For hours the torture went on without another word coming from the cowboy's lips. All the while Jasper screamed for a reason, only to be slapped out and silenced. He was looking to hurt, so bad that he didn't want to live anymore. Besides, if he wasn't quiet it might attract some Indians, turning the whole situation into a bloodbath sooner than it had to be.
Going back to his horse the cowboy drew a long whip nearly six feet long. It wasn't hard to crack Jasper's back with him laid out on the rock. The midday sun dried out his skin and made it easier to break. Every time he screamed he'd only be whipped harder. Over an hour he learned to bite his lip. Eventually that left him spitting blood.
Not wanting him to bleed to death the cunning torturer took him by the hair and began holding it down in the cold running water beside them. Even though he was only a few inches under, so close to the fresh air he nearly passed out several times over, only to be woken up and taken through the process again and again. Not during that entire time did the cowboy say a word: not for a second making himself willing to unveil his intent.
After what seemed like a painful eternity the sun fell over the horizon and the stars began to show themselves through a sky black as ink. The warmth quickly left the land and there Jasper lay half-naked, unable to move, shivering as night's chill rolled over his bare, raw flesh. With his hands still tied he could hardly hold himself or make his own heat. The cowboy was going to let nature finish the job he started.
Slowly a campfire began to burn and over it the cowboy cooked a can of beans. Of course it wasn't part of his plan to share it, but Jasper was confused and infuriated that he could suddenly be so callously ignored. In that moment he could crawl away, find a place to hide, even throw himself in the river and make his way to safety if he didn't drown. Not wanting to squander his opportunity he began to crawl along the dirt with all the stealth he could afford himself.
“Where you gonna go?” the cowboy remarked at him casually. “Ain't nothing out there but cold rocks and coyotes. You'd never make it through the night.”
In his desperation Jasper searched for that one part left of his broken spirit to challenge him. He rolled to face him, his eyes burning with the last embers of his hatred. “At least the coyotes won't draw it out!”
The cowboy pulled out his gun and frowned from the other end of the barrel. His expression was as flat as it ever was. Spending the day with Jasper, making him hurt, he'd come to know the man's limits. The click of the hammer only served to emphasise how serious he was. “You don't want to die out there. You know it an' I know it.”
“Why not? You're just going to shoot me dead right here if I don't,” he wailed. There was nothing left of him: the cowboy was too unrelenting. “What do you want from me?”
With a long huff the cowboy holstered his gun then raised a spoonful of beans to his mouth. He had all night and an open fire and with each passing moment there was less and less of his prisoner able to fight back. It had been a long day, but now he supposed he was ready. “You asked me before if I was a bounty hunter. Truth is I am, of a sort, but not the kind you think. Every varmint out there with a price on his head has at least a dozen men trailin' him. That's a lot of competition.”
“What's that got to do with me?”
Once again the cowboy found his patience tested and in retribution he flung a spoonful of the beans coated in a bubbling hot sauce to scold Jasper's flesh. About then he began to cry, so the cowboy flung another, only humiliating him more. Impatiently he hissed at him, “You be quiet! I'm wasting my food to shut you up! You don't want to go and make me madder'n I am!”
Jasper didn't reply. He just sat and shivered, lost in a sea of despair knowing that he was going to die soon in such an undignified way. Lowering his spoon the cowboy nodded and scooped up another helping to his lips.
“Now, if you'd kindly allow me to continue my story,” he lamented calmly, “it all began several months ago in a town called Blackwater Gulch.” The flash of recognition in Jasper's eyes amused him as he finally realised what this was all about. “There were a lot of people there. It wasn't a very rich town, but they got by. Then, as luck would have it, they found they were sitting on gold. Being as isolated as they were they managed to keep it quiet and to themselves.”
“Please,” the worm pleaded, begging to be spared. “I didn't mean to... no amount would have ever been enough!”
“Problem was with being so isolated that they had all this gold and didn't know what to do with it,” he continued while considering his food. “All that wealth... they weren't very good with money. Then, as if by the grace of God along comes a banker, tells 'em what to do with it, said they'd be eatin' steak three times a day for the rest of their life.”
“They didn't need that gold,” Jasper reasoned desperately. “They were getting along fine without it!”
The cowboy took to his feet and moseyed on over to him, his wandering eyes following his feet kicking the dirt. “Wasn't just that, though. The entire town invested their homes, land, businesses, everything into that gold. They needed to take it to one of the big cities to be valued, but somehow it all seemed to have disappeared along the way, same as the banker.” He shot Jasper a deadly glare. “Possession, it seems, is nine tenths of the law.”
“So you want gold,” he coughed, struggling to get up, though a swift boot pressing down on his chest sent him back to the ground. “It's not here... not with me, but I can get you some... there's more than enough for you and me.”
“Piece of shit,” the cowboy scoffed from on high. “This ain't about me wantin' gold. This is about the wrong you did! But, I tell you what, I think I will take some of that gold off your hands.”
“How much? Anything!”
“All of it!”
They paused, hearing only the howling of the coyotes in the far distance. Jasper trembled in fear. He'd struggled and stolen to get that gold, now he was going to lose everything. The cowboy couldn't be serious. “You can't be serious... that's more gold than one man will ever need!”
“You're right, but I do reckon it'll do a lot of good when rebuildin' a town.” He leaned in, leveling Jasper further with a look hardened after years in wild country, the kind which left a sheltered city man powerless. “You, Jasper, are going to give back everything you took to the people of Blackwater Gulch. Every ounce of gold and so much more.”
Through the dried blood and dirt the guilty banker began to blubber, whining and bawling like an ugly baby. “You don't understand... without that gold they'll come to kill me! I've... I've got gambling debts! I've...”
With one lightning fast move the cowboy drew his gun and cocked the hammer, leaving Jasper to stare into the dark barrel at a range so close even a bad shot couldn't miss. “You're the one who doesn't understand. I think you're of the thought that you're gonna leave this place alive.”
He sniveled pathetically, “who are you?”
“I told you,” he said blankly, “I'm a bounty hunter of sorts: more of an independent contractor. Instead of chasing the big rewards I find towns where large sums of money have gone missing, where someone's done wrong which, out here in the west, is a whole lot, an' I bring it back... for a price. Pro bono, I think they call it. I admit, I'm no angel, but I don't go out and put a hurtin' on a man without a good reason.”
Knowing everything Jasper calmed himself, reigning in the torrent of grief that came when confronted with death. “Why should I give you anything?”
“Are you a God fearing man, Jasper?”
“Yeah,” he laughed facetiously. “Roman Catholic.”
“Well then, if you give me that gold an' I take it back for you, you might just be able to buy your way into Heaven.” The metal tip of his gun pressed against his prisoner's temple, flirting with the idea of execution. “I find God's more forgiving than me. After you took that gold the town starved. Daddies who couldn't provide for their family committed suicide out of their shame. For that I'd see you burn in Hell the rest of time.”
“I'm sorry,” he cried in a faint whisper.
“If you're really sorry then you'll make it right by telling me where all that gold is.”
Jasper looked into the cowboy's eyes. Though they were heavy on him with their judgment it wasn't malice he saw in them. Instead it was almost like daring, prodding him to do as he was told, compelling him to obey. He was a strong figure of authority whether he knew it or not, and he also knew exactly what he wanted. Collecting a calming breathe Jasper nodded. “Alright. I'll tell you...”
The cowboy remained calm and his tone even. He was getting his truth: before a fearful God he wouldn't dare lie, especially not with his life's flame so close to being snuffed out. “Where is it?”
“Last I saw it was in a caravan on it's way to Detroit. From there I was going to move north and into Canada. It was to be looked after by a trust I set up until I arrived. I'd sent the gold ahead in case bounty hunters were chasing me.” He let out a sick little laugh full of regret and self-pity. “They're waiting for me, you see, and without my John Hancock they won't let it out.”
Furrowing his mustache the cowboy pulled his foot away and bubbled in quiet annoyance. All of that work and for squat. The words of one of the widows played through his mind about how Jasper Donell was a man more trouble than he was worth. Exhausted and out of threats he sat down by the campfire. “Alright. Go on, get.”
“What are you saying?” he gasped in disbelief, eyes wide in horror as he propped himself up.
“I said get out of here,” the cowboy growled, “before I shoot you dead!” To make the point clearer he aimed his pistol to the sky and unloaded two rounds, letting the small explosions echo violently over the ridges. The shells fell to the ground with a faint clink while the cowboy frowned and warned his prey with his eyes to run while he still could.
He didn't need to be told a second time. Battered, bruised, bleeding, starving, cold and half-naked with only one good leg to stand on Jasper summoned his strength to race across the stones as best he could. A bullet would have ended his life in an instant, but so long as he had his wits and was able to carry himself there was that dim torch of hope he carried for his own survival. Coyotes be damned: he could make it back to the remains of his shack before they got him.
It took all night for Jasper to clear out of the cowboy's sight, not that he took much notice of his limping away in the distance. He had other matters to worry about. There was no way he was going to let go of that gold: he had a job and was going to see it through. Sitting by the fire he began planning meticulously and considered his mustache in a portable mirror.
Giving one final thought to Jasper he looked to the distance. He didn't know how dead he was. It would have been more dignified to die at the end of a gun, but he was too stubborn to see that. Still he was of no harm to anyone and the cowboy was content to let him go.
* * * *
Months had passed and finally he'd found his way to Detroit. It was good to walk along a solid, paved road instead of kicking around in the dust, surrounded by buildings of brick and mortar. Not only was it a testimant to the invention of man but it also held the promise of a hot bath and a soft bed in a nice, clean hotel room. Though first there was important business that needed attending to.
“Sir,” called the nervous clerk from the office door, playing nervously with his tie and stuffing it back down the front of his vest. His employer was not a patient man and more than anything he feared angering him. He continued when a prompting grunt gave him permission to speak. “A very important client is here to see you, sir. He's from New York.”
“Who is it?” the manager asked as he brushed back his back his white hair. If an important client had arrived then he meant to look as respectable as possible.
“Mister Donell, sir.”
The name practically caused for him to leap out of his chair. Mister Donell was indeed a very important client: a shadow investor in fact. For that he was deserved the utmost of care and consideration by all in the organisation. Though due to his travels he remained unseen and the manager was truly delighted to be able to see his face for the first time.
“Mister Donell,” he said, walking into the waiting room and offering a firm handshake. “It's good to finally be able to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise, I'm sure,” he said in a slick, New York accent. The well dressed man stood and smiled with a straight row of teeth and beamed from behind his solid brown eyes that seemed able to bore into a man's soul. With a friendly chuckle he patted the two gentlemen on the back. “Now, I believe you've got something for me.”
* * * *
THE END
THE END
Profile
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
floorcandy- Miranda Sparks
- Shimmer