Beyond the Green

TEN YEARS AGO

“You ain’t seen the last of me Coyote!” The large man snarled furiously.

“You get out of the country while you can, or you’ll have more to worry about than a set of stripes!” Came the stern reply.

With bitter anger the first man jerked his horse around and took off at a fast gallop. His vicious curses carried on the breeze. The dark rider watched Gaines disappear into the deepening Texas twilight, waiting to make sure the wounded man did not double back. Gaines was not one to take a beating and let it lie. He’d be looking for revenge.

Though not personally responsible for what had happened, the cowhand loyally followed through with the boss’ instructions. He’d practically thrown Gaines onto his saddled horse and run him off the ranch, away from town. There was no place for rustlers in the Colonel’s outfit. Pike had made that point crystal clear by stringing Gaines to the post and giving him a healthy forty lashes with the Black Snake. ‘Gaines should count himself fortunate,’ the rider thought grimly, ‘most ranchers would have hung him’.

Every ranch hand was made to stand and watch for themselves the dire consequences of double-crossing Barnabas Pike. The colonel had rolled up his sleeves and done the flogging himself. It left no doubt to the kind of man he was. They had all flinched as the first blow was struck. By the last every man there was sweating.

If any had contemplated roguish thoughts, they were gone now. Pike had not given Gaines any time at all to recover, the order had been clear. As soon as the flogging was over, he’d ordered the big man cut loose. ‘Be off the ranch and out of town by midnight, or be shot on sight’, had been his orders.

Not many a man would be able to ride so quickly after such a severe whipping with the leather cord, but then again, Chess Gaines was no ordinary man. Built like a buffalo, thick from his head all the way down to his boots, he bulged with muscle and a bad attitude. He would not be one to ever forgive, or forget, an injury.

Turning the sorrel around, the rider made his way back to the ranch, keeping a wary eye on the surrounding area. He didn’t particularly worry about Gaines, but making assumptions was an easy way for a man to die. The evening breeze picked up as the last of the light faded. The faint cry of coyotes wailing in the distance drifted to the rider. With the smell of the tumbleweeds and flowering thistle in the air, the cowhand rode back to the sleeping ranch.

Stepping from the saddle before the sorrel stopped moving, he surveyed the darkened yard. Movement near the corner of the toolshed caught of his eye. Casually leading the horse to the corral for the night, his hand automatically dropped to the colt at his hip.

“You ain’t gonna need that mister,” came a quiet voice from the shadows.

“Sneaking up on a man ain’t the way to live a long life.” The rider relaxed slightly and began stripping the gear from the sorrel, readying the horse for the night.

“Gaines was my saddle partner,” the speaker stayed in the shadows, as if ashamed to come into sight.

“You figure you got somethin’ to settle with me?”  Turning square on the dark silhouette, his hands were loose at his sides, shoulders ready.

“Nope,” the deadly results that always followed when that hand reached for the gun held no interest for the shadowy figure. “I just, well, I figure I owed you an apology for my part in everythin’ since the boss hired us on. I never meant for nobody to get hurt.”

“Don’t blame somebody else for your own mistakes, boy. You’re the one who pulled the trigger, not Gaines.”

“Madsen woulda shot him in the back!” the hot response was flared with emotion.

“Nothing less than a thievin’ cow rustler deserves.” It was a flat, emotionless response. Turning the horse into the corral the man picked up his rig and slung it over his shoulder turning for the bunkhouse. “You might have thought you was doin’ right, but that don’t change the fact a good man died by your gun today. You killed him.”

“What’s the boss gonna do to me?” the boy was young, barely seventeen. He’d no qualms about being involved in rustling until he met the tall man standing before him. Now, his gut churned uncomfortably at the simple truth forced upon him. Was he a murderer? Could a man get off the path once started down it?

Sensing the hesitation in the silence, the older cowhand paused. Pushing his low brimmed hat back from his face a little, he studied the dark form in the shadows for a minute. He remembered what it was like to be young and easily led along, out on your own for the first time.

“What’d Pike say when you told about the plan to steal from him?”

“He thanked me for comin’ clean an’ admittin’ what we was up to, then tol’ me I had ‘til dawn to collect my pay and get out.”

“Then you’d best be leaving dust by mornin’ or Gaines ain’t gonna be the only one sportin’ a traitors brand.” The statement was made without judgment.

“I suppose I’ll be ridin’ then,” Stepping from the shadows the boy moved to the corral and opened the gate. He had a frame that would be large as a grown man, round shoulders, a broad chest, big bones. A man it wouldn’t be wise to push around. The chance to shape what kind of mad he’d be was right now.

Stopping, he faced to the other ranch hand, his youth highly apparent in his pale green eyes just then.

“Maybe you won’t believe me, but I was brung up to respect folks, to make my ma and pa proud. I can’t figure how I got so far off trail.”

“You’re green, boy, still wet behind the ears. You make up your own mind, don’t let anyone tell you what you should think or do. An’ as for that thing,” he indicated the gun at the boy’s hip. “You keep that in check; don’t be eager to draw on every man who riles you. You got grit, and you’re smart. Steer clear of men who would take that and turn it against you. If you ain’t smart, you’ll end up on the short end of a rope.”

The boy nodded and seemed to contemplate those words as he roped his mount and saddled up. He glanced at the house, unsure if he wanted to dare another encounter with Pike to collect his pay. The cowhand watching took some pity on him and reached into the inner fold of his shirt.

“Here,” he tossed a small bundle to the surprised boy. “That should cover what he owes you.”

“I ain’t takin’ no charity-!”

“It’s yours, rightful and clear. I’ll collect my pay from the colonel in the morning.”

“Thanks amigo, I won’t forget.”

He picked up the reins and stepping into leather, urged his appaloosa into a fast gallop, quickly swallowed by the night. He’d headed south, same direction Gaines had gone. The cowhand looked after him and shook his head. Too bad, that boy could have made a good man someday. Who knows, maybe he still had a chance. It wasn’t likely, knowing his pick of saddle partners, but he’d had his say. Every man had to choose his own way and face up to the consequences.

“Be seein’ you, Thorne,” he said quietly.