Winchester’s, Six-Shooters, and Destiny

(This was the story that got Mona Houghton to exclaim "I've never read such unabashedly male texts as yours Richard")

ACT I: The Thrill of the Hunt

The roar of the snowstorm is deafening. It’s the middle of the great blizzard, and Jericho is in the worst of it. He’s bundled up tightly, his duster flailing behind him violently with each gust. Snow falls all over him, tiny banks of it on his shoulders, his moustache frozen stiff. The Winchester rifle is more of a burden now, but it’s all for the girl. At his sides, the familiar weight of his six shooters hangs as a reminder of deeds to come.

His horse had died long ago, and he took some of its meat to survive. The meat was tough, and it came out awfully dry. There were few caves around, so he had a hard time cooking it, and often ate it raw. His stomach churned uneasily, and his hands shivered in the wind. Ahead was a mountain, not too tall, but just enough to be one final burden. Behind were trails of blood, and a tale of revenge.

There will be shooting by nightfall, then he will rest. The girl will be safe, and he will finally sleep. He had slept only a few hours the days leading up to finding the mountain. The Slone brothers will be here, deep in the abandoned mine, waiting for him. There will be bodies, and blood, Jericho set his mind to it.

*

My hand drapes over the woman lying next to me. She’s beautiful and sweet to taste. Our bodies were warm against one another. Outside the snow is merciless, but with her, I feel no cold. She leans into me, nuzzling her head into my chest, and I hold her tight. Susanna Slone, the untouchable sister of the family gang.

I run fingers through her hair, and kiss her forehead. She wraps her arms around me and I find myself wondering whether this is it, can I rest here? Finally I’ll have peace. It doesn’t matter to her who I killed, or for what reasons. She only cares about how I treat her, and as far as I’m concerned, she’s a goddess.

*

Outside Jericho’s room, a trap was being set. When the door to Jericho’s room opened, and he stepped through the doorway, he saw that the bar below had been evacuated, and not a soul remained except for the four Slone brothers, each one holding a shiny colt. They had waited for hours, being as quiet as can be, sipping from whiskey bottles that had been tossed absentmindedly around the saloon. Sirus, the oldest, was scraping the thin blade of his Bowie against his bottom front teeth. Whip sat at a table, while Kenny, the youngest son (a boy of sixteen) spun his colt on his index finger. James spat a wad of tobacco on Kenny’s foot and flipped him off. The brothers grinned.

Jericho’s eyes went wide. He grabbed sweet Susanna and pushed her away; then he dipped at his sides for his six shooters. The Slone brothers whooped and hollered as they fired at him. Jericho leapt to the side, braced one revolver against his forearm for better accuracy and fired. The bullet blasted a whiskey bottle on the table right next to Kenny, who yelped and ducked. Jericho fired a shot at the center of the table; the bullet struck the wood and buried itself. Kenny growled.

Sirus stood up and fired at Jericho’s stomach. The blast tore through Jericho. He fell to his knees, face planted onto the floorboards, and told his mind to focus on breathing.

The Slones made their way up the staircase and kept their guns trained on Jericho’s limp body. His skin was getting pale. He could hear the Slone’s breathing heavy, and smell the thick stench of alcohol on their breath, and grotesquely meshed with the stale smell of old tobacco, and the steely scent of blood. Jericho inhaled it, forced the nausea down his throat. He gulped it even, trying so hard to relish in its taste rather than remain repulsed.

Susanna stared at his cold blue eyes and whimpered.

The eyes laid open, just as dead as the rest of him. It was over; he had nothing left. They’d take her away and kill her. They’d call her useless, tie her down, slit her belly open and leave her for the tundra wolves.

ACT II: The Undead Gunslinger

I cough, and then there is silence. I hear nothing, and see only Susanna. My sweet Susanna. I can’t get back up.

I’m not useless. The pain is deep in my guts, and I feel the bullet rattle around a bit inside me. This is nothing. This is the physical world’s attempt at stopping me. I won’t give up, I won’t abide. I have to wait though, be patient. I watch them grab her through cold dead eyes. Sound drifts farther away, like my consciousness. I’ve lost a lot of blood, my lips feel cold, and for the first time today, I’m tired.

*

“So what do you want to do with her Sirus?” James asked.

“We’ll take her to the mine, Pa will want to hear about this.” Sirus said.

“Hey Sirus, should we put another bullet in him just to be sure?” Whip questioned.
Sirus took a glance at Whip and smiled. Whip returned the smile and showed everyone in the room how he got his nickname. A leather cattle driver lay furled up at his side, and he removed it with an audible crack. He grinned maliciously at Jericho’s limp body. The brothers watched Whip do his work, knives for grins.

Susanna cried.

Jericho passed out.

*

I dust a small bank of snow off of my right shoulder, and blow into my closed hands. I'll have to find her, but they are waiting for me. They must know I’m still alive, and they’ll play this just like a game. They’re the Slone brothers, and you don’t mess with them. That’s what the sheriff told me as I left town. They walk in, flash their guns, and take over. The Sheriff is a goddamn coward.

Still, without him I wouldn’t be here. Give thanks; you’ve got a slaughter to take care of soon. Without the Sheriff, you’d be lying dead on those floorboards, but in a lot of ways you are dead Jericho. There’s no living through this. There’s only seeing it to the end.

The bullet in my guts rattles around again, and the wound throbs in the cold. I bandaged it miles ago, packing snow against it to keep the swelling down. The bandages are soaking wet, and stained a deep crimson.

The mountain is a merciless climb. Often I stop to rest, only to find myself continuing my climb to fend off the frostbite. My body is now a machine, each fundamental action fed on juice from my electric veins. I’m tired and hungry, but none of it matters because I’m dead. There’s only one thing left to do, find the girl.

I find a cave and stop to rest. I roll a smoke and sit on a rock. It’s been awhile since I thought about her. I’ve been so busy pursuing the brothers Slone, I almost forgot why.

She was running away from her brothers when I found her in the rocks above town. She had been up there for a while, she looked exhausted, and she was hungry. I was on the run, and thought she’d slow me down. When I tried to pass her by, she fired a single shot into the air, and stood across from me, clenching a rock in her fist, ready to tussle.

I remember the look on her face when I laughed at her. She must have felt like such a fool. I grabbed her and set her up on my horse. She was the reason I came to that town. The town run by the brothers Slone.

We were set to leave in the morning, just one final nights stay. The Slone’s were quicker than us. Now here I am in the God forsaken wastelands. If Hell is where I’m going after this, then I reckon I should be well acquainted with it.


ACT III: Iron and Lead

Jericho’s eyes opened, and he regained consciousness. The floorboards were hard, and his face and neck strained as he tried to lift himself up. By the time he’d pulled himself off of the ground, he realized he’d been shot and flogged. The pain took a second to catch up, but smacked him in the face like a hammer. He fell backward against a wall, and lay there breathing heavily and groaning in pain.

*

The bullet meanders around my stomach. Remember, remember, where did they take her… Do they know I’m alive still? What did they do to her? Don’t panic. Someone knows, the sheriff would know. And even if he didn’t he’d at least have a bandage to stop this bleeding. Rest for a minute. Gather your thoughts.

I crawl to my room to get myself a smoke, and pour some whiskey on that wound. Consciousness is still mine, I have the upper hand. The whiskey stings, and the wound foams white. I try to stand, but it’s pointless, my legs are jelly. At least my fingers work. I roll myself the greatest cigarette I’ve ever had. I feel the head rush, the pain of the whiskey goes away, and I’m not breathing as heavy anymore. Now I can focus, now I’m ready.

They said something, now I remember… They said the mine. Which mine? How far did they travel? The sheriff would know, his job is to know the area. And if they got to him before I did, I’ll just beat it out of him. I won’t let her die.

The sheriff talked, like everyone else. It took a few minutes, and a bit of “hard” questioning, but he talked. The Sheriff told him a doctor lived in town, but was ridden out when the Slone brothers arrived. He owned a pharmacy down the street.

The pharmacy was freezing because the Slone brothers had shot the window out. They were clever, putting him through hell, trying desperately to discourage him from finding them.

Jericho was sure they knew he wasn’t dead. The mine was ten miles out of town to the east, in the mountains about halfway up the summit. He took off the ragged garment that passed for a shirt, stained red with blood. His skin was pale, white as the snow covering the town. There wouldn’t be anyone here for a while. He grabbed a suture kit, and some bandages and set to work.

The surgery would be painful, and stitching himself up would end up being a lot harder than he thought. He was used to closing up wounds, but this was a hole about the size of three fingers, and it was leaking blood like a faucet.

He dragged his weak body back to the saloon, and patched himself up in the warmth of the room he and Susanna had shared. When it was done, he drank himself to sleep.

The next day was colder than the last. He had set himself to work on finding some clothes to wear, and tried not to wonder why God had let him live. He was on borrowed time now; he had already punched his last ticket. The only thing waiting for him in that mountain was a girl he swore to find, and a death long overdue.

Outside, the blizzard raged mercilessly, snow whipped around so hard it hurt Jericho’s cheeks as the flakes pasted against him. The center of the town was empty, except for a horse tied to a post. It was left for him, but why? Then it hit him, the town wasn’t as empty as he had thought.
A head rose up from a roof to his left. The man was trained on him, and fired a shot with his Winchester.

The bullet landed at Jericho’s feet, and he dashed off to the side, ducking out in an alleyway next to a general store. Another bullet flew at him; it crashed hard into the wooden siding of the general store he used as cover

*

I thumb the hammers back.

Who are these guys? Not the Slones, I’m sure of that. They’re hired help. Cheap cronies sent to kill what they thought was an injured old man.

*

Jericho leapt from behind the corner of the store, and rushed inside the vacant property. He gulped a breath of air as a bullet crashed through the window and shattered the glass. Cold air poured in, and snow began to pile at the base of the window.

*

There’s another bullet against the wood, closer to me this time. There has got to be at least two, but I have a feeling there are three. One up on the roof across from me, the other is at the saloon, perched in one of the rooms taking shots at me. It’s the only smart angle to play here. These guys know how to ambush. The other one, where is the other one? Two above… One below.

*

One of the bandits steps carefully, and quietly toward the general store, his revolver poised, and his eyes tense. He was searching for his pray; one hand clenched the six-shooter, the other held a knife.

Jericho heard the crunch of snow as the sly bandit crept closer. The creak of the floorboards however, was what had really given away his position. Jericho dove through the doorway and fired two well-placed shots into the marauder’s chest and head. He had fallen dead, with open eyes staring bleakly into space. Jericho landed on his side, and felt searing pain from his stomach. He hunkered down behind a barrel and grit his teeth. He grunted, and tossed a shot at the man in the saloon deliberately missing. The bullet crashed through the room just close enough to force his opponent down

Jericho dashed through the square desperately trying to get to the horse. He had shot at the tie that held it to the post, and freed it.

The man that had first fired at him appeared again from the roof. He spat tobacco, and took another turn at him. Jericho rolled out of the way of the blast, balanced himself on one knee, and fired at his opponent. The gunshot had hit the man square in the chest, and he dropped his Winchester, falling like dead weight off the two-story post office that had been his perch.
Jericho ran for the Winchester, collecting it and moving again toward the horse. The other, tried a shot from the saloon, but his angle wasn’t wide enough to get a good one. Jericho had stolen the horse and left town.

ACT IV: Gunpowder and Redemption

He passes through the mine entrance, and walks toward the center. There are cars here, rusted and useless. Jericho raises his guns and comes to a small cliff overlooking the base of the mine. He hears the Slones laughing and screaming. He hears the girl crying. Somewhere in himself a fire is burning. He smiles in the pure lust of the slaughter that is to come.

He finds cover behind a mine car and steadies his borrowed Winchester against the rim of the cart. He finds the shot to take against James. The rap of the gun shattered the Slone’s fun, and they all turned to face James, who grabs at his neck and falls dead to the floor.

“Up on the rim boys, get em!!” Sirus shouts

Shells come from all directions. Jericho grits his teeth in a black smile, and cocks the rifle again. He lifts the gun over the side of the cart once more, and fires a single blast at Whip’s knee. He drops his guns and cries out in pain. Sirus starts to climb a ladder out of the base, and onto the rim shouting at Kenny to keep fire on Jericho.

Jericho ejects another shell casing as he cocks the rifle ready. He puts his cheek against the mine cart trying to feel where the explosions come from. Kenny stops firing, and for the moment there is silence. Faintly the girl cries out for Jericho, but he shuts his hearing off to it. No emotion here, only blood, and lots of it. Whip yelps out and curses Jericho, who fires at his left shoulder, and spits.

Sirus reaches the rim and finds a stick of dynamite. He lights it and tosses it at Jericho’s mine cart. The cart rocks uneasily with the explosion, and he braces himself against it to keep the hunk of metal on its track. Jericho barrel rolls away from the cart and flings a slug at Kenny after steadying himself. The bullet buries itself deep into Kenny’s stomach, and he slumps over onto the ground. When he turns around, he is face to face with Sirus, who has the bead on him. Jericho lunges at him, tackling him to the ground, and the two scuffle. Jericho pastes Sirus across the face, and elbows him in the ribs. Sirus replies with a punch to Jericho’s jaw, and a backhand that breaks his nose. Jericho is thrown from his opponent, but instantly gets back up. Sirus lunges at him, and Jericho lowers himself and throws his foe over his shoulders, off the rim, and onto a pile of lumber twenty feet below. Sirus doesn’t get up.

“Jericho!!” the girl screams. He eases himself down the ladder and into the depth of the center of the mine. He’s close to her, so close he can smell her. He can almost taste Susanna’s lips-
There are two final gunshots, like a climax. Whip shoots the gunslinger in the right breast, and Jericho replies with a blast to Whips back. The gunfighter falls. Susanna goes to him.

*

I smile for her, and cough up a bit of blood. She kisses me and tells me there are horses outside, and a town two miles to the east. She tells me to hang on. She leans over, and I’m looking into her eyes. “Sorry I’m late.” I say.

She forgives me.

She holds onto me, rocking back and forth. She nuzzles my head against her chest and I breathe her scent into my nostrils. A life lived knee deep in lead. I was always so sure I’d end up in hell. Sometimes, it just takes one thing done right for God to take you back.

(So if you never thought I could write a fantasy or Western, chew on this!)