Looks can kill

The sun rose over the Piglet Mountains to the East of town, obnoxious like a child rising too early and asking for too much. It warmed the boulders on low heat, bringing the cold-blooded animals out from their hiding spots. A lizard darted. Then stopped. The sun rays penetrated the cracks of its skin as it held still; its body bowed from tip to top. A kangaroo rat with its head poking out from a nearby cactus wrinkled its nose, making its translucent whiskers bounce like guitar strings. The lizard darted to a higher spot on the boulder, which was even warmer. It bathed in the morning light in a moment of calm, then the kangaroo rat leaped from the cactus, landed on the lower portion of the boulder, and jumped again, flying at the lizard, its mouth agape. A western screech owl caught it in its talons. The rat squealed in pain, and the lizard skittered away from the light and found safety in the cold shadows.

Named after the surplus of javelinas living on it, Piglet Mountain was only a mile from Piglet Gulch, a pass-through town of only forty-three souls. None of the saloon dwellers, cattlemen, lawmen, working women, or children chose this place. They either got stuck there on the way to somewhere else or were born there and never dared to leave. It may be strange to say one wouldn't dare leave the place they were born, but you'll be wiser if you accept the validity of it. Hell, the sharpest old-timers will tell you that you'd be foolish if you think you've got real control over the life you're leading. Nature's the one who calls it. One morning you could be the predator gearing up for breakfast; the next moment, you could be prey.

Charlie was too handsome to live a life of no trouble. His eyes were a rich blue, like new denim, his beard grew evenly, each hair in place, and it was a sandy color that reminded folks of beaches they'd only ever seen in their dreams. He was tall enough to command attention and mount a horse easily but not so tall that he looked gangly in his clothes. The shirts he wore draped over his body like they'd been tailored, and his pants fit his legs perfectly, like pants on people in paintings. His skin was an eye-pleasing almond color, toasted from the sun, and it both hid the dirt on his face and shined up real nice after he washed. He took the breath out of the coming-of-age women just on appearance—even the women who had families yearned to conquer his flesh.

As soon as Charlie came into Piglet Gulch, he was all the townsfolk could talk about. The women looked at him like a trophy they wanted to win, and the men judged him like a blister in their boot, hoping he'd go away in time. Handsome folks will get under your skin one way or the other through jealousy, fear, or lust. They say all a man has is his name; what they mean is all they are is their story. It's the seasons that make the landscape. If a fellow knows what you did in your past, they think they can make some assumptions about your future; a desert will always be a desert. Do you get what I'm saying? Charlie rode into town on a quarter horse so thin you could strum its ribs to make music. He walked into the saloon that day and told the patrons listening he was looking for wages to fatten up his horse so he could return to Dakota Territory, where his family was. That was a winter ago.

He was a good worker, capable in various trades, and would take any job. He was a cowboy on cattle drives and a carpenter too. He'd work a broom when he had to and wouldn't shy away from cleaning stables either. His willingness to work allowed some men to let go of the worry that he'd take their women from them in a blink of an eye. Still, they all wondered why Charlie stayed in Piglet Gulch when his horse had regained his strength and none more so than Cade, a blacksmith with a pretty daughter and wife. One night in the saloon, Cade got drunk and told the patrons, "Something ain't right about him. He came here saying he was passing through. We've had two season changes, and he's still here."

While cleaning a glass, the barkeep answered, "Come off it, Cade. What d'you got against the kid? Maybe he likes it here. Maybe you're just made MaryAnn's taken a liking to him."

"You got that right," Cade said, gripping his glass tight, "I told her to stay away from the bastard, and she don't listen."

A cowboy offered his two cents, "God almighty, Cade, it wouldn't be the worst thing for her."

"Piglet Gulch ain't the town for a fella like that, dammit!" Cade fired back, "And I know he's hiding something. I know it."

The barkeep chuckled and placed the clean glass back on the shelf, "You're flapping nonsense from your lips. The boys done nothing suspicious. He works as hard as the rest of us, pays his tab on time, and doesn't cause any trouble. Are you afraid he's going to break MaryAnn's heart?"

"Worse," Cade mumbled, taking down the rest of the whiskey he'd been nursing.

Charlie stayed in a boarding house not too far away from the town's brothel. He seemed only to care about three things: his horse, his wages, and women. He'd ride out into the pastures for picnics with MaryAnn holding onto him tight like he was her life itself, and when they came back, they'd be all smiles. It's easier for the handsome to be charming because their looks do the talking when their words miss the mark. MaryAnn was infatuated with him, but she didn't know that when she didn't come calling, he'd wet his pecker with the sportin' women, and the men who knew it never said a word. They were thankful it was Cade's daughter and the daughters of sin he sought, not theirs. It's nature's way to protect your own, and besides, who could blame Charlie for his desires? Wouldn't they do the same if they'd been born with his looks?

The following season change brought the worst rain Piglet Gulch had seen in a decade. The relentless downpour brought water from the mountains that flooded the town's streets and kept folks inside, moving around buckets to catch the water seeping through their ceilings. No structure was dry. The horses' hoofs softened to hardboiled eggs, and by the second week of rain, a dozen of them had come down with white line disease, including Charlie's. The fungal infection ate away at the horses' feet, causing them to whine and neigh like they were surrounded by wolves. By the end of that week, the livery owner made the call to put the herd down to save them from the suffering, not to mention the townsfolk from their noises, which were nearly as unbearable as the constant patter of rain.

Charlie said his horse deserved to die by his hand. This perplexed the livery owner and the townsfolk, who learned of it afterward, but his wish was granted. The livery owner watched as Charlie put his shotgun to the horse's neck, perpendicular to the front of its skull, and pulled the trigger. He then watched for a while longer as Charlie sat in the mud beside his dead horse, his hand on its ribs, the rain washing the blood from the wound in its neck to a puddle underneath them. The moment showed that not even the luckiest men are impervious to nature's wrath. The storm had touched all the residents of Piglet Gulch in one way or another.

The rain continued into the third week flooding the jail, killing a prisoner, and destroying the apothecary. What meager provisions the town's physician had left were destroyed, and it couldn't have come at a worse time for the elderly and young were beginning to fall sick. MaryAnn, who had been trying to comfort Charlie through his despair and moved back and forth between his room in the boarding house and her home, had also fallen ill. A group formed, which Cade was a part of, and decided that their best shot at getting the sick the medicine they needed was to venture to Lowbrook, the next town over, to seek assistance and supplies. The group discussed who would go, and Cade quickly volunteered. Charlie stood near him, looking the worst anyone had ever seen him, but there was a strong belief among the group that he would volunteer for MaryAnn. Cade's judgment of the man might have changed if he had, but Charlie stayed silent. Cade felt foolish for going against his instincts. He should never have doubted what he knew to believe were Charlie's true colors.

It took Cade five days to arrive at Lowbrook, and on the day he rode into town, the clouds cleared from behind him. He made his rounds, first to the livery to get his horse new shoes and food, then to the general store and apothecary to see what provisions could be spared. There was good in Lowbrook. They'd only caught the storm for a few days, but even then, they understood Cade's descriptions of the damage it had caused his town. The owners of the stores parted ways with what they could, including a wagon Cade could take back carrying the supplies he'd acquired. Cade was hopeful for his town, more so than he'd been in weeks, but whom he met at the Lowbrook saloon brought him the most joy.

Jack was a lawman from Dakota Territory and was new to Lowbrook. He was only there because he was searching for a man named Joe McCurly. No one in Lowbrook knew a man by that name, but Cade's ears tingled when Jack described the fella. He said Joe was the most handsome bastard you'd ever seen. He was tall, like a dwarf apple tree, and had blue eyes like seawater. Cade called Jack to the bar, where he sat, and asked him more questions about Joe. They shared a couple of glasses of whiskey and decided that Jack would join him on his journey back to Piglet Gulch.

The sun rose over the Piglet Mountains for the first time in three weeks, bringing out the animals that had made it through the storm. It also brought the people out in Piglet Gulch, including Charlie. The folks met in the center of town, quiet but cheerful for the warmth they were receiving. It had felt like the storm would never end, and though there were still many who were sick and much to rebuild, they knew they had a fighting chance to get things back to what they were. There were conversations about the health of the ill and people asking what they could do, but Charlie never once asked about MaryAnn. The absence of his concern for her put the women and men off, making them feel silly for thinking he was some kind of prize. Still, they needed all the help they could get, and so when he offered to join the group who'd begin work cleaning out and fixing up the general store, he was welcomed, and the townsfolk got work.

At high noon Cade rode into town with the wagon of provision and Jack in tow. People stopped what they'd been doing to meet him in the town's center and see what he'd brought. The ground was still puddle-filled and muddy, but the sop and squelch of their boots did not hinder the hopefulness of their steps as they crowded around the wagon. Cade asked the whereabouts of Charlie, and a man pointed to the general store, "Want me to fetch him?"

Cade's eyes met Jack's, and he nodded, then dismounted his stallion and reached into his bag.

A few moments later, Charlie appeared on the street, and Jack shouted at him, "McClury, you rotten bastard!"

The crowd stepped away from the man, for his voice, though not directed at any of them, was enough of a warning. Charlie froze in the middle of his street. He was in disbelief. Jack grabbed his shotgun from the saddle of his horse and took a few steps toward Charlie, whose legs seemed to quiver for a moment like he might run. Instead, he remained still. Perhaps, he was paralyzed by fear or was stuck too deep in the mud to move.

Jack fired at him, and the next instant, Charlie collapsed backward, causing a splash of brown water to lift and fall all around him. Cade looked on from beside the wagon as Jack walked closer and drew his pistol. When he was right above Charlie, he fired again. One shot in Charlie's head sent him to the grave.

The barkeep, who was nearby Cade, asked, "What was that for?"

"I told you that man was hiding something," Cade said, "He got that fella's daughter pregnant, then stole their family's horse and skipped town. He's been looking for him ever since."

The barkeep was stunned, "Well, I'll be dammed."