Bart

The Badlands

Bart Drek scanned the wastelands ahead. Not a single soul emerged from the rolling hills of stump grass and bramble.
He patted his horse. "Looks clear. Maybe too clear." The horse whinnied and they descended down into the valley.
That's when all hell broke loose.
Riders from the East. About a mile as the crow flies.
"Look like we have company." He dismounted and grabbed the picnic gear.

The Tall White Host

"Evening, friends. I hope you like biscuits and marmalade, brie and banquettes, choice wine, and an olive bar." Bart was pleased with the spread.
"Why are you here, white man?" The Indian's face made no sign of any emotion.
"Well, long story short, the wife left me around my fortieth and I'm just having a sort of vision quest. Just me and Maybel here."
The Indian looked back to where Bart had rode in from. "You staying at the casino?"
"No, no. They kicked me out."
"We want our horse back."

Problems Come in Threes

"Number one, you stole our horse. Number two, you are on private property. And number three, you left your Mazda parked in front of the gates of our ranch and no one can get in."
"You bastard." Bart said, and then ran back to the casino.

The Ocean Calls for No Man

Bart stood in the long grass of the beach, surveying the ocean. It had been years since he smelled the fresh sea water, and he yearned for the days when he would come here with his wife.
Maybel was by his side, as he traded the Mazda and thrown in a thousand bucks for good measure. The life of a cowboy rarely starts at the ocean. But let's be honest: when was the last time you saw a cow?

Daybreak

The sun broke open the clouds and Bart looked out on another day. His quest to find his departed wife started here.
It could have started with airline tickets to Santa Monica, but this was far cooler than Southwest Airlines.

Rationing

Bart left the casino with 20 grand. A grand had gone to the horse. That left him with 17 grand.
Bart had heard cowboys weren't good at math.

Departure

"Farewell, old ocean." Bart said as he departed down the coast of the United States, following the Pacific down to Santa Monica.

The Oregon Trail

There was trouble up ahead.
Lights had descended upon the road and searchlights came down from the skies. The modern tools of the machine Bart was trying to flee wouldn't let him escape.
"Pull the horse to the side of the Interstate!" Blared the machine.

Doing Time

Inside the jail cell, the warder through Bart into the poke with an assortment of other villains from other crimes.
"Whatchu in for?" Asked the lanky old man in back.
"Just riding my horse."
"God damn. You know times are crazy when you can't ride your own damn horse in the West. This country…" The old man whistled.
Bart whistled back.
The old man whistled again.
"I will call you whistler." Bart said to the old man.

Whistler's Mother

"You know why I'm in here?" Whistler asked.
Bart shook his head and looked down at his hands. "No."
"I stole a pie." Whistler grinned at Bart.
"Why did you steal a pie?"
"Because of my mother." Whistler said and let out a loud whistle.
"What did your Momma have to do with it?"
"It was her pie."
"Keep talking."
"It was apple."
"Delicious."
"I know."

The Great Escape

"You ever think of escaping." Bart looked around to see if anyone was listening. "You know. Out of here?"
Bart looked around. "No. I haven't had time. I've only been in here for 16 hours."
"When you get out?"
"Tomorrow. When do you get out?"
"Tomorrow."
"Let's escape!"

Foiled

"You boys aren't escaping no where." The warden said from five feet behind the cell where Bart and Whistler had been talking the entire time in loud voices about escaping.
"OK." They said in unison.

Freedom

"You smell that?" Bart looked at Whistler.
"That's freedom, isn't it?" Whistler whistled.
"Ha ha. That's right." Bart said.
"I guess I better call in sick."
"You have a job?"
"Yup."
"Whistler! You old fool! Can you get me one?"
"Yup."
"What do you do?"
"I steal pies!" They both hunkered down and had a good laugh.