The rainstorm had died down quickly through the night. Aiken put on his shirt and pants, strapped the holster to his hip, and grabbed his duster and hat from the table. It was still the early morning when he walked out of the saloon. There was just enough chill in the air that his breath could be seen as it rose from his lips. Even though the rain had quit early in the night, the mud still stuck to his boots as he walked down the middle of the street. Very few people were on the streets with him and each gave him an extra step as they passed him by.
The stories of the ride from Albuquerque must have spread. He could see it in their eyes as they quickly glanced away as he looked at them. Their looks were mingled fear and admiration, he was a killer in their eyes, nothing more and nothing less. They wanted to smell death following after him and like any thought that’s allowed to fester, they forced it into reality. Every man fears the deathbringer and every man desires to be him, they want to play at God-choosing who dies and who lives. Aiken shook his head as he passed each one. He never chose who would die or who would live, he just happened to be in the unlucky place when that judgement was made against them. But no one could understand that and he allowed as much space between him and them as they desired.
Even though he was up early, Virgil was already at the Martin Livisten’s with the stagecoach. He smiled as he rested against the crutch that had been formed from a fairly straight branch. Virgil didn’t have that look in his eyes, just that same smile as he saw Aiken walk up.
“Early mornin, ain’t it? We aren’t scheduled to leave for another hour.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Aiken shrugged, but somehow relieved that he could tell someone, “And what was I going to do, lose another nickel at the faro table.”
“Well,” a voice from behind the stage rose, “if you’re going to be here then you’re going to help. Since Virgil got out of it.” A skinny man, a little younger than Virgil, came around the coach. His smile was almost identical to Virgil’s.
“Aiken, I’d like to introduce you to Martin Livisten, the only louse good enough to marry my little sister!” Virgil clapped Morgan on the shoulder.
Aiken looked at the two men standing next to each other and nodded his hat to the younger one.
“We need to get this wheel on and then she’ll be finished.” Martin motioned for Aiken to follow him around the coach.
Together, the two of them got the wheel back on. In all honesty it was a one man job and four hands made it more difficult than it needed to be. But Martin insisted that he needed the help and Virgil laughed as he watched the two juggle the wheel. It wasn’t overly difficult, but Aiken figured to complete the job one way and Martin was fit to do it the way he had done for years. And if it had been anyone else, Aiken would have walked away and never turned back but for the first time he found his faults endearing to himself.
“Alright,” Virgil started as soon as the wheel was locked on the axle, “we need to get to the bank with this before Mr. Young comes looking for us. Aiken, why don’t you climb up to the seat and help me up, Virgil, will you hitch the horses.”
Aiken extended his hand down and took the crutch from Virgil. He then extended it down and put it under the driver’s arm as he hopped up the small ladder to the seat. In the meantime Martin had the horses hitched to the coach and they were ready to be off.
“You know, if you come back in any worse shape than you did last night, Mary isn’t going to allow you to drive no more.” Martin used his hand to shield the sun as he looked up at Virgil.
“You remind my little sister who the big brother is between us, will ya?” Virgil whipped the reins and the horses pulled away. His smile matched that of his brother in law as they waved to one another.
Sitting high on the coach and allowing the sun to stretch over him, his muscles began to warm. Mr. Young was standing outside of the bank along with their two passengers.
“I didn’t expect them to be there.” Virgil stated.
“Ah, look at the stage,” Mr. Young’s sleazy smile had returned, “That Martin knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he? If I didn’t know better, I would have thought this was a brand new stagecoach.” He turned to the businessmen at his side, “Here, let me get the door for you. I hope that your ride is smoother than yesterdays.” His smile disappeared as he shot a look at Aiken, “Won’t it boys?”
“Yes sir!” Virgil stepped in as Aiken’s muscles began to tighten in his shoulders and neck.
And it was. The vast majority of rides that Aiken sat on would end with happy passengers leaving the coach for other adventurers, never knowing the dangers that lurked along the highway between towns. But there were some that ended with passengers ready to be off as soon as the coach arrived in town. They never lost a passenger to a missed shot and never once lost the strongbox. Aiken never missed a shot when lead flew.
Stories lingered in the towns he had left behind, in some Aiken was either a devil or a god and in most he was both. He knew why he left and never stayed. It was those looks, it was the misunderstanding, it was his past that pushed him to keep running. And he wanted to. He wanted to push past everything and everybody, get back to just him. But there was something keeping him on that stagecoach.
“I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while, what’s the story with your gun?” Virgil asked him one day, “I’ve never seen anything like that before and I probably never will again.”
Aiken pulled the iron from its holster and turned it over and back again in his hands. Every single life that had been ended by it was worn in his heart, it wasn’t a burdensome weight, just a weight that he would never shake, a weight he never wanted to shake. Except for that first. He shook his head and pulled himself out of that dream.
“I’ve had this for a long time, brand new from the factory when I was a kid. It’s the only thing I know.” Aiken was surprised by his own candidness, “I was in a gunfight, so many gunfights ago, and the barrel filled up with mud. I don’t know how I lived through that fight because pulling the trigger was the last thing I remember. I cut off the part of the barrel that burst and carried the rifle with me for a long time just like that. I lost the stock hiding behind a tree, it was shot and splintered as it was torn from my hands. I tried talking myself into putting it up and purchasing something else, something like one of those peacemakers.
“But it never felt right.” He stopped himself, not sure if he should continue. He looked from the gun in his hands to the man sitting at his side. Virgil just smiled as he watched the horses pound down the highway, not a hint of judgement behind his eyes. “When you take a life, that life becomes part of you, it buries itself in you and you never forget. You should never forget. And this is what I did that with. This is what I dealt that judgement out with. If I put this up and choose some new, faster gun I become nothing more than a gun for hire, nothing more than some highwayman on the road who kills for gain and even more perverse, for pleasure.
“I’ll never get rid of this, I’ll carry each and every reckoning with me for life and into the eternities. I will have that ledger when I stand before the Last Judge. I can’t cast it aside anymore than I can those deaths. With the exception of one I will hold my account balanced. And until that one becomes reckoned I’ll carry this on my hip.”
He hesitated in returning the gun to its holster. In that hesitation he ran his fingers over the workings carved into the leather. He had done it often enough that it had become a habit. Subconsciously he ran his fingers over the same spot stained a dark, deep brown from the oils from his fingertips. The spot had been worn smooth against his touch but the words could still be read, “And his name that sat on him was Death.”
He reholstered the rifle and went back to watching the road. He waited for something and it never arrived. He wanted to know that it was time to move on and he couldn’t find it anywhere. He road in that seat, and for the first time in his life was comfortable and the first time in a very long time, he was nervous.
The stories of the ride from Albuquerque must have spread. He could see it in their eyes as they quickly glanced away as he looked at them. Their looks were mingled fear and admiration, he was a killer in their eyes, nothing more and nothing less. They wanted to smell death following after him and like any thought that’s allowed to fester, they forced it into reality. Every man fears the deathbringer and every man desires to be him, they want to play at God-choosing who dies and who lives. Aiken shook his head as he passed each one. He never chose who would die or who would live, he just happened to be in the unlucky place when that judgement was made against them. But no one could understand that and he allowed as much space between him and them as they desired.
Even though he was up early, Virgil was already at the Martin Livisten’s with the stagecoach. He smiled as he rested against the crutch that had been formed from a fairly straight branch. Virgil didn’t have that look in his eyes, just that same smile as he saw Aiken walk up.
“Early mornin, ain’t it? We aren’t scheduled to leave for another hour.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Aiken shrugged, but somehow relieved that he could tell someone, “And what was I going to do, lose another nickel at the faro table.”
“Well,” a voice from behind the stage rose, “if you’re going to be here then you’re going to help. Since Virgil got out of it.” A skinny man, a little younger than Virgil, came around the coach. His smile was almost identical to Virgil’s.
“Aiken, I’d like to introduce you to Martin Livisten, the only louse good enough to marry my little sister!” Virgil clapped Morgan on the shoulder.
Aiken looked at the two men standing next to each other and nodded his hat to the younger one.
“We need to get this wheel on and then she’ll be finished.” Martin motioned for Aiken to follow him around the coach.
Together, the two of them got the wheel back on. In all honesty it was a one man job and four hands made it more difficult than it needed to be. But Martin insisted that he needed the help and Virgil laughed as he watched the two juggle the wheel. It wasn’t overly difficult, but Aiken figured to complete the job one way and Martin was fit to do it the way he had done for years. And if it had been anyone else, Aiken would have walked away and never turned back but for the first time he found his faults endearing to himself.
“Alright,” Virgil started as soon as the wheel was locked on the axle, “we need to get to the bank with this before Mr. Young comes looking for us. Aiken, why don’t you climb up to the seat and help me up, Virgil, will you hitch the horses.”
Aiken extended his hand down and took the crutch from Virgil. He then extended it down and put it under the driver’s arm as he hopped up the small ladder to the seat. In the meantime Martin had the horses hitched to the coach and they were ready to be off.
“You know, if you come back in any worse shape than you did last night, Mary isn’t going to allow you to drive no more.” Martin used his hand to shield the sun as he looked up at Virgil.
“You remind my little sister who the big brother is between us, will ya?” Virgil whipped the reins and the horses pulled away. His smile matched that of his brother in law as they waved to one another.
Sitting high on the coach and allowing the sun to stretch over him, his muscles began to warm. Mr. Young was standing outside of the bank along with their two passengers.
“I didn’t expect them to be there.” Virgil stated.
“Ah, look at the stage,” Mr. Young’s sleazy smile had returned, “That Martin knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he? If I didn’t know better, I would have thought this was a brand new stagecoach.” He turned to the businessmen at his side, “Here, let me get the door for you. I hope that your ride is smoother than yesterdays.” His smile disappeared as he shot a look at Aiken, “Won’t it boys?”
“Yes sir!” Virgil stepped in as Aiken’s muscles began to tighten in his shoulders and neck.
And it was. The vast majority of rides that Aiken sat on would end with happy passengers leaving the coach for other adventurers, never knowing the dangers that lurked along the highway between towns. But there were some that ended with passengers ready to be off as soon as the coach arrived in town. They never lost a passenger to a missed shot and never once lost the strongbox. Aiken never missed a shot when lead flew.
Stories lingered in the towns he had left behind, in some Aiken was either a devil or a god and in most he was both. He knew why he left and never stayed. It was those looks, it was the misunderstanding, it was his past that pushed him to keep running. And he wanted to. He wanted to push past everything and everybody, get back to just him. But there was something keeping him on that stagecoach.
“I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while, what’s the story with your gun?” Virgil asked him one day, “I’ve never seen anything like that before and I probably never will again.”
Aiken pulled the iron from its holster and turned it over and back again in his hands. Every single life that had been ended by it was worn in his heart, it wasn’t a burdensome weight, just a weight that he would never shake, a weight he never wanted to shake. Except for that first. He shook his head and pulled himself out of that dream.
“I’ve had this for a long time, brand new from the factory when I was a kid. It’s the only thing I know.” Aiken was surprised by his own candidness, “I was in a gunfight, so many gunfights ago, and the barrel filled up with mud. I don’t know how I lived through that fight because pulling the trigger was the last thing I remember. I cut off the part of the barrel that burst and carried the rifle with me for a long time just like that. I lost the stock hiding behind a tree, it was shot and splintered as it was torn from my hands. I tried talking myself into putting it up and purchasing something else, something like one of those peacemakers.
“But it never felt right.” He stopped himself, not sure if he should continue. He looked from the gun in his hands to the man sitting at his side. Virgil just smiled as he watched the horses pound down the highway, not a hint of judgement behind his eyes. “When you take a life, that life becomes part of you, it buries itself in you and you never forget. You should never forget. And this is what I did that with. This is what I dealt that judgement out with. If I put this up and choose some new, faster gun I become nothing more than a gun for hire, nothing more than some highwayman on the road who kills for gain and even more perverse, for pleasure.
“I’ll never get rid of this, I’ll carry each and every reckoning with me for life and into the eternities. I will have that ledger when I stand before the Last Judge. I can’t cast it aside anymore than I can those deaths. With the exception of one I will hold my account balanced. And until that one becomes reckoned I’ll carry this on my hip.”
He hesitated in returning the gun to its holster. In that hesitation he ran his fingers over the workings carved into the leather. He had done it often enough that it had become a habit. Subconsciously he ran his fingers over the same spot stained a dark, deep brown from the oils from his fingertips. The spot had been worn smooth against his touch but the words could still be read, “And his name that sat on him was Death.”
He reholstered the rifle and went back to watching the road. He waited for something and it never arrived. He wanted to know that it was time to move on and he couldn’t find it anywhere. He road in that seat, and for the first time in his life was comfortable and the first time in a very long time, he was nervous.
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