This is really not a chapter. It is just an excerpt from my story, Until the Bunchgrass Grows Stirrup High, included in the 2009 WOW (Wizards of Words) anthology. I have posted this elsewhere so some of you may have already read this piece. For all others, please enjoy.
Matt Mason watched the dust devil
twisting an angry path across the arid ground before him. It surprised him to see the dry earth kicked
up at that early hour. The sun was still
an hour behind the high mountain to Matt’s rear and he was in the saddle starting
a new day. This day, like so many
before, found Matt riding away from trouble and likely toward new trouble. He hoped not.
Matt Mason had seen his share of killing and all he wanted was some
peace; maybe a place where he could raise a garden and run a few horses. Still, trouble had an uncanny way of
following close behind and eventually finding Matt. Looking at that dust devil dissipate into the
ground it came from caused Matt to give thought to his current situation. Nobody knew him in these parts and he saw no
reason to promote his unwanted reputation.
He would ride into the next town and inquire discreetly if anyone had
heard of Matt Mason.
Looking
down the draw, Matt made his first mistake of the day. Seeing the homestead tucked in against the
trees on the plateau, he made an impromptu decision to ride that way. He hoped for a drink and maybe a meal.
The
bullet whipped by his face close enough to feel the sucking of wind against his
cheek. Matt wasted no time leaving his
saddle, drawing his six-gun in the same motion.
Strange, Matt considered the warning bullet, but he held his fire. He did, nonetheless, keep his pistol ready.
“Who
are you and what do you want?” the voice was feminine.
Matt suspected it was someone simply protecting
their property. “I mean no harm,
ma’am. I saw your cabin and hoped for a
drink and maybe a plate of food.”
Matt
noticed this woman was weary and did not show herself. It was obvious trouble had come to her door
in the recent past. Something had Matt’s
hostess on edge. He had to convince her
he was not a threat. Holstering his gun
he came out from behind his horse and walked toward the cabin. Matt had a knack for reading people, even
those he couldn’t see. The woman would
not shoot again, he hoped. When he
thought back he realized she could have easily dropped him from his
saddle. He had foolishly ridden straight
up the draw making no effort to conceal his approach. Given his history it was strange that he had
done so. But Matt Mason had always been
good at reading layouts and situations.
This time he did not see hell as he walked directly into it.
Charlie