Back in the Saddle Again

By J.L. Stone

"It's two in the morning," Professor Bruttenholm thought as his eyes snapped open. A noise from outside had stirred him in his peace. It was a little twining noise, like someone trying to yodel, but worse. The young, British scientist sat up on his cot and listened.

Whoopi-ty-aye-oh!
Rockin' to and fro!
Back in the saddle again!
Whoopi-ty-aye-yay!
I go my way!
Back in the saddle again!

Bruttenholm made an indignant noise as the voice continued. He had to fly back home tomorrow—it was bad enough that he had to sleep in a tent, but this was going too far.

"Hellboy, go to bed!" He waited. The whining music stopped for several minutes, in which Bruttenholm took the time to smile and nestle back down: But, no sooner had he done this than the voice started again.

I'm back in the saddle again
Out where a friend is a friend
Where the longhorn cattle feed
On the lowly gypsum weed
Back in the saddle again

"Hellboy, please!" Bruttenholm pleaded again, and once more it stopped. He waited, longer this time, before trying to gain back lost sleep. The cot, despite its small space, felt quite comfortable then. With his blankets pulled up, framing his face, and a soft, feather-stuffed pillow beneath his head. . . Trevor was cozying down for another go at sleep. So warm . . . so nice . . . so . . .

Ridin' the range once more
Totin' my old .44
Where you sleep out every night
And the only law is right
Back in the saddle again

Whoopi-ty-aye-oh
Rockin' to and fro
Ba—

So dead.

Bruttenholm didn't hesitate this time. He nearly jumped out of the cot and stormed from his tent, allowing the flap the writhe insanely as he passed. Hellboy, with his white stetson and a pair of baggy, khaki pants, was seated on top of his dog, Mac. The dog looked terribly miserable beneath the red child, which was understandable—considering H.B.'s size. The little boy peered up at Bruttenholm from under the stetston, which was perched crookedly on his head, strapped by a band beneath his chin. It sat crooked because of the horns.

"Hellboy," Trevor pleaded, "it's two in the morning, and I have a flight to catch in three more hours. So . . ." the professor adopted a fatherly glance, which made the red boy sag on the dog. Mac didn't seem too happy about it. "Why don't you go to bed."

"Not tired." Hellboy replied. "I don't sleep as much as YOU do."

"I know, you're different." Trevor opened his arms wide as Hellboy jumped from the much relived dog, and bounded into his arms. Despite the heavy stone glove, Bruttenholm managed to balance the kid on one knee.

"Why am I different? See . . ." Hellboy pointed at his twitching tail and laid a critical eye on hi red skin. "You're all pink . . . I'm . . . not."

"But that's okay." Trevor admitted. "If we were all intended to be the same, the world would be a boring place."

"Will I ever get to see the world?" H.B. looked up at him with those ever-questioning, lamp-like eyes. Trevor wanted to say yes, wanted to tell the boy that he'd go anywhere he wanted . . . but he knew how the government operated. He knew how cruel the world—the one the boy was so curious about—was. Trevor merely smiled.

"Perhaps one day, you'll see the world."

"Why can't I see it now?" the tiny, flesh hand clutched to Bruttenholm's own arm. It was impossibly warm.

"Why can't Mac talk?"

"He can," Hellboy protested. "He's smarter than you."

"Really? Now how did that happen."

"Mac says I came from somewhere else . . ." the red child looked sad. "Where'd I come from, Da?"

That was the first time he'd ever been called "Da" by Hellboy. He assumed it would not be the last.

"You came from a ball of light." Trevor told him. "It was a flash, and when the light cleared, you were crouching there, waiting for me."

"I was?"

"Yes." That seemed to close the gap of their conversation, because Hellboy got up and stretched his arms and legs. He then patted Mac on the head and looked up.

"I promise, I'll see the world, one day." Hellboy nodded diligently, his jaw firm. "And I'll take you with me."

"Okay." Bruttenholm said. "Deal."

"Yeah . . ." Hellboy said. Bruttenholm began back to his tent, followed closely by the red boy and his dog. Ten minutes later, Hellboy was lying beside his "Da's" cot, a thin blanket draped over him with Mac at his feet.

Professor Bruttenholm's eyes felt heavy. A noise from beneath stirred him in his peace. It was a little twining noise, like someone trying to whisper. The young, British scientist lay on his cot and listened.

I'm back in the saddle again
Out where a friend is a friend
Where the longhorn cattle feed
On the lowly gypsum weed
Back in the saddle again