Background
A Western full of calamity and a wistful but prevailing human spirit.
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Cast of Characters:
Wyatt - young cowboy for the Bar JS ranch and narrator of this tale
Verne Alexander and John Shelton - co-owners of the Bar JS ranch
Patch Murphy - cowboy Verne encountered in the Silver Cent saloon
Isabell - whore in the Silver Cent saloon
Abigail Fiona - piano player, and owner, of the Silver Cent saloon
Esther Madison - Verne's old flame
The Blanes - outfit Patch Murphy drives cattle for to Dodge City
***NPTE: The POV of this tale is 1st Person Omniscient, not 1st Person Limited.
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When Verne left Mr. Shelton on the porch, he strapped on his .45 and strolled down the street. Quiet as a sleeping babe, the night was not one he reckoned he'd have to shoot any outlaws. Still, Verne knew it was always wise to have his pistol with him in Pecos Valley. One fell whack with the Colt would halt most drunks he encountered.
Nights in Pecos Valley were so dry Verne could smell the dirt. Even with only a crescent moon, the stars shone bright enough to cast eerie shadows. Verne knew some skittish cowboys who'd blazed away at chaparral bushes on just such clear nights mistaking them for Mexican banditos.
From out of the darkness, a prairie dog raced past Verne's boots.
Annoyed, Verne told the rodent, "Git!".
He kicked at the critter but missed. Rapidly, the prairie dog scurried away out of range of Verne's long leg.
Pecos Valley weren't brimming with people, nor was it illuminated with lights. Verne noticed one paint hitched outside the Silver Cent. Tobiano belonged to Patch Murphy. With a solid black head, Tobiano had dark-colored flanks, four white legs below his hocks, and a two-toned tail.
Patch liked playing cards but weren't good at it and probably lacked dinero. Verne wouldn't rule out a game of poker with a cowboy like Patch, who he knew was a good trail hand. They could always play for future wages.
Verne moseyed into the Silver Cent. He noticed everyone there was highly agitated because Abigail Fiona kept pounding out "Camptown Races" on the piano. The eighty-eight keys caused a hullabaloo. I wished Verne would shoot the dern clavier. After all, how can a hard-working, young, cowboy like me get his much needed beauty sleep with all that commotion? I pulled my bedroll tightly over my head to drown out the noise as best I could. It didn't help. Verne found it difficult to extend pleasantries with Isabell at the height of Abigail's performance.
He liked Isabell's distracting comeliness. Her picturesque beauty was created by her hollowed cheeks. Those features were what drew Verne's attention the most. He once loved a woman like Isabell...a long time ago, in another place. Her name was Esther Madison. She'd chosen a horsetrader over the free-roaming ex-lawman. Somehow, Verne never quite got over her.
Patch Murphy was seated at a table on the far side of the saloon. A bottle of rye whiskey kept him company. Mid-thirties, Patch wore a beaver-colored, upwardly curved, handlebar moustache he kept well-waxed. Verne's was more of a horseshoe.
Verne walked over to where Patch Murphy was seated and said, "Aye, God, Patch. I never expected to see you dilly-dallying down here in Pecos Valley in the Spring. Ain't you got no cattle to drive?"
"Leaving in a week for Dodge City," Patch responded, "riding with the Blanes."
Verne was well familiar with the outfit.
Born in Brownsville, Patch had been raised on the Rio Grande. He often returned home in his fondest thoughts. Patch fit in well with the Mexican charros and their bullfights. He'd lost a month's wages to a dicer and was down to his last two bits.
Seeing Patch's disposition for what it was, Verne asked him, "Life's short, Patch. Why stay in the Arizona Territory iffen you long so bad for Matamoros?"
"I wish I could get back there," Patch said with a sour stomach, "but, there's cattle needs driving to Dodge City."
He reckoned in the Fall he'd go there.
"Work always comes first with you, don't it, Patch?" Verne wanted to know.
However, he didn't want to talk cows. What Verne desired was a card game. Isabell often played when the Silver Cent wasn't full of cowboys. Those times she weren't allowed to. When Isabell won a little cash, her eyes lit up and she'd laugh a bit. Verne'd let her win a pot or two to watch Isabell's metamorphosis. He liked the change.
Finishing his drink and full of melancholy, Patch stepped into the slim light of the moon to unhitch Tobiano. Verne followed him as Isabell went to her room. He dug deep in his pocket and pulled out a gold piece. He handed the coin to Patch, who smiled.
Never able to figure Verne out, he weren't the only one in Pecos Valley with those troubles, Patch wondered, "Why'd you give me this gold nugget?"
"I'd not want the notion considered I'd refuse a loan to a friend," Verne told him.
"Much obliged, Verne," Patch replied mounting Tobiano.
"Don't git yourself drowned, stomped by no heifer, nor hanged along the trail," Verne remarked, "and, if you care to, you're welcome to bed down at our place tonight."
As Patch slowly rode off, Verne saw the lantern in Isabell's room glowed. A woman's touch pleased him. The card game would wait for another time. He went back inside the Silver Cent, made his way up the wooden stairs, and knocked on Isabell's door. Verne always believed nights were made for sportin'.
Author Notes
For those who have been following my tale this chapter should have come before Verne and Isabell sported. But, like the dumbass I can sometimes be, I forgot to write this chapter first. DUH! Completely missed it on the outline of my book. For those of you who are just now discovering my Western tale, that won't matter.
-clavier - keyboard of a musical instrument
Symmetrical Motion, by Paul G., selected to complement my tale.
So, thanks Paul G., for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my tale.
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