‘The Land is Watching’

“It don’t matter what part of the west you’re in - the Land has its own laws. Know ‘em and you got yourself a fair shot at survivin’. If ya don’t, well, may the Land have mercy on ya.”

I was still just a youngin’ when I decided to take on the land’s challenge. I reckon ‘bout nine years old - just a ‘lil girl with bigger balls than some grown men. I was on my own for a week before Ol’ Boy caught me tryin’ to steal his wood for a fire I didn’t know how to build.

“Must be building somethin’ real good,'' his words stop my breath, “it worth your life, ‘lil girl?”

With the stolen wood still grasped tight in my hands, I raised my gaze to meet his. He was the first Indian I’d eva’ seen, but back then I didn’t know what an Indian was and thought he just spent a real lotta time in the sun.

“It’s for a fire,” the air in my lil’ lungs fled when I noticed the ax in his hand. I ain’t never been no coward, so I straightened myself up real nice n’ tall and tightened up my grip.

“So, it just might be, Ol’ Boy” Calling his bluff prolly wasn’t in my best interests, but I never took easy to being called ‘’lil girl.’

I reckon I caught him off guard ‘cause he stared down at me with this dumb look on his face. It was the same type of look the other kids back at the orphanage would give me when I’d tell ‘em I didn’t want no momma and daddy - all scrunched up like they’re tryin’ to poop, but can’t.

“What happened to your folks?” His face still stuck all dumb-like. The lines in his face seemed to be content in their scrunched position. Prolly from needin’ to squint in all that time in the sun.

“Ain’t never had none.” I held my gaze with his. I wasn’t scared of his ax-wieldin’ threat.

“Huh,” his face finally loosened and his grip followed after - the ax falling to his side. “Ain’t that a shame.” His eyes left mine and he took a seat on his choppin’ log between us.

“Not really.” I replied to him, but reminded myself.

If I hadn’t been caught stealin’ Ol’ Boy’s wood that day I’d prolly be long dead. He was the first of few to make sure I had a fair fight against the evils the lands would surely bring. The wisdom he shared with that ‘’lil girl’ that night is the reason I’m the cowboy that I am today.

“The land is watchin’!” he hollered at me in the morning as I ventured off with a belly full of bread and an ax in my hand. “Break any law except the land’s, you ‘member that now.” I wonder if he’d be proud to know I’ve broken all of ‘em but.

The first time I stumbled my stubborn ass into Wasco I was ‘bout sixteen. The town was freshly settled and you could still see the hope in folks’ eyes from the promise of gold beneath their feet. I coulda told ‘em they wouldn’t be findin’ no gold ‘round these parts, but it ain’t in me to steal people’s dreams. I might borrow some whiskey without askin’, though, don’t get me wrong. Matter of fact, that’s how I earned my first bullet… and my second, and my third.

The Wasco townsfolk don’t tend to care very much for me, so I try to avoid spendin’ too much time in-town. I only go when I can’t avoid it - like when my horse, Steal, needs new shoes or I need a doctor I can trust. Anything else I need I can get in another town or make myself, but Wasco is the only town with a blacksmith talented enough to forge horseshoes as big as Steal’s, and a woman as their doctor. Wasco’s clinic is led by Doctor Lorraine Lauren, the only soul who knows who I really am - well, other than Ol’ Boy. It wasn’t my choice for the doc to know my truth, but it don’t take no genius to figure out that your patient ain’t a boy when you’re fetchin’ a bullet outta their left tit.

“Reece Jenkins, you best not have another bullet in you, boy!” The doc hollers from the door of her office, her brow furrowed, and her pointer finger tracking me ride by.

“No ma’am, this visit is all his doin’.” I gesture to Steal. “But maybe tomorrow!” I wink at her before she’s out of my view. One time she told me the reason she don’t own a gun is ‘cause she already pulls enough bullets out of me. I reckon that’s the truth.

It can take quite a while for Mr. Ellis to switch out Steal’s shoes, so to pass the time I take pleasure in one of the best things civilization has to offer - The Saloon. Wasco’s Saloon, creatively named just that, requires all cowboys to leave their weapons at the bar. Which is some bullshit if ya’ ask me, but their whiskey is always smooth, and I’ll take that bargain. I wasn’t always much for drinkin’, but at one point or ‘nother it stopped bein’ liquor and started bein’ an elixir.

“That your horse outside?” a fellow patron asks from the card-playin’ table behind my barstool. Lots of horses outside and far as I know mine is making Mr. Ellis earn every bit of his salary.

“I’m talkin’ to you, curls.”

“Which horse?” I don’t bother turnin’ to see who this curious stranger is.

“The fuckin’ huge one I ain’t never seen ‘round here ‘fore.” He says as if he ain’t the stranger here. If Steal and I get parted, he always returns to Wasco. Everyone in this town knows him. Chuggin’ what’s left of my drink, I swivel my stool to see who’s unwanted attention Steal has brung me this time.

“Sure is. Broke him myself.” Like most folks, when I tell ‘em that, he laughs.

“There ain’t no way a skinny sissy boy like you broke that beast.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. Suddenly this conversation don’t feel so friendly.

“I sure did, too. He was a whole lot easier to break than your momma. That bitch still bucks.”

Damn, I must be a ‘lil drunker than I thought.

“The fuck you just say to me, boy?” He stands up with such force his chair flies back.

“No fightin’ inside my bar, Sheriff. Take it outside.” The bartender scolds. Alright, I’m a ton drunker than I thought. I coulda sworn she just called him “Sheriff.” This town ain’t never had no damn Sheriff.

“I’m leaving town anyhow. Not worth my time.” I normally would never pass up a chance to fight, but I need this town and I’m not lookin’ to lose it over my loose tongue.

I’ve made the habit of being sure to visit the doc before headin’ out of town. At first it was just to let her know I was leavin’ in one piece, but now I think it’s just for both of us to be sure we get a chance to say goodbye. Used to be safer for folks to be livin’ in a town like Wasco, but now all they are is an easy target for outlaws and vengeance-seeking Indians.

“You leavin’ me already?” The doc huffs at me before I can even make it to her clinic’s door.

“No reason for me to stay. ‘less you decide to finally shoot me.” Some would call what I’m doin’ flirting, and maybe it is, but I just like seein’ her smile.

“If she don’t do it, I sure will.” The room’s energy shifts so abruptly you can almost feel it. The doc’s smile now replaced with an expression that I ain’t never seen her make before. There’s only two things I genuinely like in this town - Wasco’s Saloon and Doctor Lorraine Lauren.

Somehow, one drunk bastard has ruined the both of ‘em in the same damn day.

“I’m sure you’d like to try, Sheriff.” Now that he’s out of the saloon, he has his gun holstered on a brown leather belt wrapped snug ‘round his bloated belly. His badge proudly displayed as a belt buckle.

“Mhm - yea - sure - would.” He can’t seem to walk and talk at the same time, stoppin’ in his tracks to slur his sentence along word-by-word.

“If ya lookin’ for a reason to stay,” this time a burp stops his words instead of a step, “find one that ain’t my wife.” His hands firmly graspin’ the doc’s hips like he’s holdin’ up a trophy. I can’t help but to look at the doc and wait for her to tell me it ain’t the truth. That this is a new patient of hers that gets confused. I wait for her to push him off, but she won’t even look me in the eye.

The one person who knows my true identity, my biggest secret, and I’m realizin’ now I ain’t never asked her a damn thing about herself. I just let her be who I had wanted her to be. Could I even trust her? If she ever told anyone, ‘specially her husband, I’d be hanged. Or worse.

“Don’t worry, Sheriff. I was just asking the doctor here if she knew of a good way to get rid of a pain-in-the-ass.” Thanks to the half-barrel of whiskey runnin’ through his veins, my insult went right over the Sheriff’s empty head. Honestly, I don’t reckon he woulda gotten it sober neither.

“Mmmm. Alls I know is you best leave ‘fore I tell the whole town what you really are.” My heart turned colder than a desert’s night in a single beat. He knows that I’m a woman? I can’t believe Lorraine gave me up to this drunken bastard.

Steal must be pickin’ up on my rare sense of fear ‘cause he starts stomping the dirt beneath him so hard I can feel the force run up my legs. No longer tightly graspin’ his trophy, the Sheriff closes the distance between us.

“An Indian-Lover.” He spits at me, literally, but I’m flooded with so much relief that I burst into a fit of laughter and almost piss my damn pants. An Indian-Lover? That’s all? Good Lord, he really had me goin’ there for a minute.

“I say somethin’ funny, cowboy?” Still laughin’, I can’t get an answer out. I can’t barely see from the tears gatherin’ in my eyes.

“Let me show you somethin’ I think is real funny.” My laughter must’ve caused me to let my defenses down, cause I never even heard him unholster his Colt .45, which is now pointed right in my face. Damn my healthy sense of humor.

A short stroll sure does feel a whole lot longer when you’ve got a drunken fool holdin’ a gun straight to your skull. Considerin’ I need my noggin’ to drink, I really don’t have much other choice but to do what he tells me, now do I? He’s headin’ us for the old town center - an abandoned section of Wasco that was overthrown by deathstalkers, a scorpion more deadly than any man with any weapon. Sixteen years I’ve survived on my own out in the wild west. I’ve defeated a gang of outlaws with only a lasso and an ax. I’ve sucked rattlesnake venom outta my own damn leg and spit it in the eyes of my cotton-tailed dinner. I’ll be damned if I lose my life to a boozed-up ignorant bastard wearin’ a badge like cock-trophy.

“You see that?” I follow his sunken eyes toward the center of the old town center. All I can make out is a pile of deathstalkers gatherin’ below the old bell tower.

“This right here is what I do to Indians and their lovers. This is what I find funny.” Now that we’re closer, I realize it ain’t no pile of scorpions we’re lookin’ at. What I had thought was hundreds of deathstalkers was really only maybe thirty - all scoured across the decayin’ corpse of an elderly Indian man. They were pickin’ him clean to the bone - and seemed to be saving his head for last. If it had been only a day or two later, all that I woulda seen is a skeleton with a long, gray braid sittin’ at the top. It wasn’t a day or two later, though, and this corpse still had a face. A face I thought about for strength in moments of doubt. A face that spoke the words of advice I have lived by all these years.

“They might not make for good neighbors, but they sure do make a real nice belt.” I can hear the Sheriff laughin’ at himself beside me, but all I can listen to is Ol’ Boy’s voice rattlin’ inside my head.

The land is watchin’!

“What’s wrong, cowboy? Ain’t never seen one of your ‘lil redskin pals dead before?” Ol’ Boy didn’t deserve this. Nobody deserves this. I want to stand up for my friend, but my anger has gathered in my throat, blockin’ my words from escapin’ through my mouth like a bull against gates. All I can bring myself to do is stare at what remains of the man I tried to steal from all those years ago. The blare of a single gunshot pierces my ears as death lurs me home.

“I find that the best way to cure a pain-in-the-ass is a good shot to the gut.” Lorraine’s familiar voice strikes me with surprise. Am I dead? Is this some sorta sick trick of the devil’s? The Sheriff goes limp and falls flat on his belly right next to his victim. Destined to the same fate he bragged about bringin’. Behind him stood his wife, with a smile on her face and a shotgun in her hands.

I reckon those words of her’s will be some to live by.

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