“Travis! Come on Travis, wake up!”
Slowly Travis opened one eye, and looked into the chubby excited face of his little brother, “What’s is it, Henry?” he groaned.
“Travis!” Henry always pronounced it ‘Twavis’, no matter how many times Travis had tried to teach him, he just couldn’t pronounce his R’s. He supposed it came along with the condition that Henry was born with. By the time he was a year old, the Doctor had determined that Henry wasn’t normal, touched, he’d called it.
Travis had always hated that term- touched. Touched by what? But, then again, Travis hated anything negative being said about his brother.
A peek at the darkened window told Travis it was barely breaking daylight, but Henry was fairly jumping up and down with excitement- he already knew why, but decided to have a little good-natured fun with him.
Henry’s short fat fingers dug into his shoulder, shaking him, his almond shaped eyes, wide with uncontained excitement. “Twavis, wake up! Do you ’member what day it is?”
“Uh-huh, it’s Saturday.”
Henry gave him a lop-sided grin and shook his head, “Nooope.” he drawled, “You’re wrong Twavis! It’s even better than Saturday…”
Travis pretended to think, “Even better than Saturday? Hmm. Must be Sunday then.”
Henry couldn’t hold his excitement any longer, he leaned in so they were practically nose to nose, “Twavis! It’s my bithday!”
Travis smiled. Sitting, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Your birthday! Now, how could I forget something as important as that?”
Henry gave him a shy grin, “You didn’t really forget my birthday, did ya Twavis?”
Travis reached out and ruffled his little brothers hair, “Heck no, I didn’t forget. It’s not every day my kid brother turns six. Besides, I told you I got you a special present, didn’t I?”
“What is it?” henry screamed, clapping his hands. He always did that when he got excited.
“I’m not telling, your gonna have to wait for your party.”
Henry frowned and stuck out his bottom lip.
Travis leaned forward. Cupping the side of his mouth with one hand, he whispered loudly, “Speaking of your party… you should go wake up Sue Ellen, tell her to get started on that cake she promised you.”
Henry squeeled again, as his short, blocky body, shot across the loft towards the ladder. “Sue Ellen! Where’s my chocolate cake!!”
“Be careful going down that ladder!” Travis called after him. A minute later, heard Sue Ellen screech from her bed beneath the loft, “Travis! I’ll get you for this!”
Travis chuckled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then pulled his work clothes on over his union suit and stamped his feet into his worn boots. He figured he’d best get a move on, after all, it was going to be a big day. Travis had been looking forward to this day for months. Today was the day when all of his hard work over at Mr. Loomis’s farm was finally going to pay off. Today was the day he got to give Henry the black and white spotted pony we’d been working off.
He couldn’t wait to see the look on his little brothers face.
Grinning, Travis tromped down the ladder and grabbed his coat and hat from the peg on the wall. Stuffing the floppy black hat on his head, he left the cabin and started across the yard to the barn. He’d have to rush through his chores today, Mr. Loomis’s farm was over an hours ride from their place, and he wanted to make sure he got back in plenty of time for the big event.
Later, when travis’s ma found him, he was balanced on the three legged stool, streams of fresh milk beating a steady tempo against the side of the metal pail.
She stood a ways away, watching while he worked. He looked so much like his father, that sometimes it made her heart ache just looking at him. She sighed sadly. Her husband, the childrens father, had been gone almost four years, and life had been nothing but a constant struggle ever since. But she was eternally grateful for everyday that Travis stayed on the farm. After all, he was a grown man now, he should be off making a life of his own, but instead, he chose to remain with them.
She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but right after his father had been killed, Travis had just quietly stepped into his shoes, assuming the role as head of the house, and he had been taking care of them ever since.
Walking up to stand beside him, she laid a hand on one of his wide shoulders, “Travis?”
Travis kept on milking, “Good morning, ma. Big day today,” he smiled as he worked.
“Travis, I need to talk to you.”
His hands stilled on the udders as he craned his neck to look at her, a worried frown needling his brows. “What the matter, ma?”
She stood ringing her hands, “I’m worried about Henry. I’m not sure he’s… ready for a pony.”
Travis smiled, “Aw ma, don’t worry, he’s plenty big enough for a pony.”
Travis watched his ma as she chewed on her bottom lip, her tired eyes full of apprehention. “I know he’s big enough, but is he ready? Oh, Travis, you know how excited he gets, and if he makes that pony nervous… I’m afraid he’s really going to get hurt.”
“Oh, ma, you know I’m not going to let anything happen to him. I’m going to help him, besides, that little little pony’s real gentle, that’s why I picked him, he’s the tamest one out of the bunch, I promise,” he said, squeezing her hand for reassurance
She studied the soft look in his eyes, the same soft look he always had when speaking of his little brother, then nodded, “I know you wouldn’t Travis.” Smiling brightly she said, “He sure is one lucky little boy, to have such a nice big brother.”
It was at that moment that Henry came galloping down the coridor of the barn, straddling an old broken shovel handle, their fathers old cowboy hat poised askew on his head.
Henry pulled back on the handle, slowing his make-believe horse.
Reaching into the waist band of his pants, he produced the wooden six-shooter Travis had made him, and pointed it in their direction. Scowling, he yelled “Stick ‘em up!”
Travis and his mother immediately threw their hands up.
“Oh no! It’s Handsome Henry, the baaaddest outlaw in the west!” his mother cried on que.
“What is it you want this time?” Travis asked, shaking in fear, “Gold… money…or candy like last week?”
Henry, his eyes alight, put on his best badman impersonation and sneered, “Eggs.”
Travis had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face, “Eggs?”
Draping her wrist dramatically across her forehead, their ma swooned, “Oh no, not my eggs!”
Watching their ma, Henry lost the battle trying to stay serious, and laughed, his eyes dancing with delight, “I need eggs!” he said, hopping up and down. “Sue Ellen said to fetch her some eggs for my cake!”


Travis couldn’t keep the grin off his face as rode up the rutted lane that lead to their small settlers cabin. He looked for the hundredth time, to the prancing pony beside his own mount.
He had brushed the little geldings soft coat until it gleamed in the sunlight, and combed out the long main and tail until it hung in smooth silky strands, then Mrs. Loomis had tied a big blue ribbon around the geldings forelock.
It was a fine looking pony, fit for a fine little boy.
Sweeping his eyes across their land, the conversation he’d had with Mr. Loomis needled the back of his mind.
According to Ben Loomis, there was danger in the air.
On a recent trip to town Loomis had heard that Mr. King, owner of the Bar-D-Bar, the biggest cattle ranch in the valley, was bringing in the big guns. Some said, he was gearing up for a range war. Mr. Potter, who ran the mercantile in Sweet Water, said gunmen had been rolling through town at a pretty fair clip, all asking directions to the King ranch.
Then, last week, another small rancher in the area, Mr. Thompson, had awoke in the middle of the night to find his hay barn in flames. There had been nothing he could do, but stand by and watch it burn to the ground. The next morning, some of Mr. King’s gunnies had paid him a visit, making him a puney offer on his prime bottom land, but they had rode away empty handed after being greeted by a grim Mr. Thompson and his four eldest boys, all of whom were holding shot guns and rifles at the ready.
As Travis neared the cabin, he pushed the dark thoughts away, and spoke to the pony beside him, “You’ll have a good home here, boy. Henry’s going to love you.”


Ned Black stood in the cool shadows of the barns interior. He watched the eldest Dean boy as he rode into the yard and dismounted, then listened to the boy's cries of sorrow and outrage as he found the each of the bodies.
Ned was Mr. King’s foreman, a position he’d been reassessing as of late, especially since the Dean farm fiasco this morning.
Earlier, while waiting for the boy to arrive, he’d had plenty of time to rethink his current situation.
His boss had always been a greedy, arrogant, pig-headed son of a bitch, but this time he had gone to far. The goddamn gunhawks he’d hired to scare the local ranchers and farmers, were nothing more than a bunch of itchy-fingered, blood thirsty, baby raping, jackals.
That morning, their instructions had been simple. Make an offer on the land, if they refused to sell, toss out a few veiled threats, but make sure they knew it would be in their best interest to sell out to Mr. King.
But then, what should have been a simple task, went to hell in a hand basket.
As they’d reigned up in front of the cabin, they’d been met by the widow Dean, weilding a double barreled shotgun.
The exchange had gotten heated, when a small lone figure had rounded the left side of the house, holding what looked like a pistol, hollering, “BAM BAM BAM!”
Before any of them could react, Kid Dawson, some snot nosed little prick from down around El Paso, pulled his gun and fired, striking the youngest Dean boy in the chest.
The mother had screamed, then unloaded both barrels in the Kids direction. Ignoring Ned's own screams to stand down, the men drew and fired, aerating her like a seive.
Then there was the girl…

With a deep sigh of regret, Ned pulled the .45 from his side and began walking across the yard towards the boy.
Travis Dean knelt in the dirt and weeds, sobbing. In his arms he cradled the lifeless body of his little brother, rocking him gently back and forth.
The boy's own grief disguised his foot steps as Ned walked towards him. He didnt even know he was there. That was good, because Ned didnt think he could stomach doing the dirty deed if he had to look the boy in the eye.
Ned Black hung his head, closing his eyes for a moment. When he looked back he raised the pistol, arm straight out, and pointed the barrel at the back of Travis’s head.
The loud bark of the gun was followed by an eery silence, as the boy stiffened, then slowly toppled over, his arms still wrapped tightly around his little brother, in an eternal embrace.


Ned stormed across the ranch's wide yard toward lighted windows of the bunkhouse. From inside he could hear the loud obnoxious voices and crazed laughter of the hired gunmen, whoopin’ it up after a long day spent killing innocent people. Bastards.

Ned was fuming mad, the meeting he’d just had with his boss had clenched it. Unconscionable prick.

Mr. King hadn’t even batted an eye when Ned had told him of the situation over at the Dean ranch, instead he was only concered with covering it up. “We need to make it look like an accident. I trust you’ll take care of it, Ned.”
He’d stay on till the end of the month to draw his wages, then he gonna get gone from there.
In the mean time, he needed to get some shut eye if he was going to make the Dean farm before daylight. He going to have to set fire to the cabin, that way it’d look like an accident, although, even that was going to look fishy after the fire at the Thompson’s. Oh well, he’d let Mr. King worry about that, as far as he was concered, this would be his final act as a Bar-D-Bar employee.
Pushing the door open, he entered the coyotes den, and was met with silent, insolent stares. Walking over to his bunk, he grabbed up his bedroll and headed back out the door without a word. As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, the ruckus inside resumed.
That night, he bedded down in the hayloft of the barn.
Ned was awakened sometime later by a noise coming from beneath him. Carefully crawling to the opening of the loft port, he watched, straining his eyes to see in the dark. A figure moved below, heading for the barn doors, and exited.
Crouching, he ran quietly to the loft doors, easing the left side open a crack. In the moonlit yard below, he watched the figure make it’s way to the bunkhouse, drop an armload of something underneath one of the paned windows, then head back towards the barn.
Black stayed where he was, watching the figure make trip after trip to the bunkhouse, always keeping to the outskirts where the shadows were ink black. Before long, it became apparent, that someone was carrying arm loads of dry hay, piling it thick, all around the building.
In the moonlight cast apon the grounds, he watched as the stranger took one more turn around the bunkhouse, this time dousing the hay with liquid, kerosene, and stopping at each window to draw the storm shutters closed and throw the latches. Standing before the building, the man struck a match, and tossed it.
The dry hay, sprinkled with excelerant, ignited with a loud Woosh, the flames quickly spreading, each side racing to beat the other to the back.
In the bright orange-yellow light, cast from the fire, Ned recognized the stranger.
As impossible as it seemed, Travis Dean stood, illuminated by flames of the the fire, his somber features hidden behind a dark mask of dried blood.
Within minutes, the flames had climbed up the sides of the building, igniting the roof, the desperate screams of the trapped men inside rising above the roar of the fire.
The bunkhouse doors suddenly burst open with a crack, the first man out falling into the hay, bursting into flames. Behind him, others spilled out, opting to rush the wall of fire.
The Dean boy raised the rifle to his shoulder and began firing.
Ned as at a cross roads. Should he defend the men he worked with, or side with the boy.
A movement from the big house caught his attention. “Well, the fats in the fire now, boys.” he mumbled, grabbing the rifle by his side.
Ned jacked a shell into the chamber and drew a bead.
For the second time that day, he pulled the trigger, watching the head snap back, then the body swayed, and tumbled.
Travis had threw the empty rifle down, then, grabbing his pistol, he continued cutting the men down as they boiled out of the burning building.
He seen the blossom of fire from the hay loft doors, just as he caught the sound, his head snapping around.
He watched Mr. King tumble down the wide steps behind him, landing in a heap at the bottom.
He looked back to the barn. Someone was up there.
The yard was eerily quiet, only the sounds of the fire remained, popping and crackling as it consumed the tinder dry building.
Taking off, Travis sprinted through the smoke.
Ned waited up in the loft until the eastern sky started to lighten, then quietly climbed down the ladder. After he had lost sight of the boy, he hadn’t seen or heard him again. Reaching the last rung, he turned, and came face to face with the muzzel of a gun.
Travis Dean had him dead to rights. “Did you work for Mr. King?”
The jig was up. “Yes.”
“Did you kill him.”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
Ned shrugged, “Seemed like the thing to do at the time.”
Even though the boy was speaking, his eyes were almost empty. Hollow. “Were you at my farm earlier?”
This was it, time to figure out what he was made of. He could either try to lie his ass off, or, just come clean and tell the boy the truth.
Ned decided to cowboy up. “Yes, I was.” he admitted.
He seen it in the boys eyes, a vague shifting. It was as if a small glimmer of hope just vanished. Winked out.
"I reckon we got business to take care of then." Travis slowly eared back on the hammer. “This is for my brother. Happy Birthday, Henry.”

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.07.2010

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