An Imaginary Western...
2003-08-19, at 12:33 p.m.
It's story time! I decided to try something I've never attempted before...writing a Western story. I grew up reading Louis L'amour and Stephen King...and I always wondered what would happen if they wrote a story together. Sadly, I ain't them. But I hope you enjoy it, anyway!
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Desert Damnation
by John Grimm
Just before sundown, Buck saw the rider top the hill to the west. That was unusual...riders in the Mojave desert usually didn't skylight themselves. A man could get hisself spotted by some Apaches. But that was the damn fool's fault who topped a hill with his back to the sun. It ain't none of my never-mind, thought Buck.
He ignored the tenderfoot on the rise, and went back to tending his fire. He'd made it small and smokeless, just so he wouldn't be calling no scalping party to him. He put water on to boil in his old tin coffee pot. As he stood up to get more wood, he felt his joints pop, all the way up his back.
"I'm gettin' old," he said out loud.
"Yes, you are," a voice replied.
Buck spun into a crouch, reflexes he'd spent a lifetime perfecting coming into play. His left hand dropped to the butt of his pistol, a short-barreled .44 with the front sight filed off.
"Go easy, old man," the rider said. "I'm a peaceful sort."
"I hope so, stranger. Say, how'd you get down here so quick? I seen you top that rise just now, and it's gotta be half a mile away!"
"Aww, hell, it ain't that far," the stranger replied, swinging down from his saddle. "Mind if I light and sit?"
Buck scowled. "I usually don't share no fire with folks I don't know," he said. "I'm usually a mite upset if folks know where my fire is. But since you done lighted, sure, come sit. What do folks call you back home?"
"Most just call me Slim," the stranger said, as he ground-hitched his horse. Buck thought it was just about the finest bay gelding he had ever seen. After unsaddling, and scattering some corn on the ground for the bay, the stranger eased over and sat down by the fire. Buck looked him over as he did all this; he cared for the animal well. No wonder it was such a fine piece of horseflesh.
The stranger, on the other hand, looked a little poorly. 'Slim' was a good name for him. He was tall, and he looked even taller because of how skinny he was. Nothing but bones, Buck thought. A good strong South wind would likely blow him away like a tumbleweed. And he was pale, which was strange out here. If a man was used to the desert, he'd be brown. If he wasn't, he'd be awful red from the sunburn. But this here gent was almost as white as the gals in that dancehall Buck liked, over in Tuscon. Them gals that never went outside.
Slim wore dark jeans, a black shirt, and a black hat. A black bandanna circled his neck. Buck figured it got awful hot, wearing all that black in the desert...but Slim didn't have a drop of sweat on him. Oh well, thought Buck, it was coming on nightfall, and the breeze was cool.
"Hell, you know me, Buck," Slim said, digging out a tin cup from his saddle bags. "Might say we're old friends. Leastwise, you seen me a time or two."
Come to think of it, he did look familiar, Buck thought. But he couldn't recollect where he'd seen the tall man before. For a man like Buck, that could be some bad news. Never knew when the face you didn't remember might be a brother to somebody you gunned down, somewhere on your back trail. Never knew when it might be somebody who fancied hisself a shootist, either. And Buck was too old to want to donate his scalp, just to help some would-be gunfighter get a reputation.
"Whereabouts did we meet?" Buck asked. He watched as Slim dug out the makings and started to roll a smoke. When he was sure the man wouldn't see, he eased his .44 in its holster. Best be ready for it, just in case...
"Let's see...I don't rightly recall when we first met," Slim said, lighting his smoke. He took a long drag on it, and plumed smoke up at the rapidly darkening sky. "Must have been back East somewheres. Yep, I'm pretty sure that was it."
"Back East? Amigo, that's forty-odd years ago!" Buck said, startled. "You don't look like no young 'un, but you never met me no forty years ago. You just ain't that old!" Besides, he thought, nobody who knew him back East would ever sit by a friendly fire with him. The time before he came West had been bloody...not that the years since had been exactly peaceful.
"Yep, I was there that day when you fought that 'duel' with that English feller," Slim smiled. "He was expecting to have him a regular fancy ten-paces duel. He never thought you'd draw on him!"
Buck smiled, too. "My daddy grew up out West, before he came back East to raise us young 'uns. We was taught to settle things quick, not shally around with pacin' and such. I think that there Englishman would have asked for swords or somethin', if he had time."
Slim's eyes grew hard. "But you never did give him time. You just out with the iron, and shot him. How many times was it?"
"Hell, I dunno," Buck scratched at the three-day stubble on his cheek. "That was years ago, pard."
"It was twelve. You shot him down, then emptied your gun into him while he laid there in the street. Then you reloaded and did it again." Slim smiled again. "But who bothers to keep track of things like that? Course, after that, you had to light out for the Western territories. They'd of hung you, if they caught you."
Buck rubbed the old scar on his neck uneasily. The thought of hanging wasn't a new one to him...but it still made the skin on his neck crawl. "Listen, you ain't no lawman or nothin', are you? Cause I'd hate to have to kill someone I was conversatin' with over a friendly fire."
Slim's smile got broader, and became a grin. There was something not too pleasant about that grin, but Buck thought it must just be a trick of the firelight. Behind Slim, at the edge of the firelight, the big pale gelding whickered softly.
"Naw, I ain't no lawman. I just got a natural recollection for gents like yourself," Slim said. "You're a mighty interestin' man, Buck. Lots of stories along your back trail. Like that time you rode shotgun for Wells Fargo."
"You sure 'nuff get around, pard," Buck replied, dumping coffee into the pot. "What all do you recollect about that? I didn't think nobody ever connected me to that one!"
"Well, let's see...I recall you was calling yourself "Buckshot" Bill Watts, at the time." Slim leaned back on one elbow, and stretched his legs out by the fire. "I remember how you shot that driver, Rudy Barker, I believe his name was. Shot him right off the seat of the stage, with the shotgun that was supposed to protect him and the gold. Then you took that gold and run off, down Lubbock way."
"Rudy never was no account," Buck scowled. "Couldn't drive worth a damn, and most times he was drinkin' that damn corn whiskey he made. Was we to get stopped by outlaws, he woulda been too drunk to know it. When I shot him, he didn't even know he was killed."
The fire seemed to make Slim's eyes red for a second. "Rudy had a daughter back east, in Virginia. He was sendin' her the money he made. She went to work in a cat house, after you shot her paw."
"That weren't my lookout," Buck said. "Whores got to come from somewheres, right? I bet she did all right for herself."
"Yep, she ended up bein' a pretty decent madam, before she died." Slim sat up. "I reckon she'd like to have done somethin' else, but it's true, whores got to come from somewhere."
"You know a awful lot, Amigo. Seems like you been mindin' my business better than I have!" Buck grinned across the fire at Slim. "You want some of this here coffee? I ain't got no horseshoe to float in it, but I reckon it's strong enough to float one."
Slim took a last drag on his cigarette and pitched it into the fire. Then he leaned over and got the coffee pot. As he poured himself a cup, Buck noticed how long and thin his hands were. Almost nothin' but bones, he thought again.
"I recollect why you left Lubbock, too," he said, settling back with his coffee. "Didn't take you long to spend all that Fargo gold, did it? And that bank, just a-sittin' there, must have just begged to be robbed."
"You know, I done near forgot about that bank!" Buck paused, with the coffee pot in his hands, and grinned. "That there was the easiest day's work I ever done, I reckon!"
"Weren't so easy for that little wet-behind-the-ears clerk you shot," Slim said. He sipped his coffee. "That's some good coffee you got there. Yep, I bet that little feller didn't have no easy time of it. Gettin' shot may be easy, but you pistol-whipped him first."
"Now that weren't my fault at all," Buck said. "Little bastard grabbed for my gun as we was a-goin' back to the safe."
"Yep, I guess he'd heard of you. And his wife was there in the bank when you shot him. I figure he was tryin' to protect her." The firelight flickered in Slim's eyes again. "But we ain't never gonna know, and neither is she. She just knowed that you whupped him with your pistol till you knocked him out, and then you blowed his head off...right there in front of her."
Buck hung his head. "I never did know his wife was there. Didn't get a chance to hear about it, before I lit out for Montana. It don't matter, though. A wife should be home tending the house, not standin' around some bank." He looked at Slim. "Was you there in Lubbock? Or did you read about it in a newspaper?"
"I was there," Slim replied, smiling. "I travel around a mite, and I see just about ever' thing there is to see. But there for a while, after you lit out of Lubbock, nobody seen you at all. You say you went to Montana?"
"Yep," Buck shivered. "But it was mighty cold up in them mountains. I headed back down towards New Mexico. Hell, you know so much about me, why don't you know about that?"
Slimm grinned again, and it made Buck uneasy, just like the first time. "Why, you didn't kill nobody, Buck! That's the news I listen for. You just plumb didn't kill a soul! What was you a-doin', all that time?"
"I got down there and did some ranchin'," Buck replied.
"You mean rustlin'?"
"Hell, no, I mean ranchin'!" Buck scowled. "I took that bank money and bought me a ranch. It was a good one, too, till it went bust. Was I to have been rustlin', you might have heard about some more killin'."
"But I did hear about a killin', Buck," Slim said softly, and his eyes seemed to flicker again. Buck got a little nervous. He wasn't sure that was the fire doing that to Slim's eyes any more. "I heard about that little Navajo gal you killed. Hired her on to clean your ranch house, as I recall. Then you come up on her while all the hands was out on the range, and raped her, right there on the floor. Then you got up and stomped her head in. Buried her out on your Southwest range, where that big patch of scrub Pine would hide the grave."
Buck's eyes, which had seen a mighty lot of years and strange things, grew wide. "How in the hell do you know about that?" he whispered. "I never told nobody about that little gal. I liked her, but she didn't cotton to me. I just got drunk, was all. Hell, she wanted what I give her, anyway. Weren't no reason for her to start hollerin' after it was done!" He eased his hand down to the butt of his pistol. "You're not...you're not the devil, are you?"
Slim busted out laughing. He threw back his head and roared laughter at the desert sky. "No," he gasped, as the laughing fit passed, "No, Buck, I ain't the devil. I'm sure you're gonna meet him, sometimes, but I ain't him. And that gun ain't gonna do you one bit of good, was you to decide to pull it."
"Well, if you ain't the devil, then why ain't my gun gonna do me no good?"
"Are you as fast as you used to be, Buck?" Slim asked, smiling. "Can you still draw like folks say you could?"
"Yep. I shoot straight, too," Buck replied. "They used to say you couldn't see my hand move when I drew."
"I seem to recollect them saying that, about thirty years ago," Slim grinned again, and this time Buck shivered. It was like watching a skull come to life, the man was so skinny! "Let's see, pard. Draw!"
Buck moved fast...but his .44 was only half-way out of the holster. Slim's pistol, a battered-looking .45, was pointed at Buck's left eye. Buck had never seen him move.
"I ain't afeard to die, pard," Buck said...but he felt the sweat trickling down his back, although the night breeze was cool. "I ain't afeard of it, but I'd druther it not happen too soon, you understand?"
Slim smiled, uncocked his .45, and dropped it back into his holster. "Trust me, old son, there ain't a way to take a life that I don't know. But," he smiled, "I ain't never shot nobody, and I don't plan on startin' tonight."
"I'm a-thinkin' you're a liar," said Buck, wetting his lips nervously with his tongue. "I'm a-thinkin' you're most likely the devil. No man ever moved that fast!"
"No, pard, I'm not the devil. Really. He's a whole piece less forgivin' than I am," Slim scowled, "and a mite quicker on the draw."
"I recollect where I seen you before!" cried Buck. "It was the day they hung me!"
"Yep, you got it, Buck," Slim's eyes really did flicker this time...flickered down deep, with an awful red light. Buck felt like a man could go crazy, seeing those eyes do that. "I thought we was gonna be properly introduced, that day, but we never got the chance."
"Good thing my boys showed up when they did," Buck smiled. "I was dancin' on the end of that rope, and I could feel the fires of Hell burnin' my toes!" He rubbed the old scar on his neck again, and shuddered. "And there you was, standin' right up front of the crowd, just as big and skinny as you are now. But that's twenty-odd years ago. You ain't changed a bit!"
"I disremember, pard," said Slim. "What was it they hung you for?"
"I reckon you remember, all right," Buck replied. "I reckon you don't forget much of nothin'. It was for blowing up that bank, when I tried to blow the safe."
Slim shook his head, smiling. "No, Buck, it wasn't. It was because that banker's sons was playing in the back room. You never checked to see if the bank was empty. You killed them both, when you set off that dynamite!"
"Damn fool kids never should of been in there playing, anyway," Buck sneered. "Should of been home having their supper."
Slim sighed. "Well, pard, it's gettin' nigh on to midnight, and you ain't sorry about a damn thing. It's just about time to go."
"What do you mean, sorry? And where you aimin' to go in the middle of the night?"
"Old son, this was your last chance, and you just damned yourself," Slim replied, standing up. "See, you done gave me a lot of business over the years. I shouldn't, I guess, but I like you. I reckoned I'd give you the chance to go somewhere better than where you're headed. And we've both got someplace to be, right about midnight!"
"Wait," Buck said, "I don't think I'm understandin' you very well, amigo. Where are we goin'? And what do you mean, my last chance?"
Slim walked over to his gelding, and picked up the reins. "All you had to do was be sorry," he said, "about just one single thing. I would've took you to meet somebody a lot nicer than the one you're gonna meet tonight."
"But...tell me just one thing, Slim. What's your real name? Just tell me that."
"Hell, Buck, it don't really matter. Some folks call me Thanatos, and some call me the Fourth Horseman. There's even folks that call me the Grim Reaper. I just like to be called Slim. Come on, old hoss, time to ride."
Buck didn't move. All the strength seemed to have gone out of his legs. "You...you..." he said, gasping.
"Yep, me. I'm Death, Buck. And I'm here for you. So let's go."
"I ain't a-goin' nowhere with you," whispered Buck. "And you can't make me!"
Slim grinned, and this time he really did look like a skull. His eyes glowed fiery red. He dropped the pale horse's reins, and walked over to where Buck sat, terrified, on the ground.
"Son, you are dead wrong," he said, reaching down for Buck.
The last thing Buck ever saw on this Earth, was that awful grin...
A little while later, the big bay gelding carried its rider into a small gulley. The darkness was no obstacle to the bay - he could see clear in light or dark. They had ridden right through an Apache camp on their way here, and never woke a soul. Slim reined the bay in for a minute, to roll a smoke. Once he had it lit, he spurred the bay and rode on to the other end of the gulley.
There was another rider waiting. He hadn't been waiting long, but he was eager to be on his way. He was wearing a long duster, which should have kept him warm...but he was shivering with cold. He had his hands cupped around a cigarette of his own, as if for warmth. He sat a big roan stallion, which shone red under the desert moon. There was a huge hole in the ground beside him, slanted down like a tunnel. Slim reined up beside him.
"Got another one for you, pard," he said.
"Wasn't that the one you thought might go up?" the other asked.
"Yep," Slim replied. "He wasn't sorry, though. Not about one damn thing!"
"So," the rider asked, looking around, "where is he?"
"He came hard," Slim said, reaching into a saddlebag. "I had to bring this."
He handed a small bundle to the other rider. The rider looked at it, bounced it in his hand as if weighing it, and smiled. "It don't matter. You got your delivery made, either way."
Slim reined the bay around and started to head back out to the mouth of the gulley.
"Hey, Slim," the rider called.
He turned, and reined the bay. "What?"
The rider grinned evilly. His grin was much more unpleasant than Slim's. "You think the Big Boss was serious, about what He told you?"
"Yep."
"What was it, exactly?" the rider grinned even wider. "I disremember."
Slim sighed. "He said that, out of the next ten people I take, one of them better come to Him."
"There was somethin' else, wasn't there?"
"Yep. He said He didn't think I was doin' my job right, and if He didn't get one of the next ten, I'd get fired."
The rider was almost laughing now. "What happens when you get fired, Slim?"
"Well, I reckon since I've murdered just about every person who ever died, I'd have to head down to your neck of the woods." Slim turned away again, and spurred the bay.
"How many does this one make, out of those ten?" the rider called.
Slim didn't turn. His shoulders slumped. "Nine," he called back.
The rider watched him out of sight. Yep, he thought. Number nine, right here. And when you bring me number ten, you'll come with him. And then you really will get 'fired'! He chuckled at his own joke, as he unwrapped the bundle Slim had given him. Just one more like you, pard, he thought, as he looked at Buck's heart. It was still beating, of course, and would remain so until the rider got to Hell. After all, Buck's miserable excuse for a soul was still trapped inside, screaming to be let out.
Yes sir, the rider thought. You out there, roaming around on Earth, and me stuck down in that pit. Just one more of these, though, Slim, and you're mine!
He clucked to the roan. It turned and started down the tunnel. The rider grinned, and snuggled down in his duster. It was just too damn cold here, after what he was used to. But somebody had to come collect folks when they died, and after he got ahold of Slim, he was planning on seeing if he could come and pick 'em up, personally. After all, here in the West, what with all the killing and whatnot, they were all most likely going to come to him, anyway. And when he had enough of them, he would be the Big Boss!
Business is good, he thought, as he rode down the tunnel and out of sight.
end
%%commentscount%% comments so far
I am feeling:
Mr. Grimm's Fairy Tales
The Last Man On Earth
A Bargain In Rhymes
Desert Damnation
A Merry Little Christmas
A Commercial Message...
A House Divided
Last Five Grimmspeaks:
- - 2004-03-22
Grimm's 200th Entry - 2004-01-14
From Annie - 2003-12-08
Grimmsville Reborn - 2003-11-30
Mr. Grimm's Special Drink - 2003-11-29
