ᎢᎻᎬ ᎠᎡᏆᏙᎬ

Memories (UNEDITED)

    When my brothers were still around, they were probably the most known hunters in Pueblo. I never thought of it, but that's probably what boosted their decision to go to Mississippi and meet Pa's parents and hold up that side of the family's business.

    They were still teenagers when they left, Henry being 17 and Thomas being 15. I was 9, and MaryAnne was 12.

    That was when Pa died. If my brothers' reputations didn't push them to move, Pa's death did.

    I never really knew the how, when, where, and why he died, I just remember Bullnose bursting into the town, eyes widened as big as saucers, nostrils flared—he looked absolutely crazed and terrified.

    We buried an empty casket about a month later. Sheriff Cecil Adams said—after weeks of investigating—that it was the Comanches. Said they took him during a cattle drive and killed him.

    I wouldn't have believed him if he hadn't brought back his clothes covered in blood with plenty of rips and tears, indicating a resistance.

    We all cried that day, for what seemed like hours, and it didn't even stop there. I still cry to this day thinking about him. I don't know what my brothers feel when they think of him, if they do. They'd have to, being surrounded by our father's past and family.

    When Henry and Thomas were still around, we were all friends. When they were still around, we all played and got along. When they were still around, we were all a family.

    I got off better with Henry, I think. He was my second best friend, next to my dad. I don't know if it's just because we looked alike—exactly alike—, or if it was because we liked the same things. Henry wasn't as into hunting as Thomas was, but he was so good at it. He was more into wrangling when Pa was still around.

    I remember me, him, and Pa would all go out and practice roping calves and training the horses cutting. Those were the days that I remember the best.

    Now, I'm sitting here on my bed with only memories. I've lost my brothers and my father. All I have left is memories.

    I stood up from my, might I add, very comfortable position on my sleeping place, and got ready to go see Jack. I made sure to grab Pa's old pocket watch to take with me.

My mother and sister were already working at the apothecary with grandma, so I exited the house without saying one goodbye.

As I took my first step on the porch, I inhaled every bit of warm Saturday air i could. The smells of sweet honeysuckle, cow and horse manure, and burning logs from the blacksmith flooded every gland in my mouth and nose. These are the things I live for, fresh, open summer mornings.

I basked in the essence a little longer, then continued onward to Jackie's house.

Before I went, I grabbed Hawk, of course. Why walk all the way if you have a horse to do it for you, am I right?

Jack's house was down the road from mine, closer to town. My house was the last one out before you hit open traveling road. His house was definitely bigger than mine, with and attic for his room and his siblings had separate rooms. There are a total of four rooms in his house, along with a kitchen and sitting/dining area. It was a pretty house, with decorations in all the right places, along with a few mounts. To specify its exterior, it was a log cabin like mine, with his family's brand on a sign outside.

Jack's barn was smaller though, for he didn't have many horses. They use to, but after Pa died no one really held cattle drives, therefor no one really needed very many horses. He still had around four though—three paint mares, two of brown and white, one of buckskin and white, and a bay stallion.