Killing Halfbreed (8 page)

You got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em,

Know when to walk away and know when to run.

“The Gambler”

                                                    - Kenny Rogers                                                

I don't know who it was, or why, but somebody had saved my bacon.  That posse had been right up on me.  Though I'd expected a shot in the back at any moment, in a jam like that you don't waste time looking, you just ride your horse forward for all he’s worth.

When the shot did finally ring out and no holes appeared in my hide, then I couldn't resist a glance back.  I could’ve sworn I was seeing things, but I'll be durned if that posse wasn't scrambling for cover.

The echo from that shot was music to my ears once I realized it hadn't been for me.  I wondered who could be out there saving my tail, but no one came to mind.  I didn’t know anybody around these parts who even liked me, much less somebody crazy enough to take on a posse.

I made it into the rougher country, and while it was a might slower going, I was confident I could lose them in the labyrinth of ravines and low hills. It was an easy place to hide your back trail too.  If my luck kept, I might just make it all the way to Rio Perdido.  I didn't think they’d dare follow me all the way there.

I hadn't had much time for contemplation up till then, but I knew one thing for sure: This had to be the most confusing day of my life.  Last night, I'd sat in Cottonwood’s jail sure I'd never see another sunset.  I was supposed to be a corpse right now, swinging in the wind, but instead the local authorities had pardoned me.  I had no illusions.  I knew they didn't think I was innocent, but they’d freed me, and I was going to grab my second chance and run like the dickens.

Still, the identity of the man they’d hung in my place had me completely perplexed.  Why had he been hung?

That posse had set out hot on my tail in spite of the fact the sheriff told me I was free.  I supposed it could have been a trick on his part to get me shot instead of hung, but why bother if they'd already built the gallows?  None of it made any sense.

Now some mysterious stranger was protecting me from that same posse.  God help 'em, whoever they were.

A strange day indeed.

***

I stood for a long while at the edge of town, staring at the dark water’s currents swirl and run their course.  The river was swollen from recent rains and spots of different sized pieces of driftwood and other organic refuse twirled and meandered jerkingly along its surface.

I’d made it to Rio Perdido without further incident.  A large boarding house stood next to the river, along with the beginnings of a small town.

Rio Perdido had a reputation as an outlaw hangout.  It was a good place to disappear.  No one asked questions here, and a posse would think twice before coming into this town looking for somebody.  Half the population might get the wrong idea.  That could start a little war.

So, was
I
an outlaw or not?

It wasn't every day a man had his life pass before his eyes so many times.

The dark, grey waters passed swiftly.  The deep power of the river implied it could carry just about anything away.

Maybe I ought to jump in and let it carry me away
.

The Spaniards had named it Rio Perdido, which meant "Lost River.”  Kind of a romantic name for such a bleak looking thing.  The world is kind of like that.  You grow up thinking it's some grand place, full of romance and adventure, when in reality it's just plain bleak.  Bleak and disappointing.

Looking at the murky water flooded with debris, I thought maybe they ought to call it Rio Sucio instead.

***

The tinny music, gay dancing, and bawdy lights would have been enough to make my head spin even without the high amount of alcohol in my blood.  The piano player was playing festive melodies, and he'd been going at it all night.  Saloon girls danced round and round with cowhands and outlaws, and who knew which were which?  Rio Perdido was also known for its dance halls and the girls that filled them.

Me, I just sat nursing my sixth whiskey.  Tired of that, I jerked my glass up, downed it, and asked for a seventh.  The dizziness growing in my head hinted that standing up might set the room to spinning.  I was definitely past the “loaded” threshold.  My troubles melted off my shoulders like butter in a warmed frying pan, and I felt giddy with relief.

I ordered another whiskey.  The room began spinning, and I hadn’t even stood yet.  Bliss turned to anxiety.  What if someone from the posse came in while I was like this?  They'd shoot me on the spot.  A desperate desire to escape and retreat to the safety of my rented room overcame me.

I stood and took a step, but my legs collapsed from under me.  As the floor rushed to meet my face, I somehow managed to turn my head just enough to avoid a broken nose.

A few people gathered over me, some laughing.  Were they trying to move me?  I felt a boot under my stomach, shoving me.  I couldn't really tell what was going on, every-thing had gotten so fuzzy.  Fuzzy!  Ha!  That was a good word for it!  Where was I anyway?  I couldn't remember.

A couple of hands grabbed under my arms and dragged me across the floor.  I figured the arms must belong to the blurry, laughing faces above me.  I wasn't so drunk I couldn't remember that hands belonged on arms, and arms, well...arms eventually connected to heads, which had faces.

Somebody sat me down in a chair. 
That was awfully good of them
, I thought.  I saw a table swimming in my narrowing vision.  A head can be an awfully heavy thing to hold up at times, and that table looked like the perfect place to rest it, even if just for a minute.  So, I did — and promptly passed out.

***

When I came to, I was still a bit drunk.  I couldn't see or think very clearly, but knew I’d been moved to a bed somewhere.  I strained my eyes upward and saw a dark-haired girl was wiping my forehead with a cool, damp cloth.  She came in and out of focus.

It was too bad.  I'd been hoping to drift off into oblivion forever.

"Why are you helping me?" I croaked, slurring my words.

"You’re too valuable to take chances with, Mr. Talbot."

I couldn't make her face out very well.  Her comment evoked a burst of laughter from me, which too quickly turned to tears, even if they were drunken tears.

Too ill to care about wiping them away, I let the wetness fill my eyes as I lay there.  "That's some joke you told there, miss.  I'm not worth the pissing hole under the outhouse.  Not after what I've done.  You should've just let me die."

No smile graced her voice nor lit her face when she answered flatly, "You're certainly not going to die, Mr. Talbot."

With the way I felt, I wasn't so sure.  I think I'd been halfway trying to kill myself anyway.  I wished I
could
just roll over and die.  It'd be so much easier than hating myself.

To this day, I don't know if I fell unconscious at that point or not, but there my memory blacks out.

***

When I came to, the mysterious girl was gone.  I could not recall her face, just her dark raven hair.

The posse had either never shown up in Rio Perdido or they'd missed me and moved on because I was still alive.  I had to decide what to do next.  I couldn't go back to Cottonwood.  The townspeople wanted my hide bad enough to raise a posse.  No sense in delivering it to 'em free of charge.

I couldn't go back east either, not until I felt like I'd done everything in my power to help Ben and Jessica.

I had a fair stubborn streak in me, so to feel like I'd done everything in my power, I'd probably have to be dead, though at the moment, that didn't seem so far outside the realm of possibilities.

The only viable option seemed to be to get a job at one of the local ranches (there were actually a number around here, in spite of it being an outlaw town), and hope some pertinent trail gossip would find its way to me.

I found a small ranch hiring and took on as a hand again.  They were branding and getting ready to run a herd up the trail, so there was quite a bit of work to do, even if it wasn't that a large spread.  I vowed that if I even caught wind of rustling going on, I would hightail it for the hills.  I was not going to have a repeat of Cottonwood.

For four weeks, I roped and rode through the thistles seeking strays.  It was hard work, but wasn't enough to take my mind off of Ben's ranch and the town that had something to do with his disappearance.

I began feeling frustrated and useless again.  I'd been down this beaten path before, except this time I was traveling quicker.

I had to act.  I had to do something before I went stir-crazy.  I couldn't stand it anymore.  I’d about decided to go back to Cottonwood regardless of what it might cost me.  It would certainly be better than sitting in limbo, doing nothing.  Yet, even if I went back, what would I gain?  I’d just be picking up where I left off, getting nowhere and learning even less.  Ben’s trail was even colder now.

On top of that, even if I managed to keep myself from getting killed right off the bat, there wasn't a soul in that town who would hire me for anything.  I'd killed my boss.  That kind of thing is usually frowned upon by potential employers, and I wouldn't make it very long living on the pittance I'd saved so far.

Then, it dawned on me.  There was an empty ranch just waiting to be managed.  Ben’s.

The outfit I worked for now was fixing to head out on the trail, but another ranch nearby was short-handed.  I could work for them for a couple months and save up my pay.  At the end of the season, they’d probably be willing to sell me a few head of cattle at a reduced rate.  Up the beef trail, they would normally hope to get nearly $10 a head, but I could probably snag some before they left for about $6 or $7.

The all too familiar battle boiled up inside me again.  An inner voice commanded me to act now.  Go crazy.  Go back to Cottonwood and wreak havoc.  Do what I had to do to get answers.  Shoot whoever I had to shoot.

That voice was the one I’d heeded when I’d drawn my gun that fated night and killed Logan.

My other voice whispered to me faintly like a light breeze blowing through a field of wheat.  It said I had a good plan, that I should be patient and work.  The answers would come.

You’d think after the fiasco with Logan, I would have learned to ignore that first voice, but it was still too strong.  It appealed to my gut, to what I really wanted to do.

Yet this time, the battle was won by the still, quiet voice, the voice of wisdom.

It required all the patience I could muster, and more, to wait, but my new goal was able to waylay the frustration and uselessness, making it bearable.  Plus, I really had no other option.

Six months passed and I managed to save up enough to buy about 30 cows and 1 bull.  It wasn't a lot, but many a ranch had started with less.

During those long, lonely days, images of the man they'd hung in my stead inserted themselves into my mind more and more often, and at the most random times.  A burning desire to know who he was and why they'd hung him came over me.  Upon arriving in Rio Perdido, I'd been so worried about my own carcass, I hadn't given those things much thought, but I'd had a lot of extra time on my hands lately.

Why
had
they hung him?  Where had he come from?  Why had they let me go?  None of it made any sense.  I'd certainly never heard of anything like it happening elsewhere, not in my entire life, and those who could explain would probably shoot or hang me on sight.

It added another layer of mystery to Ben’s disappearance.  While guilt stabbed my heart and curiosity pulled at my mind, finding Ben remained a priority above finding out why I'd been spared.

With trepidation, I started back to Cottonwood Valley with my little herd.

"Hey, Henry."

"Oh...hi."  Henry Tadd looked up, startled to see Jinny Logan enter his barn.  Hastily, he tried to straighten his clothes and tuck in his shirttail.  It was impossible to do so without her noticing, which only made it more embarrassing.  He should have left it alone.  What did he care what she thought anyway?

He cared a lot, actually.  She was the most beautiful girl in the valley, at least to him she was.  He got flustered every time she came around.

"Wh..what can I do for you, Miss Logan?" he stammered expectantly.  His attempt to hide his nervousness was unsuccessful.  She was going to think he was a little kid with the way he was acting.

Jinny was thinking no such thing.  She was quite taken with Henry's cute smile, sleek jawline, and trim figure.  Most of the girls hadn't noticed him yet, mainly because he looked so young, though he was seventeen.  Jinny, however, knew he was going to become quite a handsome young man.