A Home West of Nowhere

A Home West Of Nowhere by Casey Baramore

"Destiny is that which we are drawn to, and fate is that in which we run into ."
-Wyatt Earp

Prologue

The end of the century is near. The late 1880s. The American West was as wild and unpredictable as the people who settled it. A land of dreamers, prospectors, and outlaws. A land of gunpowder and guile.
In the aftermath of the American Civil War and the height of the Industrial Revolution , came the emergence of booming, bustling cities and expanding law enforcement.
The times of gunslinging outlaws living in the shadows on the run from bounty hunters and lawmen was coming to an end. The few active gangs roam the land, looking for infamy and wealth, but some are fighting just to survive. Those who made it out alive and broke away from their active gangs were never quite the same. For hardened criminals, trying to live a normal life and make an honest living can prove even more difficult.
This story is not a happy one. This story is not a fairytale. I wish I could say it had a happy ending. Or a happy beginning. Or even a happy middle. This is a story of friendship. A story of struggle, hardship ,courage, and above all, love. The people in this story are not good people. They have the best hearts with the worst intentions. Their loyalty and love toward eachother is boundless, but their ties came from the blood and gunpowder of the life they all chose to live.

Chapter One: Interitus

Colorado, September, 1880

It was nearing dusk as the carriage rolled down the Northern road making way into Colorado. It was an unusually cold September day. Pulling the carriage were some of the finest male draft horses with superior genes. To the left, a dusty gray stallion standing nearly sixteen hands high, and to the right, a brown buckskin stallion equivalent in weight and height. The two large Percheron horses were beginning to break their canter. The muscles in their shoulders and haunches began to twitch and quiver. The horses began to chomp their bits and flick their long tails.
The large man driving the carriage was Mr. Edmund Sorley, a financial adviser and dear friend of a very wealthy investor and buisness man from Belfast named Mr. Conor McLaurin. Sorley was a tall man with large hands, and tanned, leathery skin from his days as a leather worker making saddles for nearly the whole state. He had narrow brown eyes and a wide jaw, with a large straw hat he wore over his wavy, light brown hair that was often greased. He was a stern man, but a loyal friend.
        Mr McLaurin moved to America ten years ago in the Spring of 1870 with his wife Shannon, who was also from a somewhat noble family. After building their homestead on a small farm in New Mexico, in October of 1871, Shannon gave birth to their first and only child, a baby girl they named Juliette, who was born with her mother's copper hair and her father's emerald eyes. As little Juliette grew, so did her father's investments, and he was a busy man, making frequent trips all around the country to take new contracts and ventures.
Mr. Sorley gave another quick switch to the horses, trying his best to calm them. "The horses are getting tired, sir. Cold too. We will have to stop. Won't do us no good to keep pushin' them," he said with his gruff, baratone voice. "Aye, I understand. I could use a moment to stretch me legs and arms. No trouble. Reckon you could use it too," Mr. McLaurin replied from inside the coach.
Before the coach could stop, they noticed two men riding behind them, slowly approaching the sides of the carriage. "Aye, what's this 'ere, Edmund? Don't believe I know these men," asked the buisnessman. Mr. Sorley turned his head slighty behind him, avoiding eye contact with the strangers. He quietly answered, " I ain't too sure, sir. But I don't like the look in their eyes. I won't stop just yet. I'll do my best sir, " he said.
One of the strangers, a scrawny man with arms and legs reminiscent of a newborn foal piped up, still riding next to the carriage. He had long dark hair that covered one eye, and a dirty, weathered face. He gave a menacing grin and asked, "So where are you gentlemen headin' to? And in such a fine coach as this?"
From inside the carriage, Mr. McLaurin responded, " Just heading North, thats all. If you could keep your distance please, we don't want no trouble."
The other man riding to the left chuckled. He had wide eyes and shaggy golden hair, with slightly more muscle than his dark haired partner. He gestured to the man opposite of him. "Gee, mister. I like that fancy accent you got. Listen to him, Tommy. He sounds like one of them railway workers." The pair laughed. Mr. Sorley switched the horses again, but descretely placed a hand on his shotgun in the seat next to him. "I think its time you fellers leave, we have a long ways left and don't need company," he said sternly. The pair of riders shot a look at eachother. The long haired man pulled a revolver from his holster, and the man with the golden hair drew his rifle and both pointed their weapons at Mr. Sorley.
Sorley quickly drew his shotgun and aimed at both men, though he was outnumbered. "Gentlemen, this is not a good idea. I beg of you to let us go, this man and I, we both have families," he pleaded. The blonde haired man took a look into the carriage and proudly declared, "Hey! I think I know you, mister. Real formal feller. Buisnessman I think ," he antagonized.
"No sir, just a man on the road with his friend. Nothin' important," McLaurin replied.
"Stop the goddamn coach now!" Shouted the long haired man. He shot his revolver into the air, causing the horses to spook and rear up, before taking aim at Mr. Sorley yet again. The blonde man followed suit.
"Mr. Sorley, its alright, we can reason with these men. Stop the coach," McLaurin spoke quietly. The carriage stopped and the two men dismounted their horses. The blonde man kept aim at Mr. Sorley while the long haired man walked to the door of the coach. "Come on out now. Nice and easy," he said. Mr. McLaurin obliged, and raised his hands slowly above his head. He began to sweat and his jet black hair clung to his forehead. He loosened his blue tie and pulled it gently away from his collar, then ran his hand down the length of his goateed chin. "I mean no trouble sir," he said. "Look, I'm unarmed," he continued, turning around slowly and lifting up his suit jacket.
The stranger tossed his long hair out of his eyes. He adjusted his palm over the handle of the revolver and gestured to the inside of the coach. "Good. All your money, now. Empty your pockets and the carriage. Everything you've got. Come on. " The blonde man disarmed Mr. Sorley, dragging him out of the driver's seat. He shouted "On the ground, now! You too! Everything you got!"
Mr. Sorley exhaled deeply, hanging his head. "This is a mistake," he spoke softly.
Mr. McLaurin emptied his pockets, laying out bills, bonds and coins. The long haired stranger gathered the money up and put it all into a canvas bag. He then looked Mr. McLaurin up and down, and spotted a thin chain of a watch. He flipped over the revolver and struck Mr. McLaurin in the head with the handle. "Your watch too, mister. All of it!"
McLaurin hesitated and held his jacket closed. He began to cry and begged the man. "Please sir, that watch is all I have from when I left Ireland. It was my father's and his father's before him. I can't part with it. I cant, " He cried. Sorley tried to intervene, but the blonde man stopped him with a kick to the face from his boot.
The man with the canvas bag struck McLaurin again, demanding the watch. Still holding onto his coat and sobbing, McLaurin refused. The man hit him repeatedly, bruising his face and breaking both of his cheekbones and eye sockets.
"I wont ask again! Give it up! Give it up!" The man shouted. Sorley was restrained by the blonde man, unable to help. "Take my watch! Its a nice one! From France! Just please let him go," he pleaded.
Mr. McLaurin laid on the ground, clutching his jacket. He spat blood onto the dirt as his attacker stood over him, holding the revolver to his head. "You're a wealthy man, mister. Buy a new watch," the man sneered. With another kick to the ribs, he man once again demands the watch. McLaurin wiped blood from his mouth, and turned his head to look at Mr.Sorely, giving him a gentle nod. With tears in his swollen eyes, he looked at his attacker and sternly replied, "No." He spat in the man's eye and tightened his grip onto the watch. With the loud crack echoing through the mountainous land, the man executed Mr. McLaurin with a bullet to the head. His killer took the watch from his body, opening the shining silver trinket  to admire his prize. Inside was a photo of McLaurin, his wife and young daughter. The long haired man dropped the photo onto McLaurin's bloodied body, then the pair mounted up and rode away.
Sorley cried out in anger, but was ultimately let go. The wagon was stripped clean, his pockets were emptied, and his best friend lay dead on the ground. He slowly approached his dead friend, and for the first time, began to cry. "I'm sorry, Conor. I let you down. You always was a stubborn one," he said. His large hands reached up and closed McLaurin's eyes, and he took the picture from his body. Having the wagon and horses still remaining, he put his friend into the carriage and turned the horses back on the road for New Mexico.
After the longest three days imaginable, stopping frequently to spare the horses and let them graze, Sorely made his way down the red clay roads of New Mexico. Having lost all his money to a pair of degenerates, he was hungry, tired, and greiving. It was early dawn when he arrived near the Rio Hondo, where the McLaurin Ranch is located. The wagon rolled down the long road of the ranch, where the smell of sheep and hogs was strong. He parked the wagon in front of the large barn next to the house. When he stepped off the driver's block, his legs began to buckle. Wiping his tired eyes, he walked up the steps to the door of the house, but he didn't knock. He thought for a moment. He did his best to collect himself, then knocked quickly.

The door opened to an always cheerful Shannon McLaurin, who wore a lilac nightgown with her long copper hair tied up into large plaits with a floral pin. Her eyes were tired, but she  always had a smile and an air of positivity. "Good morning Mr Sorley, so nice to see you. I weren't expectin' ya boys home so soon," she said. Her smile turned to worry and she began to read the melancholy on Sorely's face. Her eyes searched Sorely and she began to feel that something was wrong. "Edmund," she began, "Is everything okay? You look awful..Conor? Where is Conor?"

Sorely studied her eyes carefully, searching for the words. Before he could speak, he heard movement come from further inside the house. Footsteps approached the door, and an eight year-old Juliette appeared behind her mother, holding her waist and rubbing her sleepy eyes. It was nearly her ninth birthday. Juliette was very small, but a near perfect copy of her mother. She had fair skin with tints of rose on her cheeks and temples. Her eyes were large and round, and were her father's shade of green. Her lips were full and plump, and her cheeks were full. Her hair was worn in ringlette curls, that laid all the way down to her lower back. "Mama? It's early Mama. Who is it?" She said, curiously. Edmund Sorley could not take his eyes off the girl. He felt all the pain from the three day trip come back, and this was the moment he feared most. He knew he had to answer quickly, as Shannon was waiting eagerly for information. Sorley slowly removed his hat and held it down, he finally told her what happened.

"Conor..He..They shot him," he stammered. "I tried to help, I did. On the road, a couple men followed us...they wanted money. Found out who he was..wanted his watch. He couldn't give it to them. He..he was beaten, then they shot him. The took the watch. Im so deeply sorry Ma'am. I drove back here as fast I could, I ain't eaten since. I don't have nothing left, but I wanted to get him back to you," he spoke softly. Shannon cried out in grief and burst into tears, falling to the floor. Sorely embraced her in a hug and gently stroked her hair. His shirt was soaked from her tears, but he continued to let her cry. Juliette stood near her mother, unable to understand exactly what was happening. Sorely kept glancing at her, expecting the worse from the little girl. She kept standing, looking at her mother and back at Sorely.
After Shannon had calmed down, she stood up and embraced her husband's loyal friend. "Thank you, Edmund. You've done all ya could and I'm very grateful. You've brought him back to me. I can say goodbye," she said. Edmund nodded his head and put his straw hat back on. "I'll get him out of the coach for ya. Anything you need," he began. As he turned and started for the carriage, he stopped. "Oh, wait. I forgot. I...er..I have somethin' for ya." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded up photograph that was inside the watch, and a gold wedding band. He reached out and placed them into her hand. Shannon clutched the wedding ring tightly, then, turning to her daughter, she gave the girl the photograph. Juliette looked at her mother, then the photo. She unfolded it and looked at it for a long time. She hugged her mother and moved toward Sorely, quickly wrapping her arms around him in a big hug.