MONDAY
Crazy Cowboy Stu threw brush and mesquite on to his campfire in the morning, and cooked a fine breakfast of beans, salted meat, biscuits and strong coffee. He licked the plate clean and lit a cheroot. Life, he declared, was good.
He was back on his feet. There had been some lean years. He was a man of standing and repute when he rode with the Red Labour Gang but things went sour and they cut him loose. He drifted and could find no purpose. No-one paid attention to a damned thing he said and that was hard for a man of his extreme vanity.
But he knew damned well he had talents, and that he was more than a drifter. He was a grifter. He had grifted a job with the Red Labour Gang — and now he had grifted himself an exalted position with Old Sheriff Peters.
It had been one hell of a weekend. He sat at the Sheriff’s table, and made him laugh. He plied him with the finest rotgut and let him win at cards. They discussed the war on Woke and agreed on a policy of zero-tolerance. They shook hands. Onlookers started talking up Crazy Cowboy Stu as his successor. Old Sheriff Peters wasn’t getting any younger and lately he had been falling asleep in the jailhouse.
"I could use a man like you," said the Sheriff.
Crazy Cowboy Stu waited till the Sheriff fell asleep, and said, "Likewise."
TUESDAY
Crazy Cowboy Stu moved to the finest hotel in Dodge. That night he sat down to a dinner of pork chops cooked with red peppers on a bed of slow-cooked beans, tomatoes, molasses and chilli.
Afterwards he moved to the saloon, where he lit up a cheroot and eyed up the waitress. She was a damned fine-looking woman.
WEDNESDAY
Crazy Cowboy Stu gave an interview to Big Varmint Sean, editor of the Dodge Platform Gazette & Telegraph, over a fine lunch of Navajo tacos made with fried bread and served with lime and coriander rice.
"What do you see," asked Big Varmint Sean, "when you see a woman?"
Crazy Cowboy Stu licked his lips.
THURSDAY
Crazy Cowboy Stu’s remark about women in his interview with Big Varmint Sean did not go down well with the townsfolk of Dodge. The hotel threw him out. The saloon threw him out. He packed up his bedroll and rode his horse slowly down the main street, and heard laughter from the Red Labour Gang.
Well, it was only a minor setback. Old Sheriff Peters would stand by him. He recognised his talents. He saw his potential. He knew that he was a safe pair of hands.
FRIDAY
Crazy Cowboy Stu shivered.
He had slept the night in a high mountain pass. It had rained heavily. His tent kept him dry but when he woke up his campfire had gone out.
It continued to rain and he couldn’t get a decent fire started. He drank his coffee cold, and chewed on strips of cheap beef jerky.
"Lay low for a while," Old Sheriff Peters had said to him.
"For how long," he asked.
"A while," said the Sheriff.
He sighed, and lit a cheroot.
He would just have to wait. His time would come again.
It was the way of the grifter.
By Steve Braunias
