My great
grandfather was riding home with a friend and his friend’s wife. They lived about a half day from the nearest
town, and great grandpa lived another half day’s ride from their place. He was going to stay with them for the
evening and continue on the next morning.
They took a different road toward the farm than they had used going to the town. Great grandpa was never one to go the same way if there was another way available. The path was fairly level with briar patches beginning their assault on it. The Horses had been allowed a leisurely pace, and the men had been laughing and joking. All three shared the local news and exchanged opinions on the year’s crops, the weather and other more controversial topics.
About an hour from the farm, the wife screamed. The two men went for their rifles and saw what the wife was pointing at. About 10 feet in front of them was a man. He groaned and looked down at them with one eye. My grandfather and his friend put away their guns and cautiously rode up to the man.
The man began to speak. He told his story like you and I would talk about breakfast. He had said that he came from Nevada though not by choice. He had left his wife there with his father. She had blond hair and blue eyes. They were going to have a child.
He was only supposed to be gone a week. He was just delivering goods to some miners. He left the town; the flat-bedded wagon loaded with food stuffs and shovels. The day was bright and warm.
He had driven for about an hour when he saw a group riding toward him. he reached for his rifle but put it away when he realized that it was a traveling preacher with his followers. There were seven men, including the man in the black shirt and collar, a woman and a young girl about eight years old.
The group blocked his path, and the preacher asked the man if he had accepted the Lord as his personal Savior.
The man said that he had. The preacher pulled out two six shooters and took the man. He was bound hand and foot. He was tied to his horse belly down and off they rode leaving the wagon behind.
The man did not know how long he had been gone from the town. The band was constantly on the move, and the days blended into each other. The pain of hunger and thirst were constant. His ribs ached from the regular beatings.
Then one day, it all changed. He was fed a good breakfast and given plenty of water throughout the day. He rode in the back of the wagon with the little girl. She entertained him as best she could though her hands and feet were tied. They stopped in the afternoon at a cemetery. He was fed a good lunch.
The preacher came to him with a shovel after the meal. The man began to dig in the cemetery yard.
The hole was about three feet wide, six feet long and three feet deep when the preacher stopped him and set him to digging a another hole. The second was roughly the same as the first when the preacher stopped him again.
As the man stood up from his hunched over position, he saw the woman standing in the first hole. The preacher drew his gun, and as the woman turned around, he waited to see the terror in her eyes. Then he killed her.
The preacher turned toward the man pointing his gun at him. The man stretched out his arms, his palms facing up toward the sky and thought his final prayer. There was a shot, and the man was dragged into the dirt.
His leg was on fire. The pain shot through the dull ache he had come to live with the last week. His mind was overcome. Nothing but pain. And then nothing.
He was on his back looking up at light flickering off of stone. His leg still hurt. As he leaned up to reach his leg, the little girl pushed him back down and put a canteen to his mouth.
He complained about the pain in his leg. The girl told him that his leg couldn’t hurt anymore. It wasn’t there.
The rest of the time with the band was a blur of pain. It was punctuated with two more shots and the loss of an arm and a leg.
When the preacher tired of the sport, he nailed the man to the gray boards where he was now. There were two nails in his shoulders, two in his hips and one in his hand, which was nailed as far from the body as it could have been pulled without having been pulled off. It looked like the man was waving to someone down the road. Dried blood showed where it had once run. It ran from both eyes, one of which was missing. It ran from his hips, his leg sockets, arm socket, shoulders and hand. Above his head was carved a word, below his body were two words and in the upper left hand corner was a sideways figure eight.
The man died as he finished his story.
They took a different road toward the farm than they had used going to the town. Great grandpa was never one to go the same way if there was another way available. The path was fairly level with briar patches beginning their assault on it. The Horses had been allowed a leisurely pace, and the men had been laughing and joking. All three shared the local news and exchanged opinions on the year’s crops, the weather and other more controversial topics.
About an hour from the farm, the wife screamed. The two men went for their rifles and saw what the wife was pointing at. About 10 feet in front of them was a man. He groaned and looked down at them with one eye. My grandfather and his friend put away their guns and cautiously rode up to the man.
The man began to speak. He told his story like you and I would talk about breakfast. He had said that he came from Nevada though not by choice. He had left his wife there with his father. She had blond hair and blue eyes. They were going to have a child.
He was only supposed to be gone a week. He was just delivering goods to some miners. He left the town; the flat-bedded wagon loaded with food stuffs and shovels. The day was bright and warm.
He had driven for about an hour when he saw a group riding toward him. he reached for his rifle but put it away when he realized that it was a traveling preacher with his followers. There were seven men, including the man in the black shirt and collar, a woman and a young girl about eight years old.
The group blocked his path, and the preacher asked the man if he had accepted the Lord as his personal Savior.
The man said that he had. The preacher pulled out two six shooters and took the man. He was bound hand and foot. He was tied to his horse belly down and off they rode leaving the wagon behind.
The man did not know how long he had been gone from the town. The band was constantly on the move, and the days blended into each other. The pain of hunger and thirst were constant. His ribs ached from the regular beatings.
Then one day, it all changed. He was fed a good breakfast and given plenty of water throughout the day. He rode in the back of the wagon with the little girl. She entertained him as best she could though her hands and feet were tied. They stopped in the afternoon at a cemetery. He was fed a good lunch.
The preacher came to him with a shovel after the meal. The man began to dig in the cemetery yard.
The hole was about three feet wide, six feet long and three feet deep when the preacher stopped him and set him to digging a another hole. The second was roughly the same as the first when the preacher stopped him again.
As the man stood up from his hunched over position, he saw the woman standing in the first hole. The preacher drew his gun, and as the woman turned around, he waited to see the terror in her eyes. Then he killed her.
The preacher turned toward the man pointing his gun at him. The man stretched out his arms, his palms facing up toward the sky and thought his final prayer. There was a shot, and the man was dragged into the dirt.
His leg was on fire. The pain shot through the dull ache he had come to live with the last week. His mind was overcome. Nothing but pain. And then nothing.
He was on his back looking up at light flickering off of stone. His leg still hurt. As he leaned up to reach his leg, the little girl pushed him back down and put a canteen to his mouth.
He complained about the pain in his leg. The girl told him that his leg couldn’t hurt anymore. It wasn’t there.
The rest of the time with the band was a blur of pain. It was punctuated with two more shots and the loss of an arm and a leg.
When the preacher tired of the sport, he nailed the man to the gray boards where he was now. There were two nails in his shoulders, two in his hips and one in his hand, which was nailed as far from the body as it could have been pulled without having been pulled off. It looked like the man was waving to someone down the road. Dried blood showed where it had once run. It ran from both eyes, one of which was missing. It ran from his hips, his leg sockets, arm socket, shoulders and hand. Above his head was carved a word, below his body were two words and in the upper left hand corner was a sideways figure eight.
The man died as he finished his story.