Deputy Bryson" Bulldog" Peterman, a 6 foot 2, 245 pound redneck ex-football star for New Mexico State who had blown out his knee while making an upfield cut in the Home Opener seven years earlier, and was still holding a grudge. Bulldog was not your average homegrown Ruidosa Redneck. He had always had what he referred to as a "poetic nature" and had been an English Lit major at State. He still read Shakespeare on the sly, and was fascinated by Macbeth, Richard III and Othello, whom he identified with as martyred men of action.

As he turned sideways to pass Billy, Bulldog's big nostrils flared. "Phew! What goddam shiftless vagabond fouls my air?" Rita flicked Bulldog with her bar towel. "Kid's harmless, Bryson. Grab a seat at the bar and I'll fetch your cherry coke and meat loaf sandwich." Bulldog gave Rita a hostile look. He didn't like it when she called him Bryson. He sat down. " whats a matter Rita, got the curse?" She glared back, "don't push your luck, Bulldog." He turned and peered at the scruffy traveler who was unpacking his guitar in front of the plate-glass window. He lit a Winston and flipped the match into an empty coffee cup. Outside, the traveller was talking with that pretty Hazlett girl. The words bubbled up in Bulldog's skull. " He capers nimbly in a ladies chamber, to the lascivious pleasing of a lute." Bulldog breathed out the hot smoke, mumbling " since I cannot prove a lover to entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain." Rita paused in her conversation with the skinny ranch hand at the end of the bar. " You say something, Bulldog?" He stubbed out the smoke inside the coffee cup."Richard the Third," said Bulldog, and brought his jaws down on the meatloaf sandwich.