Protection

Chapter 1

“Oh, I see. I thought it looked strange to see a horse brushing out another horse,” Colt threw back at her, walking toward her.

“That’s low, Kidd,” Bliss said with a good-natured grin. “Good morning to you, too.”

Colt yawned. “Wish the sun would sleep in a time or two.”

“I don’t think the sun cares whether or not you want to work or not.”

Colt shook his head, obviously too sleepy to carry on with the banter.

Bliss slung her saddle over her horse’s back and tightened the cinch.

“Where are you gonna ride this morning?” Colt asked, leaning against the wall on the other side of the horse.

“Where I always do,” Bliss said quietly.

Colt had always been good to look at, even when they were children. He had black hair that curled out at the ends just beneath his brown hat, stately blue eyes framed in unusually thick lashes, a squared jaw, and one dimple on the right side of his face.

He had been like a brother to her when they were growing up, sticking by her through her mother’s untimely death and keeping her out of trouble through her rebellious years.

Finishing the job of saddling Butterfly Kisses, Bliss began to lead the horse outside.

“Be careful, Bliss,” Colt said.

“You still keepin’ our secret?” Bliss asked.

Colt nodded.

“Good.” Bliss gave a determined nod of her head and mounted her horse before riding off, leaving Colt behind her.

*****

Bang!

One shot. One shot to kill a reign of evil and mercilessness.

That shot came from the gun of no other than Clint Slade. His thirst for justice in a lawless land had stopped yet another murderous outlaw in his tracks. The outlaw Cheyenne Charlie fell to his knees, clutching his heart with pure agony in his eyes. He was no doubt reliving his pointless and malevolent life of stealing from other people both their lives and hard-earned money. A life that Clint Slade had put to an end. People began flooding the streets again as the feared Cheyenne Charlie fell face-first to the ground and dust rose and fell from the impact. All of the town’s residents cheered and chanted Clint Slade’s name. Our conquering hero said nothing, but simply walked back to his horse, mounted, and prepared to ride away. He stopped by Cheyenne Charlie’s body.

“The pain you inflicted on innocent people ended with the last breath you took,” he said. “May the Lord grant you more mercy than I could ever afford to give you when you meet Him.”

With that as his final words, he rode west out of town, the setting sun silhouetting his heroic figure. He was off to find another adventure, another outlaw who needed put in his rightful place, and another innocent person who needed saving.

Clint groaned and slammed the dime novel closed. The way these writers portrayed his life was absolutely ridiculous. He felt more like a clown in a circus act than a hero like they made him out to be. He had certainly never killed anyone by the name of “Cheyenne Charlie”, nor had he uttered such a cheesy line before he rode out of town. He most definitely never rode into the sunset. When he rode out was nearly shortly after noon or at first light in the morning. On the rare occasion that he did finish a job at sunset, there was no point in riding out because it would be dark in a matter of half an hour anyway and that amount of riding was just enough to make a man mad. No, he would rather sleep in a comfy hotel for one more night than sleep out in the weather.

Placing the novel beside him on the train seat, he watched as the scenery passed him by. He had been to nearly every state in the Union on jobs, and none of them had suited his fancy more than the other. He was a drifter before he even took up a gun, and he intended on staying that way until he died. Putting down roots was for someone who actually liked being around people, who had a family, or who wanted to live a simple life. Clint wanted none of those things.

“Hey, Ma! Look who it is!” Clint heard a boy’s voice say. “It’s Clint Slade!”

The entire train car turned to look at him as if they hadn’t seen him when they boarded. One man pulled his pretty little wife closer to him and Clint smirked at the man. Why was it that all people believed that he loved women and lived to hurt them? He’d never had a woman in his life! The last dime novel he had just read and felt like burning was the first one who didn’t have a woman in it who was completely enamored by his existence. It was disgusting that some of the writers back east had an imagination like that.

Clint forgot about the people staring at him and looked back at the window. This was how it was supposed to be. He didn’t care about people, and they weren’t interested in being within fifty paces of him. So he just leaned back, pulled his hat over his eyes, and enjoyed the fact that no one had the courage to sit in the train seat across from him.

*****

Bliss pulled her horse to a stop and dismounted, her feet landing in front of a wooden cross.

“Hey, Momma,” she said as she sat down beside the old grave, clutching the reins to her horse.

Her mother was buried under the intimidating yet mighty height of Bliss’ favorite mesa, one that the locals to the area called “Almighty”. One day, Bliss was going to climb that mesa. She had dreamed about seeing the world from the top of it since she was a little girl. She even had a stake that she had kept since she was young that had the words “Bliss was here” whittled into it.

She was used to sitting beside her mother in the silence, content to just let the silence fill the air. After all, the silence was there first.

Her mother had been gone ten years last month. No one knew what had possessed her to climb up to the top of Almighty and take her own life. That was one reason why she wanted to get to the top of that mesa and hopefully find some clue as to why her mother had killed herself.

It had been so unlike Momma to be so irrational. As a ten year old child, Bliss had blamed herself for driving her mother crazy, but looking back now, she knew that Momma’s reasons ran deeper.

Now Bliss would give anything to know what happened on the top of that mesa. Her mother was always very active, but none of them knew she had the agility to climb all the way to the top of Almighty. Bliss had walked all the way around the mesa al least a dozen times and had never seen a way that she could have used to get to the top. They hadn’t found a rope or anything lying around. Bliss could only hope that the answers to her questions rested on the top of Almighty.