Baked Beans

      Last warm beams of lazy spring has touched dry stalks of brown grass from last year, that is lightly covered by white unmelted snow on the Great Herds Platte, to leave that open wasteland freely for fresh cold wind, which is slashing four dark silhouette of riders galloping on horses from the eastern grassy plains to the western densely forested mountains. Strong contours of their tired faces move on the gold-orange and azure horizon, where these soft shades of colors are mixing between each other until they fade into the starry sky of the following dark night. Last rider is significantly slower than the first three companions, because his horse is exhausted by bearing two heavy men for a long distance. A younger man sits in the front. The other one, who is much older, holds him with his left hand; meanwhile he holds the reins with the right hand. ‘‘Just half a mile and we are there. You ´ ´ll do it, Johnny.’’, the older one says. Countryside changes with its height, the higher they go the more dark green conifers begin to appear in the landscape of withered grass. Nearby the deep forest, there is an old dusty log cabin with soft grey little cloud of smoke rising from its chimney and with windows glowing into the growing darkness into the region like an isolated lighthouse on the coast. Riders stop for a moment, staring at the cabin. ‘‘Hey, you, Billy, didn ´´ t you say, that nobody knows about it and it´ s abandoned?’’, a scathing remark flies trough the air. The man in the lead spits aside and answers: ‘‘This will be easy. It´ s some lost trapper or too much pious settlers from the east. We will have a good night´ s sleep tonight, anyway.’’, and he goes on: ‘‘Frankie, you and Johnny, follow us slowly and we will check it out before you come. Is it clear?’’                            Three riders set off for the house. One rides around the cabin and whispers: ‘‘There is a horse in the barn, no movement otherwise.’’ Another one gets off the horse, pull out his Colt and walks across the porch to the windows. Billy stares at it all and take his Henry-gun from its holster. That man, holding a Colt in his hand, looks trough the window into the room. He hears quiet cracking of burning wood at the fireplace and smells tasty bacon in the air.  ‘‘What do you see, Rowan?’’, Billy asks. ‘‘I see no one.’’, Rowan answers. Billy and the other rider get off their horses. Frankie and Johnny finally arrived to the log cabin, as well. ‘‘Peter, help me please with him, ´ can ´ t do it by myself.’’, Frankie calls for help. Billy pushes the door. ‘‘Aaaargh!’’, Johnny screams in pain while he is sliding off the horse to the Peter ´ s arms, who covers his open mouth with his hand immediately. Two men tried to go quickly in, but they had stopped just at the doorstep. ‘‘Your parents didn ´ t you teach how to behave, boys? What about knocking first, huh?’’, deep aged voice sounds trough the whole room. There is sitting an old man under the table, who is aiming his two-barrel shotgun on them. ‘‘Good evening, sir, excuse us about that. You know, there is usually no one sleeping here and a man has to be careful these days, it makes sense, isn ´ t it?’’, Billy starts. ‘‘Here, this is Rowan. There are Frankie, Peter and Johnny outside. I am Billy. Each of us is heading south because of work, you know, to herd cattle and so on. We would like to spend a night here and have a meal, too.’’ ‘‘Cowboys, hmmm, okay then, so put our guns aside, boys, and let´ s have tasty dinner with me, ol ´ O ´ Hara. Well, and when you tell me some news, I will take some good Tennessee Whiskey, too, hahaha!’’, honest laughter of old O ´ Hara fills the whole warm room. Everybody puts their guns away and the old man climbs out from his shelter. Suddenly, there is standing a small hairy man with smiling bushy face before them, who is wearing only brown underpants. Frankie and Peter take Johnny to the corner, where they put him on the ground in the corner. Rowan gives him then warm blanket. When O ´ Hara sees Johnny ´ s pale sweaty face, he says: ‘‘Oh, too much whiskey, I know that feeling very well, hahaha!’’ Cowboys lead their horses in the barn near the cabin and let them drink cool water. There are several thunderbolts, which uncover dark mighty clouds on the horizon. The storm is coming quickly from the north. Lightings hit multiple times to the ground in the distance, but there can be heard only the wind in the branches of trees nearby. There are few pieces of furniture in the log cabin, one table, three chairs, stone fireplace, which is heating whole place. The other source of light besides fire is a rusty oil lamp hanging over the table. The age of the group of cowboys is nearly the same except Johnny, who could be a son of one of them. Each of them has oily and dirty hair and their faces need shaving for a long time. When they put down their coats, Billy and Frankie take the seat. Peter takes small cauldron, four tin cans of beans and starts preparing the dinner. Rowan lies on the ground, takes a blanket and falls asleep. O ´ Hara gives some onions and rest of bacon to Peter with a smile on his face: ‘‘I haven ´ t eaten baked beans for ages!’’ He goes to his corner then and brings from his rolled blanket a half-full bottle of whiskey, which he puts on the table. ‘‘Prepare you mugs, boys, this bottle is worth to drink!’’, the old man says victoriously. ‘‘I forgot, could you bring some extra wood from the barn, son. There will be some terrible thunderstorm all night, boys.’’, he goes on. Frankie leaves for the wood. O ´ Hara pours whiskey to all, who is not sleeping and meanwhile that he asks: ‘‘What do you like on being cowboys?’’ ‘‘It´ s a beautiful life, sir, full of freedom and there is no day, which would be the same. Yeah, nature is sometimes cruel to us too much and a man miss a company of a woman a lot, but I wouldn ´ t change for different job.’’ Billy says calmly. ‘‘It sounds real good, son, but I have always been into fair family life as a honest Christian. Well, I tried to do so, God knows that I am telling truth, but, you know, when I have lost my son at the battle of Shiloh and my wife passed away, my way of life lost its sense and purpose. I have sold my farm and went to the mountains here. I take some job on the saw millers time to time and it´ s enough for me living on. ’’, the old man partly reveals his past. Frankie returns with a basket full of dry wood enough to keep fire burning whole night, which he puts the fireplace aside. He takes the tin mug with whiskey and says: ‘‘To our health and to all men of the west!’’ And they drink it ‘‘That´ s really good whiskey, no doubt about its Tennessee one. I haven ´ t had that good so long’’, Peter adds to discussion and cooks meal on.                                                                                             Thunderstorm with its flashes went away and there is only heavy dense rain hitting the roof of the log cabin. Everybody is laughing now and last round of shots of whiskey has started already. Frankie throws the empty bottle of whiskey to the wall. Peter takes carefully the cauldron to the table, where hungry men are waiting with prepared bowls and spoons in their hands. Rowan wakes up, takes some beans, too, and returns to his place back again. Everybody is eating eagerly his beans except the old man and Johnny, who is lying in the corner motionless. O ´ Hara take his bowl full of tasty beans and walks slowly to Johnny. Peter takes his seat instead of him. Nobody is noticing the old man then. He crouches, watches closely Johnny ´ s grey-green ashen face, which is turned to the wall. O ´ Hara pulls off the blanket and then touches Johnny ´ s belly. The old man is shocked by what he sees. His hand is covered by thick red blood. His first thought leads to his shotgun that is in his corner. ‘‘Well, poor Johnny misses the best baked beans I have ever eaten in my life, honestly, son. You did really tasty meal tonight, thank you. What do you say to another one bottle of whiskey?’’, the old man suggested warmly and goes for his weapon in his corner. O ´ Hara pretends that he ´ s looking for another bottle of whiskey, but then suddenly takes his gun and aims for the cowboys. ‘‘You BASTARDS, you wanted to cut my throat in my sleep, didn ´ t you, but ol ´ O ´ Hara is not that stupid. Your Colts, put them on the ground and no time for bravery, you bitches!’’ Cowboys stop eating and glance at each other. ‘‘Stop it, you old fool!’’, Billy shouts angrily. ‘‘AS I SAID! Your guns put them on the GROUND!’’, O ´ Hara roars so aggressively that he spits on them. Peter is sitting on his seat, so he has got O ´ Hara behind his back. Rowan that is lying on the ground slightly moves his hand to his gun. The old man aims reflexively on him and pull the trigger. BANG! ´Rowan ´ s chest is one large open wound, he ´ s dead at once. His other companions want to use this moment of O ´ Hara ´ s lack of concentration on them. They reach their guns, but O ´ Hara aims to the oil lamp that hangs above the table and shoots faster. Some pieces of lead hit Peter to the backside of his head. Peter ´ s dead body slowly collapses on the table and then on the ground. Other parts of the gunshot hit the oil lamp, which explodes immediately. Burning liquid pours itself on Frankie and Billy and some on table that catches fire, as well. ‘‘Aaaaargh, HELP! Aaaargh! HELP! Please!’’, Billy is screaming in hideous pain. He is completely on fire and runs out of the log cabin, where he stops several feet the building aside, lying dead in the wet grass. Frankie ´ s shirt is a little on fire, but not that much to stop him reaching his gun and shoot. BANG! Suddenly, O ´ Hara feels terrible pain on his belly. Dark red blood soaks quickly from his wound in his brown underpants.  He takes his shotgun and uses its gun-stock like mace to hit Frankie ´ s head. ‘‘Aaaargh, die you swine!’’, he shouts and jumps on Frankie.                                   Another storm has come and its lightings flash the dusty cottage nearby the woods that starts to be consumed by fire from inside. Heavy rain keeps falling down from the sky. Scared horses are neighing and prancing in the barn. And the last sounds fly from the log cabin into the darkness... ...SMASH, BANG, BANG,... SMASH, BANG,... SMASH, SMASH......