Episode 1: Empty Piece

Narrator: A pair clad in cattleman gear came to the town of Tamewater, Texas, looking for work. A cattletown with plentiful grass thanks to its close proximity to the Guadalupe River, this small hamlet in eastern Guadalupe County would have small-time ranchers getting their fix of whiskey, whores, or socialization or cattle drivers passing through on their way North, and this is exactly who our pair were on the lookout for. They decided to stop in the local saloon for a drink and for a chance to meet up with a member of one of these outfits, hoping they’d still be looking for hands even after passing San Antonio. Once inside, the one man removed his dusty gray hat, glad to finally be out of the weather. The other kept on a black hat with brim pulled down and a red bandana pulled above the nose. They made their way to the bar.

Talking, laughing, glasses clinking.

Barstool legs scratch against the wooden floor.

Jed: Barhand, one whiskey, please.

Barhand: None for your friend?

Jed: He don’t drink much.

Barhand: He don’t seem to say much either.

Jed: Right you are.

Barhand: He gonna take off the bandana even?

Jed: Seems not.

A glass clinks.

Barhand: Here you are.

Jed: Much obliged.

Whiskey is sloshed and gulped. The glass clinks again.

Charlie: Excuse me, sir.

Jed: Huh?

Narrator: To Jed’s right, a young man in what can only be described as half a cowboy outfit turned to face the two newcomers. He greeted them with a smile, which wasn’t reciprocated.

Charlie: Hello, my name is Charlie, Charlie Sterling. And yourself?

Jed: Jed.

Charlie: Jed what?

Jed: Grey.

Charlie: Well, nice to meet you, Jed Grey. And nice to meet you as well.

Jed: That’s Teddy. He don’t talk much.

Charlie: So I heard. Well, Teddy, and nice to meet you, nevertheless. I couldn’t help but notice by the look of you two that you must be cowboys.

Jed: Huh?

Charlie: You got the fit.

Jed: So do you, I guess.

Charlie: But mine ain’t worn. Yours sure is. And I do believe that there’s a weapon in your holster.

Jed: You looking for me to use it, son?

Charlie: No, no sir, Mr. Grey, not at all. I’m actually hoping to become a cowboy myself. Just came into town from the family ranch looking for work. That’s to say I have experience with cattle and horses.

Jed: Jed.

Charlie: Yes, sir, sorry, Jed, I mean.

Jed: Why didn’t you work on your family’s ranch, if you want to be a cowboy? Easy enough.

Charlie: Well, if I’m being honest, which I will be with you now, sir, I was hoping for a taste of adventure.

Jed: What?

Charlie: You see, I’ve lived here all my life, furthest I’ve been is Sequin, and that’s it. Never even made it to New Braunfels. I hear all these amazing stories of what it’s like outside these walls, out in the great beyond. The life of a great cowboy, stopping outlaws, rescuing damsels, helping homesteaders, running the train and saving the day.

Jed: Sounds like you’ve been told too many stories.

Charlie: Well, yes, sir. I mean, Jed. I’ve been told many stories. And that’s exactly why I’m wanting to go out. I’m tired of just hearing about all those adventures. I’m ready to live them.

Jed: Son, there’s a problem with your line of reasoning.

Charlie: What’s that?

Jed: Those stories you’ve heard, that’s all they are. Stories.

Charlie: If you’re saying there’s no adventure to be had out there, I just plain won’t listen.

Jed: That’s not at all what I’m saying.

Charlie: Then what is it you’re saying?

Jed: I’m saying that there’s none of that great and virtuous cowboy life you’re imagining. If you’re looking to be a hero, just save everyone the trouble and dig yourself a shallow grave.

Charlie: What’s that supposed to mean?

Jed: There ain’t no heroes out there. No such thing as a good person on the frontier. You say you got experience with cattle, but you got any with a gun? The former may keep you fed, but the latter’ll keep you alive.

Charlie: I don’t know much about shooting, but if there ain’t no good ones out there, I reckon that means that all there can be are bad people, and I can tell you right now that I’m no bad person, and I don’t believe you to be one either

Jed: There ain’t many bad people out there either.

Charlie: No you’re talking nonsense.

Jed: It’s all about how you look at it, son. To be that good person of your stories, you always have to be doing right. Those are your heroes. To be the villain, you only have to do wrong once, and that don’t make you a bad person in the same way doing a good deed don’t make you a good one. That’s why in each of your stories there’s a hundred villains for every hero. Because they don’t have to be real bad people, just someone doing bad things. You better hope you never meet a real bad person, if they can even be called that. Someone who can’t do no good ain’t a person. They’re a monster. Out here, moral absolutes either ain’t alive or ain’t people.

Charlie: I would agree with you that someone who can’t do no good is more of a monster than a person, but there’s gotta be folks out here who always do right.

Jed: Anyone truly like that out here is either buried or not far from being so.

Charlie: You’re saying that you’re no hero, Mr. Grey?

Jed: That’s exactly what I’m saying.

Charlie: Are you a villain, then?

Jed: Depends on your definition of villain. I’m not one of them monsters. Maybe to a few folks.

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Charlie: Well, do you believe in justice?

Jed: Depends on your definition of justice.

Charlie: What’s your definition of justice?

Jed: One week ago, I was a homesteader with a wife and a baby on the way. Today, I’m alone and a killer.

Charlie: A killer?

Jed: It was my definition of justice. And you’re gonna have to change yours if you want to survive out here.

Charlie: Maybe it’s you who needs to change your definition. I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Grey, but it sounds like whatever you did may have been in defending yourself and your family, and I think even that ranks as justice in my book, if there was no other choice.

Jed: It wasn’t.

Charlie: If it’s done, it’s done. Doesn’t need to happen again.

Jed: That’s what I thought after the war. Moved to the frontier cause I couldn’t face what I had become. After some years, I met a woman, and she made me a person again. And I’m back where I started, a young recruit with Yank blood on his hands. I’m not a bad person, but I’ve done… I do bad things. I’ve killed before, and I intend to do it again.

Charlie: Kill again? That can’t be your definition of justice!

Jed: Let me tell you a story, son, and that may clear things up.

Narrator: Four days ago, somewhere along the short border between Duval and Live Oak counties, our gray-hat-wearing friend has come upon the man he’s been tracking for three days. South from the prairies and savannas of his home to the South Texas Plains, Jed has finally caught up with the killer.

Gunshots ring out.

Silence for a few moments.

Redmond: It appears as though we’re at a draw, friend.

No response.

Redmond: Okay, if you won’t acknowledge it, I will. We’re two men hiding behind rocks, reloading our weapons and waiting for the other to make a move. I don’t believe I’ve ever been in a situation like this before. I thought that most pistol fights are fought in the open, but you surprised me, so I replied with what I had at hand and made my way for cover. I’d say this would be more appropriate if we each had rifles, but beggars can’t be choosers. While this may appear like a stalemate, I believe I have the advantage. You may hold the high ground by the slight incline, but, by my count, six shots on my end, five on yours, and you didn’t see fit to try to make use of that final round before I was able to take cover and reload. From this, I can only surmise that you see me as having an advantage, else you would’ve come down here and made a wager with that last bullet before I was able to ready my weapon again. In terms of aim, the numbers speak for themselves. You caught me by surprise, yet, of five shots, none even nicked me. In that, I should have been a much easier target for you than you for me, not to mention your uphill position. While I know you’re still moving up there, it may be that one of mine hit you. Even if none did, six misses blind is not comparable to five misses from an ambush from above. That being said, there is one clear advantage on your side, other than the height, and that is the fact that I’ve no idea why you’re shooting at me. This means, other than that you’ve shot at me now, I’ve no reason to try to shoot at you. From this, I propose what I believe to be a better alternative than us just waiting for the other to enter our sights: we both agree to go our separate ways. You start walking North, uphill, and I’ll make my way South, and there”s no reason for us to ever run into each other again.

Jed: No deal.

Redmond: He speaks! While I’m glad you’ve finally entered the conversation, it seems you’ve only maybe stuck your foot through the doorway. If you haven’t been able to tell, I’m prone to ramble when I feel the discussion to be a little one-sided, no offense intended. However, now that I know you’re no mute, I hope we can at least talk this through a little bit. I find that my rambling can sometimes be contagious. That being said, can you at least let me know why it is that you’re shooting at me?

Jed: You killed my family, Redmond.

Redmond: I don’t believe I’ve done any such thing, although that is my name, so you must have some idea who I am, yet I still have no idea about you.

Jed: The homestead near Sunny Creek. You want to know who I am? I’m the one who buried your sins there.

A pause.

Redmond: I’m sorry, sir, for killing your wife. I know who you are, not by name, but by my deed, for I know about whom you speak, and I can assure you, I had no intention of doing what I did do that evening. I will live with that deed until the day I die, but I do not plan on that day being today. It was a misunderstanding starting with Cobb, and I just happened to be the one caught in it. If it makes you feel any better, that bitch we were after got the best of Cobb, and, from what I remember, seems like she caught Spicer, too. I may be the one who let the bullet fly, but I’m not the one who pulled the trigger. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Jed: Her name was Augusta, and she was soon to be a mother.

Another pause.

Redmond: Sir, I was unaware of that fact. I am truly sorry about what I’ve done. I do not believe there is anything I can do to fix this. The best I can say is that I will forever remember the name Augusta, and I do take myself to hold some of the blame. I agree with you that that is appropriate, but, that taken into consideration, I don’t believe this situation you’ve put yourself in today will do anything for you, and it is likely the best option for both of us to be on our way. How’s about this, my offer from before still remains: I’ll make my way South, you make yours North, and we’ll never have to deal with each other again.

Jed: I’m not leaving here with you still alive.

Remond: Alright, I see you’re quite set on that, but let me just reason with you for a bit. Practically speaking, it seems there are three potential outcomes for our current situation. Option one, we both leave, as I suggested. Option two, I shoot you. I don’t personally want the weight of another death on my hands, especially after what you’ve told me about my deed, and I don’t believe you want to be that added burden for me. Finally, option three, you somehow manage to shoot me before I shoot you, and if your shots earlier are any indication of your aiming ability, I don’t believe this outcome is very likely.

Jed: You’re wrong.

Redmond: Wrong? I am sorry to have to tell you that I doubt your aim, Mister, but, as I said earlier, anyone can surmise the truth about your skill with a pistol based on me still standing, albeit behind a rock. While I’ll admit option three is still plausible, if by some miracle, for you, that is, a shot out of your piece happens to make its way straight to my heart, I see this as the least probable of the three options I’ve listed.

Jed: No, Remond, you’re wrong about option two.

Remond: I think you’ll find option two is extremely plausible, given you don’t agree to go with option one, which is what I’m still pushing for.

Jed: You’re wrong that I wouldn’t be happy with that option.

A third pause.

Remond: You’re wrong, too, then. You say you’d be happy to die, but look where you’re at right now. A man with nothing to live for wouldn’t have come all the way out here just to find me. Maybe you came out to have me kill you, have an honorable death instead of blowing your own brains out, but, if that was the case, I’d agree that you’d have purposefully missed all your shots at me, but you would’ve fired all six instead of leaving one in the chamber. Nope, you’re looking for revenge, and it seems that you’re looking real hard. Everything you’ve done up until now, that’s purpose if I’ve ever seen it, and death will bring you no peace unless you finish your purpose first. However, if you kill me now, then that purpose will be gone. Your revenge will be enacted, you’ll feel vindicated for the deaths of your family and future, and then you’ll find yourself still alive and still alone. You’d slowly waste away, that is, if you can’t find the guts to put that revolver of yours in your mouth. However, saying we both leave right now, you have a reason to keep going, that is, to find me once again, and I don’t have to live with knowing I killed a man I already done so much wrong to. Like I said, I swear on the good Lord’s name that I do not feel good about what I’ve done. I’m not a bad person. I’m just a person who happens to do bad things. And if you’re worried about letting me leave cause you assume I’d do something like that again, I can guarantee that your fears are unwarranted. I only ever killed twice before, and both were men who had it coming. I ain’t one for blood, and, despite what you may think, I am an okay Christian. Not a good one, but an okay one. I mean, who can blame me for sometimes wanting a drink or a fuck. The only real bad thing I’ve ever done is what I’ve done to you. Now you got me rambling again, but the point here is that things would be best for both of us if we just went our separate ways. So we agree now?

Yet another pause.

Jed: You may be right. I’ve spent the last week tracking you down in this desert. The plan was for one of us to die, but I never intended it to be me. I guess that there’s purpose. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a death wish as well. If I’m killed by you now, as you said, that’s an honorable death, a death in the name of justice. Maybe that’s just me trying to rationalize this ending in a firefight so that you can end my suffering. Given the other option, that I shoot you, it may be the end for me anyway. The prospect of revenge has been the only thing quenching my thirst in this sun, and if that prospect is fulfilled, it’s removed. It may then be that I find myself spending the rest of my likely short life wasting away in some house of sin. But if we agree to go our separate ways, as you suggested, on the other hand, I would still have something to live for. I’d continue to be this tortured man, but a tortured man with a mission, and that alone makes the torture worth it. However, that thing, that mission, would be the same thing that brought me out here in the first place. It would just be prolonging the inevitable. Are we to return to this dilemma when I finally catch you again, assuming I ever even reach that point? I don’t believe there’s any reason not to kill you now. It’s like buying an apple with the intention of eating it, but then refraining from doing so cause after it’s eaten you can’t still eat it. Maybe I need to work on metaphors a bit, but I think the conclusion I’ve come to is this.

Quick footsteps. Six shots sound off in succession.

Jed: What? Redmond! Where are you, you sonofabitch?! You left your gun, fool! I’ll find you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me now! You’ll never leave here alive!

Narrator: But that Redmond did make his way out of there alive. When Jed rounded that rock, he found himself firing at an empty spot where he expected his opponent to be standing. The only thing left were footprints and an empty Remington Model 1858.

Charlie: Why would he leave his gun?

Jed: To salt my wounds. An empty piece. He never had no bullets that whole time. Could’ve killed him that easily, but he made his way out using only words. Never again. That nobody knows the law ain’t got no interest in chasing a small-time thug, some goon in a gang already disbanded, a man gone like the wind to who knows where. For them, no use in even trying,

Charlie: So then what?

Jed: He stole my horse. Had to make my way back to Teddy by foot, sleeping on rocks for two nights, and by then there was no use in trying to follow him. So I’m going after him myself. Tell me that ain’t justice.

A pause.

Jed: You can’t. That Redmond taught me two lessons that day. First, words can sometimes disarm better than a loaded weapon.

Charlie: And the second?

Jed: Like I told you before, there are no good or bad people out here, just people doing good or bad things.