| talltales | member since January 2010 |
 | February 7, 2010, 12:38 am The Legend of Balanced Jim - Part 5 - Log Cabin of Pain Seven hundred miles was a long time to sit a horse, even one as steady footed as the Bay Balanced Jim had come to trust. The gelding’s reddish brown body and exceptional black points had always drawn attention but the horse was starting to show its age. The money Jim earned from following the Chisholm Trail, named after Jesse Chisholm - a successful trading post operator in Oklahoma - would be enough to purchase a home in California. With cattle prices having gone plum loco in the East after the War of Northern Aggression, a feller could make a sizable sum if he knew how to drive cattle on a timetable across considerable distances, fording the Red River, and onwards to reach the railheads in Kansas. While cattle were fetching a mere $4 a head in Texas, to the North and East, ten times that sum were not uncommon. Joseph McCoy had built stockyards in Kansas and had encouraged Texas cattlemen to drive their steers north for profit. Over the years over 5,000,000 head of Texas cattle had reached Kansas over the Chisholm Trail. Balanced Jim had signed on with O.W. Wheeler and partners to move the last herds north along the trail as the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad was soon going to change the business of cattle logistics forever. Although British Herefords were quickly replacing the Longhorn for beef production, Jim had noted that the tallow-rich Hereford’s seemed to be a contributing factor to the expanded waistlines of many of the menfolk he encountered. The most notable characteristic of the more famous Longhorns was, naturally, those impressive horns, some stretching upwards of seven feet. Most also exhibited a gentle disposition and some folks even thought of them as more intelligent than other bovine breeds. This intelligence manifested in the ability to find food and shelter in virtually any surroundings and a strong survival instinct. Heck, Jim had seen Longhorns go to great lengths to find their calves safe harbor from predators. Jim sat his Bay and watched as the flow of cattle moved like a river across the arid plains. The effect was mesmerizing. Not normally one to have his mind wander, the cascading bovine flood across the landscape seemed to relax him. Jim found his attention drifting to the report he was preparing for the Department of Agriculture. He was considering titling it “Balanced Days, Balanced Lives” and he hoped it would bring some much need paradigm shift to the agency. He smiled to himself as he thought, “old son, this double life is gonna get you in trouble one of these days.” A sharp whistle broke his daydreaming and Jim looked to see what the commotion was about. Don “Ice” Moon was waving his arms trying to gain Jim’s attention. “For the love of Pete - that broken-horned bastard is trying to wander off again!” Don yelled out. Balanced Jim quickly caught sight of the steer, his left horn broken off nearly at the skull, wandering away from the herd. He would be damned if he was going to cough up the money to pay for a lost cow on his watch. Grabbing his rope from the saddle horn, Jim guided the Bay with the pressure from his knees and feet. The well-trained horse began to pursue the lost animal. As Jim’s attention focused on the vagabond steer, the rest of the scenery seemed to blur. He felt a sudden wave of nausea over take him and he stopped for fear of falling off his mount. From behind him, he could hear Don calling out, “Jim…. Come on now Jim.” Turning in his saddle, the landscape behind him had shifted. Blinking away the sick, Jim became aware that he was sitting the Bay and looking across a span of a quarter of a mile to Don, who sat his black horse in silence. Don’s hand rose in a friendly wave and once again he heard Don’s voice, “Oh god, wake up Jim…” Balanced Jim removed his brown Stetson, mayhap, he had gotten too much sun and boiled his brains? No, that didn’t seem right. He was rapidly becoming aware of a throbbing pain in the back of his head. “Jim - for the love of God, open your eyes Jim!” Although he could still see Don, he had somehow moved back even further… and the voice had changed. It sounded more feminine, yet familiar… “Please Lord, just let him open his eyes and wake up.” The voice pleaded. “If you don’t hush up, I’ll gag you, so help me God, I’ll do it!” Came another voice, this one much deeper and harsh. “Just don’t hurt him,” the feminine voice said, “I’ll do whatever you want.” With a start, Jim awoke and found himself face down on a dirt floor. His head throbbed with pain and the sickness which had threatened to overcome him was on him like a shot once more. He slowly reached to the back of his head and was not surprised to find a rather large, egg shaped lump on the back of his skull. Jim tried to push himself up but found himself too weak for the task. He fell forward again and then was rewarded by a swift boot kick to his back. The woman’s voice was heard again as she cried out, “Leave him be!! Haven’t you done enough already?!?” By instinct alone, Balanced Jim’s hand shot for his gun but he found the cross-draw rig empty. He quickly rolled over and looked at his attacker. The man was tall and lanky, all elbows and knees. He wore blue Levis in addition to a red and white checkered shirt. The man was pale, had blonde hair, shockingly bright blue eyes, and one hell of an evil grin. His chew-stained teeth were only out-tarnished by the appearance of his white Stetson . The man held a rusty Colt Navy revolver on Jim. “If he moves again Henry, just plug him,” said the husky voice, which belonged to the beady-eyed man at the table. So Henry “Cholesterol” Cheeisnack was the gunman who had the drop on him, that making the ‘husky voice’ at the table Zek “Sodium” Taterchipenson. The McMeal twins were standing along the small fireplace watching the action. Jim decided to buy himself some thinking time and raised his hands, palms outward, in a calming gesture of supplication. Jim found himself in a small, single room log cabin. Directly in front of him lay the only door, and window, to his left the fireplace being tended by The Twins, and to his right was a table and two chairs were Zek sat, and a raised pallet being used as a bed. Upon the bed, looking terrified, sat Pamela Ann. Her face was stained with tears. Balanced Jim gave her a look which at once transmitted his intentions and a stern warning to keep quiet. Even in this dire situation, she looked lovely. Jim had always been taken by her smooth, youthful skin which was unlined and free of wrinkles. Although Positive Pamela Ann normally showed a very calm demeanor, Jim had seen her eyes grow dark and snap with anger. He had also seen them soften when she smiled. Despite himself, Jim smiled when he looked at her, as he knew what lay underneath that fluffed-out blouse and full skirt. This was the love of his life and he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to lay down his own life to save her. Although his Peacemaker was missing, Jim still felt the weight of the French Apache Revolver in his left vest pocket, and knew that, as he hoped, it had been mistaken for a watch. This dog was down but he wasn’t out - and he was ready to bite. Balanced Jim turned his full attention to the man seated at the table. A large kerosene lantern sat mid-table and provided good illumination to the room. Although the wick lamp’s hurricane shade had a large chip, the base was full of the flammable liquid and it burned bright. Zek “Sodium” Taterchipenson‘s eyes were set back into sunken sockets. He had a pale and pasty complexion, which was highlighted by a frame of jet black hair. Zek’s face was home to a large, crooked nose which had been smashed flat on more than one occasion from picking fights he couldn’t win. The leader of the Taterchipenson Gang had the look of someone who would knock your teeth out, then kick you in the stomach for mumbling. “Well, Jim, I’ll tell you true - you're finished. The only question is how you're gonna die my friend,” Zek growled. His statement was met with giggles from Jophus and John. Clearly they enjoyed the prospects. “Point bein’, I need to know what you know of our… business ventures. No use denying who you work for, we already know.” Zek continued, “If you tell me the truth, and I believe you, you and your lady friend can go on to the hereafter quick - or,” more giggles from the McMeal Twins, “we can do it the hard way - I got all night.” Balanced Jim was in a tight spot. His head was still aching something fierce. He was trying to concoct a plan. The triple threat gun tucked in his pocket had six shots, a spring loaded dagger, and brass knuckles, but the trick was timing. While he was certain he could drop Henry before he got a shot off, but that still left John and Jophus, as well as Zek. The risk to himself didn’t matter but he didn’t think Pamela Ann would be able to make a get away, with only the one door. “Zek,” Jim started, “I think you ought to know at this very minute, a full platoon of United States Army Regulars is on their way, and probably already have the place surrounded.” Zek let out a huge belly roll of a laugh, slapped his leg, and then belched, “I find that hard to believe,” he said between gasps of air and laughter. The rest of the gang joined in with their leader's amusement. Jim breathed slowly and said, “Would you believe the sheriff and a posse of Fallbrook’s finest men?” Although he was secretly worried, it didn’t show on his face. “Nope,” came the reply. Zek wiped a stray tear from his eye. He almost felt bad for killing this comedian and his gal pal… almost. “How about a flatulent vagrant with a bad disposition?” Jim asked… At that very moment, WitchDaddy burst through the front door, twin guns blazing!!
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