eyes for a few seconds… No words necessary… and then the Cowboy, stomped out of the Bank.
Back in the sunlight on the sidewalk he cursed all the “God Damn busy bodies won’t leave a man be!” and strode across the street, back to his worn out old truck, parked in front of the NAPA store.
The bowlegged cowboy climbed onto the seat, put his hands on the wheel and just stared through the windshield. The face of Ellen, his wife, floated across the glass, her hand extended to him…
He clamped his eyes shut, trying to shut out the vision… close out the pain… and all that did was open up the space for the sounds of screaming, dying men. The Cowboys head sagged, his forehead pressing against the steering wheel… a low moan, almost a sob, escaping his chest… “God please… please… “he softly pleaded… until the darkness faded from his eyes… his heart stopped pounding in his chest… and the pain receded… until the next time.
Ben sat there, in his truck, leaning on the steering wheel for several more minutes, allowing calm to return… then slowly, he pushed up straight, taking a deep breath and looking around to see if any of the local busybodies had observed his… spell… knowing if they had, the word would run from one end of the town to the other before he was half way back to his ranch. “God Damn townies… Didn’t they have anything better to do than ride his ass?”
The truck started, one more time in a cloud of blue smoke. “Shit! Forgot the damn treatment.” He cursed. Leaving the engine running, he climbed back out, retrieved the can of “Engine Restorer” from the bed and raised the hood to pour the goo into the smoking motor. It only took a few seconds to empty the small can. With a toss he flipped the now empty can into the bed, climbed back into the cab and proceeded to smoke and rattle out of town… heading back to the peace and respite of his ranch.
He may have been well liked in Columbus, but right then, he was in no mood for sociable doin’s of most any kind. Deep within lived a beast he hadn’t tamed. It had been caged for many years, but never domesticated. The loss of Ellen, the love of his life, threatened to release that raging creature. It had been her all these years, that had kept it under control… She had been the one with the key… and now she was gone… now, his anchor was gone, and he was lost, adrift.
Ben watched out the rear view mirror as he rolled down the highway. He held it at the legal speed limit, yet probably a few faster than that old heap would endure for long. He wasn’t absolutely sure, but he believed the volume of smoke was already reduced… He hoped it would help… If he could just buy a little more time… If he could just catch a break… get a bit of a breather. All he needed was a bit of time to catch up, to catch his balance.
“God Damn it! You Red Headed son-of-a-bitch!" he screamed at the Devil; "Stand me to my face! Always sneakin’ around behind a man's back screwin’ with things! You yellow hearted son-of-a-bitch!”
On occasion, his anger and frustration spilled over and somebody would overhear his howling at the devil. Combined with his drinking, it wasn’t doing any favors for his reputation. With folks in the region fairly familiar with his history, they were juuuust a mite concerned if he went on a binge in town. As long as he contained his self abuse to the wild country surrounding his cabin, they felt it really wasn’t their place to interfere, and after all, wasn’t he due a little consideration? But in town… well, that was a different matter.
Luckily this latest outburst, complete with pounding on the steering wheel as he rolled down the state highway toward his mountain ranch, went unseen by anyone other than a hitch hiking drifter, who lowered his thumb as the screaming, pounding cowboy rolled by in the ancient, smoking, green Ford pickup.
One of the pints of Old Crow never made it back to the ranch. The