Hearts of the West

The dusty main street of Rio Blanco, New Mexico was as quiet and unhurried, as it was any other lazy summer afternoon.  Then, in a moment, the calm was shattered by an eruption of sound as shocking and unexpected as cannonfire on a sleepy Sunday morning.

Inside his livery, Sam Taylor stood grooming one of the horses in his care.  His hand stilled mid-stroke and his head turned toward the sudden outcry.  Ever mindful of the increased activities of renegade Indians along the borders of New Mexico and Colorado, Taylor dropped currycomb and brush to pick up the shotgun kept close to hand before stepping to the big double doors open to access the street. Taylor stood in the livery’s entrance, looking up the street, trying to comprehend the scene playing out before him.

A screaming melee of townspeople was stirring the dust in the street into a gritty fog, causing it to roil through the air.  The number of women included in the mob shocked Taylor, and as he watched, more people joined in.  The mob’s attention seemed to center in its midst just out of his line of sight.

As Sam squinted to see through the churning sea of gingham skirts and denim-clad legs, the crowd briefly parted and the object of their anger came into view for just a moment.  His eyes widened and a low incredulous whistle escaped his lips.

The girl smiled her thanks and nodded.  Sam handed her some bridles and other tack for the mule.

“Come on, then, let’s get the animals ready and this stuff loaded.  We don’t know how much time we have.”  She watched Sam bridle the sorrel and hurried to the mule to follow his instructions.

Both horses were saddled and Sam was tying down the last rope on the pack mule when he heard loud angry voices in the street for the second time that day.  The big doors of the livery resounded with thuds from the rocks and bottles that were thrown against them.  Screaming threats and insults rose in fevered pitch until suddenly, one of the raised voices separated from the cacophony of sounds to ring out clearly.

“You!  Inside the barn, there!  You hear me, Taylor?  We know you’re in there with that Indian whore!  We want her out here now!  You bring her out of there, Taylor, or you’ll be sorry you didn’t!”

Merrista tensed at the ugly, threatening hatred in the raised voice, her skin burning at the obscene insults.  The things he was screaming shamed her even though she knew he was lying.

“I know that one!” she cried, turning to Sam with eyes wide in recognition.  “Him with bad mans from rancho!  They say him Cole-man.”

Sam nodded,  “I thought I recognized him, too.  He is a bad one, Travis’ foreman.  We’ve had words over how he treats his horses.  I should have guessed he’d treat people no better.”   Just at that moment, Sam smelled the pungent odor of kerosene strong in the air.

“Quick! Get mounted!  They’re planning to burn us out!”

As she sped to the bay he’d picked out for her, saddled and waiting with the two other beasts growing increasingly more restless with the volatile atmosphere, Sam raced from stall to stall, releasing the several horses stabled inside. He herded them to the big doors in front of the saddled horses and mule.

Lanterns thrown against the wooden building crashed with the impact and Sam knew they didn’t have much time to escape. He dropped the heavy bars to one side, freeing the entrance.

“Crouch low in the saddle and be ready to take off when I tell you!”  Sam mounted his own horse and bent over its neck to show her what he meant.  The girl nodded that she understood and copied his action.  Just then, the flames set by the crazed mob outside began to crackle around the livery doors.