Scrap of my father's work (read description first)

he was unknown.
a town such as livingston was a beginning for most.  for him, it was the end.
like every day each day was the end.  he knew his end.  the day he left the place he once called home was the end.  the road began then, the road to the end.  he waited for it each day.  the days began and he wondered why the day before did not give him the endless rest he wished for.  the eternal, gracious sleep he yearned to have.
no one ever knew him.  only a few did, once.  
Since then his friends were the birds, the snakes and the scorpions.  his friends were the rivers, the mountains and the clouds.  
And then there were the humans.  He didn't like the humans.

Dawn.  Another day.  The sign was posted at the train station.  nine thousand dollars reward, dead or alive.
alive meant free room and board  for a month at the best hotel in town - the Yarborough Hotel.  The thousand
dollar reward he collected ten months before was almost gone.  It was time.  Time for the ugliest thing in the
world next to humans - money.

He wasn't interested in the Hotel.  So he would ask for things instead.  Several thousand dollars and lots of things.   Supplies.  Supplies for his travel away from this town.  This place that he detested.  Too many humans.
After he collected his seven thousand dollars, he would go.  Perhaps there would be an end for him out there.
He needed things.  Things to keep him going.  To go away from this place.  Just like it was the last time, when he had to leave and go away from where he was.  

The last place was a very busy, big place.  Many humans.  Fancy things.  Distractions.  The sign said five thousand dollars, wanted, dead or alive.  There was a saloon.  A bad place.  Only the worst humans went there.  That's where he had to finish his business.  That's where the rat would be.  A rats place.
He got a good nights sleep.  He had money.  Money from another place, from finishing business there.
He paid for a good room with a bathtub.  He got clean, and ate well.  He slept soundly, even though he could have heard a pin drop.
He sat outside the next morning across the bad rats place.  Well rested, he watched.  The place began to fill with rats.  The rat he was waiting for showed up and went in.  He was accompanied by other rats, five of them.  He understood they would gamble.  Six.  That made six of the stinking, rotten humans.
After awhile he went to look in the window.  The rats were all huddled together like filth wallowing in their greed.  Dumb filth all huddled together at one table, stealing and cheating the other rats unknown to them wallowing in their own filth getting cheated by worse rats next to them.  The rats worth, all together worth seven thousand five hundred dollars.  Five thousand for one and five hundred for each of the others.
He studied them for a long time.  He looked at their guns.  He watched how they moved.  
Then he walked in, yanked out his pistol and fired six shells.  All six shells went through the rotted hearts of six rats.  As they hit the floor, he had already pulled out his second pistol and he fired six more shells.  All again through the rotten hearts of the six rats who were already dead.  He just liked to be sure.

He forgot the name of that town.  He seemed to be able to remember the name of this one.  There was something good here.  A good human.
She was like the moon, like the wind, like the rain, like the dew, like the sweet song of the bird, like the flower.  He simply thought of the sight of her smile.  No one smiled at him.  Only she.  He decided that he would remember.  

He did was glad that he did not forget to smile in return.  He did not recall when he smiled last.  

There were rats in this good little place.  They came here as filth.  There had not been rats here before.  It made the humans here unhappy.  He had business to do.  Again.  

Livingston had been a nice rest for him.  He shaved and bathed.  He had a quiet room in a house.  He disliked hotels.  The house was owned by the blacksmith and family.  They were good.  He paid them well.  

He had no real need for money, yet he decided he would earn it.  Earn it the way he saw was right.  And yet, he still had no taste for money.  There, though, was the sign -  wanted, dead or alive.  There was business to do, things to take care of.

Working with the blacksmith was enjoyable.  He liked to work with his hands.  He had dreams once.  Of growing things on the land.  Of working with his hands.

It would be time to go soon.  There were rats to get rid of first though.  He disliked the rats being in the town.
He thought of the good human.  The beautiful one with the long hair and gentle eyes.  He thought of the blacksmith and family.  They were good.  They were good to him.  

The other rats scurrying around with this one were five hundred each.  That made it fourteen thousand five thousand.  

He waited as he always did.  He waited many times like this.  The scratch marks on his rifle showed twenty five.  It had been many years this way.  He decided this would be his last.  It was time.  The blacksmith and family.  The beautiful one.  They made him think, to feel, to live again.  It had been a long time.

The rats showed up.  Eleven rats were a lot.  That was two pistols.  He would have to carry a third.  To be sure. Eleven rats were a lot.  The blacksmith said he would help.  The blacksmith didn't like the rats, coming back to their town, the nice place.  
He gave the blacksmith the two-barreled shotgun.
The rats came back to the town.  They took things which the didn't pay for.  They went to the saloon.
They huddled together in their filth and gambled.

You don't have to shoot, he told the blacksmith.  Just watch the rats when he finishes the business.
Get any rat that tries to get him he told the blacksmith.  With pleasure, said the blacksmith.  

He went to the window.  He watched.  He looked at their guns.  He studied how they moved.
Then we went in and fired twelve shells, and then six more.  The first rat to die was the main one.  The rest went down sprawling.  He did not miss.  He never did.    
He looked behind him.  The blacksmith was there, with the two-barrels ready.  The blacksmith looked down
at the dead rats.  He looked at the stranger with no name.  And smiled.

It was time to go now.  He went to the beautiful one.  He asked her to come with him to grow things on the land together.  The land that he traded the money for.  The money he didn't like.  
His friend the blacksmith, and family, he liked.
The land he loved.  His place.  His home.
The One,  he loved.  With the long hair and the gentle eyes.  His place.  His home.
Just outside of the town, the land waited for him.  And the One, who said yes, I will go with you.
From afar, he gazed upon the town.  The little, good town.  

It was time to go.  To live again.  It was not the end anymore.
It was time for a beginning.