The Four Horsemen

The Four Horsemen

(Part 1)

They came in riding hard and fast. It was over just as quick. My parents didn’t have a chance. My pa, not a hard man per say, but a farmer, man of the earth. He was no slouch having fought Indians and outlaws to protect his family and homestead. He did not carry a pistol as there had been no trouble for many years. He was caught purely by surprise and my mother also. She was in the house doing her chores as she normally did. I saw it all from the fields between the house and the river. I didn’t want to watch but could not help myself. Being the youngster that I was, frozen in fright.

I went out fishing early that morning and I did not have my rifle with me. What I did do was see their faces, not up close and personal, but good enough to recognize them later. I already decided to get revenge for my parents.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, that’s how I think of them. I made a stern fast promise, to myself, my parents, and to God Himself, that I would hunt them down and slaughter them just as they had done to my family. Wherever they may go, they shall lead me to our fate.

My name is Rory McAllister. Some folks call me a cold blooded killer. That’s merely a falsehood perpetuated by the exaggeration of their own imagination and the writers of cheap dime novels. Outside of the aforementioned four horsemen, the others have been out of the necessity of self defense.

When some young buck thinks he wants to be a gunslinger and calls me out, what am I to do? They won’t let me back down, that won’t make a name for themselves. So they keep goading me until I have to prove to them that they’re not good enough.

I pray to my mothers grave that the last one would be the last one. That has not been the case so far. Hunting men for vengeance is a deadly proposition. I did not foresee this at the beginning. I merely saw the four horsemen that devastated my life.

From the farm in Iowa, to the saloons in St. Louis, the cattle pens of Kansas City and Abilene. Across the land to Santa Fe and the harshness of many mining towns, I’ve hunted and have been hunted.

(Part 2)

On that golden dawn, in the cold morning dew, in a firing stance, finger twitching on the trigger, readying his mind to pull it, he met my smile with a gloom of his own. After a moment of silence that lasted a year, I put a bullet between his eyes. Now I didn’t like it and neither did he, but he brought it on himself. It was all I could do to stay alive that day.

At least that was what I thought until two more hombres came along, scuffing up their boots, looking for danger. So I commenced to rolling a smoke like nothing happened, pure bluff, shaking on the inside. But you can’t let them see it.

I didn’t know if they knew who I was or what just went down. They kept walking like they had business of their own, purpose like, with intent. If I had my druthers, I’d preferred that they would walk on past. That did not happen, as they said, that was their brother that I laid out on the ground and that they aim to receive penance on his behalf.

The street is already empty, so that’s not a bother. I know their guns are loaded and mine are getting a bit light, but I couldn’t show the sweat that I was feeling. Rather it’s best to keep my mind on the task at hand.

The rest of my day is contingent on their first move and if my twin Colts could overtake their two Remington's. It’s a matter of skill, the will to survive, a steady hand, and a keen eye to know when to make your move. If all that is not good enough, then it doesn’t much matter, does it.

I’m not one to confuse issues, only what needs to be done at the time. So when they unerringly decide to draw, I know I’ll remain standing. For they, along with their brother, is my sole purpose and mission in life, to revenge the senseless killing of my parents.

So it was on that fatal day that I gained three notches on my belt before the day’s first cup of coffee. That’s when I decided that this town has become too dangerous and to ride on out and to visit The Big Lonesome.

(Part 3)

I could tell from his hard glare, the glint in his eye. It’s hard for a hard man to hide. I know going from town to town, different parts of the country, you can’t escape from yourself. You are who you are. Being that I am one of the last gunmen out of Dodge City to survive, I know this to be true.

Times are changing now that the wild west isn’t as wild and the mining towns have pretty much come and gone. There’s not as many gunslingers around as there was before. The range wars have been settled, where the gunmen killed each other off. Though still, a young gun will crop up and demand a showdown.

Thanks to the dime novelists, some eejits thinks there’s fame and glory in this endeavor. Certainly there is fame, not the good kind of famous that you can live with, and there sure as hell isn’t any glory. More of a lonesome life, hence my name for The Big Lonesome.

I enjoy the wide open spaces, no one around to harass you. Find a nice creek, a little patch of ground, and a cabin to call your own. My kind of living. Well, it will be when I accomplish my goal and can finally put these six guns down for good.

I try to stay at The Big Lonesome as much as possible, although, it does not supply all a man’s needs. So I have to come to town every so often. That brings us back to the man in the saloon.

I know he did not recognize me for who I actually was, but simply as a hard man such as himself. I knew who he was by the scar across his face and the rope burn around his neck. The snake bit varmint that he is, like a rabid dog, killing for killing’s sake. Not a true gunslinger, just a wild animal on the loose. The last of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

(Epilogue)

I went to my parents grave site and buried my guns.

“Ma, pa, I love you and miss you immensely. I have avenged your death. It came at a higher cost than I expected. Revenge is best left to the Lord, for it takes a toll on a man, leaves a hole in the soul. I have become a beaten, bitter man. Some might even say “Heartless.”