| The Creative Expressions of... Bill Vivrett |
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| NightRiders: Incident on Big River Heights Page 2 of 6 ____________________________________________________ |
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| Updated 12.08.04 |
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| The thin, gaunt last rider heard only the screen door slam. At the sound, he turned in the saddle, reigned in his horse, spinning it around, and in one fluid motion fired his rifle from the hip. Perhaps he intended to hit nearby dirt as a waning that no one was to follow. Or maybe not. The boy went down! The leader quickly spun and galloped back. |
| �Dammit, Sam!� was all he said. Then all five quickly disappeared, riding hard. Little Buck had
been grazed on the shin and calf of his left leg. He had passed out, in shock. First blood had been drawn.
The old man still carried on a running conversation with his wife, Maggie. Never mind that she had died years earlier. �Mag, I dreamed again about the horsemen comin� back. The only thing that�s changes is...this time they�ll be comin� here instead of over to the big home place on the ridge, south.� �What�s that ya� say? Oh, they�re comin�, Mag. But I�m ready this time. Don�t you worry �bout that.� Only Maggie�s wind chimes answered. He nodded to himself. Yes, that dream of his was a hard dream and those were hard men, no�not even men, really, but something else�something lower that rode, unchecked, spreading terror among the isolated hill folks for all these years. Some say�they still do, he mused. �When the wind is up and the night is dark�they still do,� he affirmed, aloud. �And of the four, Death is always in front, now. He rides a pale horse.� �I saw him clear back then and I�ll see him clear this time.� �What they want, you ask?� �I tell you, Mag. They want everybody dead�like them!� He continued, explaining to the emptiness around him. �They�re all takers. Sons of the cracker sort; low breds! Missouri land pirates of the lowest order. Bushwhackers!� He spat this word out. �They�re not men at all, but somethin� less. They have no code. Hatin� somebody is the only thing they�re really good at...that, an� bushwhackin� from behind a tree.� |
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