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Gunther
BimboTheClown
katklessinger
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Kaithe Dame
Noctis
Lemons
LimeTime966
Sky Blue
LOCATION(s): Amistad, Texas
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Although those believe that the closing of their weary eyes from a day of naught but strenuous work upon the frontier would give one a reprieve from pain, this whispered utterance of peace is yet but a fallacy. Guillermo knew these lies likely better than no man had before him. This land has become his lifeline, a place in which his survival depends upon the unforgiving dice roll of nature which gambled away the life of many of his compatriot travelers along this journey. And if the fight beneath the watchful eye of the moon foretold his precarious luck, the nights beyond the one in which he was currently enduring were laden with the curses a supposed almighty above had dared to strike down upon the land as a punishment for those of the Americas.
Guillermo’s hands held a tight grip upon the reins for Ascuas as he now rode off through the night. Sleeping had been a failed endeavor for all but the horse, the results of the scuffle that ruined his chances for but a few hours of sleep lay slung among the rest of his pack behind him upon Ascuas’ hind. The night was still young and the moon lay smack dab in the center of the vast expanse of the sky betwixt brilliant stars that permeated the void Guillermo looked up into. While the sky stood empty the land in which he traveled was in sharp contrast. Ascuas’ hooves stomped and crushed the ground below as she trotted upon the sandy soil laden around them, weaving between odd prickly pear and bush upon the path. Almost every day came with a new path back to society, although fewer new paths arose as the landscape became one that was familiar to him, the features and quicks that laden the fullness of this little piece of the frontier had been absorbed into the mind of Guillermo.
The silence of the night had persisted long throughout the path, only the whistle of the wind cutting through the bushes and over the ridges of the neighboring hills dared enter his ears. Not a single squeal from even an armadillo was heard as he continued on, his ears took in only that of which he was surrounded immediately by; the smushing of dirt beneath the feet of his animals, the slow, laboring breaths he exhaled through the bandana around his faces, rustling of his pack as it swayed from side to side with the movement of the horse. Thus was but an odd night in a line of many. There was only a break in this monotony with the soft crack of running water somewhere in his vicinity. It was a stream he had visited all too often when the sandpaper feeling tortured the back of his neck, begging for the least bit of hydration. Ascuas trotted on faster in his pace at the sound of water, for an old man his senses still stayed as sharp as in his prime days. And beneath the darkness of the absence of the sun, the old creek, a small tributary of the great Rio Grande off yonder, came into plain view.
Creek itself had been nothing special, one in which a traveler may stop if in dire need of the nourishing grace of water. A bed of flowing water if not about three heads of cattle wide at Guillermo’s eyeballed estimation, it was one in which he could travel right across on his horse. In but a few seconds he was off the horse, allowing the aged stallion a chance to fulfill his yearning for such water as well. Guillermo stretched out his body before approaching the creek in his own right, his hands felt the frigid temperature of the water as he scooped a bit upon his now exposed face. The water ran down his tanned skin reprieving him if for only a moment from the stresses he had experienced throughout the day. His hands finally dipped back in once again but not for the purpose of moments prior but for drinking. He brought the cool bit of water grasped between his interlaced fingers up before downing what hadn’t fallen through the cracks. And in but a second he had been healed from the sandpaper throat he sported. His body felt better like a second wind had been blown into him, reinvigorated from the energy he had lost from the fight, like a day had arrived on the horizon for him.
The break for the water was one that was needed yet could not last forever, within only minutes Guillermo had been back upon his horse and set back onto the path to the town of Amistad, partially part of the reason he had left the spot in which he occupied earlier, bar the tango with the spawn of Satan incident. While the two had never formally spoken words between each other besides the ordering of drinks, McReily and Guillermo had a sense of mutual respect towards each other, or so Guillermo had believed. Through all this traveling he had hoped to catch a glass before the bar had closed and a place to lay his head with at least a shred of protection. Guillermo hated staying within town limits for the night, although the threat of the Sheriff was on the list of his concerns, the newfound presence of Ranger Mellon had become one at the top of such list. He was a man who knew too much, and one who had seen too much, he’d put good dollars on the bet that Mellon had seen his face before on the Texas Rangers wanted board. The years had certainly changed his face but hidden behind the gruff lay a face that held onto the memories of days forgone, one he hoped Mellon would never look too closely at.
As Guillermo rode through the night approaching closer to the town, his pace slow but steady, he noticed far off in the distance the light shining through the dark. One which bobbed up and down as it swayed to the rhythm of the horse its rider held it on. He couldn’t recognize the face as the person drew closer but in his experience, this was nothing if not a dark sign.
”Qué maldición…”
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" G H O S T R I D E R S I N T H E S K Y "
” G H O S T R I D E R S I N T H E S K Y "
” G H O S T R I D E R S I N T H E S K Y "
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Although those believe that the closing of their weary eyes from a day of naught but strenuous work upon the frontier would give one a reprieve from pain, this whispered utterance of peace is yet but a fallacy. Guillermo knew these lies likely better than no man had before him. This land has become his lifeline, a place in which his survival depends upon the unforgiving dice roll of nature which gambled away the life of many of his compatriot travelers along this journey. And if the fight beneath the watchful eye of the moon foretold his precarious luck, the nights beyond the one in which he was currently enduring were laden with the curses a supposed almighty above had dared to strike down upon the land as a punishment for those of the Americas.
Guillermo’s hands held a tight grip upon the reins for Ascuas as he now rode off through the night. Sleeping had been a failed endeavor for all but the horse, the results of the scuffle that ruined his chances for but a few hours of sleep lay slung among the rest of his pack behind him upon Ascuas’ hind. The night was still young and the moon lay smack dab in the center of the vast expanse of the sky betwixt brilliant stars that permeated the void Guillermo looked up into. While the sky stood empty the land in which he traveled was in sharp contrast. Ascuas’ hooves stomped and crushed the ground below as she trotted upon the sandy soil laden around them, weaving between odd prickly pear and bush upon the path. Almost every day came with a new path back to society, although fewer new paths arose as the landscape became one that was familiar to him, the features and quicks that laden the fullness of this little piece of the frontier had been absorbed into the mind of Guillermo.
The silence of the night had persisted long throughout the path, only the whistle of the wind cutting through the bushes and over the ridges of the neighboring hills dared enter his ears. Not a single squeal from even an armadillo was heard as he continued on, his ears took in only that of which he was surrounded immediately by; the smushing of dirt beneath the feet of his animals, the slow, laboring breaths he exhaled through the bandana around his faces, rustling of his pack as it swayed from side to side with the movement of the horse. Thus was but an odd night in a line of many. There was only a break in this monotony with the soft crack of running water somewhere in his vicinity. It was a stream he had visited all too often when the sandpaper feeling tortured the back of his neck, begging for the least bit of hydration. Ascuas trotted on faster in his pace at the sound of water, for an old man his senses still stayed as sharp as in his prime days. And beneath the darkness of the absence of the sun, the old creek, a small tributary of the great Rio Grande off yonder, came into plain view.
Creek itself had been nothing special, one in which a traveler may stop if in dire need of the nourishing grace of water. A bed of flowing water if not about three heads of cattle wide at Guillermo’s eyeballed estimation, it was one in which he could travel right across on his horse. In but a few seconds he was off the horse, allowing the aged stallion a chance to fulfill his yearning for such water as well. Guillermo stretched out his body before approaching the creek in his own right, his hands felt the frigid temperature of the water as he scooped a bit upon his now exposed face. The water ran down his tanned skin reprieving him if for only a moment from the stresses he had experienced throughout the day. His hands finally dipped back in once again but not for the purpose of moments prior but for drinking. He brought the cool bit of water grasped between his interlaced fingers up before downing what hadn’t fallen through the cracks. And in but a second he had been healed from the sandpaper throat he sported. His body felt better like a second wind had been blown into him, reinvigorated from the energy he had lost from the fight, like a day had arrived on the horizon for him.
The break for the water was one that was needed yet could not last forever, within only minutes Guillermo had been back upon his horse and set back onto the path to the town of Amistad, partially part of the reason he had left the spot in which he occupied earlier, bar the tango with the spawn of Satan incident. While the two had never formally spoken words between each other besides the ordering of drinks, McReily and Guillermo had a sense of mutual respect towards each other, or so Guillermo had believed. Through all this traveling he had hoped to catch a glass before the bar had closed and a place to lay his head with at least a shred of protection. Guillermo hated staying within town limits for the night, although the threat of the Sheriff was on the list of his concerns, the newfound presence of Ranger Mellon had become one at the top of such list. He was a man who knew too much, and one who had seen too much, he’d put good dollars on the bet that Mellon had seen his face before on the Texas Rangers wanted board. The years had certainly changed his face but hidden behind the gruff lay a face that held onto the memories of days forgone, one he hoped Mellon would never look too closely at.
As Guillermo rode through the night approaching closer to the town, his pace slow but steady, he noticed far off in the distance the light shining through the dark. One which bobbed up and down as it swayed to the rhythm of the horse its rider held it on. He couldn’t recognize the face as the person drew closer but in his experience, this was nothing if not a dark sign.
”Qué maldición…”
