Death's Horse Throws A Shoe

Part 3

Hank Barrow walked behind his plow. Sweat poured from his furrowed brow as he snapped the reins and goaded his team of horses forward. The smell of tilled earth energized him and gave him a feeling of accomplishment. It was hard work, but that did not bother Hank at all. In fact, he relished it-being dead tired when the sun went down. He would get a bit to eat and then fall into a dreamless sleep, only to wake up at the crack of dawn to start it all over again. It was good work and it kept his mind off of things that were not too good to dwell on for long. The past was best left to the reaper but the reaper would always come calling in the end. Hank knew that and accepted it for what it was, but he had decided that would not stop him from trying to find some peace before the time came.

Hank knew that it was only a matter of time before his past caught up to him. Someone would know his real name and all of the questionable things he had done to make the money required to buy a new name and his farm. That someone could bring his world crashing down in a hurry. He stopped the team and his hand went reflexively to the pistol at his side. It was not something that the average farmer would wear while plowing his field, but Hank was not an average farmer. He was not even sure that he knew how to be a legitimate farmer, but he was willing to give it his all.

Hank removed his bandana from around his neck and poured some water from his canteen onto it. He wiped down his face and neck, the cool water invigorating him. He poured a little of the water over his head and let it run down into his shirt, the effect was instantaneous, he felt better. Who would have thought that it being so late in the year, that it would still be so warm? He took some deep breaths to gather his strength and finish another few rows of his field. The winter wheat needed to be planted and soon.

Hank stopped short. His instincts caught a change in his environment. With senses made acute by his former occupation, the lack of sounds from the forest's edge had gotten his attention. The birds and cicada had gone completely quiet. Hank reached down slowly with his free hand and undid the leather thong that held his pistol into place and tried to do so with a nonchalant air that would not attract attention. He could feel the presence of several men just inside the forest and back far enough that he could not see them. He still knew they were there.

"You gonna hide in there all day, or are you going to come out and talk to me like men?" Hank yelled at the trees. "Come on, I ain't got all day. You know, on second thought, I don't have time for the games of little girls either."

Hank waited and was not disappointed. After a moment, three men rode out from the tree line. Hank's left hand rested gently on the butt of his gun. The riders had their rifles across their legs, but not in a position of readiness. They did, however, look rather upset. Hank guessed that his taunting had struck a chord on them. Good. They would be unsettled and that gave Hank the upper hand. As they riders came closer he recognized them as some of Bill Harris' men.

"Barrow?" said the leader as the riders came to a stop and the three stared at Hank with hard eyes.

"Vance." Hank smiled like the Cheshire Cat. "I know why you're here and the answer is still 'no'. You go back and tell Harris he can go rot. The land's mine and mine it'll stay and 'til Hell freezes over. You tell him." The smile faded into an intense glare.

"You'll sell if you know what's good for ya. It's a fair price and you can get yourself another hundred acres somewhere else."

"I don't want another hundred acres. I want this hundred acres and I ain't letting it go. Hear?"

One of the riders said, "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way."

The man's hand went to his rifle, but before he could even bring it to bear. Hank had his pistol out and pointed at the man. The motion was so quick that none of the riders could respond in time.

"You might want to rethink that, mister. The 'hard way' might turn out to be hard for you. Not me. Turn your nags around go back the way you came. You tell Harris what I said and if I see you again, there will be blood. If I were a betting man, I'd have to lay my money on the blood being yours. Now get."

"You'll regret this, Barrow. Harris always gets what he wants and he wants your land." Vance wheeled his horse around and called over his shoulder, "Watch your back, Barrow."

The men rode towards the trees and Barrow continued to follow them with the barrel of his gun. He maintained his vigilance even until the riders were completely out of sight. Harris. He was sick to death of that man. Barrow could not go anywhere without being accosted by Harris or his hired thugs. Barrow knew the railroad was set to go through his property but it would just have to go around. He would not give up one square foot of his land.

Somewhere in his own mind, Barrow knew that the conflict with Harris would escalate before the end. He had better be prepared, and he would be. Harris was a coward and would not come out on his own. He would bring in outsiders, especially after the way he made Harris' best three men look like green-eared schoolboys. Harris would be in a right state. Barrow was sure that those boys would get their just desserts when Harris found out what had happened. Even now, he could imagine all of the yelling and screaming and threatening of lives. Harris was pretty loud for a coward-all bluster and pomp-very little actual substance. He was a man that could only cow other cowards. Strong men just laugh at him but unfortunately, the town of Little Water was full of the weak willed.

The sounds had returned to the woods and Barrow wiped the sweat off of his brow before holstering his pistol. He snapped the reins and the horses stamped in eagerness and began to pull. The plow moved slowly at first until the horses had reached their preferred pace. The blades of the plow tore through the earth. Barrow needed to hurry if he was going to get the seed in the ground before the first frost. This business with Harris was a constant nuisance and slowed down his work. He would not let go of his new life.