Caleb Hill couldn’t remember how old he was or when his birthday was supposed to be. He was orphaned when his parents were killed by Indians while he was down at the river bank fishing. He was six years old at the time. His father had been with him and said, “son, you stay here and fish and I’ll be back shortly. I have to run back to the house and get my skinnin’ knife so I can clean all them fish we’re gonna ketch.” That is the last time Caleb saw his father alive. He reckoned by now he should be somewhere between 55 and 60.
He had been riding old Gus for near on to fifteen years, he minded. He was a good horse and no one else could ride him. Caleb smiled to himself when he thought of the time when the Homer kid tried to steal Gus and he started bucking until the kid was chewing gravel. That kid high-tailed it down the street like his britches was on fire. He was just between hay and grass—neither man, nor boy.
Caleb had been watching from inside the bar while eating rare-bought chuck—something called a steak, as he recollected. It was really good and he et until he was chock full. He had done some work for a rancher for a couple of months and got enough money for some supplies, a treat for himself, and a little leftover. Besides that, it gave Gus a rest and it was kind of nice sleeping in a cot for a while before the wanderlust struck again.
They were riding through a canyon and the sounds of Gus’s feet hitting the floor echoed off the canyon walls. Caleb gave Gus his head and he picked his way down to the dry river bed for easier walking. There was no hurry as they weren’t going any place in particular. Caleb just loved traveling and seeing God’s country.
Caleb thought about his mother and how she made him say his prayers every night. He still had her Bible in his saddle bag. The only thing good about the orphanage was they taught him to read and he reckoned he had read the Bible through, up to now, at least a dozen or more times.
Gus picked his way out of the river bed as his ears stood up. Caleb always paid attention to Gus’s body signs. Gus had saved his bacon on more than one occasion. Maybe it was just a Bobtail Guard looking for strays. Caleb had always been able to take care of himself with a gun but there is always someone, somewhere, better and he never did practice like he should. They were nearing the bend in the canyon and Gus was getting edgier. Caleb quickly re-checked his guns.
Caleb and Gus rounded the bend of the canyon wall and Caleb caught a glimpse of two men on horses with a cow. They were rustlers. At the quick glance he had, one seemed taller than the other, but they seemed about the same weight. Caleb thought they looked surprised to see him. They immediately went for their guns and Caleb went for both of his and began shooting until both of his guns were empty.
The last thing Caleb remembered was watching both of the men fall from their horses as Caleb fell from Gus. A few seconds later Old Caleb looked around and saw that both of the other men were still lying on the ground with bullet wounds in their chests. Old Gus was lying on his side. He too had been hit by a bullet. Old Caleb stood up and walked over to Gus and pulled on Gus’s reins and said “let’s cut a path.”
“You Never Die.”
