GUITAR PICKIN' DRIFTER by Cazzychaps
Slipping, sliding, falling!
Adam tried to pull his mount's head up, but nothing could stop the downward motion of his horse as it lost its footing. He instinctively kicked his boots from the stirrups and disentangled his hands from the reins. The riverbank's soft edges crumbled under the weight of horse and rider. They were both going down.
Adam tasted fear as he flew through the air moments later. He heard Caesar scream in fright. He was unable to help the cow pony as he prepared for a hard, painful landing. The world tipped on its end. Adam tensed, watching the ground rush up to meet him.
His shoulder hit first, jarring bone, whipping his neck back and slamming his head against the hard ground. Adam heard a strangled yell of pain and realized he'd made it. His body kept rolling farther down the bank. Instinct caused him to twist and change direction in an effort not to be rolled on by the horse tumbling closely behind him.
He hit the icy water with force. After the painful impact, the water shocked him back to reality. Adam forced his body to continue rolling into deeper water when he heard Caesar's louder splash just behind him.
The fast moving water grabbed him and propelled him downstream. He didn't have time to get his bearings as the fading light of evening snatched away his sight. He heard the thrash of Caesar's hooves as the horse tried to right himself. Adam looked across to see if he could catch the gelding's reins, perhaps mount him again. At least the larger animal had a chance against the current. But Adam was lighter, more easily swept along.
He swam hard to keep his head above water as he watched Caesar manage to swim back to the bank and scramble to safety. His relief that at least the horse was unharmed was short lived, as he heard the roar of a waterfall dead ahead. Adam's heart pounded inside his chest. He'd picnicked at the base of Indian Falls just last week. It was a long, terrifying drop. Worse were the rocks at its base. Hard to survive such a fall . . .
"Catch it, boy. Catch the rope!"
Adam turned toward the voice, spluttered and half choked as water clogged his ears, nose and mouth. Someone out here? Was he hearing things?
"Grab the rope. Here it comes!"
Through the dull light, Adam saw a snake-like line spin through the air. It landed in the water just ahead, and he eagerly snatched for it. Even though he held on with all his strength, the force of water did its best to separate him from the lifeline.
"Throw that loop 'round your body, boy. I'll haul you in."
Much easier said than done, Adam fought with the rope and water. As his last ounce of strength was dragged from him, he managed to secure the rope around his upper body.
Almost at once he felt himself being pulled in, like a flopping trout on the end of a huge fishing pole. He couldn't have lasted much longer. He looked over his shoulder and saw the edge of the waterfall just a little way off. Whoever was on the other end of this rope was going to get a hell of a greeting!
Hell, he thought absently. His exhausted, overwhelmed mind filled up with odd scraps of useless information. Hell: swear word, tanning given if used in the company of father, useful word to get brother's attention, great word to show of with, bad word to use around ladies, grown-up word to use when working with the new hands.
Also a word used to describe where he'd surely have gone in a few short minutes, had he drowned. The devil would have been eagerly licking his lips, waiting for Adam's fresh soul to arrive. After all, horse stealing was the worse crime imaginable!
Before he could think any further about his serious offense, he was on dry land, well almost. Wet mud, actually, but even that seemed awful dry after the swift-moving river.
Adam, taken over by a fit of coughing, momentarily forgot to check the other end of the rope until a large, muddy pair of black boots planted themselves in front of his face.
"Thought you was a goner, boy. Never did see a person so near to goin' over as you."
"Th . . .thank . . .you."
"Can ya stand?"
"I don't . . .help please?" Adam struggled to talk, amazed at how little breath he had. He held up a hand and was pulled swiftly to his feet. The man who hauled him up was as strong as a bull.
"You mind tellin' me what you were doin' in that there river, boy?"
Adam tried to stand, swayed a little, then managed to reply. "My horse stumbled." Through a fog of exhaustion, Adam squinted and tried to make out the face of his rescuer. About the same age as his father, the man was stocky, strong yet not tough through and through. He had gentle eyes and a lazy smile.
Adam shivered. His bones were frozen from the inside out.
"You'd better come warm yourself at my fire, boy."
"Th . . .thank you."
Adam knew the man. He'd been told to stay away from him by Pa, who said he was a drifter, a no good saddle tramp. Adam obeyed, but it had been difficult as the man played an instrument called a guitar. He'd spent a few days hanging around the ranch, trying to get work. He'd succeeded for only a few hours. Then he'd been ordered off the ranch. For what Adam didn't know.
Should he be afraid of him? He wasn't, not at all. The man was poorly dressed, but so had Adam been when he and his father traveled across country. Being poor didn't mean you were bad. He didn't speak English too well, but neither did most of the cowhands that had started to work for the Ponderosa. Most of them couldn't read or write, but that was through no fault of their own. Adam surmised this man couldn't either.
He did spend a good deal of his time playing his guitar. Was that bad? The music he created was light, relaxing and full of life. It could also be beautiful when he sang a sad, lonely song. Adam had never heard such haunting sounds or enjoyed a night around the campfire as much as he had two nights ago when this man had sung and played his instrument for the enjoyment of all. Could that be wrong?
Adam scrambled up the bank behind the man's boots and arrived at a small camp of sorts. He had a small shelter built, a cook fire crackling happily and his old but well looked after horse unsaddled and fed. He looked after his animal well, plus he'd saved Adam's life. What was it that made this man an outcast?
"Here boy, drink this coffee."
"Thanks."
Adam took an old chipped mug and sipped the hot, strong liquid. A ball of heat blasted his mouth, slid down his throat and slammed gratefully into his stomach. As he sipped, the drifter wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and pulled it tight against his chest.
"You should get out of them wet clothes, boy. You'll catch your death."
"I . . .I should be getting back."
"It's almost dark, boy. You ain't goin' nowhere tonight. Better stay right here and stay warm and dry 'till mornin'."
"My f . . .father will be worried."
"Yep, but he'd be more worried if'n you was to catch your death."
"I guess."
"How old are you, boy?"
"Almost twelve."
"Eleven huh?"
"Yeah." Adam sighed into the fire as he undressed beneath the blanket. Not old enough to be trusted to make his own decisions, yet old enough to be blamed for not making them.
"You're Cartwright's kid, aren't you."
"Yeah."
"You like my music, don't you?"
Adam looked at the man again, assessing him. "Sure, I like it."
"That's good. A man should have an interest in things other than work and making money. Don't always think your Pa's right about everything, about wanting an empire I mean."
"My father's building the ranch for me and my brother. He likes music fine too."
"Not really. He doesn't understand how it can be a part of you inside." The man pointed to his chest.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean." Adam shrugged off his shirt. Before he'd asked the man more, he was handed a much larger dry shirt that Adam slipped over his skinny shoulders. It was large enough that he could shuck his pants too and be totally covered, even though he was tall for his age. The garment was well worn, but warm and in good repair.
"Get them boots off too. We'll dry 'em by the fire. Now, ain't it good for you that I just killed a rabbit for supper? I guess it's really yours anyways. Think your Pa will mind us killin' his critters for supper?"
"My Pa would never refuse food to someone who was hungry."
"Think a lot of him, don't you, kid?"
"Sure."
"It's good to look up to your folks. But don't forget to make your own mind up about things in life, boy. Everyone's different and shaped by different things."
Adam frowned, trying to keep up with this intriguing man's comments.
"What's your name?"
"Dave. That'll do."
"I'm Adam."
"I know."
"What did you mean about the music?"
"Huh?"
"You said it can be part of you."
"Oh yeah. See, that's the difference between me and a lot'a folks, and I suspect your Pa too."
"In what way?" Adam watched as Dave skewered the rabbit and began to cook it.
"Well, I ain't got a family like you, boy. I did have, once. Anyway, they loved music. Used to sing 'round the fire at night and such. They taught me. When I was left all alone, music was the way of me bringin' them back. I'd remember the times with 'em and their favorite songs. Then, the music would become part of me inside, and so they were inside too, for always, as long as I got my music."
Adam frowned hard and tried to work all that out. Kind of like his mother's music box. He felt close to her when he played it, but it made his father sad.
"Also, music can do things to your insides: like when you hear a certain note, or a phrase that takes you away like you was floatin' on the wind, or a melody that lifts you up and makes you think you can fly."
Adam remembered feeling like that during one song he'd sung about eagles soaring.
"I think I understand. But they can make you sad too, can't they?"
"Sure. But then, 'cause you're sharin' your sadness with other folks, it don't seem so bad no more. You can let it out and move on. You see, not everyone can talk about their feelin's so easy."
"I guess not."
Adam stared into the fire. He didn't always know how to describe his feelings to his father; didn't always want to. Sometimes he just wanted to be alone, work through sad moments, try to figure things out for himself or try to escape from the world he was bound by. He'd always thought maybe he was different, but what Dave said made sense. After the music the other night, he'd felt peaceful, happier and not quite so lonely.
"Singin' songs is a way to let your feelin' out without lettin' folks know it's really a part of your own sadness. I have a mind to think you're a little like that, boy; that you need to let things out in a different way. I think you could see and feel music, not just hear it. I saw it in you. You see, sometimes music helps you get through bad things in your life."
"Have you had lots of bad things happen to you?"
"I've had my share, boy," said Dave in a low tone.
"Will you play something for me?" asked Adam hesitantly.
"After supper, boy. When you're dry and fed. Now, let's see about makin' you a bed."
Ben Cartwright anxiously held a lantern above his head. He, along with his four hands, looked Caesar over.
"He's run a long way. He's sweated badly."
"Mud on his hocks. You reckon they were at the river?"
"But which river?" Ben looked at the horse one more time and marched out of the barn. His eldest son was lost somewhere, perhaps hurt, maybe even . . .
"He likes that Indian Falls. Maybe he planned to camp there."
"I don't understand why he'd go so far," replied Ben almost to himself.
"He took the horse without your permission, boss. Maybe he was runnin' away from home?"
"I refuse to believe that! He's a good boy. He's got no reason to leave home or steal a horse. He just wanted to ride him, that's all."
"Well he knows now why you didn't want him to," said Hank, his newest hand. "He couldn't handle him."
"Let's not argue about that now. We need to find him."
"It's black as the devil tonight, Mr Cartwright. We'd be best to wait 'till first light."
"We search now! Get some fresh horses!"
Ben, angry with himself more than with Adam, prepared to ride all night to find his son and bring him home.
"Will you play something for me now?" Adam, his belly full with tasty rabbit, his body dry and warm, settled back against a log. His long legs lay stretched out in front of him taking heat from the fire.
"Okay. What would you like to hear?"
"Anything."
"All right. I'll play something fun." Dave took up his guitar and started into a round of folk songs. Some songs were about the rugged mountains, some about lonely life on the trail and some about funny, nonsensical things that made Adam laugh. His dark hazel eyes sparkled brightly as they rarely did.
"I think you should have more music in your life, Adam. And put some in your Pa's life too. I'm sure he'd like that once you showed him," said Dave during a break from singing.
"But I can't sing or play something like a guitar."
"Nobody can 'till you're taught."
Adam raised his brows when Dave came around to his side of the fire and offered the instrument to him.
"It just takes learnin', and I know you're good at that. Why, you speak better than any kid I've ever heard before. I'm sure you could learn this. Put your fingers on the strings. That's it."
Before he knew it, Adam was learning simple chords. He put all his concentration into it, and Dave praised his quick understanding. It hurt his fingers though. He'd have to toughen them up some.
"Let's hear your voice, boy."
"I can't sing."
"You sing in church, don't ya?"
"Yeah, but that's¾ "
"¾ The same thing. Come on; try Early One Morning with me." Dave took back the guitar and started to strum.
Adam's soft, hesitant voice soon became louder, encouraged by Dave's loud, cheery tone.
They sang as many verses as Dave could remember over and over. Then, Dave decided to sing another silly song about cowboys falling over drunk one by one in a saloon. Adam laughed and sang right along, even though he didn't really understand it. That was, until he heard his father's booming voice.
"Adam! What in God's name are you doing out here in the wilderness, and with this . . .this vagabond?"
Adam, startled, got to his feet and opened his eyes wide as his father and two of the hands broke through the shelter of brush around the camp.
"I . . .I fell off my horse."
"Are you all right?"
Ben, after a mean-eyed glance at Dave, hurried over to Adam.
"I'm fine Pa. I fell into the river, but Dave here pulled me out. He saved me from goin' over the waterfall, Pa. Don't be angry with him."
"The river? Are you sure you're okay?" Ben's voice softened as he reached Adam and knelt down before him.
"I'm fine. Dave gave me this dry shirt to wear."
"Son, why did you take Caesar out? I told you he wasn't to be ridden by you. That he was too much for you."
"I'm sorry, Pa. Did he make it home okay?"
"Yes, he did. I think you were both extremely lucky. But we'll talk more about all this at home. Agreed?"
"Yes, sir."
His father stood up and turned to Dave whose smile had disintegrated.
"I'm in your debt for helping Adam."
Dave nodded, acknowledging Ben's phrase.
"If there's something I can do to reward you¾ "
"No. I should be gone from here. I will be, tomorrow."
"You can stay if you like."
"No, it's best I go."
Adam hung his head. He still didn't know why Dave was the sort of man his father didn't like or trust. Sure, he had to help him now that he'd done them a good turn. But why not before?"
"Actually, there is something you can do for me, Mr Cartwright."
"Yes?"
"I want you to let young Adam there learn music."
"Music? I'm sorry, but that's not something I can either afford to let him do or a thing that's necessary in a boy's upbringing."
Adam hung his head further, retreating into a solemn mood. What did his father have against music?
"It don't cost much, and I'm sure Adam's the kind of boy who can handle lots of different challenges, not just those of ranch life."
"Sir, don't think I'm not grateful for your good deed here today. I am, but teaching Adam music isn't really a reward for you. Perhaps some money¾ "
"No, no. I don't want nothin'. The boy's good company has been enough. And you lettin' me stay maybe a few more nights on your ranch before I move on?"
"Agreed," said Ben easily.
"Fine."
"Come on, Adam. Let's get you home and into a warm bed."
"Yes, sir."
Adam couldn't figure it, but his happy, light mood vanished instantly. When his father disregarded Dave's request to teach him music, Adam felt hollow and lonely again inside. Maybe that's what Dave meant by feeling music not just hearing.
Ben waited as Adam scrambled back into his dry clothes. When they left, Adam shook Dave's hand with a strong grip.
"Goodbye, Adam. Don't you forget all those verses now."
"I'll try not to."
"Good."
His father punished him for taking a horse he'd been forbidden to ride and for the rare annoyance of nagging. For several days Adam alternately pled and argued about learning the guitar. Eventually, he settled back into a routine of work, lessons with his father and brother, prayers and learning more about the ranch.
Adam never forgot about wanting to study music. It was like a small seed that had been planted inside him and refused to die. One day, he thought, he'd get the chance.
A few months later, a box arrived for him at the outpost. Adam stared at it for a whole hour before Hoss almost ripped it open himself. It wasn't his birthday, or Christmas, or anything. There was no sender's address either, but it looked like it had come a long way.
"Well go on, Adam, open it," said Ben in a voice almost as anxious as Hoss's.
He was surprised to find an old guitar inside. One that he recognized. Dave's guitar. He lifted the instrument out as carefully as if it were china. There was also a note with it. Adam opened it and read the neat hand.
"Adam, I ain't writing this myself. This reverend is helping me, and he's writing it down. He's got learning like you. Got myself into a peck of trouble again. Don't know why folks always are willing to believe the worse of a person, even if it's not the truth. Anyhow, I'm being hanged soon, so I wanted this to go to someone who'd enjoy it.
I know you have music in you, boy. I could see it. So, I'm hoping your father will let you keep it and give you a chance to escape with it once in a while. I also think it'll do him good to hear it in his house too. Folks don't have enough music and laughter in their lives. I think this'll help you come together.
I'm also getting the reverend to arrange some packages be sent to you sometime soon. They'll help you get started with your music lessons. Do me proud now, and sing a song over my grave one day if you're ever passing through Dodge City."
Dave.
Adam gazed at the guitar. Dave was dead for something he probably didn't do, and he'd entrusted his guitar to Adam. He glanced at Ben who looked annoyed but also resigned.
"I'm going to learn to play, Pa," said Adam in a strangely authoritative voice.
"All right, son." Ben didn't argue.
Packages arrived periodically over the following few months. They were full of sheet music. Adam eventually found a washerwoman who knew how to read it and figured out bits and pieces for himself over the next few years. His voice changed, deepened, and became a joy to listen to.
Ben became immersed in his son's passion after persistence and sheer talent wore him down. Adam's song nights around the fireplace became almost as famous as the Ponderosa's growing reputation for good beef. Friends felt privileged to join in and listen, especially at Christmas when Adam would sing hymns.
Years later, Adam had to travel to Dodge City on business. He recalled the last sentence of Dave's letter and made a point of stopping at the town's Boot Hill. He had the old, battered guitar with him. He'd replaced it several times but kept if for sentimental reasons. It took him two hours, but he finally found a grave marked Dave – hung 1839: the right year. Adam took a deep breath, took up the guitar, lowered his head and began to sing and play 'Amazing Grace.'
His deep, resonant voice echoed through the hills around him, drawing the sun from behind a cloud and easing the howling wind to a soft, gentle breeze. He reached inside himself and gave back a little of what Dave had given him.
As a man, Adam now understood what Dave tried to teach him all those years ago; that a man's loves could go beyond possessions, land, and family. He also knew how hard it was to explain it to people who didn't crave music, or art, or books as some did. You either felt it inside or you didn't.
When Adam finished the hymn, he laid the guitar gently against the crumbling headstone, retreated slowly from the gravesite and continued on his way, never realizing he'd been overheard by another young boy who was visiting his mother's grave.
Slowly, hesitantly, the young boy, who'd been mesmerized by Adam's voice and song, approached Dave's headstone. He carefully picked up the most beautiful instrument he'd ever seen and plucked a string. He smiled. It was the first time since his mother's death weeks earlier. Something inside him said 'take it home, learn it, feed your soul.'
Adam nodded with satisfaction as he rode the stage out of town two days later. A young boy sat alone by the track, deep in concentration, playing a few chords on Dave's guitar. Warmth spread through Adam's soul. He leaned back, tipped his hat over his eyes and smiled.
There could never be enough music in the world, and even if it sometimes went hand in hand with lonely drifters, Adam would always understand a small part of them. For he knew, deep down, if he'd been all alone in the world, he would have been one of them.
The End