The Bad Man

THE BAD MAN
         On September 19th, 1881, James Garfield, twentieth president of the United States, died at the hands of an assassin. He was aged forty-nine years. Less than three hundred miles from where the President died, a man sharing his birthday, November 19th, 1831, was teaching grammar to the children of the affluent at the most prestigious Brooks School of Latin Studies in Boston, Massachusetts. Goody Twoshoes, aside from being an American exceptional at his chosen profession, had developed an itch to do something more exciting, even dangerous, with his life.
         Goody’s appetite for excitement and danger was spurred on by the action-filled and mostly apocryphal stories he read in dime novels depicting the Wild West’s heroes and outlaws. The more Goody read, the more fascinated he became. So much so, he resigned his position at Brooks School of Latin Studies and headed West to the New Mexico Territory. Goody Twoshoes was determined to be like the those he read about: a rootin’- tootin’, gun slingin’ bad man.
         Unfortunately, Goody lacked the basic vices that are common of all ruthless bad men. He did not lie, cheat, or steal. He was not mean to old ladies, children, or animals. No doubt, the former school teacher was destined to fail from the get-go. Regardless of his short comings, Goody was determined to be a bad man.
         Goody understood if he was going to make it good as a bad man he had better hone in on some bad man vices. The first thing Goody did in preparation for his new life was to learn how to shoot the gun he brought with him from Boston. It was a Colt .45 revolver that once belonged to his daddy. Goody never shot the thing, but was pretty sure it worked. After a week of practice shooting at lizards, the makeover began to take hold; Goody was on his way to becoming a bad man.
         Next on Goody’s list to becoming a bad man was to look and act like a bad man. He took up smoking and drinking and being mean and hateful. Within a short five week period, Goody was confident enough to try and do something outside the law.
         Goody rode his horse to a nearby town with the idea to rob its bank. All initially went as planned, except during his getaway, Goody shot the town barber dead. Civil War veteran, Clem Gilly, left behind a wife, two children, and a grandchild on the way.
         That night, at his hideout, Bad Man Twoshoes, closed out the day conversing with himself. “Well, they were shootin’ at me, first. What was I supposed to do, let them kill me? No. I did the right thing. In fact, that ignoramus barber had it coming. He should’ve tended to his own business of cutting hair, not throwing lead at me. It serves him right.”
         Smiling broadly, Goody added, “I can’t wait for the folks at Brooks School of Latin Studies to read about me. Even if I could, I wouldn’t go back to Boston and those miserable brats. I love being a bad man.”
         Goody Twoshoes had graduated from respectable educator to ruthless bank robbing murderer in less than two months. His dream of becoming a bad man had come to fruition.
         When the despicable outlaw read of Kid Barton robbing stagecoaches, Goody set his mind to do the same. He plotted the gap known as Rocky Pass to be the perfect place to stop the Henderson Stage on its way to Bull Horn City.
         As the stage entered Rocky Pass, it slowed to make the sharp dogleg turn. Goody broke from behind a bolder and stood in front of the stage as it slowly approached.
         “Stop or I’ll start shootin’ the horses!,” yelled Goody, pointing his rifle at driver, Big Maze Ing, and the old man riding shotgun, Swede Olson.
         Big Maze pulled on the reins, hollering “Whoa, there.”
         Once the stagecoach stopped, Goody ordered, “Okay, you, up there. Throw down your rifle and the strong box and climb on down”
         Obligingly, Maze and Swede did as they were told. Then, directing his attention to the passengers, Goody pulled his .45 and ordered, “All you inside, out. now!” Everyone out of the coach.”
         The passengers, a tall young man sporting a black suit and wearing a white hat stepped out of the coach first. Behind him, an elderly married couple. The woman, Pearl, holding a dog was crying. Her husband, Bennett, immediately told his wife, “Give the gentleman your jewelry so he won’t kill us.”
         Pearl huffed, “I will not!”
         Goody didn't appreciate Pearl's attitude. “Give me your jewels, Lady, or I’ll shoot your dog.”
         The young man wearing a white hat spoke up, “What kind of man are you that would shoot a dog.”
         Goody could not answer quick enough. “I’m a bad man. That’s the kind of man I am. Now, shut up or that pretty white hat you’re wearin’ is going get stained with blood and brain. Now, Lady, give me your jewelry.”
         Bennett pleaded, “Give the man your jewels, Pearl. He’ll kill us if you don’t give them to him.”
         “No. You give him you pocket watch if you want him to have some jewelry.”
         Goody was relishing every minute. Yes, he was a bad man, but never did dream being one would be so much fun. “Okay, you two, knock it off. You, with the watch, hand it over.”
         Without hesitation, Bennett forked over his watch, insisting as he did so his wife do the same with her jewelry. Holding her dog close to her ample bosom, Pearl let Goody know her position. “My jewels are precious to me. No, I will not give them to you. Take his watch, if you want, but not my jewelry.”
         What happened next took less than ten seconds.
         Pearl was holding her dog so tightly, it yelped and brook free, tumbling to the ground. The little dog, wagging its tail ran toward Goody who, fearing the dog was going to bite him, did what he said he would do: He shot the little guy dead. In turn, the man wearing the white hat, shot Goody between the eyes.
         Pearl, hysterically beside herself, ran to her dog screaming, “Tiny! My sweet Tiny!”
         Bennett, who couldn’t care less about Pearl’s dog, ran to where Goody lie and retrieved his watch that was still clutched in the dead man’s hand.
         The man wearing the white hat, kicked Goody’s gun free from his shootin’ hand, and just as Bennett retrieved his watch, Goody’s killer made souvenir of the gun.
         Big Maze and Swede found Goody’s horse tied to a nearby tree. The two men hoisted dead Goody up on the horse and secured him cross-saddle. The horse with cargo attached was tied to the back of the stagecoach.
         Swede dug a grave for Tiny. The man wearing the white hat said a few kind words over her. Pearl and Bennett wept.
          Big Maze lifted the strong box up to its rightful place. Everyone reentered the stagecoach and all, less Tiny, proceeded on to Bull Horn City.
         In the end, Goody Twoshoes ended up the way most bad men in the Old West often did: dead.

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