Seth MacFarlane's A Million Ways to Die in the West(11)

“Maybe some other time,” Ruth said gently.

“I can’t drink,” said Edward. “When I drink, I get really vivid nightmares. I have a glass of whiskey, I fall asleep, and then within twenty minutes I dream somebody shot me in the face.”

But Albert had already forgotten his own suggestion. His face was buried in his hands. “God, my life sucks,” he moaned. “I miss Louise.”

“Well,” Ruth offered, “I don’t know, maybe … maybe you could try talking things over with her.”

Albert’s head snapped upward, giving the illusion of sudden sobriety. “That’s a good idea,” he said. He staggered to his feet with all the stability of a sailor on the deck of a hurricane-stricken vessel.

“Wait, I didn’t mean right now,” Ruth said, grabbing his elbow to steady him.

Albert shook her off brusquely. “No, right now. That’s the best time ever,” he slurred.

He shuffled over to his horse, taking a roundabout figure-eight route. Curtis snorted but stood calmly and patiently as Albert made a valiant effort to get mounted. After three or four attempts, he lost his balance and thudded to the ground with one foot still tangled in a stirrup.

“Listen, Al, why don’t you let us take you home,” Edward said, stepping toward his struggling friend.

“No,” Albert answered firmly. “No, it’s okay, I just need a running start.”

He ambled unevenly away from Curtis, then turned around to face the horse again. He steadied himself and barreled forward once more. He got his foot in the stirrup, leapt up over Curtis’ back … and slid right down the other side, once again crashing into the dirt.

“Oh, God.” Edward flinched. “Hey, Al, come on, you really shouldn’t drink and horse.”

“IgotitIgotitIgotit,” Albert said. And, true to his intention, he finally managed to pull himself up onto his horse’s back, where he lay on his stomach, his arms and legs dangling limply over the side. “Okay, go,” he commanded listlessly, his boots spurring the animal with scant vigor. Curtis, however, knew his owner well enough to take the cue and moved off at a slow trot. Edward and Ruth could hear the receding sound of Albert’s snoring as he disappeared into the night.


With a heavy heart and a heavy liver, Albert ambled toward Louise’s modest white-trimmed cottage. He forced his uncooperative limbs to dismount from Curtis’s back and landed unsteadily, though on his feet this time. “Okay, I’ll be right back, Curtis,” he slurred. “Or not, right? No, no, that’s being too ambitious,” he added, the liquor enabling him to skillfully dodge every consonant of the last word. He hugged Curtis’s long equine nose with both arms. “Y’know, Curtis, we don’t talk enough. We should—let’s fix that. Let’s fix that for sure. I love you, Curtis. I love you so much.” Albert rested his head affectionately on his friend’s furry muzzle …

… and woke up five minutes later in the same position, with a dribble of vomit running from the side of his mouth down toward Curtis’s nostril. He straightened up with a start and wiped off the puke with his sleeve. “Oh, God, Curtis, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! There we go. All clean. Okay … here we go.” Albert stumbled across the yard to the front door and gave a loud knock. He waited. There was no answer. He knocked again, even louder. After a moment, a light came on somewhere in the back of the house. He heard the padding of approaching footsteps, and Louise opened the door holding a lamp. She blinked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Albert?”

Even unkempt and disheveled with fatigue, she was perfect. The errant strands of hair, the tangled lashes, and the reddened cheek where her head had been resting on her pillow all only served to accentuate her natural beauty. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s almost 1:30,” she rasped.

“Louise, we need to talk,” Albert said, his consonants slippery as a wet porch.

Louise sniffed the air. “Are you drunk?” she asked.

“Oh. Yeah, well—a little. It’s Curtis’s birthday, so we all took him out, and … surprised him.”

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but it’s late and I’m going back to bed.” She started to close the door, but Albert thrust out an arm to stop her.

“Louise, I love you,” he said. “And I know we can work this out. I know it. Just—I can be cooler. You’ll see.”

“Albert, no,” she said sternly. “I already told you, it’s over. Now—”