Abilene, Texas 1888

Lost somewhere in memory and place, he was staring in a daze at the thin shafts of sunlight coming in through the slitted windows of the small saloon. These spells came over him every once in a while and he still couldn’t explain it.

He had no idea this time how long it had been when he came around, but it had been awhile. The bartender dropped a glass behind the bar, shattering it on the floor. The sound of that must have brought him back from wherever he’d been.

He shifted his weight to the other leg and pulled his hat down even further. Gently knocking twice on top of the bar with the glass tumbler, he held it up slightly.

“Another Mr. Parker?” the portly bartender with heavy sideburns asked him politely and then quietly added, “Don’t worry ‘bout this one. On the house sir.”

The bartender knew exactly who he was dealing with here. He knew the life story of Ty Parker like almost everyone else around these parts. Knew this famous Texas Ranger well, the living legend that he had become.

“Sure Ben…another” he said, glancing around the saloon as if waking up from a deep sleep. “Sure”, he repeated.

He flipped another coin on the bar for Ben anyway, winked at him and then looked over his right shoulder, sideways down the bar. There were two men standing about halfway down and they hadn’t been there the last time he looked.

Turning his body casually he looked straight down the bar and stared at them openly, almost bored. They glanced back over at him and then looked away, trying to act indifferent and casual too.

Well I’ll be damned, but he kept a straight face and looked at Ben instead. That was his boys all right. His two train robbers from over El Paso way. Tommy Ponders and Jeb Tanner had hit four trains in less than two months already and killed five people in the process.

Ty carried their wanted poster in his saddlebag and had studied their likeness many times, so there was no mistake that this was the right two.

He had been trailing them for a month steady now. The hunt had taken him all over west and south Texas.

Most of the time, they had stayed out on the plain and out of any towns. He would usually find their old campsites a day or two later. Found one yesterday about five miles east from here. Looks like they ran out of whiskey.

Ty Parker considered his options. He was either taking these two back to old San Antonio in shackles to stand trial and hang, or bring them back dead. He actually preferred to do the latter but that might make for a helluva mess being made and some innocent people might get shot or killed.

He had no interest in shooting up a saloon in Abilene unless he had to. So, that left dragging them back halfway across Texas. Trouble with that was, if they made any kind of problem or tried anything with him – anything at all, he’d shoot both of them. With him being a Texas Ranger and common decency being what is, he’d probably be required to bury the buzzards. Shallow graves to be sure, but buryin’ is buryin’.

He’d just as soon not do that either. He had a particular distaste for it. Not in killing bad men of course, Lord knows he’d done plenty of that. No, his distaste was in digging the holes for them and putting them in that dark ground. He never could explain why that was.

Parker didn’t think he’d have any trouble with the one closest to him. Skinny, young little runt. Wore his pistol way too low to be fast. The other though, the much older one on the far side would be different.

He knew that look and that breed. He couldn’t see him as well, and had only seen a flash of dark dead eyes, but it was enough. They were the kind of eyes that show not only guilt but more, much more. He’d seen it before in some of the other men he’d brought to justice.

“Ben, be seeing you.”

“Yessir. Anytime.”

Ty finished his whiskey, sat the glass down and walked towards the front swinging doors. He kept the two outlaws at the bar in the corner of his eye as he went. When he reached the two steps that lead up and out of the saloon he stopped and turned.

His gun was already out and so quickly pulled that it seemed he’d had it drawn the whole time. It was his Colt Peacemaker. The one Billy Battson had given him as a gift. He’d used it ever since.

He took several steps, weaving through some empty tables to within about 15 feet of the bar and the two men. Ben stood down where he had just picked up Ty’s glass. The bartenders eyes were wide with surprise. Another man, just a ranch hand who’d been in there all afternoon, slid his way down to the other end of the bar. He was watching the two men close.

Since Ty had walked towards the two men neither had turned around, but they were staring at him in the big saloon mirror behind the bar. They looked grim. The young one scared too. They had figured he was leaving and then frozen in place as he had walked up behind them.

“I’m Tyler Parker, Texas Rangers” he said to the backs of the two men almost as if he was in a quiet, private conversation. “And you two, are train robbers.”

The bartender’s arm slid under the bar.

“Ben, you had better be meanin’ to help me. If so, that’s much obliged. You ain’t no gun hand though, so drop what you’re pawin’ around for and walk out of here. Do it now.”

“Yessir.” The bartender quickly clunked something back down under the bar and raised his empty hands to make it clear. He raised up the little section of bar at the end and walked towards the swinging doors in front.

Several other onlookers either backed their way to the door or froze at the tables where they were sitting.

Jeb Tanner, the older man who had been shielded from his view somewhat said, “Ranger, we mean you no trouble. We’ve got no quarrel with you, or you with us, now leave us be.”

He was staring at Ty in the mirror. The dusty old hat he was wearing was pulled down low but Ty could still see those eyes.

“Both of you unbuckle your gun belts and drop your holsters, then raise your hands.” After a short pause, they finally did so but Tanner took much longer. The gun belts were pooled around their feet now.

Both men still stared at him in the mirror. With the Colt held rock steady there was a tense moment of hushed silence in the saloon.

“You boy, with the red hair, keep your hands up and turn around slowly…Slow I said…. ‘Member boys, I’d just as soon shoot you than have to take you all the way back to old San Antone.”

Tom Ponders slowly turned as ordered and finally looked squarely at him. Ty could see then just how young he really was. Old enough to rob and kill he supposed, but young all the same.

The boy’s face was drained of all color and he looked as if he was going to feint dead away. He started to say something to his partner but only got a few words out.

“Jeb, I don’t think….

“Keep your yappin’ mouth shut Tommy” his older partner growled quietly.

“Okay Captain, you’re next, hands raised and a slow turn”, Ty ordered in a low menacing voice.

The man didn’t move and his hands had come back down, still in the air, but just above the bar. Tommy Conner stared wide-eyed at Ty, even more nervous now.

“Now I said. And get your hands higher in the air. I won’t ask again,” Ty stated plainly.

Still the man didn’t move and Ty thought he saw just a slight twitch in the man’s upraised right hand.

When the Colt went off inside the small saloon it sounded as if a small cannon had been fired. Ty had lowered the gun and shot the uncooperative man in the calf of his left leg. A whelp and a hiss came from the man as he slumped but didn’t go down.

“I said turn…” Ty said with no emotion. Gun smoke hung in the motionless air.

“Jeb, you gotta turn around right now” Tommy said quickly, nervous as a cat and clearly wanting for this to just be over.

But just after Ponders spoke and Tanner was struggling to turn, Tommy surprised Ty and rolled to his left.

“Mr. Parker!” Ben yelled out from somewhere behind.

Despite the quick move, Ty fired his second shot at the scrambling Tommy Conner. The boom of his Colt echoed inside the saloon again.

This was immediately followed by another gunshot that brought a hot stab to Ty’s left side. Jeb Tanner had whirled with another gun he’d pulled from his waistband and fired off a wild shot that grazed Ty.

Ty fired a third time and Tanner’s hat flew off as he was flung violently back against the bar and he crumpled to the floor. He came to rest leaning against the foot rail of the bar, facing Ty in an awkward sitting position. Tanner’s gun had clattered to the floor and skidded out of reach.

Ty glanced over and through the tables at Tommy who was lying still. He’d been hit in the neck. A lucky damn shot. There was a large pool of blood already forming around his body. Ponder’s face was turned towards the Ranger and the young man’s eyes were open but glazed over. His expression bore the frozen look of the dead.

Turning back to the other outlaw, he walked forward and looked down at Tanner.

“Godddamn you Ranger. I’m gut shot,” the man groaned as he held both of his shaking hands to his bleeding stomach. His body was slumped forward slightly. Kicking the dropped revolver even farther away, it skidded across the saloon floor. Ty continued to stare at the wounded man.

“You want to die now, or just keep bleeding out? Might take a day, hell maybe two – I’ve seen it happen, and I’ll make damn sure no doc works on you, so it’ll be a hard go. Your dead either way, slow or quick, what’ll it be?” then Tyler added,

Ty glanced once more over to where Tommy was laying and like he thought, the man hadn’t moved and his blank eyes stared at nothing. He was dead.

Tyler swung his gaze back at Tanner once again, cocked his gun and leveled it at the man.

“I said what’ll it be?”

Time stood still in the gun smoke filled saloon. The wounded man hissed and sat up a little straighter.  Ty waited five feet away with his gun pointed right at the man’s forehead.

“Shoot. Shoot me Ranger. Do it.” Tanner coughed out a small amount of bloody foam.

Ty kept the gun leveled and then brought his thumb up, releasing the hammer gently back into place and holstering his revolver.

“Ben, can you get my horse and another one from over at the livery stable?” he said it over his shoulder, not looking away from Tanner.

He heard Ben start to shuffle out the front doors.

“Tell ‘em I’ll pay good money but I don’t need no dang thoroughbred.”

“Yessir. Yessir I’ll have ‘em bring ‘em out front right away” Ben hurried out.

Jeb Tanner hissed with pain again.

“Ranger, you said you’d shoot me if I wanted….” yelping painfully on the last word. “Please put me down. I, I can’t tolerate no more of this fire in my belly. Please.”

“Changed my mind. Didn’t remember you at first and still don’t all the way,” Ty said it slow and almost to himself. “But things are coming to me.”

“Don’t know you, never seen you ‘fore. Heard about you though” Tanner hissed the words out through gritted teeth.

“Cavalry hat your wearing looked familiar and seemed like I’d heard your bellowin’ before, but I still couldn’t place you”, Ty said solemnly, remembering as he went.

“Kill me, please. Hurts bad.”

“When I shot you in the leg though, I saw that knife tucked in your left boot. That’s what did it for me. That’s when it all, or most of it, started coming back.”

“Crazy talk. Loco. What the hell are you talkin’ about Ranger?” Tanner wheezed.

“I’m talkin’ about one day my mother brought out the gun I hold now and the knife you have in your boot because there were three bad men bangin’ on the door of our little ranch.”

Ty bent down and looked Tanner straight in the eyes.

“This was years ago when I was just a boy. You were younger too but just as bad then as you are now I reckon.”

“Where…when?” Tanner spit more blood on the floor.

“Slide that knife over to me you son of a bitch. There’ll be carved initials on the bone handle of that knife and they’ll be ‘JP’, for Jared Parker. My Pa.”

As he went along, Ty’s voice had a growing anger.

Jeb Tanner stared up at him, very afraid now. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Couldn’t believe there had been another boy that day.

But Ty would make him believe it on the ride back to San Antonio. Oh yes he would. A long, slow bumpy horse ride that would take days. He knew Tanner would never last that long but he would do everything he could to make him live as long as possible.

He’d bury him too, in a shallow dark grave. About four feet  deep would be about right.

Those thin shafts of light had widened for Ty Parker.

Tyler had done what his mother had told him and there he sat, down in that dark dirt, silent as a graveyard. For almost two days. Even long after the footsteps stopped he waited for his mother to come back from wherever her, pa and Seth had run off to.

He was worried that maybe the bad men were still waiting, trying to trick him. Last night had been the worse. The darkness and the silence had scared him so bad.

Finally though, in the late afternoon of that second day, he was so thirsty he just had to get out of the hole. He pushed up slowly on the trapdoor and hoped it wouldn’t squeak. His ma might be mad at him for coming up without her saying so but he just had to.

The rug was only half covering the trapdoor and the table had been knocked on its side. The scene that greeted him was so horrible that he couldn’t even cry. So unimaginable for him that his already scarred mind just shut down. He didn’t recognize things for what they really were.

He sat by his broken and battered mother for a while, patiently holding her stiff hand and hoping she might wake up. She just kept sleeping though. The only thing he could think of was to cover her up with a wool blanket because she felt cold.

His Pa’s bullet riddled body was still leaning against the wall and he wouldn’t get up or talk to Tyler, which meant he was just too tired or still mad at the bad men. He was stubborn that way, so Tyler left him alone.

He saw his brother Seth’s butchered body over in the corner but it didn’t matter. He sat a cup of cool well water next to him in case he got thirsty.

He paid no mind to the two other men that were lying sprawled on the cabin floor. He walked around them, never looked at them.

After trying everything he could think of, he thought he better go get help. His family must be sick and they weren’t getting any better. So, seven-year-old Tyler Parker had started off for the Battson ranch, the closest place there was to the Parker’s place. He didn’t know it, but it was at least eleven miles away.

He did know the way though. His family had taken the work wagon to visit them on occasion. Their horse, Rio, was nowhere to be found though so Tyler started off. He trudged up the low hill, the same one the three riders had first appeared on. Heading west into an already dropping sun, he only looked back once. At the top of the hill, he turned when he thought he heard something. But there was nothing and no one back there.

He made the Battson’s place that night. The last light had bled out of the sky over two hours earlier. It was an amazing feat by such a young boy, a third of it in the dark. Billy and Sarah never could quite imagine how he did it.

Tyler hadn’t said a word when they opened their door, but he did finally cry. A sad quiet cry, and one that didn’t stop. No words though. In fact, as it would turn out, Ty Parker would not say another single word for another full year.

Sarah Battson had just hugged and hugged Tyler that first night. It was the only thing she could think of to do. He wasn’t hurt on the outside as far as she could tell, but he was batty and empty headed.

She softly cried with him too and sang low and sweet to him. Songs she used to sing to her own children. At sunrise the next morning, Billy saddled up and rode over to the Parker ranch. He went alone and well-armed, expecting the worst but had no idea how bad it would really be.

Much later in the day, he returned pale and shaken. He talked to Sarah briefly and then walked to their small barn shaking his head slowly. Billy Battson didn’t return to the main house until very late that night.

Tyler would spend the next eight years with the Billy and Sarah. They were good, solid people who had cared for and raised him like a son of their own.

He went east towards Fort Worth and signed on as a hand at the Brazos Trail Ranch at sixteen. A month later, Tyler had chased down, shot and killed a rustler. The man had taken a shot at him while Ty was standing watch over the BTR herd.

Amory Bean, an older ranch hand was the first to gallop up on Ty who was still looking down at the man he’d shot out of the saddle.

“I seen him shadowin’ us earlier.” Amory looked over at Ty. “Looks like he missed, you didn’t.”

“Yessir.” He spat on the man. “Got no use for rustlers.” Ty said quietly. He nodded at Amory and rode slowly off. That was the last anyone saw of Ty Parker for a long time.

Earlier that day around noon his Pa and Seth had been working on a harness. His mother had been outside too, scrubbing some clothes in the wash tub outside. Tyler had been assigned to sweep the floor of the cabin.

“Ma, we got some visitors comin’ to call on us” Seth said loud enough for Tyler to hear him from inside the cabin. “Up on the hill, see ‘em?” He said it with a little excitement in his voice.

Tyler had kept sweeping but he moved to the small window that looked out the front of the cabin, due west. He peeked out and followed to where Seth pointed up on the hill. There were three men on horseback and they had stopped, silhouetted against the cloudless blue sky.

He glanced over at both his folks as they stared at the three horsemen. A small smile, which had started up on his mother’s face, quickly faded.

His father’s arm slowly dropped after his wave went unanswered by the three riders on top of the hill. His Pa’s usual stern expression got even more serious as Tyler watched him closely. There was a tense minute or so when the riders and his family continued to study each other.

Finally, Seth broke the silence, “Pa, what do you think they…“, but he didn’t finish when he saw one rider casually begin to make his way down the hill to them. The other two riders fell in leisurely right behind him.

“Seth, get inside with your little brother. Ma, you too.” His father had told them that without taking his eyes off the three riders.

“But Pa.”

“Git boy…go on Seth…now” Tyler’s father said it low and serious, while he continued to tighten a strap on the plow harness.

His mother dropped the shirt she’d been washing back into the metal tub and walked steadily over to Seth, taking a handful of the boy’s shirt when she reached him.

“Seth, inside with your brother… goan now” she whispered, tugging hard on his shirt. She walked with Seth a few steps up onto the short porch, ushered him inside, then stopped at the cabin door.

The riders kept coming at a slow pace down the hill towards them. They were close enough now for Tyler to see how bedraggled and scruffy looking they were.

“Jared…” His mother’s voice was hesitant.

“Git inside Mary, take care of the boys. I’ll see what these boys need.” He said it quietly as he continued to stare at the approaching horsemen. “Inside now, hurry.”

She did as he said and came into the cabin quickly. Tyler and Seth were over looking out the small dirty window and she went to an old standup cupboard in the corner. She grabbed something covered in burlap, turned and walked to their small table.

His mother had pa’s big pistol and the bone handled, big blade hunting knife. She looked at Tyler and tried to give him a reassuring smile, but couldn’t deliver one, her gaze going back to the shut door and out beyond it to the approaching riders.

Ty looked back out the window at that lead rider, who looked to be younger than his Pa, but not by much. He had on what looked to be a brand new U.S. cavalry hat but was wearing an old greasy buckskin shirt and pants.

He was within about thirty feet of his father when he reached across his waist and pulled a revolver, all in one swift motion. Bringing it over and up quickly, he aimed and fired, without warning or a word spoken.

The rider’s horse reared up and the man briefly struggled to bring him steady or he would have taken another shot. His pa, reacting to the sudden movement, began to duck and run for the cabin before the shot had even rang out. The bullet grazed his left shoulder spraying a mist of blood up in the air.

The other two riders behind also fired and his pa was hit again, this time in the right arm between his elbow and wrist.

Seth slammed the shutters closed on the window and barred it. Tyler stood frozen and couldn’t seem to move.

His father threw the door open and stumbled and almost fell rushing through the door. His mother slammed the door shut again, swinging a heavy wood slat down to bar it. Grabbing the big Colt pistol from his dad’s army days, she gave Seth the hunting knife.

His father snatched his Winchester rifle hanging on the wall and chambered a bullet, backing up from the door until the far wall stopped him.

“Mary, take the boys down in the hole”, his father said through clenched teeth. He was bleeding bad from the arm wound and it hung weakly at his side. He held the Winchester one handed with his left arm and stared at the closed door.

She quickly scooted the table and floor rug out of the way, opening the little hatch that was cut into the floor. She grabbed Tyler and pushed him halfway down through the hole, motioning for Seth to come as well.

But the door to the cabin buckled inward with a loud bang and the shuttered window where Seth stood was splintered, cracking in from the outside. Ty saw his brother back up and stick the big knife out in front of him. He was scared but he was ready.

“Rancher!” the voice roared from outside. “We mean to have whatever we want in there and by God, we will. You better git on out here quick like. Now, you do that like I said and we’ll think about sparin’ you and yourn.” That was followed with some murmured talk between the three riders that Tyler couldn’t quite hear.

“Get off my property now and I’ll think about not killin’ all three of you sons a bitches!” Tyler’s father yelled back at them. Then he fired a round from the Winchester about waist high through the weathered cabin door. There was quick howl and blood-curdling scream from outside.

“Gawwwd DAMMIT Reed! He caught me one a good one in the leg. Damn it Reed, hurts bad Reeeed!” the screaming man wailed out his pain.

His pa worked the lever action swiftly despite his lame arm and leveled the Winchester again while painfully leaning back against the wall.

Mary looked over and saw that Tyler was still only halfway down into the hole, watching the whole thing unfold.

Rushing over she gave him a gentle shove down. She motioned at Seth again, but he had backed his way over to the far corner and shook his head violently. It was clear he meant to stay up here with them and help. She turned her attention back to Tyler.

She somehow managed a grin this time “You stay down there now my sweet Ty, you stay down there quiet as a mouse and don’t you be coming up till we tell ya to okay?”

He stared at her with big solemn eyes.

She smiled again at him and held a finger to her lips.

“Goan now Ty. Do that for mama.”

And he did. She gently pushed his head down further, dropping the little door at the same time.

Tyler couldn’t see it, but above him she had drawn the heavy rug back over the hatch quickly and had begun to scoot the table back in to place when the front door was shattered inward, all the way this time. Across the room, the window shutter was splintered open too. Seth started to come down with the big knife on a hand that suddenly shoved through the small window with a pistol.

A split second before the knife found flesh, the pistol fired and Jared was hit again. More shots followed. Jared Parker’s Winchester cracked once more at a man charging through the splintered front door. The man was firing too. The third rider was right behind him.

From below Tyler heard the Colt Peacemaker his mother had been holding with two hands. It boomed twice and then stopped. Then his mother let out the first of her angry and long screams.

West Texas 1864

The small boy shook uncontrollably as he squatted on cool dirt in the dark space on cool dirt. Smelling the musty dampness of this dirt that never sees the sun, he felt like this might be what a grave would feel like. That got him thinking about his little sister Nattie. She’d come down with the fever and then gone to be with the Lord, after only a few days of being sick.

Tyler remembered watching his Pa when Nattie was buried. He’d been tight lipped and solemn, shoveling the dirt onto that small wooden crate down below. On that day almost a year ago it had been very still, with not a spot of wind. He remembered looking down and watching the dust billow up out of the hole with each shovelful. It would hang in the air stubbornly until it settled back down into the rough grave.

All the while his mother had swayed back and forth. She moaned low and cried softly with her rough hands over her mouth. His older brother Seth, who was thirteen then, had stood bravely just behind her. His face was all twisted up and there was tear streaks on his dirty cheeks. His hands were jammed into old trousers held up only by threadbare suspenders. Like Ty, he didn’t really know what to do or how to act. They just knew their little sister had died.

Just as their Pa had finished, Seth had caught Ty looking up at him and shot him a mean scowl. His older brother had quickly wiped at his face and then looked away at the gradual hill that rose off to the west of the cabin. Seth’s chest had hitched a couple of times after that but he’d been silent and strong. Tyler had never forgot that either.

There was a loud scrape of wood above and the boy’s memory of that sad day melted away as quickly as it had come. The heavy walking above him had brought him back to the here and now. He stared at the wooden trapdoor. His dirt smeared face was upraised, with white wide eyes full of terror looking straight up.

It was the first sound he’d heard for a long time. Another long minute or two went by and then he heard the thump of boots walking back and forth again. He was waiting for that little door to swing open in a rush, waiting for those bad men who were sure to find this hiding place. He imagined them up there grinning at each other while moving the rug out of the way. They were going to yank that door open, reach down and pull him up by the hair, dragging him screaming out of the hole.

All the fighting noise from earlier had stopped a long time ago. There had been quite a tussle for sure. The screaming had scared him the most because it had to be his mom. Men were growling and cursing, someone broke some glass. His Pa had been yelling something fierce.

Then, his mother’s angry cries had started to die out, fading like she was walking away from the cabin. He’d heard Seth yelling earlier too but not anymore. There had been some gunshots at the beginning of course, maybe six or seven big booms, but he didn’t really know how many.

He just wasn’t thinking too straight. Tyler was past being scared, a long ways past that. He had retreated to a place that was darker than this space he was crouching in.

Pulling his wide eyes reluctantly away from the trap door, he looked slowly around the dark space he was in, which wasn’t entirely black.

There were thin shafts of light coming down through the wood plank floor above, some cracks were only paper thin, some a little wider and these gave him just enough light. There was still dust particles floating around from all the commotion up above and they swirled and floated, in and out of the lines of light.

He leaned against a wood beam as he crouched in the rough square shaped area that was about four feet high. Pa and Seth had dug it out after a bad storm took half the roof three summers ago.

The Parkers had never had to use it since, but Tyler had played in it before. He would only do that with the trapdoor open and his mother or pa around, because he didn’t like it down here when it was dark like this.

Seth had told him the hole was also a hiding place from the Comanche or a Kiowa raiding party. Or, just plain bad men. Like the ones he was sure were above him right now. It could hold all the Parkers, but he was all alone now. There just hadn’t been enough time.

The old cabin creaked and shuddered in the harsh winter wind. It was late November, 1857 and Jess Bender sat slowly rocking in the big pine chair he had made years ago. He was wrapped in an old buffalo blanket, but was still shivering. The one room cabin was warmed by a fire burning in a small stone and rock hearth darkened by the soot of winters past.

The fire was burning down, but Jess made no move to feed or rekindle it. His breathing was rattling and uneven. He was stoved up real bad this time for sure. Sam, his old trapping partner was sitting across the room staring at the fire and he wasn’t much better off. Both of them had been sickly since the big blizzard two weeks ago. Spring couldn’t come too soon.

He glanced back over at his trapping partner for all those years and it saddened him a considerable bit. Yessir, they had been through heaven and hell together but more and more he had a hard recollecting those things. Almost like it had never happened.

The glorious life and times of the Mountain Man had come and gone in a damn blink. The peak that is, they were still out there, but there number was dwindling fast. It was an all too short of a time. Damn shame.

When you tallied it all up, the two had walked and rode a thousand of miles together. Hell, two thousand miles most likely. They’d seen harsh bitter winters, blooming warm springs and blazing summers. Both had stood dumbstruck and awed by the beautiful shades of autumn in these mountains and plains. They had hunted and fished and trapped. Some folks might have considered their lives peculiar back east, but that’s the way they liked it. Isolated, free and alone.

Neither of them had much use for anything this world had to offer other than just being up here in these mountains. Other people, and civilization on the whole for that matter, was something they preferred to live without. Those things seemed to only bring trouble with them.

Jess Bender had chosen this route at the age of fifteen, after his father had decided to settle the family in Denver. Jess knew that he couldn’t just stop there, not with so many places west, places yet to be seen. His family was done traveling, bone tired, disappointed and broken in spirit. Jesse on the other hand, felt he had to keep going and not necessarily just west, north or south. He just had to keep going.

It was a lucky thing for Sam that they met that last day because he was in poor shape, hungry and tired. Jess had cottoned to him right off. Being the older by far and much more experienced, he had offered to take Sam on as help.

He left in the middle of the night on Buck, the big black horse, one of three the family had. In his saddle bag he had some biscuits, jerky and a bedroll. He took the old Remington that his father had never shot. It was a poor hunting gun but it was all he had back then. Never saw his folks or siblings again.

His partner had left his family in much the same way. There was a certain wander lust they both shared no doubt. Sam had run away from his family near the border of Nebraska and Colorado, as they struggled their West in a doomed, bedraggled wagon train. He had struck off one night without anyone knowing.

Sam had been on his own for about a month when the two had met at the rendezvous on the South Platte River. Jess had always enjoyed the yearly meet but they lasted too long for his tastes and he was always anxious to leave.

It was a lucky thing for Sam that they met that last day because he was in poor shape, hungry and tired. Jess had cottoned to him right off. Being the older by far and much more experienced, he had offered to take Sam on as help.

After trading in Jess’s furs and re-supplying, they had set out, heading back into the mountains.

Jess looked at the dark cabin ceiling and thought that rendezvous might have been ten, twelve years ago. Hell he wasn’t even sure what year this was.

For the years that followed, they had enjoyed high adventure, dangerous times and grand scenery. Landscapes that took your breath away. They had crossed paths with Blackfeet, Comanche, Utes and the Crow.

There was peace, war, friendships and enemies. It had been a quarrelsome life at times and not just with the tribes. There were men of ill repute, men with no souls and rogues of all kinds to be dealt with. Jess and Sam had cheated death on more than one occasion to be sure.

They had traversed rivers such as the Columbia, Snake, Colorado, Green and Platte. They had enjoyed the brief acquaintance of famous trappers and mountain men, such as Jim Bridger, Henry Fraep and even Captain Bonneville one summer. Also came to know men that no one knew then, or ever.

Jess slowly closed his eyes. He could hear the wind blowin’ outside and it seemed to take him with it.  Drifting him now, slow and easy, like a slow moving stream in summer. His memories were flowing like they hadn’t for quite awhile.

He remembered at one point a few years back, him and Sam had even enjoyed a little notoriety themselves. They was mentioned by name in a pamphlet book published back east somewheres. Imagine that.

There had been a woman once. His woman. Little Feather, a Ute girl. She had been hard and soft, mean and gentle. She was a mystery, like all women were to him. He’d loved her and mourned her all in a span of a single year.

He smiled to himself now, thinking of him and Sam walking and riding the damned Overland Trail. A hundred other trails with no names and many steep mountain passes too, by God. He’d always thought that a man hasn’t really lived until he looks down on the clouds. Looking down at tree lines from peaks so high they seemed to have touched heaven itself. Mountain lakes that were so clear that a body couldn’t distinguish the real landscape from the reflection.

Season after season, year after year, it had gone on and it had seemed like it would never end. That it would last forever. But that was foolishness and he knew it, even back then. Now, it was coming to an end. All of it.

Jess had no regrets though and as he opened his eyes again to look over at Sam. He knew his partner didn’t either. Hell, they had lived spectacular lives when you came right down to it. He stared back into the dying fire and nodded to himself. He thought that was right, in fact he knew it was. Damn it all though, he’d take just one more spring.

Across the room, Sam looked over at Jess and it was as if he could hear the man’s thoughts. What a prize that would be, but he didn’t think there was another spring coming. The wind shrieked a little stronger outside and he turned toward that noise for a second, but then shifted his gaze back to the fire. It popped and cracked from time to time but it was going out.

A short time later, he heard Jess take a sharp breath in, causing him to look over again at his old partner. He watched Jess’s head fall slowly to one shoulder. The rocking chair creaked to a stop and Sam stared at him hard. He waited for him to rouse back up but Jess didn’t move. He never took another breath.

He was never far away from Jess, never far off at all and he sure wasn’t going anywhere now. Jess had taken him in as a partner, had always made him feel wanted and given him years of loyal friendship. He wasn’t about to leave his pardner. Not now, not later.

Jim Wilsky has had a lifelong passion for writing and storytelling. His short story work has appeared in some of the most respected online magazines such as Shotgun Honey, Beat To A Pulp, All Due Respect, Yellow Mama, A Twist of Noir, Rose & Thorn Journal, Pulp Metal and Plots With Guns. In addition, he has stories two recent anthologies; Both Barrels – Shotgun Honey and All Due Respect – The Anthology.

His first novel, Blood on Blood, co-written with Frank Zafiro and published by Snubnose Press, was released in August 2012. Two WO He is supported and strengthened by a wonderful wife and two beautiful daughters.

Sam got up stiffly, looking around the small dark cabin, lighted only by the fire and a small grease candle by the wash pan in the corner. Scanning the room slow and sad, he looked at the familiar sparse contents. A worn out bunk, small table, guns on a gun rack made from antlers, two wood plank shelves, an ancient cook stove, some old pots and pans. He walked unsteadily over to the fire as if to do something about it, then paused and looked back at his old companion.

This was the end he thought simply. His head was low as he hobbled slowly over to Jesse’s chair and put his paw softly on the old man’s boot, letting out an almost silent whine. For a minute or two he stared into Jess’s face, intently looking and hoping for any kind of reaction, any small trace of life.

Finally convinced of what he knew already, Sam painfully shifted around and rested his head on his old friend’s lap. He whined softly just once more, which was his way of saying a sorrowful goodbye. The big pale yellow dog slowly sunk down to the floor and he leaned heavily against Jess’s leg. His eyes drooped and his head sank to rest on his paws. It wouldn’t be long now. He had been waiting and trying to hold on but now Jess was gone, so he could go too.

Just a minute later the fire died out to just embers, the weak blue flame finally sputtering out. As it went, Sam started to go with it.

His last thought was of him and Jess walking through a lush green valley. The South Platte was running high with the thaw. There were exploding clumps of wild spring flowers everywhere. The mountains peaks still draped in snow were off in the distance.

The last sound he heard was the hungry wind that whistled with a vengeance now, forcing its way through the cracks of the old cabin walls.

The cold crept in claiming its dark victory, but the old man and his dog were already gone.

They were walking through that lush green valley together now, warmed by a spring sun.