Cocoon
I
“I will have to say…you’ve impressed me.” he said to him, sipping on the scarlet liquor, swirling it about in absent movement.
“Thank you, sir.” He bowed his head, almost in uncertainty. “The thrill…still flows within me.” he said, then nodded sheepishly.
“I’m quite delighted with your performance thus far, but I’m not certain if you are truly ready for the next step, for you may not be powerful enough…at least, not yet.”
“Sir, you gave me your word…” He leered at him, with fingers retracting tightly into a fist.
“I did…and I will be keeping my word, for as long as I breathe life into you.” He chuckled lightheartedly, as his pupils dilated from ecstasy.
He looked back at him sternly, unable to grasp his witticism.
“Here, take a sip. You have earned it.” He handed him the glass, the liquid splashed around as he did. Drops hit him on the lips. He slowly folded them and sucked off the fluid instinctually; thirstily.
“Better?” He chortled. “So, a macabre sight visited me not too long ago, and I felt perhaps it would be an ideal opportunity and challenge for you. Indeed, it is certainly the most severe challenge yet, if that would be of interest to you…”
He gave him a sidelong glance, clutching his glass back with a firm grip — almost possessively. “It is…as long as it will allow me to finally…shift.” he said cryptically, and the man cinched his brow, pleased.
He slid the poster across the desk, and locked eyes with him.
“I’ve completed the first step…for it will slow him down, until you weaken him furthermore. Utilize all the tools I’ve given you. Capitalize on all my teachings. Do not disappoint me.”
II
“Jesse darn McCoy!!” The rancher yelled from the top of his lungs, as he clasped the egg basket within his hand.
“Jesse! Where ya at, dang it?!” He scowled, searching through the cleanly mucked stalls in the barn.
“Sir!” His deep, youthful voice emerged from behind a stoutly built bay horse. Hesitantly.
“Jesse! C’mere, boy!” the rancher ordered with a threatening tone — even the horses yielded to face him as they shivered frightfully by his booming burst of a voice. All but one, that was.
“Yes, sir.” Jesse sighed guiltily.
“Tell me boy, where did the rest of them darn eggs get off to?” he questioned him, shook the basket before his cryptic blue eyes.
“Sir, I…” He pulled in a worried breath, noticing the rancher’s cocked brow of disapproval.
“You been givin’ them Whietfields some eggs again?” he asked suspiciously, slamming the empty basket against the ground.
“Sir…they…they been in a tight spot, sir.” he stuttered, watching the basket roll down the small ramp of snow covered soil. “The children’s father been gone last couple months, sir. They been starvin’…” He defended, recalling the young girl’s bloated stomach and sunken cheeks that flushed red instantly when she grabbed the egg basket from him.
“I ain’t carin’ ’bout no sob story from them Whietfields! Everybody gotta eat! And you’re just stealin’ and givin’ away food I worked hard for, only to pay ya sorry arse to sell it!” he exclaimed, snatching his felted Stetson hat off his head, pointing it at him demeaningly.
“No, sir. I’d never steal. I’ll pay for the basket…” he muttered earnestly, hoping he had enough coins left to give him.
“Ya pay for the basket…” He snorted snidely. “Boy! Look at ya darn self! Lookin’ like you been drug up from the pond and left out for buzzards.”
His hat waved over Jesse’s torn up coat, following down to his rugged boots he’d been wearing for half a decade of strenuous work. “How the hell ya gonna pay for a gosh-darned basket of eggs?” he muttered, slamming the hat back on his bristly head of hair, snorting once more.
Jesse bowed his head, for the embarrassment hit him like a thrown rock.
“My apologies, sir…” he hummed politely, tugging his coat shut, hiding his undersized vest.
“This is the last warning, son. Can’t be stealin’ from me no more. You’re better than that, Jesse. God knows it — we all know it. Ya ain’t a sinner, are ya, boy?” He folded his arms together in disbelief, realizing what a helpful farm hand he was to him — a valuable one at that, too, for he was the cheapest help he had to pay in those difficult times; doing twice the work as others for even less pay.
“No, sir…I ain’t.” Jesse sighed confused, rehearsing the question in his head, since the concept of God never crossed his mind before.
How would it? His mother was a sinner herself, as she laid with everyone who’d pay a single dime, in order for her to raise him. His father was just a ghost of a man; a mystic creature that vanished into thin air after the deed was done, which wasn’t unusual amongst her clients. However, Elise McCoy never forgave that one — she never could stop resenting him, for everyday she watched her son grow…she’d see him.
Winter was ruling the fields of Freelands, hovering above them like a gloomy dark cloak; waving across the shallow frozen lagoons, and the bare prickled trees. A ruthless, brutal frost.
It was starting to look a lot like Hope up in the mountains of Rockies West — with a little bit more life to it, from the secluded towns and the occasional wagons that drove through. Praying to not get stuck, as ending up stranded at night was almost a certain death sentence.
There was a great loss of farm animals, as every farmer anticipated in fear upon winter’s arrival. Farms weren’t equipped for such weather, and animals weren’t acclimated to it either. Their businesses faltered, as they had nothing alive left to sell down to Marysville anymore, other than frozen hides that were collected in a rather macabre, desperate manner.
Poverty only worsened in severity across the rolling hills of Freelands, and the once prudent aura that lingered in the air turned into a deep, depressive black mass of hoarfrost.
Jesse had never witnessed such snow in his young years; it was frightening as he had to work twice as hard — mucking horse manure from the frozen muddy ground in the stalls, lifting chilled stiff hay bales and stacking them up into a glorious hay tower within the barn — hoping not to fall off from it in the process. Brushing, blanketing horses, switching them in and out of paddocks, controlling their friskiness encouraged by the brisk air, becoming trampled as they ran all over him by the sudden spooks that occurred for no reason. For absolutely no reason at all.
Whether it was on the eastern paddock, or the northern — it was all the same to them. Hot blooded Thoroughbreds, bred for the sales auction down in Marysville. If they saw their own shadow, Jesse knew swiftly to stay at their shoulder as they would run off to safety, only to notice that shadow was stubborn enough to follow after them — causing them even further duress, and Jesse as well.
He worked hard for rancher Walston, and he froze his tail off as he did. Yet, besides all that, the snow was exciting and enlivening, as the pure white beauty glimmered in his eyes every single dawn it emerged before him.
Jesse was a young man of struggle and strict work ethic, hustling to support his mother — not wishing to see her in this line of work anymore, even though she fought hard against it, as that was who she was and had become since a young girl — she proudly admitted. She proudly defended.
As for himself, he simply strived to make ends meet, trying to simply afford his rent up in that wooden cabin — ensuring he had food stocked up for the upcoming weeks, and that his horse — Ol’ Tucker, a bay gelding in his late twenties — was fed well and kept warm.
However, the winter was brutally challenging him and helping others while equally in need was not the brightest idea, yet Jesse McCoy was just that — a young man of few words, but with a heart that spoke and revealed far too much.
III
The afternoon light dimmed through the wolf hides that hung over the cracked windows, the candles’ swaying flames competing with it, lighting the hollow cabin, breathing some feeble life inside, for woe ruled within.
Knock, knock-knock…
The three irregular knocks propped her up from the bed in great haste, rushing to unlock the door — shifting the chair away from it, pulling off the large plank of wood they would fasten against it every time he’d leave. “Jesse…” She sighed in relief, for she’d been feeling on the edge of panicking for as long as he was gone, feeling his absence trample her down into a ball of misery.
“Charlotte…” he greeted her, spotting the bottle of whiskey in her grip, realizing she’d been drinking again, and yet not even a bottle could intoxicate her anymore.
“I’m, I’m so happy you’re here again.” She gasped, smiling briefly, slipping back into a pout. “I…I cooked some food…” she stuttered nervously, fingers fidgeting. “Come…come see.” she said, and led him to the pot of stew — somewhat proud of the slight accomplishment for the day.
“Thank ye…” he hummed, as her poisoned breath hit his nostrils worriedly. “Smells…lovely.” He glanced at the stew, noticing some potatoes and canned beans cruising around.
“It ain’t much…but…”
“It’s just fine. Thank ye…” He interrupted her swiftly, as he was too hungry to even think straight. He’d been skipping breakfast in order to make it through the week, and sadly, they had to dig into the reserve supplies.
They sat down at the table with their bowls of stew, candle guiding their hands to be able to eat in the darkness.
“How…was your day, Jesse?” she asked him, hands shaking uncontrollably for no apparent reason, other than alcohol heightening her turmoil.
“Oh…it was…it was alright, I guess.” he said, fishing through the stew with his spoon.
“Why? What happened?” She wondered, noticing an awkward crack in his deep voice.
“Them Whietfields…” He sighed, a forefinger brushing against his forehead. “They was visitin’, and I…I couldn’t ignore, so lent them some help…gave ’em a basket of fresh eggs…” he said, and gorged on a soggy piece of bread he dipped in the stew right after.
“Oh…” She nodded, unable to hold a conversation any more.
Her brain was dull. Forced to be.
“So…I was caught doin’ it, and had a final warning…” He gulped down the rest of the stew, set the bowl aside, and bowed his head. “Damned if ye do, damned if ye don’t…” He nagged exhaustedly, then raised his head to face her.
Charlotte, disconnected from him, and the same old reality around her, stared in his eyes, and tears started to form within them. “I’m sorry…” she sobbed faintly, loathing herself for what she had become. Unrecognizable. An embarrassing excuse of a soul, within a facade’s hideout.
“It’s alright…” he whispered softly, lowering his gaze habitually; to not remind her.
IV
“We ain’t gonna get out of this alive, are we?” she questioned him, with the same lingering worry she struggled with every night since.
“Lordy…probably not.” He let out an exasperated breath, crossing his fingers nervously — pondering what will happen next.
“I’ll never forgive you for this, you’re aware of that I hope…” She hissed, then poured some throat burning liquor into her cup, resenting her own self, as the guilt consumed her furthermore. “I shoulda never agreed to this. Shoulda never swallowed down my own pride. This is…absolutely insane. What if he knew? How would you explain this to him?”
“I…I don’t know! I just, I don’t know! All I know, is what my poor ol’ heart says to me, and it speaks that it’s the right decision. Perhaps a risky one, but the right one. For we are good people. We oughta strive to be.”
“We are…” She leered.
“Folk change. They do. We oughta believe so. If we don’t, they certainly won’t.”
“I will never agree to this statement…ever. You read them papers.”
“I know, I know…” He sighed, unclenching his jaw.
“But I had to…” His eyes glanced outside the window, watching the snow turn into water as it slid down the glass.
V
He chopped the firewood. Tuk, tuk, tuk. Tossing it into a pile beside the stump. His dry weary skin cracked every time he spread his hand to grab another log. Blisters re-formed in the same repeating pattern within the palm of his hand. He barely felt them. It was cold enough to benumb any pain.
“You just…remind me so much of someone…” Her voice repeated in his mind.
He slammed the axe straight through the wood, splitting it in perfect halves. Jesse wondered about what went on with Charlotte, for he had never encountered such a fragile being before. Not in the physical sense, for she still remained the same robust statuesque woman, but emotionally, she was lost — and mentally, she seemed to falter as well. She was near feral when he found her; took a long time to warm up to him, as though the desperate instinctual need of survival forced her into it.
She never spoke of someone — she just cowered in the shadows, not willing to leave the cabin, yet swore to help as much as she could, keeping the place tidy, washing clothes, cooking meals as an exchange for her stay. He didn’t mind the company; it would get lonely oftentimes in this mucky old cabin, and he enjoyed her unique calmness. He felt empathy for her situation, even though she never disclosed it to him.
“Charlotte?” He strode through the cabin, the firewood snug in his arms.
“Good morning…” she murmured, sipping on some old brewed coffee.
“Morning, ma’am.” He nodded, throwing the wood into the fireplace.
“Thank you for that…” she said, stealing a swift peek through the remaining crack of the door. Chilled shivers straightened her back swiftly.
“Did you…did you see him yet?” she asked him hesitantly, fingertips pulling obsessively on her pants.
“No…not yet. I’m headed out there now.” he stuttered as he was lighting up the logs, glancing back at her worriedly.
“Oh…” She lowered her haunting gaze, feeling her stomach twist guiltily.
“How…how is he doing…?” she reluctantly asked, as she did every day.
“He’s been…fightin’…” He hesitated. “But we ain’t there yet…” He walked towards her, snatching his old ragged hat off his head. “Ma’am…would ye like to see him?” he asked, noticing her lips tremble in anguish.
“No.” She shook her head, folding hands swiftly, brushing her shoulders as a sudden wave of cold shivered her body.
“I figure it…would do him good…” He urged her daringly, for she hadn’t left the cabin in two weeks.
“I can’t, Jesse…I can’t!” she yelled at him abruptly, for the thought of witnessing his decline was the last straw for her going mad. Perhaps, she was already mad, she thought — she wondered — she forgot to ask herself.
“I understand…” He nodded gravely, put his hat back on, and stepped outside. A wave of fresh chilled air hit Charlotte in the face, as the door slammed shut. She blinked, in shadow.
VI
“Hey, lad…” he greeted him with a conflicted smile, moving the bucket of soaked oats beside his resting head.
Finn raised his head to greet him with a soft nicker, yet he dropped it back onto the straw, as he was too weak to hold it up for long. Too weak to notice the earthy smell of the delicious oats he once loved to devour in the stables he stayed at — between the longest journeys he never imagined he’d encounter, carrying Charlotte loyally on his back along the way. He was too weak to taste the sweetness of them. Too weak to even care.
“Ye ain’t lookin’ too well, partner…” He sighed, jerking his head away and preparing his medicine; dosing turpentine in small amounts, turning it into a ball with linseed meal and powdered ginger.
He was no veterinarian, yet he worked with horses long enough at Holy Ranch to learn about all the different treatments they used on them — however most of the time, they were not of any success.
“We’ll get ye through this, Finn…” he said worriedly, and massaged his throat, helping him gulp down the mush of food.
Roy was hovering with his own neck over the wooden divider, neighing at Finn, as if he was encouraging him to eat. Jesse took care of him too, as he had found him standing beside Charlotte that ebony night. Protecting her. Shielding her from the brutally cold wind.
Staring at the black stallion with the white bald face and crystal blue eyes, he wondered who that mysterious someone was that rode such a proud animal — so uniquely created, as if he came from a fairy tale story book, yet Charlotte would never betray it. She’d never allow him to ride him, let alone look into his saddle bags.
Finn wheezed, as he kicked his belly in obvious pain from the relentless colic that he’d been fighting on and off for so long. Shaking beneath the blanket with dilated nostrils and eyes — begging for his suffering to end somehow. Jesse understood, as he had seen it before. Charlotte was in denial.
“It’s alright, lad…” His vascular hands brushed over his belly, fearing for the worst, witnessing the steady progress of his decline.
VII
HOLLENBERG GAZETTE
Number 76
“Murder of Famous Bounty Hunter”
Levi Krog, brutally murdered in the woods of Freelands recently, was a man with a record. He was a bounty hunter across several States of America, and a law-abiding citizen.
Krog had captured and turned in countless degenerates, helping the world become a better place.
Suspect of his murder is wanted man, Mac Kinnon, as Krog was found with his eyes carved out — a typical signature of Kinnon’s atrocities.
He is still possibly lurking in and around Freelands, so be aware of your surroundings at all times. The deputies of both Mon Louis and Marysville are investigating the surrounding areas thoroughly.
“Ah…dear boy…” JB huffed deeply, folding the newspaper back together. “Why didn’t ya listen…” he mumbled to himself, as tears formed in his weary eyes, choking him.
“Ya knew better than that, Levi…” he said, shaking his head; there was a whine in his elderly voice, somehow it too had aged rapidly the past weeks.
He never saw Levi again since the day he left the house so hastily, chasing after Charlotte like a maddened hunter who tracked an injured deer. He never found his lifeless body to bury him properly, even after searching through the woods all day and night within the freezing blizzard. The deputies had found him first, the papers later on betrayed — only adding to the weight of his devastation. He was gone, and somehow he was never able to grieve over his young boy, as the memory of his vibrantly strong presence still lingered in the troubled house.
“He should’ve never trusted this woman…” Amara strode in, after reading the paper herself.
“This wasn’t her doing, Amara…boy was blinded by love, and it drove him mad.” JB said, suddenly defending everyone but him, for Levi’s irrational speech and evil gaze still lurked within his mind.
“What do you say now, JB?” She scowled, flustered by the accusation. “It’s her damn fault for leading him on! It’s her damn fault for bringing this freak of nature here at our home. And now? They got Levi brutally murdered!” She hissed, feeling her rage intensify the more excuses JB found to defend her.
“Levi was consumed by envy! An envious man can do unthinkable things…there’s no tellin’ what went on in that forest…” He leered, for he revisited the blood stained rocks and bloody trails in the middle of a secluded, steep drop in the forest.
“Charlotte ain’t dead, obviously! She’s still out there…while I grieve over my cousin!” She sobbed, slapping the paper against the table with pure resentment. “And you should too, instead of…” She clenched her teeth, tears ran down her face, not able to process what they were doing in secret, due to JB’s fragile heart once again. “I won’t be part of this, JB! Please, leave my house by dawn.” She threatened lightly, and strode back into her room.
VIII
“Easy, girl…” Jesse hummed softly to the gray mare that was seeming to feel much better, after gaining all the weight back she had lost. He cared for her all the past weeks, keeping a blanket on her at all times, feeding her three times a day with soaked oats and barley; she always looked forward to that with an impatient, quite demanding nicker. He had bonded with her snarky attitude, making the fleeting moments of kindness she’d allow herself to portray very special.
“Will ya show me already, Jesse, or will ya just stand there pettin’ the animal?” The rancher fussed at him, for patience wasn’t his virtue, and he had none to spare for this horse that was a burden to him ever since it stepped into his barn. However, knowing it was sold by William Griffiths, he must have thought it was surely worth the trouble.
“Yes, sir. I will…” He sighed nervously, realizing the mare suddenly behaved differently, sensing the man’s ill-intentions and disingenuous self.
She knew he loathed her, and so did she in return.
“Then get to it, Jesse! Ain’t got time for foolin’ ’round!” he yelled, and the mare pinned her ears instantly at him. Her eyes cut sharply, hot air snorted through her flared nostrils.
“Yes, sir…” he said, then threw the saddle over her, yet she dodged it like a bullet, making him plop down onto the hard-packed snowy ground.
The rancher’s jaw dropped, fuming with rage within him. “Jesse…” He leered, boot tapping against the ground, his rampant heartbeat drumming wildly, almost reaching Jesse’s ears.
“Sir, she hasn’t been ridden since I got her. I…I’m sure she’s just…”
“Jesse!!!” He marched towards him, picking him off the ground swiftly with a firm clutch of his fists. “Ya better show me what this nag can do, or else ya gonna go back to that field, and drill a bullet in its head before I drill one in yours!!” He threatened, for he had wasted so much money on feed and stabling this mare already.
“Yes, sir. Understood…” He nodded, petrified for her fate, feeling the sudden pressure intensify even more, knowing he had to work smart and quick with her, knowing this wouldn’t end well for her if he didn’t prove something — anything.
He grabbed the reins again, showed the saddle swiftly to her, and the mare snorted out a breath of freezing mist before his face. He laid the pad over her back, while holding her tightly into place as much as he could. He waved the saddle beside her body, as the mare circled around him. He repeated it until she stood still.
“Jesse, ya fool! What ya doin’ so long??!! Saddle the god darn animal already!” The rancher scowled, about to pull his hair out with Jesse’s quiet and slow, patient movements.
Jesse flopped the saddle over her back successfully, yet his hands started to shake as he noticed her head was high up and alert. “Easy, girl…” he hummed softly, grounding himself and her at the same time. He waited patiently for her to lower her head, then fastened the cinch around her. “Down, girl…” he said, pressing the top of her head down to the ground softly. She lowered it calmly. Her eyes blinked. Her white eyelashes fluttered contentedly.
“Jesse!!! Get on, will ya!!!” He screamed from the top of his lungs, ready to force him onto that horse once and for all.
Jesse tried hard to ignore his yelling, as he didn’t want to upset the mare any further than she already was. He slid his torn-up boot into the stirrup and hopped once on her side, yet she yielded away from him in an abrupt instant — startled by the pressure. He kept on standing calm by her side, waiting for her to settle, so he could swing his leg over. Counting breaths. Hers. His. Matching them slowly, letting the heart beat soften. The rancher’s lips sealed, watching him with great anticipation — suddenly realizing Jesse was not all that foolish after all, for the mare seemed to listen to him and to all his subtle movements.
Jesse waited for the mare to lower her head again, caressing her neck and hind all over.
He breathed out. Exhaled. Inhaled.
Swung his leg over, and sat there in suspenseful silence.
The rancher snatched his Stetson hat off, as though to see better, expecting a bucking bronco show any minute, yet the mare was still as a stone — slowly loosening its rock solid shell.
Jesse clicked with his mouth, squeezed with his legs, and the mare walked off like she had done it forever. A sigh of relief escaped Jesse’s lips, then glanced back at the rancher who was, for once, speechless.
IX
Charlotte sneaked close to the window, pulling the wolf hide slowly away with a trembling hand. Gathering up her grit, she squinted through her eyelids, and peeked outside with her sharp hazel eyes — turned a dull shade of gray in the confined darkness. Suddenly the green shades of color emerged within them, as the light pierced through — kissing life back into them.
She watched a flock of red cardinals nibble through the snow, prancing around a patch of grass that stuck out from the iced soil with pure excitement. Lonely the seed grew, in those wide open fields. Battling the hardship of the weather, only to be devoured by a bigger threat.
She could spot the Holy Ranch from here, a tiny black dot in the pure white landscape — wondering when Jesse would be back, as the eerie silence all day seemed to mute her as well. Muffled each of her senses.
Her eyes traveled across the rolling hills, wondering how freezing cold it must be to trudge through them. She knew. Deep down she knew, for she almost lost her feet to the cruel frost she endured weeks ago. Hadn’t it been for Jesse, she would’ve. Hadn’t it been for him, she would’ve…she blocked her thoughts instantly. A survival habit she taught herself, in order to be able to deal with the pain — the sorrow she never let herself express, yet had consumed her whole being.
Her eyes trailed off further, studying the snow-capped mountains on the horizon, poking out of the gloomy morning clouds. Rockies West…Hope, him…she thought carefully. Her throat swelled. Tears started to form. The creeping memory of his chapped lips still lingered on hers. His uninviting warmth, that only she yearned for, engulfing her for a fleeting moment, only to jerk her back to a cruel reality.
She pulled closed the wolf hide swiftly, eyes slammed shut, head shaking frantically — trying to drown the thoughts, trying to erase the memories — trying to control her emotions.
X
JB was packing up his camp supplies, throwing blankets and stew pots into the wagon, as the draft horses patiently waited in the chilling blizzard that had slowly picked up its pace.
After collecting all his belongings from Amara’s house, he strode back inside to snatch his warm raccoon hat from the wall, when he noticed Mac’s leather hat still hanging beside it. He stared at it, as if it was the most haunting object he ever laid eyes on, freezing into place.
“Mac…Mac…” He huffed sadly, somehow reminiscing how he scooped him up from the snow that day after murdering Davenport, how he was so vulnerable to talk to, so empathetic for the very first time despite the rumors about him — about him being the Devil himself. He sighed, convinced of him having a heart within that hardened shell; beneath that cruel, ominous facade.
Yet nobody knew what happened to him, and the papers definitely implied he was still lurking out there — continuing his killing spree with no form of real evidence presented at all.
“JB?” Jonathan rushed up to him for a snuggly embrace. “Are you leaving us?” he asked, lifting his blue eyes up to him with the question imprinted on them.
“Oh…well, yes, for now…I’m sure, I’ll be back sometime…before ya know it, dear boy!” He chuckled sheepishly, knowing Amara would most likely never forgive him or allow him to return.
“Like uncle Levi?” he asked.
“Perhaps…not like uncle Levi, Jonny boy.” he replied, eyes flooding. Hands caressing his full head of hair.
“Uncle Levi promised we was goin’ camping next year.” He pouted, knowing they probably weren’t going anywhere, anytime soon.
“Ah, well…Lordy…” JB gasped, sighed, truth hanging off his lips by a loose thread. “I gotta go, dear boy. I gotta go…” He unwrapped his arms from his tiny body. “But promise me, son. You’re gonna watch out for your ma, alright? You’re a big boy now. Brave and bold. Just like uncle Levi! Soon enough, you will be met with some heavy responsibilities, and I want ya to be strong. Alright?” He swallowed down his tears, for the boy before him was too young still to understand the heaviness of the situation. Amara was hitting the alcohol worse than ever since Levi’s death, and it was only a matter of time until Jonathan would have to take care of the house, the hunting, and his own mother.
“Alright, JB…” He nodded, perplexed, with a pout.
He clasped Mac’s hat and rushed with it outside to his wagon, unable to say goodbye to his innocent face.
XI
“Well done, Jesse.” The rancher strode towards him. Clapped, somehow snidely, somehow impressed, as Jesse was dismounting the gray mare. “Gotta say, didn’t believe for a minute ya was gonna ride the animal.” He grinned, satisfied to have not wasted his money after all — intrigued by the earnings this horse could bring him.
“Thank you, sir.” Jesse grappled her reins tightly, when he noticed the mare fidgeting nervously, the closer the rancher got to them. “I…think she is a good one, just needs perhaps a little more time to adjust here.” He pulled in a polite stutter, side-eyeing her pinned ears dug into the back of her head.
“Well, we ain’t got much time, Jesse. I need her workin’ ’round here by yesterday. Can’t be payin’ for nothin’.” He nagged, for clearly nothing was enough for him; nothing would satisfy his greedy hunger. “Perhaps will be resellin’ her down in Marysville — or if we’re able to pull it, down in Mon Louis!” He snorted with enthusiasm.
“I understand, sir…” Jesse said with a knot in his throat, as he saw the rancher’s arm lift before him, stretching out to pet the mare’s head. “Sir, I…” He rushed to warn him, yet the mare had already made the decision for him, as she grabbed the rancher’s arm and shook him out of her way.
Jesse stood there, aghast, watching his boss be thrown into the hard ground, his heavy coat torn apart from her vicious bite.
“Gimme that goddamn animal!!!” He screamed, spitting his wrath around him. He stood up swiftly, thrust his hands out, and grabbed the reins from Jesse’s hands. He started to hit the mare in the face — backing her up swiftly across the paddock, throwing hard rocks at her along with anything he could find. A balled fist, pommeling her repeatedly. “You goddamn animal! You worthless piece of crap!” He punched her belly, forcing her to move away from him “respectfully”, or rather in agonizing fright — something she knew all too well already. He grappled the reins and turned her head towards her belly harshly, cornering her between fences — slamming her head repeatedly with his fist.
Jesse couldn’t witness the abuse any further, and ran up to them, grappling the man from his shoulders, restraining him within the noose of his strong arms. Mr. Walston grunted, struggled, fought hard to escape, eventually letting the mare loose as Jesse’s arm was now coiled around his neck, choking him involuntarily.
“Jesse!!!” he screamed from the top of his lungs, and another ranch hand emerged from the stables, alarmed by the yelling — shocked to spot Jesse strangling the rancher. He rushed to them, grappling Jesse’s body, yet he was too strong and too set to hold the rancher down, meanwhile the mare had escaped the paddock, jumping over the fence like a gazelle.
“Jesse! Let him go!!! What in the world ya doing?” the man urged him, as he saw the rancher’s body starting to convulse. His face, turning purple.
Jesse released his grip instantly when he realized his eyes were turning within his skull, stepped a couple feet back, and another couple more, quivering whole at the sight.
“Sir…I…” he gasped bewildered, for he himself didn’t mean to do this, yet somehow he wanted to make him stop, somehow his irritating voice and yelling needed to stop, somehow his arrogant self needed to be silenced. Muted.
“Jesse, what in the world are ya doing?!” the ranch hand asked him frantically, not expecting to ever see him so aggressive. Not Jesse. Not him.
Not the kindhearted young man, who never dared to say a wrong word.
“I…didn’t mean to…” He took further steps back. Three long, quivering steps, touching the fence.
His hands shook in denial, disbelief.
The rancher crawled away from him, as Jesse’s grip felt too real around his neck, a strength that was unmatchable by his. Yet deep down, he knew he should’ve never exploded on the mare longer than it was needed.
“Leave…my…RANCH!!!” he screamed, throwing a hard stone at him, threatening with his gun to kill him, as his face turned pale as snow.
