The Man and the Hound - Preview

A few months ago I had the idea to write a short story. I decided that the genre will be a fusion of steampunk western, romance and thriller genres. I don't remember when it was the first sparkle of this weird idea but what I really recall is the days I spent daydreaming about the setup, the main characters, how they behave, some flashback of their dialogues, the major events of the story, etc. So, I started writing down some of these "revelations". Then, I had something important to carry out so I gave up writing temporarily to focus on the real life. And, once I'd fulfilled my duties, it was a little bit late for me to extract inspiration from thin air. So, here I am today exposing some paragraphs of that aborted project which I wrote down a few months ago. There's no real chronological order hereafter, just what seemed a logical one to me.
Obviously, some elements like the characters names have their roots in the folklore heritage relevant to the meanings I want to underline or foreshadow.

* * *

Wild Bill van Helsing is an arms maker. He blesses Men with the gift of claws and fangs to help them persist in the wilderness. If he had the chance to hear of Darwin, he would have known that he -personally- is boosting the process of natural selection. And, he would have discovered that he was -curiously enough- the wrathful hand of Nature if such thing exists. Unfortunately, people have different perspectives. And among them, few do not disregard his kin -certainly those who have heard of natural selection.

He would have been digging for gold in the southern mines if it wasn't for the left leg he lost in some misadventure. Even though he has a functional replacement for his defunct limb, his life would be threatened if his mechanical leg falls short of power. These replacement limbs are reliable as long as you keep them clean and fairly powered. Otherwise, it would be none but a useless piece of junk. He will not take the high tides for gold.

* * *

It became very common to encounter people with replacement limbs around the place. The world outside has become very insecure. Wherever you go, Danger is lurking in the dark waiting for the first opportunity to rob you one of your limbs or even your very life.
Danger -that sly bastard- has far more forms than the stars an adolescent lover could recognize in a clear summer sky.
Sometimes, Danger is a furious starving wild animal. Some other times, it's a drunk outlaw who winds up a little more motivated to use his firearm when you awkwardly bump into him on your way home. Yet, the best embodiment ever of danger is a gold mine opening its big mouth for the lives of riches-seeking brats like hell pits for the damned souls of sinners.
You decide to pay a visit to your aunt in the nearby town and you end up with your foot chunked to a thousand pieces in the stomach of a vulture.
You undertake the adventure to go out shopping and you come back home after a while with a big ugly hole in your thigh.
The world outdoors has become very dangerous. Only a fool or a sinister bandit would think the opposite.
All of that could not damp the spirit of our brave guy. He was the kind to roam in the town between his workshop and the saloon, risking both life and limb on a daily basis to bring food -and wine- on his table.

* * *

Even though death has become a daily sport around the town, he couldn't afford to make big money out of it. It wasn't his fault. He was doing his best making the finest tools for the crazy people filling the saloons. But, two kids in Massachusetts have been growing their business very fast gathering arms makers to work under their flag. He was offered to work for them. As a response to this call, he pointed a big gun in the clerk's face asking him to leave his property once and for all and never dare to come back. And, the clerk took that for a decline.
It's was due to these two kids that his business's barely surviving... It was Smith and Wesson's fault... At least, that was what he believed.
As for him working for somebody else tastes like slavery. As a worker, he would have a chain of masters to make him feel as puny as he would be. And a couple of nickel pieces at the end of the day to comfort him for his lost freedom. He would lose his free will and be used at will. He couldn't skip a day of work for any reason whatsoever without being summoned the next day to servilely explain the twists of fate behind his unforgivable deed. He wouldn't be allowed to think of a new model of arms with a new type of ammunition... He would only follow the great minds of the masters and suppress his creativity. He would be another brick in the wall. He can't allow himself to accept such nonsense.

* * *

It seems to him like a century has passed since the day they have been forced apart him and his beloved Jane. Her father, Sir Kalamity, won't allow such a relationship to bloom between the only heir of his wealth, his daughter, and a lowly commoner such as Bill. For the last three years, he has been actively trying to find her whereabouts but his efforts were for naught.
He wound up letting the last threads of hope slip away between his fingers. He was trying to move on with his life, burying himself in work by the day and sinking his sorrows in booze by the night. He thought that time would heal his wounds and leave him with none but a reminder scar. He thought that over time his feelings will fade to pale. But he was really naive. He became a shade of his old self and he was turning from the lively young man to a deceased fellow walking among the living.
The decision of the father poisoned two innocent lives.

---
Footnote:
The image posted herein is a modification of this wikimedia-hosted photo and is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported.