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Fiction, © Copyright 2000, Jim Loy
Rusty and Slim flew along the dirt road. Rusty was a horse. Slim was slim. Slim clutched his hat in his hand, and bent low over Rusty's neck. There were the sounds of pounding hooves and whistling wind. But neither Rusty nor Slim noticed these sounds. They were both experiencing a perfect, silent, slow motion thrill that cannot be adequately described.
And then Rusty was tumbling head over heels and Slim was flying through the air.
Slim landed in a heap and then flattened out onto his back. He looked up at a cloudless sky and began counting his pains. "My ribs hurt. My hand hurts." Then he heard a cry of agony from Rusty. Slim rolled over and stood up. An intense pain in his right shoulder nearly brought him back to the ground. The shoulder was broken.
"Whoa Rusty. Just lay there." Rusty was repeatedly trying to get up. He had a badly broken leg. Slim pushed Rusty's head back to the ground and sat down in the dirt. "It's OK, Rusty. I'll have you all fixed up in just a few minutes." Rusty's eye was wild with fear, and he was breathing rapidly. But he continued to lie there, with Slim's hand on him.
Slim's rifle was still in its case just in front of the saddle. He pulled the rifle out, while he patted Rusty's neck. The rifle seemed undamaged. He rose to his knees and aimed the rifle at Rusty's head. Slim grunted in pain as he pressed the stock against his broken shoulder. "Ought to be doing this left handed." He switched the rifle to his left side. He awkwardly cocked a bullet into the chamber. He aimed. "Good bye Rusty." Rusty watched him.
Slim squeezed the trigger. And Rusty was dead.
Slim stood slowly. "Ow! Now I've broken both my shoulders." He had not broken both shoulders. Slim walked back along the road, searching for the cause of disaster. He was still holding his rifle in his left hand. Then he saw it, in the middle of the road. "A rock!" He picked up the rock and examined it. There was a mark where Rusty's iron shoe had struck the rock. "There's not another rock in sight! There's not another rock in fifty miles." Slim knew that was untrue. With a mighty effort, Slim threw the rock into the bushes. He shouted from the pain in his shoulder. The rock had only flown a few feet. Slim walked into the bushes and picked up the rock again, and threw it again, and shouted in pain again. He walked up to the rock a third time, and decided to let it lie there.
Slim found his hat. Then he unbuckled the saddle and struggled mightily (using his good hand and his feet) pulling the saddle off Rusty's dead body.
Slim lifted the saddle, with the rifle, onto his good left shoulder. And he slowly headed back down the road. As he walked, he raised his eyes to look at the first star of the night sky. And he said, with some anger in his voice, "Rusty never hurt anybody."