A Story of the West Excerpt

Matt tied his horse to the hitch rail in front of the first saloon he found. As usual he checked brands on the other horses standing there and looked at the faces inside before entering the bar. After purchasing a bottle of the cheapest whiskey, Matt walked past a table where a couple of men sat. One of them looked at him and sniffed loudly.

"Smells like we got one of them prairie lice in here." He was too drunk to know if Matt really smelled like sheep or not. He just wanted to pick a fight.

Matt set the bottle down on the table, picked the man up by the neck and threw him to the floor. He glared at the shocked man lying at his feet, then at his companion. "Who are you insulting, you dirty sack of shit?"

"Just be on your way!" The bartender yelled at Matt. He knew the two were trouble makers, but they were also regulars, something he was short of these days.

Matt grabbed the bottle, shaking from the rage that had engulfed him. It scared him. Never had he felt out of control like that. He had wanted to kill the man with his bare hands.

He decided he was going to have to keep moving. But first he was going to have a bath and buy new clothes to get the stink of sheep, real or imaginary, off of him. It was cold out, late fall. Matt wondered if he should risk getting a hotel room. There was one that offered baths. That would feel good. Maybe he would stay just a couple of days. Matt let his guard down as whiskey saturated his consciousness.

He had also been recognized. A cowboy who had once worked for Bully Buehler saw him on the street. He was sitting in on a poker game at another saloon that evening.

"Hey Red." He knew the man sitting across from him wanted a reputation with a gun, so he decided to bait him. "There's a man in town you oughta' meet, name of Matt Daly."

Red knew the name. He practically drooled. "He's here now?" The other smiled. The trap had been set. He had no feelings towards Matt one way or another. He just wanted to cause trouble.

The man named Red called Matt out the next evening, after he knew Matt had spent the afternoon drinking. "Hey Daly!" Matt turned and faced a tall redheaded man showing off the new Colt Peacemaker that hung from his hip.

"I know I don't have a quarrel with you because I don't know you." Matt first wanted to talk his way out of a gunfight, but once again he felt his rage bubbling close to the surface.

The other man was way too cocky. He sneered. "I hear you think you're pretty fast with a gun. I also hear you're yellow."

There was no way Matt was going to back down. He seemed to become another man as his rage turned to cool anger. He would wait all night for the scum to draw first, and then he would blow the asshole's face off. His determination grew, taking over any other thoughts. His eyes narrowed as he stared the man down. Red faltered slightly by blinking. He had expected Matt to be scared of his large presence. It had always worked before.

A sheriff's deputy came running up the sidewalk. "What's the problem here? There's no shooting allowed." Neither man backed down. "You'll wind up in jail if the sheriff comes."

Matt turned and walked off as he saw relief enter the other man's eyes. It was time to move on. Within ten minutes his horse was saddled and he was gone.

As he rode north, he was still shaking. The meanness seemed to have come out of him from nowhere. He didn't know if he could have stopped himself from killing if the deputy hadn't intervened. Matt kept looking over his shoulder as he rode into the November night. He hunched his shoulders against the cold wind. It was a week since he hit town, but he still had half his pay in his pocket.

It didn't take Matt long to realize he'd have to find somewhere to hole up. Surviving on the plains in the winter without shelter would be impossible. Still he continued north. The few riders he passed eyed him suspiciously. He was headed the wrong direction for this time of year. Matt just nodded and lowered his head after a quick glance. Once they were past, he listened to hear that they kept traveling, as they did the same.

A week later it started snowing. Matt hit the North Platte River. Easy, his horse, naturally took the easier route, downstream and with the wind. They headed southwest following the river, and staying in the more protected bottomlands.

Matt wondered if Ogallala would be safe. He needed to find a town where he could stay the winter. His horse needed a rest. Fortunately he'd had an easy summer, with plenty of lush grass to eat, and he'd put on weight. But since bringing the sheep home, the two had covered a lot of country.

Easy had a thick winter coat, but there were places on his back being rubbed raw from the many miles under a saddle. And traveling in the cold melted the weight off of him. Matt was beginning to feel ribs when he slid his hand across the gelding's side.

The closer Matt got to town, the more nervous he became. In the past year and a half he had been around few people. It was becoming harder to be around anyone at all. He made the best barrier he knew how. Meanness oozed off him. People were repelled from his vicinity. The violence in his eyes told everyone to stay away.

Inside he was worried. How was he going to survive the cold? The only thing he really wanted to do was get drunk, which was his first intention. He rode Easy to the local livery, where the grizzled man in charge looked Matt up and down.

"Twenty-five cents a day, a dime extra for grain." The man neither greeted him nor introduced himself.

Matt nodded. "See to it that he gets well taken care of." He stared at the man until he looked away.

"How long you plan on being here?"

"I don't know yet." He gave the man a couple days board in advance, and walked down the street to a saloon he had spotted while riding in.

The next morning Matt woke up slowly. His head hurt and he couldn't remember where he was. As the light hit him, he realized what had disturbed him. It was the harsh creaking and banging of the heavy barn door as it was pulled open. He pulled his face up out of the dirt and looked around. The livery owner was staring at him. His alarm turned to irritation when Matt moved.

"You can't sleep in here. The last guy almost burned the place down."

Matt got to his feet, still dazed. He tottered a second, wanting to sit down. "Where am I?"

"Scott's Bluff." He eyed Matt. The desperate look from the day before was gone. In its place was confusion.

"Where?"

"Nebraska."

Matt's mind began working again. He remembered walking into the bar the evening before and not much else. "Where can I get some coffee?"

"Round the corner to the right."

Matt listened, and then turned towards the open door, squinting at the light. Suddenly he felt cold. Where was his coat? He went over to where his saddle sat in the corner. He pulled his slicker off the back and put it on, not that the oiled canvas offered much insulation. Then he walked out the door without giving the other man another glance.

After sitting in the warm restaurant, drinking coffee and thawing out, Matt found the bar he had been drinking in the night before. He looked around before entering. The bartender was the only one there. He reached behind the bar and picked up Matt's coat when he saw him enter. He tossed it over.

"Thanks." The bartender turned away and Matt felt relieved. There must not have been any trouble. There hadn't been. Matt had made it through the better part of a bottle, and then left, leaving his coat.

"If you're who everyone says you are I wouldn't be causing any trouble here."

"And who is it they say I am?" Matt turned back towards the bar.

"That outlaw fellow. Daly"

"How many men do they say this outlaw killed?"

"Well, eight or ten, at least. They say he's a born killer."

"Well that man aint me, and I don't want trouble." Matt's voice was low, but clear. He walked out of the bar. It had to be a case of mistaken identity and somehow his name had become mixed up in it. He wondered who the outlaw was. He didn't realize there was only one man. The story was embellished each time it was told. Now Matt had a reputation to match the worst gunmen.

He walked back to the barn to check on his horse. Years of habit hadn't left him. The old man running the place was still there. The horses in his care were contentedly munching hay. After putting on his coat, he tied the slicker back onto his saddle. The thermometer was still dropping.

"I see you found your coat." The man tried to make conversation, but Matt didn't feel like talking just then. He walked over to the stall where Easy stood eating and looked the horse over. He turned to the man, who was still watching him.

"See that he gets plenty to eat," he repeated. Matt was just another cowboy seeing to the well-being of his horse.

That afternoon, he got himself a room in a hotel for the night. He knew his talk about not wanting trouble had spread around town. Hopefully he would be left alone. Sitting in the hotel room, Matt began thinking. Maybe he could get on with a cattle outfit next spring. It would be nice to be riding the range looking after cattle again.

The next morning he again woke out of a haze with a throbbing headache. It took a moment to recognize his surroundings, and he was immediately alarmed. He had once again let his guard down. He rolled out of bed and pulled on his boots.

As he sat sipping coffee, he watched other people come and go, and thought about what to do next. He began asking about jobs. It wasn't unusual. There were a lot of hungry cowboys around. Many of them had already left for good. Cattle ranches had either gone broke, or weren't hiring.

Discouraged, Matt walked towards the saloon. A man stepped out in front of him. "I hear you're pretty good with a gun." The man challenged him.

The first thought through Matt's mind was, where are these men coming from? He felt like a trapped animal with only one way out. His rage surfaced and his lip curled. "You want to just stand there, or do you want to find out?" Matt was surprised at the coolness of his words. Inside he wanted to tear the man's head off. His challenger wavered at the intensity in Matt's voice. The voice was low, but a snarl could be heard underneath.

The man mumbled, "I was just playin'," as he began backing up. Matt watched him go. The power he felt was exhilarating. He smiled slightly as the man turned and ran once he reached the corner of the building.

Then the sadness returned. And with it was despair, and a feeling of desperation. There was only one cure for it, and that was temporary. Matt located a saloon he hadn't been in before. He looked around the room, checking each face before entering.

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