[Mister Saint]: 79.A Man Called Dream

This is the beginning of a historically based fantasy I'm working on entitled 'A Man Called Dream'. It's part of my series 'The Layers of Earth' of which my story A True Elf is part.

---

Prologue: The Nation of Texas and The Angel of Six

Texas as a Nation

In the year 1835 A.D., the United States of America and the Central American nation of Mexico had one historically recognizable trait in common... the land that nowadays comprises the great state of Texas. It was in that fateful year that residents of modern Texas, then an undisputed property of Mexico, rose up in rebellion against the laws and orders of their home nation. Casting off the red, white, and green of Mexico's flag, the territory of Texas named itself as an independent nation. The next year, the President of Mexico (a man of whom modern history would come to know much) Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, led an army into Texas to forcefully reclaim the offshoot territority. Santa Anna's army was not only defeated by the soldiers beneath General Sam Houston, but the Mexican president himself was captured and forced to sign the Treaty of Velasco, a treaty which allowed Texas to legally claim its independence from Mexico. The nation of Texas was born.
Within a decade, Texas found itself in dire straits once again. The government of Mexico, having never truly recognized Texas as anything but a part of its own holdings, had squabbled with Texans for the entire span of the ten years without making any dedicated military attempts to reclaim it while Texans made increasingly bold territorial claims in the far south, inciting more and more tension between nations. It was about this time, in 1845, that the growing United States of America made an offer to Texas, holding out the arms of annexation to the fledgling nation. Mexico's government saw this in a most unfavorable light, essentially indicating that to add Texas to the the United States was to declare war upon Mexico. At last Mexico drew up a treaty that would allow Texan independence, but by then it was too little and far too late. The Mexican treaty was largely passed over by Texans, and as a result, July 4th, 1845 saw the nation of Texas officially accept annexation into the ranks of the United States. 
Mexico, fed up with the United States' failure to recognize its illigitemate claim upon Texas, finally threatened to employ military force to recapture its runaway son. United States troops were moved into Texas, and before long the blood of men began to spill. President of the United States James Polk instructed his generals to occupy the banks of the Rio Grande river, a move that was the equivalent of daring Mexico for a fight, with the full intention of waiting to be fired upon before engaging in battle. Sure enough, Mexican Soldados took the bait, and war ensued between Mexico and the United States of America.

The Angel of Six

During the tense decade between the ill-fated Treaty of Velasco and the official annexation of Texas by the United States, there was a gunsmith from Georgia who had become dissatisfied with the endless bickering over the slave industry and, more politically relevant, the rights of individual states to carry on that industry. His name was William Donner, and there was not a man alive who could lay claim to being tougher, or more dedicated to his craft... which may or may not have been a good thing. In 1836, at the age of thirty-six, Donner took his operations to a little nameless town just outside of Corpus Christi, Texas. He quickly took to the harsh climate and tough as nails lifestyle in the area, and his guns benefitted greatly from the western exposure. Flintlock pistols and rifles, though, were becoming a thing of the past. Donner knew this, and set out to find something better, something more profoundly Western. By October of 1837, Donner had discovered two things that would forever change his life. First, and most importantly to the navigation of his life, the gunsmith discovered a powerful hatred for a man by the name of Santa Anna, when his only daugher Kasey was purposefully killed by invasion troopers during Santa Anna's bid to retake Texas. The second discovery that Donner made was the wave of the future in his mournful eyes... the revolver. Immediately the Georgian gunsmith reformatted his little shop to produce revolvers of comporable quality to the emerging standby known as the Colt Revolver. There were twenty-eight Donner Revolvers ever produced, of which only three survive to this day.
This deficiency in production was not due to a lack of interest or sales. Some historians claim that it was patriotic zeal on his part, but the sad truth is that William Donner simply snapped. The loss of his daughter pained him to the point that he began to lose touch with reality. Armed with several of his Donner Revolvers, he began to patrol up and down the established Texican border with every intent to rabble rouse and stir up trouble, and many was the occasion when he and a group of freedom-hungry Texans would raid across the border or attack Mexican garrisons in the area. Sometimes, though, he had no help, and whether it was the divine hand steering him straight, or the devil's lucky poker deck dealing his cards, no one can really say. Regardless, those one-man suicide missions always seemed to turn out for the best, and quickly earned him the rather silly moniker of 'The Death Angel of the Six-Shooter' which in true lazy English fashion was reduced to 'The Angel of Six'. Unfortunately for William Donner, his new lifestyle did little for his health.

Chapter 1: A Man Called Dream (March 11th, 1846)

"Miss, I really cannot thank you enough for the hospitality that you have shown my derelict friend and myself. You have gone so far out of your way, I really must insist on seeking out a method of repaying your kindness."
Miss Susan Jacobs regarded the man standing in her doorway with the talented appraising eye that had always allowed her to pick out a bad man in a field of average men. Such a handsome and well-kept fellow as this man, whose clear blue eyes had burned a hole right through her staunchest defenses at the first glance, possessed a greater capacity for true evil than any filthy punch-drunk russler in the world. Her smile conveyed her understanding of him, of the methods a man of his kind would employ to seek favors from a woman of such high standing as herself, but that smile meant nothing in the face of his honey-drenched tongue and passionate gaze. He was the kind of evil she had always been warned about in Sunday school, how the Devil's appearance would be so beautiful that a body could forget just who the Devil was in the first place.
"Oh, sir, " Miss Susan cooed at last, "To have spent a day in your company for such a small service as a room and meal is one wonderful bargain." He smiled that smile at her, showing off a full set of well-tended, even teeth, and she could feel herself bending. If beauty truly was evil, then this man was Satan himself. "I only ask you for one small thing before we part ways, if you don't mind."
"My lady," began the man, whose lips lingered upon her uplifted hand, "name your desire and I will fight the powers to make it so." 
"Please, give me your name. And don't lie to me, sir, I beg you," Miss Susan whimpered to him, lost again in those windswept blues, "my poor heart could not withstand such a blow, oh sir." 
"My name," answered that wonderful man in his smooth-as-silk, southern gentleman accent, "is Dream. And Miss Susan, you can be assured that no falsities have passed between my lips on this day. For if my name was not truly Dream, what kind of a fool would I have to be to expect a woman of your talents to believe it was?"

"Here. Miss Susan was kind enough to send a packed lunch along for both of us, so don't start selling off your private parts for bread just yet. I believe that you and I would be better off if you would stop pandering out the little bit of money that I can earn for cheap booze in these disrespectful dives, mister gunslinger, but I can see that no amount of candor is going to pry your fingers away from that bottle."
The smack of a leather bag against the inexpensive pressboard of that particular saloon's bar barely seemed to get the attention of the aging fellow in whose front it landed. Dream slid upon the stool next to the gunslinger, whose dirty clothes, faded hat, and generally unkept appearance allowed him to fit in perfectly with the kind of folks who frequented such a hole in the ground. "You look like the bottom of ugly's slop bucket today, Six. I must say that I grow weary of travelling alongside a man whose philosophy on bathing is the same as his philosophy on getting shot."
"I've been shot," mumbled the half-drunk old gunslinger. 
"More recently than you've had a bath, I'm sure," came Dream's flippant response.
"When I want your opinion," Six replied, his dark eyes turned squarely upon Dream's face, "I'll ask you for it. And you can leave any time you want, city boy, you're the one who came to me."
"Ah yes," Dream nodded, recalling the events that had led up to his seeking out of the man next to him. "I came to Texas in search of a man whose daring exploits had reached even my ears in the wettest of bogs of Georgia, though I will confess to having been attuned to the whispers of the wind for some time. The United States called you a patriot, Mexico called you a menace, and Texas called you the spark that was destined to fire up the powder keg of war on our own soil. How was I to know that the Angel of Six had fallen down to the point that your evocative nickname refers to the number of whiskey glasses you have before bed instead of a bullet?"
Six turned his head, ignoring his constant travelling companion for the moment. Even now, when his health and his mind had failed him so badly, William Donner still had a trace of that fearsome pride for which he was legendary in these parts of Texas, but rare was the opportunity for a common man to see it. Dream just shook his head, and decided to concentrate upon the lovely biscuits and venison that Miss Susan had sent along with him. His mind grappled as ever with his sense of guilt, as hers would be another lonesome smile to add to the collection that haunted him in the night for the rest of his life.
"Six. Listen to me," Dream began again, looking towards his friend with an earnest expression of concern and worry upon his carefully shaven face. "I am tired of sweeping these women off of their feet for the sake of a meal and room for the night. I grow ever so weary of bedding them to keep you in whiskey, seeing their eyes so full of joy for one night just to turn my back and let their little hearts shatter. And I cannot bear to sit here and watch you drink your life away, while I whore myself out to pay for the pleasure."
"You didn't take this one to bed, Dream."
"God damn you to the pits of hell, sir. You aren't listening to a word I say..."
"That's because you talk too much. A man ought to be brief with his words."
Dream stood from the bar, composing himself and straightening his neck tie. "I am going back to Miss Susan's hotel to pay her for these articles. In the mean time, if you do not acquire yourself a clean set of clothes and wash some of that history off of your sorry ass, I will go my own way and let you pay for your whiskey yourself." He spun on his boot heel and stormed across the bar room floor, a scowl upon his handsome face and a sort of understated sorrow in his heart. He never meant to be so cruel to Six, but kindness had never served its purpose, and he could hardly bear to watch the man in whom he held such lofty regard spiral downwards like this. Dream understood better than Six that the reaper would soon come for him, if he failed to change his life for the better in a timely fashion.
"Dream. Hold up."
The gentleman's feet held fast to the floor at that call from his old friend's drunken lips. No answer rose from his throat, but he did wait to hear why he had been stopped.
"I got no time for you to start listening to your conscience. We're leaving for Corpus Christi at noon today." Dream turned, his face incredulous, and Six just smiled at him. "I hear tell that Old Rough and Ready is getting ready to stir up a hornet's nest down there, and I mean to get in on it."
Dream simply shook his head, and stepped outside of the saloon.without a further word.