Recovering
For the second installment of Empty River, our cowboy finds a safe town in the west. Safe for how long?
Empty River: A Western Chapter 2: Recovering It had been weeks. His money was gone, the food was low, and he had no idea where he was. Clinton was trying to find a nice small, out of the way town where Sheriff Reese wouldn’t find him and get some money. There was nothing nearby as far as his eyes could see save for a fork in the road ahead. The choice of which way to go, not knowing where either led, gave him pause. The Sheriff couldn't track him down if he didn't know where he was going right? He turned in the saddle to gaze at the land, rolling the gold band meant for Cliff between his fingers. Nothing but shrubs and dry dirt, mountains in the distance. He leaned too far one way and felt himself begin to fall before Shadow bucked. He found himself in the seat of the saddle again, instead of the earth. “Thanks Shadow.” He rubbed the feral horse's neck, and sighed. It was still weird that the blue roan looked identical to him but feral, but it was comforting how easy it was to just talk to him. “Do you have any idea which way we should go?” Shadow peered down the trail on the right and took a few sniffs. He turned to the left and did the same. With a shiver and a whinny he began trotting down the left trail. “Oh, figured something out I haven't?” Clinton said. “Well, I trust your judgment. I think we could both use a rest and some water, you think that's ahead?” Shadow whinnied and trotted faster. It was maybe an hour before he saw something. There was a sign proclaiming the town ahead to be Riverton, but it was well worn and needed a repainting years ago. The area was forested near the mountain but barren everywhere else. Shadow trotted towards the pawfull of buildings, and around the ruins of houses that had fallen down. There was a dry riverbed that ran parallel to the dirt trail, and the stumps of dead trees lined it. But, little shrubs and some grass were growing in the riverbed. As he rode into town, he expected the townsfolk to eye him with suspicion, like every other town did, but they didn’t. The black bear had been resting on a rocking chair on his porch, but he had stood up and was holding onto the post as he stared with a look of shock on his face at the pair of horses. A couple people were walking between the houses but paid him nearly no mind as Shadow trotted to the saloon in town square. He tied the reigns on the post next to a trough of water in the shade and hopped off the blue roan. “I’ll see about getting us some food and shelter for the night, yeah?” Clinton said. Shadow whinnied while nodding before nudging him towards the saloon door and then dipped his face in the water. Clinton smiled and walked up the wooden steps. Normally, at least as far as Clinton was aware, there would be music playing in the saloon with people drinking, maybe some card games. What he got was an empty room stuffed with tables and chairs in front of a bar. He took a few steps in, grateful to get out of the sun at least. “That's a fine horse you've got there.” Clinton jumped and spun. There was a cougar peeking out the window at Shadow. From the apron over his shirt and jeans, the horse guessed this was the barkeep. “Shadow seems to know these roads better than I do, couldn't ask for a better one.” Clinton watched the big cat quirk an eyebrow and smirk. “And he looks just like you. Identical to you.” The cougar had a strong southern accent, like Clinton’s cousins from the south. “You're the first person to realize without me pointin’ it out.” Clinton said. That seemed to appease the barkeep, as he turned from the window and walked to the bar. “So, can I get you anything? Whiskey’s popular, as is the local mead.” The barkeep smiled. That gave Clinton an odd feeling, like he was about to step in a trap. “Sorry, I don't think I can afford that. I was hoping to find work, or at least some food and lodging.” Clinton sat on one of the barstools near the side and turned to keep his eye on the door. “Here, on the house.” The cougar popped open a bottle and set it in front of the horse. “My name's Rufus, what's yours stranger?” “I'm…” Clinton paused. Sheriff Reese couldn't possibly have gotten his name out this far, right? He should play it safe and lie. But that quirked eyebrow and smile on the cougar made him think that he would know. “Clinton.” “Well, Clinton, welcome to Riverton.” Rufus said. Clinton just nodded and took a sip from the bottle he was given. The honey flavor rushed over his tongue, tinged with wildflowers. It was sweet and acidic, and it coated his tongue to let him savor it. He’d always been told real men drink stuff that burns all the way down, but now with a sweet meadow of flowers on his tongue, he found he liked it better this way. “That’s really good!” Clinton said. “Yeah Wayne makes them, you probably rode past his house on the way in. He’s a black bear.” “Ah, I saw him.” He said as he took another sip. “And thank you.” “No problem, you looked like you could use it.” The cougar wiped down the already clean bartop. “Rufus, whose horse is that? He's a beaut!” a voice said from the other side of the front door. A moment later a fennec fox walked in. He was about a foot shorter than the horse, had cream colored fur almost everywhere, the tips of his big ears and tail were orange as were the freckles on his cheek fur. “Oh! Well I'll be….” The fennec turned to look at the feral horse and then Clinton. “And I thought the horse outside was handsome.” Clinton was very glad that the fur on his head was black to hide his blush. The fox walked up to the bar with a sack of something lumpy and set it on the bar. He expected anger or disgust from the cougar, but instead he saw a grin as he began counting out dollars before the fox even set the bag down. “This here is Clinton, just rode into town and is looking for work.” Rufus pulled the sack to the other side of the bar with a thud. “Clinton, this is Wyatt. He owns the farm of our little community.” “Nice to meet you, Wyatt.” Clinton said. “Does he know?” Wyatt stared at the cougar who just shrugged but smiled. “Damn cat. Listen stranger, I don’t know why you’re here or how you found Riverton, but we’re a little hidden community for a reason. So, how did you find us?” “Shadow brought me here.” Clinton said. There was a look of shock on the fennec’s face, the cougar just nodded with a smirk. “What? That’s the name of my horse!” “Well,” Wyatt stepped forward. “Then you should know that we’re all tailraisers here, just like you.” Clinton tensed at the accusation, a shard of ice pierced his heart and he almost started to run. But neither of them moved, just waited for him to say something. “H-how did you know?” “Straight folk never realise they have feral twins, they just treat them like any old animal.” Rufus said. “More importantly, the rest of us here are tailraisers.” Wyatt sat on the stool next to the horse. “You may have just found the safest place for you to be. You are not alone.” “I…. I’m on the run because I fell in love with a sheriff’s son. If I stay, I could be a danger to you all.” “The rest of the world is already a danger to us,” Rufus grunted. “They call us a danger to them and hang us out of kindness. The wilderness is kinder than they are.” “Besides, I could use a pair of paws on the farm. You need money, yeah?” Wyatt smiled. “I… yeah, food, shelter, and money.” “Come on then,” Wyatt hopped off the stool and waved to the cougar. “I’ve got spare room and food if you’re willing.” Clinton paused. ‘Is it supposed to be this easy?’ He downed the last of the mead and set the bottle down. He said thank you to the cougar as he walked out the door and stopped. Shadow was sniffing a little feral fennec fox no bigger than a housecat, that just stood on the railing sniffing him back. He was cream colored everywhere but the orange tips of his ears and tail, with orange freckles on his cheeks. “You have a twin too?” Clinton said. “Yep, he's mine. He can be quite ornery, but if I give him an egg a day he leaves the chickens alone. I call him Nick, on account of him nicking things.” Wyatt started walking down the road. “Shadow, I found us a place to stay for a while.” Clinton untied the reigns and that little feral fennec hopped onto the feral horse's back. “Looks like we both made a friend today, come on.” They followed Wyatt along the path next to the dry riverbed, he was walking slow enough that Clinton and Shadow walked alongside. The fennec fox merely smirked and shook his head at his feral twin. “So, when did the river dry up?” Clinton asked. Shadow was great to talk to, but it would be nice to talk with someone who could talk back. “Ah, the town upstream diverted it to irrigate their farms years ago. No notice or nothing. State said they could do it so we had no recourse. Nearly everyone left, hence the abandoned houses. But some of us said we were leaving and didn't.” Wyatt's boots crunched the gravelly dirt road and he spoke. “Now Riverton is ours, a safe haven in the west. We're not spreading the word or nothin’ but folks still find their way here.” Wyatt nodded at the feral horse. “Most of the time by following their twin.” “That’s… isn’t that kinda queer?” Clinton asked. “Sorta,” Wyatt said. “Here we are!” The house was meager, like everything here. One story but bigger than Clinton’s shack in the city had been. The barn though, was impressive. It was big, and had the stereotypical barn shape, but the color was not red. It was just made of wood and then whitewashed, though the whitewash likely needed to be reapplied as the wood underneath was peeking through in multiple spots. Beyond were fields full of plants, but not being a farmer, Clinton didn’t recognise them. He did spot a chicken coop though. “Wow,” Clinton said. “It’s nothing special. I don't have a stable so Shadow will have to stay in the barn, but I do have a second bedroom you can use.” Wyatt led them down the path to the barn. “Unless there's somewhere else you'd like to stay.” “I-” Clinton’s face felt hot again. “Are you flirting with me?” “Hah! Did you just now realize, big boy?” Wyatt opened the barn door. “I'm not used to it. I couldn't flirt with anyone in the city, not in public.” Clinton stepped into the barn after the fennec. “Here you can, hell, you're handsome enough that a lot of people in town are going to want to flirt with you. And more!” Wyatt opened a stall door for Shadow, and the feral horse trotted in with the feral fennec still riding on him. “How long have you been on the road?” “Six weeks, I think. Long enough to have ridden across a few states.” Clinton said as he followed the fennec. “Six weeks since Sheriff Charles Reese found out I was in love with his son and I ran outta town before he could hang me. Cliff is probably okay. If anyone can make his father see reason, it’s him.” “I’m sorry,” The fennec said as he led Clinton from the barn. “Do you think he’d follow you all the way out here?” “I hope not, but he’s a stubborn old goat. No matter when I see him next, it’ll be too soon.” *** The Sheriff was not happy about having to travel this far, but it was the last trail he had to follow. He rode on a white horse, one he had to buy with his own money because the department didn’t want to spend a dime on this, and he didn’t care how many times the mayor told him not to leave and let other sheriffs handle it, this was personal. That tailraiser had corrupted his son, and now he had to hang. He was not the kind of man to let a criminal roam free, no matter how long it took to find him. He stopped in front of a sign. It needed a coat of paint and a few boards replaced, but he could still read it. Riverton.