MicroHorror

I was on a hilltop, resting peacefully beneath the stars when my brother Ronnie rode up hard from the direction of the home place. Four midnight-black stallions trailed behind the one Ronnie sat astride. Realizing I was meant to fill one of the saddles, I stretched and stood.

“Violet’s been abducted by outlaws,” my brother announced.

“Outlaws?” I repeated stupidly. My head swam.

“A gang—bandits.”

Ronnie sounded impatient. “Shake off the cobwebs, Luke. Tonight we ride.”

“Who’s we?” I asked as I swung a leg over the closest horse.

“Pa and Uncle Garret.” Ronnie paused. “And Ma.”

“Ma’s coming?” I asked incredulously.

“You think she’s just going to lay around waiting for us to go rescue Violet? She’ll likely send more outlaws to the vultures than any of us.”

My brother and I followed the floating moon to where our father and mother were waiting together. The moonlight made obvious their righteous anger.

“Boys,” Pa said, nodding at each of us. We were no longer boys but old habits die hard.

“I ’spect you know what we gotta do when we catch up with them,” Pa spoke calmly as he climbed into the saddle of his chosen mount.

“No survivors,” Ma rasped. She’d had a battle with throat cancer; the more obstinate party had won. “We mow them down like wheat.”

“It’ll be all right, Ma,” Ronnie reassured her. “We know what needs to be done.”

“We’ll need to ride swiftly to save her,” Pa said, ending further discussion.

We raced through the night, our horses chewing up the distance with ease.

Twelve miles later we crested a hill and paused to survey our surroundings. The hilly country began to taper off and beyond us, to the west, stood the Badlands.

A lone figure waited at the bottom of the hill. Uncle Garret. He’d faced off against rustlers near here and I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d picked this spot to meet us.

“You can see the smoke from their campfire not more than two miles from here,” Uncle Garret said without preamble.

We rode silently toward the smoke. The moon lit the stage from high above as we surrounded the outlaws’ camp.

Since no one had been at the home place when they had snatched Violet, the outlaws didn’t see fit to set up a watch. It wouldn’t have helped them anyway. We galloped down on the encampment from all sides.

Half their number were dead by our hand before they realized they were under attack. Men scurried and staggered, shooting blindly into the night. Some of our enemies cursed in anger, others screamed in fear. I bore down on a giant of a man as he stumbled through the brush. I leaped from the saddle and knocked him sprawling into the dust. He howled in terror and died with his right hand clutching not his six-shooter, but his heart.

By the time the echoes of their cries had faded into the night, we had done Ma proud. The outlaws were all dead.

Our eyes turned to Violet, who stood speechless and trembling in the center of the carnage. As we watched, she doggedly gathered food and supplies from throughout the camp. Then she selected the two best horses, loading one with supplies and saddling the other. She set the rest free. Violet surveyed the scene one final time and then silently rode away.

We all watched her go, thankful that she would be returning to the home place without us. I wanted to call out to her, but I knew it would be futile. She’d be by to see me soon enough, probably with some flowers. And what a story she’d have to tell.

As for the rest of us, we went our separate ways. I glanced at the sky. Still an hour or two before dawn. Soon I’d be back in my hilltop grave, once again resting peacefully beneath the stars.