Constructive comments and emails are welcome and appreciated.
Please let me know if you like or even dislike this tale of the Old West.
Thank you for taking the time to read and comment on my story. I hope you enjoy it.
********************
Rafe Cassidy rode passed a pile of bleach white bones that had once been a steer. "If I don't find a water hole pretty soon I'm gonna end up as a pile of bones myself," he said aloud. Lifting his one canteen that still had some water in it he took a mouthful. Swishing the water around in his mouth he leaned far over in his saddle and plucked a leaf from an aloe plant. He squeezed sap out of the leaf and rubbed it across his parched cracked lips. The natural salve would help put some moisture back in them.
Turning in his saddle he looked back at the hoof prints that marked his trail across this waste land of the Llano Estacado. Damn high chaparral, he thought. The Staked Plains as they were called were nothing more than high desert. Most of the vegetation was Mesquite, tumbleweeds, Creosote bushes, and scrub brush with a few Palo Verdes dotting the landscape. There were also a few strands of Cottonwoods and Scrub Oak where springs or snow runoff from the mountains that ringed the plains came closer to the surface.
Closer to him, he looked at his pack horse. Poor animal's about done for; so am I he thought. If I don't find a water hole soon it might be best let the animal loose. Maybe he can find some water, graze a bit and make it.
He didn't know how close his pursuers were but he could feel them still back there; further behind every day but still following. "Must want me pretty bad to trail me into this God forsaken country," he told his horse. "I sure wouldn't ride across the Estacado if I didn't have to. Hell even the rattlesnakes give it a wide birth during the summer."
Reckon I better stop and let the horses rest a bit, he thought. Won't make much difference without water for them but with some rest Buddy might make it another day; Bowie was tired but still had a lot of bottom left in him. Rafe topped a small rise; it wasn't more than five or six feet high but in this flat land it seemed like a tall hill. His saddle bronc lifted its head and stared at a small stand of trees on the other side of the rise. The pack horse picked up his head too.
Rafe could feel his horse trying to veer toward the trees. "Okay Bowie, that's as good a place as any to rest," he said to his horse. "At least we'll get out of this damn sun for a spell."
Bowie was named after Jim Bowie, hero of the Alamo and Texas. Rafe and his family had lived in San Antonio for several years and the Texas patriot was still highly regarded even 40 years after his death.
He gave the horse its head and rode to the trees. The closer he got the more excited his horses became. Riding through the scrub trees toward the center of the stand Rafe saw the reason for their excitement. A small spring came to the surface in the middle of the trees. There was a shallow pool of water waiting for them.
A grin spread across his face and he sort of slumped in the saddle with relief. "Reckon we'll make it for a spell longer Bowie," he said as he patted his horse's neck. "Now I can't let you or Buddy drink too much too fast or it'll kill you. Understand?"
Rafe dismounted and carefully tied both horses to a cottonwood tree. He walked over to the water hole and stuck his head down into the water. Taking a couple of big drinks he filled his big Mexican sombrero with water and went back to the horses. He held the hat so his pack horse could drink. When the hat was about half empty he turned and gave Bowie his drink. He repeated bringing water to the horses three more times.
Rafe still had his Stetson tied with a piece of rawhide to his saddle horn. The very wide brimmed, high crowned sombrero was a better choice for riding in the sun on the desert like Estacado. He'd traded for the sombrero and food in a small unnamed Mexican village at the edge of the plains. The old vaquero he did business with gave him the sombrero when he learned where Rafe was headed.
After the last hat full of water Rafe soaked two bandanas and tied them across the horse's noses. Breathing the cool moist air would get some temperature relief into the horse's body a little quicker. It might keep them from foundering when he let them drink at the spring. He wet the bandanas several times as he unsaddled Bowie and the pack horse. Rafe rubbed the horses down with some buffalo grass that grew around the spring
"Okay Bowie, now behave," Rafe ordered his horse. "I'm gonna water Buddy first. He's a bit more done in than you are." The big horse nodded as if he understood. Rafe took the bandanas off the two horses and led Buddy to the pool.
He watered both horses being careful not to let them drink too much. Then he hobbled them and tied them with a long lead to some trees. This would let the horses graze on the grass growing around the spring without letting them get to the water again. Rafe took some of the aloe sap and worked it into a few cuts and scrapes on the horses that had been cause by the tough brush and cactus that grew on the Estacado.
"Ifin I don't tend to these cuts Bowie they could get infected and cause problems," Rafe told his big horse.
The horses were calmer now that they'd had some water and Rafe thought, now I can take care of me. He built a small shelter to hide the fire he lit. "No need to tell God and everybody where we are," he told Bowie.
Rafe took some the oats he carried for the horses, soaked it and some pieces of beef jerky in water. The oats and jerky softened and he boiled them with some wild onions to make a stew. It was the first hot meal he'd had for several days.
After finishing his 'feast', Rafe stripped out of his clothes. His shirt and pants were crusty with dirt and sweat. The shirt had big white circles under the arms and across the back. "Damn that feels good," he remarked after getting out of the foul clothing. "Feel like I had a dozen critters eatin on me the last few days."
Rafe took his pistol and walked downstream of the little pool and sat down in the runoff from the spring; washing the dirt and salt off his body. When he returned to the horses he got a relatively clean shirt a pair of denim work pants and his long johns out of the panniers on the pack saddle and got dressed. He returned his pistol, a Remington .44-40, to its hostler and strapped the gun belt around his waist again; he slid the weapon up and down in the hostler to make sure it would pull free if needed. "I've lost some weight Bowie," he said as he examined himself. "Reckon riding hard for days without eatin regular will do that."
Rafe was tall for the times at 6'2 and he normally weighed about 190. Being on the run had dropped his weight to around 170. He was whipcord thin with big hands and still as strong as a young bull. He was what some would call ruggedly handsome. The only flaw was a scar running down the right side of his face. On his first cattle drive when he was 15, Rafe had roped a steer that got itself trapped in a steep arroyo. He and his horse pulled the animal out and when Rafe leaned over to free his lariat the steer tossed its head and hooked Rafe. The wound wasn't serious but left a long jagged scar.
"First time I get a chance I'm gonna get a haircut," he said aloud to his horse. "Gonna have it cut real short like those Army fellars do. Can't stand it hangin down in my face."
His long dark hair was tied back with a piece of rawhide so it wouldn't cover his blue eyes. Rafe dressed and using his saddle as a back rest he relaxed after his meal and bath. Bowie would let him know if anyone or anything came close to the camp.
He pulled his Winchester '73from its scabbard and laid it next to him. The Winchester .44-40 and the Remington were both gifts from his grandfather on his 21
st
birthday. The pistol had ivory handles and the rifle had his name engraved on the side plate just below the loading gate.
Rafe remembered his grandfather laughing when he gave the guns to Rafe. "Won't be no doubt who owns those," his grandfather said pointing to his name on the rifle and the ivory handles.
As he drifted off to sleep, he thought about the last month and the reason for him being on the run.
********************
Rafe Cassidy was born and raised just outside of San Antonio. His Grandfather, William Cassidy had fought with the Texan army under Sam Houston at the Battle of San Jacinto in April of 1836. William had a brother, Jacob, who died defending Texas; another brother, Emmet, was killed at San Jacinto. Rafe's mother was Sarah Travis Cassidy; she was distantly related to William Travis who died at the Alamo. Others in Sarah's family had fought in the revolution also. The Cassidy clan was part and parcel of the Texas War of Independence from Mexico and Santa Anna.
