Cowboys in Winter
A brief story covering just a few days, this was inspired by a picture posted by Kim Lindsey of a lone cowboy astride his horse, and leading a riderless, heavily laden horse behind him on a cold, winter day.
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Yesterday
Kid Curry rode alone through the heavy snowstorm, the reins of his chestnut horse in his left hand, the rains of the heavily packed, riderless horse that trailed behind him in his right hand. The billowy storm was just shy of a blizzard, with blustery winds that swirled the snow high, hitting his face from every direction.
He pulled his horse to a stop and dipped his head and pulled the sheepskin collar of his sherpa high about his ears, then readjusted the wool scarf that covered his chin, mouth, and nose. Ice crystals stuck to his eyebrows, as well as the wool scarf and the rim of his hat.
"Gotta keep moving old friend, or we'll be joining our companion," he said and gave a brief look back at the body wrapped in a wool blanket that lay over the saddle of the other horse. He gave the chestnut a gentle kick with the sides of his boots and the horse, knowing the command well, resumed his slow pace through the deep snow. Giving the second set of reins a tug, the second horse followed.
He'd been riding with his lifeless companion for two days now and, with just a couple of hours of daylight remaining, he kept a skillful watch on both the horizon and the terrain, hoping to find a cave or abandoned cabin where both he and the horses could shelter from the storm. The lifeless body, now stiff and frozen, would remain outside, allowing the elements to preserve what was left for a proper burial if they should reach their final destination.
But until such shelter was found, Kid was determined to forge through the storm, regardless of the difficulty, regardless of the fatigue, regardless of the perils. Stopping without adequate shelter would ensure his own hypothermia death, as well as the same fate to the horses, and Kid was not about to let death win out again.
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Four Days Earlier
Kid Curry rode into a western Wyoming town so small it did not even merit a name. Years ago, when a few veins of silver ore were discovered in the nearby mountains and miners flocked to the area seeking their fortunes, a few traveling merchants quickly erected a half dozen ramshackle wooden structures that they optimistically referred to as stores. At it's peak, the mining camp slash town was home to a saloon, a butcher shop, a store that sold nothing but mining equipment, a general store, a barber shop and bath house, and a second saloon.
Now, with all but a saloon and a meager general store no longer in operation, the poorly erected buildings suffered various, and in some cases extreme, degrees of disrepair.
One of the two buildings still in operation had a wooden sign nailed next to the doorway. In chipped and faded black paint the sign announced the building was the Lost Miner Saloon. Cold, hungry, and seeking a beer, Kid led his chestnut horse through the deep snow to the hitching post and climbed out of the saddle.
Inside, the log oblong structure was dark, with just one window in the rear wall and a few candle sconces nailed into the other three walls. It took Kid's eyes some time to adjust from the stark white snow outside. Only one other patron, a tall, thin man, sat at a table in the back where the afternoon sun shone through the window, giving the man a shadowed, silhouette appearance.
Kid brushed the snow from his coat and walked over to the bar to order a beer. With beer in hand, he turned his back to the bar and saw something familiar about the man seated at the table.
"You know that fella?' Kid asked the bartender as he continued to scrutinize the wiry figure whose features he could not discern in the dark room.
"Him? Goes by the name of Preacher. Came into town a couple of months ago. He rents a room upstairs but he sits in that chair from the time I open to the time I close every day. He ain't stepped outside in a month."
"Thanks," Kid replied and used the sole of his boot to push away from the bar and cross the dark room. He stopped at the table, waiting for the man to look up from his bottle, but when that didn't happen, Kid cleared his throat and spoke.
"Preacher?
Coal black eyes slowly raised to meet clear blue ones, but there was no recognition to be seen in the man's expression.
"It's me Preacher, the Kid."
A half smile spread across the Preacher's sallow face. "Seek and ye shall find," he said. "Good to see a familiar face again. Is Heyes with you?"
Kid pulled out a chair and sat down. "No. I'm on my way to meet up with him now. Preacher, are you alright?"
Preacher had always been a rather tall man of slight build, but his appearance could now be described as emaciated. Black, heavy stubble camouflaged his bony cheeks and accentuated his sunken black eyes. Thin wiry fingers wrapped around a shot glass in one hand, and a nearly spent whiskey bottle in the other. His speech was slurred enough to tell Kid the bottle had been full that morning.
Suddenly stricken with a bout of heavy coughing, Preached hurriedly abandoned the bottle on the table and pulled a yellow stained handkerchief from the pocket of his long, black jacket. When the coughing settled and he pulled the handkerchief away from his mouth, Kid saw fresh drops of blood on the soiled cloth.
"You ever hear of a man by the name of Doc Holiday?" Preacher asked when the spasm in his throat eased and he could once again speak..
"Yeah, In fact I met him a couple of times in my travels. Why?"
"Him and me has got the same death sentence. Something called tuberculosis."
"How long you been sick, Preacher?' Kid asked, knowing from Doc Holiday that the illness took it's time strangling the life out of a man.
Preacher smiled sadly and filled his shot glass with some difficulty due to an obvious tremor in his hand."Three years back a doctor told me I had one more year before coming face to face with the glory of God," he replied as a bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Guess God ain't ready to contend with the likes of me."
"What brought you here?" Kid asked.
Preacher gulped the shot of whiskey which sent him into another round of coughing convulsions and added more drops of blood to the handkerchief. "The long and the short of it," he replied when able to speak again. "Is that I stopped here for a drink a few months back and got too sick to leave."
"Where was you headed?"
"Cody. I thought I'd go home to die and that's where I was born. Did I ever tell you that before, Kid? I was born in Cody."
Kid shook his head and waited for Preacher to continue.
"The fifteenth of seventeen children and I'm the only one in the family that ever left that town. I was twelve years old and ready to be a man.. or at least I thought I was."
"So you was headed back to visit your family one more time?" Kid asked.
"Hell no. Ain't even one of em I've spoke to since I left. But being that big of a family and having lots of other relatives there too, the Preacher's has got a big plot in the local cemetery. Figured the black sheep outta return to the flock to spend all eternity."
"Your name really is Preacher? I always thought that was just a name somebody gave you and it just stuck, like me being the Kid" he said and turned in his seat to motion to the bartender to bring another beer and a full bottle of whiskey for his friend. "Lander is where I'm headed as soon as this snow stops. It's on the way to Cody. You can ride with me iffin you're able."
Preacher shook his head. "You always did have a soft spot for the weak and infirmed, and the ladies too as I recall."
"I guess some things never change. Lander ain't too far, Preacher and that's where I'm meeting up with Heyes. You could take the train from there to Cody. We could ride with you if you need the help. I'm sure that's something Heyes would want to do."
The bartender appeared with the drinks just as Preacher was thrust into another bout of hard coughing and blood in his spittle. Kid sat quietly and watched his friend until Preacher regained his composure.
"They say a man can tell when his time's getting near and I can now attest to that fact. No Kid, I'll be leaving this worldly sanctuary in a matter of days, not weeks, which means the good Lord will be calling my name from right here, but being as you're here now, maybe you could see to it that I get a simple, Christian burial? It would mean a lot to me knowing a real preacher would be tending to my heavenly passage."
"Sure, Preacher. Of course I'll help. I'll find you a minister or a Justice of the Peace who can give you a proper funeral, maybe read a few passages from that Bible of yours."
Preacher placed his hand on the battered Bible that lay on the table within arm's reach. "I got three passages marked that I'd like to have read," he said with a hint of relief in his voice.
"I'll make sure the preacher knows, Preacher."
Preacher nodded. "Guess I'll be staying the black sheep in the family, being as I can't go home."
"No you won't Preacher. We'll see that you get buried in Cody, in your family plot. Me and Heyes owe you that much. You doctored our wounds and saved our lives more than once. You're as much as family to me and Heyes."
Preacher looked across the table and Kid saw pure gratitude in his dull black eyes. "We did have some high times in our day, didn't we Kid?"
"We did at that, Preacher."
"And we never broke the fourth one. That's the one that'll surely send you to hell. I think the Lord offers a little leeway on the rest of em, don't you?"
The corners of Kid's mouth turned up. "I surely hope so, Preacher."
"Gang's all broken up now. Some are dead, some in prison. A few are still running around, though."
"I hear Wheat and Kyle are still running together. Don't know where they are though."
"You know, you and Heyes are the only ones that made something of your lives."
"Oh, that ain't true, Preacher. I think you got plenty to be proud of. I think that book you carry even says that saving a life, let alone two lives is a winning hand over an amnesty any day."
Preacher's eyes showed the hint of a sparkle. "I just hope the good Lord agrees with you, Kid."
They spent the remainder of the afternoon and late into the evening sharing a drink and some conversation. They spoke of the gang, the jobs they'd pulled, the places they'd traveled, regrets and unfulfilled aspirations, the fear of dying, and the possibilities of an afterlife. Long after the sun had slipped behind the mountains and the moon cast a few random rays of light through the solitary window, Kid helped Preacher up the stairs and into his bed.
"I'll meet you downstairs in the morning," Kid told him before closing the door.
But the next morning Preacher never appeared and Kid and the bartender went to the room and found what they had expected.
"I'm taking him home," Kid told the saloon owner.
"You won't get five miles in this storm."
Kid laid his hand on the tattered, worn Bible that rested on Preacher's chest. "I made him a promise," Kid replied. "And I intend to keep it."
Kid bought a wool blanket and a canvas tarp. He wrapped Preacher in the blanket, carefully tucking in the ends to keep Preacher's head and feet protected from the snow and the cold. With the help of the bartender, Preacher was laid over the saddle of his horse and secured with leather thongs. Kid then draped the tarp over the bundled body and tied that down as well.
"How far you going?" the bartender asked.
"We've already been to hell and back. We're only going as far as Cody with a stop in Lander on the way."
"That's a day and a half ride in good weather."
"Uh-uh."
"That fella must have been real important to you. Who was he?"
"Like you, I always just knew him as Preacher. I never knew his full name till yesterday. James Madison Preacher."
"You mean?"
"Yep. Great grandson he was, though yesterday was the first he ever spoke of it."
"Guess you really can't tell a book by it's cover."
Kid pulled the tattered Bible from his coat pocket and ran his fingers across the worn leather binding. "I guess a man is a lot like a well worn book." he mused. "The more beat up it looks, the more souls it likely touched," he added while slipping the book into his saddlebags.
Kid mounted his horse and gathered the reins of the escort horse. "Preacher touched a lot more souls than he ever knew," he said, then started on his way through the blinding snow..
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Yesterday
Again Kid stopped to tighten the collar of his coat. But this time he dismounted and trudged through the snow to the second horse where he carefully checked the tethers holding the body in place on the saddle.
"You never did like winter, I remember that," Kid told the body that was once his friend. "S'pect you'd better get use to em if you wanna be buried in Wyoming."
The horse nickered in protest of the delay and when Kid finished checking Preacher, he moved to the front of the horse. Holding the bridle firmly in one hand, Kid wiped the snow and sleet from the bridge of the horse's nose. "Ain't much further old boy. If we ride through the night, we'll be in Lander by morning."
By three in the morning the sky had cleared and the snow had finally stopped falling, and a bright full moon lighted their way. Just as Kid had promised, they reached Lander in the still dark hours of the morning. Kid woke the mortician and helped him carry the body into the building. He explained who Preacher was and of his intention to complete the journey to Cody by train later that day. The mortician promised to have Preacher at the train station for transport on time. Kid reached into his pocket and paid the man for his services.
Exhausted and cold, Kid went to the hotel and inquired about Mr. Smith. He walked up the stairs and tapped on the door. "Joshua, it's me," he whispered loudly.
Moments later the door opened and Heyes, clad only in his long johns, stood staring in disbelief. "You look terrible."
Kid nodded and moved past his partner into the room. "Got a lot to tell you," Kid said as Heyes closed the door behind them. "By the way, we're taking the train to Cody this afternoon. I s'pect we'll be there for a few days."
"Let's get you warmed up and into some dry clothes and then you can tell me your story. Have you been riding in this storm all night?"
Kid nodded. "Longer than that."
"What could be so all fire important to travel alone in a blizzard?"
"I weren't alone," Kid said and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Let me tell you about Preacher, and why we're going to Cody."
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Author's Note: Thank you Kim Lindsey for the inspiring picture and Rachel K. for helping me brainstorm the idea.