The Starshine Kid: Arroyo Grande
Part 18 of 20
Up To My Neck
The sun bore down hot on the
Starshine Kid as he followed the sign left along the trail by the mysterious
band of Indians and their white captive. Marshal King came to the conclusion
that these renegades must be keeping Clifford Connors alive for either some
type of tribal trial, or for the pleasure of torturing him at a later more
opportune time, once the group arrived at their final destination. As Adam King
rounded a large boulder, a jumper from above laid him out flat upon the earth
like a long dried up meadow muffin alongside a well-traveled pioneer migration
trail. The Starshine Kid never knew what hit him.
The next few hours passed by without
Marshal King’s conscience notice. Night crept across the distant hills and the
evening stars poked their shiny faces out from the heavens above, one by one.
Slowly, the crisp, cool smell of night air wakened the marshal. Groggy and
thirsty, he scanned the area in front of him with blurred vision.
I’m paralyzed, he thought, I can’t move.
Marshal King struggled under the
night sky, wiggling and twisting like a live Egyptian mummy wrapped up tight in
grave wrappings. He soon realized that he was upright and buried up to his neck
in sand. As he relaxed to contemplate his fate, he slipped back into
unconsciousness.
“Marshal, Marshal,” a voice
addressed the Starshine Kid in the light of the desert dawn. “Marshal, you ok?”
“What, who—”
“It’s Connors, Clifford Connors. I
recognized who you was last evening. Looks like we are gonna be sharin’ a
future together. That’s quite a wallop you got on the side of your head. I can
see me a patch of dried up blood.”
Still unable to fully awake, Adam
simply said, “I’m a might thirsty.”
“These Indians ain’t gonna let us
die just yet. They be bringin’ some water pretty soon I imagine. You was out
cold when one of ‘em tried to give you some a bit earlier, just before the sky
started to lighten up.”
Coming around slowly, Marshal King
longed for the days when he slept with one eye open and with his finger on his
pistol’s trigger. “If I only had a gun.”
“That gun wouldn’t do you no good,
Marshal, buried down under this sand with your hands tied up,” Clifford
commented.
“I guess you’re right, but at least
I’d feel a right might better.”
“I get ya on that, Marshal.”
In the distance the brightening
morning light revealed three other heads adorning the desert’s painted sand.
“Who are they,” inquired the
Marshal, “more partners of yours?”
Looking as though he had swallowed a
frog, Connors replied, “Were, they were some of my compatriots a long time
ago.”
“Compatriots, now that’s a big
word.”
Connors explained a bit to the
Marshal to clarify the matter, “Compatriots, sort of. Years ago they ran across
me on the trail and convinced me to ride with them. Said I owed them a favor on
account of my brothers and all. Mean fellas totin’ pistols is mighty convincin’
to a man.”
Marshal King gazed across at the
three lifeless heads, “They been dead long?”
“They quit breathin’ about the time
you was buried, Marshal. But I ain’t got no mind to how them three got here or
how long they been buried. I just knows them from before.”
Marshal King wondered how he and
Connors could breathe without the crushing effects of the sand’s weight bearing
down on their chests each time a breath of precious air was exhaled, “How come
this sand ain’t chokin’ us and crushing out our breathin’?”
“After strappin’ our hands to our
sides them Indians put some kind of thing weaved together made of sticks around
our upper bodies. It’s got just enough space to ease our breathin’, I reckon. I
guess they didn’t do that for them three over there.”
The Starshine Kid had never heard of
such a practice and wondered why these particular Indians would want to keep
them alive. What purpose could
that serve? he pondered.
“I guess I don’t need to remind you
that you are under arrest, Connors.”
“Right about now I wish I was in a
nice small-town jail, Marshal. I never had a mind to be involved with my
brothers’ schemes, but, you know, family and all. It weren’t like I had much of
a choice. I always did try to stay in the background as much as was humanly
possible.”
A Brave arrived and poured water
into the mouths of the thirsty prisoners and then departed quickly. The Indian
was tall and lean with a muscular build. His long black hair was braided in a
fashion foreign to Marshal King’s experiences, but he had heard of this
practice from travelers who dared to venture far south of the Mexican border
and deep into the lands of the southern Americas.
Connors continued his conversation,
“I always had me a mind to be a law abidin’ citizen. A rancher or somethin’,
but my brothers, well….”
“Sometimes it’s hard to break away
and get a clean start,” Marshal King acknowledged, “mighty hard.”
“I could do that now, in fact that
was what I was plannin’ on doin’ when I rode away leavin’ my departed brothers
behind, but it looks like I’m gonna be reapin’ what my brothers and I have sown.”
Marshal King pondered Connors’ words
carefully, then replied, “But you did kill that jailer and you’re gonna have to
stand trial for that crime.”
As nervous as a bird surrounded by
felines, Connors replied, “I swear I didn’t kill the man, I was just on the
verge of lettin’ him go free. I’d just got off of my horse—”
“Y-o-u-r horse? Yours?”
“Well, Marshal….”
“Ok, ok, Clifford, go ahead and
speak your mind.”
“Anyways, a shot rang out and the
fella was dead before he hit the ground, I swear, so I mounted up and rode for
the wind. That be why I didn’t stay around as to bury the man, Marshal.”
“I’ll make you a deal, Connors,”
Starshine promised, “if you promise on the Holy Bible and your grandmother’s
grave that you’ll be a law abidin’ hard workin’ citizen, I’ll plead your case
myself before the judge to let you make a try at it. It may be that under some
sort of legal supervision you might get your chance to prove yourself,
Connors.”
“You’d do that for the likes of me?”
“I believe every man can make a
change in life if he has the desire and the chance. Havin’ one without the
other is like havin’ a dyin’ hunger and no food to quench it.”
“I’ve a mind to hold ya to that
promise Marshal, if’n we gets outta this situation.”
As the day progressed under the hot
sun, the lone Indian Brave returned every two hours, or so, to quench his
captives’ thirst, but there was no sign of the other Braves. This perplexed
both Marshal King and Clifford Connors.
“What do you think might be goin’ on
with the other Indians, Marshal? Think they be on a raid or somethin’? They
musta been awful quiet when they left, or maybe they left after buryin’ you.
There was a lot of ruckus goin’ on then, I mighta missed hearin’ them ridin’
off.”
“I’ve been tryin’ to figure that one
out for some time now, Connors, but… if only, if only we could see a bit more
of where that Brave is comin’ from and goin’ to.”
“He seemed a might bit unsettled the
last couple of times he’s been a comin’ round, Marshal. May be that somethin’
ain’t right.”
“I would agree with that. Let’s just
hope he ain’t getting’ too nervous and decide to rid himself of us or stop
givin’ us water.”
The sun beat down hard for the next
few hours and the Brave did not return. The two sand kingdom captives could
only hope… only hope for a miracle.
*** Part 19: The Nick of Time ***
________________________________
The Starshine Kid: Arroyo Grande
By Royce A Ratterman
© All Rights Reserved
Cover Art & Illustrations by
Erlend Evensen
The characters, locales,
enterprises, entities, and events herein are entirely fictional and intended for
educational and entertainment purposes. Content portrayals do not reflect any
actual events, locales, entities, or any individuals living or deceased.
Dedicated to all of those who lost their lives establishing peace,
safety, and harmony in the days of the Old West
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