It was a Good Day to Die, by mrnnh, part 1 of 2
It was a good day to die. The noon-day sun hammered mercilessly down on miles and miles of tan rock, which rose to Deadman’s Rock in the distance, and Gabriel, noticing it, was convinced of it. The heat-shimmer off all that naked rock, when he brought his focus back to the jackal twenty feet in front of him, gave the animal an almost mystical aura. Gabe thought of himself as a reasonably intelligent, educated man. He didn’t hold with the vast array of superstitions that were part of Old West culture, especially strong in these parts. Just because they said the jackal was the ‘taker of souls’ (whatever that meant) didn’t make it so. It was probably, like him, just very hungry. Why else would it be out here under this destroying heat? But that shimmer, almost seeming to emanate from the creature, did momentarily make Gabe start.
Without taking his eyes off the jackal, its muzzle now raised in an inaudible snarl, Gabriel felt amongst the three items dangling from the prized ‘Oktoberfest’ belt he’d won back in town (how long ago that seemed now!) His pants were ragged, dusty, saturated with dried and fresh blood around his right thigh, had no pockets… but his much coveted belt had a sheathed knife, a water-bottle, and a small and wonderfully crafted Indian tomahawk depending from it. He untied the canteen and felt its weight. About three swallows, so he allowed himself one of those, and retied it. The jackal was following his movements with its eyes, not really budging, but moving its head closer to the ground and from side to side, sniffing and cautious. Gabe felt totally beat. The sun felt like more of a soul-taker than any jackal could be. And he doubted he had the strength left in him to take the jackal down if the animal came at him. His wife and four-year-old children, twins, one boy, one girl, were gone, killed in the fire that destroyed his home. Liwanu, the old Indian who had helped him on the first part of his trek out here, and probably his best friend, had gotten most of the venom out of that snake bite, and cleaned and tightly bandaged the wound. But he’d still lost a lot of blood, and he still felt woozy from the poison. And Liwanu was also now gone, probably dead after facing off against that bear. How many times had he saved Gabe’s life? The snake, the bear… so many times, and now he, too, was gone. It was a good day to die. But not just yet. It must not be just yet. Or maybe..?
Two years earlier, he had, on a beautiful windless night, been on the porch outside his front door. Gabe kissed his wife on the lips, then bent down to kiss the squirming twins she was holding, one in each arm. With a theatrical little nod, “Ma’am,” he touched the brim of his hat. Grinning, he turned and sauntered in the direction of the ctown saloon. It was dark already, but there was a half-moon and plenty of stars to see by in the nearly cloudless sky. A magnificent tall and bushy Pinyon pine grew in the town square, the only one around for miles. It had been pruned to make a large shady space beneath for people to meet in during the heat of the day, and he reached up towards the lowest branches as he strolled by. It especially smelled good at this time of year, at this time of day. As Gabe neared the far side of the square he saw the town’s newspaper editor Pat and her husband Kane, the mason, converging on his course, and greeted them with a friendly, “Howdy.” He didn’t get on too well with the two of them these days, due to their efforts to keep the railway, planned to come through this corner of the Old West some time in the next year, away from their town. Gabe ran a dry goods store, and the added prosperity to the town, and to himself, that the railway would surely bring if it were to run by the town, would be a very good thing he thought. Unfortunately he was in a minority. Most residents seemed to be afraid of the problems the railway had often brought to other towns in The West, such as seedy gunslingers, gamblers and prostitutes. The town was pretty keen on ‘moral responsibility’ as Sheriff Darryl called it. Grandson of one of the town founders, when Goldenfields was just a cluster of huts around a magnificent lonesome tree, all embedded in acres of rolling plains of wild wheat, Darryl liked to keep a pretty tight ship, morality-wise. And though Gabe wasn’t a fanatical church-goer (not that he could avoid actually going to church, the town being what is was,) he was pretty happy with the ‘righteousness first’ direction of the town. Maybe the atmosphere in town wasn’t as mellow as he’d have liked, but it did make for a pretty peaceful and orderly existence. Still, he knew that if much more resistance to its plans was offered to the railroad company, they could easily run by the town of Reach instead. Reach was already on the main wagon trail in these parts, and their getting the railroad too would be a bit of a blow to him. But he was in a good mood, and he still liked the Graftons, even if he disagreed with their point of view on some matters, so as their paths merged, the three talked amiably enough about town affairs and their children as they walked.
Soon they heard the babble of music and talking and laughter, the clatter of cutlery and plates, and the scraping of chair-legs coming from behind the doors of the saloon, a cheerful yellow light radiating from its windows. They walked up, and Gabe and Kane stepped to the sides of the entry, each holding one of the double-doors open for Pat, and the three entered. They took a table together, and Henry the barkeeper waved over to them as he caught their eye, and sent one of the boys over to take their order. The saloon was chockablock this evening, and quite noisy. Many of the young men were standing by the bar, arguing loudly but good-naturedly about something or other. A couple of banjo-players were plucking out a jaunty duet over in one of the other corners. The sheriff, plus the pastor and their wives, and the sheriff’s elderly and rather severe mother had a table, as did many other of the prominent members of the town, and he was talking loudly to his table with big arm gestures as he spoke. Serving-boys and girls were weaving through the crowd seated at tables and the standees at the bar and by the fireplace, carrying plates of food and pitchers of beer, stacks of dirty plates and even the occasional bottle of wine. It was a special occasion. Liwanu and Waupee, bachelor native Americans who lived in the town, had successfully reached an agreement with the local tribe. The town would provide them with tools, some manufactured goods, and flour in exchange for horses and passage over local Indians’ traditional tribal lands (and to build good relations with them, the town’s neighbours.)
It seemed that Gabriel and the Graftons were the last to arrive. Most of the others had finished their meals by the time theirs arrived. Sheriff Darryl rose to his feet and called for quiet, and the hubbub died right down. Gabe went on with his meal, though as quietly as he could, while the sheriff spoke. “Well, it’s good to see all you folk here. As you know, we’ve reached a happy conclusion to our negotiations with the Esayano that will provide the town with horses, short-cuts over their land, and the opportunity to build friendships with them. We’re a peaceful and God-fearing community, and we have no quarrel with the indigenes,” here Darryl frowned at Samuel Smithson, the miller, in anticipation of a possible retort. “They are the natives here, and though we may be the way of the future for this great country, we must still respect their ways, and, yes, the fact that, from their point of view, this is their land.” At this, both the miller and Waupee frowned. And the native American looked like he was about to interject in a frowning-but-resigned sort of way, so Darryl hurried on with a sotto voce ‘Yes, yes, yes, I know, I know…’ to him. Then, raising his voice again he continued addressing the crowd. “So I’d like you all to deal fairly and in a friendly manner with our neighbours when your paths cross with theirs, and forget about any perceived slights you might have. As I’ve always said, the world is what we make of it, so let’s make it something good. And I’m sure things will continue to go from strength to strength here in Goldenfields.”
There was general applause, and cheers of ‘here here’, and ‘amen to that,’ from the crowd. The sheriff handed the floor over to Waupee and Liwanu who then explained more about what was actually involved, and how the agreement had been reached. Gabe was listening and finishing his meal as they spoke. When his plate was empty a serving-girl came up to take it, and he stopped her for a moment, enquired of his companions if they’d like another drink, and ordered another round of beers from her, slipping several coins into her hand, plus another one for herself. The girl smiled a pretty ‘thank-you,’ with an awkward half-curtsey in the confined space, and disappeared back into the crowd. As she did so, Samuel Smithson came over and planted himself in the one vacant seat at the table with a friendly ‘howdy’ to its occupants. Shortly after that Liwanu had finished addressing the crowd, and he too came over, bringing a bar-stool with him so that he too could join them.
Goldenfields was surrounded with wheat, and Sam, the miller, made a great deal more flour than the town itself could use, the excess being traded primarily to the town of Reach, where he owned a bakery. The bread was consumed by both the townspeople of Reach, (and Goldenfields of course, though here he sold the majority of his product simply as flour,) and the regular-ish wagons-folk that came by there. But he also traded with the local Esayano people, despite the fact they had killed his oldest son… His son had been eighteen, and had been going to a riverside area where his father Sam had been arranging trades with the native people for several years now, and had finally been allowed to do so on his own. On this occasion the tribesman he usually dealt with had not been there, but instead had also sent his children, a sixteen year-old boy and an extremely attractive eighteen year-old girl. Young Smithson had been instantly smitten, and over the next six months had managed to see her several more times. His crush on the girl had fallen into the hopelessly-beyond-reprieve category, and unfortunately someone reported back to Samuel the warning signs. Sam told the girl’s father about it, and together they stopped the burgeoning romance. At least, they thought they had, but it was like keeping two opposite poles of a very powerful magnet apart – just not happening. The native American girl escaped from her father’s watchful eye, and came over to Goldenfields, met up with young Aaron Smithson, and the two made off in the middle of the night. Unfortunately they were seen, and this was reported back to Sam, who instantly went out after his boy. There was a chase on horseback, the confusion added to by the arrival of the girl’s father on the scene too, also on horseback. They hurried their horses dangerously fast over the night-time prairie, then when it started getting rocky, the girl’s father, who had incredible night-vision, noticed the two young lovers dismounting and ascending a steep cutting in a high rocky escarpment in this place. The two men followed, Sam panting and cursing under his breath at the steep ascent, the grief his son was giving him, and the sharpness of the rock under his hands as he steadied his upward climb. Everyone had reached the top, and the teenagers were still moving, tired, but walking quickly along the flat top of the rocky escarpment. Sam was doubled up with exhaustion, but his counterpart, the native girl’s father, was untiring and hurried after them. Sam slowly shambled along as well. Suddenly the clouds parted, and a full moon illuminated the two adolescents, not too far distant now. The parents re-doubled their efforts, and the kids noticed, changed direction and broke into a run. The girl’s father was gaining on them. Then there were three cries of shock. Two from the young lovers as they simultaneously tripped, their legs flying out in front of them as they hurried over some unseen gravel. They fell down, and slid off the top of the broken rocky area they were on, down into the deeply gaping canyon that bordered it on the opposite side from where they’d climbed up. The third cry was from the girl’s father as he realised what had happened.
Mr Smithson tiredly increased his gait as he heard the desperate cries, and when he finally arrived on the scene, he saw the native American man standing stock still at the top of that deep gorge, tears streaming silently down his face. He instantly knew what had happened. He looked into the other man’s eyes, and there was only desolation there. He looked into the deep dark ravine. Sam’s first-born son, in the prime of his life, was gone forever.
There in the saloon, notwithstanding his earlier loss, Sam was chatting animatedly enough with the occupants of Gabe’s table, including Liwanu, despite the fact he still blamed ‘The Injuns’ for his son’s death. It was almost impossible not to like Liwanu though. He was very intelligent in the ways of both the indigenous peoples and the white peoples, had a lot of faith in the goodness of people, and was irrepressibly good-natured, his old brown eyes always smiling with either a welcome or an impish joke. At the moment he was laying a ceremonial tomahawk in front of Sam, and explaining to him and the table in more detail what he’d been saying to the crowd.
“This one is not a weapon. Never will be. It’s only function is as a gift, a symbol of peace from the Esayano.”
“Funny sort of ‘symbol of peace,’ a tomahawk,” Sam said, though not unkindly.
Gabe sighed internally, and Liwanu went on, “I see what you mean Sam. This item has been made with great care, and could be used for war. But it’s… how do I help you understand… it’s one step past that. It’s, it’s… too good to be used that way. And, amongst the Esayano, that’s the way it is done. An item of war to symbolise peace is more meaningful, do you see?”
Sam and the others at the table looked into the old man’s pleading eyes. “Yes, I see what you’re saying,” Sam replied, nodding thoughtfully. Liwanu seemed relieved, but Gabe was eying Sam pensively in turn. ‘No you don’t,’ he thought. You’re being diplomatic about it, which is kind of you, given what’s happened in your family, but the truth is more important. If you don’t understand – and I know you truthfully don’t – then you should say so. Well, well, it’s not my place to instruct you…’
“You can see the care and skill that went into the making of this,” Liwanu went on, “And yet they’re not keeping it for themselves. That’s part of it. And that they’re giving away, taking out of their own hands, and giving to you this thing, means both that they trust the people of Goldenfields, and want us to trust them. This means that both parties can live… no, not just live, but flourish. Yes, flourish, side by side.”
Just then, one of the serving girls, Sam’s remaining child Emily, just eight at the time of her brother’s tragedy, and now a just-starting-to-fill-out sixteen, stopped at the table behind her father’s seat, and gave him a little peck of a kiss on the neck. She noticed the tomahawk on the table and reached over to examine it, but was stopped by both Liwanu and her father (who nevertheless couldn’t hide a bit of annoyance at Liwanu’s presumption in touching his daughter.) Sam said, “Sorry honey, but this is a special item, and we’re all still talking about it at the moment.”
Liwanu added, his face changing from it’s usual expression of crinkled-at-the-eyes friendliness to one of seriousness, “And, no offence dear, but it is tradition that this is handled only by the men. Not by women. Sorry my dear, but that’s just the way it’s traditionally always been done.”
“Sorry Liwanu,” Emily replied contritely. She then added quietly to her father, “Sorry daddy. See you later.” She then put the plate of bread and cold-cuts she’d brought over on the table for the adults there to share, and went back to her serving-girl duties. Gabe and the others went back to their discussions of building on this positive step in the town’s life.