Below The Fold

The dust coated my nose and throat and choked off my air. I coughed a few times and spat a chunk of something out onto the ground by my foot. Even with the bandana tied around my face, the dust storm I rode into was slowly drowning me.

I felt Chief laboring for breath, and I knew we were going to have to find cover soon, or else I’d be stranded without a horse, which, in the Saginaw valley was a pretty safe ticket straight to hell. I strained my eyes into the deafening howl and saw a strand of trees along the crick we’d been following. I gave Chief a soft kick with my spur and pulled the reins in that direction.

The trees didn’t give much cover, but they did give me something to lash a blanket to, and that helped a bit. A few minutes later we had a good wind break and I broke out some oats and a piece of jerky and we ate.

As I leaned against the base of a tree, I stuck my hand in my pocket, absent-mindedly fingering the money clip I safed there. Since I’d left Dodge and headed west, that money clip was what kept me going. I remembered the moment I picked up, off of Jim’s still chest where the Becker brothers dropped it after they pumped him full of buckshot and raped his wife Elizabeth. She told me what happened later that day, as she sat wrapped in her mother’s quilt, pale and trembling on the floor by the oven.

Jim and I hadn’t spoken in years, ever since Elizabeth left me for him. Still, he was my brother, and blood oaths painted the west for the last 100 years, so one more probably wouldn’t get much notice. It’s not like I needed much more prodding for going after the Becker brothers anyway, since those godless little bastards also took off with three of my horses last winter.

The Becker brothers were known in Dodge for being a trio of the dirtiest mongrels in the county. They took what they wanted when they wanted from whomever they wanted and didn’t give a cuss about the consequences. There used to be four of them, but the second oldest, Mugg, caught a bullet in the back of his head as he rode off on the Pinto he swiped from Clete Craig’s stables. Blew his back teeth directly through his face, and it was the best that cur looked in ages.

Now, I was on their trail, looking to give the remaining three a similar makeover. As I chewed on the jerky, the wind began to die down a bit. I looked over at Chief, who regarded me as casually as he ever does, unless I’m holding an apple. He’d sing a song and dance like a ballerina for an apple.

I pulled my rucksack over and reached in. I pulled out my Bowie and one of the apples I picked up back at Fort Dobs. Chief was immediately interested in what was going on. I smiled as I cut it into four quarters, clicking my tongue softly to him. I put down the knife and held out the apple.

Chief hesitated.

I dove to my right and skinned my Colt as a chunk of bark splintered off the trunk of the tree right where my head was. I came up firing—aiming where I thought the shot came from. Somehow, like always, I only needed the first shot.

Pete Becker stood partially blocked by another tree with a crimson stain slowly spreading across his tan shirt. His face was frozen in shock and disbelief, a look I’ve seen many times before. Call it a misspent youth coupled with a stint in Union Intelligence during The War, but I just know when to move.

Pete fell to his knees and dropped the Yellow Boy lever action Winchester he was holding. I recognized the rifle, because it was a gift I gave to Jim before we fell out. I got up and walked over to where he lay dying. I knelt on his crotch and put the muzzle of my Colt against his gut. He grimaced in pain.

“Where’s your brothers, Pete?” I asked.

“Go… fuck… yourself…” He croaked out. I fired another round into his belly. He tried to scream, but nothing more than a wounded rasp came out.

“Where’s your brothers, Pete?” I said again. I didn’t care whether he answered me or not this time. I knew they were headed to Frisco. I just figured I’d let him prolong this as much as he wanted to.

It didn’t go on much longer, in fact. He died a few seconds later.

As I rummaged through his pockets, I realized the wind had died down to just occasional gusts. I pulled $40 dollars and some cartridges for the rifle out of his pockets and sat back on my heels, surveying the horizon in front of me. The sun was out now, and setting into a fire red backdrop over the desert. Suddenly, everything was very still.

Well, at least the chase was over. Now that I’d killed their baby brother, I wouldn’t need to track down the remaining two Becker brothers.

They were going to find me.