On Rattlesnake Charlie and Doctor Darius Bond

Sometimes, one is blessed unduly with companions, but does little to realise it until they have been eaten by a railway-truck full of vampires.

Rattlesnake Charlie was one such companion, whom we met in the winter of 1875, a lonely drifter full of piss and vinegar with no interests besides shooting guns, the possession of guns, cleaning guns, and hiding in dirt with the intention of springing up and firing guns at passersby.
Not immediately given to cameraderie and bonhomie, Charlie was a frequent consumer of the cheapest rotgut liquors available, surpassing all but the worthless booze-hound Jenkins in his consumption of filthy hootch. Charlie, however, proved to be a good man to have at your back in a tight spot and, further and most importantly, Charlie was not that bright.
I cannot emphasise the importance of this enough. I am remarkably clever, and by happy coincidence immortal. Thus, I shall only become more clever over time.
Thus, it is unnecessary for my associates to attempt to exercise their brains in opposition to mine. If they wish to aid my efforts, so be it. I will put up with their childish, fumbling stabs at Science out of the good of my heart. If they seek to oppose me, however, this cannot go unpunished, and they must learn that the full fury of a Scientist is not something that they should court. This is why the most valuable among my associates are those who do not seek to betray or dupe me in some fashion, but rather offer to aid me with their own unique skills. Rattlesnake Charlie was one such individual, and my companion Joe was another: Stout hearts requiring some shepherding from a learned individual, but with enough of a grasp of the basics of science to fire the Electrical Agitation Ray or the Gatling Shotgun without causing any horrifying catastrophes.

Sadly, Charlie's death at the hands of the aforementioned railway-truck full of vampires came shortly before we were introduced to Dr. Darius Bond, an alchemist, an Englishman (an untrustworthy breed!), and probably in the pay of notorious fop, cribber, and bluff-artist Dr. Hellstromme. Bond stuck close to me, making obsequious conversation and trying to prove how useful he was with his umbrella tipped in worthless ineffective sleeping draughts. Bond was Not To Be Trusted, but unlike the sot Jenkins, Bond thought he was capable of outwitting a Carmichael. Not yesterday was the line of Carmichael founded!

Bond had reckoned without the tenacity of a man who can request multiple academic grants of five thousands of dollars with nothing to show for them, and he had reckoned without the perceptive grasp of human nature that had already allowed me to walk the fine line between respect and terror with all I met.
We would see how I triumphed over Bond, but it still remained that I missed Charlie.

But not enough that I would build a robot of him. That would be pointless.