Chapter 3 – Food for the Crows

Bright sunlight and an odd scuffling noise brought me slowly back into a world of personal agony. I could barely breathe and at first couldn't understand why. I cracked open my painfully bruised eyes and lifted my head to take in my surroundings.

All I could see was sand and scrubby bushes. There was no sign of the barn where Tennant had beaten me or the street where I had left his brother's blood pooling in the sand next to the previous day's stain left by John Evans. There was nothing for miles.

"Shit."

I swore softly, but instantly regretted it as swollen lips cracked with the movement, the lack of moisture adding to the agony of the bruising. Blood from the broken skin moistened my tongue briefly and gave me momentarily relief, but I could feel the bare skin on my shoulders and head blistering in the hellish sun. My eyes tingled with the salt sting of sweat and it was only when I tried to rub the salt from them that I realised I couldn't move my arms.

I was buried.

I had no idea how long I had been there, but the sun was high in the sky and a small group of black vultures sat patiently in the trees around me, admiring the meal someone had so thoughtfully provided, occasionally hopping over to inspect me judging by the tracks in the dust that surrounded me.

The sand had been packed tight around my body, only my upper chest, shoulders and head left above ground level; just enough to let me breathe, not enough to allow me to escape. Dust carried by a fitful breeze brought irritation in occasional spurts of dryness into my face and I contemplated my situation. Desperate didn't really begin to describe it: dead seemed more appropriate.

A lone carrion crow hopped cautiously closer, making the odd scuffling noise in the sandy soil that had roused me seconds before. As I swore loudly at it, it wheeled abruptly and flew away, retreating to its death robed fellows and biding its time.

"Well that ain't no way to talk to one of God's creatures now son, he was only being interested. You probably look mighty edible at the moment."

The voice came from outside my peripheral vision, but a gob of brown spit from a wad of chewing tobacco landed in the sand in front of my face, the moisture disappearing almost immediately in the excruciating heat. Then, approaching footsteps and an accompanying shadow gave me a brief but welcome respite from the sun's harsh glare.

I craned my neck painfully upwards, and the wizened silhouette of the scavenging old man from the town beamed down at me.

"I seen you get whacked in town boy, so I thought perhaps I'd see whether you was dead yet."

"I'm not," I rasped. "Any chance of a drink old man?"

"Nope. I'm thinking perhaps I oughta wait 'til you're dead then dig you out and take your guns, like I did with them fellas you killed in town."

"Well old man, I'm afraid you're outta luck. Tennant has already stripped me of anything valuable and left me to rot."

"Ah, shoot." The old man muttered and then crouched down in front of me, breathing the foul fumes of his rotting teeth across my face. "Well, you ain't no good to me boy. Good luck to you." He stood up creakily and then started to move off.

"You miserable old goat." I tried to shout, but it came out as a dried wheeze and left my head spinning. "I oughta kill you, I......" Not enough air got in, so I passed out again, spinning dizzily once more into darkness.

~

I woke up confused, nauseous and weak, to the sounds of clattering pots and pans. Opening my eyes, I looked at my surroundings. I was in a solid looking log cabin, lying on a narrow cot bed. A small fire provided light and warmth in its neat stone hearth a short distance away. It was all one room, although well tended and clean and the clattering was coming from the old man, who was rummaging and muttering away to himself in one corner.

"Stupid. Don't know what the hell you think you're doing old man. Honestly, boy should be dead. Left behind and dead, no good to man, nor beast. There's gonna be trouble. Nothing good is gonna come of this."

The old man carried on clattering and muttering until I sat up, provoking a creak of protest from the wooden frame of the bed as I moved, and a wave of nausea from my stomach as the effects of my time in the sun caught up with me.

He spun around and faced me, scowling fiercely before turning back to his tasks.

"Thank you." The words whispered hoarsely from my throat in the quiet of the cabin, prompting the old man to whirl around again a stare at me balefully.

"You ain't saved yet boy, I can still dump you outside if you give me any trouble."

He turned back to his tasks, and as I watched in pained silence, he put together a decent looking stew, heavy with vegetables and beans. Once he'd hung the stew pot over the fire to finish cooking, he turned to me once again and moved over to sit in front of me on a low milking stool. Roughly grasping my jaw with a gnarled and work roughened hand, he moved my head painfully from side to side inspecting the damage that had been inflicted.

"You're lucky," he grunted. "You'll never look quite the same again though. It looks like you've fractured a bone in your cheek, your nose is as flat as a pancake, or at least it will be once the swelling dies down, and you've lost part of an ear. Tennant did a real number on you didn't he boy? You've also cracked a couple of ribs, I think you've broken a finger or two on your left hand and the parts of you that ain't black and blue are burnt red. You paint a painful looking picture son."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he spoke first.

"Looks like you've lost a couple of teeth too boy."

The full impact of my situation hit me then. I was battered, had been left for dead and had lost my guns, my boots and most of my clothes.

I was nothing.

Defeated, I was bruised beyond belief and barely alive, and only then on the whim of a crazy old man. Depression hit me like a fist, threatening to overwhelm me. My humiliation was complete and I looked at the floor, blinking back the tears that threatened to unman me.

Abruptly, the old man wheeled away from me to check the stew, talking to me as he clattered around again, allowing me to gather myself before I had to reply.

"You know anything about livestock son?" he asked.

"A little, my step-father was a farmer, kept a few head of cattle, goats, chickens and the like."

"Good, 'cos you'll be needin' to earn your keep if you're staying here for a while."

"Stay here?"

He paused, ladle in hand, the smell of the stew permeating the cabin and turned to look at me with an expression of amusement on his face.

"Well, you ain't goin' anywhere fast for a while boy, you need to heal and get some strength back in that scrawny beaten up frame o' yours." He chuckled and turned back to the stew.

I thought about that as he doled up two bowls of food, putting a couple of chunks of unleavened bread alongside the stew on the small table that leant somewhat drunkenly against a wall of the cabin. He cackled slightly as he rooted out another chair from under a pile of tools and then helped me over to the table.

"Come, join me at the table and get somethin' down you. It ain't often I have company boy, so don't be expecting none o' that hotel service they do over in New York."

He slumped into a chair and looked at me thoughtfully, his jaw working a piece of bread.

"May I know your name?" I asked him.

"Why?" he said, suddenly suspicious.

"Because I'd like to say thank you properly."

"Henry," he said abruptly and started rapidly started spooning the hot stew into his mouth, mumbling his way through his meal.

"Thank you, Henry," I replied and he nodded briefly, intent on his stew.

Following his lead, I picked up a spoon, wincing as fresh pain seemed to spear through virtually every joint in my body as I chewed. Steeling myself against the pain, I slowly spooned the thick and flavoursome stew into my tender mouth, fighting the urge to stop eating, fighting the pain from my abused body as my stomach grumbled in anticipation.

It took me a long time to finish that first meal with Henry, the first of many we'd have together over the coming months. By the time I was done, the old man had cleared most of the cooking things away, had cleaned up the small kitchen area and was pottering around the cabin doing odd chores as I finished my last mouthful. He regarded me thoughtfully again before speaking.

"So," he began, "why'd Tennant decide to take you out, I thought you was doin' him a favour?"

"So did I. I thought I was doing everyone a favour: it seems I was mistaken."

I paused for a moment, not really wanting to compound my humiliation, and then realised I had absolutely nothing to lose. If I told the old man all I knew, then maybe he could help me get things straight in my head and help me figure out what the hell to do next. Before I knew it I was giving him the entire history of the events that had led me to sit in his cabin, a defeated wreck of my former self.

"Tennant hired me to get rid of the 'trouble' in the town. I assumed that it was anyone carrying a gun and making trouble openly. I guess I was wrong in hindsight. I'd joined his ranch a few weeks before as a hired hand. I got pretty good at roping cattle after working at John Chisum's ranch a few years ago and it all came back to me pretty quickly.

"As usual, I'd been showing off to some of the other hands and had been shooting cans from a fence, quick drawing, twirling my guns and all the usual exhibition stuff when he caught me off guard. He asked me straight if I could shoot a man and I said yes, as long as the price was right. I wanted to get to Mexico and that suddenly seemed like the best way to do it, the best way to make a fast buck and get the hell out of the rut I'd fallen into.

"He assured me I'd be working with the local Sheriff and that it would all be above board. I'd ridden with some posses in the past so assumed it would be a manhunt of some sort.

"I was wrong again.

"As I walked into the saloon on my first day as an official deputy, I recognised John Evans. A long time ago we'd been friends, but had fallen out over a game of cards. Since then we'd had a long standing feud from our ranching days with Chisum, and as soon as he recognised me he drew his gun.

"He missed, I killed him: as Tennant had intended.

"Unfortunately, Tennant was away on business and didn't get to hear what had gone on with Evans until I was standing in the street opposite his brother with my guns loosened in their holsters the next day.

"That had started early. I like my cards and had been playing poker with three men in the saloon. One of them accused me of cheating.

"I don't cheat.

"He refused to apologise, so we ended up outside. I killed him too but only found out afterwards that he was Tennant's brother.

"I only found out after Tennant had beaten me senseless and left me to die."

"He was his brother?" the old man's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Well now, don't that beat all, he certainly kept that one quiet. I knew his old man had been married before but I didn't know he had a step-brother. Tennant came west with his old man when he was just a child, and there was always a suggestion that Tennant senior had killed a man and had come west to escape the law. Well that explains quite a lot son. You may well have done the town a huge favour there, but John Tennant won't see it like that. His brother was a killer and ruled the underbelly of that little town. Tennant is the local cattle king here and rules the lands and much of the local economy.

"That's some racket they had going there. Well, it'll be interesting to see what happens next now won't it? I reckon that judging by your recent record it might be painful." He cackled and moved outside to feed his goats, his chuckles fading into the wind.