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Post by ladyfiaran22 on Mar 18, 2020 18:43:32 GMT -5
This is an old story I wrote nearly ten years ago that I found on a forum where I was a member, unfortunately the forum is mostly dead and I can't log in but I did find my old stories. This was written when I was still formulating the rules and mythology for Sol Duga, it's a sort of time travel story and rather short. While I was writing this, I was listening to a lot of country music and had a weird obsession with cowboys and outlaws which explains the setting. Feedback is appreciated.
Chapter 1
Clay tossed the back into the back of his truck as he got inside, feeling relief at spending Christmas at Josh's ranch. He thought with a shudder at his Dad's behavior when he arrived last month, the old man's drunkenness and bigotry nauseating him. Next year, I'm moving to Houston or San Antonio or Boston full time, this place sucks, he thought as he turned on the engine of his truck and backed out of his space.
Clay sighed as he drove through Nederland, the town never making him feel very comfortable. It was prosperous due to the oil refineries but it was a dull place with the same type of strip malls, prefab houses, and chain stores like any other place. He shook his head as he drove past his third strip mall with a Subway, a dollar store, a 7-11, a tanning salon and a liquor store, just like its cousins. Clay became annoyed when a big red SUV pulled up alongside him, a group of fat teenage boys blaring a tasteless rap song with a ton of curse words.
Clay was glad when the turned at the next light, their music much louder than his beloved metal. I'm not that crazy, if you're going to play music that loud, at least have some taste, he mused with disgust.
Soon he was out of town headed south towards I-10, Pantera's Vulgar Display of Power blasting from the speakers. Clay immediately felt his spirits lift when he heard Mouth For War, banging his head as he sang along:
Revenge
I'm screaming revenge again
Wrong
I've been wrong for far too long
Been constantly so frustrated
I've moved mountains with less
When I channel my hate to productive
I don't find it hard to impress
Bones in traction
Hands break to hone raw energy
Bold and disastrous
My ears can't hear what you say to me
Hold your mouth for the war
Use it for what isn't for
Speak the truth about me
Determined
Possessed
I feel a conquering will down inside me
Strength
The strength of many to crush
Who might stop me
My strength is in number
And my soul lies in every one
The releasing of anger can better any medicine under the sun
There comes a time within everyone to close your eyes to
What's real
No comprehension to fail
I vacuum the wind for my sail
Can't be the rest
Let others waste my time
Owning success is the bottom line.
Like a knife into flesh
After life is to death
Pulling and punching the rest of duration
NO ONE can piss on this determination
By the time the local road shifted to I-10, Walk had come on and he was feeling very good. The simple hypnotic riff with Phil's guttural chants gave him an adrenalin rush as he gunned it and got on the highway before anyone could overtake him:
Can't you see I'm easily bothered by persistence
One step from lashing out at you...
You want in to get under my skin
And call yourself a friend
I've got more friends like you
What do I do?
Is there no standard anymore?
What it takes, who I am, where I've been
Belong
You can't be something you're not
Be yourself, by yourself
Stay away from me
A lesson learned in life
Known from the dawn of time
Respect, walk
Run your mouth when I'm not around
It's easy to achieve
You cry to weak friends that sympathize
Can you hear the violins playing your song?
Those same friends tell me your every word
Are you talking to me?
No way punk
The flatness of east Texas was quite dull around the stretch of highway, the oil rigs and refineries looming above them as to advertise the area's wealth. However, the dull little towns that housed the workers were eyesores, so un-Texas compared to the rest of the state.
Yeah, just give this part to Louisiana and leave the rest to Texas, it doesn't belong here. And just get rid of of the people too, he thought, passing yet another SUV of teenagers blaring mind-numbing rap. Clay felt mischievous all of a sudden as he cranked the Pantera to the maximum volume. The kids looked on with pure terror as Pantera at that volume sounded like a demon from hell, quickly turning to the other lane as he chuckled grimly.
Soon the suburbs of Houston appeared after an hour as Clay turned on his GPS to see if there was traffic, not wanting to get stuck. He turned when he saw that the Alt Route 90 was clear of traffic as he turned on the signal, knowing it would take a more roundabout route but not wanting to get stuck in midday traffic.
The route made its leisurely way around the southern edges of Houston, bypassing the I-610 and its traffic. It went through the suburbs with the skyscrapers of downtown in the distance, the tall modern buildings seemingly belonging to another city. Halfway through the Reliant Stadium and the Astrodome stood side by side, the mammoth structures looming like prehistoric beasts. The Astrodome's glass-tiled roof glittered like diamonds in the sun, almost blinding. I remember the Metallica show there back in junior year, that was awesome. And I'm gonna see them again at Reliant Stadium this January, this is going to be awesome. Too bad Josh doesn't like this stuff, I'd like to go with someone, he mused.
Clay got back on I-10 once he was out of Houston, the adrenalin rush from Pantera dissipating a bit leaving behind a pretty good feeling. The western suburbs of Houston quickly faded as the towns grew smaller and smaller, the land becoming flatter as they gave way to farms and ranches, huge swathes of grassland fenced in by barbed wire and filled with cattle. The bovines ate grass and stared placidly at the road, ranging from a few longhorns to black Angus and red cattle, looking at the road with limpid brown eyes.
I wonder if Josh's ranch is like that? I'm a Texas and I've never been on a ranch before. At least Josh knows I don't hunt, most guys would just call me a wuss, he thought bitterly.
Clay was headed south on I-35 going towards San Antonio. The modest city loomed before him, a pleasing combination of low modern buildings and the older Mexican buildings from its history, so unlike the modernity of Houston or Dallas. He had a chuckle when Green Grass and High Tides by the Outlaws came over the speakers from his iPod, the lengthy Southern Rock classic almost appropriate. Reckon its appropriate music, metal doesn't feel right now. And its past noon, I should get some lunch, he mused.
Clay made a turn onto I-37 south and quickly left the city behind. The land here was mostly grassland covered with huge herds of cattle, larger than in eastern Texas. It seemed as though the towns were smaller too, not as prefab looking like those in his hometown. The sky here was a brilliant wide blue with only the wispiest of clouds, so wide it resembled the bottom of an upturned glass. The air was thankfully free of the pervasive smell from the refineries back in Nederland; except for the telephone poles and occasional passing truck it felt as though nothing had changed in a hundred years.
He was glad to be alone in his car when his stomach grumbled, deciding to turn off at the next exit for lunch. Clay was about to turn when he saw a rider on a black horse by the road. He was a bit confused as the rider looked as though he appeared from nowhere, not there just a minute ago. The rider and his horse were motionless and gauzy as though seen through a fog, the rider in old-fashioned black Western clothes topped a by a flat, wide-brimmed hat. The rider's head lifted slightly as the car approached, the lower half of his face covered by a red bandanna. Clay was startled and couldn't turn away when the rider's eyes met his, the icy blue depths so pale they were almost transparent. The rider gave him a sad smile before disappearing right before his eyes, as Clay hurriedly grabbed the wheel so he wouldn't go off the side of the road.
"What the fuck was that? I really need to get some food", he thought aloud, trying to sound calm.
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Post by Tim on Mar 18, 2020 19:21:06 GMT -5
Yeah. it is kind of a proto-Sol Duga story.
Glad you were able to find it again and share it with us.
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Post by ladyfiaran22 on Mar 18, 2020 20:20:04 GMT -5
Thanks. It’s completed on the forum and I just have to proofread for grammar and fix some things, maybe I’ll post more tomorrow
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Post by ladyfiaran22 on Mar 19, 2020 8:38:22 GMT -5
Thanks Tim for the feedback Chapter 2
Clay arrived at Josh's ranch around three that afternoon. He had stopped at a 7-11 on the highway and felt much better after having a hot dog and a Coke, the rider and his mount still on his mind. I know I wasn't hallucinating, I saw that. Maybe's a local ghost or something, he mused. Josh came out from the door of the two-story hacienda-style house and walked towards the truck as Clay got out and embraced him, clapping him on the back. "Glad you made it here, no problems finding the place?", he asked. "Nope, I got my lucky Onstar", he chuckled. "That's good to know", said Josh as they both went inside. "Howdy, you must be Josh's friend. I'm Mamie Beckett", said the middle-aged woman in a blue dress and an apron. "Yes ma'am. I'm Clay Butler, Josh's friend", he replied as they shook hands. "You're from Texas, aren't you?", she asked. "Yeah, it happens", he chuckled. A tall, overweight balding man in his thirties entered the room and smiled. "Hi, are you Clay? I'm Kane Beckett, Josh's brother", he said amiably. Clay shook his hand and looked at him oddly. "I know, but we got the same Mom", he laughed. "Julietta's flying in tonight, we got to leave soon with the traffic", said Josh. "All right, I ought to get dinner started. You want a drink, Clay?", asked Mamie. "I'll do it, Mom", said Josh, leading Clay over to the small bar near the dining room. Clay was impressed as Josh got out four glasses. The bar held numerous bottles of liquor, ranging from golden and tawny whiskeys and tequilas to clear vodkas and rums like spring water to sweet rums and tiny bottles of liqueurs, as well as a small fridge for beer and a wine rack. "I know, it's good if you got guests. And I like trying out different drinks. What's your poison?", asked Josh. "I'll have a Rusty Nail with Johnny Walker Red", he replied. Josh nodded as he mixed the drink in a shaker and then poured it into a highball glass, pouring himself a tequila. "Reckon it's a Texas thing but I love tequila. I can't make margaritas or those chick drinks, don't like 'em", he said as he sipped the tequila. Clay drank his and savored the spicy, sweet whisky combination. "Good stuff. When does her plane get here?", he asked. "It gets here at seven, but I want to leave soon in case of traffic. And you have that damn TSA shit, I don't look like a fucking terrorist", he muttered. "I know, only one more because I don't want to get pulled over or run over a cow", joked Clay as Josh poured them another shot. "Please fasten your seat belts and place your trays in the locked and upright positions", said the pilot over the intercom as the plane approached San Antonio International Airport. Julietta woke up from her nap and put on her seat belt. Outside the window it was getting dark as the sun began to set, the sky turning to a brilliant orange-red. Below the plane, the twinkling lights of San Antonio shone like tiny diamonds, pinpricks of light like drops of ran on a flower reflected by the sun. I can't wait to see Josh again, I don't care what my father and Pierre say. And San Antonio looks like a beautiful city, she thought as the plane began its descent. The plane landed half an hour later as the wheels hit the tarmac and taxied to the gate. Julietta tried to control her racing heart as the other passengers got their bags and tried to be the first off the plane. She waited patiently until the cabin was mostly empty and picked up her purse, walking out of the plane. The long gate attached to the plane felt as though it were a mile long as she tried to walk steadily and not rush, her heart beating furiously. "Damn, is the right gate?", muttered Josh as the passengers filed past. "Yeah, that's what the screen said", said Clay. Josh cursed under his breath and wished he had some tobacco for his nerves. He looked over to the gate and felt his heart do a little flip-flop when he saw Julietta emerge from the doors as he tried to control himself. She looked up and her face lit up with an ecstatic smile as she ran over, Josh embracing her and giving her a kiss. "Doe Eyes, you had me so worried", he chided. Julietta giggled, her blue eyes dancing with amusement. "I didn't want to fight all of those people getting off the plane. And how are you doing Clay?", she asked. "I'm fine, Julietta", he replied. Damn, I feel like a third wheel, he thought, watching as they held hands while going towards the luggage carousel to get her bags. After getting her bags, they left the airport and walked towards the parking lot. Luckily it was easy to find Josh's truck, a black four-door Ford pickup that shone like polished jet under the lights of the lot. "That's my baby, got it with my bonus check when I signed with the Marlins, I got older trucks on the ranch for farm work", said Josh, opening the doors and turning on the engine. Clay sat in the back seat and fastened his seat belt as Josh backed the truck out of the parking space, Fool Hearted Memory by George Strait playing over the speakers: Nickels and dimes Memories and wines She's on his mind once again The same old fool The same old stool Played by the rules but didn't win There's an old love in his heart that he can't lose He tried forgetting but he knows that it's no use He's got a fool hearted memory That won't let him see That she walked out the door He's got a fool hearted memory He sits patiently Here every night so it can fool him more She was his girl His only world That string of pearls that slipped away A thousand dimes A thousand times He doesn't mind what they say He fills the jukebox And plays the same old song He fills his glass And then he turns her memory on He's got a fool hearted memory That won't let him see That she walked out the door He's got a fool hearted memory He sits patiently Here every night so it can fool him more He's got a fool hearted memory That won't let him see That she walked out the door He's got a fool hearted memory He sits patiently Here every night so it can fool him more The initial elation of seeing Julietta again faded to the depressing realization that he was the third wheel yet again. Clay watched as his hand rested on hers, his lean calloused fingers twined her with her slim pale ones. She laughed at something he said and her black hair caught the dim light of the highway lights, black like raven's wings. The mournful Texas ballads of George Strait didn't make him feel any better, wishing there was something else on instead. Just after Clay felt he was going to go mad after hearing You Look So Good in Love by Strait: Oh how you sparkle, and oh how you shine. That flush on your cheeks is more than the wine. And he must do something that I didn't do. Whatever he's doing, it looks good on you. You look so good in love. You want him, that's easy to see. You look so good in love. And I wish you still wanted me. He must have stolen some stars from the sky, And gave them to you to wear in your eyes. I had my chances, but I set you free. And now I wonder why I couldn't see. You look so good in love. You want him, that's easy to see. You look so good in love. And I wish you still wanted me. Darling I've wasted a lot of years not seeing the real you, But tonight your beauty is shining through. And I never took the time to let you know, So before he takes you away please let me say. You look so good in love. You want him, that's easy to see. You look so good in love. And I wish you still wanted me. The radio played I Ain't the One by Lynyrd Skynyrd much to his relief: Now I'll tell you plainly, baby What I plan to dooo Say I may be crazy, woman But I ain't no fool Your daddy is rich, mama You're overdue Now I ain't the one, baby Been messin' with you Got bells in your mind, lady And its easy to see-uh I think its time for me to move along ... I do believe Aww, youre tryin to put a hook in me, baby Ohhh, no! Nowww ... you talkin' jive, woman When you say to me That your daddy's gonna take us in, baby Take care of me And you know and I know, woman I ain't the one I never hurt you, sweetheart I never pulled my gun Got bells in your mind, mama And its easy to see-uh I think its time for me to move along I do believe Time for me to put my boots out in the street, missy Are you ready boots? Walk on! Well now ... alright there missy ... let me tell you a thing or twooo How about it, baby Now you talking jive, woman When you say to me That your daddy's gonna take us in, baby Take care of me When you know and I know, woman I ain't the one I never hurt you, sweetheart I never pulled my gun Got bells in your mind, mama ... and its easy to see-uh I think its time for me to move along I do believe Oh I must be in the middle of some kind of conspiracy Ohhh, nooo! Wooooo! I must be the only Texan who doesn't like Strait, that shit was making me depressed, he thought. Josh drove southwards towards the city and then out of it, the suburbs quickly giving way to ranches and farms. The low mooing of the cows could be heard outside the truck, their innumerable eyes watching the road placidly. Clay was getting a bit bored watching the monotonous scenery and felt a bit sleepy but he woke up with a start when he saw the shadowy figure by the road. His heart leaped into his throat when he recognized the rider from this afternoon, perched on his black horse and looking at him with his icy, transparent eyes. Clay closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to remain calm. It didn't help when he heard The Last Rebel by Skynyrd on the radio, the mournful country ballad eerily depicting the long-dead Confederate solider: There's a grey horse standin' still As a soldier climbs in the saddle for one last ride As the rain pours off his hat You can see the shadows of the past written in his eyes Now the cannons are silent His friends are all gone Gotta put it all behind him If he ever wants to find his way home He's the last rebel on the road Just a boy with his old guitar Keeps to himself but everybody takes him wrong But he carries on Got a dream that will never die Can't change him, no use in stayin' where you don't belong Now he's rollin' down the highway Gone too far too fast No one will ever find him, he'll never look back 'Cause he's the last rebel And he's all alone He's the last rebel His friends are all gone He's the last rebel The last rebel on the road There'll never be another like him He's the last of a dying breed Ain't no use in tryin' to tame him 'Cause he's the last rebel "All right, calm down. It's just a shadow", he reminded himself as they drove further south.
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Post by Tim on Mar 19, 2020 23:50:05 GMT -5
Nice that you included music videos.
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Post by ladyfiaran22 on Mar 21, 2020 8:54:21 GMT -5
Chapter 3.
They arrived back at Josh's ranch about an hour later. The sky had darkened to a dense shade of bluish black, the half moon and stars providing more than enough light. The moonlight and stars seemed much brighter here than anywhere near a city, the stars so big it felt as though one could reach out and grab one.
"This feels like Quebec, the sky and hte stars and the moon", she said thoughtfully.
"It's a country thing, Doe Eyes. That's why I can't live in Boston year round, too crowded and too many lights. Reckon we both got that in common", he replied as he parked n front of the house.
"Josh, it's about time you got here", chided Mamie, coming out of the house to greet them.
"Sorry about that, Mom. Mom, this is Julietta Desjardins, my girlfriend. Julietta, this is my mom Mamie Beckett", said Josh as the women shook hands.
"Bonjour, madame Beckett", she said.
"Very glad to meet you, Julietta. Josh has told me so much about you", she replied as they went back inside.
Clay tried to shake off the feeling of loneliness that enveloped him when he saw the Beckett family and Julietta. Don't rain on their parade, he chided himself.
"You have a lovely home, Madame Beckett. But where is the tree?", she asked.
"We just got an artificial one we plug in, its got the ornaments and all on it. Tomorrow we'll set it up", Josh apologized.
"That is all right, sometimes I cannot control what I say, n'cest pas?", she giggled.
"Reckon you got some Texan in you, it's a Texas thing", laughed Josh.
"Bien entendu, je avair un homme du Texas dans le corps tout la nuit", she giggled.
"I don't know what that means but I like it", laughed Josh.
"Tu savoir la nuit", she teased.
"Oh, I'm afraid I've forgotten my French from high school. All I know is English and some Spanish", said Mamie.
Kane emerged from the parlor with a book under his arm. "Hi, you must be Julietta. I'm Kane, Josh's brother", he said as they shook hands.
"I know, we don't look alike but we got the same folks", said Josh.
"Je savoir, Josh", she chuckled.
Everyone washed up as Mamie set the table in the dining room. The large polished wooden table was covered with a red plastic tablecloth and had a plastic wreath of holly and berries in the center flanked by two squat red candles that gave off a pleasant smell. They sat down as Josh got one bottle of Lone Star each for the men and a pitcher of Sangria for the women from the fridge. "Reckon you ladies wouldn't wanna drink beer, but the Sangria is a bit strong so be careful", he said.
Julietta poured Mamie and herself some of the ruby red alcoholic wine punch. "Merci, Josh", she said as Mamie set the food out on the table.
"It's tacos, you help yourself to what you want and put it in the shell", explained Clay.
"Trust me, this ain't Taco Bell", cracked Josh.
Julietta nodded and watched as the other filled the shells. She added some of the seasoned beef and vegetables with cheese to her shell along with a bit of sour cream. "This is very good", she said approvingly.
"Yep, you gotta try Mom's salsa with it next time, that's real good", suggested Kane.
After dinner was finished and the dishes cleaned, Josh poured everyone a small brandy and passed around a box of cigars. Clay took one and watched as Josh and Kane lit theirs, lighting his and inhaling a bit of smoke as he tried not to cough. After a while, he got used to the smoke as he puffed away, feeling mature with the brandy and cigars.
The dead cigars were deposited in an ashtray as Josh got up from the table. "Kane, lets take our guests on a tour of Casa Beckett", he chuckled.
"I'm gonna be watching Dancing With the Stars in my room, don't be loud", said Mamie.
"All right, Mom", said Kane.
"This is the living room, ain't too fancy but good enough. This is where the women like to hang out", said Josh. The living room had plain beige walls hung with paintings depicting various desert landscapes, the carpet the same color as the walls. It was dominated by a big screen TV and a home entertainment system, a cream sofa behind a maple coffee table showing a large book of Georgia O'Keefe paintings.
"And this is what I like to call the Man Room", laughed Josh as he led them to the basement.
The room was much larger than the living room and it was clearly a man's place. The walls were painted dark brown with a forest green carpet, a big screen TV with a cable box in the corner. Stuffed, mounted deer heads lined the walls like sentinels, their black glassy eyes looking down at them. Along the far end from the TV was a minibar like the one upstairs, the shelves holding all sorts of whiskey and tequila bottles. Next to it was a miniature fridge that contained beer and soda for mixers, the cups and glasses neatly arranged on an adjoining shelf.
"Kane's the real mixologist, I mostly drink mine straight up", chuckled Josh.
Clay smiled weakly. He tried not to shudder when he saw the dear heads, their dead black eyes looking right at him. He still could remember having to shoot the fawn, his father taunting him and how he felt, the fawn's limpid brown eyes looking right at him as bile rose in his throat.
"I'm going to bed, guys. Good night', he said, hastily leaving the room and going upstairs.
Clay went upstairs to his room and turned on the light, closing the door behind him. He opened his bag and found his pajamas and hastily put them on, turning on his laptop as he waited for it to load.
I hope Josh doesn't think I'm a weirdo, but those dead deer scared the crap out of me. At least they were grown deer and not fawns, that was horrible, he thought with a shudder.
The computer finished loading and he checked his email, deleting all the spam he was sent. Clay then logged onto Metallichicks and saw how many members were going to the show, adding his name to the list. This is going to be awesome, and with Sabaton opening too. I can't wait, he thought excitedly.
Just then, there was a knock on the door. Clay got up to answer it and saw Kane on the other side, holding up a box with three beers and two books. "I thought you might like this, good night", he said and left.
Clay took the box and closed the door, opening a can as he glanced at the books. One was a history of Texas at least forty or fifty years old with yellowed, musty pages from the Marfa public library. The other one was almost new with a thick clear plastic covering over a cover illustrating a painting of a desert sunset named Lawmen of West Texas 1860-1900.
Clay drank some of his beer and began to read. The book was a history of law enforcement in West Texas and the Panhandle during that time, showing what a tough job it was as many of the sheriffs and deputies were killed on duty or disease or accidents and how some were criminals themselves. He stopped and felt his heart skip a beat when he saw a photo that looked exactly like the rider he'd seen earlier, from the outfit to the way he looked at the camera. But what really shocked him was the rider's name, Sheriff Nathan Beckett. He looked closer and was even more shocked at how much the rider resembled Josh, from his thick black hair and penetrating eyes to the intense defiant glare that had intimidated many people.
What the fuck? Is that guy his ancestor, it sure likes like it. This is freaky, he thought, downing the last of his beer.
Clay read on and was upset to hear that Sheriff Beckett was eventually sentenced to hang after killing Sheriff Clem Jennings in a shootout over a woman. Sheriff Jennings looked like an outlaw with his shoulder-length dark blond hair and his mustache making him look vaguely like Wild Bill Hickok. He had an arrogant sneer on his lips and cold blue eyes, as if anyone dared to come after him. It was such a contrast to Sheriff Beckett's cool confidence, making him wonder of there was more to this than meets the eye.
There's something weird about this, he mused, opening the next beer.
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Post by Tim on Mar 21, 2020 11:25:11 GMT -5
Ah, another entry, I see.
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Post by ladyfiaran22 on Mar 21, 2020 12:02:13 GMT -5
Ah, another entry, I see.
The whole thing is finished so I can post a chapter a day. I’m also starting to write for My Favorite Things again and even started a new story. I want to write at least ten chapters of each before I post them, I don’t want to keep you hanging. Since I have at least a month before schools open again and the classes are online, I got lots of free time
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Post by ladyfiaran22 on Mar 21, 2020 16:56:45 GMT -5
Chapter 4
"We got a lot of stuff to do on the ranch before Christmas, ya'll have a good time", said Josh.
Julietta gave him a smile and kissed his cheek. "We will, Josh. Au revoir", she replied.
"Au revoir, Doe Eyes", he said, kissing her as everyone laughed.
Clay smiled weakly at them, a feeling of sadness going through him. Dude, don't go there, he reminded himself.
"Reckon the first thing you gotta see is the Alamo. Josh told me Jacoby and Karen already saw it so it's your turn, Julietta", said Mamie as they got in Clay's truck.
"Oui, Mamie. There is something similar in Quebec named La Citadelle built when it was still a French colony and the city still has its original walls. Is the Alamo like that?", she asked.
"Yep, but I reckon it's a bit smaller. I just hope it isn't too crowded", said Mamie.
"What else is there in San Antonio?", asked Julietta.
"Oh, there's a lot of things. There's some museums and the Riverwalk is real nice. Josh ought to take you there, reckon the two of you should spend more time together", teased Mamie as Julietta blushed.
"Je etre d'accord", she said, the blush still on her cheeks.
Clay was barely paying attention as the radio was playing Ride the Lightning from his iPod. He drove away as he banged his head slightly, James' frenetic vocals sounding almost crazed, singing along to the lyrics.
"Clay, that is kind of loud. Would mind turning it down?", asked Mamie politely.
Clay blushed guiltily as he turned down the volume. "Sorry about that, ladies. Would you want to hear something else?", he asked.
"That's all right, but please do keep it down, Clay. What do you recommend in San Antonio?", asked Julietta.
Clay felt his heart skip a beat when she smiled, shaking himself before he could do anything stupid. "Uh, I've never been to San Antonio, I'm a lot more familiar with Houston", he mumbled.
"That's nothing to be ashamed of, you're from east Texas and you ain't from around here. We'll just do some exploring", said Mamie kindly.
"All right, ma'am", he said.
Clay drove on I-35 north towards San Antonio. It was a sunny day with no clouds in the brilliant
e keys over to the attendant at the parking garage. "I'm fine, Julietta. I was just day dreaming", he chuckled.
"Well, I hope you're not daydreaming when you're driving", chided Mamie as he blushed.
They exited the parking garage and waited for the bus to the Alamo. "When you go to the Alamo, you gotta show respect for the fellas killed by the Mexicans", said Mamie.
The bus came by as they paid their fare and found seats. "Are you all right, Clay?", asked Julietta.
He just smiled as he handed them their tickets for the seats. I hope its not going to be one of those jingoistic things that make Mexicans look bad, my dad would love that, he thought sardonically.
The bus slowly made its way towards the Alamo, stopping periodically to take on more passengers. Some were locals running errands or going to work, but most were tourists headed towards the Alamo, judging from their loud voices and cameras dangling from their necks. Someone in the back with a heavy New York accent talked loudly into their mobile phone, much to everyone's annoyance. Clay winced when he heard the harsh tones of the man's voice, so different from the soft east Texas drawl he had. That's the worst accent, dude, shut up, he thought sourly.
The bus arrived at the Alamo half an hour later as almost all the passengers got off. The enormous brick Mexican mission looked incongruous as it was seemingly plopped down in the middle of downtown San Antonio, the old structure such a contrast to the modern buildings. The line to get in went pretty fast as admission was free and the security checked bags for weapons, going first to the visitor's section just inside.
The visitors' center held a few artifacts from the mission and a gift shop along with a small theater showing a film about the Alamo continuously all day. They went inside the theater first as the previous audience left, the projectionists rewinding the film as people filed in. The lights dimmed as the movie started, a grim, short film about the legendary battle and the massacre of the Texan defenders by the soldiers of Santa Ana. Some of the tourists booed the Mexican soldiers and cheered when General Sam Houston defeated Santa Ana's troops, much to the dismay of the people watching the movie.
The movie finished and everyone left the theater as another group took their place. Next was the interior of the Alamo, a maze of small rooms where the original monks lived and the Texan defenders hid from Santa Ana. Signs showed the rooms where Jim Bowie and Stephen Austin died, where William Travis might have drawn his line in the sand if it had actually happened. There was a sense of gloom that pervaded the area in spite of the camera-toting tourists and their chatter.
"Are you all right, Clay?", asked Julietta.
Clay blushed guiltily. "Uh, I'm fine. Santa Ana was an evil bastard, pardon my language", he said.
"Je etre d'accord", she replied kindly.
As they left the Alamo, Clay felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and a chill go down his spine. He felt the odd sensation of being watched as he glanced about. He suddenly felt faint when he saw the rider from before amongst the leaving crowd, the icy blue eyes starring right at him. Unlike before he wasn't mounted and was standing, giving him a look that was both pleading and angry.
"I need a drink", he muttered to the startled women.
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Post by Tim on Mar 21, 2020 17:17:35 GMT -5
I myself visited the Alamo in 1982. I know how those characters are feeling.
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Post by ladyfiaran22 on Mar 25, 2020 8:26:25 GMT -5
Chapter 5
"I'm going out for a drive, if you don't mind Mrs. Beckett", said Clay shyly.
"Of course I don't mind, Clay. Just try to be back in time for supper", said Mamie.
Clay had woken up that morning with a compulsion to drive, taking a quick shower and eating breakfast. He felt lucky that Josh was showing Julietta around the ranch, not wanting him to ask any questions. He got in his truck after having packed a few clothes in a bag and his two Colt revolvers, having a sense he would need them.
Clay drove away from the ranch, both the radio and the Onstar turned off. He drove by where he had seen the ghost but there was nothing there, feeling vaguely disappointed. Clay drove on towards I-35 north and then Route 90 heading west, having a feeling he was supposed to go that way.
Unlike the wide interstate highway, Route 90 was a two-lane road with one lane going in each direction. It was almost deserted as travelers preferred the faster interstate, the black truck making progress heading west. Clay drove without either music or Onstar, his focus totally on the road as he drove along the straight-as-a-pin highway.
West of San Antonio the grasslands and prairie of eastern and southern Texas giving way to the deserts of west Texas. The grass thinned out and turned to rocks and sand, the straggly grass on top of the sand like thinning hair on an old man's head and the only forms of life various snakes and lizards and stunted trees and stumpy little bushes like clumps of vines.
By nightfall, the sky had darkened totally only the reflective patches on the road prevented him from going off into the desert sand. The sky above was huge and looked even bigger than that by Josh's ranch, the stars appearing so close it felt as though one could reach out and touch them. The crescent moon hung in the sky as though suspended by wire, the edges so smooth and perfect it looked unreal, along with the stars it lit up the sky like streetlights.
Clay saw a sign for a motel five miles down the road. He didn't feel very surprised it past nine, vaguely aware he hadn't eaten or relieved himself the whole trip. I should call Josh so he doesn't worry, he mused.
Clay saw the neon sign of the motel and entered its parking lot, parking near the entrance as the lot was almost empty. It was a bit chilly outside as he tossed on his red and black Red Sox warmup jacket he kept in the back, taking out his stuff and walking into the motel office.
The office was a tiny square room illuminated by a single naked bulb suspended from the ceiling, the only furniture a battered metal desk with peeling blue paint. The ancient brown carpet was threadbare with large holes and faded brown linoleum tiles underneath, the faded wallpaper curling at the edges. Behind the desk was a skinny old man in denim overalls and a white t-shirt, the harsh light glinting on his bald head framed by two tufts of white hair. The old man stirred from his sleep and opened his eyes, looking at Clay with watery blue eyes.
"How can I help you?", he asked in a heavy west Texas twang.
"One room for the night, sir", he replied.
"All right. Here's the key, yours is #201 on the second floor. That'll be forty dollars", said the old man as Clay signed the register and paid with two twenty dollar bills from his wallet. "If you want vittles, there's the machine", he added, pointing to an ancient vending machine with equally ancient candies inside.
Clay nodded as he took the bags upstairs to the second floor and opened the door, turning on the light. The room was tiny with a small twin bed and a dresser with a TV from the 70's with rabbit-ear antennas, the carpet and wallpaper just as shabby as the ones in the office. The bed itself sagged to one side and was covered in a cream quilt with a faded stain in the middle, the pillows flat as though most of the stuffing was gone.
Clay set the bags down and quickly changed into pajamas, gingerly sitting on the bed. To his relief, the bed supported his weight in spite of the sag. He reached for his phone and saw the missed calls from Josh, texting his friend to say he was all right.
He put down the phone and crawled under the covers, figuring he ought to sleep as he turned off the light. In spite of his phyiscal tiredness, his eyes refused to shut and his mind was still uneasy, wondering why he had a compulsion to drive all the way out here. There was a slight chill in the air as it darkened suddenly, as though the sun and moon were extinguished. Clay held onto his quilt tightly with white-knuckled hands, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. A vague form slowly took shape in front of him, slowly turning into the familiar figure he both sought out and dreaded.
The rider wore the same black clothes as before, the black flat-brimmed hat obscuring the top part of his face. He leaned in closer and Clay could see how much the rider resembled Josh except for his icy blue eyes. Clay was still and a shock went though him when the rider touched his arm, the sensation like having an ice cube on his skin. The rider clutched tightly onto his arm and stared into his eyes, unable to turn away from the icy stare. Clay couldn't move at all, his vision like a tunnel with only those icy blue depths at the end. He felt all the strength leave him as everything turned black, the rider disappearing into the night.
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Post by Tim on Mar 25, 2020 11:13:04 GMT -5
Oh, who was that rider?
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Post by ladyfiaran22 on Mar 26, 2020 8:27:57 GMT -5
Chapter 6
Agua Caliente, Texas 1866
The early morning sun beat down on the tiny hamlet of Agua Caliente, Texas. The little town was nothing more than a cluster of adobe and crude wooden houses around a bare street of hard-packed sand. The largest building, as well as the nicest, was the Golden Rose saloon, the next biggest the local jail and sheriff's office which were across the street from each other. The other buildings were little rickety houses and a general store and livery, a few horses hitched outside the buildings whinnying as they waited for their owners.
"Madre Dio, fa molto caldo", remarked Deputy Dante Petrucci as he adjusted his hat.
"Reckon so. Them Spaniards were right when they called this place Agua Caliente, the water just boils on its own", replied Sheriff Nathan Beckett.
Both men were inside the tiny jail, playing poker and enjoying the quiet morning. The jail had an office with ancient wooden desk and two chairs and one jail cell with iron bars, the keys kept out of reach of the jailbirds. An equally ancient black cast-iron stove was in the corner, cooling down after being used to make coffee.
Nathan threw down his cards, revealing a three of tens while Dante only had a pair of sevens. "You won again, Nathan. I am not so good as you at poker, I am not an American", he laughed.
"Yep, reckon I'm lucky", said Nathan as he scooped up the pile of coins on the table.
Nathan had become sheriff of the town after his older brother Robert didn't come home from serving in the Civil War. The post had been held by a Beckett ever since Texas had become part of the states, Dante having been a deputy under Robert.
"Reckon whoever in charge of these things must have a crazy sense of humor, a Texan and an Italian running a town with a Mexican name", laughed Nathan.
"Si, but I was raised here, if it wasn't for my parents being killed by outlaws I would not be living here", said Dante with an edge in his voice.
"Reckon that ain't an easy thing to get over, I feel the same way about Robert and my daddy. Let's just play some poker until some fool shoots another damn fool", said Nathan sardonically.
Dante nodded as he deftly shuffled the cards. He was quite short at 5'6 and lean with a round face dominated by pale green eyes with a tough of gray, his wavy brown hair an inch too long. His face and hands were tanned from being out in the sun, his arms quite muscular for someone his size. Nathan towered over him at 6'3, his lean frame in jeans and a short-sleeved blue shirt that revealed his muscled bronze arms. His thick black hair framed a tanned face with piercing blue eyes, so startling against his tanned skin. Both men were holsters strapped around their waists with the pistols close by for easy reach, the guns fully loaded in case they needed to use them.
Dante had just won a hand with a pair of aces when Cactus Jack Hollins, the owner of the Golden Rose, came into the office as both men instantly became alert. "Howdy, what's the matter?", asked Nathan.
Cactus Jack was a fat man wearing jeans and a gaudily-embroidered shirt with a crudely sewn cactus on the front, his flat-brimmed hat with a band of silver coins that jingled. He took off his hat and scratched his balding head before he spoke. "One of the gals was outside using the privy when she saw this fella passed out there. She and another gal and Pat brought him inside and he's on the table, he ain't dead 'cause he's breathing, but he ain't moving. And he don't smell drunk neither", he said.
"All right, that does sound mighty queer. Let's take a look", said Nathan.
Nathan put on his hat and pinned the tin star to his shirt as Dante did the same. It was already hot outside as the townsfolk started to wake up, the wives starting their chores as the store opened and the horses came to attention. Nathan and Dante touched the brims of their hats with their fingers to acknowledge them as they followed Cactus Jack to the Golden Rose.
The interior of the saloon was dark with the only light coming from the dirty windows. The bartender, a fat Irishman named Pat Kelly, stood behind the bar wiping a mug with a towel as several of the saloon girls stood around a table with an unconscious man lying down on the surface. The girls wore simple dresses and no makeup instead of their usual gaudy outfits, coming to attention when they walked in.
"It's all right, ladies. What happened with this fella?", asked Nathan.
One of the girls came forward, a short, slim girl with her brown hair in braids wrapped around her head and wearing a simple gray calico dress. "I was gonna use the privy when I saw this fella, it gave me an awful fright. I ran inside and Molly and Pat helped me bring him in, he ain't dead or drunk for sure", she said.
"Aye, Sally's right. He looks a bit young and it's too hot to wear that jacket", said Pat, shaking his head.
Nathan and Dante looked down at the prone man. He was quite tall and skinny with fair skin and light brown wavy hair, wearing jeans and a jacket of shiny material in red and black with a patch showing a pair of red socks on the shoulder over a black short-sleeved shirt that read Metallica in bold white letters over a scene of a graveyard with hands pulling strings, the words Master of Puppets below it.
"What a queer-looking outfit, and who in the hell puts that on a shirt? And what the hell is a Metallica or a Master of Puppets?", Nathan wondered aloud.
Clay could feel himself lying on a hard, flat surface and heard voices, a heavy Southern accent along with several voices speaking with the typical West Texas twang and an Irish one and an Italian one. His body felt heavy as though it was made out of lead, his eyes slowly opening as though weighted down with coins as he groaned and tried to move.
"Look, he ain't dead", said a woman's voice.
Clay was about to retort he was very much alive when he tried to lift his head and felt so light-headed he almost fell off the table. The girls quickly caught him as they propped him up, holding him like this until he no longer felt dizzy. The room slowly came into focus, an old-fashioned saloon like in a Western movie. Several women hovered over him anxiously, along with two other men behind them. A flash of recognition hit him when he thought he recognized Josh and Dustin, a smile forming on his face.
"Josh, Pedey, I am so glad to see you guys", he chuckled.
The men gave him a funny look. "What? My name's Nathan and he is Dante, we don't know anyone named Josh or Pedey", said the taller man in his heavy Texas drawl.
"Si, Nathan", replied the other man with an Italian accent.
One of the girls came closer and checked his head for a bump. Clay almost gagged at her strong perfume, smelling as though she had bathed in a tub of White Rain. "He ain't got a bump on his head", she announced.
"What's your name?", asked Nathan.
"I'm Clay Butler, where am I?", he asked.
"You're in Agua Caliente. Where are you from?", asked Nathan.
"That means Hot Water, right? I'm from Nederland which is by Louisiana", he replied.
"Nederland must be some place if you're wearing those duds. And how the hell did you get here?", demanded Nathan
"Uh, I was staying at a motel and I saw a ghost, I guess I woke up here", he chuckled weakly.
Everyone looked at him strangely. "Madre dio, that is one crazy story, Signore Butler", said Dante.
Cactus Jack looked him over. "Kid, either you make yourself useful or high-tail it out of here", he said.
"Jack, hold your horses. Mr. Butler, are you good at anything? We don't like layabouts here", said Nathan.
"I know how to shoot, yep I got my pistols. I played baseball for my team, I was a pitcher. And I can play guitar, guys say I'm pretty good", he replied.
Cactus Jack went over to the tiny stage and found an old Spanish guitar, walking over to Clay and thrusting it at him. Clay took the hint and tuned it, placing the straps around his neck and playing Nothing Else Matters.
There was a round of applause when he finished as he blushed shyly. "Kid, you're really good. Play Dixie", said Cactus Jack
Southern men the thunders mutter!
Northern flags in South winds flutter!
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Send them back your fierce defiance!
Stamp upon the cursed alliance!
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Advance the flag of Dixie! Hurrah! Hurrah!
In Dixie's land we take our stand, and live or die for Dixie!
To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie!
To arms! To arms! And conquer peace for Dixie
Fear no danger! Shun no labor!
Lift up rifle, pike, and saber!
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Shoulder pressing close to shoulder,
Let the odds make each heart bolder!
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Swear upon your country's altar
Never to submit or falter--
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Till the spoilers are defeated,
Till the Lord's work is completed!
To arms! To arms! To arms, in Dixie!
Clay gave him a shaky smile as he tuned his guitar, remembering the tunings he'd seen online. He tested a few chords and played Dixie, the Southern folk song very dear to the heart of all Texans. One of the girls began to sing as the others clapped along, the song transformed from a mournful hymn to a joyous ode to the South.
"Mr. Buchholz, you got yourself a gig here at the Golden Rose. You can accompany my daughter Pilar when she sings tonight", said Cactus Jack.
Clay raised an eyebrow, surprised the fat bar owner had a daughter. Just then, a teenage girl came into the room after hearing all the fuss. She was tall and slim with long black hair in two braids to her hips and sleepy green eyes, wearing a modest white nightgown and fuzzy slippers.
"Pa, what's the matter?", she asked.
"Pilar, this fella is gonna play guitar when you sing tonight. Mr. Buchholz, this is my daughter Pila. Pilar, this is Mr. Clay Buchholz", he said.
Clay smiled and shook her hand. "Hi, miss", he said.
Pilar blushed when he smiled at her. "Howdy, Mr. Buchholz", she mumbled.
"All right then. Molly, rustle us some breakfast", said Cactus Jack.
Clay followed one of the bar girls upstairs to the second floor, a long corridor of doors with tarnished brass handles that smelled vaguely of sweat and food. She opened one of the doors and walked back down to the bar without a word as he shrugged.
Maybe she doesn't like to talk. This is seriously fucked up, I know I didn't drink before. And it looks like I'm not seeing Metallica at all now, he thought, a tiny bitter laugh escaping his throat.
Clay didn't know whether to laugh or cry or scream right now. Nathan was clearly Nathan Beckett and Josh's ancestor and the ghost and Dante looked like Dustin with hair and an Italian accent. For whatever fucked up reason, I think I have to stop the ghost from haunting me in the present, or future, whatever. And maybe I ought to check out that Jennings dude, so Nathan Beckett doesn't shoot him. This feels like the town in Lonesome Dove, its probably as dirty too, he thought.
Clay looked about the little room and frowned. It was small and shabby with a crude planked floor whose planks were all crooked with the edges protruding, a sagging mattress on a tarnished bed stand covered with a tatty patched brown quilt. A chipped porcelain pitcher held some tepid water with tiny flecks of sand on the bottom, standing on a battered wooden night stand. An equally ancient wardrobe had its door barely hanging on its hinges, empty except for a moth-bitten red flannel shirt and a black flannel blanket.
Wow, this place is a dump, he thought, the bed making a groaning noise under his weight.
"What do you think of that Butler fella?", asked Nathan as he dealt the cards.
Dante picked up the cards and studied them for a moment, tossing away two and taking a few from the deck. "I trust him, he is a such a greenhorn, si? And he does not look like a cowboy in those duds, and he is pale like a Yankee", he said.
"Yep. You don't think he's connected with all the rustling going on here?", asked Nathan as he showed his hand of three tens.
Dante bested him with three jacks as he took the cards and shuffled them. "No, he is too green and a tenderfoot to be a rustler, I bet he would fall off his horse if had to ride fast, capice?", he replied as he dealt the cards.
Nathan nodded as he looked down at his hand and discarded three. "He's a real dude for sure,", he said.
"Si, Nathan. Only places I know are our village in Ticino and here", chuckled Dante.
"Don't go on about how Ticino was, reckon that must be one cold-ass place. Reckon a body could freeze to death there, ain't natural for people to live in such a place", retorted Nathan.
"And I do not know how anyone can live in this heat, no trees except for yucca and mesquite and cactus and sand everywhere. I suppose I will never see snow again", he sighed dramatically.
"Cut it out with the theatrics, Half-Pint", teased Nathan.
"It is an Italian thing, Nathan. And have you heard anything about the rustlers?", asked Dante.
"Nope, raids happen so late at night nobody got a look at the culprits. And since no one's seen the cattle, reckon they was taken to Mexico. Something ought to show up sooner or later", said Nathan thoughtfully.
Dante nodded in agreement as he dealt the cards. Several ranches in the area had reported cattle thefts in the middle of the night, but since they were so sudden and quick no one could stop them, no one able to identify the thieves. The consensus was that the cattle had been take to Mexico as no one had seen them since, Mexico just a few miles away across the shallow Rio Grande.
"Maybe it's an inside job", suggested Dante as he discarded three cards.
"That does make sense, why the cattle went so fast. But between you and I and the folks here, we ain't got much of a posse", said Nathan sardonically.
Dante shrugged and picked up three cards from the deck. "Ho capito, Nathan", he said as he showed a pair of aces to Nathan's pair of eights.
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Post by Tim on Mar 26, 2020 11:06:53 GMT -5
Someone from 1866 would be totally baffled by Metallica!
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Post by ladyfiaran22 on Mar 29, 2020 9:58:06 GMT -5
Chapter 7
The saloon started filling up with customers when it was sunset, the townsfolk leaving their jobs and the cowhands from neighboring ranches coming into town. The Golden Rose was busy with Pat pouring drinks and the girls serving them, the buzz of people's voices gradually becoming louder the more they drank.
Clay was in his room with the guitar, strumming a few chords and remembering how to play certain songs. I don't think Metallica's gonna go over well here, lucky I know some country songs. And lucky I can play by ear, maybe I'll throw in some George Strait, he thought sardonically.
He tuned the strings as he played a bit of Streets of Laredo, having rehearsed with Pilar earlier. Clay was impressed at how quickly she picked up the songs, only needing to run through it twice before memorizing the lyrics. I think we're going to make a pretty good team, he thought.
Clay took off the guitar and went downstairs to the bar. It was almost full as it was the only bar within a considerable distance, most of the customers drinking whiskey and beer, a few of the Mexicans drinking tequila.
"Buona serra, Signore Butler. I would like to hear you play, I have not heard very good music since I left Ticino. Do want a drink?", asked Dante.
"Okay. What kind of drinks do they have?", he asked.
"Whiskey and beer and tequila, of course. And I keep my wine here, Nathan keeps his Scotch here as well. It costs a pretty penny but I do not like whiskey or beer or tequila", said Dante.
"I'll have a beer", he replied.
"And I will have a glass of my Merlot", Dante told Pat.
"Where is Ticino?", asked Clay as Pat set the drinks in front of them.
"It is in southern Switzerland, my mama was Italian Swiss and my father's family is normal Italian. My grandfather was a mercenary who fought with Napoleon and later settled in Switzerland in the canton of Ticino. I speak Italian", replied Dante.
Clay nodded as he looked down at his beer. It was thick and dark with a creamy foam head in a massive glass pint, the beer opaque with a thick consistency. Dante had his wine in a tumbler of the sort used to drink whiskey, the ruby wine quite thick and heavy. He took a sip of his beer and was surprised at how heavy it was, much heavier than his normal Budweiser or Lone Star.
"Howdy Dante, you gettin' started without me?", teased Nathan as he sat at the bar.
"Scusi, Nathan. I was just getting Signore Butler a drink", he retorted.
"I'll have a shot of the Johnny Walker Red", Nathan told Pat. "I reckon everyone in town wants to hear the new guitar player", he teased as Pat set down the tumbler of Scotch in front of him.
Clay took a big sip of his beer, knowing that Nathan was trying to challenge him. "I never had any complaints about my playing", he replied calmly.
Nathan chuckled, his pale blue eyes amused as he drank the Scotch. "I like that, my daddy always said to never back down from a fight", he drawled.
Clay finished his beer as Pilar came over, giving the beer a quick glance. "The show starts in a bit, Mr. Butler", she said.
"All right, Miss Hollins. Should we go onstage now?", he asked.
She smiled and Clay felt his heart skip a beat. Pilar was a pretty girl in her pale green ruffled dress, but she became beautiful when she smiled, her full red lips turned up at the corners and her green eyes lively. Her black hair was thick and shiny and had the faint scent of rosemary clinging to it, her black hair and dusky complexion showing her Mexican mother's heritage.
"Yes, Mr. Butler. Follow me", she said.
Clay grabbed his guitar and followed her towards the stage. He noticed the look Nathan gave her and his heart sank. Of course, he's good-looking and the sheriff after all, he thought dejectedly.
Clay sat on a stool placed onstage and checked the tunings of his guitar, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Pilar looked lovely in her green dress with a green silk shawl around her shoulders, the long frilly skirt revealing the tops of her black patent leather boots.
The crowd became still as all eyes turned to Pilar and Clay. He strummed a few chords before playing the graceful Mexican guitar into of El Paso. Pilar sang the Marty Robbins song about the doomed gunfighter and his lover Felina, the audience hushed as she sang:
Out in the West Texas town of El Paso
I fell in love with a Mexican girl.
Night-time would find me in Rosa's cantina;
Music would play and Felina would whirl.
Blacker than night were the eyes of Felina,
Wicked and evil while casting a spell.
My love was deep for this Mexican maiden;
I was in love but in vain, I could tell.
One night a wild young cowboy came in,
Wild as the West Texas wind.
Dashing and daring,
A drink he was sharing
With wicked Felina,
The girl that I loved.
So in anger I
Challenged his right for the love of this maiden.
Down went his hand for the gun that he wore.
My challenge was answered in less than a heart-beat;
The handsome young stranger lay dead on the floor.
Just for a moment I stood there in silence,
Shocked by the FOUL EVIL deed I had done.
Many thoughts raced through my mind as I stood there;
I had but one chance and that was to run.
Out through the back door of Rosa's I ran,
Out where the horses were tied.
I caught a good one.
It looked like it could run.
Up on its back
And away I did ride,
Just as fast as I
Could from the West Texas town of El Paso
Out to the bad-lands of New Mexico.
Back in El Paso my life would be worthless.
Everything's gone in life; nothing is left.
It's been so long since I've seen the young maiden
My love is stronger than my fear of death.
I saddled up and away I did go,
Riding alone in the dark.
Maybe tomorrow
A bullet may find me.
Tonight nothing's worse than this
Pain in my heart.
And at last here I
Am on the hill overlooking El Paso;
I can see Rosa's cantina below.
My love is strong and it pushes me onward.
Down off the hill to Felina I go.
Off to my right I see five mounted cowboys;
Off to my left ride a dozen or more.
Shouting and shooting I can't let them catch me.
I have to make it to Rosa's back door.
Something is dreadfully wrong for I feel
A deep burning pain in my side.
Though I am trying
To stay in the saddle,
I'm getting weary,
Unable to ride.
But my love for
Felina is strong and I rise where I've fallen,
Though I am weary I can't stop to rest.
I see the white puff of smoke from the rifle.
I feel the bullet go deep in my chest.
From out of nowhere Felina has found me,
Kissing my cheek as she kneels by my side.
Cradled by two loving arms that I'll die for,
One little kiss and Felina, good-bye.
It segued into Streets of Laredo and the crowd was just as quiet, the cowboy song about a dying cowpoke making them sad and longing. Pilar's voice was full of sorrow as she sang about the dying cowboy killed in a gunfight at Laredo, relating his last words and dying request:
As I walked out on the streets of Laredo.
As I walked out on Laredo one day,
I spied a poor cowboy wrapped in white linen,
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.
"I can see by your outfit that you are a cowboy."
These words he did say as I boldly walked by.
"Come an' sit down beside me an' hear my sad story.
"I'm shot in the breast an' I know I must die."
"It was once in the saddle, I used to go dashing.
"Once in the saddle, I used to go gay.
"First to the card-house and then down to Rose's.
"But I'm shot in the breast and I'm dying today."
"Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin.
"Six dance-hall maidens to bear up my pall.
"Throw bunches of roses all over my coffin.
"Roses to deaden the clods as they fall."
"Then beat the drum slowly, play the Fife lowly.
"Play the dead march as you carry me along.
"Take me to the green valley, lay the sod o'er me,
"I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong."
"Then go write a letter to my grey-haired mother,
"An' tell her the cowboy that she loved has gone.
"But please not one word of the man who had killed me.
"Don't mention his name and his name will pass on."
When thus he had spoken, the hot sun was setting.
The streets of Laredo grew cold as the clay.
We took the young cowboy down to the green valley,
And there stands his marker, we made, to this day.
We beat the drum slowly and played the Fife lowly,
Played the dead march as we carried him along.
Down in the green valley, laid the sod o'er him.
He was a young cowboy and he said he'd done wrong.
Clay decided it was time for a change as he played Rocky Road to Dublin, having learned the funny Irish song from listening to the Dropkick Murphys' version. Pilar sang the humorous ditty with her green eyes laughing and and a smile on his lips, several of the cowboys getting up to dance as she sang about the hapless yokel Shanghaid on an English ship:
In the merry month of May, From my home I started,
Left the girls of Tuam, Nearly broken hearted,
Saluted father dear, Kissed my darlin' mother,
Drank a pint of beer, My grief and tears to smother,
Then off to reap the corn, And leave where I was born,
I cut a stout blackthorn, To banish ghost and goblin,
In a brand new pair of brogues, I rattled o'er the bogs,
And frightened all the dogs,On the rocky road to Dublin.
One, two, three, four five,
Hunt the hare and turn her
Down the rocky road
And all the ways to Dublin,
Whack-fol-lol-de-ra.
In Mullingar that night, I rested limbs so weary,
Started by daylight, Next mornin' light and airy,
Took a drop of the pure, To keep my heart from sinkin',
That's an Irishman's cure, Whene'er he's on for drinking.
To see the lasses smile, Laughing all the while,
At my curious style, 'Twould set your heart a-bubblin'.
They ax'd if I was hired, The wages I required,
Till I was almost tired, Of the rocky road to Dublin.
In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity,
To be so soon deprived, A view of that fine city.
Then I took a stroll, All among the quality,
My bundle it was stole, In a neat locality;
Something crossed my mind, Then I looked behind;
No bundle could I find, Upon my stick a wobblin'.
Enquirin' for the rogue, They said my Connacht brogue,
Wasn't much in vogue, On the rocky road to Dublin.
From there I got away, My spirits never failin'
Landed on the quay As the ship was sailin';
Captain at me roared, Said that no room had he,
When I jumped aboard, A cabin found for Paddy,
Down among the pigs I played some funny rigs,
Danced some hearty jigs, The water round me bubblin',
When off Holyhead, I wished myself was dead,
Or better far instead, On the rocky road to Dublin.
The boys of Liverpool, When we safely landed,
Called myself a fool; I could no longer stand it;
Blood began to boil, Temper I was losin',
Poor ould Erin's isle They began abusin',
"Hurrah my soul," sez I, My shillelagh I let fly;
Some Galway boys were by, Saw I was a hobble in,
Then with a loud hurray, They joined in the affray.
We quickly cleared the way, For the rocky road to Dublin.
The little set ended with them doing Nothing Else Matters, Clay having taught her the lyrics that afternoon. Pilar sang the haunting Metallica ballad in her longing voice, the crowd hushed as they watched her sing. Clay played the guitar with just his fingertips, the pick feeling clumsy for the simple ballad:
So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters
I never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
And nothing else matters
Yeah, trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
And I know
So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
And I know, that's right
Never opened myself this way
And life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
And nothing else matters, yeah
Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters
Never cared for things they say
Never cared for games they play
I never cared for what they do
I never cared for what they know
And I know, yeah yeah yeah
Pilar dropped a curtsy as he got off the stool, trying to control the blush forming on his cheeks as the crowd applauded. "Kid, you were great. I'll buy you a drink", said Nathan as Pat set down two shots of Johnny Walker Red on the bar.
Clay nodded in thanks as he drank the Scotch. Pilar came over to the bar as Cactus Jack walked right behind her. "You can have one drink, Pilar", he said.
"I'll have a tequila", she said mischievously as Cactus Jack frowned in disapproval. Pat poured her a shot and set it down in front of her, Pilar drinking it in one gulp. She set the glass down and gave Nathan a flirtatious smile, her slim fingers resting on the sleeve of his shirt.
Clay felt his heart sink. Of course she likes him, he thought sadly as Dante gave him a sympathetic smile.
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