Bedlam

The nag slowly moved along the cliff trail, its hooves grinding on stone and dirt as it trudged, half-consciously, along. Despite the gloss of Ol’Bedlam’s caramel coat and full mane and tail, both a smokey black, he was probably getting too old for this. His rider was similarly too old for this. He was a crotchety old prospector, with stained teeth. He wore a pair of overly patched jeans with a single suspender and a brown shirt, that was originally white. His battered gray telescope hat with a faded red band was pushed up on his forehead, leaving room for a wild shrub of hair that, if groomed, could be called eyebrows. His pipe hung, barely, from his lips, having long since burnt out. Behind the saddle, Bedlam carried everything they would need for the trek. The old double-barrel shotgun was tucked under the saddle and the prospector’s leg. It jostled as the prospector gave Bedlam a slight kick, spurring the horse up a particularly steep part of the trail.

The sun was hot and bright. Clops and curses reverberated off the mountain face as they moved steadily onward. Now and then a fresh breeze was able to push through the numerous peaks that surrounded them, bringing a modicum of relief as the two seniors continued their trek. The journey to town from the prospector’s mine would see them alone on this trail for a couple of days. His provisions should get them as far as town, he could buy food for the trip back there and he was no stranger to foraging. Lost in their thoughts, the pair continued round bends and up the mountain until the click of a revolver and the clattering rocks revealed two robbers. 

The first had a revolver, as old and used as the shotgun on the prospector’s saddle. The one who jumped out behind was holding some kind of repeater and aiming for the prospector’s mid-back. The one with the revolver adjusted the reddish bandana that hid his face before issuing his commands. “Get off the horse and give us all your money!”

“No.” The prospector’s tone was tired, and he didn’t move his hands from Bedlam’s reins. He nudged the slowing horse on with his heels, staring at the would-be mugger with weary brown eyes.

There was an abnormally long silence as neither bandit had experienced this before. “Didn’t you hear him old man? Get off your horse and give us your money or we will shoot you!” The robber with the repeater shouted, taking a few steps closer. “I got a clear shot of your back!”

“Seems like you two are hard of hearing, not me.” The prospector didn’t bother looking over his shoulder to the person behind him. “I said, no.” 

“All right.” The man with the revolver didn’t wait for his words to be heard. His pistol’s hammer ignited the powder to the cartridge and the bullet sped from the barrel. 

The half-asleep Bedlam jerked awake at the sound. The horse’s eyes grew wide, flaring to the size of billiards. He kicked out at the robber who had been foolishly moving up behind him. The prospector slid from the saddle, blood trickling from his right shoulder. The thump of his body hitting the ground was drowned out by the scream of a bandit. The scream slowly faded as the bandit continued down, down the mountain, before crunching into a lifeless heap at the base.

The bandit in the front tried to move out of the charging bronco’s way. Not wanting to follow his comrade's example in attempting to free-fall down the mountain, he ran closer to the cliff’s face. The outlaw never managed more than a couple of steps before the horse charged, barreling into the human. A second scream was muffled, but much more quickly as Bedlam’s hooves trampled over the mugger. The horse’s snorting and galloping were the last sounds that slowly faded away as the animal bolted.

The prospector wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but the sun’s heat was no longer baking him when he felt the sniffs and soft muzzle of Bedlam as the horse returned. “Ah, why couldn’t he have shot you?” The prospector’s complaints were hollow though as he slowly stood and patted Bedlam on the neck. “Think you can help get me back so I can get this bullet hole fixed?” As though the horse understood it nudged the prospector, snorting and lowering its head so the old man could more easily grip the reins. Again, the mountain trail reverberated with curses and clops as the duo moved back down the mountain.