Auld Lang Syne
Hannibal Heyes sat under a shady oak in the stillness of an afternoon. Here it was hardly half past three, and the sun had trailed westward enough to be only two hours shy of setting. These early winter evenings came too fast. At least they had ridden hard enough to reach warmer climes before snow set in – their Christmas gift to themselves, they had reasoned – lest they be left snowbound without a roof over their heads and no game for forage. Their meager funds could go toward a small stake for Heyes to find a decent poker table somewhere, but in the meantime the trail would suffice.
Heyes thought this spot might make a good campsite but was not of a mind right now to stop. He would rather get more daylight behind them, but Kid had yawned all day in the saddle after a restless night. Last night was quiet – too quiet for Curry to lull himself to sleep. Where were the sounds of the night, the light din that accompanied them on the trail? It seemed to have vanished. Indeed, there was something disquieting to his partner about this whole trip, something he could not describe. But Heyes felt it, too.
So here they were, still in the high country but far enough south to face only a cool night, still waiting on the governor, still optimistic. Their worries trended these days toward providing basic necessities, creature comforts of a higher order being redefined on a regular basis. The occasional visit to Silky or Soapy brought them the high life for a few days, a break from hard ground, foraged game, and occasional bad water. They might have longed for a regular roof over their heads and the comforts of the leader's cabin, but they had made a decision.
Heyes leaned back, taking those few extra minutes before he would start gathering dry brush for a fire. He would tend it before heating water to stew whatever Kid brought back, untack the horses, go about his usual camp-keeping routine. Perhaps he would busy himself making biscuits for dinner. Maybe the dying greens around camp might still provide extra nourishment for the broth. Maybe … maybe … It was all so uncertain.
Christmas had come and gone further north. Flurries had started, but they were on the downside of the mountain and quickly outrode them. That was almost a week ago. Heyes thought back, counting on his fingers for concentration. Okay, Christmas, then the rainy day, then riding in mud before reaching drier ground, then the next boring day with nothing memorable to recall, and the next day when Kid found a couple of fat birds, and yesterday … Or did a couple of them blend? It was difficult to recollect exactly without a calendar. One day ran into another. After a while, there was nothing, or very little, to distinguish them. In any case, he reckoned it was New Year's Eve or the day before, but definitely not yet the new year.
He started at a crunch – a squirrel. He smirked at it. Before he went hunting, Kid had remarked he noticed a lot of game while riding, so Heyes would leave that to his partner. This creature would live to see another day. Heyes had enough to do. He reached for a few twigs and the squirrel rushed away, like so many memories of yore.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot …
They had left all they knew last year and many times before that, and hit an endless trail. Now, strangers became often reluctant acquaintances, but most were kind.
And never brought to mind …
Faces grew dimmer as days, months, and years rushed by, whether recent or from much longer ago. He could recall his parents but the colors were sepia, faded, and it took an effort or occasion to bring them to mind.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, in days of auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne my dear, for auld lang syne.
Heyes rose, grabbing the saddle bags from his grazing bay. Rummaging, he produced a half flask of whiskey. No, it was nowhere near the finest Scotch they enjoyed in grander surroundings but would do, like most everything these days. Hearing a shot nearby, he poured an ounce or so each in metal cups – stand-ins for fancy glassware.
Louder crunches of dry brush underfoot heralded the return of his partner, grinning and holding up a fat bird. With some greens for the broth Heyes had spied, their stomachs would be well sated tonight.
We'll drink a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.
Heyes held out a cup to his partner. He hoped for the best, but they would toast to the immediate. "Happy new year, Kid. To survival!"