Cries the River

“Where'd the damn thing come from?”

“Hell if I know. Just walked up to me while I was taking a piss beyond that there bush.”

“I don’t need to know where your personal latrine was, Bill. Learn to select the important details.”

“Right, boss. It just walked up to me while I was...doing nothing.”

“That’s not the...never mind. Help me look for a brand.”

The horse before them shook its mane, sending a billow of dew from its thick black hairs as if the river itself was being thrown off its back. The ranch hands walked carefully about it, searching for an owner's mark.

“Nuthin,” Bill said, rubbing his chin.

“Same,” Jim concurred. “Think it's wild?”

“Awful calm. I know you don’t want to hear, but the thing just stared at me while I was watering the foliage. Walked right up and waited till I was done. Then follered me while I brought in the rest of the herd. Didn't even need a rope.”

“Welp, we might as well put a rope on it now, seeing as the boss is gonna want her to join his team.”

“I’m telling you, ain't no need. Jus’ gonna foller us home.”

The horse shook its mane again, sending another spray, seemingly confirming this assertion of Bill’s. Jim chewed his lip for a moment then shrugged.

“Hell, why not. I’ll bite. Let's see what kinda beast you tamed.” He walked away from the black beauty, climbing into his own horse’s saddle, an American Paint, then let out a holler familiar to the herd of cattle that he and Bill had been sent to retrieve. The dogs sprung into action, trotting around the herd, driving them forward. Bill did the same and rode to the back to keep any stragglers from falling behind.

True to his word, the black horse followed the group at a steady clip, never more than 20 feet from Bill’s rear. It would occasionally stop to drink from a puddle, draining it completely, before resuming its pace, as though being near Bill was essential.

Nearing the ranch, the two men led the cows to the pasture, closed the gate, and drew their horses in the stable. All the while, the black beauty followed them. Then, with an air of dignity and poise, it stepped into an empty pen and turned to face them.

“I’ll be damned,” Jim whispered under his mustache.

“I told yeh,” Bill chuckled. “Like a lost pup.”

“Welp,” Jim paused for an unnecessarily long time causing Bill to look nervously around. Jim just stared at the horse, chewing on his lip.

“Welp?”

Jim shook his head as though he had just woken up. “Welp,” he continued, “We best tell the boss.” He turned and trudged out the back of the stable toward the ranch house. Bill followed, noting Jim’s forlorn glance at the horse, who whinnied at their departure but made no attempt to leave the barn.

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“Where’s the damn thing coming from?”

“Hell if I know. Just walked up to me while I was taking a piss beyond a bush…”

“Bill!”

“Sorry, Jim. Sorry, Boss.”

“Hmph,” the boss, Boss said, observing his latest acquisition. The horse shook its mane, sending droplets everywhere despite appearing dry. Boss cursed and stepped forward, his beard catching some of the particles floating in the light. He ran a finger across the flank of the horse, feeling for any irregularities.

“What do yeh think boss?”

“Looks too well cared for to be wild,” he said, bringing his face closer to inspect. “Hell, looks like a damn pet. Coat is perfect. Silky smooth. And you said the thing just followed you back?”

“Like a lost pup,” Bill said, a little more nervous than he had been before.

“Thing musta been in some trees,” Boss grumbled. “There’s sap on its flanks.” He struggled to pull his finger away from the hide, cursing as he did. The horse let out another whinny, as if laughing at the predicament.

“Yeh need help boss?”

“I ain’t pulling for show, yeh git,” Boss snapped. “Michael!”

Michael, the young ranch hand, stepped nervously out into the open.

“Michael, get the water and soap. And a razor while yer at it,” he growled, trying to get a different angle on his finger. “Damn thing is like glue.”

Michael nodded and went to the back of the stable before returning with the requested items.

“Get a good lather and wipe the area round my finger,” Boss ordered, his finger not moving from its spot. Michael obliged, pulling out a step stool to reach upward. The men stood in silence while the young lad dipped his sponge into the sudsy water and wiped gently around the finger that remained in position. After about a minute, the boss waved Michael away and began tugging again.

“Anything?” Jim asked.

“Ungh,” Boss replied. “Damn this thing is stuck. Where the hell you find this?”

“Bout three acres south, near the river where the herd was grazing.”

“There ain't a tree near bouts there.” He waved Michael back to try again.

“Nothing but junipers,” Bill concurred.

“Junipers do get sticky,” Jim pointed out. They waited a bit to see if Michael’s latest attempt had any effect. When none was visible, Boss groaned and asked for the clippers.

“Speaking of which,” the boss grumbled, taking the blades from the kid and easing them between the finger and the fur. “Either of you going out that way in the morning?”

“Bill usually goes out fishing sunup,” Jim sniffed.

“Good,” Boss said, grimacing as he struggled to get the razor under his finger. “Michael, get over here. I can't get a good angle.” He handed the razor to the kid who gingerly positioned it. “I was hoping for some fresh catch for dinner tomorrow.”

“River doesn’t always give,” Bill said, shrugging. “Ain't been much of late. Mostly I just sit and watch the sun come up.”

“Fair. If you do catch something, bring it back so the kitchen staff can...SHIIIIT!” the boss screamed as a flick of finger flew through the air, followed by three tiny red droplets. Michael stood on his stool, razor in hand, staring at Boss, his hand clutched in the other, crimson drips falling from his digit, tears streaming down his face. His eyes bulged, his already ample cheeks puffing in and out as the pain engulfed him.

“What did you do!” Jim yelled, moving toward the boy, who stared in horror at the boss.

“Little shit cut my finger off!” Boss howled.

“Just the tip,” Bill said, finding the flap of skin that had been sliced off and gingerly picking it up.

“I...I...I slipped I think. It was just so close…” Michael stammered.

“Little piece of…” the boss grunted.

“Boss, it looked like an accident,” Bill said. “Medic can probably stitch it up.” He gestured to Michael to put the blade down, who did so with great trepidation. The boss glared at him while he did, his nostrils flaring so hard that Bill was sure he could see into the man’s mind. He stepped forward and gently put his hands on Boss’ shoulders. “I’ll get you there. Jim?”

Jim nodded and let the two men wander off toward the main house, the Boss’ cries filling the air. He waited until the two disappeared before muttering to himself, “Big baby.” He turned to Michael who was still staring at the blood on the floor. The horse whinnied again, stamping its foot.

“Well?” he said to the boy.

“I swear mister, I didn’t mean to. I would never!”

Jim eyed the kid with one raised brow. He doubted the kid had the audacity to pull a stunt on the boss like that. Accidents happened on the ranch all the time.

“Tell yeh what,” he said, twitching his mustache, staring at the horse that seemed unfazed by the ordeal. “Give that horse a good scrubbing. Whatever the boss put his hand in was nasty stuff. Give it a once over. Boss should be in a better mood once his finger’s back in one piece.” He reached down and took the razor blade from the floor, inspecting it gingerly, a single drop of blood sliding down its edge. “Then get some rest. Got a full day tomorrow.”

Michael nodded and went to the back to grab the wash bucket and new rags. While he did, Jim looked back at the beast and stared. It was truly a beautiful animal. He imagined it would look even more lovely tomorrow.

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“Morning Bill.”

“Morning Jim.”

“Catch anything?”

Bill brought up a rope with several large trout, one in particular being at least two hands in length. Jim whistled in surprise.

“Pretty big haul for an empty river.”

“The water, she’s blessing me I think.”

“Well, that should make the boss happy. Or happier, I reckon.”

“Not every day a kid cuts your fingertip clean off.”

“Still don't know why the kid did it.”

“It were an accident.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, spitting into the dust.

“And you don’t believe him?”

“Nah, just...haven't seen him all morning.”

Bill stared at his friend, waiting for an elaboration.

“Kid hasn’t missed a day in his whole time here.”

“Shit, he prolly just missed a day ‘cause he was scared at the boss’s finger situation.”

“Prolly,” Jim said, staking a long sip from his coffee before dumping the rest out into the grass. He sat his mug down on the peeling paint of the railing and pulled his pants up slightly. “I’m gonna make sure he warshed that mare you brought home. I imagine the boss wants to start breaking it in. Best take that catch into the kitchen staff then meet me in the stables.” Bill nodded and took another proud glance at the haul before traipsing up the steps into the ranch house.

A few minutes later, the two of them made their way back into the barn, only to see the boss already there. He was wearing the same outfit he had been in the night before, a white bandage about his hand with a distinctive red mark where his finger had been cut. He was just staring at the black horse, his eyes glazed over, small drops of water coming down from the beast’s mane. Michael had apparently forgotten to dry the thing.

“You alright sir?” Jim asked hesitantly. Boss shook his head as though waking up from a dream, hitched his drawers up a bit then looked over at the two ranch hands.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Still can’t believe...found it…”

“Found me,” Bill said, smiling his typical missing tooth grin. “While I was taking a…” he paused, remembering he wasn’t supposed to talk that way. “By the by boss, I got yeh a real beauty this morning. Big ol' fish, seemed to snag my line right as I was setting myself down. Cook is getting it prepped for supper.”

“Yes, yes,” the boss murmured, as though still waking up. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and turned back to the beast. “So beautiful…”

An uncomfortable amount of time passed until Jim stepped forward. “Sir?” The boss broke away again. “You mean to start breaking this one in today?”

“After lunch I think. Maybe this evening when it’s cooler.”

“I’ll make sure the training grounds are prepped for the riders then.”

“Very good,” Boss said, nodding, his eyes drifting back to the horse.

“Sir?”

“Yes Jim?”

“You want to take a look at that hand again? It’s bleeding.”

The boss looked down and growled.

“Y'all see that boy Michael round bout?”

“No sir,” Bill said. “Reckon he’s still hiding after that tongue lashing you gave him. Jim made him clean the horse after you left.”

Boss growled again but nodded. “Figure I’d apologize. Didn’t mean to chew him out so much.” He shook his head. “If yeh see him, let him know he’s safe and I ain’t mad no more.”

“Will do sir,” Jim said and let the man trudged off to get his hand looked at again. Once he was gone, he looked back at the horse and found himself staring deep into its eyes—eternal and majestic pools of tar, inviting him to swim in their depths, pulling him closer…

“Jim?” Bill called from somewhere in the distance. Jim shook himself awake, unsure of what had just transpired. He turned and walked briskly out the barn.

“Help me set up the training grounds,” he said, shaking his head as he did. Bill was happy to oblige.

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“Someone has trained this animal,” Boss said, sitting atop the black beast. “She moves like a dream.”

“You sure sir?” Jim asked

“No doubt about it,” he said, pulling at the reins. “She has a lot of power to her, but I ain't once felt like I was gonna fall off. Usually at this point is when they try to buck me a bit. But not her.”

“You think we should start looking for her owner then? Ask at the next ranch maybe?” Bill asked.

“No brand, no claim,” Jim said. “And ain't no one come all day looking for her.”

“Law of the land,” Boss said, nodding in agreement. “I’m gonna take her for one more ride round the pasture then bring her in for the night. Ain't much training needed for this one.” He kicked the sides of the horse who began to trot faster around the enclosure. Jim thought he saw the animal grin as it picked up speed.

“Still no sign of Michael?”

“None,” Bill said.

“Think he ran off?”

“Just cuz the boss lay into him one night? Shit, that ain't like him. You watch, he’ll show up for supper, slinking like a cat what knows there’s food ready.” They watched as the horse reared up and the boss whooped and hollered, waving his hat and everything.

“Speaking of supper, I had a bite of that fish you caught. That is the best I think I ever did taste.”

“Thank yeh,” Bill said, wiping his brow. “I snuck a little myself.”

“Gonna go again tomorrow?”

“Plan to. You want to join me?”

“Might have to,” Jim said, eyes straining against the sunset. The whooping and hollering was different. Not joyous anymore, but panicked. “Somethings wrong,” he whispered and took off in a sprint. Bill followed suit and the two raced toward the bucking animal. Jim seized the reins and attempted to calm it, managing to get it still for a moment.

Boss was still on it, but his hand was stuck to the horse's neck, his face too.

“I thought you said it was washed!” he roared, though with his cheek stuck to the mane, it came out muffled.

“I had Michael...it was sopping wet when we came in!”

“Well, there's a lot of sap for it to be washed! I can’t get my face free.”

Jim studied the animal, its eyes and its face, its coat glistening in the sunset. It snorted as he stared, almost a chuckle. Jim looked closer at the hand and the face of his boss, full of fury and anger at his predicament.

“Can you move at all?” he asked. Boss shook his head, getting more of his skin glued against the fur of the horse which tensed and prepared to rear up. Instinctively, Jim reached out to steady it, his hand brushing the neck a few inches below Boss.

Immediately, he felt what Boss had referred to as “sap.” It was as though his hand became one with the creature, fingers imbedding into the fur, trapped as if it were in sticky sweet syrup. He could not move his fingers, nor could he pull away.

The horse lifted him into the air as it reared up and let out a whinny that Jim could feel in his bones.

Then it began to trot away, taking Jim and Boss with it.

“Bill!” Jim cried out, Boss’s face now embedded in the mane, his lips unable to let out a cry. “Bill get ove...r...here…” The trot began to pick up speed, and Jim’s legs were dragged alongside. Bill hurtled after them, trying to keep pace.

“Jim!” he yelled, but Jim was now being dragged with the horse and rider, the animal itself seemingly undeterred by two grown men it was carrying.

“Bill!” Jim yelled again, looking forward as they crested the hill, the sound of rushing water filling his ears. The boss struggled, but all they could hear was his muffled screams. It began to dawn on Jim that the horse had no intention of stopping at the river’s edge. He reached down and seized his knife from his belt and raised it high.

“MY CHILD!” a voice rang through his head, clear as the water rushed to meet him. “BECOME ONE OF MINE.”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what it was he had heard. A splash of water broke his stupor. He gasped as the flesh it had touched began to morph and twist, scales appearing where his hair had been. In a moment of conviction, he brought the knife down hard, repeatedly, breaking bone and muscle in his wrist, until his hand and Boss and the horse crashed into the river and disappeared into its depths, leaving him to lay on the rocks beside the waves.

Bill came quickly and wrapped Jim’s stump in a shirt, tight, a deep red stain filling it. Jim knew he was saying something, babbling on about the situation, but he couldn't hear a word his friend spoke.

Instead, he watched as the horse rose out of the water, a large trout sliding off its back, before sinking under the current once again, wearing a distinct, if not subtle smile, laughing as it disappeared.