The Measure of A Man's Success

Not my best work in story crafting. Very simple

Mountains stretched out for miles behind him, but Buck knew what waited beneath the veil of serenity. He knew the horses would soon come galloping over one of those smaller crests and he’d be seen for certain. He breathed in deeply twice before returning to his dead sprint across the plateau.

Buck remembered hearing the screams coming from the cabin. He recalled the feeling of insurmountable heroism when he brought the butt of his Hawken down on the back of the Bearded Man’s head. The half-naked girl lying on the floor was sobbing, but her sobbing had slowed when she opened her eyes to see Buck extending his hand in assistance. She had thanked him, and her gratitude was obvious in her soulful eyes, but he had no time savor it. Buck knew the Bearded Man wasn’t holding down this camp just for himself. He had to get them both out before the rest of the group returned.

Buck came back to the real world too late, catching a branch across the face. It took no more than a few seconds for the blood to start rushing from the new gash, seeping through his eyebrow. The blood stung his left eye as it trickled down the small wrinkles he’d begun to develop. He grimaced as he rubbed his hand across the cut. It was two inches in length and not very wide…too small to worry about now. Buck wiped his hand across it one more time for good measure and returned immediately to running to stay far ahead of the hoof beats he was certain he’d heard behind him.

Buck had cut the bindings wrapped around the girl’s hands and feet when he thought he heard a whoop and a holler down the valley a little ways. He softly pressed a finger to her lips, to quiet the girl, not wanting to scare her any more than was necessary. Buck had escaped numerous Indian camps, but knew that bandits had two things Indians didn’t: rifles and nothing to lose. Buck racked his brain as he looked quickly around the cabin, hoping for any glimmer of a plan. He’d come up empty handed, but he knew what he had to do. He pulled out his map that he’d looked at long enough to know by heart, and handed it to the girl, telling her to meet him at the next campsite he had marked. He handed her his revolver and sent her in the opposite direction of the noise he’d heard earlier. The only person left to save was himself.

Buck looked out ahead at the stream; he didn’t have the luxury of time he’d planned on. He looked quickly for anywhere he could cross, being greeted only with the mossy rocks that he knew would sap a great deal of his precious time. He was out of options and set out across them frantic, yet careful. He curled his toes on each rock as he felt his boots start to slide away with the mossy covering on each rock. He held his breath, positive he heard the hoof beats no more than a hundred yards behind him.

Buck had gathered a general idea of who he was dealing with when he knocked over the box on the floor. At least fifteen Indian scalps flattened themselves out across the dirt floor. Buck knew that these men were morally bankrupt and truly vicious. He had talked himself into running for the hills when he noted the four bags lying behind the shelves. They were marked ‘Silvertown Bank and Trust’. Human lust for money overtook Buck’s calculating demeanor as he knelt down to put two bags into his pack. It wasn’t until that moment he realized he had heard stamping outside the door.

Buck leapt across the final distance of the stream and thudded hard into the earth on the other side. He gasped for air as he pushed himself up with tired muscles, catching a familiar iron smell on the low breeze. Buck advanced forward without his previous tenacity, more interested in finding whatever was bleeding. His greatest fear was realized when he saw the very end of a tattered, wet dress lying in a small thicket of brush. He moved forward and pushed back the shrubs. A wave of sickness passed over him when he saw the deep claw marks running down the girl’s torso. He picked up his revolver that was lying next to her hand. He checked the cylinder, there was a chamber empty, Buck hoped that meant the bear was bleeding out, and not still on the hunt.

Buck knew he only had his Hawken and his knife. He had one shot and however many stabs he could get in before one of the gang shot him down in cold blood. Buck waited for what felt like hours, eyes set on the door, gun cocked and at the ready. He finally let a breath escape when he heard riders headed back in the direction from which they had come. Buck sighed in deep relief as he crept toward the door; not wanting to alert the riders that they’d missed him. Buck pulled in the door and was greeted with a startled yelp and a bang.

In the wake of the adrenaline-draining experience of finding the body, Buck realized quickly that he was starting to feel a pain in his side. He looked down at the bloody spot on his left side. ‘Just a graze, it just grazed me.’ He thought. He looked at the sinuous mountain land ahead of him, and suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of stark futility. Like every man was destined to toil his life over, and then die without success. Buck shook off the feeling when he heard the hoof beats creeping up somewhere on the other side of the stream. He turned back to the ground ahead and started his sprint once again, albeit with a slight limp.

Buck couldn’t remember actually pulling the trigger, only the feeling of blood quickly shooting out across every inch of his body. He tensed up, and jumped from the dirt with one swift motion, grabbing his pack without even looking down at the man who’d shot him, and who he’d in turn shot back. Buck was positive he heard a gruff voice demanding a return to camp back behind him. Buck knew there was no stopping now, only the promised land of the rocky ground waiting on the other side of the mountain. There wasn’t any way to go but forward, and Buck knew exactly where he was headed.

The air was getting thinner and colder, giving Buck the sensation of deep cuts in his lungs. He gasped for air and felt it slide down like a knife. Buck clutched at his side and looked around; he realized that the land here was not nearly as steep, with almost no brush. He couldn’t hide; he could only hope the riders weren’t too close. His speed was dwindling; he was using all his strength for every short bound and was getting nowhere fast enough. Buck knew he could hear them, and knew even more that he couldn’t outrun them anymore. He dropped to the ground behind the singular boulder on his left and slowly started the process of loading his Hawken.

Buck was rocking, praying to The Man he thought had given up on him, and holding his rifle closer than he ever had before. His revolver lay on the ground next to him, with five shots ready to fail him. Buck thought back over all he’d done, wondering why no man could succeed. He thought about his Uncle Joe, who he knew died protecting his state’s rights in The War. He thought about his Father and Mother who’s only success was their son, and how he’d failed them now. Buck had killed a girl trying to save her, and had ruined his chances of escape with greed. Buck couldn’t comprehend why men can’t succeed in life. Buck could feel the blood seeping slowly out of his side, clotting slowly. Buck heard the hoof beats, closer now than ever, and looked around the rock. Four heads were quickly moving higher over the ground, coming toward him with heart wrenching speed. Buck took aim at the rider in the center and squeezed the trigger as steadily as he could.

There were three riders moving at Buck now, with less tenacity and boldness. Buck fired his revolver into the loosely packed mass of them, hearing the bullet smack into one of the horses. The wounded animal let out a deafening shriek and collapsed on its rider’s leg, trapping him. Buck fired another shot and watched a man go limp in the saddle and slouch off to the side. The last rider fired and Buck was blinded. The shot had hit the rock and fragmented the pieces had blown directly back into his face. Buck jerked the trigger, wasting a shot. Buck had one more chance at success, one more chance to make it out of here alive, and through bloodshot, burning, and squinted eyes Buck took one last shot. The rider screamed and clutched at his throat, falling backwards off his horse.

Buck breathed a sigh of relief as he stood up from his hiding place. He walked over to the man still trapped under his horse, knife at the ready. Buck knelt down and slit his throat, making sure there would be no one left to chase him down. He rocked back onto the ground behind him and sprawled out, looking up at the clouds rolling softly across the sky. He smiled more pleasantly than he had in years, thinking for a moment he had found success. Thinking that for once, all the time spent kicking and wallowing around at the bottom of the pile had finally paid off, he was alive, and the money he’d taken from the riders was enough for him to live comfortably for a while. If he needed more, he could always go back for the other bags. For once, Buck was at ease. Willing to just lie in the cool mountain air and breathe.

Buck tended to his wounds with things from his pack, and was truly at peace. He leisurely fiddled with this and that, and lit a fire as night began to descend on the little respite. Buck was finally free of his toils. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Buck was shaken awake by the sound of a snarl. A Bullet-Wounded Bear hovered over him, moving in closer. Buck was taken aback, but managed to stifle his yell. The Bear swiped once with its mighty paw and it came down hard on Buck’s chest. He was in tatters, and bleeding profusely. Through the pain, Buck stopped to grin. With nothing to lose, he coughed a painful cough and spoke to the Bear.

“You know, before you came along I was convinced I had succeeded, that I had arrived in the life of luxury. What I know now, is that success isn’t something to be measured by the man himself, only by those that know about what it was he did. Even had you not come along, I would have just gone right back to what I was doing before, and how is that success? Uncle Joe may have died fighting in The War, but he died fighting for what he believed in, and for once that seems like success to me. Ma and Pa failed in raising a hero, but they most certainly succeeded in keeping a hellion like me alive, and I guess that’s success too. So Bear, here’s the thing. You made me a success. You are the reason someone will know I did something right. Even though it’s just you that knows why I succeeded, I think we can both agree I succeeded in being delicious. Eat up and enjoy.”

The Bear didn’t understand Buck at all, but it did as was expected. It set to work eating Buck, turning him into the success he’d always dreamed of being.