May, 2010

Issue #8

Split Nose
by Terry Alexander

Trey Dunlap saw the stream through the tree-cover, sunlight reflected off the waters smooth surface. Twilight was hardly an hour away. It would be good to camp by fresh water, get a rabbit or squirrel, eat a hot meal and watch the evening sky. A movement in the underbrush caught his attention. His hand dropped to the pistol at his side. The nations were well known to host horse thieves and murderers.

A loud commotion came from a thicket of wild plums near the water's edge. He saw the red dots of ripened fruit long before he saw the source of the ruckus. A mouse-gray horse stamped its hooves, pawing at the dirt.

Trey looked at his immediate surroundings, searching for a campfire or an injured rider. On closer inspection the gelding had traveled a long distance; the dry sweat on its coat gave it a dull unhealthy look. The saddle had slipped, riding under the animal's belly. The stirrups dragged along the ground.

He slipped off the black horse and approached the gelding, unsure how the animal would react.

"Easy fella," he said softly. "I'll have you out of there in a jiffy."

His hand moved slowly, touching the gray's hind leg. His fingers traced the outline of an S burned into the flesh. The muscles rippled beneath the hide, the horse snorted and sidestepped away from his touch.

"Take it easy," he said his voice low. "Give me a minute and I'll have you loose."

He rubbed the gray's back, moving his hand up the backbone. The horse flinched, its front hooves working the loose earth.

"Just a little more." He patted the gelding's shoulder, rubbing along the neck to the jawbone and down to the reins.

"Almost there," he said. "This is the tricky part."

He tugged the gray's head toward the ground; gaining him enough slack to loosen the reins from the base of the plum tree.

"We're gonna be friends, you and me." He rubbed the animal's nose, finding an old wound that ran from his nostril halfway to the eye.

"I see you found split-nose." A rough voice spoke behind him. "I've been looking for that lunkhead for two days."

Trey froze at the words, his hands moved away from his body. "I ain't stealing this horse. I found him tangled up in the trees."

"Relax; I'm not looking to gun you down. Turn around and let me get a look at you." "Don't do anything hasty." Trey moved slowly, taking care to keep his hands visible. "Name's Trey Dunlap. I'm traveling up to Colorado. Heard about the gold strike around Cripple Creek."

"Nice country." A huge man held the reins of an equally large roan gelding. "I took a herd of mules up there some months back. Made a good profit from them miners."

"Thought I might try my luck up there." Trey stared at the muzzle of a Spencer Carbine a nervous tingle ran the length of his spine. "My dad has a repeater like that. He says it's the truest shooting gun he ever owned. You mind pointing it somewhere else?"

"Just wanted to make sure you was friendly. Name's Buck Kincaid. I got a little spread south of here." He pointed the rifle skyward. "It's near dark. What you say we share a camp down by the river. Start out fresh in the morning."

Trey nodded. "That sounds good to me." He offered Buck the reins. "Here's your horse. I wasn't trying to steal it."

"You don't know do you?" Buck frowned.

"Know what?"

"That ugly thing belongs to Orville Summers. He's offered fifty dollars to the man who brings it home."

"Where can I find this fella? I could use fifty dollars."

A smile broke Buck's face. "You up to an even split."

Trey returned the grin. "Sure, twenty five's better than nothing."

"He's got a ranch about three days south of here. Let's fix that saddle and get down to the creek give these animals water and rest."

"What happened to its nose?" Trey asked, as he moved the saddle to an upright position.

"Heard it was a snake bite. One of the ranch hands had the bright idea to lance it and left the animal scarred for life." Buck slipped the Spencer into the scabbard. "Damn horse ain't good for much. Doesn't have any cattle sense at all. He's a straight-line animal. Put him on the trail and he can walk any other horse in the ground."

"He's got a little money. Got a ranch down on the Red River, Texas side. Does pretty fair for himself."

Trey looped his rope over the gray's head and tied it off to his saddle horn. "This animal ain't worth ten dollars, tops," in one motion he swung into the black's saddle. "It doesn't make any sense for him to pay fifty dollars for it."

"Orville's a strange man. He takes things real personal. He trailed a man for a week once, when the fella cheated him in a poker game. Gave him the beating of his life and left him afoot on the trail."

"Sounds like a hard man." Trey tugged on the reins moving the black toward the stream.

"He ain't a man to take for granted. Orville came here after the war, got a piece of land and spread out over the years. Split Nose belongs to his boy, Grant. The boy lost it about a week ago. I don't know all the details."

"There's some raw spots around its legs and belly."

"I've got some salve in my saddlebags. We'll doctor them sores before we turn in." Buck nodded. "I've also got some salted middlin and a spot of coffee. We can have a pretty good supper."

"Sounds good to me. I've been eating jerky for two days."

"There's good grass here for the horses." Buck rode to the waters edge; the roan dipped its mouth to the smooth surface, filling its belly.

The leather creaked as Trey removed his saddle. The strong odor of dried horse sweat drifted up from the blanket. He laid the saddle with the underside to the sky to allow it to air overnight.

"How you gonna spend your share of the money?" Buck asked, as he scavenged for wood.

"I've got a weakness for poker. Thought I might use it for seed money, maybe add to it." Trey laughed. "Miners aren't very good poker players. What about you?"

"I owe Ben Ross a little money down at the general store. After I pay him off, I'm gonna stock up on supplies, and then I'm gonna get something nice for Rachel and Emily. That's my wife and baby."

"Let me gather up the firewood." Trey offered. "While you doctor on Split-nose. Just lay out the fixin's and I'll be back directly."

"I'll be here." Buck rummaged through his belongings for the ointment.

Trey staggered back to the campsite a short time later burdened with a large load of wood. "I tried to get enough to last out the night." He dumped the sticks on the ground. "I like to keep a fire going."

Buck remained silent.

"Something wrong?" Trey asked.

"That horse has had a rough life. It's got a lot of old scars and nicks on his flanks and legs."

Trey glanced at the animals munching on a patch of grass. "Not our business," he said. "Let's just take it home and collect our money."

"Those marks couldn't have happened natural. It ain't right."

"Don't think about that horse. Think about your wife and kid. Twenty five dollars can ease your conscience."

"Maybe so." Buck nodded. "But money ain't everything. Some things are more important."

"Right now, we both need money. Keep that in mind."

Buck's lips thinned into a hard line. He dug the salted meat and coffee out of his saddlebags.

This is crazy. Trey arranged the wood for the cooking fire. He's worrying about a broomtail that don't even belong to him. The silence grew between the two men. Dawn seemed a long way off.

They arrived at the Summers ranch late on the third day. Nice place Trey thought. Two story house, real glass windows, huge barn for the draft animals. This Orville Summers sure knows his business.

A few ranch hands worked around the barn, mending harness or shaping horseshoes on the anvil for the Belgians in the small corral. A thin raw-boned man rose from a rawhide porch chair and met them in front of the house.

"Are you Mr. Summers?" Trey asked pulling the black to a stop.

The man stared at the pair through red-rimmed eyes. "You found Split-nose."

"Yes sir, just north of the Red." Buck nudged his horse up to the old man. "Remember me I used to work for you Mr. Summers, about three years ago. Names Buck Kincaid"

The old man failed to acknowledge Buck's greeting. "I never figured he'd swim the river." Summers dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief.

"I tracked him for two days." Buck nodded his head. "Time I caught up with him, Trey had already found him."

"Buck told me about the reward, so we started this way double quick." Trey swung from the saddle, the dry dust puffed up from under his boot sole.

"Reward?" Summers stared vacantly at the two men.

"Fifty dollars." Buck cleared his throat. "You offered fifty dollars to anyone who brought Split-nose home."

"That's right, fifty dollars." Summers turned toward the house. "Grant died four days ago," he mumbled as he stepped up on the rough planks. "We buried him yesterday."

"What did he say?" Trey turned to Buck. "Did you hear him?"

"Something about Grant and a funeral. I think his boy died."

"Damn, I hate to hear that. I wonder if he still wants the horse."

"He'll pay. Orville Summers always keeps his word," Buck looked at the outbuildings and corrals. "One day I'll have a place like this."

"Grant didn't check his cinch strap." Summers said, as he returned. The sound of his voice startled both men. "He was showing off like boys his age do, trying to impress the young girls." The old man stood quiet for several seconds

"Mr. Summers, are you alright?" Trey asked to break the silence.

"I'm fine." Summers eyes popped open. He wiped at his nose. "I owe you boys some money," he said, as he passed each man a handful of crumpled bills.

Trey stuffed his share in his shirt pocket. "Thanks, Mr. Summers. I'm sorry about your son."

"Grant was a good boy," Buck said. "He would have been a man to be proud of."

"Freda named him after her pa." Summers looked toward the horizon. "She's been sitting at the kitchen table since the funeral, just sips at her coffee, won't say nary a word."

"We won't trouble you any longer." Trey's boot slipped into the stirrup. His hand circled the saddle horn; he pulled himself aboard.

"We'll leave you to your grieving." Buck touched his fingers to his hat brim.

"He loved this sorry horse," Summers mumbled. "Used to brag about how much ground it could cover in a day. Freda blames Split-Nose for Grant's death. She thinks it meant to kill him."

Trey stared at the black's ears, unwilling to make eye contact with the older man. "I know it doesn't seem possible now, but she'll come around. She'll get to thinking about the good times."

"Not with Split-nose around. Every time she sees him she'll think of Grant lying in his coffin with his skull bashed in."

Trey wanted to comment. He sat silent for several seconds, searching his mind for the right words, something to comfort Orville. Faster than Trey thought possible the old man pulled a small .36 caliber Remington from his waist band. He placed it two inches from the animal's forehead.

"Don't," Trey shouted. His spurs touched the black's flanks urging him forward.

The thunder from the small caliber weapon echoed in the distance. Trey felt a warm splash on his face, as blood splattered his cheek. Split-nose stumbled sideways and crumpled to the ground, its hooves pawing at the earth.

"I had to do it. Don't you see that?" He stood stoop shouldered, looking down at the dying gelding. "I couldn't let Split-nose live, not with Grant dead. I just couldn't let him live."

Trey swallowed the lump in his suddenly dry throat. "Take this Buck," he fished the bills from his shirt pocket. "I don't want money that bad."

Buck took the bills from Trey's hand. "I don't want it either," he said, shaking his head. "I'll figure out a way to get by." He urged his mount up to Summers. "Take your money. It's tainted."

Summers turned a tear stained face to the pair. His hand closed on the wad of greenbacks as Split-nose ceased his death throes and lay still. "You understand, don't you? Can't you see I had to kill him?"

Trey sank his spurs into the black's flanks, he had to get away from this place of death and Colorado beaconed.

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