Free Rio Loco by Robert J. Conley Page A

now.”
    â€œAll right,” I said. “Go on ahead, but be damn careful.”
    â€œYou can count on that, Barjack,” he said, and he left the office. I got up and walked to a front winder. Pretty soon I seen him riding by out in the street on his big black horse. It come back into my mind about the first time he come to town. He was already a well-knowed professional gunfighting killer. It were widely knowed that he would kill a man, any man, for a price. So ever’one in town what had someone who was mad at him for some reason went to thinking that Sly had come to town to kill him. We had fights start and shootings take place and all kinds a’ trouble over that. Ole Peester tried to get me to run him outta town, but I didn’t have no reason to do that.
    Me and Sly come to be good friends, and as it happened, he never come to town to kill no one. He were just taking a well-deserved rest. Then he went and fell for my goddamned ex-wife, and what was most likely worse, she fell for him, and they went and got theirselves hitched together. Me and Lillian had a kid, and Sly tuck that little devil too. Freed me up of all of them. That was the most luckiest thing that ever happened to me, I can tell you. Lillian had tried to kill me at least once, and shot a nick outta my ear. And the little shit just didn’t have no respect for no one. Least of all for me. So I was sure as hell glad whenever Sly married up with my Lillian, I can tell you that much.
    And I’ll tell you even more about that widdamaker Sly. He were beyond a goddamn doubt thefastest and more accurate and most coolest-headedest gunfighter I have ever saw. I had done been in a number a’ scrapes with him by my side, and there weren’t no one in the world, not Wild-ass Bill Hickok, not Wyatt Earp, not Ben Thompson, not even that Black U.S. Marshal Bass Reeves, not Bat Masterson, nor any of them big-name bastards, that I would ruther have had on my side than that damn widdamaker, ole Sly. And I was for sure glad when he decided that him and Lillian would just stay settled right there in Asininity where I could call on him for help whenever I needed it real bad.
    I tried not to bother him too much, but whenever things got real tough, I would ask him to help out, and he never once refused me. No, sir. And whenever I had his help, we always prevailed. (That there is another word I learnt from ole Dingle, that “prevailed.” It’s a good one, don’t you think?) Anyhow, we killed ass on a number a’ gunfighting gangs, me and ole Sly, and that there is the way we prevailed.
    I didn’t know what the hell he was a-planning on doing out at Chugwater’s ranch, but whatever the hell it was, I figgered he would damn well get it did. I had Bonnie pour me out another cup a’ coffee. It were good coffee. And while I was slurping at it, Dingle come over to my desk. “Barjack,” he said, “what is Sly up to?”
    â€œI ain’t for sure, Scribbler,” I said. “He’s got him some idee about spying up on ole Chugwater. I don’t know ezackly what he’s going to do, but he’ll do something, don’t you never worry none aboutthat. Whenever Sly gets something on his mind, he’s a-going to pull it off. I can promise you that much.”
    â€œOkay,” he said. “Thanks, Barjack.”
    And he went back over to his chair in the corner and went to scribbling some more in his notebook. I figgered that what we was into just right at that goddamn minute was already going into another a’ them dime novels about me what Dingle had been writing now for quite a spell. Me and him both was a-getting rich off a’ them things. To tell you the truth, I was a-worrying about ole Sly my own self. Hell, it was broad daylight. How the hell was he a-going to ride out to Chugwater’s ranch and find out anything? I couldn’t see it. He damn sure wouldn’t be able to