Nature's Justice

The man sat beneath the tree, head tilted forward in slumber. The stetson was pulled low, hiding his face, but Jacob recognized him nevertheless. The stocky body, shaped more like a barrel than a torso. His duster, once upon a time tan, now crusted gray with countless miles of trail dust. His feet, feminine in size and shape, impossibly small in comparison to the rest of his body.

Off to the side, the man's horse stood grazing on the scant vegetation that was already turning brown. The old stallion looked defeated, forlorn. It had been ridden hard for several days, and it looked to be on the verge of collapse.

Behind him, Jacob's own horse whickered softly. Cinnamon was a chestnut mare in her sixth year. Swift and sure-footed, she handled this past week's journey easily. Each night he treated her to a mixture of oats and carrots. Breakfast was a bag of grains and apples.

Jacob was laying atop a ridge behind a patch of thistles. The bright purple buds swayed to the gentle rhythm of the wind on their tall, thin stalks. The tree that the man rested under was perhaps two hundred yards away near the base of a gentle slope. At this distance the man below was unlikely to see him once he awoke. Jacob knew that his eyesight was poor. He was in fact counting on it.

The sun sat hot and bright in the cloudless afternoon sky. The past month had been unnaturally dry, starving the land, bleaching it of it's color. Even the nights, normally cool and refreshing, were oppressive with the latent heat. Jacob dragged his arm across his forehead.

Meryl Hopkins, the man currently resting beneath the tree below, was heading towards the western territories, presumably to his homestead. Freshly released from jail ten days earlier, he wasted no time leaving town on a stolen horse. Jacob was on his trail soon after.

Jacob was barely twelve when they first crossed paths. His bright blonde hair was as wild as a Prairie Mustang, no matter how hard his Momma tried to tame it. He was still growing into his clothes, as well as his role as man of the house. His Pa had been killed a few months prior by cattle rustlers, leaving just him, his Momma, and his little sister Geraldine to manage the ranch.

It was more than they could handle on their own. So they hired on some hands to help. Meryl Hopkins was one of them. It wasn't long after that Jacob came home from school and he found the house ransacked. Chairs knocked over, porcelain plates and knick knacks shattered, bedding ripped to shreds. Meryl had robbed them blind, leaving Momma and Geraldine bound and badly beaten in the master bedroom.

The manhunt for him lasted two months before the authorities gave up. Wanted posters were sent throughout the Territories, but they did no good. In the end, what got him caught and arrested was a bar fight, nearly ten years later. By then, his wanted poster had been taken down and replaced by others. The law may have forgotten about Meryl Hopkins' crimes, but Jacob hadn't.

His anger and hatred towards the man was like a smoldering ember within his chest. The desire for revenge is what kept alive the hunt for the man that ruined his family. It was happenstance that he learned of Meryl's arrest two towns over. It was providence that allowed Jacob to pick up his trail after his release.

Jacob slowly rose from the cover of the swaying thistles. He had considered making his move after night fell, but it didn't feel right. It felt cowardly. More importantly, he wanted to see the realization in Meryl's eyes as he stared down the barrel of Jacob's six-shooter. And the fear.

Jacob made his way down the hill, his shadow stretching out behind him. The air was thick with humidity. His skin was sticky with sweat, his body cold with determination. He descended the hill quickly yet silently, as sure-footed as Cinnamon. His hand rested lightly on the handle of his revolver.

The horse Meryl had stolen pricked its ears at the sound of his approach. It snorted twice, shaking its head. Meryl remained motionless. Jacob ran his hand across its flank, scratched behind its ear. It whickered again.

He stepped forward, pulling the gun from its holster. He advanced slowly, deliberately. The man's rifle rested in his lap, his hands laying limply across the stock and barrel. The stetson was pulled low, leaving only his scraggly gray beard visible. In one quick motion Jacob bent down and pulled the rifle free, tossing it to the ground behind him. Meryl didn't move.

Disgust welled in Jacob, its vile taste filling his throat. It took all his restraint not to pull the trigger. He kicked his foot out instead, the toe of his boot connecting solidly with Meryl's ribs. Meryl didn't cry out, or awoke gasping for air. His body simply fell sideways onto the brittle grass, knocking his stetson askew.

The top of Meryl's head was bald and covered in scabs. Tiny bugs traversed his scalp, feeding on the damaged skin. Jacob circled the slumped body, his gun still trained on the man's chest. His eyes were open, bloodshot,the irises just beginning to glaze over. His tongue, black and swollen, pushed through thin cracked lips.

Jacob stared at the body slumped on the ground, trying to process what he saw. For ten years he obsessed on finding this man, this piece of filth that brutally attacked his family, stealing not only their possessions and money, but also their sense of security, their trust of others. Anger and resentment battled within him, creating a hot ember of hatred deep in his belly. The anger towards this man, and the ruins in which he left Jacob’s family. The resentment of coming this far, both in years and miles, only to have justice stolen from him yet again. His vengeance denied. The unfairness of it all soon consumed him, filling his throat like toxic bile. Rearing back his leg, he kicked the body hard in the side, the toe of his boot sinking into the yielding flesh of its midriff. Jacob kicked the body again and again, heart pounding, breath rasping, until his toes began to ache inside the boot, then he kicked some more.

When his rage was finally spent he stumbled away from the body, collapsing to the ground. He sat there and wept, hands covering his face. He thought of his mother, and the ugly red weal of a scar that traced her right cheek down to the jaw. He thought of Geraldine, and how she flinched every time she heard a man’s voice, even his own. The sickly sweet aroma of blood and shit that permeated the master bedroom, no matter how often it was scrubbed. He sat that way until the tears ran dry, suddenly without purpose, devoid of desire.

A hot breath near his temple lifted his face from his cupped hands. A nuzzle to the cheek, another snort of horse breath. He raised his arm, wrapped it around the old stallion’s neck. His fingers curled in the mane, and he hugged it tightly.

Reluctantly Jacob released the horse, and pushed himself to his feet. His leg ached, from foot to hip. He reckoned it would be a day or two before the pain went away. He stared down at the remains of Meryl Hopkins, contemplating what to do next. In the end, Jacob turned away and left him there. Let the flies and scavengers have at him, he thought. He bent and picked up the discarded rifle. He scratched the stallion's neck one more time before grabbing the end of the bridle. He looked up towards the ridge where he left Cinnamon. The thistles still danced in the slight breeze. He felt empty, hollowed out. He realized though that it wasn’t entirely a bad feeling. Like a rotted tooth finally removed. It felt like that. He headed back up the hill, the stallion trailing behind.

When they reached the top he opened the feed bag and gave both horses a good helping of oats and carrots. He sat and watched the thistles as they ate. When they had their fill, Jacob tied the stallion’s lead to the back of his saddle, then mounted Cinnamon. Jacob took one final look at the body below. He felt nothing towards it, good or bad. It just was. He raised his gaze upward towards the cloudless sky. Two black shapes wheeled in the sky, their wings dipping as they circled closer to the ground. The corners of his lips turned upward in a brief smile. Meryl may have escaped the law and Jacob’s vengeance, but not nature's justice. Tapping her sides with his heels, Jacob turned Cinnamon back towards home.

He had a family that needed tending to.