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Excerpt from Forever
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Excerpt from Forever |
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Logan Senior Member
since 2001-05-28
Posts 1641Arkansas |
It had been an enjoyable and exciting roundup she had joined. She knew she could never forget the smell of the dust in the air from the milling herd and remuda, or the flickering fire at night with the good-natured murmur of the tired men as they ate off their tin plates. Especially, the sight of her daddy, coffee cup in hand, laughing good naturally at some quip from Will or Felipe. Silhouetted against the campfire, his hat pushed back on his head, the reflection of the fire danced off the handle of the toothpick in his boot, and from the polished butt of his pistol. She would grin, as he would turn toward her and wink, then give that smile which was only for her. Listening to the night sounds of the horses stamping and the night noises of the bugs and birds, Elana was more content than at any time of her life and never felt safer than seeing the man she loved with all her heart watching over her… …Elana leaned from her saddle, her clothes hot and sticky in the oppressive heat, as she carefully scanned the dusty ground. She had noticed the tracks of the buckskin mare, which had disappeared from the herd they had been gathering. Tom had instructed her, in no uncertain terms, to keep the protection of at least one vaquero at all times; however, upon seeing the mare’s hoofprints and knowing she was ready to foal, Elana followed the tracks off the trail, without mention, and disappeared into the scrub brush. By the stride of the hoof marks in the dusty path she realized the mare had started running and another horse’s prints were superimposed on the mare’s tracks. Shifting uneasily in the saddle, she touched her pistol, reassuringly at her side. After winding another four hundred yards through the maze of trees, Elana broke into a sun drenched clearing carpeted with grass and a lone large tree, under which a small smokeless fire burned. Beside the fire, the buckskin mare lay on her side. Her breathing hard; her feet tied. Kneeling aside the mare, a man holding a heated cinch ring between two sticks was attempting to rework the Flying W branding. Nervously, she pulled her pistol from her holster, pointing it at the unsavory looking man as he looked up, startled by her arrival in the bright clearing. “Back away, mister, that’s my horse you’re changing the brand on,” she called out. Elana was donned in boy’s clothing, her hat tipped and shadowing her face; thus the rustler mistook her for a small cowhand. Leaping from his crouched position, he cried out, “Now just hold on there with that there hogleg, sonny. Thought this here horse was wild.” “Not much likely with a Flying W brand on the side there,” Elana retorted angrily with her pistol leveled straight at his head. “Now, back up I say, and let that buckskin loose.” A whisper of noise gently stirred the air. A loop dropped over the young girl’s shoulders. The rope pinned her arms against her sides as it tightened about her and jerked her backwards off her horse. As she hit the ground on her side, her pistol bounced out of reach. “Gottcha!” a whiskey graveled voice exclaimed excitedly from behind her as she lay stunned on the hot grass. “Took you long enough,” the first rustler complained. “That pistol was starting to look almighty big.” “Well, Troop, let’s see what we have here.” The man reached down and grabbed Elana by the shirtfront, jerking her to her feet. Her faded blue shirt tore in his hand. “By the Henry, Troop, this ain’t no boy! This here’s a girl! And a mighty pretty little filly at that. Well now, honey,” he leered, “what are you doing out here all by your lonesome? If you’re out looking for men, you’ve come to the right place.” Still holding Elana by her shirt, he loosed the rope and rubbed his pockmarked whiskered face, grinning through broken, tobacco stained teeth. In a fury, Elana lashed out with clenched fist, striking the man in the nose and showering his face with blood. The rustler let loose of her shirt as he clutched his nose. Elana backed away and looked at the man with loathing, and not just a little bit of fear, as she pulled her shirt back together. “Mister, I don’t know who you all are, but if you got any sense, you’ll let me get on my horse and leave out of here.” “You she-devil!” he hollered. “And let you send someone to hunt us? Not hardly, missy; not after this!” He laughed with a cackling sound that sent chills through Elana. The two men started circling her, their evil intentions evident upon their faces. Elana braced herself, remembering her father’s explicit lessons on how to bring down a man whose intent was not favorable. As the one called Troop reached for Elana, a loud burst nearly deafened him. In a frenzy, he slipped his hand to the side of his head. “My ear! My ear!” he screamed. Blood covered his seeking fingers, which found only half an ear. He turned around and what he saw made his bowels water. Standing in the edge of the clearing, Tom and his men were grimly looking at them with no mercy in their eyes. Tom’s oiled leather bullwhip lazily moved on the ground like a dark snake poising to strike again. “Get away from her,” he demanded. Troop and his companion stumbled back, now realizing what the Flying W brand on the mare represented, and who the grim faced man and his hard-bitten crew were. “Are you okay, honey? Did they hurt you in any way?” Tom demanded. His eyes turned an icy blue when he caught sight of her torn and dirty shirt, eyes that scared even Elana a little. “No Daddy, I’m okay; just scared.” Elana was weak in the knees at the realization that her daddy was there. She felt like dropping to the brown grass and sobbing with relief, but knew she wouldn’t give anyone the idea she was that weak. For the same reason, she didn’t rush to Tom’s side like she felt like doing. Instead, she poised the answer to his question with an outward calmness that was not un-noted by the vaqueros. “Pedro, you and the Gonzales boys take the senorita back to camp. We’ll be following shortly.” “Senor Tom?” “Yes, Lupe?” “Por favor, will you permit me to stay?” Tom looked with a slight smile at the way Lupe was staring at the two men, as a desert rattler would at his prey. “I would rather you escort the senorita. Then I’ll be sure she is safe, Lupe, but thank you.” Elana grabbed her pistol from the grass, then she brushed the dirt off the Patterson. After mounting her horse which Pedro was holding for her, she turned to Tom, “What are you going to do, Daddy?” “Go to camp, Elana,” he commanded sternly. “We’ll be there shortly, as I said.” When they had departed and he was certain they were out of earshot, he turned to the two rustlers, still moving his whip from side to side. In a very calm and very quiet voice, which unnerved the two rustlers even more, he spoke, “Now you yellow bellied *******s, let’s see what is under those miserable hides of yours. If you had molested my daughter, I’d have stripped you naked and staked you to an ant hill.” “Mister, you might kill me, but you damn sure ain’t going to whip me with that blacksnake,” Waylon, the broken nosed rustler spoke boldly through his fear, blood still trickling down his face. Tom locked his cold eyes on Waylon. “You might be right. I’d hate to have your scurvy blood on my whip.” “Felipe,” he said coldly, “Hang them.” “Si Senor,” Felipe said, shaking out his rope. Will shook out his rope also. The two rustlers fell to their shaking knees. “You can’t mean that, mister,” Troop pleaded. Ignoring the man, Tom looked at the large tree in the clearing, assuring the hemp ropes were in place on one of the large limbs. “Put them on their horses,” Tom ordered. When the two rustlers were positioned according to his specifications, he slapped the horse’s rumps with his hat. The horses lunged, leaving the men to twist and turn at the end of the ropes. Without a backward glance Tom led the vaqueros out of the clearing, bringing the buckskin mare with them. Behind them a lone crow perched on the limb, looking down with cocked head, on the slowly rotating forms dangling below. |
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| © Copyright 2001 Logan - All Rights Reserved | |||
Lady In White
since 2001-02-12
Posts 2799USA |
American Justice. I enjoyed! |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
You write Prose so well, Logan....More! |
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paladin
since 2001-08-05
Posts 930Pensacola,Fl. |
It's the code of the west."A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do".Good story. paladin |
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