Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by Marvel; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome!
Copyright 2000
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The Rawhide Kid: Heart of a Mustang by Syl Francis
"Ride 'im, Billy!"
"Ya got 'im, Billy-boy!"
"Yeeeehaaww!!"
The ranch hands cheered on the young rider. The Appaloosa stallion had already thrown six of the men, including Slim, the ranch foreman. Billy was the first rider who'd managed to stay on the mustang's back for longer than a half second.
As the wild stallion fought to throw his rider, bucking wildly and in anger, it became apparent that Billy was going to succeed. Without warning, the Appaloosa suddenly twisted right, then left, and then slammed his rider into the corral fence.
With a yell, Billy went flying, landing in an ignominious cloud of dust.
As soon as he'd thrown his unwelcome rider, the mustang went careening off, in a triumphant bucking gallop around the enclosed corral. Two cowboys leaped off the corral fence and ran towards Billy. They grabbed him by the arms and hurriedly dragged him underneath the corral fence to safety.
Another hand quickly began checking him over.
Meanwhile, a young cowboy who'd only been a spectator, ran towards the wild bronc and caught it by its harness. The stallion tried fighting off the new intruder, but the young cowboy was insistently gentle. As he struggled for control, the cowboy lost his hat, revealing a shocking head of red hair and a boyish face.
Holding onto the reins, he talked to the frightened mustang in low, crooning tones.
"Shhhhhh, boy...gooood boy. You're not broken, boy, jus' tired. Stay proud, boy. Stay proud..."
At last, exhausted, the horse drew to a shivering, sweating halt. As the once proud horse stood trembling in the middle of the corral, the young wrangler gently stroked him. He spoke in the same low, soothing tones that he used on his own beloved horse, the same tone that he remembered his father had used.
"Hey, Clay!"
All eyes turned to Billy's shrill voice. Clay glanced up, and then looked dismissively away. He began walking the tired stallion around the corral in order to cool him down.
"Clay, I'm talking to you," the arrogant voice continued. "I want another shot at that devil. Re-saddle him...I'm a-gonna ride that loco horse if'n it's the last thing I do."
"Billy, you're crazy! That horse is plumb wore out. You'll kill 'im f'sure if yuh ride 'im so soon."
"I don't care 'bout that, Slim...I'm ridin' 'im and that's that!" As he spoke, Billy climbed back over the corral fence and began walking towards the horse. Reaching for the reins, he was stopped by a chill voice next to him.
"Touch that horse and I'll kill you."
Billy whirled in shock at Clay. "Whut did you say?"
"I said, 'Touch that horse and I'll kill you'," Clay repeated. "This horse is plumb wore out...you ride 'im now, you'll be riding him to death. I can't let yuh do that."
Billy began to back away in slow measured steps. As he moved, he adjusted his position to ensure that his back was to the sun. Satisfied that the sun was fully in his opponent's eyes, Billy calmly brought his hand down to his holster and removed the rawhide strap that held his Colt .45 in place.
"And just how do you plan on keeping me from ridin' 'im?" he asked.
Clay gave the mustang one last rub, and then slapped him on the rump. The beautiful animal neighed softly and cantered a few feet away. Clay watched him with open admiration for a few seconds. At last, he turned to face the ranch bully. Young Clay's too-old eyes were burning embers in the late afternoon sun.
Deliberately, Clay crossed his arms and stood as if waiting, his feet shoulder width apart. He squinted slightly, the only sign that the sun was in his eyes. His hair stirred slightly in the soft breeze.
"Billy, I been workin' here for almost two weeks now, and in that time you've shown yourself to be nothing but a spoiled kid who loves to push the hands around. 'Cause you're the ranch owner's son, ain't a one of them that'll dare go against yuh. They got wives and families to think of and they need this here job."
Clay smiled, a slight, humorless smile.
"Me, I ain't got that concern."
"Johnny!" Slim called, addressing Clay. "Don't be a *fool*, son. Billy is right handy with that six-shooter!"
"Yeah, Johnny. I seen Billy kill a cardsharp once just 'cause o' cheatin'!" another said.
"Johnny, it ain't worth it, son," Slim added.
"Sorry, Slim, but I can't stomach a side-winding snake that would ride a tired animal to death just 'cause he was thrown...The horse is almost saddle-broke. There ain't no reason to ride 'im again today."
"I say there *is*! That ol' nag threw me, and I'm gonna teach it a lesson!"
"Yuh'll have to get through me first," Clay said.
Both young men stood for long instant, holding each other's eyes without flinching. As the moment dragged on, the other ranch hands began to notice that Billy was twitching in what looked like fear, while Clay stood as cool as ice in the burning heat of the Arizona sun.
Finally, Billy went for it...
Many years later, the legend would be told and retold around countless campfires and under endless starry skies. The ranch hands would ever after measure time by it: 'Before' the gunfight in the corral and 'After' the gunfight in the corral...
Time slowed. Seconds became hours. An eye-blink became an eternity.
As Billy's hand reached for his gun, Clay waited, his arms crossed.
As Billy's hand closed around his gun, Clay remained still as granite.
As Billy's gun cleared his holster, Clay didn't react.
As Billy brought his Colt .45 up, Clay finally went into action.
As the other ranch hands held their collective breaths, as Billy began to squeeze the trigger on his gun, Clay's twin Colts cleared their holsters in a blur and blazed forth.
The first bullet knocked Billy's gun from his hand. The second struck the buckle of his gun belt. As Billy's gun belt slipped off his hips to the dusty ground below, a third and forth bullet cut off his suspenders. As the ranch hands watched, Billy's pants went tumbling down to his ankles...
Before the dust even cleared, before the other ranch hands released the breath they were each holding, before Billy knew what happened, young Johnny Clay, his twin Colts safely back in their twin holsters, once again stood facing his opponent with his arms crossed in front of him.
Without another word, Clay spun on his heel, bent down to retrieve his hat, and headed towards the barn. The others hastily cleared a path for him. He could feel their awed stares following him. Sadly, he thought of his father and the little spread they'd had. He'd hoped that he'd be able to stay here a little longer, but now knew that wasn't possible.
"You'd better *run*, Clay," Billy screamed. "When I ketch up to yuh, I'll kill yuh! Yuh hear!?"
"Shut up, Billy!" Slim said. "Johnny beat'cha fair'n square. Yuh should be thankin' 'im for not killin' yuh! And pull up yer pants!" He added this last with a hint of disgust.
"Hey! Yuh can't talk tuh *me* like--!"
Slim slapped the boy across the mouth. Billy fell back into the dust. He lay there holding his bleeding mouth and looking up at Slim in shock.
"I told yuh to shut up, Billy," Slim warned quietly. "Now, I've known yuh from the day you was born. I even taught yuh to ride when you was little more'n a colt. Took a strap to yuh a time or two when yuh got too big f'yer britches. I've known for a long time that you was a bit wild, but I never woulda figgered yuh for no horse killer."
Billy looked up at Slim with hate-filled, angry eyes. "When I tell my pa 'bout this--"
"You best lissen to me and lissen good, boy. Your pa won't stand for no man who takes a hurtful hand to one'a his horses. If'n you don't back off, Billy, me'n an the boys--" Slim waved at the other cowboys who were standing around glaring at Billy with various shades of revulsion. "--We'll let your pa know how you was planning on riding this here prize Appaloosa to its death."
Billy stood up slowly and painfully. He took in the cold stares of the ranch hands. In an ineffective fit of frustration, he slapped his hat to his thigh and stomped back to the ranch house.
As he led Nightwind outside, Clay caught a glimpse of the western skies ablaze with the burnished reds of the setting sun. "Johnny, where will you go?" Slim called.
Clay paused for a moment, contemplating Slim's question. When he'd killed the crooked sheriff who'd murdered his father, Clay lost his childhood and became a wanted man. He would never be able to remain long in one place ever again.
Mounting Nightwind, Clay remembered how the proud mustang had thrown Billy in a last-ditch effort to remain unbroken. He smiled. He was a lot like that mustang, riding the free range wherever the trail and his heart led.
Maybe one day he'd be able to clear his name, but until then, the Rawhide Kid would roam free. Tipping his hat in polite farewell, Clay finally answered Slim's question.
"Reckon I'll know when I get there."
The End ####