Ever since they’d settled in at Windy’s old homestead, Hart had become a good friend to Jonah and his new bride, just as he’d been to Windy himself before the old man passed on. The only quibble Jonah had with the constable was that Hart was still trying to pressure him into becoming a peace officer. In Hex’s mind, that was too close to his old job, and therefore off-limits, but Hart would lob the offer out there anyways, albeit in the nicest, most roundabout way possible. Jonah had learned to deal with the man’s persistence, but he hoped that wasn’t the reason Hart flagged him down today. “Whut’s on yer mind, J.D.?”

“A man stopped by my office looking for you. He’d heard you were living here now, but he didn’t know where.”

Inside, Jonah tensed. When most people went looking for him, it was either to offer him a job or to kill him, and since Hart knew good and well that Jonah was retired, that only left one option...one that he’d hoped to never face. “Where is he?”

“He was following right...hey!” Hart cried out in surprise as Jonah grabbed a revolver out of Hart’s own holster, then pushed him aside and headed up the boardwalk. Jonah’s eyes flicked from one person to the next, looking for anyone out-of-place, but he saw no one other than the usual residents of Cheyenne. Then he saw an old man coming towards him whose face seemed oddly familiar, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. He didn’t appear to be a threat, but something about him made Jonah feel small and vulnerable nonetheless, and Jonah Hex prided himself on being neither of those things. So when the old man strode right up to him, Jonah tightened his grip on the revolver and set his feet, ready for anything.

The old man looked him up and down, then said, “Damn, boy, y’all done shot up like a weed. An’ thet face...Hell, Ah thought them stories Ah’d heard ‘bout how ugly yuh’d gotten was exaggerated, but now Ah reckon they didn’t go far enough.”

Hex scowled, saying, “Yuh got a lot of nerve talkin’ tuh me like thet, old-timer. Yo’re lucky Ah don’t knock yuh on yer wrinkled ass.”

“Yuh never could best me, boy,” the old man answered. “An’ it don’t matter how big yuh’ve gotten, Ah kin still whup yuh if needs be.”

The sound of the old man’s voice pricked at Jonah’s memory, but before he could place it, Hart came up behind him and said, “Glad to see you found each other, Mr. Hex.”

Jonah turned to the constable and was about to ask why Hart was addressing him as “Mr. Hex” all of the sudden when the old man replied, “Weren’t all thet hard. He may be a far sight older’n Ah remember, but he ain’t changed so much thet Ah cain’t recognize him.”

“Whut in the blue Hell are yuh talkin’ ‘bout? Ah don’t even know who yuh are!”

Hart blinked in surprise. “He’s your father, Jonah...or at least that’s what he told me.”

As the meaning of the words sank in, everything around Jonah seemed to momentarily fall away, leaving before him only the sight of this mean-mouthed old man. He looked past the scraggly white beard and hard eyes peering out at him from beneath a battered slouch hat, and was shocked to discover the image of Woodson Hex that Jonah had held in his brain for twenty long years matched up perfectly. Then reality crashed back in on Jonah as his father smacked him on the arm, yelling, “Dammit, boy, don’t stand there with yer mouth hangin’ open! Makes yuh look even stupider than yuh already are!” Jonah was still too stunned to make a reply, but one was offered up by Ironjaws, who growled at Woodson for assaulting its master. “Whut the Hell is thet mutt’s problem?” the old man said.

“He’s a good judge of character,” Jonah finally managed to get out, but it was rather quiet. Though it had been twenty years, he found himself slipping back into childhood mindsets, chief among them being “Don’t talk back to Pa unless you want a whuppin’.”

The change in Jonah’s demeanor was obvious to Hart, and to be honest, he found it somewhat scary -- though he’d only known Jonah for a little over two months, it seemed to him like he was looking at an entirely different person. Hart decided it would be best to get his friend to some sort of neutral ground, and hopefully the Jonah he knew would reassert himself. “Why don’t the three of us head on back to my office? I’ve got a bottle of rye stashed away...”

The slight widening of Jonah’s eyes told Hart that what he’d suggested was a very bad idea, but Woodson had already jumped on it, saying, “Thet’s mighty generous of yuh. Ah ain’t had a good belt all day.” He looked up at his son. “How ‘bout it? Y’all think yuh kin drink yer Pa under the table?”

“Ah...Ah’ve got tuh be gettin’ home.” Jonah seemed to force the words out, as if in a hurry to say them before he lost his nerve. He gave Hart his revolver, then headed back towards the livery, saying almost as an afterthought, “It was nice tuh see yuh again, Pa.”

“Whut’s yer problem, boy? Ah come all this way tuh visit, an’ y’all blow me off like Ah’ve got the damn plague!” Woodson started to follow after his son, only for Hart to grab him by the arm and stop him. “Get yer paws off’n me! Ah ain’t broke no law, so yuh ain’t got no right tuh restrain me!”

“Maybe I don’t, but I consider Jonah a friend, and I can tell that he doesn’t want to be around you for some reason. Mind telling me why?”

Woodson’s face screwed up in disgust. “Whut is it with lawmen thinkin’ they know muh own son better’n Ah do?” He yanked his arm free of Hart’s grip and continued on down the boardwalk, arriving at the livery in time to see Jonah leading his horse out of the stall. “Yuh ain’t gonna shake me thet easy,” Woodson said as he walked towards him, but Ironjaws once again interceded, growling and bearing its teeth.

“C’mere, boy,” Jonah said, and after a moment, Ironjaws came to his side. He knelt down and petted the animal until it settled down, then he looked over at his father. “Ah don’t know where yuh come from, Pa, but Ah’d appreciate it if’n yuh went right back there.”

“Whut’s the matter? Yuh ashamed of me?”

“No...no, Ah ain’t ashamed of yuh.” Jonah still held onto Ironjaws, as if drawing strength from the wolf. “Ah just...Ah’ve got muh own life now. It’s a good life. It’s quiet.”

“Ah heard some woman made yuh go soft, turned yuh into a farmer.” Woodson crossed his arms and said, “Judgin’ by the way yo’re actin’, Ah reckon thet must be true.”

Jonah’s hands tightened, making the wolf whine. “Ah ain’t gone soft, Ah just decided tuh retire from bounty-huntin’. Thet’s all.” He stood up and resumed leading his horse out of the livery. “Ah’ve got a family tuh worry ‘bout now, an’ Ah mean tuh take care of ‘em.”

Woodson followed right behind his son, saying, “So Ah ain’t part of yer family no more? Is thet it? Yo’re just gonna turn yer back on yer own flesh an’ blood?”

There was a part of Jonah that wanted to turn around and strangle his father for saying that...but he’d promised Mei Ling that he’d be a good man from now on. And good men don’t commit patricide, no matter how wonderful the thought might be at the time. Instead, Jonah took a deep breath, let it out slow through his nose, then managed to unclench his jaw enough to say, “Goodbye, Pa,” before getting on his horse and riding off.

Jonah was already on the road heading towards home when he realized Woodson was trailing about a quarter-mile behind.



Mei Ling hummed a traditional Chinese song as she pulled the wash off the line. Over the past few months, she’d worked hard to make Windy’s old place into a warm, inviting home, perfect for raising her child in. Our child, she corrected herself, and paused to lay a hand on her ever-growing belly. She had to admit, she thought Jonah would have difficulty keeping his promise, but so far he’d been earnest in his efforts to be a good husband and father. Though he talked very little about it, Mei Ling knew that Jonah’s own childhood had not been pleasant, and perhaps that was what drove him to be there for Mei Ling, despite what she’d had him give up.

She piled the last of the wash into the basket at her feet, then looked in the direction of town. It was nearly sunset, and Jonah was still not home. Mei Ling felt the old fear creep over her, just like when Jonah used to go out bounty-hunting: the fear that something terrible had happened to him, and he’d never come home again. You’re being foolish, she told herself, hoisting the basket onto her hip. He’ll be home soon...I hope. As she made her way towards the house, she allowed herself one last glance at the road, and was rewarded with the sight of a horse and rider coming over the rise, with a wolf trotting alongside. There was a second horseman not far behind, and Mei Ling assumed that it must be J.D. Hart. I wish Jonah had told me he was inviting Hart for supper, she thought. But as they got closer to the house, she could hear a booming voice that most certainly did not belong to the constable.

“...be happier tuh see me after all these years. But no, yo’re the same selfish brat thet yuh was when Ah last saw yuh! Y’all ain’t changed one bit!” The old man continued to berate Jonah all the way up to the house, while Jonah himself rode in silence, a look somewhere between anger and agony on his face. After Jonah dismounted, he walked right over to Mei Ling and wrapped his arms around her so tight that she dropped the wash basket. The old man dismounted as well, saying, “Well, are yuh gonna make introductions, or just keep ignorin’ me?”

Jonah gave her another squeeze, then eased up and slipped his arm around her waist. “Mei Ling, this here’s...this is muh Pa, Woodson Hex.”

Mei Ling barely had time to get over the surprise of that statement before Woodson blurted out, “Damn, boy, yuh went an’ married a coolie?”

“Don’t call her thet,” Jonah said, his voice strained. “She’s muh wife, an’ Ah ain’t gonna tolerate yuh insultin’ her.”

Woodson snorted. “Don’t see why it matters. She probably don’t understand English.”

“She understands English quite well, thank you,” Mei Ling replied, and offered her hand, forcing herself to say, “It is nice to meet you, Mr. Hex.”

The old man ignored the gesture and stepped onto the porch, immediately heading inside the house. “Hope yer girl laid out some food fer us, boy, ‘cause Ah’m famished.”

Mei Ling looked up at Jonah, who was in turn looking at the door to the house with an air of dread, his entire posture tense. “Is that really your father?” she asked.

He nodded, then opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by his father’s voice bellowing out, “Where do y’all keep the whiskey?”

Jonah seemed to flinch at those words, and Mei Ling asked, “Are you afraid of him?”

There was a long pause, then Jonah said, “Ah don’t know.”



Woodson seemed incapable of shutting up. That was the first of many conclusions Mei Ling came to regarding her father-in-law. The second was that he was the source of Jonah’s temperament, though in Woodson’s case, it was without restraint. The man made comment on everything, and it usually wasn’t favorable: according to him, the food Mei Ling served was barely edible, the whiskey Jonah reluctantly proffered was the quality of bath water, and their home was apparently far below Woodson’s current standards. Jonah himself bore the brunt of his father’s ire, being told at least four times throughout the course of the evening that he was a damned idiot or some variation thereof. Mei Ling was shocked to see her husband silently take all this verbal abuse, especially knowing that Jonah had punched other men dead in the face for saying less to him. But take it he did, barely raising his voice above a conversational tone no matter what nasty things Woodson said.

In between his criticisms, Woodson filled them in on all the adventures he’d had since he’d last seen his son. Striking it rich in California, parlaying his money into exciting new enterprises, having his way with scores of beautiful women...to hear him tell it, Woodson Hex had lived like a king these last twenty years. That didn’t explain why he was currently dressed like a saddle bum just in from the trail, but since Jonah didn’t press the issue and the old man seemed deaf to nearly every word Mei Ling said, the inconsistency passed by unexplained.

As the clock began to creep up on midnight, Mei Ling tried to call a halt to Woodson’s endless monologues. “It’s rather late,” she said, getting up from her chair. “Perhaps we should all turn in for the night.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Jonah replied, and got up as well. “It’s been a long day.”

Woodson didn’t take the hint. “Damn, boy, yuh really have gone soft. Ah ain’t the least bit tuckered out, an’ here yuh are, with yer head droopin’ already like a little baby.” He picked up the whiskey bottle -- his second one that night -- and poured himself another glass. “C’mon an’ stay up with yer Pa a while longer...if’n y’all kin handle it.”

Mei Ling’s eyes met Jonah’s, and indeed, he did look tired, but she doubted that it was all physical exhaustion. She quietly took his hand and squeezed it, and that touch seemed to give him enough courage to say, “Ah’m goin’ tuh bed, Pa. Y’all might want tuh do the same.”

The old man made a rather rude noise, then knocked back the shot and poured another. That was all the answer he deigned to give his son, and Jonah was rather familiar with those sort of answers, so he let the man be.

Once they were within the safety of their bedroom, Mei Ling expected Jonah to let loose to some degree, but even behind closed doors, he held his tongue. The only sign of distress he gave was the heavy sigh that escaped him as he sat down on the edge of the bed to pry off his boots...but Mei Ling knew that, for a man as emotionally guarded as Hex, the smallest outward gestures were nothing compared to what he was hiding beneath.

Sitting down on the bed herself, she put her arms around him and settled her head against his shoulder. “I don’t like the way he treats you,” she said after a while. “It reminds me of how those railroad men acted towards my people.” Jonah made no reply, so she said, “Is that the true reason why you helped us? Because no one stood up for you against your father?”

“Ah don’t need nobody tuh stand up fer me,” he said. “Ah’m a grown man...Ah kin fight muh own battles.”

“Then why do you let him talk to you like that? Why is that man inside our home when he acts like he hates the sight of you?”

“He don’t hate me, he just....” A look of distress washed over his face as a memory surfaced from some dark corner of his mind: the image of his mother, bruises forming on her tear-streaked face as she said to him, "He doesn't hate us, sweetheart, he just...he has a hard time showing his feelings, that's all. He's a good man, he...takes care of us.” Her voice had been hesitant, unsure of how to explain the situation properly to her young son -- she’d finally settled on the vague answer of “You'll understand when you're older.”

“Jonah, what’s wrong?” Mei Ling had never seen that look on his face before, and it worried her in a way she didn’t know was possible. Then it passed, like a cloud moving away from the sun, and her husband merely looked tired again. She touched his face gently, saying, “I’m sorry if I upset you, but your father...”

“Ah’ll talk tuh him in the mornin’,” he said quietly. “Ah just need tuh get some sleep first, alright?” She agreed, and they finished getting ready for bed. When they laid down together, her back pressing against his chest, it seemed to Mei Ling that Jonah held her a little more closely than normal, as if shielding her from something.



It was an old dream, one Jonah hadn’t experienced in a long time. He was a boy again, his face unscarred, his heart only bearing one major wound so far in his young life. An Apache had him pinned to the ground as his father talked to Chief High Cloud about how much the boy was worth, just as it had happened twenty years before. Unlike then, however, Jonah knew what lay ahead for him now: slavery, betrayal, disfigurement, exile, all stemming from this one moment. Not again, Jonah thought, an old mind in a youthful body. Ah ain’t gonna let him leave me here again! But he also knew he couldn’t put up with his father’s constant abuse. Then Ah’ll carve a new path...Ah’ll head out on muh own, never mind whut happened afore, he thought, then broke free of the Apache’s grasp and began to run, away from the Indians, away from his father, away from his painful future. Out of the corner of his eye, Jonah caught sight of White Fawn, just as young and beautiful as he remembered, but he didn’t let that sway him. Leave it all behind, good an’ bad, he told himself. Don’t look back, don’t stop...

Something big and heavy thudded against his back, knocking him to the ground. He tried to get up, but a familiar voice said, “Yuh ain’t goin’ nowhere, boy! Ain’t no way Ah’m lettin’ yuh out of muh sight this time!” Jonah turned his head and saw his father leaning over him, monstrous and smelling of booze. “Made a mistake, leavin’ yuh with them Injuns. Should’ve just been firmer with yuh.” Like magic, the belt appeared in his father’s hand, coiled around his fist like a leather-brown snake. “Gotta start makin’ up fer lost time!”

“No...no, Pa, please...” Jonah sobbed, now a child again in both mind and body. “Ah’m a good boy, Ah swear...don’t...” But the words weren’t enough, same as always, and the belt came down, snapping right across his face. Blood gushed into his eyes, mixing with the tears he shed. The belt continued to snap, slicing his ear, his neck, his forearms, every inch of his body. This was worse than any beating Jonah ever received before, but he couldn’t muster the will to defend himself. If Ah fight back, Pa will just hurt me more, he thought, so he tried to make himself small and harmless and hoped Pa would go away again, if only he’d go away...

Fingers dug into his arm, and his father said, “Get up, boy.” But Jonah wouldn’t do it, he refused to even open his eyes. “Dammit, boy, Ah said get up!” His father jerked Jonah’s arm, and he went flying...only to fall out of bed and against the wooden planks of the bedroom floor. Dazed, Jonah tried to shake off the remnants of his dream and figure out what happened. The room was quite dark, but he could make out someone moving nearby, and after a few seconds, he realized it was indeed his father who’d yanked him out of bed. The whiskey bottle dangled from Woodson’s hand as he glared down at Jonah. “Yuh never listen tuh me,” the man said, the words slurring a bit. “Ah’m yer Pa, dammit...yuh gotta respect yer Pa.”

“Aw, Christ...yo’re drunk, ain’tcha?” Jonah climbed to his feet, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head. “C’mon, let’s put y’all tuh bed afore yuh wake up Mei Ling.”

“No respect...not a lick of it.” Woodson’s gaze fell on the bed. “Thet coolie of yers don’t respect me neither...kin tell by the way she looks at me.”

Jonah flushed red. “Ah warned yuh, Pa: don’t call her thet.”

Woodson ignored him and reached out for Mei Ling’s sleeping form, shaking her. “Get up, yuh whore...gonna teach yuh how tuh act proper towards a white man.”

In a flash, all the fear that Jonah had felt before in the presence of his father was replaced by blind rage. He grabbed the man from behind and locked an arm around his throat. Woodson struggled to break free, but Jonah simply squeezed tighter. “Touch her again, an’ Ah’ll break yer goddam neck,” he growled.

Mei Ling stirred beneath the blankets, saying in a drowsy voice, “Jonah...what...”

“Just a bad dream, sugar,” Jonah replied softly. “Everything’s okay. Go back tuh sleep.” Once he was sure Mei Ling was asleep again, Jonah dragged his father out of the bedroom, forcing him all the way down the hall and out the front door. Ironjaws was laying in its usual spot beneath the porch, and the wolf poked its head out as its master threw Woodson down in the middle of the yard. Barefoot and clad only in his longjohns, Jonah stood over his father, glaring down at him. “Ah’ve taken ‘bout all Ah kin from yuh, Pa. Bad enough thet yo’re still hackin’ on me like yuh did when Ah was a boy, but if’n yuh think fer one goddam second thet Ah’m gonna stand by an’ let yuh treat muh wife like thet...”

“Like y’all got the guts tuh stop me.” Woodson leaned heavily to one side as he got to his feet. “Ah’ve been hearin’ all these stories ‘bout how yo’re so damn tough, but Ah sure don’t see it. Don’t know why I even bothered tuh come out here...yo’re just as useless now as yuh were back then.” He lifted the bottle he still held to his lips as he said, “Only time yuh was worth anything was when Ah talked them Apache into buyin’ yuh...”

Jonah slapped the bottle away, then drove his fist into his father’s jaw, knocking him to the ground again. With a snarl, he fell on top of Woodson and began to pummel him with his fists, yelling, “Ah’m sick tuh death of yuh judgin’ me! Nothin’ Ah ever do is good enough fer yuh, even after twenty goddam years!” The wolf came out from under the porch and began to circle around them, yipping and yelping as Jonah bloodied his father’s face. “Is thet the reason y’all decided tuh come back? So’s yuh could make me feel worthless when muh life is finally goin’ right fer a change? Is thet it?” He grabbed hold of the front of Woodson’s shirt and throttled him. “Tell me why yuh came back, yuh stinkin’ reprobate! Tell me!”

The old man’s lip was already starting to swell, and there was blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth, but he managed to get out, “Th-they...they’re gonna...kuh-kill m-m-me...”

At first, Jonah thought his father was afraid Jonah himself would kill him, but then the meaning of words cut through his rage. “Who’s gonna kill yuh?” he asked.

“Puh-Perkins...Perkins brothers...Ah conned ‘em...’bout a week ago.” A change seemed to come over Woodson, turning him from an overbearing loudmouth into a pathetic, helpless old man. “Ah lied, Jonah...’bout all the deals an’ fancy livin’. Ah ain’t got nothin’ but the clothes on muh back. Ah even stole the damn horse I rode in on.”

“Yuh conned the Perkins brothers?” Jonah said. “They’s stone-cold killers...”

“Ah know, Ah know...b-but Ah needed the money. Another fella was houndin’ me...now the Perkins boys are after me instead.” To Jonah’s shock, tears began to run down Woodson’s face as he said, “When Ah heard yuh was livin’ nearby, Ah decided tuh take a chance...thought yuh might be willin’ tuh help yer Pa out of a jam. Ah know it ain’t right, layin’ this in yer lap, but...please, Jonah, ah ain’t got nobody else Ah kin turn tuh.”

The temptation to simply let the Perkins brothers hunt down and kill his father was enormous, but Jonah knew it wouldn’t be right -- Woodson Hex was morally reprehensible, to be sure, but that alone wasn’t enough to warrant death. Then there was the possibility of the Perkins brothers following Woodson’s trail all the way to Cheyenne, which could put himself and Mei Ling in danger as well. Like it or not, Jonah would have to make sure those men were taken care of permanently...and worse yet, he’d have to do it without letting Mei Ling know.

With a heavy sigh, he let go of his father and stood up. “Get the horses saddled up, Pa,” he said. “Ah’ll be ready tuh go in five minutes.”



To say that Jonah felt guilty as he and Woodson rode through the night would be an understatement. This was exactly the sort of thing he swore he’d never do again, yet here he was, following his father’s back trail and keeping an eye peeled for anyone coming from the opposite direction. He’d left his coat and Dragoons in the trunk, tucking Windy’s old Colt Navy under his belt instead, as if the change in weaponry would deflect some of the betrayal. He didn’t even bring Ironjaws along, locking the wolf up in the barn amid howls of protest.

About eight miles outside of Cheyenne, they spotted a soft glow coming from behind a rise just off the trail. Dismounting, they crept up on it, until they were looking down upon five men gathered around a campfire -- between the descriptions from various wanted posters Jonah had seen in the past and the nod from his father, the former bounty hunter knew they’d found the Perkins brothers. Four of the men were asleep in their bedrolls, but a fifth was quite alert, sitting on an old log with a rifle laying across his lap. From what Jonah knew about the Perkins brothers, they were all crack shots, so he’d have to do his best to pick them all off before they could reach their guns.

After motioning to his father to stay put, Jonah pulled out his Bowie knife and circled around behind the lookout. When he was within arm’s reach, Jonah grabbed the lookout and, in one fluid motion, pulled him off the log and drew the knife across his throat -- blood sprayed across Jonah’s face as he let the lookout drop to the ground, momentarily distracting him from the fact that the dead man’s rifle was falling against the log with a clatter. The noise roused one of the sleeping men, who barely had time to register Jonah’s presence before the Bowie knife flew through the air and embedded in his neck. Unfortunately, he managed to let out a strangled cry before Jonah could finish him off, alerting the remaining Perkins brothers to his presence. The need for stealth gone, Jonah drew his Colt and opened fire as the other three men dove for their own weapons. The first two went down fast, bullets crashing through their skulls as fast as Jonah could pull the trigger, but the third scooped up a revolver and fired just as Jonah was turning towards him. The fact that Jonah was still in motion was the only thing that saved him: the bullet grazed his left cheek, causing him to jerk away and miss his own shot. Both men cocked their weapons once more, but this time, Jonah was faster, and the last of the Perkins brothers fell to the ground.

As Jonah stood silently in the middle of the camp, Woodson came over the rise, laughing at the carnage. “Damnation, would yuh look at this! So much fer the Perkins brothers’ vaunted reputation!” He kicked at one of the bodies, saying, “Thet’s whut y’all get fer gunnin’ after me, yuh no-account skunks!”

“Shut up, Pa,” Jonah said, bending down to retrieve his knife.

Woodson continued to berate the corpses, shouting, “Let thet be a lesson tuh y’all! Never look fer trouble with a Hex! Yessir!” He cackled and kicked at them some more, until Jonah came up behind him, grabbed him by the shoulder, and spun him around.

“Ah said...shut...up.” Jonah’s face was a red mask of horror, his eyes cold and hard like ice-blue diamonds. The sight of it was enough to finally still Woodson’s tongue -- he didn’t even make a peep when Jonah took the bloody knife in his hand and wiped it off on the front of Woodson’s shirt. “Last Ah heard, the Perkins brothers were worth ‘bout eight hunnert apiece,” Jonah said after he was done cleaning his blade. “Thet makes four thousand, altogether. Ah reckon thet should keep yuh comfortable fer a while, if’n yo’re smart ‘bout it.”

“Yeah...yeah, Ah reckon it will,” his father replied quietly.

“Matter of fact, yuh could probably go real far on thet sort of money. Like all the way back tuh California, or some other territory...but not Wyoming. Thet sort of money won’t do yuh much good up here.” Jonah’s gaze drilled a hole through the old man’s skull. “Yuh catch muh meanin’, Pa?”

Woodson Hex nodded, and his son smiled at him with red-stained teeth.



The morning sun streaming through the bedroom window slowly drew Mei Ling back to wakefulness. She’d had strange dreams last night, mostly involving Jonah’s father, but she couldn’t remember them exactly. Probably better that I don’t, she thought as she stretched her arms in front of her. Dealing with the man when I’m awake is more than enough.

“Mornin’, sugar,” she heard Jonah say, and she turned on the mattress to see him laying beside her, but on top of the blankets. Even more strange was the fact that he was already dressed for the day and...yes, there was no mistaking it, he smelled like soap. She knew Jonah hated to bathe, so this was all rather puzzling to her. Then she saw the red mark on his cheek.

“What happened to you?” Mei Ling asked, gingerly touching the wound.

“Ah had a talk with Pa, like Ah said Ah would,” he explained. “We hashed out a lot of stuff...got in bit of a tussle over it, too.” Jonah’s eyes darted away briefly as he talked. “The long an’ short of it is...he’s gone now. He left early this mornin’.”

“Oh, Jonah...” She sat up in bed, saying, “I didn’t want you two to come to blows. I just...he may be a terrible man, but he’s still your father.”

“Thet he is,” he said with a sigh, then sat up as well. “But thet don’t give him the right tuh keep messin’ with muh life. When Ah was a boy, it was dif’rent, but now...now Ah’ve got other people tuh worry ‘bout aside from muhself.” His voice took on a serious tone. “Ah’m gonna do everything Ah kin tuh keep yuh safe, sugar. The baby, too. An’ if’n thet means Pa cain’t come around here no more an’ harass us...well, yuh ain’t gonna see me cry over it.” He then smiled and said, “Now, how would yuh like yer eggs this mornin’? Half-cooked or burned tuh a crisp?”

“I’ll decide later,” Mei Ling replied, smiling herself, then pulled Jonah close and gave him a heartfelt kiss.