The Gunfighter trail... - A Western

[hvj1]

The Gunfighter trail
Chapter One

The boy sat alone, sniffling, hungry and afraid, on a street in a one horse town, whose history was no different from other such towns. Nobody gave a damn, certainly not its regular citizens, since most had passed on or remained permanently underground in unmarked hastily dug graves.

The rest were travelers, mostly belonging to wagon trains, who stopped and rested awhile, before the wagon leaders cracked their whips and swung them on to the west. Some were passing through, on the run from the law or in search of the elusive pot of gold, just on the other side of the horizon.

The town sprung up first as a motley collection of shacks, around the one store, whose owner had long passed on to the happy hunting grounds, bald headed, since his scalp, now withered, dry and shrunk decorated the tepee of an injun, who in turn had also shuffled his mortal coil, being at the receiving end of an unproductive argument with another tribesman. Who ended it with a tomahawk embedded in his skull as a lasting memento.

The boy was eight years old, needless to say, now an orphan, since his lone surviving parent died coughing blood, a victim of the ‘lunger’. In the midst of the night, the boy and his few belongings tied in a bundle were dropped off on the street. While he slept, the wagon train moved away westward.

Dawn found the boy rubbing his eyes and staring around him perplexed at the unfamiliar sights and sounds. He soon began to cry, when nobody took notice, he subsided to a whimper as hunger struck painfully in his stomach.

Around mid afternoon, the child woke from sleep to find himself temporarily in a shadow, cast by a man sitting a horse close to him. For a few moments both stared at each other, the rider remembering his own childhood, the youngster, hoping for unexpected salvation.

Short enquiries by the rider revealed the status of the unwanted child. Nodding, the rider caught hold of the boy by the scruff of his neck and placed him behind his back. There clutching his bundle and chewing on some tacky, they both rode off, to the west.

They rode on till they came to a steam, where the rider turned into it, riding up stream, getting off on some rocky terrain which left no signs of his passage apart from the drying splashes, left by the hoofs of the horse.
Up they climbed through steep ravines, amidst dense copses of willows, moving onwards, sometimes on foot, till they topped a mountain ridge. Crossing it on the other side, they ploughed on through dense forest, till they came to a halt at the base of a cliff. Here they passed their first night.

Over a cup of scalding hot coffee, strong enough to float a horse shoe, the rider shared a few salty pieces of ham and dried bread with the boy. They drank at a small stream, hidden under a bush. The rider took stock of things.
“Whats yer name kid?” “Pete”…. Came the muffled reply as the boy spoke around the bread. “That’ll do , I suppose, mine's Will”… he offered and smiled. The boy smiled back tentatively.

The next morning, Will woke up the boy .. “Get ready kid , we need to move along, you’re gonna see a sight of travel afore we reach what I call as home.” And so they did travel a might, through more forests and along the ridge line, most times climbing, following treacherous routes which only the mountain sheep or the hair brained would follow.

It was nearing sun down, when Pete and Will cut through a bush into a deep cleft in the mountain. Getting down, allowing Pete to ride, Will led him through a stone passage, which he had cut painstakingly many years ago. The exit surprised Pete into full wakefulness and surprise.

For lo and behold, they had ridden into the cup of an old volcano. In the centre was a small blue lake, reflecting the sky above. The cup, as one could call it, comprised of a few hundred acres. The edges of the cup were fringed with dense woods, which promised of small game like deer, rabbits and other interesting denizens.

On the other side of the entrance, hidden amongst trees, was a small house, partly made of stone and mud. It had a roof made of logs and also sported a stone chimney.
“This is home to me Son, and its yours too, from now on..” said Will to Pete, who suddenly felt quite happy after a long, long, time.

to be contd....

[xl_target]

All Right hvj1,
Good Grammar, good narrative style. Can't say anything about the storyline till I read more.
Waiting expectantly!

[ckkalyan]

Good work and beginning hvj1

Congrats and looking forward to the rest of it....

[hvj1]

Thanks for the encouragement folks, here's chapter two

Chapter Two

The inside of the small house, was surprisingly warm, despite the bitter cold outside. It had four mid sized rooms, facing the four corners of the compass. The floors were tamped down earth, while the walls were made of dressed rocks, held together by a mortar like substance. The fit of the rocks reflected the skill of the mason.
The walls had small windows shaped like medieval arches, which allowed sunlight to filter in yet kept out the rain. They could also serve as battlements if the occasion so arose.

The central room was slightly larger than the others, with a fireplace on one side. A central table hewn from logs with a few wooden chairs occupied one side. Near the fireplace were two old horsehair sofas, with a bearskin rug placed between. This room adjoined a smaller room, which served as a store and kitchen. The other two rooms were Spartan like the rest of the house, it had cots with bearskin blankets and deer skin covering the floors. Two old trunks lay on one side of the wall.Through an ingenious manner, water from a stream outside, flowed right into the kitchen and out, making the house self sufficient regarding water.

Will led the horse into a small corral adjoining the house on the rear, the walls of this corral too were made of dressed rock, but had a makeshift thatched roof.Entering the room, after attending to his horse, Will set about lighting a fire with a few logs and kindling kept ready near the fireplace. Soon flames crackled, throwing up a theatre of shadowy marionettes dancing on the opposite walls.

Removing his hat and boots, he indicated a room to Pete,” Thats yer room fer now, the other one is mine." They had a frugal meal, since there was nothing in the house that would keep during long absences, which in this case seemed likely.

The next morning Pete woke up to the sound of wood being split by an axe. It was early and it was bitterly cold. Pete peeped from one of the windows. Will had stripped down to his long johns, unmindful of the cold, he was bent on splitting logs. A handy lot was already scattered around him. Entering the house, with an armful of firewood, Will encountered Pete sitting on the horse hair sofa, clutching a bearskin around him. Soon he had the flames going, hitching a metal rod over the fireplace, he filled a kettle with coffee makings and hung a large pot with handles onto the rod.

Pete helped with the mugs and bowls, while the coffee brewed and the soup frothed. “That’s soup, over there kid, some squaw cabbage, roots, bits and pieces of a rabbit which I caught last night in a snare. I am gonna teach you to survive out here kid, it ain’t easy, but ain't too difficult as time goes along and you cotton onto the lay of the land and what it has to offer, fer you to get about on yer own.”

As the days passed by, Will took it upon himself to teach Pete on how to take care of himself by living of the land, on wild berries, keeping away from poisonous ones. He showed him the rabbit paths and how to snare quail and rabbits.

One day, Pete saw a small herd of horses, each animal was magnificent, led by a blood red stallion a few two year olds, couple of mares and two colts. Indicating the herd, “Those are the best horses around, they been gifted to me by the Cheyenne’s.”

The Cheyenne know horseflesh son, they breed horses to last and they look good too. Now I ain’t too particular on looks, I need horses that can stay the course, however rough. Fer that matter, son, horses are like folk, some look good, but can’t stay the course, some ain’t lookers, but they will see yer across when yer need em most.”

to be contd..

[hvj1]

Chapter Three
In the days that followed, Will taught the boy how to read animal signs, to move through the forest like a ghost, while trailing them. He taught him to make moccasins and use them. Whenever they passed medicinal plants and those of food value, these were gathered, some were eaten raw, others were dried and ground into powder while others were used to garnish their soups and served as food supplements.

He taught him how to use a rope, how to make one of dried grass and some of horse hair, he taught him to handle the lariat, coiling and uncoiling them, making Pete practice looping tree stumps, broken branches and such like.. Pete, took to learning like a fish to water, treated as a grown up and expected to behave as one, the kid filled out in body and mind.

A few weeks later, Pete had learnt to rope one of the docile mares, saddle it and ride her, shortening the stirrups and lengthening the reigns, he could now keep up with Will on short rides. He learnt how to balance himself on the horse, shifting his weight naturally forward on slopes and canting backwards while going down hill. He took to grooming the horses and taking care of them in the winter, when snow covered the ground like a wet blanket.

“Son, there are hosses for cattle work and hosses for mountain work, a cow pony wont cut the mustard in these here mountains. These mountains are real high and a norther can pile up snow head high. Iffin yer have a cow pony with shorter laigs, in these pile up and drifts, it will flounder, usin up their body heat real quick, causin them to die of cold.”

“ Sames true of us men folk, never sweat while moving through the snow, short trips with plenty of rest, wear double clothes.”
“So what happens if a body were to sweat?” Asked Pete, “Waal. I reckon, the sweat turns into thin ice, sucks away the heat same as hosses, then a body feels tired, sleepy, next thing yer know you can go to sleep from which yer never come out. They call it hyperthermy Son.”

On one such ride, they came across four graves, Will dismounted, gathered a few wild flowers and laid them gently on the grave, he stood hat in hand, head bowed for a few moments. “Whose grave are these, Will?”
Mounting up, Will took his time answering, “these are resting places of those who could’nt make it son?” “ These are young uns, same as you. Runaways, orphans, not much older than you, these, I tried to teach, the way I am teaching yer.”

“Two of em were good learners, others were’nt, bad luck and such like got em kid. The first one, tried climbing a trail up yonder mountain, slipped and broke his neck, the other tangled with a grizzly, the other two just could’nt make it through the winter.”

“An old trapper brought me to this here place when I was knee high, that feller, bless his soul, taught me to survive in this here country. I made it and in my time, I want to pass on all that I learnt to young uns like yerself. I learnt to survive, iffin you are lucky, you too might survive, that’s about all I can give to yer kid.”

Late that night, Pete slept staring out of his window at the skies and the stars shining above, he knew, he had to learn and learn real quick, iffin he had to survive.

The next day Pete found Will leading his horse to the door, packing his gear on the horse, he mounted up. “ Be away fer some time Kid, now you remember all that I taught you and learn to get along.” “When will you be back?” “Dunno kid, a few days, maybe weeks, who knows, got to attend to some business” so saying he turned and cantered away towards the tunnel. Pete followed the rider and his mount, along the lake and then further away till both disappeared in the distance.
to be contd...

[ckkalyan]

Coming along nicely hvj1! Keep it up

[xl_target]

Yes, Yes, More, More.

[dr.jayakumar]

louis lamour!
regards
didn't mean to discourage,will love to listen.

[hvj1]

Yes Dr. Definitely inspired by Louis L'Amour and other greats, like Max Brand, Zane Gray, Oliver Strange and Frederick Christian.
BR

[dr.jayakumar]

[quote="hvj1"]Yes Dr. Definitely inspired by Louis L'Amour and other greats, like Max Brand, Zane Gray, Oliver Strange and Frederick Christian.
would love to relive it.go ajhead,make my day/
regards

[hvj1]

Chapter Four

Once again Pete found himself lonely and sitting alone, this time on a bench outside the house. Tears of self pity welled up, brushing them aside roughly, he stared down dimly at the ground, slowly tracing circles with the toe of his moccasin.

The sun had now come up well over the distant rim, bathing the bowl with yellow light. Tendrils of fog lifted up from the cold waters of the lake, which slowly changed colour from a dark opaqueness to shades of deep blue.
A strong breeze blew, causing Pete to hold the bear rug tighter around his shoulders. He missed the security when Will was around. All around him, the trees, grass, flowers which looked friendly and inviting to him till yesterday, now stared back at him as if he was a stranger, nay an interloper.

Feeling hungry, he trudged inside reluctantly, casting a glance over his shoulder, hoping against hope that Will would appear in the distance. The bowl remained empty and still, save for the sounds of an eagle circling and calling, high up in the sky.

Rustling through the cupboards, he found some freshly baked bread. Lighting up the fire with the remaining firewood, he put the kettle on. For now at least there was firewood and food, but what about later? What about tomorrow? The day after and the day after that?

How long would Will take to return? Seating himself at the table, he poured himself some hot coffee while munching on the bread, taking bites at intervals on the remnants of a roasted leg of venison.
Suddenly, a thought seized him with horror? What if Will were never to return? What would he do then? He shivered at the thought. What if some wild animal were to come now? He dropped the bread and quickly jumped to bar the front door, he then cast about fearfully looking through each window. Satisfied that there was nothing stirring outside, he returned back to the table, resuming his chewing on the bread thoughtfully.

Will had taught him a lot, now it was upto him to survive. First he must have food and water, he got up and checked the flow of water, he sighed inwardly at the sight of the unabated flow of fresh water. Now for food, he thought, moving towards the kitchen, at the same time casting a look through the windows he passed. Nothing moved, apart from the horse herd, which were grazing some distance off.

The larder, was stacked with sacks, each tied carefully with piggin strings. He checked them all – there were two sacks of shelled corn, one large sack of beans and two smaller ones contained coffee beans. Carefully retying them as best as he could, he continued taking stock. There was a pound of sugar, some flour and two earthen pots filled with molasses.

Well he could get by quite comfortably for a couple of weeks, but he must have warmth and meat for the pot. He must chop wood or collect deadfall. The thought of searching for deadfall, away from the safety of the house, rooted him to the spot. Well, it had to be done, better to do it now, while the sun was well up. He moved to the door, looking out of the windows to reassure himself, then stopped. He needed a weapon! Quickly he moved into Will’s room and surveyed it. He found no guns hanging, he checked the two large trunks, these were padlocked!

Now what should he do? He moved slowly towards the bed, his heart jumped at the sight of a huge bowie in a leather scabbard. Will must have left it for him! Sitting on the bed, he slowly drew the huge knife, the blade glinted meanly! He turned the blade in his hands. Why? It was as long as his forearm! He tried the edge of the blade cautiously, on a thread of the blanket, it sliced through as if it did’nt exist!Holding the knife with both hands, he sighed in satisfaction. Well, now he had something to protect himself and furthermore, he could use it sharpen a stave or fashion a small spear, from one of the trees outside.

Sliding the knife in its scabbard, he shoved it in his pants behind his back at an angle which would be easy for him to draw. With assurance he removed the bar from its hinges, placing it on the side of the wall. Opening the door a crack, Pete took a peek. All was quite and serene, satisfied, he opened the door wider.

Sunlight streamed into doorway, he stood framed in the threshold and felt happy to be looking out. Leaving the door ajar, he scanned the grounds around the house, making his way to the wood pile, he saw the axe on a stump. Stacked neatly beyond it was a decent pile of firewood, typifying the thoroughness in each and everything Will did.

After some effort, Pete managed to get the axe loose, hefting it was a different thing altogether. Taking a firm grip, he managed to swing the axe over his head and brought it down on a log, the axe missed its mark, rebounding of a trunk skidded to the side. Pete let go hastily. Standing back, he realized, that the axe could have seriously injured him. He was lucky! If he were to get hurt here seriously, then his chances of surviving were dim indeed.

No wonder, the other kids did not survive through winter! Well he was determined to survive! Hefting the firewood in his arms, he made several trips to the house before the pile was depleted. He then took an old empty sack, collecting the fine shavings, and pieces, which would serve as kindling, he carried it inside the house, placing them conveniently near the fireplace.

Next, he walked to the forest, carefully scanning the ground before him, the bowie in his hand. Moving as silently as possible, he checked the snares set by Will. He found a good sized hare in one. Resetting the snare, he checked the remaining snares, making sure they were working, he traced his route back to the house.

Dressing the animal, he put the pieces in the stew pot adding a few squaw cabbage, wild onions and some edible tubers he had collected while in the forest. Blowing on the coals, he added some firewood, then kept on blowing till the flames caught on. Sitting back on his haunches, he spread his fingers to the fire as it came along nicely. Slowly the house too warmed up and Pete relaxed mentally for the first time since Will's departure.

[xl_target]

Its definitely getting better, bro.
It holds the interest, the description is good enough to see what is happening.
Waiting for more.

[hvj1]

Thanks XL

[dev]

Thank you for spinning the yarn, now pass the chew and throw another log on the fire.
Nice work and while I don't want to be mean please change the spelling of dear to deer in chapter 1.
Now you need to find a publisher next for them thar western.

Regards,

Dev

[essdee1972]

Yo' got me reachin' for the makin's and make mesel' a smoke, yo' shore did! Great goin' pardner! Yeeeeeee-----haaa!