by Brian Gore
Amanda and Timmy sat at their table, soaking up the morning sun, laughing over their breakfast, blissfully unaware of the darkness descending upon them. They enjoyed their morning, unsuspecting. In just a few minutes the brutality of the world they had risked so much to escape would come roaring back, shattering their day, and their dreams.
Ben, driving his horse herd, a wide smile on his weathered face, rode slowly along, driving his pack horses in front. The horses grazed their breakfast as he moved them slowly along. He was alive. He was a Cowboy. He was horseback in the Montana Mountains! On this day, in this place, life was good. Or, so he thought.
He had no sliver, of a notion, of an idea, that his world was about to explode... one... more... time.
Ben rode down the mountain that soft September morning, smiling in blissful ignorance; totally unaware that he was, once again, riding; "to the sound of the guns".
His lead mare and most of the herd were grazing in a small park on a narrow bench, just a couple of hundred yards above the campground on Lodgepole Creek. Ben rode out of the trees above it, pushing in the stragglers. As he crossed the middle of the small clearing he heard the sound of a car driving up the forest road below. The thought crossed his mind that it sounded too fast for that narrow gravel road.
As he circled around to keep the herd moving across the park, he distinctly heard a woman scream. The sound echoed up that narrow drainage that he and the horses had descended.
Ben kicked his gelding into an easy lope to cover the few yards to the edge of the almost level bench, so he could look over, and down into the campground. When he did, he saw a black SUV with all four doors open parked behind a small red car. He could see, what appeared to be four men, a woman, and a boy...
The woman was struggling with two of the men who appeared to be trying to drag her toward the SUV. A third man stood near the rear of the black rig, while the fourth was standing in front of a small, bright yellow dome tent gripping a struggling little boy.
Instinct is something not to be ignored. Your mind can trick you if you give it enough room. It can apply reason to what your eyes have seen and your intuition perceives; explaining away what is otherwise plain to see.
Ben Jensen was never a man to surrender to the arguments of reason, when his instincts were screaming at him. His judgments came fast and aggressive... and had usually served him well.
He spun that gelding and spurred it into a fast circle around his herd. Swinging his coiled rope in his hand and hollering he kicked that herd into movement. The horses, startled by his unexpected and noisy charge, jumped for the trail and went thundering down the mountain.
The trail they'd been following led out of the mountains, down a tributary drainage that fed into Lodgepole creek. The trail itself ended in that campground, and so the more than two dozen mares, along with their foals, as well as several yearlings and two year olds, charging down that mountain, came thundering, ears laid back, crashing out of the timber that bordered the campground.
The two men dragging the struggling, screaming woman had managed to drag her to the side of the black SUV. The man he'd seen standing by the rear of the car still stood where he'd been... As Ben came racing out of the timber and the horses went thundering through he saw one of the men fighting with the woman slap her... slap her hard and the one holding the kid give the boy a hard yank.
He pulled up his gelding fifteen feet from the bumper of the Yukon, sliding to a stop raising a small cloud of dust... as his herd thundered back into timber on the other side of the camp.
Directly in front of him stood Jamal, who turned now to face him. Ben just sat his gelding, slowly looking from Jamal, to the men holding the woman, who had quit her struggling and stood watching him. Ben's gaze continued to swing over to the little boy, clearly terrified and gripped tightly by the large black man... and then, slowly, turned his gaze back to the man in front of him. Also a large black man. A man he would learn was named, Jamal.
"What you want mahn?" The large black man asked.
Ben really didn't like his tone. It had the sound of arrogance to it. Quite a few folks over the years, had found that the best way to communicate effectively with Ben Jensen, was to avoid any perception of arrogance. It wasn't something he had any great tolerance for.
" 'pears to me, that lady don't wanna get in your car Mr. ... and that boy yonder, why he looks plumb scared. You mind tellin' me why that lil' boy would have reason to fear what's goin' on here?" Ben asked.
"What's goin' on here is none of your damn business bwoy. You just go on now. Chase your horses and leave us to what is our, business." Jamal retorted. He gestured with his hand toward the dust kicked up by the departing herd.
"Well gee" Ben spoke; "Trouble is, I can't do that. Four black fellas, one white woman, who don't seem to want to associate with you fellas... and one scared lil' boy... somethin' is wrong here and I ain't goin'... No Where... 'till I know what's what. Got THAT... Bwoy?" Ben said, emphasizing his use of 'Bwoy' on the end.
"Why you stupid..." Jamal started to speak as he reached under his jacket for his pistol.
None of them had even taken notice of the coiled catch rope Ben held in his hand. It was held, laying on his right thigh. Being where they were from, none of them had any idea what it was for, or what he could do with that rope, even if they had noticed it.
When the loudmouth confronting Ben jerked the pistol from under his jacket, that right hand of the Cowboy flashed out, neatly flipping the loop in that catch rope over the head and outstretched arm of the would be bad man...
As Ben took his dallies, the good rope horse he sat on backed up quick, and Jamal was jerked off his feet and drug ten feet before anybody had time to react. When the cowboy on top of him put spur to horseflesh that gelding jumped back forward, planting both front feet in the middle of the fallen mans back. All anyone heard was a wooshing grunt as the air was crushed out of Jamal's lungs.
The pair of men holding the woman had been trying to push her into the rear door, on the curb side of the vehicle. The man on the rear side of the door let go of her, and took a step forward as he drew his weapon.
The gelding slammed his chest into the man with his second jump, riding him down as Ben and horse passed up the right side of the Yukon. They ran like an equine strafing run, dragging Jamal along behind like a rag doll. A raised left foot slammed it's high riding heel into the third man's forehead, as he still held on to the once again struggling woman as he passed with the horse's third jump. Devon hit the ground hard. He made a sound like a bag of wet sand dropped off a truck.
Musa, the man holding Timmy let go of the boy and took a couple tentative steps forward, slowly drawing his weapon, stunned by the suddenness of the attack.
The Cowboy on the big brown horse charged him with the zzzzzzzzip! of the rope around the saddle horn singing in the morning air when Ben released his dallies.
It only took that big gelding a pair of jumps to cover the ground from the Yukon to where Musa stood, raising his weapon. His slow reaction was too little too late as he was smashed to the ground when the much smaller Cowboy dove off the running horse and crashed into him like an over anxious bull dogger.
The collision of the Cowboy's shoulder and Musa's chest knocked the wind out of him... which he could not regain fast enough to defend himself, as the gloved fists of the apparently berserk horseman slammed into his face.
In mere seconds the four Jamaican drug runners from Chicago were laid out like slabs of beef. Only Terrance and Musa, the second and fourth to hit the ground, remained conscious, though in no condition to offer any further resistance. Jamal and Devon lay where they fell, out cold... well... except for Jamal, who had been dragged a couple of dozen feet. He lay in an unconscious heap where Ben had finally slipped his dallies.
Ben stood, strode over to his horse, and pulled several piggin' strings out of his saddlebags, with which he soon had all four men tightly bound.
Standing from his labors, he took
a few bowlegged steps over to the woman, who had run to her son and now knelt in front of their tent, hugging the sniffling boy.
Ben knelt as well, and cupping the boys chin in his hand asked him, with a gentle grin; "Kind of a tough way to start a mornin'... ain't it kid?"
He regained his feet, and touching the brim of the dirty, grey felt hat he wore, spoke to Amanda; "Ma'am? What the devil's goin' on here?"
Amanda stood and looking at Ben answered; "His father" she nodded toward Timmy; "sent them... He wants me... and his son" she looked down at the boy standing in front of her, and kissed the top of his head. Then gesturing toward her car; "...and the money I took for a fresh start... Back!" She looked at Ben and he couldn't help but see the flash of defiance in the bluest eyes he'd ever seen.
"Aw Jesus!" Ben thought; "What've I got myself into this time?" Looking at Amanda he replied; "Well, Ma'am... a man has the right to his son... Don't he?"
The girl just stood looking at him for the longest time, as if she was weighing her answer. Without a word she pulled up the little boy's shirt... revealing the fading black and blue of bruises all over his sides.
"He's a beast! ... His father has lost any... Rights... he ever had!" and once again flames flashed in the woman's blue eyes.
Memories of ugliness and brutality in far away places came flooding back to the Cowboy as he looked down into the wide brown eyes of that little boy... and his vision was blinded by the rise within him of a purple, seething rage.
Slowly he turned back to the broken gangsters lying hog tied on the ground. As his vision slowly cleared, his eyes focused on the one he'd seen, give the boy that hard yank.
With but a moment's hesitation, he walked over to where Musa lay on the ground slowly regaining his senses and jerked him up to lean against the trunk of a tree.
Ben squatted in front of the man. His eyes looked at the ground with a cold smile on his face. When Ben finally looked up at Musa, his eyes were no longer smiling; "So... you like scaring little boys do you?" WHACK! Without warning, Bens gloved right fist crashed into the side of the man's head, knocking it back like a punching bag. "How are you with a man you maggot?"
"Tyrone keel you mahn! You don' know wha' you in to mahn!"
WHACK! The gloved left fist knocked the head back the other way. "Can't answer a simple question huh? I always wondered if you big boys were as dumb as some claim." Ben's work hardened fists replayed the beating they'd delivered minutes ago, his rage turned loose.
This time Musa was able to remain more alert.
"I tol' you mahn... Tyrone... keel... you... you a... dead mahn!'
"I'm shakin'... BOY" Ben spit through gritted teeth, his face inches from Musa's, and emphasizing boy. "The day I fear maggots that run around scaring little boys and their Mothers... is not, Today... got it BOY?" Ben grabbed the big mans shirt front in both hands and pressed his face into Musa's, glaring into his eyes as he spit out the words.
The anger in the black man's eyes amused the Cowboy. "Don't like bein' called boy... BOY? Well sir... maybe... if you want to be considered a man..." WHACK! Ben's right hand flashed again, knocking Musa's head sideways one more time; "You should oughta start ACTING"... WHACK! his left hand crashed again... "Like one!"
Standing back up, breathing hard with his anger, Ben looked down at the equally seething anger in the black man's eyes... "Hmmm... don't like bein' whupped, do ya big fella?" CRUNCH! Ben's left boot came flashing up, across the tied man's face... the heel smashing into and breaking his jaw.
Squatting back down, Ben pulled a sheath knife out of its scabbard on his belt and laid the tip against Musa's left ear...
"Now, seein' as how I figure to have your full an' complete attention... BOY... you... ever... touch... that kid... or his Momma... again... I'll hunt you... I'll find you... and I'll carve my initials on your liver!" The knife flicked, cutting a half inch slit through the man's ear lobe and eliciting a choking scream, as the Cowboy rose back to his feet.
Looking down at the now crying man Ben asked; "You Savvy... BOY?"
The bound Jamaican had quickly lost a lot of his toughness, like the air leaking out of a balloon, but he just looked, eyes wide with pain, anger, and fear... but saying, nothing.
A booted toe smashed into the defiant man's side; "I asked you a question... BOY!"
The last of the defiance drained out of the big man like a deflating balloon... "I hear you mahn!... I hear you!" he managed to spit out through the gritted teeth of his broken jaw.
"Good... 'cause I was startin' to lose patience with you!" Ben retorted as he turned back toward the woman and her son.
"Well lady... my gut says it's got the suspicion you don't possess the desire to report this 'crime' to the law?"
"No... That will only let him know where I am. I have to run! I just want to be free of them... but they seem to find us no matter where we hide..."
"They find you? You've run before?" Ben asked.
"Yes... twice... but they always seem to know just where I am, where I go. This time I told no one... Nobody knew we were coming this way. No one knows us here... we're from Chicago! But, they still found us in less than four days!" Amanda pulled Timmy to her and leaning down hugged and kissed his small head as they both cried.
"Well Ma'am there's ways... they could have your car bugged... or your phone, it don't take somebody tellin' tales... there's all sorts of ways to track a person these days." Ben said.
"They didn't know I had the car, it was well hidden from them... but... my phone? How could they track my phone? They're drug dealers, not the police or the phone company!"
Ben grinned at her; "You're one of them gals that has one but really don't know how the little gizmos work aren't you?"
Amanda stood and looked at him, as the picture of Timmy playing with her phone and her turning it off just an hour ago flashed through her head... "Oh My God!" she gasped as she turned and leaned into the tent to retrieve the phone lying on her sleeping bag.
Ben took the phone from her and powered it up... with a few seconds of punching buttons he said; "Yup... there it is right there." as he held the phone out to her pointing at the screen. They've got some GPS software stuck in here that sends your co-ordinates to another phone number... and bingo, they can follow you like you're wearing a homing beacon. Hell... most of 'em even give 'em the address!"
"Oh My God" Amanda repeated, once again hugging the boy. "What am I going to do now?" she sobbed.
"Well, the first thing we can do is shut off their beacon." said Ben.
He walked over to where he'd laid all the men's pistols on the table, picked one up, thumbed off the safety, tossed the cell phone on the ground and fired two rounds through it.
"Hmmm... I don't guess that phone will be telling anybody anything any more." he grinned as he looked back at the startled faces of the woman and her son.
"Uh... You didn't have any sort of a sentimental connection with that thing did you?" he asked, flipping a thumb at the shattered phone behind him as he walked back over to the teary eyed pair. "Guess I should have asked first!"
"No... I uh... Oh... it... uh... No!" Amanda stuttered not knowing what to say in her confusion.
Behind him Ben heard the loudmouth, the one he'd taken down first, groan. The man lay on his stomach whimpering and groaning in pain, his hands tied behind his back and then to his bound ankles.
"Excuse me." he said to Amanda and walked over to the groaner.
Squatting beside him Ben spoke quietly, lifting his hat with one hand and running the fingers of his other through his hair; "I figure you've got a few busted ribs and likely, judging by the hoof prints on your back, probably some cracked vertebrae big fella. Damn, that's got to hurt! Hell, it would'a killed me!" he laughed.
Replacing his felt hat and leaning in closer, a hard edge entered his voice; "You really ought to look into a different line of work... you black bastard!" Laughing, Ben stood and continued; " 'cause I got to tell you son, you just ain't no
good a'tall at this'un!" He ended his soliloquy by slamming the toe of his boot into the broken man's side, producing another choking groan of pain.
Ben turned his head slightly and looked toward the blond woman and her small son still standing in front of their tent watching him, before returning his focus to the trussed man lying in front of him.
"I have a suggestion for you fellas. I'm not sure where ya'll are from, you do talk with kind of a purty accent! But, we don't care much for such as you 'round here. My suggestion? When you can, and I'd make it quick! I'd load your sorry, wind suckin' asses back into that Yukon yonder... and un-ass Montana!"
He looked down at the man, took a deep breath, nodded and turned away, walking back to the lady and her son.
Chapter 15
"Way I see it... you need to get gone from here, asap. Like it or not, it also looks like it's falling on me to make sure you do, and I'll do just that. I'll get you out of here... so... let's get your gear in the car, and get you gone!" Speaking loud enough to make sure those that were conscious could hear; "We'll figure the rest out once I get you down to Red Lodge!"
Ben spoke like the Sergeant he'd been, expecting no resistance, and getting what he expected.
It only took but a very few minutes to roll their sleeping bags, pack up the cooking gear, take down the tent and get it all loaded into Amanda's car. The last of the packing was done when Ben added a little of his own gear as he unsaddled his horse and kicked him loose, with a slap on the hip, to send him running on after the other horses. The saddle and blankets, along with his bridle, he threw on the back seat, filling what little space remained beside the boy's car seat.
His pack horses, carrying their loads had not been inclined to run on with the herd and had stopped just past the campground. Ben stripped off their packs and piled them against a tree. Those packs didn't make much of a pile. He tended to camp light when he was driving a herd.
