All the Sand in the Desert

It was sundown and the desert sand was the color of blood. Cliffton Barnes was fleeing on foot from the vengeful posse who were chasing him through the desert. He had run his horse to death the previous day. He was wanted for the murder of Jessica Smithwick. Above his head two vultures were circling the sky, waiting for the dead man walking to walk no more. The rising pale  moon behind him looked like a tombstone and the man in the moon winked at Cliffton and welcomed him to his new home. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the charge of men on horses gaining on him. 

He kept running, short of breath and with trembling legs, and his mind was only on one thing. Jessica Smithwick with her green eyes and matching green dress. How those eyes turned black when he took her life. Her rosy face had turned as pale as the moon and her sweet voice was replaced with a gurgling, choking sob. Now he saw her ahead of him in the desert, dancing on the sand. She was happy again. But then she saw him and she screamed. He reached out to her and said, “I’m sorry, I’m sor-“, and he was cut off as he tripped over a rock and hit the ground.

He turned over and saw the death circle of vultures above him and now he could hear the low thunder of charging hooves, coming to drag him back to the hangman. Cliffton had been running from the law ever since he shot his first pistol when he was 14 years old. He used guns and knives to make his way in the world and laughed at lawmen and gunslingers alike who tried to take him down. Now here he was, cornered like a wild dog, about to be put down. He started crying. This was the end. No chance to make amends. Jessica Smithwick asked, “Why?” 

A gust of wind blasted him with sand. “Stop that,” another voice said, not Jessica’s. This one was harsh and mean. Cliffton opened his eyes and saw a brown and white horse standing over him. Brown like the sand and white like the moon. Cliffton yelped and tried to get to his feet but stumbled on weak legs and fell back down. 

There was only one horse there, no rider in sight. One of the posse’s, no doubt. Got away from the rider. They were getting closer. “Get on,” the voice said. 

Cliffton looked for who made the noise. He drew his pistol and was ready to die in a fire of bullets, the way he always thought he would die. “Who said that?” He scanned all around but saw no one. He could feel the scratchy rope around his neck already, the sudden drop through the trap door and the quick jerk that would break his neck or strangle him to death.

The strange voice again. “You heard what I said, now get on!” 

Cliffton turned back to the horse without a rider. 

For the first time he watched the horse speak. “Look, pal, you got two options, giddy up or die in the desert!” The horse’s mouth moved with every word and there wasn’t a soul around. The heat and the exhaustion must have fried Cliffton’s brain. Maybe this was the ghost of his dead horse, come to trample him to death. But this couldn’t be his old horse. It bore a passing resemblance, but there was a dark aura around this beast. 

“What kind of horse talks?”

“The smart kind, stupid, now get on and keep your mouth shut!”

Cliffton was unsure of what to do, but if he hesitated any longer, he’d be strung up at sun up. The sun was setting and the sound of charging hooves and firing pistols scared him. He didn’t want to die this way. He wanted another chance, to go straight. To start over. He climbed onto the horse that had no saddle, gripped the black mane, and the horse raced off west, carried on the wind, bound for the unknown.

They sped away and the posse in the east faded, quieted, and were gone. The horse carried on at this impossible speed and Cliffton had to hold tight and lean forward to stay ahorse. Every lightning-bolt stride of the horse’s powerful legs threatened to throw him off. The horse smelled rotten and its hide was hot. The beast ran like hellfire shot, straight from the devil’s pistol. The moon had risen and the sun had died and the world was dark. Through the dark they went until the horse slowed, stopped, and said, “We’ll rest here. Now get off.”

Cliffton jumped down off the horse and tried to gauge his location but he was lost. It was as if the horse had carried him to the end of the world, and now this abomination was his only friend. “What are you?”

The horse whickered and said, “I’m just like you.” 

That made Cliffton flinch. “What do you mean?”

“You’re Cliffton Barnes, ain’t ya?”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’ve seen your wanted poster hung up next to mine.”

“What?”

“I ain’t really a horse. I’m a man, like you.”

Cliffton shook his head and figured he must be back in that part of the desert where the posse had him dead to rights. Maybe they decided to forgo the noose and they shot him in the gut a dozen times over and now he was having a dying dream of a talking horse while the vultures picked his bones clean. If he could have done things differently, he would take it all back. Every bullet, every kill. He looked at the beast that glowed in the moonlight. This demon had carried him through the gates of Hell on blazing hooves. For Jessica, he thought he deserved it.

“Go ahead and rest,” the horse said. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

“Please go away,” said Cliffton. “Just let me die.”   

The horse laughed, a cruel sound that only a human could make. The horse got on its side and closed its eyes. Cliffton lied on the cold, hard ground and stared at the tombstone moon and wished it would just fall to the earth and crush him and this horse and the entire world. Closing his eyes he saw Jessica Smithwick, dancing and laughing in her green dress. He opened his eyes and stared at the distant stars, too far away to help him. Finally, he passed out and the darkness wrapped him like a second skin.

One long nightmare repeated itself.

A hard hoof in his shoulder woke him. “Get up,” said the horse. 

Cliffton jerked awake and stood up. The surrounding desert was empty, save for themselves. “Where are we?”

“The land of salvation.”

“Why did you help me?”

“Because you’re the type of ornery cuss I need; Cliffton Barnes, killer, robber, rustler.” The horse listed off Cliffton’s crimes like they were awards. It was true, though. Cliffton’s gun was quick and sure. But he didn’t kill Jessica with a gun. It wasn’t over a card game or during a hold up. “I was lucky when I saw you. Best thing that’s happened to me these past few days. Here I was running through the desert like something was calling me and then I see you, Cliffton Barnes, running from the law. What did ya do this time? Shoot the sheriff?”

“No.”

“Well I hope you still have some bullets in that gun. There are two men I want dead. I need you to help me. You do that, it’ll pay you nicely.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

“Is that the thanks I get for saving your life? I seem to remember you crying in the desert with a noose practically around your neck. You wanna run off now? You think you could outrun me?” 

Cliffton placed his hand on the iron at his right side.

“Don’t bother,” said the horse. “You have no idea where you’re at and you’ll die before you find water. I can take you to town.”

The wind groaned and the horse’s mane shivered. Cliffton had never had a problem drawing his iron before, but now in these unknown lands, dealing with such an ugly beast, he was too nervous to try it. Cliffton looked around and saw dead cactuses throwing cursing arms towards the sun. No sign of water. Animal carcasses were picked clean and scattered about. 

“What’s in it for me?”

“Gold.”

Gold could give Cliffton a second chance. With enough money he could go far away. He could live an honest life. But could he live with himself? Jessica Smithwick laughed in his ear. Cliffton took his hand off his pistol and let it drop to his side.

“Smart,” said the horse. “Now let’s go.”

“Where is the gold?”

“I’ll tell you after you help me.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“You don’t. But you’re a man with few options. Say no, it won’t stop me. I’ll get someone else to do it. And I’ll leave you here until the sand blows over and buries you six feet deep.”

Cliffton was tired of killing and running, but if there was a reward in it, a chance to start over, he decided just one last hit would be worth it. He had killed for money before, but this would be the last time. He’d never kill or steal again. He climbed onto the horse and they flashed away. For miles they raced until the horse slowed at a sign that read HOT ROCKS and a crummy town lie just ahead. They had ridden silently the whole way, but now the horse gave orders.

“Pay attention. We’re gonna go into town and you’re gonna sit at the bar. A man named Fredericks should be in there. He’s a sorry looking son of a bitch with a red mustache.”

Coming into town and trodding through the streets, they arrived at the bar. Cliffton led the horse to the post but without any reins there was nothing to tie it down. The horse parked itself against the post as any normal horse would and whispered, “Bring Fredericks outside.”

Cliffton pushed the swinging doors open and walked to the bar. A smoke and a drink were just what he needed. He layed a silver piece down and the bartender handed him a cold mug of beer and a shot of whiskey. Cliffton asked the man next to him for a smoke, and the man happily obliged. Taking it from him, Cliffton saw that the man had a large red mustache. 

“There you go, friend,” the man said. 

“Thanks,” said Cliffton. He lit his smoke and took a deep drag. Before he could take a drink of beer he heard the horse whinny outside. He ignored the noise and took a big swallow of beer and then knocked back the shot of whiskey. 

“What’s your name, friend,” Cliffton asked.

“Ben Fredericks. And who are you?”

“Just a stranger passing through.”

“Well here’s to ya, stranger,” Fredericks lifted his mug in cheer and Cliffton clinked his in return. 

“It’s good to have friends, you know,” said Fredericks. He was heavy drunk and leaning into Cliffton. “You never know when you might need one to help ya when you’re down and out. Drink up, friend. It could be your last.”

The horse was stamping and crying outside.

“Mister, I think your horse needs tending to,” said the bartender.

Cliffton finished his cigarette and said, “Yeah.” He ground out the cigarette into the ashtray, watched the cherry flame die.

“What’s wrong with your horse, friend?” Fredericks put his hand on Cliffton’s shoulder. “I love horses. I know how they think. It’s like I can talk to them.” He got off his stool and headed outside. Cliffton finished his beer in one large gulp and followed.

Fredericks had his hand on the horse’s face, petting it gently. “There, there,” said Fredericks.  “It’s ok. He’s a beautiful animal. Good breed.” He ran his hand across the flank of the beast’s belly. “I’d purchase him from you right now! But I spent it all on whiskey, hahaha!” He turned and stood facing Cliffton. “Yes, sir, mighty fine animal you have here. You ride him without a saddle?”

The horse turned as quick as a hiccup and kicked Fredericks in the head with one of its back hooves. The horse turned around and trampled Fredericks’ body, breaking bones and crushing organs under powerful legs and stamping feet. The horse blew and snorted and its eyes rolled white with insanity. Fredericks was pummeled into the ground, a shallow burial. People on the street were screaming and men from the bar ran outside but no one dared to stop the horse’s dance. Finally the stampede broke and the ugly beast ran off down the street, kicking and neighing.

At first everyone held their breath, now that it was over. But soon the voices were collected and questions were asked and fingers were pointed.

“It was him,” someone shouted.

One man pulled his pistol. Cliffton pulled his. The two of them held each other in the sights of their barrels and no one breathed. 

The horse came running around the back and Cliffton ran to it and leaped across the side and the horse dashed away. Cliffton sat himself up right on the horse and held onto the black mane. Guns fired and bullets whizzed by his head but none hit their target. The horse caught the wind and in a flash they were gone. 

***

It was night and they were around a campfire, Cliffton sitting in the sand and the horse standing. They each looked into the flames. The horse’s black eyes were filled with fire. The tombstone moon was now full, two halves making one whole. The horse told him they had one more man to kill. 

“Who are these men,” he asked the horse.

“Fredericks, me, and this man Cooper turned over a coach that held a box of gold. We took it to our hideout. There we talked about splitting it up, but we…disagreed. Cooper tried to take more than his share and I shot that bastard. I took the box and split, but Fredericks caught up to me. Shot me in the back. Shot me while I was riding my horse. He told me Cooper was still alive and was gonna get his share. If that son of a bitch is alive then he’s for sure in our hideout still, lying in bed with a bullet in his gut. I should have shot him twice. Fredericks aimed his gun at my head and pulled the trigger.

But I didn’t die. I opened my eyes and I was in a cave. It was dark. Couldn’t see anything in front of me. I walked forward until I saw a little light at the end. I kept walking and the light got bigger, so I started running. It got so big and then just exploded. When I opened my eyes again, I was like this. I’ve been running for days.”

“What are you going to do after we kill this man?”

“I don’t know. But I can’t that son of a bitch live,” said the talking horse about the dying man. The absurdity of it all. 

“I don’t think killing that man is going to do you any good. Why bother with it? You say he’s already dying. You can just go on. You’ve got a second chance at living.”

“You think I wanna live this way? Killing him is all I got left.”

Cliffton just wanted the gold and to be done with it. If he had to put one more bastard out of his misery, he would do it. Then he would try to live it straight. 

“Only thing is, this time, you’ll have to kill him,” said the horse.

“Why me,” asked Cliffton.

“He’ll be in the loft most likely, up a ladder.”

“And where’s the gold?”

“His share will be there. Fredericks and him were friends. He would have left it with Cooper where he could see it. Fredericks would have been looking out for him until he got better.”

“Then let’s go.” Cliffton was done waiting. He was sick to his stomach from all of this, but was ready to do whatever he had to. Cliffton kicked sand into the midnight fire and choked the flame to death. He climbed on top of the horse and they took off.

The hideout was a little push-over shack, with two stories. The blowing wind could have knocked it down at any moment. No light came from inside so the man Cooper must be sleeping, if he was there at all. He pushed on the door but it was locked so the horse kicked the door with its back hooves and knocked it off the hinges. Cliffton shoved the door and it hit the ground. Dark inside. Not a sound. The horse walked into the house and sniffed around and searched the first floor. A table, a stove, three chairs, a bag of coffee, a stash of ammo, but not Cooper. “He’s up there. I smell him.”

A ladder carried up to a second story loft, a small landing with a window. Cliffton climbed up the rungs and he saw a man sleeping in a cot draped in the moonlight that came through the window. Sleep brought him no relief, as his face was covered with sweat and it held a twisted grimace. To Cliffton, it looked like he was having a nightmare. Next to his cot was a bed pan, wadded up bandages, and bottles of whiskey. And the box of gold.

It was open, a few pieces were on the floor and a few on the bed. Gold coins scattered like rocks in the unsympathetic desert. The dying man clutched his gut, not the gold. 

“What’s taking so long? Did you do it?” The horse was getting impatient. 

This man was defenseless. A pillow over his face would get the job done. So sad and weak, Cliffton wondered what the dying man’s final thoughts were. Was he sorry he lived the life of the outlaw? 

Cliffton climbed down the ladder and landed on the floor with the gold box in his left hand. The horse asked, “Is it done?”

Cliffton threw the money box at the horse’s head and drew his pistol but he was not quick enough. The horse reared and kicked Cliffton in the chest and he hit the hardwood floor and looked up at the rearing horse, ready to pummel him like he did Fredericks but his pistol came back quick and true and he emptied all the cylinders into the beast’s belly. The horse came down and collapsed onto Cliffton. The massive beast pinned him to the ground. The horse tried to move on no fuel other than hate, but it could only flail like a dying animal does. Heavy breaths came from the snout and the tail flipped and flopped but the blood ran free and the breathing slowed and the tail waved no more.

Cliffton lied in a pool of warm blood. He was wheezing, a broken bone had pierced his lung. He had run away from the noose but his breath would still be taken from him. Like how he had strangled Jessica Smithwick. She loved another man and he couldn’t forgive her for it. But then he couldn’t forgive himself after what he did to her. 

Of all the bad things he had done only for this one did he ask for forgiveness. He didn’t regret killing the man up the ladder. He was in pain. He had it coming. Take your pick. But Cliffton wanted it to be a mercy. A guilty mind is more painful than any bullet wound.

The three of them lied dead and guilty. Their bodies were found and buried. The horse was interred without any grave marker, but the two men had modest stones listing their name and year of death. All the gold pieces were collected and taken by some nosy wanderer who had no qualms about robbing the dead. Cliffton’s final moments were short, stabbing breaths under the weight of all the ugliness and sin he had ever trespassed. Jessica spun and danced in her green dress until Cliffton’s eyes closed forever.