people keep sayin that women is the weaker sex, and maybe thats the truth for a lot of em. they are smaller, and got less muscle then us, but I have learnt the hard way to run scairt of the sharp side of a womans tongue, and some women carry knives sharper then their damn yaps. I been stabbed twice again, and tomahawked onct by women. not to mention watchin Rosy at work a few times. now that was twict as funny, cause of she would shoot a man in the ass if he crossed her, and she never showed on the wanted posters cause of no one wanted to admit that a woman shot him in the ass. The women that knifed me was whores that were tryin to keep me with em, and I never figgered out the whys of that. maybe Jehovah will explain to me after I die why a woman could think Id stay with her after she stabbed me.

the girl that tomahawked me was a Comanche girl. she thought that I scorned her. I wasnt teasin her when I smiled at her, but I was bunkin down with Heart-Catcher, and never got the feelin Heart-Catcher woulda let me have a lot of wives in the Comanche way. so I smiled at this girl and jist let her walk on by. she sure made me happy that deer whose skin she was wearin had got shot, by the way she filled it out. then I hear her screech. next thing I know, I wake up in my teepee with a big ol cut on my head, and Heart-Catcher cussin me out. damn it, I had behaved too.

and you sure as hell is full of goddammed yankees cant figger on what theyre gonna do. in virginia, before the war had got started proper, I was ridin around in my pretty new uniform, and one of them fancy southern belle girls was sittin out on her porch. she had the audacity of yellin at me that street was for officers only. now she was a pretty one for sure, with mex black hair, purely white skin, and bright shiny blue eyes. I threw a big ol grin at her, looked at the shed to the side of the house, and tolt her I was gettin off the street at her service, and saw she was smilin jist like the mex girls did back home. sure as hell she ambled into the shed right after me. she did something with her mouth she called it french, and she learnt me to do it to her. whoda thought a proper southern lady be the one to teach me a whorehouse trick at that tender young age?

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another funny one was a nigger girl I run across ridin home back thru mississippi. I was dodgin the shirkers, and goddammed yankee patrols too, and run across two nigger girls runoff from their slavery. there was a pretty one who give me the evil eye, and her friend that woulda been too dark in her features for my taste, but for she had a saucy light in her eyes, and they was just pure midnight eyes. the saucy one told me not to ravage her and called me a pretty bad name, but she had a grin when she said it. I started backin off from em, when the darker girl started in on me again like that. I seen her game, so I cut a switch, and whipped her butt into a nice hid holler. werent too nice of me, cause of the pretty one was scairt, but I had no mind of her, other then ta make sure she werent gonna bash my head whilst I was busy with her friend. my goodness, that girl wriggled like a catfish. she kept callin me a dirty massa bastard the whole time, but if sheda been any juicier, sheda flooded the holler. she wanted a second go, but Id been sleepin short and ridin hard and wanted to keep movin. I left em with a Colts, but unloaded it first. I could see that pretty one still thought I was gonna rape her. hell, I was the one that got pillaged. that other girl didnt leave me the energy to sit a saddle. But I had to ride, cause of I sure couldnt walk.

its funny that women sometimes like you to smack their behind or pull their hair or talk rough at them. but I spect that if you look at nature and how man and woman animals act like to each other, it shouldnt be no shock to the system. the first time I was too rough with a mex girl, I was bout to apologize to her and seen was moren willin for me to keep at it. then again, I caint explain nothin that women do.

now I dont mess with married women. that is one of the sins in the good book that makes some damn sense. a kid needs a pa and a ma. from all the whores I knew in my life, them ones that had kids was the saddest and their kids was sad too. some of them would get fixed up with a fella that wanted to help them out with their brats but that was rare. for me I didnt like goin with sad whores. the point of bronc bustin is havin fun, not in gentlin some cryin whore down like a skittish horse. I like the happy ones that liked to ride like the wind. as long as they wasnt stabbin me, haha.

on the other side of the fence I heard some men talk all the time about coralllin a married woman. I oft wished Jehovah would strike them down on the spot or that I could just shoot them. I think part of it was they wanted to crow about bein bettrn another man without havin to face up with him. no damn sand atall. it took me a long time in my life afore I found out you jist cant shoot thems that deserve it. folks get mad when you do that.

to be honest I did mess with a married woman that one time with Gabriela but the way I see it she shoulda been married to me in the first place, and that was more like goodbye anyway.

It's kiss me, gal
Kiss me once again.
Oh, it's kiss me, gal
All night long.

John Stevens:

Wallace never had a thought of how women saw him. He was uncommon handsome, and he had a great joy of life in him, which women tend to like . He was as blind to the admiration of women as he was to social graces. He just figgered that women were sweet talkin him like he sweet talked them. I never saw him when he wasn’t grinning at the happiness of life except when he was sizing up how to kill someone. I only saw him kill that Miguel, but damn if he wasn’t smiling then too.

The Story So Far

Part One, in which Wallace Stevens returns home from the Civil War, then joins the Texas Rangers.
Part Two, wherein our desperado steals a Comanche princess and deserts the Rangers.
Part Three, in which Wallace attempts to return home again yet to put himself into more trouble.
Part Four describes the shootist's adventures as a hired gun in Mexico.
Part Five, wherein Wallace reminisces over his favorite weapons.
Part Six returns the gunman to New Orleans, where he joins a buffalo hunting crew.
Part Seven in which Wallace reflects on killing and the War.
Part Eight relates the tale of buffalo hunting and the last of the buffalo Indians.