The stranger rode up
as we sat round the fire
it was burning down low
and we were beginning to tire

He tied off his ride
By some brush by a boulder
He was just a young lad
Though in the dark he looked older

We offered him coffee
said sit down, have a cup
We said if you're hungry
There's still food to sup

He accepted and thanked us
Said he'd got lost on the trail
With the north winter winds
Bringing on early hail

He pulled up a stump
I saw a slight flash of tin
I said "you're a lawman"
he just gave a grin

I'm from up in Kansas
was back to my home
Had to visit my mama
she's all on her own

I poured him a coffee
And I told him what's what
I said it isn't the best
But, it's sure as heck hot

I smiled at his lie
And I stoked at the fire
I thought to myself
This man's a liar

I said "in this here circle"
"we may not all be friends"
"so, toss a log on this fire"
"and we'll hear how this ends"

He reached for a log
placed it in, didn't throw
didn't reach for the poker
moved it round with his toe

"The rules of the fire"
"Is that the tender regales"
"The rest of the members"
"with a song or some tales'

"since you just got here"
"and the fire is hot"
"tell us a story"
"give the best that you've got"

He shuffled a little
Took a sip, and began
And it just took a minute
To hook us all, every man

He talked of the rustlers
He'd been chasing around
How they got in a shoot out
How, they'd all gone to ground

He lived life a plenty
For a man of his age
He was just twenty three
But, he spoke out like a sage

He'd regaled us with stories
As the fire burned low
We were all getting tired
But, we did not want to go

He pushed at the embers
Again with his boot
He finished his coffee
And he lit a cheroot

For two hours he talked
Since the fire rules said
that the fire was his
Till we chose to all bed

When we woke in the morning
We found he took flight
He left our small fire
In the dead of the night

The fire was burning
And there was a fresh *** of brew
But the stranger was missing
And our saddle bags too

I was right when I reckoned
That he was telling us lies
I could tell from the way
He didn't look in our eyes

The boots didn't fit
He was just stretching them out
By heating them up in the fire
and moving about

He sure was no lawman
He was a teller of tales
Truths , half truths and lies
He had them by the pail

We packed up our camp
Tried to pick up the trail
Of this campfire thief
With the devilish tail

We knew we'd find him
For liars repeat
He'd come back to our fire
And we'd give him a seat....

His name is Louksur; He is the chief of Lodwar,
His chiefdom is in Africa, in the state of Kenya,
In the savannah belt of Turkana, in Lodwar
He is the rich of the richest in Africa,
His house is full of food and wealth,
Wealth and fortune flow into his house,
The way waters of river Turkwell flow
Into the glorious lake of Turkana.

He has a matchlessly beautiful wife,
He bought her as a slave from the Jews of Ethiopia,
He unlike other African chiefs has only one wife,
He loves her with entirety of his heart,
All he has belongs to her and no question,
He is an uxory who is timorously uxorious
And the love for his wife suffers no pinch of temerary.

His son has a big wedge shaped head, he looks as none,
In his line of ancestors, and foremen of the Turkanai,
As they mostly have ball rounded head and small eyes,
Their eyes are small, an adaptation to ward off desert flies,
No forgetting the flying sand that can pinch those with wide eyeballs,
When the Turkanai elders queried the origin of enigmatic shape,
That reigns the wedge shaped head of the prince, son of Louksur,
Chief talked it away with wisdom of those who are in love,
That the head of my son his only uxorial, it is genetics of the mother,
My dear wife Adome, to whom I will give my scepter of power.

Chief Louksur’s love for his wife went higher as he aged,
As in the same tandem, beauty of his wife Adome, peaked,
The chief loved her that he resolved not to have any ***,
With Adome from then henceforth, lest she becomes *****,
Chief mused and resolved within himself against *** with Adome,
As ***** of his testicles along with sweat would only vilify Adome,
Adome began wondering why her famed beauty is not sexually provoking her husband,
She thought chief Louksur is using his powers to play *** with other women in the bush
She began hating a husband who suffers from uxoriosness, better a sexually active brute.

One time in the wee of the night, Adome told chief Louksur that she feels like *******,
Chief offered to give her security, but she declined,
she said she was more safe when left  alone,
As it was not a month for Pokots or Merile cattle rustlers, moreover, there was a full moon
She went out into the night alone, leaving the chief in the inner chamber, in blankets,
She did not **** anywhere; neither was she feeling like to ****
It was only a stunt to make her come out for a treat of love,
With Sialo, the manservant from Bukusuland, who sleeps alone in the shack,
At the far end of the compound in the chief’s homestead,
She knocked once and Sialo opened the  wickwork of reeds
forming a  shutter of the door to the servant's ,
She whispered to him ; I have come as we talked, he welcomed her
With a warm, silent and electrified volley of affectionate kisses,
She almost fainted, due to intense compassion from the servant,
They undressed and did it twice, to her maximum satisfaction,
She even laxed to go back to the inner chamber, where chief was,
Instead began fondling and fidgeting playfully with Sialo's ***** *****,
She had never seen a circumcised *****, forget of a gelded Carmel,
She had only been zero-grassed to chief’s uncircumcised ****,
She married the chief when she was a ****** of fourteen years,
Sialo’s ***** was miraculously stiff and rigid, sharp like a beckon,
In its tremendous position of guest for more work love,
Adome was pressing it aside on the thigh of Sialo, it slipped back,
Often to go back to its ***** position, she screamed and giggled,
On each stroke of her experiment, she flitted as she screamed,
Sialo lying on his back, enjoying soft touch of Adome,
As chief was peeping through the hole in wick-work of the door,
At the moonlighted experiments of Adome with Sialo’s *****,
He had his rusty gun on his shoulders, as he peeped with angst,
He resolved not to lose Adome to the servant
He better lose her to death, but not the servant,
And that’s how chief became an uxoricide.

Once his kind were ubiquitous; Men and their ponies herding live beef
from the prairies of Kansas and Texas to the slaughterhouses North East
It was a hard life, but good, nights out under the stars; amusing themselves with a song.
There was beans and good coffee shared at the fire; The prairie wind blew sweet and long.
Then the trains came and life wasn’t the same and the cowboys all faded away.
Old Tex was the last of that vanishing breed; He’d tell me tall tales of those days
when he and his crew battled rustlers and snakes to see the herd safe to their doom.
His skin was like leather from the wind and the sun; his big hands arthritic and gnarled.
A roll your own cigarette drooped from his lips and his speech sounded more like a snarl.
Tex passed on last night, a blessing they say, to die in his sleep with no pain.
No churchyard for Tex, he will rest ‘neath the sod just out beyond the old grange
He was the last of a vanishing breed; a man to his quarter horse wed.
The land that he loved will keep changing above, but the wind and the stars never change.

Being a weekend binge drinker I don’t really like Mondays
my poor fragile mind is in a alcohol daze,
my limbs are slow and heavy, each movement is a trial
I feel like I’ve ran a marathon after swimming the length of The Nile,
I lop around all zombiefied my legs are full of lead
my eyes are groaning loudly, like an extra from The Walking Dead,
I’m on the verge of snoozing, I do that sleepy involuntary ****,
I pinch myself real hard “Si you have to stay awake in work!”.
So I take a trip to the disabled toilet and have a nap on the ceramic floor,
hoping I’ll feel much better after this tad of a tiny snore,
I rouse after ten minutes and decide to control this ***** ridden strife,
I must get a grip soon, I want a grasp on this Monday life,
a light bulb pings out of nowhere to brighten my maudlin mood,
this sweet recovery will be engendered by lots scrumptious of food,
so I indulge in a savoury overload and gorge on toast and crisps;
Discos, Hula Hoops, Quavers and defo tons of Frisps,
on my dinner I scoff a Mac Donalds and then a Greg’s sausage roll,
this hungry Homer gluttony helps to sustain my whole,
the calorific sustenance does it’s job and my hangover starts to diminish,
I gaze at the computer’s clock and think “hey it’s time I finished!”.
I ponder “ohh I can glide home knowing my day is done
and if it stays sweet and bright I can enjoy a few hours in the sun,
after that I can watch Breaking Bad and catch up with Coronation Street
while busting out the texts and having more to eat,
yeah I’m see what Walter White’s up to while being really greedy,
wait a ******* minute, tonight’s when I’ve said I’d help the needy!
*******, **** **** **** ****, that’s my evening of chilling down the spout,
rather than a hammock night in I’ve got to venture out
and feed a load of ungrateful gits who don’t even clear their plates
and ask me if I’m a cross dresser while sniggering with their mates,
rather then see if Jesse gets caught by Hank and how the story unfolds
I’ll have to scrub those scrubbers dishes pristine while wearing marigolds,
as oppose to nodding off reading with a Rustlers under my front room lamp
I’ll have to put a load of cutlery away after making a 20 sugar brew for a *****!"
So I decide the Wellspring is off tonight as I really can’t be assed going
I’ll just graft extra hard for *** next week and keep the drinks a flowing,
so I’m just about to pick my phone up and call in with a excuse that’s pretty lamey
but then I realise if I don’t go I won’t get to see Amy!
Suddenly there is a spring in my step, my motion feels on point
I shower very quickly and post drying roll a joint,
I have a zip in my posture as I sail and blaze down the road
all my thoughts of staying in they instantly erode,
I think “Amy is ace and topper, in her company all is fun
she’d make a day of gloom resplendent with the sun,
her chirping silly noises are always brill in the air
she turns my giggles to def com one, I laugh without a care,
I mean I know I'm hilarious, I can feel my own strengths in my head and tummy
but when I'm with Amy I'm even more funny!  
She makes it all sunny!
Cos we can berate that gormless Declan who eats with the speed of a cheetah
say he's troffing all the time, like a professional eater,
we can spray a bit of water, have a lot of chat
teleport through nonsense with the free degree of claptrap,
chill around the washer where all the cool kids hang
kicking back like Gs, knowing all the slang,
flick a fleck of sausage then have a speaking swirl
flex the talking muscles with sweet balletic twirl.
I mean she's not perfect, she could improve her lot
she's pretty immodest, always going on about how she's so hot,
alright supermodel, calm down, yeah, okay you were blessed with good looks
be you know being arrogant really ******* *****.
And she don't like the ***** cats, her brain must have a feline blur
how can she not warm to their whiskers and their contented little purrs,
her eyes sometimes don't always work and she is optically infirm
and she steals pies from the scrotes, she don't know to wait her turn,
she'd stab you in the back for a go at the counter, she's always trying to grab the lead,
and added to all that she can't even ******* read!
(I'm surprised you can read this actually.)
But i'll overlook these foibles, her flaws aren't yet that drastic
she has to merge some yang in there to be so yin fantastic!
Ahh, in this life where what was can no longer leave a reflection
it's always super to feel the natural flow of connection;
glowing with simplicity
our joyous synchronicity!"
So i approach the door of The Wellspring and feel sweet and glad
and think, "you know for a Monday you aint turned out too bad!".

Billy Flynn looked skyward
As the fire slowly died
The embers dancing gaily
They had a hard days ride

He looked down at the fire
At the coals and their red glow
"Better get them horses covered"
"The clouds are bringing snow"

From the back a voice was heard
"You sure, you crazy coot"
He looked to where the voice had come
And he lit up a cheroot

"As sure as we're all sitting here"
"Tomorrow, we'll see snow"
"So, get them horses covered"
"We'll want them warm when we must go"

They'd been out on the trail for months
Now, home was in their thoughts
They'd been hunting down some rustlers
Now, all but two were caught

The two were shot in Texas
In a shoot out first week in
The others caught in Reno
Nearly 21 weeks in

Billy poked the fire
And he said "best keep it hot"
"someone get some wood here"
"I suggest you get a lot"

They finished up their dinners
Billy said we'll leave 'fore dawn
There's someone out there watching
A quick rest, and we'll be gone

He set two cowpokes watching
Tending fire in the night
Watching for intruders
And keeping out of sight

Billy Flynn was old school
A Texas Ranger long ago
If anyone was closing in
Old Billy Flynn would know

"I'm resting now" old Billy said
"I'd suggest you do the same"
"Get the prisoners to the side there"
"To lose them now would be a shame"

He checked on all the horses
Made sure their blankets were pulled tight
Then Billy, grabbed his blanket
And he laid down for the night

In the morning, the ground was covered
It had snowed, three inches plus
The others all were watching
Billy Flynn....he made no fuss

"I could feel it in the air boys"
"The sky was screaming snow"
"I've been out here more than you have"
"That's all you gotta know"

They ate and broke camp quickly
They heard some noises to their right
The men that they had captured
Had friends show up late last night

They were keeping back a distance
Watching, waiting for their chance
While Billy Flynn showed nothing
And helped prolong the dance

"Boys, you'd best get ready"
"There'll be a shoot out sometime soon"
"I figure they'll be coming at us"
"In the open...round 'bout noon"

"Keep an eye around you"
"Move the prisoners to the flank"
"Protect yourself from whatever"
"These men have left in their dry tank"

Billy called it perfect
About five hours on the ride
Six gunmen came upon them
Three came in from either side

Billy took the first one,
Shot him dead, between the eyes
The youngster back behind him
Had never seen a grown man die

It only took two minutes
Thirty seven shots in all
And in the end there was old Billy
Off his horse and standing tall

The six were dead and bleeding
"We'll leave them to the birds"
Two of Billy's men were wounded
And he'd almost lost a third

Two hours on they came to town
Billy Flynn was in the lead
He stopped to get some water
That was all Billy would need

He took his prisoners to the Jailhouse
And his charges to the Doc
Then he went on to the tavern
Ordered drinks from barkeep ****

This talks of Billy Flynn
And true old western tale
Just hope you never ever
Have old Billy on your trail

Billy drank his beer and walked away
He said "It's time for me to go"
"the clouds are saying one thing"
"But, watch out....we're in for snow".

Northern Lives Matter

Note the fine flowing plain lands
One where peace and order reigns
Residence to historic cultural affluence
That chaos admired from afar with pains
Homing the abiding partisan patriots
Entrenched in now ravenous blood hovers
Rustlers, insurgents effected their domains
Notorious bandits we once heard in fables.

Lives lost cruelly to obdurated elements
Imprinting images of guns and deaths
Voices raised; are our leaders ritualists?
Establishing innocent crime-made orphans
Spreading evils, afflictions and destructions.

Many a religious shrines turned death traps
And markets, farms; ransacking poor villages
That barely know governance and her benefits
Turned into flowing river of blood and tears
Emptying plangent hearts to quixotic elites
Rich in thoughts; gliding us to precipice.

2020 - day 120

Wednesday, April 29, 2020
12:21 PM

passport day, despite the masks, there is humor, for a while,
in social distancing, plus masks...

yesterday on the Sunrise Highway stretch of the Pacific Crest,
we saw
flag men and the whole road gang, employees, not prison contract labor,

these guys are all smart enough to get the job, there they are, smart guys,
and all wearing masks, I wonder

who made sense of that, and who did it in solidarity with an us narrative.

United, we stand, divided, we fall...

Global Brain reports Mortal

Brains being trained to new normal,
such concarne systems, can,
if willed, pupose-ful, con determination mit energetic application made,
freely,
it appears, according to Youtube and Facebook,
that
such brains, meat-mind-gut-heart-skin sensation interpretation systems,

only get upgrades on this scale, once, in a generation.

The augmental roll out hits first adapters about fifty years after first frontal cortex
call, plea, actually,
for myination, squeeky voices, peeps, feed me, feed me
urges and cravings unheard of before,
BTW,
puberty models future imaginations of hell, the body remembers,
advertisers play to that
comfort sells better than ***, in a hormonal reset crisis, *** needs no ads...

so many signals cross in chaotic knots, even stretching that last nerve
so tight...
some result in broken strands, but
human brains evolved the idea of normal, calm and continuing, carry on...
says the king of the village,
head of the clan,
da man o'dehouse; twas he who said what we do next,
and come a time, some say you remember wrong,
so writer man,
him say I write what seer say he see,
so
scribblers writ what was agreed, we all formed a public, for crying out
loud,

and neighbors had public faces, same as private faces... no opposing faces.

We danced with no masks... spaceship earthers have no secrets...

Time was, man's inhumanity to man was intolerable, now,
man's humanity
is intolerable,

--- you doubt? --- later, we talk how tuning and balancing was lost as senses,
but to a few... who knew the life in words can dissipate authority,
if left lying idle, too long.

2020

the power in a free press belongs to the owner of the presses,
and we have voice activated presses connected to any hearing ear or seeing eye,
willing to listen in...

before radio evolved to the smart-phone,
a soap box in the village square was as far as freedom of expression could go.
Now, we have four and more generations of
normal
humans who have heard radio music and commentary, from the womb.

These are the first adapters, sapien sapien augmented
radio heads, wired
naturally
with some vagus curve capacity to signal gut responses
faster, by virtue of habing
some bits slicker than, say
normal wierdos,
literal
*** heads, like Johnny Appleseed Chapman...
re
ference: Certified Disneyfied Americana Clue founded,
standing on--
American Bogus Science Fable, which
teaches of JA as a crazy old man with something like a plan,

to live happy as ever, right now, as best he knew how,
thus
Shane, and so on, mindphuck for boys in the fifties,
whose dad's had won the war and built the bomb,
and broke the unions...

lonely boys had songs, tuned to their comfort in sorrow shared circuit
being installed from early 1953 through -- current time

music in the air, or from the air, is took for granted by any child
as something doable, the poorest of the poor can play at playing internet games,
using Poke'mon cards...manually,

and their brains work different than even Turing and Von Neuman imagined.
Feynman and Teller both admitted the sense of humor,
kids have and
AI can imagine,
Ai ai ai can imagine,
in light of history, they agree,
that sense of the playful, ludologous letting go.
is the same sense in humans...

which does good, like a medicine.
So,
a solitary man makes a solitary plan, leaving a mark mattered not,

living free as one man can be.
Pioneer social distancing, all my heros were outlaws,
rustlers, mostly,
my ancestors never wished to live in towns,
so they never did.

But, you know they poached turkeys and deer as order set in.

Old normal is fully functional, add electricity... how happy can a man be?

Alone?
Less than not-alone, more than in a maddened crowd.

Out on the edge of civilization,
we walk along Al Gore's old info super hiway, asking for sneezers
willing to give a viral idea blowing in the wind,
one good whiff,
wrinkle y' gnose,
tickling fancies we
fancy few have tickled since Tesla became a car.

We make next up. No lie. Keep kicking.

Chapter 13: An Uncertain Trail  
Cutty was once again headed down a trail with an uncertain end.  He didn’t feel good about the riders ahead or what their true intentions were.  Jimmy had said: “They are probably cowboys from the Bar Circle T Ranch,” but he had only been guessing.

He charged up the rapidly darkening trail…  

The only thing he was sure of was that he was forever duty-bound to a code that had taken him captive so very long ago.  It never mattered the circumstance or the odds of success.  When her voice called—and his honor was once again at risk—everything else became subservient to his sense of duty.

It had first called his name in Central Park over twenty years ago.  He had been hunting pirates behind a pond, on the east side of the park, when the message was first handed down.  It was delivered in the scream of a young girl coming out of a small cave on the far side of the pond.

As the bats flew out of the cave, all of the other boys ran.  Cutty never wavered, as he covered his head and charged.  Inside, was a defenseless seven-year-old girl who had wandered away from her nanny.  Cutty covered her with his jacket and led her back outside. As the other boy’s heckled and jeered, he never stopped or even looked their way.  That young girl’s name was Miss Shepperd, but Cutty had heard the nanny call her Destiny—Destiny Shepperd.

Cutty was now riding his five-year-old horse at a full gallop and the white sweat from the horse’s withers had covered his trousers.  His knowledge of tracking was enough to tell him that the shoe prints were becoming more pronounced the further west he rode.  He was gaining on them.

Five miles later, there was less distance between the front and rear hoof prints of the riders ahead.  They had slowed down.  They were now either cantering or walking their horses. Cutty decided to get off and walk his horse until he was sure.  He knew his horse could use the rest, and he needed the quiet to be able to hear what might be up ahead.  

He walked for twenty minutes, as the tracks in front of him became fresher and fresher.  There was no doubt in his mind that the riders ahead of him were walking their horses too.  

It was now late into the evening, and he thought he heard voices coming out of the trees ahead.  As he edged closer, he could smell wood smoke and hear the sounds of a fire.  Cutty knew the other mounts would smell his horse in the night air before he got much closer.  He decided to tie his horse to a tree thirty feet off the trail.  He had learned from the Gurkhas in Nepal how to move soundlessly through the brush.  He held his sword close against his body, as he advanced through the dark.

The trail started to enter a deep ravine.  At the bottom, he could see five horses all tied together.  Fifty yards past the horses was a raging fire.  These men were not worried about being seen.  Cutty listened for voices as he moved past the horses.  The sounds that he heard in the night air were emboldened with inebriation.

These Men Were All Drinking

“Good,” Cutty said to himself.  “A drunken adversary is only half the threat that he is when sober.  This adjusts the odds a little more in my favor.”  Still, Cutty wasn’t going to take anything for granted.  Five drunken cowboys, if that’s what they were, could still be a lot for him to handle.

He checked the cylinder of his Colt .45 to make sure it was fully loaded.  He didn’t want to repeat the mistake he had made when rescuing Adrian on that hill in Portugal.  After chasing the Basque Assassin, Bakar, through the hills above Lisbon, he had forgotten to reload after shooting at him and several of his men.

He was sorry now that he hadn’t asked Jimmy for his Colt, Model M1902.  It would have given him eight rounds in case the six in his Colt .45 were not enough.  The Colonel had always told him that, … “In direct confrontations, there is very little chance to reload.  Most fights are over by then.”

The M1902 was a semi-automatic pistol developed by John Browning for Colt in 1902.   It was an improvement on an earlier design.  The military version had a square and lengthened grip frame allowing it to carry an additional round in the magazine.  It fired eight rounds of .38 ACP from its six-inch barrel.

With his Colt .45’s capacity of only six rounds, Cutty would have to be deadly accurate with each shot.

DEADLY ACCURATE IS WHAT HE HAD BEEN BEFORE!
  
As he came out of the woods and passed by the horses, he tried to move quietly so as not to startle them and give himself away.  
The lead stallion whinnied as Cutty brushed by him in the dark.  The noise was loud enough to arouse two of the men and they came to investigate.  Cutty moved further off into the shadows until the men were satisfied that the horse had only been reacting to a small animal in the brush.  The two wobbly figures mumbled to each other as they walked back to the fire…

“We’ll teach that filthy redskin a lesson about wandering this far off of the reservation,” the bigger of the two said.  “His body will only strengthen our story about the missing cattle.  When we get done with this running iron he’ll wish we had killed him when we killed his horse.”

All five men were now seated again around the fire and passing two bottles of whisky back and forth.  There was no sign of Not-Many-Prisoners anywhere.  Cutty said a prayer that he was still alive.  Based on what the one cowboy had just said, he was pretty sure that he was.

But Where ?

A running-iron was a free-handed branding tool that allowed the cowboy to create a design of his choice on the animal with its hot glowing tip.  Unlike the forged designs of most branding irons, the running-iron allowed the brander to change, or go over, an existing design making it a favorite tool of rustlers throughout the west.
Cutty circled around the ravine to get closer to the fire.  The five men had continued to drink, and their words got louder as their attention span’s diminished.  As the sparks danced in mock adoration …

Cutty Started To Plan


Chapter 14: Right Toward The Fire

He looked down at the gleaming brass on his blouse.  As an afterthought before leaving home, he had stuffed it into his satchel.  He wasn’t sure why, but he thought that maybe—just maybe—it would be useful in some way.  The buttons were now alive in the distant glow from the firelight.  They would appear as multiple sets of eyes coming out of the dark.

Cutty looked intently at the five men as they continued to pass the two bottles around.  Their faces were greasy and unwashed, and they sat with a demeanor that gave away their intentions.  They were among the lowest of men ...
  
These Men Hadn’t Seen A Washtub In Over A Year

Cutty remembered back again to his cowboy friends in Abilene and Dodge City—they looked nothing like this.  They had been righteous and straight, and their posture and speech only reinforced their true makeup.  They were nothing if not respectful of those around them and totally dedicated to their craft.  Cutty appreciated that. Their loyalty to the ranches they worked for equated to his unwavering commitment to a life of duty and honor.

Those Men All ‘”Rode For The Brand”

He had developed a kinship and brotherhood with those cow hands back in Kansas, and he had made himself a promise to one day go back and visit them again.  He knew as he made that promise to himself, going back was something he had never been able to do before.  He hoped  this time it would be different.

“All right, who’s going first?” Cutty heard from the cowboy seated at the far end of the fire. “Who wants to put the first mark on that filthy redskin?”  “I’ll do it, Jack,” said a man seated ten feet to his left.  “I’m going to burn a dark groove right between his two beady eyes.”  
“OK, Pete; you and Bill go get that stinking Piegan.”

At this point, Cutty had not seen Not-Many-Prisoners, but he knew he had to be close.  The two men walked toward where the horses were tied and within five minutes were back.  Each man had Not-Many-Prisoners by an arm, and the Piegan Elder was slumped forward and struggling to walk.

Cutty Had Walked Right Past Him

“I don’t think he liked being tied to that horse, Jack.  He about pitched a fit when we cut the ropes and took him down.  Bill gave him a good jolt to the head with his Peacemaker to get him to behave.  I don’t think he’ll give us any more trouble.” “Good, you and Bill tie him to those two small cottonwoods over by the water.  Then we can let the real fun begin.”

Some Of These Outlaws Were Carrying Colt .45’s

Cutty couldn’t believe that he had walked right by Not-Many-Prisoners when he had entered the ravine.  “How could I have missed him so close in the dark?”

Not-Many-Prisoners had been tied cross-saddle to the biggest of the five horses.  It had been the fourth one back as Cutty passed by in the dark.  After tying him to the saddle, the outlaws had covered him with a canvas tarp making him impossible to see.  It also made it almost impossible for him to breathe.

Not-Many-Prisoners was lucky to be alive.  Had Cutty been able to see and untie him, it would now be two against five and they would still have had the element of surprise working for them.“I wonder if Not-Many-Prisoners knows I’m here?  He may have heard me as I walked by, especially when that lead horse whinnied, and has kept quiet to protect me.  Or, he may have been in such rough shape, that he missed me entirely.”

Cutty wasn’t sure of Not-Many-Prisoner’s mindset but he was sure of one thing ...he didn’t have much time.   As the vile, and now drunk, outlaws tied Not-Many-Prisoners to the cottonwoods, Cutty hurried back to the horses.

He quickly and quietly untied them from each other—he needed to make a statement.  The cowboys were still drunk, and a drunken man’s imagination often gets the better of him.  He was hesitant to do it, but he felt he had no other choice…

He Unholstered His Colt


Chapter 15:  A Different Brand Of Justice

The horses had been bound together with a technique that Cutty had never seen before.  They had all been tied to a forty-inch branch that allowed them to move freely and graze without getting tangled.  It lowered down as they fed and then rose when their heads straightened back up.

Cutty vowed to remember this for the future.  It provided for both security and a limited amount of mobility.  It had been invented by the Cheyenne and was used extensively throughout the southern plains. The Colonel had been right when he said: “The Native Americans are noted for their prowess in stealth and tactics.” Cutty untied the horses from the branch, and—with three of the reins in his right hand and two in his left—started to walk them slowly toward the fire.

He knew his next move would be costly, but he needed to create as big a diversion as he could.  It would only leave five shots in his Colt, but the effect would be worth the bullet, at least that’s what he hoped.
.
He Reminded Himself About Hoping Again

The Colonel had warned Cutty repeatedly about hoping.  “Wishing for a certain outcome is not worth the mental effort you will put forth.  Keep your attention focused on the task at hand.  That will afford you the best chance of success.”

Cutty slapped the lead stallion on its **** as he fired his Colt up into the night sky.  At the report of the gunshot, all five horses took off toward the fire like they were being chased by the underworld god, Hades.  Entering the mouth of the ravine, there was not enough room for them to go around and avoid the fire.

They Charged Straight Through

The horses charged across the fire as the five cowboys looked on in drunken horror.  There was smoke and flying embers everywhere.  Two of the cowboys at the far end stood up and tried to run but were trampled by the horses before getting very far.  The lead cowboy, Jack, managed to get to his gun before leveling it in Cutty’s direction and firing.

Cutty redrew his Colt while dropping to one knee.  He sighted his big .45 and fired before Jack could get off a second round.  The bullet went straight through Jack’s right shoulder causing him to drop the big Peacemaker as he fell back away from the now-scattered fire.  
Cutty picked up Jack’s gun and ran toward where Not-Many Prisoners was tied.   As he cut his restraints, he handed him Jack’s gun saying: “There are five shots left in the cylinder.  Here’s six more rounds in case you run out.”

They both turned to face the startled cowboys who were now crawling through the dirt trying to make sense of it all.  With a KIAI that none of these rustlers had ever heard before, Cutty advanced.  One by one, he grabbed the men and threw them face down onto the dark ground.  He then yelled to Not-Many-Prisoners: “Tie them up with their hands behind their backs.  I’ll tie the one that I shot after I check on his wound.”

The KIAI Had Been For Not-Many-Prisoners Benefit

Cutty checked on Jack’s shoulder.  It was bleeding profusely, but it was a clean wound and the bullet missed any bone or cartilage as it passed through.  Cutty grabbed the bandana from around Jack’s neck, ***** as it was, and wrapped his shoulder.  “This will help to stop the bleeding,” Cutty said.  “Keep pressure on it with your other hand.  It’s better than you deserve, but you might just live if you keep it from bleeding out before you get to a doctor.”

Jack had been staring at Cutty’s blouse as he doctored his wound.  “So, you some kinda government agent?” Jack asked, as Cutty started to walk away. “I’m a Major in the United States Army here to investigate charges that rustling has been taking place on government land.  I can see now that the rumors have been true.  In addition, you were getting ready to commit capital ******.  I am ordering you, and your men, to stay here until my detachment comes back to pick you up.

If you’re not here when they arrive, they will hunt you down like the wild dogs that you are.  I need to get this Indian Scout back to headquarters. We know who you work for and what you’ve been doing.”

“You Are All Under Military Arrest”

Cutty tied Jack’s right hand to the top of his other arm. He knew he had just stretched the truth, but he wasn’t above doing that if a man’s life hung in the balance.  He looked across the scattered but still burning embers.

Not-Many-Prisoners had a look on his face that Cutty had not seen from any of the Piegan Elders before.  El Cristo had been the first to look at him that way when he had mortally wounded his son, Elligretto, in Seville.  His expression transcended the present moment as it acknowledged Cutty’s immortal warrior spirit.

Not-Many-Prisoners ran into the darkness in the direction that the horses had just gone. In less than ten minutes he was back with all five of them in tow.  “How was he able to find them in the dark and to have done it so quickly?” Cutty wondered.
  
Horses, when frightened or startled, will often run for miles without stopping.  He was sure when he fired that shot from his big Colt, those five had been both.  The Colonel’s assessment about Native Americans—a breed of men Cutty had only met once before in Abilene—rang true again tonight.

At West Point, Jimmy had been masked in eastern tradition hiding the best parts of himself.

Cutty Jumped On The First Horse As He Yelled

The drive began in Donna,
at the tail end of Texas.
We mounted up and began
step one of 952 miles.

Coastal plains, the endless grass,
into scrubby mesquite trees and rolling hills.
Canyons, climbing and descending
rocks rolling under horse and cattle.

Saddle sore and travel weary
riding the endless days.
The nights, stars, moon, planets,
taking turns, watching over the herd in the darkness.

Cougars, and coyotes,
rustlers and the weather all up to no good.
Then we come up to the
streams, creeks and the mighty rivers.

Nasal breathing from the herd,
the splashes of tails and hooves.
Yaw, and get along,
the slap of a rope on a leg.
Cattle and river's smell, fills the nose.

Chili beans, and cornbread
Hard tack to snack
My hat shields my head
from the rain, and the blazing sun.

50 men and 3000 head,
march triumphantly into Abilene Kansas.
Where the cattle are immediately loaded
into railroad cars after walking 952 miles.

This one’s for the quiet ones locked in their bedrooms
Too burnt out to break free from the monsters that loom
To the ones someone told it’s not worth chasing dreams
To the ones sitting still so they don’t burst at the seams
This one’s for the lost ones, the overlooked ones, the dropped ones
For the selective mutes, the broken brutes, the ones playing possum

To the aching tender joints, to the bedrest homies
The inspiration **** I am when they don’t even know me
The invisible struggle that lights a fire inside
The cut locks, broken doors, screaming match courtside
I’ve been there, I’ve seen that, the closing curtain last act
You already know you’re strong so I don’t have to say that

I’m not looking down on you
You know they’re gonna clown on you
I want you to know that it doesn’t have to drown you
If you’re looking for a sign to stay,
My friend, this is it
None of you did anything to deserve this ****

If you’re scared (Don’t give up)
Unprepared (Don’t give up)
If you’re ready to drop outta here (Don’t give up)
If you’re feeling like you’ve disappeared (Don’t give up)

I’ve got your back; I’ve got your spirit by my side
I’ve got that heavy burden, I’ve been that tattered pride
They’re not gonna say thank you, they’re not gonna say please
But we don’t have to earn our lives by begging on our knees
We don’t have to settle for fight, flight or freeze
We’ve got a depth of wisdom they can never seize

To the invisible ones, to the hidden in plain sight
To the hearts hanging heavy dreading going home at night
To the fending for yourselves, to the strategic hustlers
To the lost in other universes, to the panicked jimmy-rustlers
To the ‘how did I get here’s, to the max volume, quiet tears
To the looking for the exit, to the wasted golden years

I see you, I hear you
The truth is, they fear you
Those old ways are dying, We’re new pioneers who
Will call out the liars, we’ll march through the wires
Arm ourselves with truth, we’ll put out those fear fires
So rise up; recognize
That your spirit’s got merit outside of their eyes
Your value’s intrinsic, your dreams are realistic
This fight never ending, our story polyptych

This is a tribute to my mutineers
To the ones who keep fighting, the facers of fears
Straighten up, don’t carry their judgement
All of that hatred just ain’t in the budget
It’s unsustainable, come on, proclaim, we’re all
Building a new road, running down the Rockefellers
Don’t forget
We have a dream
Hold fast
Together we’re unstoppable

Once his kind were ubiquitous; Men and their ponies herding live beef
from the prairies of Kansas and Texas to the slaughterhouses North East
It was a hard life, but good, nights out under the stars; amusing themselves with a song.
There was beans and good coffee shared at the fire; The prairie wind blew sweet and long.
Then the trains came and life wasn’t the same and the cowboys all faded away.
Old Tex was the last of that vanishing breed; He’d tell me tall tales of those days
when he and his crew battled rustlers and snakes to see the herd safe to their doom.
His skin was like leather from the wind and the sun; his big hands arthritic and gnarled.
A roll your own cigarette drooped from his lips and his speech sounded more like a snarl.
Tex passed on last night, a blessing they say, to die in his sleep with no pain.
No churchyard for Tex, he will rest ‘neath the sod just out beyond the old grange
He was the last of a vanishing breed; a man to his quarter horse wed.
The land that he loved will keep changing above, but the wind and the stars never change.

Chapter 15:  A Different Brand Of Justice

The horses had been bound together with a technique that Cutty had never seen before.  They had all been tied to a forty-inch branch that allowed them to move freely and graze without getting tangled.  It lowered down as they fed and then rose when their heads straightened back up.  

Cutty vowed to remember this for the future.  It provided for both security and a limited amount of mobility.  It had been invented by the Cheyenne and was used extensively throughout the southern plains. The Colonel had been right when he said: “The Native Americans are noted for their prowess in stealth and tactics.”

Cutty untied the horses from the branch, and—with three of the reins in his right hand and two in his left—started to walk them slowly toward the fire.

He knew his next move would be costly, but he needed to create as big a diversion as he could.  It would only leave five shots in his Colt, but the effect would be worth the bullet—at least that’s what he hoped.

                   He Reminded Himself About Hoping Again

The Colonel had warned Cutty repeatedly about “hoping.”  “Wishing for a certain outcome is not worth the mental effort you will put forth.  Keep your attention focused on the task at hand.  That will afford you the best chance of success.”

Cutty slapped the lead stallion on its **** as he fired his Colt up into the night sky.  At the report of the gunshot, all five horses took off toward the fire like they were being chased by the underworld God, Hades.  Entering the mouth of the ravine, there was not enough room for them to go around and avoid the fire.

                              They Charged Straight Through

The horses charged across the fire, as the five cowboys looked on in drunken horror.  There were smoke and flying embers everywhere.  Two of the cowboys at the far end stood up and tried to run but were trampled by the horses before getting very far.  The lead cowboy, Jack, managed to get to his gun—before leveling it in Cutty’s direction and firing.  

Cutty redrew his Colt while dropping to one knee.  He sighted his big .45 and fired before Jack could get off a second round.  The bullet went straight through Jack’s right shoulder—causing him to drop the big Peacemaker as he fell back away from the now scattered fire.  

Cutty picked up Jack’s gun and ran toward where Not-Many-Prisoners was tied.   As he cut his restraints, he handed him Jack’s gun saying: “There are five shots left in the cylinder.  Here’s six more rounds in case you run out.”

They both turned to face the startled cowboys who were now crawling through the dirt trying to make sense of it all.   With a KIAI that none of these rustlers had ever heard before, Cutty advanced.  One by one, he grabbed the men and threw them face down onto the dark ground.  He then yelled to Not-Many-Prisoners: “Tie them up with their hands behind their backs.  I’ll tie the one that I shot after I check on his wound.”

             The KIAI Had Been For Not-Many-Prisoners Benefit

Cutty checked on Jack’s shoulder.  It was bleeding profusely, but it was a clean wound, the bullet having missed any bone or cartilage as it passed through.  Cutty grabbed the bandana from around Jack’s neck—***** as it was—and wrapped his shoulder.  “This will help to stop the bleeding,” Cutty said.  “Keep pressure on it with your other hand.  It’s better than you deserve, but you might just live if you keep it from bleeding out before you get to a doctor.”

Jack had been staring at Cutty’s blouse as he doctored his wound.  “So, you some kinda government agent?” Jack asked, as Cutty started to walk away.

“I’m a Major in the United States Army, here to investigate charges that rustling has been taking place on government land.  I can see now that the rumors have been true.  In addition, you were getting ready to commit capital ******.  I am ordering you—and your men—to stay here until my detachment comes back to pick you up.

If you’re not here when they arrive, they will hunt you down like the wild dogs that you are. I need to get this Indian Scout back to headquarters. We know who you work for and what you’ve been doing.”

                          “You Are All Under Military Arrest”

Cutty tied Jack’s right hand to the top of his other arm. He knew he had just stretched the truth, but he wasn’t above doing that if a man’s life hung in the balance.  He looked across the scattered but still burning embers ...

Not-Many-Prisoners had a look on his face that Cutty had not seen from any of the Piegan Elders before.  El Cristo had been the first to look at him that way when he had mortally wounded his son, Elligretto, in Seville.  His expression transcended the present moment—as it acknowledged Cutty’s immortal warrior spirit.

Not-Many-Prisoners then ran into the darkness, in the direction that the horses had just gone. In less than ten minutes he was back with all five of them in tow.  “How was he able to find them in the dark, and to have done it so quickly?” Cutty wondered.  

Horses, when frightened or startled, will often run for miles without stopping.  He was sure when he fired that shot from his big Colt, those five had been both.  The Colonel’s assessment about Native Americans—a breed of men Cutty had only met once before in Abilene—rang true again tonight.

At West Point, the native cadets had been masked in eastern tradition, hiding the best parts of themselves.

Cutty Jumped On The First Horse As He KIAI’d Into The Darkness!!

Chapter 18: The Fire Of The Unknown

For all of that day, they rode north through the grass and camped just east of Dupuyer, in the Butte Valley.

“Tomorrow, we will arrive at our home camp—just east of Browning—in the heart of the Blackfoot Piegan Reservation, Ichiban. I am sure that Stoneheart has arrived by now and has prepared the tribe for bad news regarding our disappearance.”

You Were Our Last Hope

“Hope springs eternal, Not-Many-Prisoners, when it is all you have left. With your help tomorrow, we will convince your People that the worst is behind us. The Blackfoot Piegan Nation will recapture its spirit, and we will unleash its fury upon the Siksika who have attacked in the dark and from behind.”

Not-Many-Prisoners liked the way Cutty used the words Us and We. “He is a man who goes beyond the smoke to the land of our Grandfathers,” he thought. “He has truly been sent from the great Kessuckquànd (Heaven), as the Old One has prophesied.”

With his saber and katana lying beside him, Cutty again offered thanks for being in the company of men with honor.

The Military Academy had been fine for what it was — “but a man’s true spirit could only be forged and replenished in the fire of the unknown.” He was once again at peace.

A Peace Only Proffered In Times of War



Chapter 19: The Backbone Of The World

Not-Many-Prisoners remained quiet during the long ride into the Blackfoot Piegan Camp. The reservation was located just east of the great mountains and stretched north to the Canadian border. Jimmy had told Cutty it was larger than the entire state of Delaware. “It is a big area for so few of us left,” Jimmy had said.

Cutty became overtaken by a feeling that he had not had since leaving Nepal. The grandeur of the mountains was filling his soul, and words again became useless in trying to describe their beauty. “No wonder the Indians fought so hard to preserve their homeland,” Cutty thought to himself. “Who wouldn’t rather die than leave this sacred place?”

As the sun disappeared behind the Livingston range, he could tell that Not-Many-Prisoners was worried. The Piegan Elder had been quiet all day, but when they passed a sign pointing toward Browning, he finally spoke: “We will be in Browning in less than an hour, Ichiban. Thirty minutes after that, we will enter the main camp of the Blackfoot Piegan Nation.”

Cutty wondered if he would be in trouble with The People for leaving Chief Stoneheart. He knew that Not-Many-Prisoners would have no say in the matter—even though he led the rustlers away from their small party. Cutty also knew that warrior societies had their own specific rules and regulations, and they often did not make sense to an outsider.

The Japanese Emperor had often told him: “Look not to the intellect for the truth you seek, My Son. Look instead—inside your heart—where fear is overcome by belief. Only there will you find the true warrior and the spirit and courage to win.”

As they passed through Browning, Cutty could feel the emptiness hidden in its dusty old streets. The buildings were drab, but more than that, there seemed to be an absence of life and a dispiritedness that hung over the town. It was nothing like any of those Tibetan towns that he rode through on his way to Kathmandu.

He Couldn’t Get Through Browning Quickly Enough

Passing the eastern border of the small town, Cutty began to hear drums in the distance. They were beating to a very slow cadence and seemed to dramatize the melancholy he already felt.

“They are the drums of sorrow, Ichiban. The People now fear we are dead, and their last hope of regaining the spirit of their Grandfathers has died with us. They will not believe what they see when we ride in through the dark.

“I would ask that you wait here, and let me ride in first to announce our presence. As you now know, proper introductions are very important to my People, and it is fitting that they hear of the things you have done before you arrive. Please rest here—by this small lake—I will be back by the time you have watered the horses.”

Not-Many-Prisoners dismounted and gave the reins of his horse to Cutty. Without another word he walked off into the darkness in the direction of the drums. It seemed like a long time had passed when Cutty heard the sound of the drums change. They now had a powerful energy, and he was sure their message (whatever it was) was reverberating off the great mountains to the west.

All At Once The Drums Stopped!

Cutty could hear voices, and lights seemed to be coming through the woods. It was then that he heard the voice of Stoneheart calling out to him from the trees ahead.

“Ichiban, the words of the Old One have come true. You are truly the savior of the Blackfoot Piegan People. Please enter our village as one who comes back to us—from before.”

Cutty had no idea what Stoneheart meant. “I’ve never been here before,” he said under his breath. “What could Jimmy have told them to make them greet me in this way?”

The lights ahead seemed to forge into one, and Cutty could see at least a hundred people walking his way carrying torches. They were also carrying something in their arms that he didn’t recognize.

“These are small offerings from the tribe in honor of your return,” said Stoneheart. “Not-Many-Prisoners told us about what you have done. It only adds to the stories that Lightfeather has already told about your many battles and triumphs. It has been a very long time since The Blackfoot Piegan Nation has been so honored by a visitor. Please allow us to formally welcome you again to our camp.”

Cutty was then offered a white horse to ride, but he insisted on walking with The People.