(3 of 3)
Supporters say he belonged to the Old West: he lived by its simple rules of survival. To a point, Sheriff Nettleton agrees, but he must enforce the laws of the New West. "He was an individualist, made his own rules, lived by 'em," the sheriff observes. "But his rules and society's rules aren't the same. He sat around and thought about it, and shot and killed two game wardens." When the New West clashed with the old, Dallas lost.
Some folks in his old stomping grounds don't accept that fact. Down at the JS saloon, where Dallas played a few pool games, the door swings open with a creak. In ambles the mailman, an elderly fellow fond of flannel shirts and bright red Budweiser suspenders. Dallas? Known him for years. "It's hard to think that kid ever got into trouble. They just pushed him against the wall. He'd walk away from trouble if he could." The whole mess baffles Bar Owner Phyllis Sans. "It's just a damn shame it had to happen. Two men are dead, and one man's running for his life," she sighs, "but he's no desperado."
George Nielsen, who owns the Paradise Hill Bar just down the road, staunchly defends his young friend's "mishap." Though he helped Dallas escape after the Bull Camp massacre, Nielsen claims not to know the rebel's whereabouts. "If you gave me $10 million today and told me to put a finger on him, where he is," he claims, "I couldn't do it."
Yet wily Tim Nettleton is ready to wager a pint of whisky that Dallas will return, inevitably, to the badlands that begot the legend. He bases his confidence on rustic Idaho logic: "You kick a dog in the side, he'll make a big circle, and he'll come home. That's basically what happened to Claude before. He'll get kicked in the side and come home again." When he returns, the law will be ready.