The Tale of Bad John MacQuinn
(c) 2008 Jason Paul Johnston

The trail is as dusty as the back of my parched mouth. Thunderclap is breathing hard. His strength is good, but his pace is slow and careful these days. Thankfully the twenty-five miles to Lowville is mostly downhill. Winding down paths well worn by settlers, cowboys and the odd lawman.

I cross the line into town, winding between the buildings. Some half built, some half falling apart. These western towns were all the same. Growing out of control by the energies of economic explosion and self-destruction. Strange that no one seems to notice I'm arriving. Ten years ago my entrance would have made women swoon and sheriffs run for their deputies. Once they understand I am Bad John MacQuinn, they'll be turning their heads. This is not just another old man on a tired, dusty horse

I'll tie up Thunderclap here. Out of my way if you know what's good for you!

I've got a strange feeling about this town, I better lay low.

There is the front desk. One room. One night. No questions.

Okay, John.

How did you know my name? What are you trying to pull here! I have half a mind to...

Easy now, here's the key. Room 5. Through the Saloon then upstairs on the left. Enjoy your stay at the Willows motel.

Who's that tending the bar. She's pretty. I feel like I've met her someplace before. Were you ever a dancer in Dawson city?

What'll it be, John?

So you do know me. I know I placed your face somewhere. You probably never forgot me, Bad John MacQuinn.

Look, we've got other customers. If you want a drink, just say.

Yeah, just leave her alone, John.

You don't know who you are dealing with here, partner! Sundown. Outside. Just you and me...if you are man enough.

John, you know I'm the town Doctor. I don't even own a gun. Just get a drink or go up to your room.

What's that I hear outside? Horses. At least five of them. It must be the posse. I knew this smelled like a trap. Gotta grab my gun and get to my room.

Close these drapes. I'll get this chair against the door. I know they are out there. They won't get me alive. Check the cylinder. No bullets. A cowboy without bullets. But they don't know that. Must not let them know. Take the upper hand.

I can see the movement just below the window. Give up, you'll never get me! Give up if you value your pathetic lives! Someone is knocking at the door now.

It's me, Millie. From the saloon. John...don't do this. Don't do this again. Just come back to the bar for a drink.

Who else is there? You're not alone. I heard the posse and I know they're here for me. You're in on it too.

I'm here too. It's your buddy, Jed. Why don't you just come out and we can talk about it.

You've never forgotten when I shot you in the back during our last train robbery. I can't trust you.

John. You know that never happened. Just come on out and everything will be fine.

The Sheriff put you up to this. How much is he paying you? What bounty on my head is large enough to buy off a friend? You tell that Sheriff to come and fight his own battles. Tell the Sheriff to face Bad John alone. You hear me? Jed? It's quiet now. I'll have to be sure and just wait this one out.

John? This is Sheriff Williams. There is no posse here to get you. I am not here to get you. But you need to stop this act right now or you might get yourself hurt.

You'll never get me with your lies and traps, Sheriff! The only way to stop Bad John is with a quicker hand and a better shot. And you have neither!

John...just knock it off. Will you please?

When you pry the gun from my cold hands, Sheriff!

I can do it. I can wait him out. But I'm getting tired. I have the door braced. Maybe if I just close my eyes for a few minutes.

What's that shadow coming this way. It's getting dark. It's not a shadow, they are vines. Growing so quickly. They're covering the windows and now the door of the motel room. Wedging between the cracks and creeping inside. Covering the walls and the furniture. Coming closer. Covering my legs. I can't move them. It almost has me. I'm almost gone.

What? It was only a dream. It's quiet again outside. I need to run. No money and no bullets. Time to hit the bank.

I'll kick the bank door down and they won't know what hit 'em. I'm coming through! Out of my way.

Teller, fill the bag with cash and make it quick!

Com'on, John. Do we really have to do this? You are scaring some of the out-of-town customers.

Don't pretend you know me, and don't look at me in the eye. Make it quick now or yer all dead!

That's it. He's pulling a twenty out and slipping it into a bag. Nice and calm now. Much obliged. What's that he is writing on his notepad? It reads, reminder: minus $20 from John MacQuinn’s bank account 3125 when the railroad pension comes. No matter. It is done. Out the door of the bank in a flash. I'm back to my horse again and they will never catch me now.

Ride, Thunderclap, ride! You haven't seen the last of Bad John MacQuinn. I'll be back here soon enough.