Clouds whipped through the sky, a storm was moving in and he would be lucky if he saw anything big enough to take home to his family. Not that he needed to shoot a deer to put food on the table, no, he just wanted to shoot his brother's new rifle.
It was a Winchester '73, the barrel and receiver were case-hardened instead of the simple blued steel that was all too common and the walnut stock felt silky smooth in his grip. His brother saved any spare dollar that he could convince his new bride to part with, it took him nearly a year but he finally had the gun sent through the post. His brother hadn't told his new wife, but he also ordered her a new gingham dress and she soon forgot about the expense of the rifle. It didn't matter, though, that day it was Aiken's rifle and he was burning to shoot something.
Stalking through the scrub oak, he pretended that he was a scout in General Grant's army during the Civil War. Every branch that cracked or leaf that rustled was a rebel guerrilla that needed to be stopped before they could report to General Lee. He continued to climb further through the hills of the Idaho Territory and the sun finally broke through the clouds.
Aiken found himself in a calm that was surrounded by storm clouds, he knew that if there was a chance to see a deer before they found a place to bed down to weather out the storm was right then. He had to stop though, the sun felt good upon his face. As the light fell upon his face every muscle tightened as the blood rushed to his cheeks to soak in the warmth. The gentle burn that began to spread across his brow and down into his cheeks held his attention and for a brief moment he forgot about Johnny Reb or the new rifle in his hand, it was just him and creation.
**********
He could feel the sun burning his wind chapped cheeks and he wondered how long he had been asleep. Reaching for his hat, he didn't want to open his eyes but he didn't want to fall asleep again. It had been twenty years and every night it was the same dream. No matter how he tried it always ended the same and he always woke up running away.
Finding his hat he held it up in front of his eyes and he slowly squinted them open. The desert sand had made a firm bed and he had to stretch for a while to get the sleep out of them. The horse had stayed and just watched as he made his way to a knee and finally stood up. He stretched again and forced himself to take a step, and then another and another, finally to the horse and the canteen full of water. Opening it, he splashed a small amount on his face and then took a deep swallow. "We should be able to make Santa Fe tomorrow morning if we ride all day and night." He said to the horse as he put the canteen back around the saddle horn.
He stretched one more time, pulling hard against the muscles in his legs. Putting his foot in the stirrup, he thought once more on the dream. Was there a way to change it, did it matter? Was there a way to have the dream stop? And he rode West, one hand on the reins and the other on the rifle holstered to his hip.
It was a Winchester '73, the barrel and receiver were case-hardened instead of the simple blued steel that was all too common and the walnut stock felt silky smooth in his grip. His brother saved any spare dollar that he could convince his new bride to part with, it took him nearly a year but he finally had the gun sent through the post. His brother hadn't told his new wife, but he also ordered her a new gingham dress and she soon forgot about the expense of the rifle. It didn't matter, though, that day it was Aiken's rifle and he was burning to shoot something.
Stalking through the scrub oak, he pretended that he was a scout in General Grant's army during the Civil War. Every branch that cracked or leaf that rustled was a rebel guerrilla that needed to be stopped before they could report to General Lee. He continued to climb further through the hills of the Idaho Territory and the sun finally broke through the clouds.
Aiken found himself in a calm that was surrounded by storm clouds, he knew that if there was a chance to see a deer before they found a place to bed down to weather out the storm was right then. He had to stop though, the sun felt good upon his face. As the light fell upon his face every muscle tightened as the blood rushed to his cheeks to soak in the warmth. The gentle burn that began to spread across his brow and down into his cheeks held his attention and for a brief moment he forgot about Johnny Reb or the new rifle in his hand, it was just him and creation.
**********
He could feel the sun burning his wind chapped cheeks and he wondered how long he had been asleep. Reaching for his hat, he didn't want to open his eyes but he didn't want to fall asleep again. It had been twenty years and every night it was the same dream. No matter how he tried it always ended the same and he always woke up running away.
Finding his hat he held it up in front of his eyes and he slowly squinted them open. The desert sand had made a firm bed and he had to stretch for a while to get the sleep out of them. The horse had stayed and just watched as he made his way to a knee and finally stood up. He stretched again and forced himself to take a step, and then another and another, finally to the horse and the canteen full of water. Opening it, he splashed a small amount on his face and then took a deep swallow. "We should be able to make Santa Fe tomorrow morning if we ride all day and night." He said to the horse as he put the canteen back around the saddle horn.
He stretched one more time, pulling hard against the muscles in his legs. Putting his foot in the stirrup, he thought once more on the dream. Was there a way to change it, did it matter? Was there a way to have the dream stop? And he rode West, one hand on the reins and the other on the rifle holstered to his hip.
No comments:
Post a Comment