He dropped the badge into the dust of the
street and hurried off, a man who had met defeat and accepted it, a man who
could now go back to the clothing store and sell shirts and suits and overalls
because that was the job he could do best. There was no indignity in Billy Long’s
defeat. He had taken a role he wasn’t equipped to handle, and he was admitting
it.
I have a fondness for Thomas Thompson. Many years ago, his was the
first Western tale that really spoke to me. A story that showed me that the Western
could be more than just formulaic shoot-em-ups, and admittedly, those carbon
copies abound, but Thompson was the first author that showed me the humanity and
maturity that could be explored in the genre.
My re-visiting this tale shows that Thompson’s power still holds, and
I am grateful to him for being the finger that pointed to many fine authors, thrilling
and heart-breaking stories, and more than a few places to pause and ponder as the best of the authors hold a mirror
up to ourselves.
Fine story, Mr. Thompson, and thank you very much.
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