A First Trip Home

Part 3

The stallion's cinnamon coat shines. His carpet of golden hair is ruffled by the light breeze whispering through the ranch. My bones rattle as I gaze at it, tilting its head towards the orange horizon: what if I upset it, or lose my balance, or fall off? Yet, as the bridle seeps into my vision, the process becomes natural, effortless. I place my tattered boot in the foothold, clasping the horse's reins as I climb over the saddle.
"You good there?" Mother calls from behind me.

"I'm... wonderful."

I mimic the members of their gang as they tug the reins and scream, "Gitty-up!"

Buttercup trots across the open fields. I wrap my arms around her velvety neck. My heart pounds against my chest; the breeze blows through my wavy hair. A smile flickers across my face as I gaze at the crimson sky. I feel... alive! It's as if I've drifted into a western epic.

I swerve towards Father.

"So... what's life like in Silverdune?"

" 'Ts normal. We herd cattle, work on the ranch, look after the stables... nothing much."

"'Nothing much'?! What about shootin' practice and combat, huh?" a man with black locks and a beard drones from beside us. "I'm Roger, by the way," he nods at me.

I grin back at him. "Shooting practice? That definitely sounds more interesting than grinding corn all day," I scoff.

"Ooh, that sounds mighty bland. Why don't you join us sometime?" another member - Leslie - chimes in.

"Really?" I whisper, half to myself. My skin prickles. My eyes dart around the chuckling men and women, the horses, the running fields; something I've never felt before - a sense of belonging - courses through my veins. I barely notice when Father's dagger-like glare scares the others away.

He sighs through his nose and looks into my eyes. "Sweetie, it ain't safe for you here. Cliven Starr's gang. They threaten our people with their bombs and rifles and steal from us: jewelry, grains, you name it. With the-"

"Curly's gone!" a shriek ripples through the still air as a man sprints toward us, waving his arms about. Mother and Father share a look of concern once more, making my stomach flip.

"Listen, Olivia," Mother trills. "We gotta go now. You stay here-"

I clench my jaw. "But I want to help-"

"It's dangerous for you!" Father bellows. "Don't. Move. An. Inch."

They both gallop away, the other members in close pursuit.
My entire body trembles.
'Why can't they just trust me?' Heat rushes down my spine.
A hurricane of thoughts, questions, wishes burns in my chest. But all I can manage to release is 'Gitty-up!' as I pull Buttercup's reins as hard as I can.

My cheeks feel moist as we tear through the rows of carrots, nearing the forest. A deep impression in the mud catches my attention. I slow Buttercup to a jog and examine the mark. An enormous hoofprint. Rasps float towards us from the wood. My eyes flit towards the thorny tendrils blanketed by the shadows, creeping up the trees, swallowing everything around them. Webbed branches block the last rays of the Sun. Buttercup shakes her mane and nickers but I lead her further inside.

The silhouettes of men seep into my vision as we approach a clearing.

The dead leaves crunch under Buttercup's hooves.
"Eh, who was that?" a growl echoes in the darkness: Cliven Starr. I slip off Buttercup and drag her behind a bush with me.

Through the holes between the leaves, I watch a man struggle against the thick ropes binding him to a trunk. His sombrero falls off.
"Ben," I murmur, a chill running down my spine.

"Who's gonna save you now, Benny boy? Guess it'll just be another 'disappearance' " Cliven cackles, fiddling with his handlebar mustache. He spins on his heels and pulls out a revolver. I shut my eyes as a gunshot pierces the air. My heart in my throat, I hop onto Buttercup and bound towards the village.