laughing faces above me. I wasn't so drunk I couldn't remember that hands belonged on arms, and arms, well...arms eventually connected to heads, which had faces.
Somebody sat me down in a chair. That was awfully good of them , I thought. I saw a table swimming in my narrowing vision. A head can be an awfully heavy thing to hold up at times, and that table looked like the perfect place to rest it, even if just for a minute. So, I did — and promptly passed out.
***
When I came to, I was still a bit drunk. I couldn't see or think very clearly, but knew I’d been moved to a bed somewhere. I strained my eyes upward and saw a dark-haired girl was wiping my forehead with a cool, damp cloth. She came in and out of focus.
It was too bad. I'd been hoping to drift off into oblivion forever.
"Why are you helping me?" I croaked, slurring my words.
"You’re too valuable to take chances with, Mr. Talbot."
I couldn't make her face out very well. Her comment evoked a burst of laughter from me, which too quickly turned to tears, even if they were drunken tears.
Too ill to care about wiping them away, I let the wetness fill my eyes as I lay there. "That's some joke you told there, miss. I'm not worth the pissing hole under the outhouse. Not after what I've done. You should've just let me die."
No smile graced her voice nor lit her face when she answered flatly, "You're certainly not going to die, Mr. Talbot."
With the way I felt, I wasn't so sure. I think I'd been halfway trying to kill myself anyway. I wished I could just roll over and die. It'd be so much easier than hating myself.
To this day, I don't know if I fell unconscious at that point or not, but there my memory blacks out.
***
When I came to, the mysterious girl was gone. I could not recall her face, just her dark raven hair.
The posse had either never shown up in Rio Perdido or they'd missed me and moved on because I was still alive. I had to decide what to do next. I couldn't go back to Cottonwood. The townspeople wanted my hide bad enough to raise a posse. No sense in delivering it to 'em free of charge.
I couldn't go back east either, not until I felt like I'd done everything in my power to help Ben and Jessica.
I had a fair stubborn streak in me, so to feel like I'd done everything in my power, I'd probably have to be dead, though at the moment, that didn't seem so far outside the realm of possibilities.
The only viable option seemed to be to get a job at one of the local ranches (there were actually a number around here, in spite of it being an outlaw town), and hope some pertinent trail gossip would find its way to me.
I found a small ranch hiring and took on as a hand again. They were branding and getting ready to run a herd up the trail, so there was quite a bit of work to do, even if it wasn't that a large spread. I vowed that if I even caught wind of rustling going on, I would hightail it for the hills. I was not going to have a repeat of Cottonwood.
For four weeks, I roped and rode through the thistles seeking strays. It was hard work, but wasn't enough to take my mind off of Ben's ranch and the town that had something to do with his disappearance.
I began feeling frustrated and useless again. I'd been down this beaten path before, except this time I was traveling quicker.
I had to act. I had to do something before I went stir-crazy. I couldn't stand it anymore. I’d about decided to go back to Cottonwood regardless of what it might cost me. It would certainly be better than sitting in limbo, doing nothing. Yet, even if I went back, what would I gain? I’d just be picking up where I left off, getting nowhere and learning even less. Ben’s trail was even colder now.
On top of that, even if I managed to keep myself from getting killed right off the bat, there wasn't a soul in that town who would hire me for anything. I'd killed my boss. That kind of thing is
Somebody sat me down in a chair. That was awfully good of them , I thought. I saw a table swimming in my narrowing vision. A head can be an awfully heavy thing to hold up at times, and that table looked like the perfect place to rest it, even if just for a minute. So, I did — and promptly passed out.
***
When I came to, I was still a bit drunk. I couldn't see or think very clearly, but knew I’d been moved to a bed somewhere. I strained my eyes upward and saw a dark-haired girl was wiping my forehead with a cool, damp cloth. She came in and out of focus.
It was too bad. I'd been hoping to drift off into oblivion forever.
"Why are you helping me?" I croaked, slurring my words.
"You’re too valuable to take chances with, Mr. Talbot."
I couldn't make her face out very well. Her comment evoked a burst of laughter from me, which too quickly turned to tears, even if they were drunken tears.
Too ill to care about wiping them away, I let the wetness fill my eyes as I lay there. "That's some joke you told there, miss. I'm not worth the pissing hole under the outhouse. Not after what I've done. You should've just let me die."
No smile graced her voice nor lit her face when she answered flatly, "You're certainly not going to die, Mr. Talbot."
With the way I felt, I wasn't so sure. I think I'd been halfway trying to kill myself anyway. I wished I could just roll over and die. It'd be so much easier than hating myself.
To this day, I don't know if I fell unconscious at that point or not, but there my memory blacks out.
***
When I came to, the mysterious girl was gone. I could not recall her face, just her dark raven hair.
The posse had either never shown up in Rio Perdido or they'd missed me and moved on because I was still alive. I had to decide what to do next. I couldn't go back to Cottonwood. The townspeople wanted my hide bad enough to raise a posse. No sense in delivering it to 'em free of charge.
I couldn't go back east either, not until I felt like I'd done everything in my power to help Ben and Jessica.
I had a fair stubborn streak in me, so to feel like I'd done everything in my power, I'd probably have to be dead, though at the moment, that didn't seem so far outside the realm of possibilities.
The only viable option seemed to be to get a job at one of the local ranches (there were actually a number around here, in spite of it being an outlaw town), and hope some pertinent trail gossip would find its way to me.
I found a small ranch hiring and took on as a hand again. They were branding and getting ready to run a herd up the trail, so there was quite a bit of work to do, even if it wasn't that a large spread. I vowed that if I even caught wind of rustling going on, I would hightail it for the hills. I was not going to have a repeat of Cottonwood.
For four weeks, I roped and rode through the thistles seeking strays. It was hard work, but wasn't enough to take my mind off of Ben's ranch and the town that had something to do with his disappearance.
I began feeling frustrated and useless again. I'd been down this beaten path before, except this time I was traveling quicker.
I had to act. I had to do something before I went stir-crazy. I couldn't stand it anymore. I’d about decided to go back to Cottonwood regardless of what it might cost me. It would certainly be better than sitting in limbo, doing nothing. Yet, even if I went back, what would I gain? I’d just be picking up where I left off, getting nowhere and learning even less. Ben’s trail was even colder now.
On top of that, even if I managed to keep myself from getting killed right off the bat, there wasn't a soul in that town who would hire me for anything. I'd killed my boss. That kind of thing is
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