One Last Ride

Heath Becker was very well-established in Rattlesnake Canyon, Texas. He owned a large mining operation with hundreds upon hundreds of miners and also owned a ranch with dozens of ranch hands, seven thousand sheep, five thousand goats, a thousand heads of cattle, one thousand five hundred llamas, one thousand five-hundred alpacas, five hundred donkeys, five hundred mules, and five hundred horses. His son Heath Jr. was set to be married to the mayor’s daughter, and his daughter Lucy was engaged to the son of a wealthy feeds magnate. His oldest son Jack had just been recently married to the daughter of a railroad mogul. Heath Becker had amassed such a large fortune that people called him the Job of the West. Nothing could disturb his peace in that booming Texas town, not even the hand of God or the hand of Satan himself—or so he thought. Two visitors on a warm Tuesday morning certainly disturbed his peace.

As Heath sipped his coffee on the back porch of his grand ranch house and watched his son Clayton break in a new wild stallion they had just caught, Jeremiah came out to approach him. Jeremiah Goodwin was the Becker family’s butler and also served as Heath’s personal secretary. Jeremiah was also trained with a pistol and served as Heath’s bodyguard.

“What is it, Jeremiah?” Heath asked, turning to his lackey.

“There are two people who have traveled all the way from Virginia City to see you, Boss,” Jeremiah said.

“Virginia City?” Heath asked in surprise, his right eyebrow rising. “That’s quite a long away. Who are these men?”

“One is Elias Grant, Sheriff of Virginia City,” Jeremiah answered. “The other is Mortimer Dickinson, US Marshal.”

A sheriff from my old town and a marshal? Heath thought to himself. What in the bloody blazes is going on? What do they want?

“Did they say what their business was?” Heath asked. “What did they want?”

“They wouldn’t say, Boss,” Jeremiah replied. “But they did say it was an urgent matter. That it was for your ears only.”

“Very well,” Heath said with a heavy sigh as he stood up straight. “Take me to them.”

“Yes, sir,” Jeremiah said, leading Heath through the back door in the kitchen. Heath Becker found his guests seated in the sitting room. They stood upon his approach.

“Gentlemen,” Heath greeted, shaking their hands. “What brings you to Rattlesnake Canyon?”

“My name is Elias Grant, sheriff,” the sheriff said. “And this is Marshal Mortimer Dickinson. You may have heard of my predecessor, Billy Nelson.”

“Ah, yes, good ol’ Sheriff Nelson,” Heath said with a fond smile on his face. “How is the old chap?”

“He spoke highly of you, Mr. Becker,” Grant answered with a sadness in his voice. “With the utmost respect.”

“That is why we have come,” Marshal Dickinson announced. “We’re here because an outlaw murdered him in cold blood. His name is Danger Donny Sherman.”

“Thirteen murders under his belt,” Sheriff Grant added. “Twelve before he blew Billy Nelson’s brains out.”

“We need your help,” Marshal Dickinson said. “This bastard needs to hang for his crimes. We’ve placed a bounty on his head. Five hundred grand dead, a million alive.”

“What’s it gonna be, Mr. Becker?” the sheriff asked. “Will you avenge an old friend?”

“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” Heath said. “I’ve left that life far behind me now. I’m retired. I now live a settled life.”

“We’re begging you, Mr. Becker,” the marshal pleaded. “These are desperate times, and desperate measures are called for.”

“Romans chapter twelve, verse nine,” Heath Becker quoted from memory. “Revenge not yourselves, my dearly beloved; but give place unto wrath, for it is written: ‘Revenge is mine, I will repay’, saith the Lord.”

“First Samuel chapter fifteen, verse three,” the marshal countered. “Now therefore go, and smite Amalec, and utterly destroy all that he hath: spare him not, nor covet anything that is his: but slay both man and woman, child and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass.”

“We need your lightning quick hand and your eagle sharp eyes. If you won’t do it for an old friend,” Sheriff Grant said. “At least do it for yourself. Look me in the eye and truthfully tell me right now that you don’t miss the thrill of the chase. The fire coursing in your blood as you ride, the wind whipping through your hair, and the excitement at the moment you spot your quarry…”

At the mention of the thrill of the chase, a spark shot out of Heath Becker’s blood and lit his tired old eyes. He was a young man once again, full of life and vigor. An executor of vigilante justice. A fearsome avenging angel combing the badlands for his prey who would shortly be dead. Although he still rode horses, he sorely missed the sound of thundering hooves and the cloud of dust he left behind as he pursued outlaw after outlaw.

“Alright. Where was he last seen?” Heath asked.

“He fled Virginia City,” Sheriff Grant answered. “We have no word regarding where he went.”

“We were hoping you could help us track him down,” Marshal Dickinson said.

“I will hunt him down for you,” Heath Becker vowed. “Rest here for tonight. Very early tomorrow morning, before sunrise, we saddle our horses and ride for Virginia City.”

That evening, he gave instructions to his household staff regarding the care of the house. He also gave instructions to his sons Daniel and Clay regarding the care of the ranch. Daniel and Clayton’s words were to be law in their father’s absence and every ranch hand was to obey them. On his last night in his own bedroom, Heath Becker slept as soundly as a baby. It would be the last comfortable sleep he would have in a very long time. After that night, he would be sleeping in tents or in sleeping bags on the ground by a fire, or on lice-infested, mite-infested old mattresses in seedy hotels and taverns. At dawn, the sheriff, the marshal, and the old bounty hunter were well on their way to Virginia City with bullets in their pistols and rifles, a cloud of dust behind them, and the desert wind in their hair.