the further exploits of thaiff carson...

When I was a little child . I had the cholera real bad and almost died . I visited the door of death itself --and it opened wide to receive me . I looked through and walked towards it . Got a good look . Seen my Maw through that open door --waitin’ -- already on the other side .

When I was barely through that door , I was healed by an Ouachita holy man. My old life ended but I was brought back to this side and a new life began . That Indian’s power still surrounds me and to this day is mine too . Because of this I am more than a man. I am a spirit . Cain’t no bullet kill me . No mortal man can slay me . This I know because I seen it with my own eyes . Heard it with my own ears . Felt it in my own soul . I am a warrior and my enemies will fall like rain before me . Nothing can kill me but Spirit itself . This I know .

I am he who waits along the pathways of mortal men in the form of the celestial panther and shooting star
--to reward the virtuous and punish the unrighteous --my weapons spit fire in this name . This is why Spirit healed me . This is why I was saved . This is who and what I am . --Thaiff Carson September 5, 1879

Tom Reed was no son of a bitchin' fool . He knew that some men would do anything for money . He himself was one of those men . Most of his life had been spent being one of those men . Five hundred dollars was a lot of money . For that kind of cash he was half tempted to turn himself in and collect the reward --if it weren't for the hangman's noose waiting on the other end of it .

' Stinkin' Tom Reed was a long way from Ford's Creek , Colorado . The way things looked , he could never risk going back there . He had survived 'the wilds' long enough to sense when something was wrong . Young Thaiff Carson was closing in on Reed .

He was right behind Stinkin Tom , barely farther than a few rifle shots away . Tom Reed could almost feel Carson's eyeballs drilling bullet holes in his back even as Tom urged on his exhausted , heavily panting mount .

There was no escaping the boy . He was as relentless as the desert sun in an otherwise empty sky and seemed just as insistent on bringing old Tom down . The sun had blasted its rays into Tom until it was as if there was no sweat left in him . Dried trails of salted streams had merged into a sticky mask that had burned his eyes and stained his face .

The heat pierced him through until his flesh could hold no more . Heat made its way back out of him , burning his skin a second time upon its exit . In the breezeless , dry air , heat hovered over him like a punishing cloud , transparent but visible as it rippled around him .

Tom's horse had lathered heavily in the sun until there was no longer any liquid . The lather had dried on the animal's skin leaving only patches of whitish film . Even the sand flies had enough sense to seek refuge from the sun and left the horse and rider alone , waiting till later to bite at what little moisture remained in the eyes , the mouth , and the lining of the nose .

The labored sounds of the horse panting told Tom's ears the beast couldn't last much longer . Tom's eyes quickly scanned the small rounded hills , dead river banks and brown gullies carved and cut by flash floods during Nature's better , more generous moments .

His instincts , in search of the best place to make his stand , were drawn past the dying saguaro cactus to the space between two tan hills , along the dried pathway cut by the sudden and much too infrequent rains. The pathway curved and disappeared around the backside of a third and much larger hill obscuring the rider's view ahead .

Tom hoped the path's curve and disappearance around the far side of the larger hill would be sufficient to fixate the boy's attention ahead --distracting him momentarily from the small , natural hiding place offered within the space between the close pair of smaller hills preceding the much larger one .

Momentary distraction was all Tom would need .

"Stinkin Tom" kicked at the horse's sides to speed it up as the plan firmed itself and solidified behind his eyes . He found the best place to rest the animal , tied and hobbled it out of sight in the shade provided by the size of the large hill . There was even a little scrub grass growing in the hill shade along with tumble weed blown there by occasional winds , for the horse to chew on .

Tom lifted from his saddle horn the leather strap of the last canteen with water in it . He took a quick swallow which did little to ease his own thirst , and then removed the battered , dented , black derby hat from his head . Stinkin Tom poured the remaining quarter canteen's worth into the hat , gently holding it as a basin while the horse lowered its face into the hat and drank .

"That's the last of it Girl " , he cooed to the horse as it finished off the water .

He placed two fingers into the hat and traced them along its depths until his fingers were moist and then used them to gently smooth away sand and dust that had dried around the animal's eyes .

Still cooing he explained to the horse , " Company's coming . I need you to stay here and be real quiet . "

He pulled the old Henry repeating rifle from its sheath on the saddle .

"We gotta kill this kid following' us and hope he's got some water ," Tom , derby again in place , said over his shoulder to the horse . He took the empty canteen and loaded rifle with him as he carefully walked back along the exposed stones in order to leave no tracks to what would be his hiding place .



“This, ’man’ of yours any good?“ Thatcher Ambrose asked while nodding to the servant, signaling a refill of Judge Foley’s glass. Foley, needing no prompting, raised his again empty glass to receive the crystal decanter’s aged liquor.

“ Don’t let Thaiff’s appearance fool you . Boy’s a born killer “ , said Foley. “Killed his own father--but didn’t know it.“

“Boy was almost still in diapers when kidnapped by his mother’s rejected suitor and his scalawag gang. Man never got past being scorned by her, came back right after ‘the War’ to pillage. Violated and murdered the boy’s sister and Maw in the process. Stole the kid to sell in Mexico, but ended up raising him.“

Ambrose’s glass stopped inches from his mouth. His eyes instinctively searched Foley for signs of whiskey bullshit, but found none.

“Boy caught cholera. Rich hacienda owners wouldn’t pay nothing for him. Kidnapper started feeling remorse about what he’d done. Couldn‘t kill the boy. With no money from selling the child, the gang split up. Passing through Indian territory, some Ouachita healer saved the kid. Kidnapper was stuck with the boy and ended up raising him as his own . Kid was so young he didn‘t remember nothing except horses and cholera.“

“Boy’s real Paw searched the plains for years for him. Left a stack of dead men behind him. Killed the man that stole his boy. Poor fool never knew his kid was still alive. Boy hunted down his own Paw--shot him dead.“


Tom Reed wasn’t tall. Of average build and spare at the middle there wasn’t anything that could be mistaken as exceptional in his features. Neither could he be called handsome, or striking in anyway. Other than crooked front teeth beneath bushy dark mustache and large somber eyes, he was a hard man to remember. It may have been his eyes that were his most distinctive feature. They held a languid expression rarely seeming to change. Perhaps the eyes made him seem dull witted, but sharp compelling hunger used his insides as its whetstone.

The third of six living children from a total of nine born to his parents, Tom was used to scrambling for his share. Weeks of eating plain oatmeal three times a day in southern Illinois’ February and March, when game was still scarce and nothing else remained of winter’s meager provision made him hate the dirt farmer’s life. The disdain Lemmuel Seward’s gaze smeared upon Tom’s father when after an entire year of hard labor, Mr. Reed couldn’t raise a nickel’s sum to pay on his outstanding bill at Seward’s dry goods store never left Tom.

When he eventually did things for money that, had they lived, would have made his parents publicly
disown him and pray nightly for his soul, Tom bought a black derby hat as sign of new status in the world. Later, as his few additional coins slipped repeatedly through his fingers, all remaining was the weather beaten derby as proof of his “rise”.

copyright 2007 all rights reserved ( this wasn't my idea ...the 'experts' suggested i do this )