Showdown at Possum Trot

by David Watts

  He looked around at the old familiar terrain, the dry fields and rusting hinges, and the longer he sat there the more Colorado was disappearing from his life. Would it still be there if he stayed one more autumn? Maybe. But it wouldn’t be him in that cabin.

  It was the beginning of a time of colors, energy rising, movement in all things living. Jake had spent most of the previous three weeks sitting on the porch, letting his leg reestablish itself as a responsible member of his body. Yet still he limped. Now it looked as if he always will.

  But you can’t stay on your porch for Colorado.

  This particular morning, he was up early, loading up a wagon out front with possessions and provisions, whistling an unrecognizable tune.

  “What the hell are you up to?” said Galen, leaning on a fencepost.

  “Time I got up that mountain for a spell,” he said. He gestured with his hand as if waving to someone. “Gotta see the aspens go orange. Maybe watch a few snowflakes fall.”

  “The other man’s dream?”

  “Going there.”

  “Taking Lily?”

  Jake stopped his tinkering. “Naw.” He looked at Galen like he just didn’t get it. “She’s played me for years, Galen. I guess I’ve played her. Time for us both to be moving on.”

  “Just like that?”

  Jake turned to strap in one of his horses. “We didn’t talk much nohow.”

  Galen walked around the wagon like he was inspecting Jake’s packing job. “Gonna stop and say goodbye?”

  Jake tightened his jaw and looked off in the distance. “She’ll know I’m gone when I don’t come ‘round,” he said.

  He checked the tension in the straps arcing over the wagon and then looked back at Galen. “I reckon we got about as much out of those years as anybody could,” he said. “She won’t miss much.”

  Crissy came out. She’d been watching from the window and pieced together what was happening. She had a tear in her eye.

  “Now Crissy, don’t you give me that sentimental crap. I’m not dying, just going away for a spell.”

  She wasn’t reassured.

  “Look. You bring Galen with you one of these times and together we’ll watch old man winter bark and howl. Whaddaya say?”

  She nodded. “Gonna do that for sure,” she said. Her face tried to smile but her heart knew the truth.

  She hugged him tight and turned quickly back to the house.

  Jake looked at Galen. He picked his badge off his shirt and stuffed it in Galen’s top pocket. “I guess that makes you in charge, buckaroo.” He leaned over into his face. “Don’t fuck it up.”

  He mounted the wagon, gave his horses a Haw, and started north.

  Twenty paces out he stopped, turned his head around and said, “Take care of Charlie, will ya?”

  Then he waved and headed off over the hill.

  The End

  Acknowledgments:

  Diverse influences bear upon the characters and their interactions in this tale: Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove, the television programs Deadwood, and Northern Exposure, Rilke’s poem “Der Panther” and others. As a writer I am always grateful for the mastery of those who have gone before, setting the example and raising bar so high.

  HAVE YOU TRIED “BONANZA!” FROM ACCLAIMED WESTERN BESTSELLER SCOTT HARRIS?