1871
The old man rode into town. You could see that he was looking for something or someone.
Well into his sixties, he had leathery skin and rode with the casual ease of a life spent in the saddle. One hand rested on the butt of his gun.
Casting occasional glances to one side or the other as he made his way along Main Street eventually coming to a halt and dismounting in front of the saloon.
His name was Matt Savage. He was known in the cattle business; as for years he’d been a trail boss. He stopped at the door of the saloon and peered inside, looking over the disreputable crowd. Suddenly a young, feminine face appeared in front of him.
“If you’re looking for a good time, I might be able to help,” She purred seductively.
A corner of his mouth went up briefly, before Matt shook his head.
“Just looking for a friend,” He replied.
“ I’d say you found one,” She smiled. “Buy me a drink and find out how friendly. Name’s Apollonia.”
“Sure your folks had their reasons…” Matt Savage muttered. “Fraid, my friend ain’t pretty as you. Let me see to my horse.”
“I’ll be waiting,” She said, sashaying away from the door.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” He muttered, turning back to his waiting horse.
A kid directed him to a stable behind the saloon. Matt gave the man a coin and instructions for a care.
He paused in the alleyway between buildings, running a hand over his stubbled chin in thought. The minute he felt the hand on his shoulder, he was turning, his gun in his hand.
The man he was facing was younger than Matt, a few inches taller, and broader in the shoulders. His black hair was shoulder-length and held in place with a thin, rawhide headband. He was a white man, but dressed in the buckskin tunic and leggings of an Indian scout. There was a streak of fading red war paint across his eyes.
“You are looking for me?” The younger man asked.
“Yeah, I am, Brian.”
The man frowned.
“I know, it’s not the name you go by,” Matt explained. “But, I can’t say the other one right to save my life and there’s no way I’m calling you ‘Scalphunter.”
Brian Savage shrugged, but his frown did not lessen.
“How did you find me?”
“I try to keep track of what you’re up to.” Matt Savage explained. “A friend of yours, name of Lash, was more than willing to tell me how to find you, after I let him take twenty dollars from me in a card game.”
Scalphunter was unsure if he considered the gambler, Batlash a friend, but didn’t feel this was the time to discuss it with his estranged father.
“What do you want?” He asked.
“Ever heard the name ‘Vandal Savage’ before?” Matt asked him.
“I have heard the name,” His son replied. “Is he part of our family?”
“Oh yeah,” Matt nodded. “ Vandal is the blackest sheep and the living legend of the Savage family all rolled into one. Your great, great, great, great grandfather.”
“What?” Brian muttered. “That’s impossible…!”
“I wish it was,” His father said. “But, the family bible connects Vandal to dozens of births, and deaths, going back a century and I can trace him to before the Revolutionary war. Claims to be even older. The point is Vandal’s been around a long while and from time to time he seeks out his kin, for one reason or another. Usually leaving tears and blood in his wake. The family motto is ‘if Grand pappy Vandal is coming to visit, try not to be home that day’.”
“And he came to visit you,” Brian said.
“I gave up running cattle a couple years back,” Matt said. “Bought a little place, small spread, a dozen head of cattle, couple hired men. Mostly, I sit in my rocking chair and watch the sun set. Vandal showed up and did something I didn’t expect…he asked for help. That got my attention, but also raised some suspicions. Then he dumped a bag of gold coins at my feet and that’s when I decided I needed to find you.”
“I do not understand,” He son said.
“Vandal is generally threatens to get his way. If he’s asking, then he’s backed into a corner and he has to turn to family. We Savage men are a bit thin on the ground at the moment,” Matt explained. “He wants me to watch his back while he finishes some deal. I could use someone to watch my back, as well as keep an eye on him.”
A silence fell between the two men and the older cowboy broke eye contact as he gathered his thoughts.
“I know there’s a…gap between you and me…with what happened…and the way you were raised. Your Ma dying so soon after you were…taken kept me from searching for you. By the time I could, well, I thought them Indians had killed you too. I got no real right to ask, but I’ve heard the stories and, while I can’t claim any credit, it seems to me that you’ve grown into a man who can fight for what he believes in and…I could use somebody like that…”
“I have heard rumors about Vandal Savage, and every one paints him as a man of violence and treachery,” Brian said, nodding solemnly. “As you say, there is a gap. I do not know if it can ever be bridged, but we are blood. I will do this thing you ask.”
“Thank you,” The older man said.
“What do you need?”
“I’m supposed to meet Vandal here…what’s that look for?” Matt asked.
“I arrived here before you did,” Scalphunter explained, grimly. “I had time to scout the town. Men are gathering, not good men. I have recognized some, outlaws and those who still proudly wear the colors of the confederacy.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” The older trail boss mused. “Vandal attracts trouble like a dead horse does flies. I’ll go wait in the saloon and keep an eye out…”
“I am not welcome there,” Brian said. “I will be nearby if you need me.”
Matt Savage nodded, acknowledging the precarious place his son occupied, existing between red men and white, yet neither world fully accepting him.
Without a word, Scalphunter faded back into the shadows of the alley and was gone. Matt frowned thoughtfully, and continued his journey back to the saloon.
# # # # #
“Knew you’d come back!” Apollonia smirked, soon as he stepped through the door.
“While I appreciate the attentions of a pretty girl as much as the next old cowhand,” Matt said, with a slight smile. “I’m here to meet someone. So, for the moment, all I’m looking for is a room for the night and a space at the bar, Let’s see how my afternoon goes and maybe we’ll see how serious you are with your attentions.”
“I’m always serious with my attentions,” The saloon girl said, over her shoulder as she walked provocatively away. “Don’t take too long though. You’ll hurt a girls’ feelings.”
Matt Savage shook his head and sidled up to the bar, inquired about a room, and got himself a drink.
“Ahh, hit’s the spot after time on the trail,” He murmured to himself. “Good beer, you can still taste it through the water.”
He savored the cool drink and the moment of quiet, looking over the crowd by peering up at the large mirror behind the bar.
Scalphunter had been right. Even by cow town saloon standards, the crowd was worrying. Several faces he recognized from wanted posters.
He peered down into his mug, hoping to see some answers in his murky, yellow drink.
His contemplation was soon interrupted, first by a grumbling that went through the crowd and then by a rough hand clapping him on the shoulder.
“Mathew!” A gruff voice said. “Good you made it.”
A bear of a man, bearded, broad in the shoulder and towering over Matt joined him at the bar. He was dressed in rough furs and crudely tanned leather. He drooped a heavy sack at his booted feet and then plunked two dirty bottles on the bar.
“Simon, you crusty bastard!” Vandal growled, at the barman. “Add these to my ‘collection’ and bring me a large mug of whatever this old man is drinking!”
“You capable of saying anything without shouting?” Matt asked, not looking up from his drink.
“Ah, Mathew, you remind me of your father,” Vandal boomed. “Good man. Always glad I never had to kill him.”
“Well, there’s a family tradition I’m all for continuing,” Matt said. “Why am I here?”
Vandal accepted the pitcher-sized mug the barman brought, chugged down half of it and belched loudly enough to rattle the glass in the windows.
“ I ran afoul of some…gentlemen, powerful and determined men,” Vandal growled. “I thought it best to retreat from civilization, until they cooled down or died of old age. I retreated to a mining camp I had ‘acquired’. Did some mining, some trapping. Along the way, I came across something that I could use to pay off my debts. Unfortunately, while I was away most of the people I could have gotten to back me up got themselves killed or headed for parts unknown.”
He shrugged and took another drink.
“On the bright side, one of the gentlemen owed, got on the wrong side of a bounty hunter named Hex, so one less to worry about. Once I pay off the old General, I’ll have enough breathing room to head east. Thinking I’ll go back to Europe for a spell.”
“So, I help you through this deal with the…General and we’re done?” Matt asked.
Vandal nodded.
“Appreciate hearing you say it,” Matt prompted.
“Get me through this and you can enjoy your eye blink of a life without me. Happy?”
“Nothing bout this makes me happy, but I’m a man of my word,” Matt said, glancing up at the mirror to look over the saloon crowd. “You notice how popular this town has gotten since word got out that you were due to visit?”
Vandal frowned, nodded and then gulped down the rest of his drink.
“Some people can’t let go a grudge,” He grunted and belched.
“When does this meeting happen?”
“Tomorrow. All goes well, we can all go our separate ways by supper time.” Vandal explained.
“Suits me,” Matt said, placing a coin on the bar by his empty glass and easing his old body off the stool. “Unless you need something else, I’m going to get some air. See how much trouble we’re in.”
“I been living in the woods and was on the trail for a week to get here,” Vandal said, banging on the bar with his over-sized mug. “Simon! I’ll want that corner room, the two bottles from my cache with the most dust on ‘em and the three sturdiest girls you got!”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Matt sighed, shaking his head as he ambled off across the room and out into the street.
# # # # #
The old ex-trail boss strolled along, keeping to the plank sidewalks rather then risk his boots in the mix of mud and manure that made up the main street.
He sat himself down on a bench in front of the barbershop, waved away the offer of a shave and rolled a cigarette.
He seemed to be nothing but a lazy cowboy with no more interest in his surroundings then the occasional appraising glance at a passing lady.
“Hey, boy!” He called, casually at a passing youth in dirty dungarees and boots.
“What?” The boy replied, skidding to a halt. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand as he studied the old cowhand.
“Seen a bunch of soldiers in grey uniforms around town?” Matt asked.
“Yeah,” The boy nodded, squinting thoughtfully at the stranger.
“Where they holed up?”
“The Lansdale hotel, end of the street. Jacob that sweeps floors there says they took the whole top floor. Bet there’s a dozen of them. People say there’s more, camped outside of town too.”
Matt Savage nodded to himself, fished around in his coat pocket, took out a coin and tossed it to the boy.
“Thanks youngster, go get yourself a cigar.”
The boy caught the coin and wandered off, glancing over his shoulder at the old man with the strange sense of humor.
# # # # #
Matt wandered the main street for the remainder of the afternoon, chatted casually with the locals, made a few friends by sharing his tobacco and spread more coins amongst the local kids. He soon had a good idea of the situation in town and it didn’t look any better then before his stroll.
A dozen soldiers held up at the other hotel and another dozen camped outside town. Not to mention an assortment of outlaws and bounty hunters that were trickier to keep track of.
Returning to the saloon at nightfall, he found that Vandal was secure in a room with enough booze and whores to keep him occupied and hopefully out of trouble till morning. Down the hall, Matt kicked off his boots and settled down on the bed with a tattered book and a bottle of whiskey.
He left his door opened a crack and shifted the room’s mirror so he had a view of the hallway and Vandal’s door. Uneventful hours passed and Matt was beginning to nod off when he heard the faint squeak of his window being eased open. His gun was in his hand even before he was fully awake and a very surprised Scalphunter raised his hands.
“It is only me.” His son said.
“Sorry,” Matt muttered, lowering his six-shooter and rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “Old habits and reflexes. What can I do for you?”
He swung his legs over, placed his feet on the floor and offered his son the whiskey bottle. Scalphunter shook his head and pulled up a rickety-looking wooden chair.
“The soldiers have a camp outside town,” He said. “I recognize several of the bounty hunters in town. Not good men.”
“Yeah, I spotted the Lawton Brothers,” Matt nodded grimly and took a swig of whiskey. “We’re in for a time.”
“If either Vandal Savage or this general is untrustworthy…” Scalphunter began.
“Odds are they are,” Matt interrupted.
“Then, I do not see this ending well.”
“No, me neither. Still want to help?”
“I gave my word.” Scalphunter said simply.
“Fair enough. If you want to take the bed, I can sit up for a spell, keep an eye on things.” The older man said, standing up.
Scalphunter shook his head.
“I will be fine with a blanket on the floor,” He said, taking a threadbare quilt and draping it over his shoulders. He settled in the corner, with his back against the wall and a clear view of the hallway.
Matt Savages’ last thought before nodding off was wondering about the life his son had lead and if things could have gone differently.
# # # # #
Morning came, and Brian was gone by the time Matt woke up. He groaned as old muscles protested their treatment of the past couple days, splashed some water from the bowl on the dresser on his face, wiped his hands on the blanket when he couldn’t find a towel, grabbed his hat and went in search of breakfast.
He paused at the landing, staying close to the wall to get the lay of the land. The saloon was nearly empty. A few sleepers sprawled in their chairs or on the floor, hard to tell who was drunk, who had taken a beating and who had nowhere else to go. A young Asian was sweeping the floor. Simon was cleaning the bar and there were a couple salon girls drifting about.
Matt spotted his new acquaintance at the bar. There was little of the flirty bar girl in her expression and posture now. She looked hard and Matt considered there was more to her then he’d originally thought and any plans to use her as a source of information might need to be reconsidered. He scuffed his way down the stairs and saw Apollonia’s whole demeanor immediately shift to friendly hostess.
“Well, there he is!” She said, smiling brightly. “Not that I should be cheerful towards a man what stood me up.”
“Get me some coffee then I’ll see bout getting back in your good graces.” Matt nodded, joining her at the bar. Curious about her switch in moods and noticing that like him, she had picked a seat that allowed her a full view of the room and all its exits. Didn’t seem like a coincidence.
Apollonia waved over one of the girls and had her fetch them a pot of coffee and some breakfast.
Matt Savage studied the young woman over his eggs, contemplating his next move.
“Awfully busy for such a small town,” He muttered, glancing idly around. “You folks getting a stage line or strike gold?”
She shrugged, helping herself to a piece of his toast.
“Don’t know about the soldiers,” She said, casually. “Bunch of folk seems interested in your big friend.”
“Yeah,” Matt shrugged, grumpily, and then glanced towards the stairs. “Speak of the devil…”
Vandal Savage came stomping downstairs, clutching an empty jug in one hand, a half conscious saloon girl in the other.
“Simon!” He bellowed. “Fetch me a drink and steak!”
At the bottom of the stairs, he let the girl slump into the nearest chair and Savage went over to a table in the corner. He gestured for Matt to join him.
The old trail boss wandered over with his tin mug of coffee and sat down. The larger man pushed a scrap of paper towards his great grandson.
“This came with one of the girls… red head, I think.” He grunted.
Matt glanced over it. It just listed a date and time.
“This when the General arrives?” Matt asked, in a low tone.
“We only have an hour.” Savage nodded.
“Eat quickly then,” Matt said, getting up.
Matt exchanged greetings with the bartender when he returned his breakfast dishes and grabbed an empty table, which gave him a view of the stairs and the front and back doors. He sighed, never someone who liked waiting. He preferred doing. However this went, Matt Savage wanted it started, rather then sitting around.
As men began to wander into the saloon, he found one hand subconsciously moving towards his gun belt.
The room started to fill up, too quickly for Matt’s comfort. The coffee wasn’t that good.
There were soon over a dozen scruffy, disreputable-looking men circulating around the saloon. Most didn’t have the self-control to not look at Vandal Savage.
The surly immortal, either oblivious to all the scrutiny or because of it, loudly pushed his chair back, as he got to his feet and moved to a table in the center of the room.
“Here we go,” Matt sighed, standing up.
No sooner and Vandal Savage placed the bottle down on the table when most of the rooms’ occupants drew weapons and moved for the big, bearded man.
Matt Savage drew both guns and fired two shots into the air.
“Settle down!” He shouted, struggling to be heard over the chaos of the crowd. “We’re gonna deal with this like grown ups!”
“And who are you?” a voice snarled from the crowd.
“I’m the man with ten bullets left telling you to settle the hell down!” He replied.
“Mathew!” Vandal exclaimed, gesturing.
Matt Savage turned his head and one gun and found Appolonia in mid-lunge, wielding a pair of long, wicked knives that Matt couldn’t begin to guess where she’d kept hidden.
“Don’t,” He said, grimly. “I may be reluctant to shoot a woman, but let’s not test it.”
“Do you know what he’s done?” She hissed, accusingly back. “What a…monster you are protecting!”
“I have a notion,” Matt muttered. “But, this is not by choice and not the time.”
The crowd seemed to freeze, as though momentarily more interested in how the standoff ended then in killing Vandal Savage.
“Drop the knives,” Matt said, his tone wavering between asking and telling.
Angrily, the saloon girl complied.
Matt, his brain racing to keep track of every element that could go hopelessly wrong, gestured with his gun at a chair by the bar. “Have a seat. If we both get through this alive, I promise, we’ll talk.”
He then turned back towards the crowd.
“Cousin?” He asked, Vandal while nodding towards Appollonia.
The big man merely shrugged.
Sighing, the older man refocused on the crowd menacing them. Scanning the crowd he spotted two men, at the back in Confederate uniforms.
“Corporal…?” Matt called. “You here with the General?”
“Yes,” The soldier replied, a bit taken aback at the attention. “I have the honor of…”
“No time for speeches,” Matt interrupted. “You want this meeting to happen you might want to clear the room and then fetch him.”
“And if we don’t want to leave…?” Some tough guy snapped.
Not only the two soldiers, but also Simon the barman drew guns to help back up Matt’s point of view.
The soldiers ushered the crowd out of the saloon, one of them going along to escort his commanding officer back.
“If you promise to behave, you can stay,” Matt told Appolonia, as he holstered his six guns.
“You are protecting a murderer,” She hissed back, arms crossed defiantly.
“And I’m trying to keep a whole bunch of people from getting killed,” He muttered back.
He then glanced up at Simon and nodded toward the saloon girl. Simon nodded back, keeping his shotgun covering the room.
Soon, it was just the three Savages, the bartender and one soldier. They spent a tense few moments eyeing each other.
Two soldiers stepped through the swinging doors. They took up positions on either side, then two more entered. They were followed by an ancient, bent figure in a confederate uniform. His shoulders hunched, his head bald.
He hobbled, self assuredly towards the center table and slowly sat across from the massive mountain man. He studied Vandal intently from beneath mossy eyebrows. He pulled off his cavalry gloves and rested his thin, blue veined hands upon the tabletop.
“Savage.” He croaked, with a brief nod of greeting.
“Immortus.” Vandal grunted back
“General Immortus!” The soldier at his side curtly reminded the bearded immortal.
The old general waved his guard away with a negligent wave.
“I trust this meeting will be worth my time and patience,” The old man murmured, absently glancing at the motley assortment on Savage’s side of the saloon.
“I think we can come to an agreement,” Vandal replied, crossing his muscular arms across his broad chest. Even sitting, he towered over the General, as well as his nearby bodyguards. “Simon, fetch me a bottle!”
“Is this really the time…?” Immortus began.
“The one with the black ribbon around the neck.”
The barkeep looked to Matt Savage, who merely shrugged and nodded.
The stocky bartender stowed his gun beneath the bar and soon came around to the table with the requested bottle.
Vandal nudged it towards the ancient General with his thick fingertips. Immortus peered at the bearded man and then the grimy bottle with puzzled disdain.
The murky amber sloshed about and then a lump of dusky red bobbed about in its depths. Immortus raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Is it…?” He asked.
“During my…’sabbatical’, I struck a vein,” Savage nodded. “Not huge, but someone with men and resources at their beck and call might dig up enough to keep himself spry for another century.”
“And in return?” Immortus asked suspiciously.
“I’ve had enough and want to head back to Europe. Can’t do that with empty pockets and every gun pointed at me. This cancels my debt to you and gains me safe passage East.”
The General leaned forward, steepling his fingertips as he intently studied the offered bottle.
“An appealing offer,” Immortus mused, nodding his large egg of a head. “But, what is to stop me merely taking it and doing away with a large…irritant?”
“That would be us,” Matt Savage said, thumbs tucked casually into his belt.
“Really?” Immortus smiled.
Scalphunter stood up from behind the bar, casually tossed a Winchester rifle to Appolonia and then drew his own six guns. Simon raised his shotgun.
“We would prefer if you solved your differences like gentlemen,” The older trail boss continued. “Once that’s done, Vandal walks away and none of us really care what you do to him, but until then, let’s not test how immortal you two are.”
The General seemed momentarily nonplussed, then with a dry as parchment chuckle nodded.
“Who am I to disrupt such well mannered plans?” He mused, reaching into his pocket. He drew out a bag that clinked when it landed on the table.
“That will get you to Europe, if you don’t drink it away.”
“Safe passage?” Vandal asked.
“My men will leave you be,” The General intoned. “But, I make no effort to protect you from any other enemies you’ve made. No one has that large an army.”
Vandal frowned but then shrugged in aknowlgement. He got to his feet, towering over the ancient soldier, awkwardly pulled off a boot and shook it over the table until a scarp of paper fell out.
His nose wrinkled in distaste, Immortus drew the paper towards him with a finger.
“This is a partial map!” He accused.
The soldiers at either side reached for their guns.
“You can have the other half when I’m on a horse and at the edge of town,” Vandal replied, smugly.
# # # # #
Immortus nodded.
“We are finished here,” He said, getting creakily to his feet. “Through the efforts of your…handlers, we have reached a bloodless resolution to our differences, but do not let me lay eyes on you for a decade or so, Savage. My patience has its limits.”
“Put an ocean between me and your ugly face,” Vandal said, slipping his boot back on. “And I’ll be more then happy to keep things that way.”
He scooped up his payment and turned to look over at his assorted relations.
“Let there be no tears at our parting,” He smirked, before striding, arrogantly for the saloon doors. Several of the General’s men escorted him out.
Immortus looked at Matt Savage and nodded his approval.
“You preformed an odious task with honor,” He said. “And most likely ensured all players emerged alive. I salute you, sir.”
Matt merely nodded, unsure how to take the compliment.
“But, as I have said, my patience is not infinite. Do not cross my path again.”
He then turned, followed by his troops and left.
There was an audible exhale of relief from those still in the saloon.
“How you got through that without us all getting shot…” Appollonia said, with an admiring shake of her head and a brief smile. “Can’t decide if you are amazingly brave or an idiot…?”
“Who says I can’t be both?” Matt smiled back. He held up his hands and flexed them slowly, trying not to notice the faint trembling.
“Well, my bar didn’t get shot to hell,” Simon said, stashing his shotgun. “So, any time you fellas want a drink, it’s on me.”
Matt nodded his thanks, then glanced over at his son, who was holstering the multiple guns and knives he had laid out on the bar ‘just in case’.
Matt went and stood by Apollonia.
“I guess you’ll be going after him?” He asked, resignedly.
“Yes…but, not…not today,” She mused. “Let him have a head start. More…um…sporting that way.”
“Fair enough,” Matt nodded. “But, don’t forget that you have family that doesn’t need killing.”
“The name of Savage can be more burden then honor,” Brian Savage added, grimly. “It is not a struggle to be taken alone.”
He nodded to his newfound ‘cousin’ and slung a crude deerskin knapsack over one shoulder. “I will see to our horses.”
Matt Savage looked thoughtfully after his son.
“Looks like you have your own family difficulties,” Apollonia said, getting to her feet and resting a hand upon the older man’s rough, stubbled cheek.
Whatever either was going to say next was interrupted by a barrage of gunfire off in the distance.
“Sounds like Great Grandpa Vandal has left town,” She said.
“Or tried to,” Matt said taking her hand, giving it a brief squeeze and lowering it. “Time to be on my way. Lord knows what’s happened to my ranch while I’ve been here. Take care of yourself, girl.”
“You too, old man.”
Outside by the stable, he found Brian already on his horse.
“Not planning to say good-bye?” He asked his son.
“I was…unsure what there was to say,” Scalphunter muttered.
“Probably nothing,” Matt nodded, ruefully. “Too much time passed…too much that can’t be fixed.”
“Perhaps,” His son said. “But, that you tried means much.”
“If I can give one bit of ‘fatherly’ advice,” Matt said. “There’s too much room out here. A man’s reputation just echoes across the land faster then that man can run. Go east. Cities are full of people that don’t give a damn where you came from.”
He held up his hand to his son.
Scalphunter leaned down and shook the offered hand.
“Good life, father.”
“You too, son.”
The old cowboy watched his son ride off, knowing that he was likely seeing him for the last time.
Once the gunfire died down, he fetched his horse and headed home.
## # # # #
Author’s note: This was supposed to be a big, pulpy adventure. That was my plan after I went poking through DC history looking for ‘family trees’. Somehow it evolved into some kind of weird spaghetti western character study. I’m not sure what happened, but I do kind of like it. Feels like the first chapter of a bigger story I never planned on telling. I already find myself scribbling ideas for more stories of the Savage Family. I never even mentioned WW1 ace, Stephen ‘Balloon Buster’ Savage.
I promise my next western will have lots of gunplay.
Also, I may have taken some liberties to fit all the Savages histories together, but if you spot a mistake, let’s just say this is the New 52 history of the characters.
-Travis
The old man rode into town. You could see that he was looking for something or someone.
Well into his sixties, he had leathery skin and rode with the casual ease of a life spent in the saddle. One hand rested on the butt of his gun.
Casting occasional glances to one side or the other as he made his way along Main Street eventually coming to a halt and dismounting in front of the saloon.
His name was Matt Savage. He was known in the cattle business; as for years he’d been a trail boss. He stopped at the door of the saloon and peered inside, looking over the disreputable crowd. Suddenly a young, feminine face appeared in front of him.
“If you’re looking for a good time, I might be able to help,” She purred seductively.
A corner of his mouth went up briefly, before Matt shook his head.
“Just looking for a friend,” He replied.
“ I’d say you found one,” She smiled. “Buy me a drink and find out how friendly. Name’s Apollonia.”
“Sure your folks had their reasons…” Matt Savage muttered. “Fraid, my friend ain’t pretty as you. Let me see to my horse.”
“I’ll be waiting,” She said, sashaying away from the door.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” He muttered, turning back to his waiting horse.
A kid directed him to a stable behind the saloon. Matt gave the man a coin and instructions for a care.
He paused in the alleyway between buildings, running a hand over his stubbled chin in thought. The minute he felt the hand on his shoulder, he was turning, his gun in his hand.
The man he was facing was younger than Matt, a few inches taller, and broader in the shoulders. His black hair was shoulder-length and held in place with a thin, rawhide headband. He was a white man, but dressed in the buckskin tunic and leggings of an Indian scout. There was a streak of fading red war paint across his eyes.
“You are looking for me?” The younger man asked.
“Yeah, I am, Brian.”
The man frowned.
“I know, it’s not the name you go by,” Matt explained. “But, I can’t say the other one right to save my life and there’s no way I’m calling you ‘Scalphunter.”
Brian Savage shrugged, but his frown did not lessen.
“How did you find me?”
“I try to keep track of what you’re up to.” Matt Savage explained. “A friend of yours, name of Lash, was more than willing to tell me how to find you, after I let him take twenty dollars from me in a card game.”
Scalphunter was unsure if he considered the gambler, Batlash a friend, but didn’t feel this was the time to discuss it with his estranged father.
“What do you want?” He asked.
“Ever heard the name ‘Vandal Savage’ before?” Matt asked him.
“I have heard the name,” His son replied. “Is he part of our family?”
“Oh yeah,” Matt nodded. “ Vandal is the blackest sheep and the living legend of the Savage family all rolled into one. Your great, great, great, great grandfather.”
“What?” Brian muttered. “That’s impossible…!”
“I wish it was,” His father said. “But, the family bible connects Vandal to dozens of births, and deaths, going back a century and I can trace him to before the Revolutionary war. Claims to be even older. The point is Vandal’s been around a long while and from time to time he seeks out his kin, for one reason or another. Usually leaving tears and blood in his wake. The family motto is ‘if Grand pappy Vandal is coming to visit, try not to be home that day’.”
“And he came to visit you,” Brian said.
“I gave up running cattle a couple years back,” Matt said. “Bought a little place, small spread, a dozen head of cattle, couple hired men. Mostly, I sit in my rocking chair and watch the sun set. Vandal showed up and did something I didn’t expect…he asked for help. That got my attention, but also raised some suspicions. Then he dumped a bag of gold coins at my feet and that’s when I decided I needed to find you.”
“I do not understand,” He son said.
“Vandal is generally threatens to get his way. If he’s asking, then he’s backed into a corner and he has to turn to family. We Savage men are a bit thin on the ground at the moment,” Matt explained. “He wants me to watch his back while he finishes some deal. I could use someone to watch my back, as well as keep an eye on him.”
A silence fell between the two men and the older cowboy broke eye contact as he gathered his thoughts.
“I know there’s a…gap between you and me…with what happened…and the way you were raised. Your Ma dying so soon after you were…taken kept me from searching for you. By the time I could, well, I thought them Indians had killed you too. I got no real right to ask, but I’ve heard the stories and, while I can’t claim any credit, it seems to me that you’ve grown into a man who can fight for what he believes in and…I could use somebody like that…”
“I have heard rumors about Vandal Savage, and every one paints him as a man of violence and treachery,” Brian said, nodding solemnly. “As you say, there is a gap. I do not know if it can ever be bridged, but we are blood. I will do this thing you ask.”
“Thank you,” The older man said.
“What do you need?”
“I’m supposed to meet Vandal here…what’s that look for?” Matt asked.
“I arrived here before you did,” Scalphunter explained, grimly. “I had time to scout the town. Men are gathering, not good men. I have recognized some, outlaws and those who still proudly wear the colors of the confederacy.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” The older trail boss mused. “Vandal attracts trouble like a dead horse does flies. I’ll go wait in the saloon and keep an eye out…”
“I am not welcome there,” Brian said. “I will be nearby if you need me.”
Matt Savage nodded, acknowledging the precarious place his son occupied, existing between red men and white, yet neither world fully accepting him.
Without a word, Scalphunter faded back into the shadows of the alley and was gone. Matt frowned thoughtfully, and continued his journey back to the saloon.
# # # # #
“Knew you’d come back!” Apollonia smirked, soon as he stepped through the door.
“While I appreciate the attentions of a pretty girl as much as the next old cowhand,” Matt said, with a slight smile. “I’m here to meet someone. So, for the moment, all I’m looking for is a room for the night and a space at the bar, Let’s see how my afternoon goes and maybe we’ll see how serious you are with your attentions.”
“I’m always serious with my attentions,” The saloon girl said, over her shoulder as she walked provocatively away. “Don’t take too long though. You’ll hurt a girls’ feelings.”
Matt Savage shook his head and sidled up to the bar, inquired about a room, and got himself a drink.
“Ahh, hit’s the spot after time on the trail,” He murmured to himself. “Good beer, you can still taste it through the water.”
He savored the cool drink and the moment of quiet, looking over the crowd by peering up at the large mirror behind the bar.
Scalphunter had been right. Even by cow town saloon standards, the crowd was worrying. Several faces he recognized from wanted posters.
He peered down into his mug, hoping to see some answers in his murky, yellow drink.
His contemplation was soon interrupted, first by a grumbling that went through the crowd and then by a rough hand clapping him on the shoulder.
“Mathew!” A gruff voice said. “Good you made it.”
A bear of a man, bearded, broad in the shoulder and towering over Matt joined him at the bar. He was dressed in rough furs and crudely tanned leather. He drooped a heavy sack at his booted feet and then plunked two dirty bottles on the bar.
“Simon, you crusty bastard!” Vandal growled, at the barman. “Add these to my ‘collection’ and bring me a large mug of whatever this old man is drinking!”
“You capable of saying anything without shouting?” Matt asked, not looking up from his drink.
“Ah, Mathew, you remind me of your father,” Vandal boomed. “Good man. Always glad I never had to kill him.”
“Well, there’s a family tradition I’m all for continuing,” Matt said. “Why am I here?”
Vandal accepted the pitcher-sized mug the barman brought, chugged down half of it and belched loudly enough to rattle the glass in the windows.
“ I ran afoul of some…gentlemen, powerful and determined men,” Vandal growled. “I thought it best to retreat from civilization, until they cooled down or died of old age. I retreated to a mining camp I had ‘acquired’. Did some mining, some trapping. Along the way, I came across something that I could use to pay off my debts. Unfortunately, while I was away most of the people I could have gotten to back me up got themselves killed or headed for parts unknown.”
He shrugged and took another drink.
“On the bright side, one of the gentlemen owed, got on the wrong side of a bounty hunter named Hex, so one less to worry about. Once I pay off the old General, I’ll have enough breathing room to head east. Thinking I’ll go back to Europe for a spell.”
“So, I help you through this deal with the…General and we’re done?” Matt asked.
Vandal nodded.
“Appreciate hearing you say it,” Matt prompted.
“Get me through this and you can enjoy your eye blink of a life without me. Happy?”
“Nothing bout this makes me happy, but I’m a man of my word,” Matt said, glancing up at the mirror to look over the saloon crowd. “You notice how popular this town has gotten since word got out that you were due to visit?”
Vandal frowned, nodded and then gulped down the rest of his drink.
“Some people can’t let go a grudge,” He grunted and belched.
“When does this meeting happen?”
“Tomorrow. All goes well, we can all go our separate ways by supper time.” Vandal explained.
“Suits me,” Matt said, placing a coin on the bar by his empty glass and easing his old body off the stool. “Unless you need something else, I’m going to get some air. See how much trouble we’re in.”
“I been living in the woods and was on the trail for a week to get here,” Vandal said, banging on the bar with his over-sized mug. “Simon! I’ll want that corner room, the two bottles from my cache with the most dust on ‘em and the three sturdiest girls you got!”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Matt sighed, shaking his head as he ambled off across the room and out into the street.
# # # # #
The old ex-trail boss strolled along, keeping to the plank sidewalks rather then risk his boots in the mix of mud and manure that made up the main street.
He sat himself down on a bench in front of the barbershop, waved away the offer of a shave and rolled a cigarette.
He seemed to be nothing but a lazy cowboy with no more interest in his surroundings then the occasional appraising glance at a passing lady.
“Hey, boy!” He called, casually at a passing youth in dirty dungarees and boots.
“What?” The boy replied, skidding to a halt. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand as he studied the old cowhand.
“Seen a bunch of soldiers in grey uniforms around town?” Matt asked.
“Yeah,” The boy nodded, squinting thoughtfully at the stranger.
“Where they holed up?”
“The Lansdale hotel, end of the street. Jacob that sweeps floors there says they took the whole top floor. Bet there’s a dozen of them. People say there’s more, camped outside of town too.”
Matt Savage nodded to himself, fished around in his coat pocket, took out a coin and tossed it to the boy.
“Thanks youngster, go get yourself a cigar.”
The boy caught the coin and wandered off, glancing over his shoulder at the old man with the strange sense of humor.
# # # # #
Matt wandered the main street for the remainder of the afternoon, chatted casually with the locals, made a few friends by sharing his tobacco and spread more coins amongst the local kids. He soon had a good idea of the situation in town and it didn’t look any better then before his stroll.
A dozen soldiers held up at the other hotel and another dozen camped outside town. Not to mention an assortment of outlaws and bounty hunters that were trickier to keep track of.
Returning to the saloon at nightfall, he found that Vandal was secure in a room with enough booze and whores to keep him occupied and hopefully out of trouble till morning. Down the hall, Matt kicked off his boots and settled down on the bed with a tattered book and a bottle of whiskey.
He left his door opened a crack and shifted the room’s mirror so he had a view of the hallway and Vandal’s door. Uneventful hours passed and Matt was beginning to nod off when he heard the faint squeak of his window being eased open. His gun was in his hand even before he was fully awake and a very surprised Scalphunter raised his hands.
“It is only me.” His son said.
“Sorry,” Matt muttered, lowering his six-shooter and rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “Old habits and reflexes. What can I do for you?”
He swung his legs over, placed his feet on the floor and offered his son the whiskey bottle. Scalphunter shook his head and pulled up a rickety-looking wooden chair.
“The soldiers have a camp outside town,” He said. “I recognize several of the bounty hunters in town. Not good men.”
“Yeah, I spotted the Lawton Brothers,” Matt nodded grimly and took a swig of whiskey. “We’re in for a time.”
“If either Vandal Savage or this general is untrustworthy…” Scalphunter began.
“Odds are they are,” Matt interrupted.
“Then, I do not see this ending well.”
“No, me neither. Still want to help?”
“I gave my word.” Scalphunter said simply.
“Fair enough. If you want to take the bed, I can sit up for a spell, keep an eye on things.” The older man said, standing up.
Scalphunter shook his head.
“I will be fine with a blanket on the floor,” He said, taking a threadbare quilt and draping it over his shoulders. He settled in the corner, with his back against the wall and a clear view of the hallway.
Matt Savages’ last thought before nodding off was wondering about the life his son had lead and if things could have gone differently.
# # # # #
Morning came, and Brian was gone by the time Matt woke up. He groaned as old muscles protested their treatment of the past couple days, splashed some water from the bowl on the dresser on his face, wiped his hands on the blanket when he couldn’t find a towel, grabbed his hat and went in search of breakfast.
He paused at the landing, staying close to the wall to get the lay of the land. The saloon was nearly empty. A few sleepers sprawled in their chairs or on the floor, hard to tell who was drunk, who had taken a beating and who had nowhere else to go. A young Asian was sweeping the floor. Simon was cleaning the bar and there were a couple salon girls drifting about.
Matt spotted his new acquaintance at the bar. There was little of the flirty bar girl in her expression and posture now. She looked hard and Matt considered there was more to her then he’d originally thought and any plans to use her as a source of information might need to be reconsidered. He scuffed his way down the stairs and saw Apollonia’s whole demeanor immediately shift to friendly hostess.
“Well, there he is!” She said, smiling brightly. “Not that I should be cheerful towards a man what stood me up.”
“Get me some coffee then I’ll see bout getting back in your good graces.” Matt nodded, joining her at the bar. Curious about her switch in moods and noticing that like him, she had picked a seat that allowed her a full view of the room and all its exits. Didn’t seem like a coincidence.
Apollonia waved over one of the girls and had her fetch them a pot of coffee and some breakfast.
Matt Savage studied the young woman over his eggs, contemplating his next move.
“Awfully busy for such a small town,” He muttered, glancing idly around. “You folks getting a stage line or strike gold?”
She shrugged, helping herself to a piece of his toast.
“Don’t know about the soldiers,” She said, casually. “Bunch of folk seems interested in your big friend.”
“Yeah,” Matt shrugged, grumpily, and then glanced towards the stairs. “Speak of the devil…”
Vandal Savage came stomping downstairs, clutching an empty jug in one hand, a half conscious saloon girl in the other.
“Simon!” He bellowed. “Fetch me a drink and steak!”
At the bottom of the stairs, he let the girl slump into the nearest chair and Savage went over to a table in the corner. He gestured for Matt to join him.
The old trail boss wandered over with his tin mug of coffee and sat down. The larger man pushed a scrap of paper towards his great grandson.
“This came with one of the girls… red head, I think.” He grunted.
Matt glanced over it. It just listed a date and time.
“This when the General arrives?” Matt asked, in a low tone.
“We only have an hour.” Savage nodded.
“Eat quickly then,” Matt said, getting up.
Matt exchanged greetings with the bartender when he returned his breakfast dishes and grabbed an empty table, which gave him a view of the stairs and the front and back doors. He sighed, never someone who liked waiting. He preferred doing. However this went, Matt Savage wanted it started, rather then sitting around.
As men began to wander into the saloon, he found one hand subconsciously moving towards his gun belt.
The room started to fill up, too quickly for Matt’s comfort. The coffee wasn’t that good.
There were soon over a dozen scruffy, disreputable-looking men circulating around the saloon. Most didn’t have the self-control to not look at Vandal Savage.
The surly immortal, either oblivious to all the scrutiny or because of it, loudly pushed his chair back, as he got to his feet and moved to a table in the center of the room.
“Here we go,” Matt sighed, standing up.
No sooner and Vandal Savage placed the bottle down on the table when most of the rooms’ occupants drew weapons and moved for the big, bearded man.
Matt Savage drew both guns and fired two shots into the air.
“Settle down!” He shouted, struggling to be heard over the chaos of the crowd. “We’re gonna deal with this like grown ups!”
“And who are you?” a voice snarled from the crowd.
“I’m the man with ten bullets left telling you to settle the hell down!” He replied.
“Mathew!” Vandal exclaimed, gesturing.
Matt Savage turned his head and one gun and found Appolonia in mid-lunge, wielding a pair of long, wicked knives that Matt couldn’t begin to guess where she’d kept hidden.
“Don’t,” He said, grimly. “I may be reluctant to shoot a woman, but let’s not test it.”
“Do you know what he’s done?” She hissed, accusingly back. “What a…monster you are protecting!”
“I have a notion,” Matt muttered. “But, this is not by choice and not the time.”
The crowd seemed to freeze, as though momentarily more interested in how the standoff ended then in killing Vandal Savage.
“Drop the knives,” Matt said, his tone wavering between asking and telling.
Angrily, the saloon girl complied.
Matt, his brain racing to keep track of every element that could go hopelessly wrong, gestured with his gun at a chair by the bar. “Have a seat. If we both get through this alive, I promise, we’ll talk.”
He then turned back towards the crowd.
“Cousin?” He asked, Vandal while nodding towards Appollonia.
The big man merely shrugged.
Sighing, the older man refocused on the crowd menacing them. Scanning the crowd he spotted two men, at the back in Confederate uniforms.
“Corporal…?” Matt called. “You here with the General?”
“Yes,” The soldier replied, a bit taken aback at the attention. “I have the honor of…”
“No time for speeches,” Matt interrupted. “You want this meeting to happen you might want to clear the room and then fetch him.”
“And if we don’t want to leave…?” Some tough guy snapped.
Not only the two soldiers, but also Simon the barman drew guns to help back up Matt’s point of view.
The soldiers ushered the crowd out of the saloon, one of them going along to escort his commanding officer back.
“If you promise to behave, you can stay,” Matt told Appolonia, as he holstered his six guns.
“You are protecting a murderer,” She hissed back, arms crossed defiantly.
“And I’m trying to keep a whole bunch of people from getting killed,” He muttered back.
He then glanced up at Simon and nodded toward the saloon girl. Simon nodded back, keeping his shotgun covering the room.
Soon, it was just the three Savages, the bartender and one soldier. They spent a tense few moments eyeing each other.
Two soldiers stepped through the swinging doors. They took up positions on either side, then two more entered. They were followed by an ancient, bent figure in a confederate uniform. His shoulders hunched, his head bald.
He hobbled, self assuredly towards the center table and slowly sat across from the massive mountain man. He studied Vandal intently from beneath mossy eyebrows. He pulled off his cavalry gloves and rested his thin, blue veined hands upon the tabletop.
“Savage.” He croaked, with a brief nod of greeting.
“Immortus.” Vandal grunted back
“General Immortus!” The soldier at his side curtly reminded the bearded immortal.
The old general waved his guard away with a negligent wave.
“I trust this meeting will be worth my time and patience,” The old man murmured, absently glancing at the motley assortment on Savage’s side of the saloon.
“I think we can come to an agreement,” Vandal replied, crossing his muscular arms across his broad chest. Even sitting, he towered over the General, as well as his nearby bodyguards. “Simon, fetch me a bottle!”
“Is this really the time…?” Immortus began.
“The one with the black ribbon around the neck.”
The barkeep looked to Matt Savage, who merely shrugged and nodded.
The stocky bartender stowed his gun beneath the bar and soon came around to the table with the requested bottle.
Vandal nudged it towards the ancient General with his thick fingertips. Immortus peered at the bearded man and then the grimy bottle with puzzled disdain.
The murky amber sloshed about and then a lump of dusky red bobbed about in its depths. Immortus raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Is it…?” He asked.
“During my…’sabbatical’, I struck a vein,” Savage nodded. “Not huge, but someone with men and resources at their beck and call might dig up enough to keep himself spry for another century.”
“And in return?” Immortus asked suspiciously.
“I’ve had enough and want to head back to Europe. Can’t do that with empty pockets and every gun pointed at me. This cancels my debt to you and gains me safe passage East.”
The General leaned forward, steepling his fingertips as he intently studied the offered bottle.
“An appealing offer,” Immortus mused, nodding his large egg of a head. “But, what is to stop me merely taking it and doing away with a large…irritant?”
“That would be us,” Matt Savage said, thumbs tucked casually into his belt.
“Really?” Immortus smiled.
Scalphunter stood up from behind the bar, casually tossed a Winchester rifle to Appolonia and then drew his own six guns. Simon raised his shotgun.
“We would prefer if you solved your differences like gentlemen,” The older trail boss continued. “Once that’s done, Vandal walks away and none of us really care what you do to him, but until then, let’s not test how immortal you two are.”
The General seemed momentarily nonplussed, then with a dry as parchment chuckle nodded.
“Who am I to disrupt such well mannered plans?” He mused, reaching into his pocket. He drew out a bag that clinked when it landed on the table.
“That will get you to Europe, if you don’t drink it away.”
“Safe passage?” Vandal asked.
“My men will leave you be,” The General intoned. “But, I make no effort to protect you from any other enemies you’ve made. No one has that large an army.”
Vandal frowned but then shrugged in aknowlgement. He got to his feet, towering over the ancient soldier, awkwardly pulled off a boot and shook it over the table until a scarp of paper fell out.
His nose wrinkled in distaste, Immortus drew the paper towards him with a finger.
“This is a partial map!” He accused.
The soldiers at either side reached for their guns.
“You can have the other half when I’m on a horse and at the edge of town,” Vandal replied, smugly.
# # # # #
Immortus nodded.
“We are finished here,” He said, getting creakily to his feet. “Through the efforts of your…handlers, we have reached a bloodless resolution to our differences, but do not let me lay eyes on you for a decade or so, Savage. My patience has its limits.”
“Put an ocean between me and your ugly face,” Vandal said, slipping his boot back on. “And I’ll be more then happy to keep things that way.”
He scooped up his payment and turned to look over at his assorted relations.
“Let there be no tears at our parting,” He smirked, before striding, arrogantly for the saloon doors. Several of the General’s men escorted him out.
Immortus looked at Matt Savage and nodded his approval.
“You preformed an odious task with honor,” He said. “And most likely ensured all players emerged alive. I salute you, sir.”
Matt merely nodded, unsure how to take the compliment.
“But, as I have said, my patience is not infinite. Do not cross my path again.”
He then turned, followed by his troops and left.
There was an audible exhale of relief from those still in the saloon.
“How you got through that without us all getting shot…” Appollonia said, with an admiring shake of her head and a brief smile. “Can’t decide if you are amazingly brave or an idiot…?”
“Who says I can’t be both?” Matt smiled back. He held up his hands and flexed them slowly, trying not to notice the faint trembling.
“Well, my bar didn’t get shot to hell,” Simon said, stashing his shotgun. “So, any time you fellas want a drink, it’s on me.”
Matt nodded his thanks, then glanced over at his son, who was holstering the multiple guns and knives he had laid out on the bar ‘just in case’.
Matt went and stood by Apollonia.
“I guess you’ll be going after him?” He asked, resignedly.
“Yes…but, not…not today,” She mused. “Let him have a head start. More…um…sporting that way.”
“Fair enough,” Matt nodded. “But, don’t forget that you have family that doesn’t need killing.”
“The name of Savage can be more burden then honor,” Brian Savage added, grimly. “It is not a struggle to be taken alone.”
He nodded to his newfound ‘cousin’ and slung a crude deerskin knapsack over one shoulder. “I will see to our horses.”
Matt Savage looked thoughtfully after his son.
“Looks like you have your own family difficulties,” Apollonia said, getting to her feet and resting a hand upon the older man’s rough, stubbled cheek.
Whatever either was going to say next was interrupted by a barrage of gunfire off in the distance.
“Sounds like Great Grandpa Vandal has left town,” She said.
“Or tried to,” Matt said taking her hand, giving it a brief squeeze and lowering it. “Time to be on my way. Lord knows what’s happened to my ranch while I’ve been here. Take care of yourself, girl.”
“You too, old man.”
Outside by the stable, he found Brian already on his horse.
“Not planning to say good-bye?” He asked his son.
“I was…unsure what there was to say,” Scalphunter muttered.
“Probably nothing,” Matt nodded, ruefully. “Too much time passed…too much that can’t be fixed.”
“Perhaps,” His son said. “But, that you tried means much.”
“If I can give one bit of ‘fatherly’ advice,” Matt said. “There’s too much room out here. A man’s reputation just echoes across the land faster then that man can run. Go east. Cities are full of people that don’t give a damn where you came from.”
He held up his hand to his son.
Scalphunter leaned down and shook the offered hand.
“Good life, father.”
“You too, son.”
The old cowboy watched his son ride off, knowing that he was likely seeing him for the last time.
Once the gunfire died down, he fetched his horse and headed home.
## # # # #
Author’s note: This was supposed to be a big, pulpy adventure. That was my plan after I went poking through DC history looking for ‘family trees’. Somehow it evolved into some kind of weird spaghetti western character study. I’m not sure what happened, but I do kind of like it. Feels like the first chapter of a bigger story I never planned on telling. I already find myself scribbling ideas for more stories of the Savage Family. I never even mentioned WW1 ace, Stephen ‘Balloon Buster’ Savage.
I promise my next western will have lots of gunplay.
Also, I may have taken some liberties to fit all the Savages histories together, but if you spot a mistake, let’s just say this is the New 52 history of the characters.
-Travis