Chapter Three: Cactus Slim and The Stage Coach Kid

 

 
     The trip to Grandma’s ranch is just an hour and fifteen minutes, not so far to travel unless you’re strapped into a booster seat. The turn onto the dirt road is the best part of the trip. Well, that and the Happy Meal I get. The winding dirt road made a long slow "S" curve, then a long straightaway. Cows line the fence as if to say, hello.

     The warm sun on my face bid me to close my eyes, if only for a moment. A warm fuzzy feeling melted over me. Bright colors and shapes that could be seen from inside my closed eyelids began to take shape.

     We pulled into the entrance of the barn. Cutting across the field to see me was Papa sitting tall on his old red tractor. He waved, topped with his straw hat and old blue bandana resting on his nose, it filters the dust. He pulled a grand machine that rolls his hay behind him. There was a little dip in the earth that hid him for just a moment from my view. I fluttered my eyes to attempt to wake myself from that sun-induced trance.

     I leaned against the window anxious to see him top that hill. As he did what I always knew was true appeared: Four matching steeds, black as night pulling a red stagecoach. I should tell you they were pulling the top of that hill, hard and fast. For right on their heels were three-buck skin ponies and a paint. The masked riders were not riding shotgun, but wheeling them about. Cactus Slim was pushing his coach for all it’s worth. A storm of dust marked his path, and the riders pressed on. Slim's cousin, Bill took the reins to the team as Slim belly down, on the roof of the stage. He’d hate to have to shoot these bandits over the Twisted X’s payroll, but shoot them he would. With his Henry repeating rifle in hand and his aim true. The chase was about to come to its end.
 
     Bill’s nickname found him that day. He maneuvered that hunk of wood around the curve of that ridge like the wind caring a dandelion. Great walls of dust hide them. The straightaway would be a dead run to the guard tower. Standing 20 feet in the air, it would be just a moment before the two guards would intervene. Their message to cease and stand down would be carried by a slug, knocking off the lead man's hat. The four men turned away, and for now, they would ride off empty-handed.

     Bill eased up on the team, gently slowing them as the stage rolled to a stop. Cactus still on his belly looked over his shoulder smiled at his cousin and said. "Well, ‘Stage Coach’ let's have some lunch."

     Just as the story was about to really unfold, Nana woke me from my nap, removed me from my booster seat. She set me in Papa’s arms, and the two of us puttered off on the old red tractor, leaving a great wall of dust behind.

Author's Note

any comments are welcome

Reviews

[Charles D. Moorer]

I read all three chapters. I will send you my critique Thursday. I can tell you that I like it a lot. Some misspelled words and some punctuation errors, but overall a fine story. I can see this being made into a movie, really. The little boy lives his life through his imaginary characters. Nicely written, love the pace, and the imagery is spot on for the most part. Very nicely done.