It was early in the morning when Virgil knocked on Aiken’s door, but it didn’t matter, Aiken had been awake and waiting. Santa Fe or Albuquerque or the middle of the dusty desert, he didn’t sleep well. As soon as Virgil knocked Aiken opened the door, dressed and ready for the day.
“Did you sleep like that?” Virgil laughed as he clapped Aiken on the back.
Aiken shook his head and closed the door behind him. After spending the evening with Virgil there was something about the man that he liked. He was warm and inviting, there was no pretense or ungenuine character within him. He had never met a man like him before, he was difficult to read because there was nothing to read hidden underneath the surface of the man. What he said is what he meant and what you saw is exactly what you got. Aiken had spent his life looking for the tell that would show the lie in someone’s story. Virgil did not have a tell, and that still made him uncomfortable. Yet he shut the door behind him and slightly smiled, it was unnoticeable to everyone. But he noticed and he shook his head again.
They walked out of the hotel and saloon and started down the street to the bank and where the vermillion coach was waiting. Next to the stage were two business men, both in clean suits and new bowlers. The men were laughing, both of their voices carrying in the crisp, morning air. It was just cold enough to see their breath and it punctuated the laughter as it entered the atmosphere.
“Mr.’s Johnson and Lee, I hope?” Virgil stretched out his hand, the same smile on his face.
The men shook Virgil’s hand and then turned them to Aiken, expecting the same kindly welcome. They didn’t receive one back. They pulled their hands back with a slight shrug and went right back to their conversation. Virgil stood their for a few minutes, almost as if he had been part of it he jumped right into the conversation and shared a couple of laughs. Aiken stood off to the side, never belonging to the conversation. He stood there and waited.
“Well, let’s get going.” Virgil said as he opened the door to the coach, “We’ll have you in Santa Fe this evening and in Las Vegas tomorrow.” After he closed the door he clapped Aiken on the shoulder again and climbed onto the stage.
Aiken climbed onto the stage and took his seat next to Virgil, “Do you want to get this trip started like you did yesterday?” Virgil asked with a large smile on his face.
Aiken sat down without a word or even an acknowledgement of the joke. The morning light had washed away any ability to pull down the wall that he had created for so many years. He pulled the rifle from its holster and watched as he cocked the lever and chambered a round, “Let’s just get going.” He said, turning his view to the road ahead he reholstered his rifle.
The road back to Santa Fe was the same that they had taken to Albuquerque, dusty with the occasional rabbit running across it. The only breaks in the monotony were either the conversations that Virgil continued to start and that were routinely ended quickly by Aiken or the Coach Stations that were about every fifteen miles apart. As soon as they would pull in Virgil would be off of the stage and into the newest conversations with the couples and families that managed the stations. The two business men were able to get out and stretch for a few minutes and get a glass of water as the horses were changed. Aiken just watched from his landing, occasionally tipping his hat if he was even acknowledged or answering any questions with one word answers.
The wind changed directions and he shivered once to quickly rewarm himself. Instinctively his hand went to the gun at his hip as he continued to watch and wait. The wind was too cold for his liking, no one else seemed to notice the change though. And why would they? He was alone and had been for so long that it he had learned to read everything around him. If the only thing that stands between you and death is yourself, you learn to fight and you never stop fighting. It was on the wind and he was going to fight.
“Let’s get going.” He tersely said down to Virgil.
“In just a minute.” Virgil turned up to Aiken with a questioning look forcing its way through his smile.
“Get those two and let’s get moving.” Aiken wasn’t going to budge from his stance.
“Okay.” Virgil wasn’t going to fight, he quickly went into the house and came out with the two business men.
“What is it?” Virgil asked.
“Just get to driving, don’t go fast and don’t go slow. And don’t stop until I tell you to.” Was the reply as Aiken pulled the rifle from his holster and began to cock the hammer and then release it slowly. The air was getting colder around him and he needed to stay warm.
Virgil whipped at the reins with a “ha” and the coach started down the road to Santa Fe again. The wind had calmed again, the clouds in the sky had slowed to a crawl as they swept across the painted blue sky. From the wind, the smell of sage from the brush around the road filled his nostrils. Behind, the dust kicked up from the coach slowly settled back to the road. The sound of the desert filled his ear, the buzzing of flies and bees among the sagebrush, the gentle scraping of pebbles as the jackrabbit hopped, the imperceptible rattle of a snake ready to strike. The pounding of horse hooves against the burnt, desert soil. The wind picked up, stronger.
“Run the horses!” He yelled.
“What?” Virgil’s smile disappeared as soon as he saw the fire in Aiken’s eyes.
“Run, and don’t stop until I say to!” Aiken never returned Virgil’s look, though he cocked the rifle and left it there.
Virgil whipped at the reins and continued to whip at them. The wind picked up and the dust from the horses and the coach carried into the wind, around them the pounding of hooves grew louder and through the dust shadows could be seen running through the brush.
“Stop!”
Virgil pulled on the reins as hard as he could. The dust enveloped the coach as it came to an abrupt stop and the passengers slammed against the front of the coach interior. The shadows overshot the coach.
“Get down!” Aiken stepped in front of Virgil.
The dust continued to blow across the stagecoach, obscuring the view out as well as the view in. Aiken scanned across the front of the stage as he held the rifle against his hip. The shadows rode back and Aiken knelt on one knee. The bullet hit the seat of the coach where he had just been. Another hit a piece of luggage above the coach. Aiken counted four shadow in total as they rode passed the coach.
“Get off of the coach and underneath it.” Aiken’s eyes burned, not from the dust, as he directed Virgil, “The dust is going to settle and they’ll see you if you don’t hurry.”
Virgil didn’t need any more encouragement. He jumped off of the coach and scrambled underneath it. Aiken stood up and turned around to face the coming highwaymen, the dust began to thin as the wind carried it away from the road. He could see two of the horsemen and squeezed the trigger. One fell from his horse and Aiken chambered another round as the other two horsemen came into view through the dust. Aiken turned and fired the rifle at the lead horse, the horse crumpled and threw the rider to the ground. Jumping from the coach, Aiken landed on his feet and levered another round into the chamber.
The two rear horses split the coach. The rider on Aiken’s side leveled his revolver at took a shot. The ground underneath his feet quaked as the sprayed soil showered across his legs, Aiken didn’t flinch and brought the rider to the ground. He moved as he chambered another round. Opening the door of the coach he pulled the businessmen from the inside and pulled them to the ground and kicked to hurry them along to join Virgil underneath the coach. The wood of the coach next to his head splintered as a bullet passed through it.
Aiken turned around and fired at the man who had been thrown from his horse. He fell across the horse that he had been using for cover as he lined up the shot at Aiken. Turning, he chambered the final round. The bandit reined his horse and looked back at the carnage that had become more and more evident as the dust had blown away. Aiken could read it on his face, he had seen the look before. He was going to run like the cur he was.
Aiken had seen it before and this time was no different. He had long ago made the decision and he continued to live by it. He pulled the shortened rifle tight against his hip and fired the last shot. The rider crumpled in his seat and fell as his horse began to run. It was a few yards before his foot had worked its way out of the stirrups and he settled to the ground.
He started to walk down the road towards the last man who had fallen. The coward who would turn and run after trying to inflict so much damage and devastation. Whether a man would run or face it head on, judgement comes. He had been weighed and he had been found wanting. Justice came with the price of lead. The world turned and soon it would be him who would be found wanting. Aiken levered the action of the rifle and watched as the spent casing tumbled through the air, landing upon the young man laying in the dust.
“Did you sleep like that?” Virgil laughed as he clapped Aiken on the back.
Aiken shook his head and closed the door behind him. After spending the evening with Virgil there was something about the man that he liked. He was warm and inviting, there was no pretense or ungenuine character within him. He had never met a man like him before, he was difficult to read because there was nothing to read hidden underneath the surface of the man. What he said is what he meant and what you saw is exactly what you got. Aiken had spent his life looking for the tell that would show the lie in someone’s story. Virgil did not have a tell, and that still made him uncomfortable. Yet he shut the door behind him and slightly smiled, it was unnoticeable to everyone. But he noticed and he shook his head again.
They walked out of the hotel and saloon and started down the street to the bank and where the vermillion coach was waiting. Next to the stage were two business men, both in clean suits and new bowlers. The men were laughing, both of their voices carrying in the crisp, morning air. It was just cold enough to see their breath and it punctuated the laughter as it entered the atmosphere.
“Mr.’s Johnson and Lee, I hope?” Virgil stretched out his hand, the same smile on his face.
The men shook Virgil’s hand and then turned them to Aiken, expecting the same kindly welcome. They didn’t receive one back. They pulled their hands back with a slight shrug and went right back to their conversation. Virgil stood their for a few minutes, almost as if he had been part of it he jumped right into the conversation and shared a couple of laughs. Aiken stood off to the side, never belonging to the conversation. He stood there and waited.
“Well, let’s get going.” Virgil said as he opened the door to the coach, “We’ll have you in Santa Fe this evening and in Las Vegas tomorrow.” After he closed the door he clapped Aiken on the shoulder again and climbed onto the stage.
Aiken climbed onto the stage and took his seat next to Virgil, “Do you want to get this trip started like you did yesterday?” Virgil asked with a large smile on his face.
Aiken sat down without a word or even an acknowledgement of the joke. The morning light had washed away any ability to pull down the wall that he had created for so many years. He pulled the rifle from its holster and watched as he cocked the lever and chambered a round, “Let’s just get going.” He said, turning his view to the road ahead he reholstered his rifle.
The road back to Santa Fe was the same that they had taken to Albuquerque, dusty with the occasional rabbit running across it. The only breaks in the monotony were either the conversations that Virgil continued to start and that were routinely ended quickly by Aiken or the Coach Stations that were about every fifteen miles apart. As soon as they would pull in Virgil would be off of the stage and into the newest conversations with the couples and families that managed the stations. The two business men were able to get out and stretch for a few minutes and get a glass of water as the horses were changed. Aiken just watched from his landing, occasionally tipping his hat if he was even acknowledged or answering any questions with one word answers.
The wind changed directions and he shivered once to quickly rewarm himself. Instinctively his hand went to the gun at his hip as he continued to watch and wait. The wind was too cold for his liking, no one else seemed to notice the change though. And why would they? He was alone and had been for so long that it he had learned to read everything around him. If the only thing that stands between you and death is yourself, you learn to fight and you never stop fighting. It was on the wind and he was going to fight.
“Let’s get going.” He tersely said down to Virgil.
“In just a minute.” Virgil turned up to Aiken with a questioning look forcing its way through his smile.
“Get those two and let’s get moving.” Aiken wasn’t going to budge from his stance.
“Okay.” Virgil wasn’t going to fight, he quickly went into the house and came out with the two business men.
“What is it?” Virgil asked.
“Just get to driving, don’t go fast and don’t go slow. And don’t stop until I tell you to.” Was the reply as Aiken pulled the rifle from his holster and began to cock the hammer and then release it slowly. The air was getting colder around him and he needed to stay warm.
Virgil whipped at the reins with a “ha” and the coach started down the road to Santa Fe again. The wind had calmed again, the clouds in the sky had slowed to a crawl as they swept across the painted blue sky. From the wind, the smell of sage from the brush around the road filled his nostrils. Behind, the dust kicked up from the coach slowly settled back to the road. The sound of the desert filled his ear, the buzzing of flies and bees among the sagebrush, the gentle scraping of pebbles as the jackrabbit hopped, the imperceptible rattle of a snake ready to strike. The pounding of horse hooves against the burnt, desert soil. The wind picked up, stronger.
“Run the horses!” He yelled.
“What?” Virgil’s smile disappeared as soon as he saw the fire in Aiken’s eyes.
“Run, and don’t stop until I say to!” Aiken never returned Virgil’s look, though he cocked the rifle and left it there.
Virgil whipped at the reins and continued to whip at them. The wind picked up and the dust from the horses and the coach carried into the wind, around them the pounding of hooves grew louder and through the dust shadows could be seen running through the brush.
“Stop!”
Virgil pulled on the reins as hard as he could. The dust enveloped the coach as it came to an abrupt stop and the passengers slammed against the front of the coach interior. The shadows overshot the coach.
“Get down!” Aiken stepped in front of Virgil.
The dust continued to blow across the stagecoach, obscuring the view out as well as the view in. Aiken scanned across the front of the stage as he held the rifle against his hip. The shadows rode back and Aiken knelt on one knee. The bullet hit the seat of the coach where he had just been. Another hit a piece of luggage above the coach. Aiken counted four shadow in total as they rode passed the coach.
“Get off of the coach and underneath it.” Aiken’s eyes burned, not from the dust, as he directed Virgil, “The dust is going to settle and they’ll see you if you don’t hurry.”
Virgil didn’t need any more encouragement. He jumped off of the coach and scrambled underneath it. Aiken stood up and turned around to face the coming highwaymen, the dust began to thin as the wind carried it away from the road. He could see two of the horsemen and squeezed the trigger. One fell from his horse and Aiken chambered another round as the other two horsemen came into view through the dust. Aiken turned and fired the rifle at the lead horse, the horse crumpled and threw the rider to the ground. Jumping from the coach, Aiken landed on his feet and levered another round into the chamber.
The two rear horses split the coach. The rider on Aiken’s side leveled his revolver at took a shot. The ground underneath his feet quaked as the sprayed soil showered across his legs, Aiken didn’t flinch and brought the rider to the ground. He moved as he chambered another round. Opening the door of the coach he pulled the businessmen from the inside and pulled them to the ground and kicked to hurry them along to join Virgil underneath the coach. The wood of the coach next to his head splintered as a bullet passed through it.
Aiken turned around and fired at the man who had been thrown from his horse. He fell across the horse that he had been using for cover as he lined up the shot at Aiken. Turning, he chambered the final round. The bandit reined his horse and looked back at the carnage that had become more and more evident as the dust had blown away. Aiken could read it on his face, he had seen the look before. He was going to run like the cur he was.
Aiken had seen it before and this time was no different. He had long ago made the decision and he continued to live by it. He pulled the shortened rifle tight against his hip and fired the last shot. The rider crumpled in his seat and fell as his horse began to run. It was a few yards before his foot had worked its way out of the stirrups and he settled to the ground.
He started to walk down the road towards the last man who had fallen. The coward who would turn and run after trying to inflict so much damage and devastation. Whether a man would run or face it head on, judgement comes. He had been weighed and he had been found wanting. Justice came with the price of lead. The world turned and soon it would be him who would be found wanting. Aiken levered the action of the rifle and watched as the spent casing tumbled through the air, landing upon the young man laying in the dust.
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