The golden land spread out before him as endless as the day before. Undulating plains, which looked as though they rolled lazily forth, minute hills up and down to the horizon, hid many a pothole and secret. The grasses were golden and dry in the afternoon heat. Green where there was water. There was little green.
His jeans were faded from the sun, so light as to match the dust and the dirt beneath him. His hat, the last bastion of shade as the sun began to lift itself lazily off the horizon. He'd read stories of the deserts of the world: Gobi and Sahara and mostly those of Mexico, so close on a map yet so far away in the land. All of them made Cody glad he was in the plains of America.
He sat on a knoll as the hill he walked began to turn downward. the saddlebag on his shoulder slipped away to the ground as it had wont to do the entirety of his walk. Cody's left arm felt still and his hand sore from holding the leather to his shoulder as he walked. Saddlebags were not invented for man. His right hand gently set down the rifle he carried. There were eight cartridges left on Cody's person, and he would not lose one to misfire.
The sun worked its way upward on its eternal journey behind Cody and his little hill. Shadows seemed to recede forth from the distance ahead.
There were yet no mountains before him.
Another day maybe? Another week more likely. Another month and he'd want for death.
He would not accept death. Never. Cody was a runner. The leather worn beneath his warm and tired feet spoke to that. It was thin yet still held his feet in place. After another week of stepping through the land he may not be so lucky.
Cody sipped water from his canteen, which sloshed ever louder as he walked along. Just a sip and a breather, that's all this stop was. It was too early in the day to sleep. He'd just sit a little and let the cool air that settled before the sunrise wash over him. That's what he told himself.
His stomach and feet disagreed with the assessment, but they tended to be on the losing end of arguments lately. Ever since the raid on his cattle.
Cody didn't know what tribe had come, guns cracking in the sky as loud as the men's hoots and cries. He didn't much care for politicking, of his sort or the other. He spat on it all, tribes of natives and whites. He knew this tribe’s want, though. It wasn't men or scalps or anything of the horror stories, though he could not say that for certain. It was the cattle most of all. The land's crop and the treasure of the raid. Cody's job was to protect that crop, that herd of beast he'd walked all the way up from Texas with. But when Bill Derry took a stray shot in the throat, the rally and the vigor of the other cowboys waned as much as did Cody's.
Cody took Bill's horse as he hadn’t one of his own. Up on the animal, he saw the others scattering like chickens freed from a coop. They ran every way but in line with the cattle. Hell, Little Tom had been running his horse towards the bastards raiding them, last Cody saw at least. Cody had looked about and seen that there were no men to the south. None of his tribe or the other. That'd been where they came from with the cattle, so the land was somewhat more familiar. The gunshots lessened as the predators realized the inexperience of their prey. Cody only had a moment, and he took it.
He ran his steed to the south, away from the action and his job and the life he'd known. Reputation was not something a runaway carried, at least not a good one.
After pushing his horse - Bill's horse - harder than it'd been pushed in weeks, the animal slowed, and Cody dismounted.
There was no one behind him, friend nor foe.
Sitting on the hill, a great many miles west of the raid - he could never call it a shootout - Cody realized that the last words he spoke to another human being were to Bill Derry as he choked on his own blood on the ground. "Goddammit, Bill. I'm sorry," he'd said as he took the man's horse. Bill's eyes had begun to glaze over in that faraway look that only the dead carried. Cody remembered that look well.
The horse lasted many miles longer than Cody had thought it would. He sat now, knowing it could have lasted many miles further than it had.
One notices more on foot than on horseback.
Two days before, as Cody walked the plains, he found something he'd never seen before. Those plains that hide so much in their smooth veneer. Beneath each curve of the land is a world hidden from the hill just beyond it. That's why Cody survived. Hell, that's why at least a quarter of the cattle survived. You cannot find something alone in the plains. You may see it 10 miles away, but the miles between you and it contain so many falls and rises and changes of course that by the time you close five of those miles, you will have lost sight of whatever you wanted a dozen times and more than likely it won't be where you last saw it. You experience this somewhat on horse. As the animal walks the land, and the man rolls through the sea of the plains with it. But you don't know the land as you do walking. Cody almost stepped in a pothole in the ground two days prior that would have snapped his femur and sentenced him for death right there. He didn't step in the hole though, as he is grateful for now. More grateful though, he is for the turtles that lived in the pothole. Shaded from the sun, as Cody looked down at the hole that could have been his demise, he saw a reflection of light. Smooth and dark, it was as if a river stone lay at the bottom. It took only a moment for Cody to recognize a turtle - or tortoise, he didn't know the difference - sitting at the bottom of the hole. He had never seen such a thing. Cody only knew turtles in lakes and streams. These looked like box turtles, more than the snapping kind, but he didn't take any chances as he struck in the hole with the butt of his rifle, killing the turtle before it could bite.
There were three in that hole, and though he had never made turtle stew before, the dinner Cody had that night was the best he could remember having in his life.
The horse had not tasted good. Cody felt awful having to kill the animal. He felt worse after finding the turtles and realizing there was more food in the land than he had thought. He hadn't even been able to carry most of the damn horse. It was too much meat, and he had to keep walking.
He walked in the direction he faced now sitting on a hill as the sun rose behind him. West. To the Rockies. There were towns and people all along the mountains on this side. Those who set out for Oregon or California and said "no," at the thought of crossing the Rockies. Cody had never seen mountains, but he knew where they were. He knew he'd be a freer man out there than back in Texas or Omaha. He wouldn't be a coward in the Rockies.
His eyes perked up to movement ahead of him. Three hundred yards away there was a shifting, brown on brown, as something swam through the plains.
A coyote.
Cody pulled his rifle to his shoulder. As he looked through the sight, the beast was gone. It disappeared into the grassland and the cracks of the plains.
Cody kept the rifle to his shoulder, lowering the sight so he could have full view of the expanse of the land. He knew the coyote was a good as gone, but he could not let it go so easily.
The horse meat was gone, mostly eaten, some rotted so badly it lay miles behind him. Only one turtle lay left in the saddlebag. A coyote would bless him and keep him better than the body and the blood out here. Though he would take communion as soon as he found men again. Confession, then communion. God called no one coward should they take the sacraments.
He hoped that last as much as he hoped for the coyote to reappear. But the dog was gone.
Cody let the rifle sit on his lap and he took another sip of the canteen.
The sun hit the back of his neck now and began to warm him. If he wanted to get more miles in walking, he'd have to do so now. He had only a few hours before the heat of the day caught up to him and he'd have to sleep once more.
It was nice walking in the dark of the stars anyway.
As he stood, giving up on the coyote, Cody thanked God at a new sight. He saw a flash of white in the distance. A flash of fur better than any mangy dog he could have shot and a mystery wandering the same plains as him.
He'd never seen an antelope before this moment but knew that it was a gift. He'd thought of confession, and someone above saw fit for his survival.
Cody crouched again. The antelope, not much bigger than the coyote in all honesty, crested a hill a quarter mile away. A moment later, a second followed.
They were moving, but at a saunter not a sprint. Cody saw their path and grabbed his bag to move.
He couldn’t make a shot much more than two hundred yards. And not with confidence more than a hundred. He saw where the animals were headed, prayed he was right, and moved.
They disappeared from sight immediately as he walked down the hill. There is a lot of hope in the plains. Life there is more hope and prayer than any would realize before crossing them. They are no Gobi or Sahara, but they are a desert their own.
Cody followed the valley between the hills, heading north slightly. He could crest now but would still be too far away for a shot and he didn't want to risk spooking the animals early. He'd only have one chance. Eight cartridges left. But there'd be no time to shoot more than once if he scared the antelope. He smiled as he went, wishing he were French, so he'd have a white flag to wave. He'd heard tales antelope chased white flags. He did not laugh though. He walked the grass, crunching beneath his feet, as quietly as he could at this pace. He had to move quickly but he didn't know what would spook them.
Finally, he reached the hill he thought would be right. He ran up it, panting slightly as he did, before slowing to crest the top.
The animals were running but not sprinting. Their bounds were constant but without fear.
They were two hundred yards out.
Cody pulled the rifle to his shoulder and put the bead on the front of the pair. It was moving and he moved with it. He felt his lungs refuse to slow and saw the shake in the bead from his shoulder moving. His heart was racing, and it seemed it would not cease. There was no time to let nerves cool though. The pair bounded towards a rise to the north. behind that, who knows where they'd go.
Cody focused. He did not think. He did not even pray.
The trigger felt soft against his finger as he squeezed. The moment the crack of the round reverberated in his eardrum he saw the bead of the gun a hair higher than he wanted it. His shoulder yet shaking from his breath, carrying it away from his mark.
The animal's pace quickened as they ran from the sound. Nor did they moved any differently as the bullet whizzed by them.
Cody walked to where they had been as he had shot and saw the ground free of blood.
It had been a clean miss. There was nothing to track.
He'd eat his last turtle tonight.
Thanks for giving that a read! Credit to Brett Sales for the photo. My newsletter will always be 100% free. No paid subscriptions here. If you’d like to drop a donation in my hat however, check out my ko-fi here:
And if you’d just like to hang out here: check out my other stories, leave a comment, and share with whoever you want to!
Love ya!
Max