Y'know, the world's been mighty strange these past few months.
Leastways,
that's what the Preacher says, an' the Preacher ain't the kinda man
to lie. 'Specially to me.
He'll
come roarin' into the livery stable, get me all saddled up, an' then
he'll give me that Look of his, all kinda fired-up, an' say "C'mon,
now hoss. We gotta go get some bad guys." Then he grins that
big toothy grin, an' off we go, eyes a' blazin', ready ta take on
the world an' its brother.
Y'see,
the Preacher an' me - well, we're Pards. But I can tell you, friend,
it ain't always been so.
We
been together now for a while, but when we first met - whoo-ee! It
was like two ol' scrub bulls hittin' heads, I can tell you!
I
ain't had the easiest of lives, and spent a deal of my younger days
gettin' a whuppin', cuz I 'don't take too kindly to authority' - at
least that's how the Gambler puts it.
Anyways,
I was sold to the Army as a remount, but that didn't work out - they
said I was 'untrustworthy'. Shoot, what do they know …
So
I got sold to a livery owner down Yuma way, an' he didn't like me
neither - most likely cuz I kicked him every time he came within range.
He'd decided to send me away to the Glue Manufactory - whatever that
was - when one afternoon, I saw this big feller walkin' down the street
with a saddle slung on his shoulder, lookin' all kinda wore-out an'
dirty. I wandered over to the corral fence an' had me a good look.
He
stopped dead still in the middle of the street an' looked right back.
Frightened the crap outta me. Cuz horses don't like being stared at
- it makes us kinda nervous and fearful. So's I turned around an'
kicked up my heels, lettin' the feller know I weren't scared of no
two-bit drifter. Y'know what he did? The sonofabitch laughed at me.
Real loud.
He
wandered over an' asked the livery owner how much he wanted for me.
It was the livery owner's turn to laugh - he laughed so hard he started
cryin'.
"If'n
you can get a saddle on that no-account piece o' dog-meat you can
have him."
Well,
the Preacher - cuz that's who it was - looked me over once more, an'
smiled kinda secret like. Then he stuck out a big hand an' struck
the deal right then an' there. Without a second thought.
I
eyed up that big Mexican saddle of his with its saddle horn the size
of my foot, an' thought 'You ain't puttin' that thing on me, feller
- no siree - '. But in the end he didn't even try. Not for a long
time.
For
days on end, he sat near, eatin', sleepin', or just readin' a book.
He never even looked at me most of the time. The only time he came
near me was to feed me - an' then he didn't even try to lay a finger
on me. Not once.
Then
one day, as I was followin' him about as I'd got into the habit of
doin', he lifted his hand an' scratched my neck. I didn't even flinch.
Lord, it felt good, and I went all kinda dreamy then.
It
was all downhill after that. He had my sorry behind in a sling before
I knew it. He petted me an' fussed me, an' he never raised a hand
to me. Not even when I bit him in the ass. Hard. He let out a funny
kinda yelp, an' hopped around a bit, an' I thought 'Awww hell - I'm
for it now!' But he didn't whup the tar outta me like I thought he'd
do. Nope, he just rubbed his behind and grimaced a little, then he
cussed me out. After he finished, he looked at me funny - sorta figgerin'
out what I was thinkin'. He knew I done it just to get a reaction,
to see what he'd do. Sort of a test, if you like.
"You
are one mean sonofabitch - you know that?"
I
blinked at him, all innocent. Then he grinned that big grin of his.
"But
then, hoss, it takes one to know one." Then he grinned some more
an' pulled one of my ears, like he does when he's happy.
We
got on fine after that, an' next day he put that big ole saddle on
me, an' d'you know what? It felt just fine. Then he got on my back,
an' right that instant, without any sorta fuss, we became pards. We
rode outta that little town a week later, an' we been together ever
since.
For
a while we just moseyed around, takin' it easy, getting' to know one
another, then the Preacher found a little place he decided to settle
down in. Wasn't much of a place - just a couple of walls an' some
rocks, an' the Preacher decided to put the place back together for
some reason. I got real lazy then. I'd just stand there all day while
the Preacher heaved an' sweated those rocks about, talkin' to me all
the time, tellin' me about the places he'd been an' all the strange
things he'd seen. Mighty interestin' it was too. So I'd wiggle my
ears to let him know I was listenin', an' life was good.
Then
They came.
An'
the Preacher decided we'd go with 'em.
There
were fourteen of us in the end, man and horse. As strange a bunch
as you've ever seen.
There's
the Black, mean lookin' critter with a mean lookin' pard, all in black
an' hard as nails. But it turns out they was fine folk to have about
- tough as shit, but fair.
The
Grey's a good horse, dependable, sensible - has to be with a man like
the Ladies' Man. That's what they call him. Big sonofabitch, like
the Preacher, but easy-goin' - unless someone touches the Kid, or
hurts one of us. He's a good man to have at your back, an' so's the
Grey.
The
Little Bay belongs to the Kid, an' he sure ain't much to look at,
his neck's on the wrong way up an' he's all nerves an' grit. But -
like the Kid - he's okay. Drives you nuts with his damn' fidgettin',
but he's turnin' out fine.
But
Peso - now he's just downright weird. He's with the Tracker, an' I
ain't never seen a partnership like it. Half the time they spend hatin'
each other's guts, Peso tryin' his damnedest to kill the Tracker,
I'm sure. But, they get along. I don't know how, but they do. An'
the Tracker loves the little shit. Lord knows why.
The
Big Bay belongs to the Healer. Now he's special, an' so's the Healer.
I seen men like him when I was busy gettin' myself throwed outta the
army, tough men, called buffalo soldiers by the Indians on account
of their curly hair. But the Healer has a hard time with us, as our
men are always gettin' hurt one way or another, an' he's been known
to patch us horses up too. Why, he even doctored a crease in my behind
once. Bullet took a chunk right outta the muscle. Him an' the Bay
keep an eye out for us all, that's for sure.
An'
then there's Chaucer. Goddamned Chaucer. Now he ain't a mustang, like
Peso, or a quarter-horse like the rest of us. Oh no, he's a Thoroughbred
- or so he says. You never know when he's tellin' you the truth or
spinnin' you one of his damn' stories. But sharp - hell, so damn'
sharp he'd cut butter. That Gambler of his, though - he's somethin'
else. Ran out on us once, an' the Black an' his pard got real mad.
But he came back. Saved our sad butts too, into the bargain. Chaucer
an' the Gambler. Made for each other, I'd say.
So,
life's changed for the Preacher an' me. Sometimes we spend days just
chewin' the fat, takin' it easy, an' on others we go hoorawin' about
the place, causin' mayhem an' catchin' the bad guys.
I
kinda got used to gunfire pretty damn' quick, an' the Preacher has
this habit of shootin' just above my ears - so close, sometimes I
feel the breath of the bullet. I swear one day he's gonna shoot me
stone cold dead in the brainpan - but he never does. He just winks
at me with that blasted grin on his face, lookin' like the devil hisself,
an' I just know he's havin' one helluva time.
Sometimes
things get bad, though.
Real
bad.
An'
that's when I have to be real gentle an' steady. Then I have the Preacher
an' someone else ridin' double, an' often it's the Preacher who's
hurt. The Ladies Man sits behind an' holds him steady, an' I walk
so gentle I wouldn't spill a glass of the Preacher's whisky if'n he
had one. Life gets hard when the Preacher's hurt. I don't know what's
goin' on, an' the Kid takes care of me. But - he ain't been killed
yet, an' he's as tough as hell, that Preacher Man.
An'
on other times the Preacher carries someone real careful in his arms,
cuz the Preacher ain't only big, he's real strong. It's been the Gambler
more often that not, an' the Preacher holds him easy, savin' him from
any more hurt. But it don't have to be him. The Preacher would carry
any one of 'em until he dropped, he cares about 'em so much.
Anyways,
that's why I'm sayin' life's got real strange lately. But hell, I
wouldn't have it any other way.
Why?
Because
the Preacher an' me ain't master an' servant.
The
Preacher an' me - why, we're Pards.
That's
all.
Just
Pards.
