The summer storm rumbled across the open prairie, its blue-gray clouds
giving
a gloomy cast to the wide landscape. The gusting winds rustled the
thick
leaves of the trees which sporadically dotted the scene and stood in
forlorn
clumps at the foot of the towering mountains. The rain had just
started, a
heavy soaking downpour which swept down from the sky in a thick curtain;
in
the distance came the faint echo of thunder, its deep-throated growl
echoing
along the deserted valley. Mingled with the monotonous drumming of rain
on
the dusty leaves was the plodding sound of a lone horseman riding slowly
along
the muddy road, undeterred by the thunder and rain. It was the reason
he had
come out here.
Vin lifted his head and surveyed his surroundings, not minding the
rain
which was soaking his hair, his face, his clothes. He blinked the water
away
from his eyes, the droplets falling from his long eyelashes like tiny,
clear
pearls. He reined in his horse and leaned forward, crossing his hands
over
the saddle horn as his eyes scanned the valley before him, noting every
gentle
hill and shining rock. It was wild, beautiful country, the sort of land
which
could be a man's salvation or his damnation. Vin took a deep breath of
the
cool, moist air and felt a familiar thrill run through him; for the
tracker
and former bounty hunter, this was home.
He had missed it, he mused as he gently spurred Sire on; for the past
few
months, he and the other six men who protected the small town of Four
Corners
had been almost constantly on the run. This summer had been hot and
bloody,
with every bank robber, drunk, horse thief and outlaw in the territory
coming
to stir up trouble. Vin had never minded this sort of work-he was used
enough
to it as a buffalo hunter and bounty hunter, and knew what the job
entailed-
but the relentless barrage of bullets and death had finally driven him
to seek
some time away, to the only refuge he knew of. Chris, the group's
leader who
knew something of how the world could weigh a man down, had not argued
with
Vin's departure. His only request was that he eventually come back.
The storm intensified, the sky growing darker; the thunder changed
from
distant rumbles to sharp cracks as it moved closer. Vin found himself
on a
small rise overlooking the landscape; he turned Sire slightly and drank
in the
furious scene, watching as the rain slashed down, forming small rivers
in the
saturated grass. The gentle patter of the raindrops had become deeper
and
more insistent as the downpour intensified, sweeping over all with its
undeniable power.
Vin sat calmly, observing the thoughtless violence wrought by the
driving
winds and slashing rain; in the distance he heard a muffled, crackling
roar,
then a sodden crash-the winds had brought down a mighty tree, somewhere
in the
mist-wreathed forest. Dark scenes flashed through his mind, pain and
blood,
sometimes his own, sometimes his friends', more often the scarlet-soaked
demise of men whose names they never learned, gasping out their last
breaths
in a hail of gunfire, all for a few stolen cattle, or a bagful of money,
or a
cross-eyed look from a stranger. All, it seemed, for nothing.
Vin shook his head; he had come here to seek solace from the dangerous
path
he and the others trod, not relive it. Yet it was hard not to see, in
the
lightning which struck down young saplings and the mindless rains that
washed
out the burrows and dens of the innocent creatures who had called them
home,
some small reflection of the cruelties and destruction wrought on
civilization
by so-called civilized men. It seemed ironic to Vin that man, the
pinnacle of
nature's creation, was also the destroyer of it.
He stared into the driving rain, his mind dwelling on the countless
things
he had witnessed over the course of his long, short life. He had seen
enough
of the nature of man to convince him that nothing more could ever shock
him
again. He had seen blood spilled, and pain dealt, and done enough of
both of
these things himself, until he could almost believe that the reason he
so
often sought escape from the company of other people was that he no
longer
felt a part of them, if indeed he ever did. He did not want to believe
his
heart had hardened, but he knew it had; if it hadn't, he'd be dead by
now,
another small casualty in man's war on himself. A man could not hunt
other
men without steeling himself against the forthcoming agony of his prey.
But, he mused as he watched the rain, there had always been at least a
small
part of him that resisted this process, a tiny strand which still linked
him,
however tenuously, to humanity. There were times when he had been
convinced
that he would be on his own forever, and like it; that his dangerous,
solitary
life left no room for perilous things such as sentiment or friendship.
But this had changed now; he had joined himself to a group and a
cause,
allowed his small circle to widen a bit. He had convinced himself that
there
was no justice, yet here he was, fighting in the name of it; so
somewhere in
him, buried where he couldn't get at it, a part of him must have still
believed that justice was possible. He had just never known it until
now, and
he found the revelation both a relief and a puzzle. But it felt right,
in a
way his life hadn't for a long time.
The storm began to ease, the throbbing tempo of the rain lessening to
a
softer beat. Vin saw the small streams rushing over the prairie grass,
small
bits of dirt and leaves floating their short-lived currents as they were
borne
away. The storm was washing away its own debris, cleansing the ravaged
fields
of its bad memory. Vin watched thoughtfully as the rain refreshed the
landscape, leaving it as glistening and pristine as if it were the first
day
of Creation.
The rain was falling gently now; he took off his dripping hat and
turned his
face to the sky, closing his eyes as the warm drops rolled down his
cheeks and
nose and chin. He could feel it wash away the dust of the town, the
staleness
of civilization; its touch was pure, its power now healing rather than
destructive. He relaxed, letting the soothing flow of water cleanse his
battle-weary mind as it washed over him. Perfectly still, he was aware
only
of the cooling water and the sounds of nature around him. For a moment
his
world of guns and blood disappeared; there was no place but this place,
no
feeling but this feeling.
Vin felt the drops slacken off to a mere sprinkle; he blinked opened
his
eyes as if emerging from a trance to see that the clouds were beginning
to
part. A golden glow had replaced the darkness, lighting the heavens and
the
earth in an eerie brilliance as the sun fought to clear the thinning
clouds.
Shafts of sunshine poked through, sparkling off of the soaked meadows
and
overflowing brooks. The winds had all but died, and Vin could hear the
water
trickling from the leaves as they stirred in the soft summer breeze.
He leaned back and sighed as he shook out his hair, running one hand
through
its damp, tangled curls. It was hard to believe that such a scene of
quiet
beauty could be the end result of such violence; it had seemed that the
world
was about to end, but it had been reborn instead. Vin's gut tightened
a
little as he wondered if such peace would ever be possible for himself
and his
friends, once the storms they were riding through were over. He smiled
a
little at the thought; a question for the former preacher Josiah, he
supposed.
There was no way Vin could guess the answer-he could only try to hope
that
they would all live long enough to find out.
In the far distance there sounded the faint roll of thunder; the storm
was
continuing somewhere else, having merely moved on rather than ended.
Vin
sighed and gathered up his reins; about time to head back, he figured,
there
was probably some new trouble that needed fixing. He brushed the water
from
his hat and pulled it low over his brow, feeling somewhat renewed
himself.
He cast a final look at the shimmering valley, now bathed in the
dazzling
sunlight; a slight mist was rising. the vapor dyed gold in the warming
rays.
In the dark blue distance he could see a rainbow glowing in the sunlit
rain,
its luminous colors battling bravely against the looming storm clouds
behind
it. Had Vin been of a philosophical or scientific mind, he might have
noticed
that the shimmering band was composed of seven colors, all blending into
each
other, losing none of their own brilliance in the sharing of their
strength.
Vin, however, was not prone to such musings; he simply gazed at the
scene
for a moment, marveled at its simple beauty, then turned Sire around and
began
the ride back to town.
The End
