volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

“RAOUL WALSH
is where we’ll start.”
Roy is rapt with expectation. His loins are tingling.
He wants to please his mentor.
His former captor.
Pistol Pete.
Raoulwalsh. Raoulwalsh. Raoulwalsh.
He tries to memorize the name.
Pistoilpete. Pistolpete. Pistol—Raoul. Walsh. Raoulwalsh.
Raoulwalsh.
Pete, for his part, appears as comfortable in the role of
mentor as he had in the role of captor. An actor of exceeding
range. Tonight, as if for a special occasion, he has exchanged
his Cowboys and Indians robe for a brand new pair of Levis
blue jeans. The cuffs, rolled up at least six inches, expose handpainted
cowboy boots complimented and completed by a set of
silver spurs. A red bat-wing shirt with mother-of-pearl snaps,
its open collar accented with a bolo tie, completes his Western
wardrobe.
His ankles are crossed on the hassock, silver spurs
overhanging the edge. In one hand he holds the remote.
Smoke trails from a joint in his other hand.
“Ever hear of Marion Michael Morrison?”
Roy shakes his head.
No. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard of Malblon Mitchel
Martian.
“Sure, you have.” Pete passes him the joint. “He was born
to a pharmacist paw, and had a dog named Duke. When he
flunked th’ entrance exam for Annapolis, Tom Mix got ’im
a summer gig as a prop man at Fox. That was where Raoul
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 2