Another upset night

2 am and I’m woken again by a night mare. The patient is disgusted I question her. She is the queen and empress, the bad mother, the wicked witch of the west, the siren, the woman who holds all men in contempt. I shrivel and want to die. She is the torturer the native woman who takes delight in causing pain to her enemies. She is the one who flays victims with supreme patients. She is Eva Brawn. She is the Queen. She is Sex and violence.m

I woke up in terror judged and waiting for the men she calls to demolish me because I questioned her. She is above question. There is only one voice and it is hers. She is victim. She who wears gold and commands armies is victim. I must be smitten. Destroyed all trace removed, punished. The servant who was falsely accused. I am the decapitated. I am the threat removed.

The nightmare is a moment of all those times when she was angry and set out to destroy. The women who tried to kill me and the lies packaged in a dream with the men who join in the cannibalism.

I’m afraid. I’m weary and old and dying and zorbah the Greek is dying and the unchosen of the Sophie choice.

Despair.

I awake in despair.

I am grieving all the life and death of seen. 

No one cares.

Duty, services, oaths valour. All are forgotten.

The idealism is gone.

The masks are off.

I am the old man crying and no one cares.

The hecklers are out in force.

I had a nightmare.

But the day was good. I served. I did what I was taught to do. I filled the space, a human in the thin wall, standing with others who care, thanked by others of like mind. Asking where are my people, where is my tribe and working friends smile and see you stand beside them, others dying, others sick, the music thin like weak soup.

I did another day.

I slept 6 hours last night and 2 hours tonight before the night mare. I’ll sleep more.

I am blessed, the Horror has passed. The inability to breathe, the chest discomfort, the weakness, past.

I am okay. I will be okay. God is with me. I am with God. Life is good. I will not be afraid for thou aren’t with me.

Thank you Jesus for this life, your sacrifice, your service, your life. Humility. Humble.

Small is beautiful. All is beautiful. Thank you for the air. Thank you for the colours. Thank you for light and love.

More Nightmares

I’m awake at 3 in the morning. 4 am yesterday.  Nightmares.  The constant demands and no time and no resources and screaming authorities demanding more and more with less and less and the desire to die, to escape.

I had the insight too that this is nearly June….the anniversary month.  26 years later on the divorce from the borderline cocaine addict trying to kill me and the legion of lawyers the legal system skewed to the wealthy and the whole process of stonewalling and theivery.  

I stopped drinking and smoking tobacco and marijuana 26 years ago and again the month of June is a time of trial, the death of self, the incomprehensible demoralization, facing the revenge of a millennium, the psychic cannibals, a war against turkeys and lies, that absolute sense of defeat, why do terrible things happen to me, the betrayal, the psychiatrist who lie, the insaniety and the beast, the encounter with pure evil, and utter fear of the tyranny, abuse of power, threat and escape. I suddenly knew what prisoners of jails and asylums knew, there was no hope here.  It was the matrix. I found a spiritual solution.

My friend who died had told me this world had nothing to offer and he turned back to his priest. I accepted I was a spiritual being in material world, not a material being in a spiritual world. I was lost and by July I was found. I remember being told about an ‘attitude of gratitude’ and I was so angry, so afraid, so hurt and yet I saw the light. I had a spiritual awakening,  For the first time I didn’t feel alone. I talked about being raped. I talked about the blood pooling in the shower. I talked about the beast.  I face the borderline tyranny the liars who threaten suicide to win and dominate and manipulate but when you are back to the abyss and say no turn and threaten homicide. They flip flop, the victim victimizer shuffle all in their narcissistic reign, and it’s mesmerizing this ‘beast’.  And it’s the nature of the game. In the background Rolling Stones playing Satan. 

I am that person. Jung points out we are all the players and yet we project evil on the other, the black and white, the good. I’m good. Yet we’re all grey. The human condition is flawed. I’m material and spiritual.  Slow energy and fast,

The May and June before was leaving home. 17 and LSD and sex and the banality of it all. Those months of rock and roll and drugs and alcohol and the circus of dangerous crazy people with guns and I was a hippy afraid to go to war, the Vietnam war and images of maimed and the triune god, father, son and Holy Spirit and the girl, the young woman and crone. It realized the limits of intellect, the shattered mind, the gangs and nests of sychophants and diversity, the incest and drugs and alcohol and the 8 is too late crowd and the whole pedophilia movement.  I cried.  I was lost. I knew my father who’d been in war and knew the horror of the military and my MP uncle who knew the war and jail and the things they’d tried to warn me about.  The betrayals of violent and powerful..  Here I am again and Communist China has invaded Canada and the PM is unethical as if it matters as I read, the ethical slut.  I’m so confused and it’s all illusion. A clown world and crazy house like Halloween.  My loss of innocence. I think of all those sacrificed for the system, the power.

Just the other day I was reminded of my friends who didn’t believe the ‘system’ could be changes so opted out. The friends of that summer of love, the ones who went off to communes, the ones who joined, the military and the missionary.  It was the end of high school and a dasporo and I was arguing you could change the system from within .I would start as a dancer and actor and cycle across Europe meeting the old royal lines ,the fallen and the risen, and we’d play chess and bicycle and I’d be so naive.  My first wife wise beyond her years and safe eventually in another man’s arm.  I couldn’t change the system from within. I couldn’t change myself.

I stopped alcohol and pot and tobacco and became a celibate monk again.  I’d taken that route when dance and television and world of pink Floyd got into mind.  Deep Purple, Moody Blues, Guess Who.  And I’d be in medical school afraid of war and afraid of the homicidal suicidal demon within. I owned my self. I read Milton and knew the devil’s vanity looking at his shadow rather than the light. I served God and Good and saved lives and walked in the light and tried to be a good man.  The politics were extraordinary.  The things I saw in the wet reserves of the north and residential school, the horror!!!! The horror!!!!.

I did years of psychoanalytic therapy then. It was all for naught or it just brought me face to face with a higher power, The return to church and prayer and AA.  That first year of crossing the room to conservative and traditions the study of history and the ability to see the revenge best served cold, the smiling hate.  The kaleidoscope and holograms and fractals, calculus and algebra, the music theory and confusion.  The mists and dreams and dream theory and lucid dreaming in the multiverse. The diversity of possibilities and nodals.  Computers and hacking the internet and all the geniuses and schizophrenics.  Alone at sea.  Thousands of miles from other humans.  

Now it’s June again.  The end of may. Women rolling eyes and the parable of John the Baptist, the decapitaed head and the daughter of emperors whose sexual perversity demands the death of the prophet.  Argentina and the Haitians.  Druids and the sacrifice of children in the Mayan temples.  The tarot deck.  The fool and the hyropant.

Bernie died. Hank died. Mom and Dad died,  My aunt died. Then Scotty died and my brother died. This last couple of years George and Vivian and the ancients are no more. I’m standing in line. In God’s waiting room.  I was alone at sea

Now I’m outfitted for a moving land box. My friend in a plane and a homestead cabin stake in the north.  Buying land, working for a place big enough for an urn. She is proud of her bit of earth. I once owned land but it was a casino.  The house always wins.  She used me and I used her.  

Ivan Illich and Voltaire. Emerson and the French and Americans.  Philosophers and theologians.  The Stoics and this epicurean world. She read Nietze after we made love in candle light.  I was reading Zarathustra. The templates were naked and now they are libraries filled with wisdom and sayings. Proverbs and psalms.  Psychiatric degrees and degrees in psychology and philosophy and comparative religions. Theology and meditation. Ashrams and temples. The whirling gervishes. The exotic stones.  Delphi and holy places .Rome and the places where the lost and damned have wet the marble flows with tears of pain and suffering.

My God My God why hasn’t thou forsaken me cried the man on the cross. Suzanne takes you down.  There is a war. 

Ron Died.  

I prayed that I would die in his stead.  the Prodigal son.  Seeing the Remembrant in St. Petersburg.  

It’s over it was written.  Is it ever over. Nirvana, samadhi, heaven and hell.  This too shall pass. It is what is is.

The mother in law long dead. The grandmother’s and grand father’s dead. The book, denial of death, MAID and euthanasia and abortion and the one child family and the oncology wards and the dying patients.  The sense of failure. Powerlessness.

I’m powerless. Ego deflation. Selfishness. The attachments. The rich man asks if he can join and the God says you must give up everything for me.  The seven deadly sins. The lust and avarice and gluttony and anger.  Drop the rock.

I am tired and will go back to bed. The hairs on my neck are down. The horror of the night gone. It’s just a recurring nightmare. It’s all about leaving home and adolescent.  I am reading McCall SMith and the boy said he want to leave home to be with his two friends romantically and his mother turned away rolling her eyes at me and angry with me and I remember I left my home to live with two people and it was a woman and a man but her father refused her and there was the friend who lied and betrayed, the narcissist who was into drugs and alcohol and godless and I was the fool.  I entered the lair and left the home of love and care my family.  Black sheep. I am so sad thinking of my mother and how as an adolescent if turned my face from my father and mother . Years later my father in the cold of winter would dress in his 80’s take a bus to the hospital and push my mother’s wheel chair around the hospital to where she could feed the birds.  We always loved the birds and mom always kept the bird feeder full that dad had made her. 

Love was always right in my face, the most epic love story of all my father and my brother the greatest men I’d ever know and my mother and sister in law and all the men and wome who stood in the wings while strangers did pas de dieuxs.  It was always theatre. Of stage there were those who played the dirges.  I stood with band aids and gauze

The war carried on,  The Louisiana brass band played and the zombies danced in the street . And I was still afraid.

Anxiety is a measure of your distance from God.

Thank you Jesus. Hallelujah.  May all the saints rejoice.  Yea though I walk throug the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil for thou art with me.  

The shining light.

The Light.

Be still and know that I am God.  BE still. Be.

It’s always biting the hand who feeds. They bite the hand who feeds.  They steal the food and medicine meant for the ill. The bullies and thugs.  Steal a little and they put you in jail. Steal a lot and they make you king.

The nightmares are worst.  The future thinking fears are a horror.

Just for today. One day at a time.  The comfort is in the other.  The stranger is God. Love is unsettling. Martin Burber was right in I and Thou.  Cohen and Dylan and Donovan.  hurry Gordy man singing songs of love. Must be the season of th witch.  Sounds of silence.  Light foot died and Tina Turner. The lights are going out. And I’m still standing in the dark. Bowie dead.  George dead. The children and families all together. I’m in the last club on the block. I remember the Masons, Rosicrucian’s, the churches and the schools.    

Hopelessness

It’s been a while since I was in the abyss.  The trouble with trauma is a trigger can put you back there in a minute. A violet aggressive women who would portray herself as a ‘victim’ has attacked my friends and I seeking the support of legions who live to rescue criminals and terrorists and pay them all the while abusing the folk who show up for work.  Think of my colleague threatened and then all the dangers of the public emboldened by the Trudeau’s of the would that loathe ethics and morality celebrating drugs and disorder. It’s appalling.

I am taken back to the patient threatening to kill me because I wouldn’t see him on crystal meth threatening to kill me.  He complained about everyone and all of them were investigated and had their lives turned upside down by these above the law communist functionaries that purpost to protect and serve but instead pour fuel on fires and protect themselves. A year I had this fellow threatening me and nothing was done for my protection or care until the police called me saying the man was threatening the PM.  Now I’m threatened again, indirectly , witnessing the abuse of good women and men doing their duty.  

Now I’m not feeling like my head is in the game. I’m afraid. I had fleeting suicidal thoughts remembering the death threats and sexual abuse and physical abuse and the pain. I’m tired of the chronic pain though with good doctors I’ve moved from sharp pain too just soreness . It’s getting better after a fall a year ago. Everything is getting better. I’m blessed. But there was the weekend devoted to nightmares, intrussive thoughts, shaking and dissociation. Back in the cell back in the false accusations back facing the nest and feeling utterly alone. I know I’m not.  The beautiful women involved are brilliant and handle this systemic aggression so much better than me. I’m crying spontaneously again. Unable to sleep, thoughts racing. I’ve been nearly killing my self in several near miss encounters on the motorcycle.  Self pity is rearing it’s head along with fear. I’m surrounded in a dream with men with weapons and I’m naked and they’re armed and clothed.  Life does’t seem so good at 4 in the morning waking from a nightmare in a cold sweat and remembering the arrogance and grandiosity of the virtue signallers chosen for their Nuremberg features. They’re just doing their jobs and I’m wondering about how culpable I am too. I’m feeling less and less capable and feel less tolerance for the violent and entitled.  

The expectations of perfection that come constantly from on high remind me when Joan Byaz In Rolling Stone said we were all on the mountain and couldn’t see each other because the tiny few at the top had shit making machines and it was all the shit that stopped us from seeing all of us and how there were so very few of them.  Shit making machines.

I’ve tried meditating for an hour and it was wrestling with my conscious. Jacob and the Angel. I wasn’t very capable at all, mind like a mexican jumping bean.  Fear. 

I want to run away. Death has it’s appeal then . I just don’t want to do this sordid little scene that destroys the very thing it purports to help.

I’m afraid. I’m looking at escape. I’m not fully present. I’m vulnerable. I’m aware that the hurt people are hurt by my distraction but that’s what’s happened in the past. One psychopath backed by the war machine have beat me up endlessly for months and sometimes years and I’ve suited up and shown up and gone to work

I have this dream of camping in the south and in a camper with a motorcycle and it’s that ‘attachment’ that attracts the water boarding. I feel self pity and these people with all this power cause me to feel I’m pushing the wheelers shopping cart and homeless again.   I’m alone and afraid. More night mares.  Falling asleep in the afternoon. Utterly fatigued. Paranoid about strangers .

I have written gratitude lists. I’ve talked it out. I’ve been reassured. I ‘m not alone. I’m just the oldest one of the group under attack. I’m feeling I can’t go on and that aging is more humiliations and degradation, that the psychopaths with the Justin Trudeau’s and Xi Jin Pings now rule and I’m a fool. I’m ashamed of my naivity.  

I’m so tired. I’m just exhausted.  I fought tech and alone handled the lack of secretarial support and knew I was facing legions of administration and these pavement people in boardroom boxes making committee decisions while I was alone and unarmed and trying to defend myself with no time, overwhelmed by the unbelievable number of demands that are arising now as everyone is down and the lack of resources is increasing.  Supply chain failures.  And more people expecting me to solve the problem and extorting attention and demands and threatening with attitude and rolling eyes and powerful demands and I’m cowering and waiting to be hit like an ownerless dog in the rain in th street.

I walked me dog and exercise, hours and still I’m dead inside. I was okay for a couple of hours then look of disgust and I felt it. I’m not good enough .I’ve never been good enough d enough and I’ll never be good enough.  That’s all you do with your judgemental ness and criticism.  I gave. I gave blood. I gave in multiple injuries and I’ve been kicked repeatedly when I’m down. I’ve been betrayed and where are the Wilbury’s when we need them.  Forget Joe Di magio.  It’s like the matrix world of hero’s disappearing, Lightfoot and Tina Turner and the wall of reality is breaking down as I’m drawn closer to the death and this abysss.  I pray. And I’m protected.  I’m no longer outside grace as I fear I was when I read Phillips, Your God is too small.  I have an inferiority complex. I am a people pleaser. I’m poor.  I was ruined by divorce and all I tried to do was my best whic h was never good enough.

Now I’ve got to combat the negativity with gratitude. I’m actually hungry.  HALT .  I’m have ing drink less pout and temper tantrum, an indulgence in inferiority and what I need is to make a sandwich. F.E.A.R. - fuck everything and run or face everything and recover.  I’ll get through this day.  Thank you Jesus.

Gratitude Saturday

I’m pleased to be awake.  The day is good. Sunny warm. Madigan is a nutbar.  Jumped on my crotch when he figured I was waking.  Acted like he was innocent.  I did sit cross legged after and pray and meditate. I like peace of mind. The exercise quiets the fears and resentments.  Next I physically exercised.  

My morning crisis was the shortage of ground expresso. I have instant but I had just enough for a cup of coffee. I’m roasting Ethiopian green beans right now.  I attended my zoom meeting of IDAA cyberdocs on one coffee.  Listened and didn’t offer to share.  

I walked the dog. He was jumping up and down making it difficult to attach his leash as usual. Then he was piddling everywhere, A prolific pee mail contributor. I liked the birds though I believe a crow has moved into the tree where I saw the hummingbirds.  

There wasn’t much on social media.  Too often I let it skew my emotional self.  I like it for the models and campfires and dogs and cats.  The advertising is sneaky.  Minor concerns.

I’m really grateful to be alive.  I love the spring and summer.  A light breeze with flower blossoms making it look like pink snow.  I walked with Peter and Lucy and Bella and he commented on them earlier this week. Today we met with Dave and Emory.  

“I’ve got new saddlebag’s, “. I said.

“I just took my bags off to streamline my bike,” said Dave

“I miss the lean and mean look but love the convenience of saddlebags if only to carry bungee cords.”

“Do they come off easily.”  

“I expect so , “ I haven’t tried. I was thinking that I have to test the head set and see if I can interface my iPhone with the motorcycle.  Elon Musk announced a Neuro chip test recently.  I’m happy with computer enhancements.  Loved watching the French Sci Fi Valerian and the world of a thousand planets.  

Emory was glad to see his pal Madigan and they walked together .  Emory is old and can only make it to the office and back.  He has a funny lope gait as he bounces to stay with us.  He doesn’t seem older in intention.  

Terry shared he was 77 and Milton said he was dating a new girl at 78.  “My last partner was beautiful and I had money whereas this one is a PHD and we can’t get off the phone talking.”  He sounded like a teen ager.  Another woman shared she was 61 , that her mother lived to 90 so she was on her back 30.  Nathan had begun it all saying a friend told him he had another decade to go and as that was 2 years ago he figured he had 8 years left.

I find myself thinking of the finiteness of life.  I’m presently preparing for my winter project taking the camper and motorcycle and satellite dish to Arizona to avoid the month of cold and snow. I have dreamed of being a snow bird since I lived in Winnipeg despite spending a year in Mexico and a year in California and years in the Marianas Islands. Last year I had a month in Yuma and loved it but didn’t like returning to the snow and ice. So that’s the project.  I’m year to year I guess. I enjoy working and the virtual possibility makes it even better.  I was at the clinic yesterday and enjoyed the new people serving and contributing.  I was also glad to be earning money as it payed for my saddlebags. Now that they’re on the bike I can look at the rack for the front of the truck which will allow me to carry it with me.  

I booked a weekend in Harrisons for Laura and I. I wanted to be by a lake so I could swim. Garry recommended more of it for my back.  My back is just sore and stiff but doens’t have the sharp pains and the severe weakness as much now, since I’ve been exercising more. Camping and quadding and doing these things on the weekend are really active and I hurt but it’s good hurt when I come back. Too much time on the couch watching tv and snacking.  Good to be getting healthy.  

Thank you God for this life. Thank you for this creation and for my being in this creation. Thank you for friends and Madigan. Thank you for work and colleagues. Thank you Jesus!

Riverhaven RV Park, going home

This Victoria Day long weekend has been wonderful.  Laura and I and Madigan have slept a lot. I’ve barbecued so we have had steaks each night with storebough salad kits , potato salads and only one night boiled eggs with butter and sour cream.  Laura has made cold cut sandwiches.  Each evening we’ve each had a ice cream bar thanks to the freezer compartment in the camper fridge.  

I’ve walked Madigan about the camp several times a day, stopping to study the fast flowing high river that is above the beach line.  We’ve read. I’ve read several books . 44 Scotland by McCall Smith has had me thoroughly entertained by Bertie and Irene, second gap year Pat, lost Mathew, wise Dominica and countless antics the folk in this Edinburgh building get up too along with Big Lou’s cafe and Dr. Fairbairn’s psychotherapy office.  I definitely did the full range of laughter from bell laughing guffaws, to chuckles to snickers to chortles reading it. So thanks to Amazon I’ve ordered the second one in the series. I’d already read severeal of his Number One Lady‘s Detective Agency so feel thankful he is most prolific and I’ve some dozen more to read.  

I did get out in on the Honda 420 Tracker riding high up into the mountains on the logging trails to where I sighted in my Ruger 223 bolt action and my Ruger 30:06 bolt action. I was chillier in the high country so not so pleasant the one day it rained.  Madigan rode behind me in his box with a leash attached.  He really does like these rides and each day on his own would jump on the quad and sit up wanting to be put in the box for another expedition.

I did take pictures of marmots.  

Bear season was still open but I had my Nikon and imagined if it was right in front of me on the road I’d take a picture rather than a shot. The idea of all the work of hauling the bear back to the road and getting it down off the mountain seemed too much work for my back which has been kind to me these last few weeks so I’ve not had any desire to undue the process, to say nothing for the bear who I’m sure would like to live.  Fortunately I didn’t have to make a decision as none appeared and I was happy to shoot targets and drive about in the country with my dog.

We had eggs and bacon for breakfasts and toast and jam.  Eating is becoming a looked forward to event.  Followed by coffee and reading.  Neighbours had dogs and our dogs visitted a bit while we smiled and nodded and discussed the weather.  Half the days were rain and the other half were sunny.  We had the most extraordinary thunder and lightning one day.  Quite the scarey sort.  

I had a couple of showers always enjoying in indulging in my little’s homes on site amenities.  We had shore electricity and water as well as sewage hose.  Glamping is what my friends call it.  I rather enjoy it.  Laura takes time with make up and generally is a the most beautiful companion and a delight to share time with.  

I actually wrote some of western story. It’;s like playing guitar. I have to be relaxed to enjoy these past times.  Sketching is the one that I only do when I’m really relaxed and off the clock. It’s a while since I’ve felt so childlike.  Mostly I’m busy and affected by the news still though at a distance in the woods.  There are calls but and texts but none needed to be addressed on the weekend so I was thankful for that. I could ‘play’ instead letting my imagination make a story. I do look forward to doing more of that.  Telling tales.  It’s like writing poetry but more childlike and fun.  A bit of see one do one too.  I read so much it’s a pleasure to add to the written story word.

Now it’s time to gather up things and load up before heading home .  Check out is 11 and it’s only 9 so coffee first.

It’s been a marvellous time off from work.  A gentle time.  I’m so very thankful .  God is good all of the time. Thank you Jesus.  

The Cafe

She’d seen men killed before. She didn’t like it.  The waste.  She couldn’t believe God went to all the effort of creation to have it knocked off so suddenly like that. It happened in Nature though. All manner of things lived and died. So why should man be different.  The Bible said thou shalt not murder.  It wasn’t murder if the men involved were just too stupid to take warning.  Some did that. Pride and stupidity.  She had thought that of the Hodgkin  Brothers.  Not too bright but thinking themselves so clever.  The young man was different.

He’d stepped away from the horses not wanting them to be involved. He’d then finished the business almost casually.  She watched him.  So fast but sure and his face had not shown anything but necessity. He’d clearly not wanted to be involved either but his first thought was for the horses.

Then he was tying his own horse outside the cafe and she felt her cheeks grow red.  

“The sheriff told me this was the best place to get a meal.” He said.  

“I’m glad he did,” she replied.  He sat at a table with his back to the wall watching the door way as she stood next to him taking his order.

“I’d like coffee and steak and eggs easy over, if that’s available. Maybe some buns too. I like milk in the coffee if you have that.”

“I do. It will just be a few minutes to make up. “. 

He watched her return to the kitchen, her yellow dress complimenting her blond hair.  She had white shoes.  He couldn’t remember if he’d seen white shoes like that. Most of the shoes ladies wore to church were dark. Otherwise they wore laced boots or cowboy boots like the men.  It’s was whiteness of the shoes that caught his attention or her attractive calves that became visible as she walked.  He had thought her very attractive when he walked in and she’d smiled.  Her voice had been lyrical as well and he liked how her blue eyes engaged his.  It had all happened so quickly like a gun fight but this was the opposite. This was something he definitely wanted.  

He mused about normal life and what it would be like when he finished this business about his brother.  He only knew the name of his brother’s killer and wondered if these men he’d fought might be part of the gang who’d killed his brother.  It had taken his brother 2 whole days to die in pain and anguish. During that time he’d said, “It was Pan. That’s what the other men called him.  He was short, bow legged wth black hair and beard.  He had a scar on his forehead.  Maybe a knife.”  The doctor had given him morphine for the pain so he was in and out of consciousness, wanting to be present and to talk but all to quickly experiencing so much pain he cried for the morphine.  It was a terrible death. His brother was a good man. The best.  This Pan fellow was just a murderer.  

She brought the coffee first and a while later the plate of steak and eggs with buns.  He prayed his thanks before he ate.  It was wholesome and delicious.  

She came back to freshen his coffee and enjoyed watching him eat with such joy.

“This is delicious, ma’am, I’ve been on the ride for days but even if I not been  I’d say this is one of the best meals I’ve had . The buns are perfect. Everything is .”  

She beamed at his praise and he enjoyed her shy smile.  She left him to finish eating returning only to refill his coffee.

“I saw you shoot those men,’ she said, awkwardly

“They gave me little choice.” He said.

“I saw, but I also saw how you protected the horses by moving away from them.” 

“I guess I did,’ he smiled, “it wasn’t any fight of theirs. ‘

“May I ask what brings you here. To Hedley?”

“I’m on the trail of the man who killed my brother.  I heard he was with a gang in these parts.  Have you heard of the name Pan.”

“I’ve not but those men you shot, I believe I over heard them mentioned that name. They might know more at the logging camp a few miles north.  It’s an unusual name, that’s why I remember.”  

‘That sounds then like I’m on the right track.  Thank you ma’am?”  He said standing.

She watched him pick up his hat , leaving twice what the meal had cost.   She watched him go out the door.  Tall. Certain.   He untied his horse mounting and headed out of town. 

Jake and Rob

“Were Jake and Tom here?” The burly looking man wearing brown trill pants and jacket asked. He was bearded too, wearing a gun belt and tied down holster with a dark wood handled pistol. He didn’t look too clean. 

“Not that I seen,” answered the bar tender, his brogue still distinctive.

“Well, their horses are  tied outside. They must be around somewhere or coming back here.”

The young man had  been watching and listening from the table wth his back to the wall. 

“The three horses tied outside are my horses. “ he said standing,”  Were these Jake and Tom your friends?” He asked the man who turned now to face him.

“Who are you to be asking?” The burley fellow asked, his hand close to the low riding gun.

‘The man who shot the wonder of two of those horses before me they came to mine ,” he answered , matter of factly.

The burl man didn’t answer that  in words but drew his gun in hope of answering in action. The trouble was his action was quickly superseded by a much faster reaction.  He was left  holding his chest and falling forward onto his face. The last look he had before he face planted was one of surprise and shock.  The men sitting further back in the saloon didn’t even get up from their chairs but now having looked , turned back to their card game.

“Can you tell me who that was and who these Jake and Tom were?’ The young man asked the bar tender.  “I don’t know any of them but Jake and Rob, if they owned the horses,  tried to bushwhack me coming through the canyon.  I took them horses but left their bodies for the wolves. 

‘Can’t say I know them.” Said the bar tend, “  They came in here together for drinks , that’s all.”  

“Is there a sheriff here?’ Asked the young man. 

“Yes, he’ll be here once word gets to him that there’s been a shooting.  Don’t worry I saw it was self defence and will say so.    I don’t think the sheriff cared for any of them. You should know they have friends, not many but a few.” 

“ Nick who does does the carpentry here about takes care of the  undertaking., too. I expect him to be along soon as he hears.”

At that moment, the sheriff, came through the swinging doors, a barrel shaped man with black leather vest and not so shiny star. Looked be close to or more than 50  with grizzled salt and pepper beard.  He carried  a shot gun under his arm as well as a colt revolver on his low hung hip holster.    He stopped at  the body looking down at it and then looking up at  the young man and bar tender. 

‘Did you shoot Manuel?” The sheriff bluntly asked the young man. 

“If that’s the dead man’s name, I did,” he answered 

“It was self defence. Manual drew on him first , “ said the bar tender. “He  a bit slow as you can tell.” 

“Well, he probably had it coming to him too.” Said the sheriff,”   Mean and humourless son of a gun. You’d best beware of his buds Jake and Tom. He ran with them and they really were a bad lot. “

“I don’t think I’ll have to worry about them,” said the younng man. “. I shot a couple of bushwackers in the canyon this morning.  Manual recognised their horses outside. “

“Where are the bodies?” Asked the Sheriff.   

“I left them there. I don’t know these parts so I didn’t know when or where I’d be able to be relieved of them. “

“Then that still leaves leaves the Hodgkin brothers.  They might not be happy about your killing their pals. There was rumour they were all working together robbing and killing  folks but no one alive to accuse them formally until you.’

At that moment Nick came in.  “I heard you had some work for me Sherriff”. 

“Looks like Manual is going to need burying.” Said the Sheriff, “ Apparently his two pals are being eaten by scavengers in the canyon but if you want the work you could probably get what’s left of the bodies and collect their fees from what the boys have in their place.”.

Turning to the young man, the sheriff asked, ‘Did those two have anything substantial on them when they tried to shoot you? “ 

“Just a few dollars I figured they owed me for the trouble. I took their horses and guns figuring to sell them first chance.” 

“Martin over at the store would probably take the guns for a good price since they’re in demand here about. The hostler would take the horses. Jake and Tom had pretty good taste in horse flesh. “

Leaving the Sheriff and Nick to their business the young man left  to sell the guns and  horses , thankful for the advise and directions.   

He got a good price for the guns and was just walking to the stable when two fat men wearing calf skin and cowboy boots stopped him in the street. 

“Those are Jake and Tom’s horses. “ the shorter man said accusingly, “ You must be the one who shot our friends.”

‘The young man had left Sadie tied at the Saloon but now turning to the angry men before him he dropped the leads of the two horses moving clear of them so they’d not become casualties in the altercations of me. All the while he watch the two fat boys ready for them to make a move. 

“I shot the two men who tried to bushwhack me, if that’s what you’re asking.”he said 

The brothers went for their guns but the young man was just that much faster as he put a bullet each in their individual puffed up chests.  Only one had cleared leather with his pistol before the red blossomed on his white cotton shirt,  His brother collapses seconds after him red blossoming where his neck met his chest.  They both felt in the dirt with thuds. The Sherriff watched out all from from the Saloon porch.  

“More work for you Nick,” he called  as the young man picked up the reigns of the horses and continued on to the stable.  

The pretty young blond woman who’d inherited the cafe after her parents were killled, stood out front on the boardwalk and watched as the young man  continued on to the stable.