Itâs 1885, and Jesse Clayton is a drifter on the roads and trails of the Northwest. When he happens upon a rancher and his daughter being assaulted and saves their lives, he finds himself in Fortune, Idaho, a dying mining town under threat from a vicious gang of outlaws. Despite his best efforts to keep his nose out of the localsâ business, it isnât long before Jesse is embroiled in the townâs troubles and is set on a deadly collision course with the gangâs heinous leader, Slim Joe Cullen.
Itâs 1885, and Jesse Clayton is a drifter on the roads and trails of the Northwest. When he happens upon a rancher and his daughter being assaulted and saves their lives, he finds himself in Fortune, Idaho, a dying mining town under threat from a vicious gang of outlaws. Despite his best efforts to keep his nose out of the localsâ business, it isnât long before Jesse is embroiled in the townâs troubles and is set on a deadly collision course with the gangâs heinous leader, Slim Joe Cullen.
Jesse Clayton stopped his horse when he saw the old man hit the ground. The trouble was a few yards ahead on the trail; a wagon held up by two men on horseback was what he made of it. Sure enough, their eyes found him and he was part of this now. He tugged at the reins of his mare.
Getting closer, he could see the problem much clearer: atop the wagon sat a woman not much younger than himself doing an admirable job of hiding her fear. The old man was sprawled on the ground, his forehead all bloody, while a man in a ragged duster stood over him. Another in matching attire sat sentinel on his horse, a shotgun now aiming at Jesse.
âJust a conversation, mister. You go on and git, now.â said the standing man.
âThatâs right, go on.â The rider said with a wave of his shotgun.
âThis doesnât look like much of a conversation,â Jesse said. He kept his voice low and cool, almost playful. âYou got this poor feller lying in mud and his own blood and youâre pointing a gun at his lady. What kinda talking you doing here, friends?â
âThe kind thatâs none of your business.â the standing man said.
 For a moment Jesse locked eyes with the woman. Her eyes pleaded with him. âGuess Iâm making it my business, friend.â Jesse pulled his town coat away from his hip and let his hand hover. He was cold and he was tired, but heâd be damned if he was to leave that woman to her fate. âWhatâs your names, boys?â
The standing man answered: âNameâs Dustin. On the horse is my brother, George.â Dustinâs hand had gotten awful close to his hip, now; Georgeâs grip on that shotgun had gotten a little tighter too.
âWell, my nameâs Jesse. Now that weâre all well met, letâs the three of us have a conversation. Nice and civil. Way I see it, you boys have two choices: first, yâall get back on your horses and ride off and we all have a lovely evening. Second,â Jesse nodded his head down to his hip, âYou see where my hand is right now? If it gets any lower itâs gonna come up a lot faster. Iâll bet youâre thinking âbut fast enough to plug you both?â Maybe. Maybe not. But Iâm sure as day followinâ night that Iâll get you, Dustin, before either of you get me. So whatâll it be boys?â
The brothers shared a glance. A long moment passed between them all, punctuated by the grunt of the old man. Jesse saw the temptation scrawled across their faces. Dustinâs hand was twitching. George held that shotgun of his so tight it couldâve snapped in two. Jesse was suddenly aware of the sweat beading around the brim of his hat.
âWell, gentlemen? We gonna fish or cut bait?â Jesse said.
Dustin held firm for a moment as he eyeballed Jesse. Then he folded his arms and sighed. âPut your gun down, George,â Dustin said. He drove a boot into the side of the old man before stepping away and mounting his horse. He tipped his scuffed hat to Jesse and the lady and waved his brother on. Their horses kicked up dust and soil in their wake. Jesse kept his eye on the two of them until he was of a mind that they were not about to change theirs. Once they were out of view he let out a long breath, pulled out his handkerchief and gave his forehead a wipe.
He hopped down from his horse. He greeted the lady with a âmaâamâ and a tip of his hat before he knelt down beside the old man. He hauled the old-timer up into a sitting position. Half his face was slick with crimson from a deep gouge in his forehead. Jesse asked him if he was okay and the man only moaned in response. Behind him, the woman jumped down from the wagon.
âDaddy! Daddy, are you okay?â She had a handkerchief in her hand and was dabbing his forehead down with it. The old man grunted in pain.
âYeah, Iâm⌠Iâm fine, Winona. They didnât hurt you, now?â
âNo Daddy, thanks to the kindness of this stranger.â She looked at Jesse and smiled. He believed it was pretty enough to disarm a man. She said something else but Jesse didnât quite catch it, being lost in his own mind. âHey!â That brought him back to attention, âYou think you can quit daydreaminâ and help me get him on the wagon?â
âSure, maâam.â The pair of them heaved the old man up to his feet and walked over to the back of the cart.
âAnd donât call me âmaâamâ. Nameâs Winona. Winona Squires. And this is my daddy, Bill.â
âYes maâam.â Jesse winced at his immediate mistake. âSorry. Nice to meet you, Winona.â
It took them about half an hour to get back to the ranch. Winona rode on the wagon with her father while Jesse followed on his horse. He noted the fences, with their breaks and holes that needed maintenance; the cattle looking a little on the thin side (even to him, who was no expert in the matter). The house itself was big, if a little modest on the inside, with few furnishings but a wooden table and a few cabinets. Winona fed another log to the fire.
âSonofabitch!â Bill yelled.
âSorry about that, Bill,â Jesse said, âbut this wound needs cleaning out. It ainât deep, but itâs enough to cause trouble if you go and get an infection.â He upended the bottle of whiskey on the cloth and then dabbed his head again. The man howled and pulled away.
âWhy donât you let me worry about that and you pour us a drink?â Bill said. He pressed the cloth to his head and turned to Winona. âBaby, get us some glasses for the whiskey.â Winona nodded and fetched them, returning to the table. Jesse poured them all a drink. Bill raised his and said: âto the kindness of strangers.â
The three of them drank.
âYouâre too kind.â Jesse said.
âNot at all, last thing I remember is expecting death and fearing for my daughter. Here I am now sharing a drink with the man who prevented the terrible things my mind had imagined up.â Bill grabbed the bottle and poured another round. âWhat brought you down to this part of Idaho anyhow, Mr. Clayton?â
âJust passing through.â
âSo youâre a transient?â Bill chuckled.Â
âMore of a wanderer, but you could swing it that way, yes,â Jesse said.
âOh donât mind him, heâs all kinds of rude after a bang to the head,â Winona said. âThere anywhere in mind youâre wandering to?â Winona asked. Sheâd gotten hold of some bandages now and was readying to dress her fatherâs wound.
Jesse shrugged. âWherever the wind takes me, I guess.â
âWell, thank the Lord for the way of the wind, this night. Anything I can do to repay you? Room for the night is the least of it.â Bill said.
âCould use some supplies if you can point me to the nearest town,â Jesse said.
âWonât be much there, but I can take you into Fortune in the morning. Youâll be able to get a thing or two there for your travels.â Bill reached for the bottle and went to fill Jesseâs glass. He shook his head and the old man filled his own. His vision had started to wobble like jelly and his mind felt locked away somewhere outside of himself. His body felt warm and his limbs like theyâd been borrowed from another man. His eyelids had become heavy as lead.
âMuch obliged. Now, Iâm struggling to wrestle my eyes open. If you two will excuse me I think Iâll go get some rest.â
âSure thing. Up the stairs, room on the leftâs all yours.â
Jesse got up and pushed his chair under. He plucked his Stetson from the table and made his way up. Each step creaked underfoot.Â
âWhy did you stop?â Winona asked.
Halfway up he turned back to see her at the bottom of the stairs and said, âI did what anyone would do.â
âNot around here. People just up and hide the moment thereâs trouble. But not you. Even seeing it was two to one you kept on, laughing and talking at them like it was a game.â
âThatâs what you thought? It was a game?â He leaned against the handrail. âYou keep a secret?â
Winonaâs heart stopped as Jesse pulled his colt from its holster with all the swiftness of a viper. He tossed her the weapon and she caught the heavy piece of steel. She felt its heft as she wielded it. Something about it felt off. As she inspected it, she realized what was wrong. She looked up at Jesse who shot her the widest grin.
âThere any place I can buy bullets in Fortune?â
If you love stories or shows about life in the Old West, you'll want to read The Drifter in the Wind by Daniel Grabowski. The story begins when a drifter, Jesse Clayton, witnesses two ruffians holding up an older man. As Jesse rode down to intervene, he saw that the old feller was hurt and not alone; a young woman hid on top of the wagon. Jesse didn't strike the two bandits. Instead, he suggested they "have a conversation." Daniel Grabowski wrote the opening scene exceptionally well, taking staples from classic shows: twitchy hands, side-eye glances to partner, and issuing threats without drawing a weapon while the intent to shoot was there. Plus, Jesse gave the trademark tip of the hat and said "Ma'am" to the damsel in distress. Oh, how the subtle move has many women's heart skip a beat.Â
As much as Jesse didn't want to get mixed up in the town's problems, trouble seemed to find him. While playing poker at the Jewel, a saloon, the notorious outlaw Slim Joe and his gang decided to hold up the place. Poker games rarely end well in the Wild West, and this time was no different. When the bandit vows to come back, you know guns will be drawn, and blood will be shed. You can't have a good western without multiple gun battles, which we had in The Drifter in the Wind.
Jesse rode into town, not looking to make any connections, but he did anyways. The end sparked hope that Jesse would return to the town of Fortune. I look forward to his next adventure!Â
Once again, if you enjoy old westerns, you must check out The Drifter in the Wind by Daniel Grabowski. After you read it, I'm sure you'll be eager for a sequel, like me.Â