Blackthorne--Review VIII 46-49

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Blackthorne

Cinemagenics 46--49

Review Part VIII

“Big whoop--I had left off the saga at episode 54,

so just a few more reviews will rein us up at current.

Then I will continue the adventure,”

Forty--Six: Allegro. Johnny, “Yeah, Bronson is the one-

eyed king in these parts, but you & the ranch check his

power.” Buck, “Do you worry about the danger?” Johnny,

“Danger? Shit, it has always shadowed me. Do we ever 

see the scorpion in our boots? No, that’s why we shake

them out every morning. All I worry about is women,

horses, & fishing.”  Buck, “There’s a small lake above my

north meadow.”  Johnny, “I know. I used to fish it with your

father.”  Buck, “ I almost drown in that damn puddle while

teaching myself to swim.”  Johnny, “Your father used to

call it “Sarah’s Pond of Tears.”  Buck, “Drunks get very

sentimental.”  Johnny, “Bronson has been watering his

herd in that lake for years. If you try to stop him, that

water with writhe with blood.”  Buck, “Maybe not. I could

give him a chance to pay for the water he uses.”  Johnny,

“Good plan. You might even make a good impression on

El Hefe bendejo.”  Buck, “Too true, brother.”  Johnny,

“And how will you share the water after you build up

your own herd?”  Buck, “Yes, let’s talk about my horses.”

*********************************************

Introduction of the Appaloosa stallion, who has a flashback.

He remembers, seeing himself galloping flat out in slow

motion with Crying Wolf on his back, pursued by a small

troop of cavalry, who are firing their Spencers & Colts as

they ride. The great spotted stallion with the red hands

painted on its withers began to out-distance the soldiers

amid a volley of angry bullets. Crying Wolf is hit three

times, & there are two bloody gashes along the horse’s

flanks. The brave opened up his arms, letting out a loud

war whoop as he fell from the horse & hit the ground dead.

The stallion galloped on, lunging like a bull elk, rushing out

of that field of death, with bullets chewing up the ground

near his flashing hooves--their thunderous ricochets

pounding in his velvet ears.

Forty-Seven: Quest-- At first he ran alone out across the

prairie vastness, until the blood & war paint sweated

off him. As a gray-black specter he loped, this equine

dust devil, this grandiose dappled fury. The one day

with the morning dew & whispering wind he cold smell

them--the strong scent of los mestenos, the wild ones.

The stallion bolted & galloped off toward the large herd

of mostly mustangs.---Cut to Buck & the Eagle sitting

atop their steeds. Johnny, “Do you see him? Son of a

bitch--can you see that giant spotted stallion? Buck, “An

Appaloosa for sure. I heard there were some renegade

studs that had run off from the Nez Pierce, but I’ve

never seen one this far east before.” Johnny, “He is a

medicine horse, a real buffalo hunter, like you. He’s 

just your size too. He will bring good luck. I can already

see many spotted colts among your new herd.”  The

two men unraveled their lariats, & nudged their mounts

with anxious knees. As the pair rode hard down hill

toward them, the herd burst into action. The Appaloosa

ran point, quickly running on ahead of them. The riders

charged past/through the herd in pursuit of the stallion.

At first they all three ran along together, the terrible

trio of red, silver & spotted studs, all their tails high, their

dozen hooves tearing at the salt flats. But once more,

the Appaloosa began to stretch out a lead. The riders

leaned forward, almost onto the necks of their mounts.

Forty-Eight: Impasse-- Suddenly, Johnny’s white stallion

stumbled, & pitched forward. The Eagle took flight,

somersaulting in the air, & hitting the ground just after

his Jesus did. Buck reined up, watching the Appaloosa

run on alone. Johnny groaned, “Que Chingados.” Buck

stood up in his stirrups, “Son of a bitch”, as the stallion

ducked into a deep arroyo. He swung down from the

saddle & squatted next to Johnny, who was sitting up

now. Jesus was on his feet. Buck, “Are you hurt, old man?

Johnny gasped, “That is the fastest horse I have ever 

seen in my whole fucking life!” Buck helped the Indian

to his feet. “Piss on that bronc--did you break anything?”

Johnny, “Maybe my ass is all. Ay, Carumba--I will be

useless as tits on a fence post tomorrow, just a dozen

knots of pain all outshouting each other. Ay, that horse.

that goddamn mancha devil.”  Buck put his arm around

Johnny & said, “Today he beat us, stomped us good--but

on a different day he will feel or ropes. I swear it.

Johnny, “You know, I think I see him out there watching

us.”  Buck, “Probably just a trick of the light.”  Johnny

to his horse, “Damn Jesus, you crazy boy, you threw

me a half mile.” The silver stallion stood on three legs.

Johnny bent down & felt along the injured leg, finding

a swelling between the knee & the fetlock. “That should

teach you not to step in prairie dog holes.”  Buck, “Do

you think it’s broke?”  “No, he’s like me, a tough old

shit. Yes, he is bruised, sprained, exhausted & pissed off,

just like me.”   Buck, “Do yo9u think he can make back to

the rancho?”  Johnny, “Sure, sure, he can make it, if we

go slow & stop a lot. I’ll ride double with you on Rojo.”

Forty-Nine: Intrigue--The two men rode double on the

big Red, with Jesus limping slowly behind them on a

long tether. Buck, “We’ll just poke along with Jesus at

his pace. We may not reach the ranch until after dark,

but I think there will be a full moon.”  Johnny, “Damn,

I feel estupida--almost busted my culo.” Buck, “Consider

yourself twice lucky that no bones were broken. How

do we deal with this horse? Should we hunt him & bring

him down wth a .50 caliber slug? Johnny, “Somehow,

despite today, I have an Apache hunch one day he will

wear the AB brand.”  Buck, “Maybe so, it’s just that 

catching him is like roping a daydream.” Johnny,

“I don’t think we could ever run him down, We will never

catch him.” Buck, “Does the Eagle, the maldito wrangler,

give up so easily?”  Johnny, smiling, “Chinga that 

notion, my Buck. That great mancha will be yours. It’s just 

that we need to trick him, you know, appeal to his cock, & 

not stir up his fear & pride.” Buck,“You mean pony express

him--bring fresh mounts for both of us & hop aboard mid-

gallop when our mounts blow out?”  Johnny, “I think that

even with four horses, that spotted stud might outrun them,

or himself, to death?”  Buck, “How then?”  Johnny, “You

know ur stallions are swift, goddamn fast even--but that

dervish ran our studs right into the ground, race over--

& I got the puta bruises to prove it. He runs like a puma

with his prick on fire, like something out of shaman 

legend. He gallops like the firewinds. He is Chatawa.”

Buck, “Yes, Chatawa, nothing faster.”  Johnny, “Hey,

we got some sexy brood mares back at the ranch, right?’

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub