The Cowboy's Call

Chapter 8

The cowboy's frame was bent against the harsh, blowing gale. He closed his eyes as dirt flew mercilessly at his face, blurring his vision against the wind-swept horizon.

He traversed the wild landscape of Montana, the freedom of the land pulling him into its cold embrace. The wind whipped the grass, bending it to the ground. The trees were held tightly in the grip of the angry gale, pulled this way and that to the will of the wind. The sky's cold, unfeeling eye watched the world beneath it bend and curl beneath the double-minded wind. Wild and untamed was this world. It beat to the beat of a drum unheard but rythmic and mysteriously beautiful.

A wayward calf ambled on before him. He pushed the animal on towards the herd, trotting swiftly behind it. It was slow going with the wind in his face and the calf at his forefront. Thankfully, his recently acquired companion had turned out to be a valuable cowhand, and with a seemingly unending store of energy trotted beside the calf, from one side to the other, never allowing the poor creature veer from their onward course.

For the hours that had slowly ticked by, Lance's mine wandered, enfolded in a web of unanswerable questions. The more his mind mulled over the facts of the case, the more they seemed to point to the mindless slaughter of an innocent man, devoid of rhyme or reason. The voice inside his head, though, the one that continued to speak long after it had been silenced, told him to go on. Every trail leads somewhere, however dark the place may be, and every search for truth will end in truth, however dark, sinister, or bitter that truth may be. Lance knew he must follow this path to the bitter end. A man's blood cried out for justice, and as he looked over the wind-whipped world and heard the desperate wale of the wind,he determined once and for all, he would follow this trail to whatever bitter end it might take him.

Dipping down into the valley beneath them, the calf, with a squeal of delight, broke into a fast trot. With cliffs lining it like sentinels guarding its hidden treasures, the deep, green valley below stretched out like a blanket of green moss. The cattle grazed contentedly on the lush, nutrient-rich grass. A herd of nearly two hundred speckled the basin, contentedly unaware of the fearsome wind that roared above them. A haven in the storm.

Lance's duties for the day done, he watched as the sun sank below the horizon, bathing the gorge in a litany of golden rays. The cliffs held on to sinking light for as long as they could, before it slipped past the last rock, leaving the world only a glimmer of its beauteous hues of red, yellow, and gold.

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The ranchhand's cabin stood, small but warm as it cast a soft glow across the darkened prairie. It was a welcome sight to the cowboy's lonesome, weary eyes. His back ached from the jostling his body had endured over miles of rough terrain tracked that day, and his head pulsed from the unrelenting heat of the sun.
Pulling his horse to a halt in front of the welcoming light of the inner recesses of the cabin, Lance's feet hit the ground with a thud. His steed whinnied and shook his wild mane. Lance smiled, and rustled the horse's ears.
They perked.
Suddenly every hair on Lance's body stood up. The horse stood like a statue, but his nose twitched nearly imperceptibly.

Lance had known Artexerxes from the time he was a foal. Since then, the horse and man had been nearly inseparable. Lance could feel his horse tense and felt his own nerves begin to tense in anticipation of some unknown danger. The horses muzzle twitched. Lance looked down slowly to see Tex's hair standing a full inch from his body.

Suddenly, a rustling sounded from the bushes in front of the small cabin. Lance jumped, like a loaded spring. A figure thrust itself into the seeping moonlight, and took to its heels. Like a jaguar launching itself at its prey, Lance threw himself after the unknown assailant. It was a short chase. He grasped his prey by the waist, and flipped them around with a quick twist of his wrist.