The Campfire Has Gone Out: High Plains Drifter

The third part of The Campfire Has Gone Out The adventures of Logan Slade

The past doesn’t haunt us. It wouldn’t recognize us. We're nothin' but ghosts hauntin' the past like scavengers looking for pieces of ourselves. Rememberin' every memory like a perfect, beautiful white pearl. Care to find someone you lost? Just close your eyes and remember 'em.

There ain't no happy endings in a place like this. So this, my friend, is a short-lived story of two people who loved each other. A happy story with a sad ending.

Her name was Bonnie. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She had this beautiful black hair, thick as a horse's mane, hangin' down over her milky white shoulders. She had those blue eyes that even the rivers were jealous of.

There ain't much to look forward to in this world and you can't go back again. Memory is the boat that sails against the current. Nostalgia’s become a way of life. But for me, it's livin'.

Thirteen years ago. Back in the fields, behind her father’s house. I remember her dancin' to the happy tune of the wind and the rustlin' of the corn fields. Her smile alone was worth killin' for. A perfect green and yellow tapestry of a memory. Truth is, nothin' is more addictive than the past.

In a blink of an eye, she's gone. Somewhere where the wild wind blows. Somewhere where I couldn't get to her. Her father's house burned down, and the folks who lived there were killed or used in the nastiest of ways and then killed. Some were taken as slaves. And amongst them was my Bonnie.

I searched this world for her as a high plains drifter. From one corner of the world to the next, always comin' up empty handed. Sankofa's hooves beat from Oregon City, down the Oregon Trail and the Union Pacific railroad, to Santa Fé Trail. Then went down to Austin and Fort Smith. There's where I learned she'd been taken up north, to Miles City, next to Yellowstone River.

When I reached Miles City, I asked a feller that goes by the name of Smitty if he knew of slaves from Valentine, comin' here or passin' through.

"Aye, I've seen some poor souls passin' through here, feller. They were taken to Pendleton City. The women were used as w****s and the men were sent to work at people's homes or plantations" - said Smitty in his old, growly voice, spreadin' bad breath of cheap whiskey.

Rage and fear got me rock bottom. I was desperate and I knew that I wouldn't let them fellers to live at the mercy of the tides of time.

When I reached Pendleton City, I met a lady, Maggie Lipton, who knew of my Bonnie. She took me to her home, a clapboard house, where I met her husband and her kids. Nice li'l family they got there. She said that Bonnie was bought from a feller called Micah O'Miller. She was first used as a w***e in some town's saloon and then sold again and again until she reached the Liptons.

"Yes, poor Bonnie. Used up and thrown around like a ragged doll by men not worth two cents. When she came in our home she was bruised and scarred. She said men took turns on her and she felt life leavin' her as all hope was gone.

But when she came here, she settled nicely with us. She took care of my children and did chores with me. Everyone here was very much fond of her. But unfortunately, Mr. Slade, she passed away last summer. She always did spoke of you so kindly." - said Mrs. Lipton with tears in her eyes.

" She did say to give you this if you ever came through town."- Mrs. Lipton handed me Bonnie's necklace that was a gift from her mother.

I just looked Mrs. Lipton straight in the eye and she knew what I was goin' to ask without sayin' a word.

"Baxter Springs, Mr. Slade. Baxter Springs." - said Mrs. Lipton with a vengeful hope.

I saddled up Sankofa and went down to Baxter Springs looking for a feller named Micah O'Miller.

Ridin' down to Baxter Springs, I was thinkin' of Bonnie. What was she like when I wasn't next to her? Was she the woman I knew or did she became a stranger to herself? What did O'Miller put her through, that sorry son of a b***h? Between memory and oblivion, I know which torture I’d choose. But which one will O'Miller choose? I'll take him down a path of fear and pain. A path he never thought could exist. A path where he'll be dinner for doves... with dark wings.

Welcome to Baxter Springs. A town where the rich folks live like barons. A town of civilization. A part of God's country. Far from the bad, bad Heartlands. O'Miller is one of the sick sons of b*****s that sits on the high table, but deals with slavery underneath it. It wasn't hard to find him. I just asked the first drunk fool I found in the town's saloon and he blurted everythin' out. The O'Miller plantation he said.

I went down to the plantations and O'Miller stood out like a torn in the eye. The only man dressed in town's, fancy clothes. Clean shaven and proud, he stood above the hard workin' slaves.

"O'Miller!" - I yelled.

"Yes. Who are you, feller? Are you one of them tax collectors?" - asked O'Miller calmly and politely, not knowing that the devil has come to claim what's long overdue.

I took our my Lancaster Repeater, pointed it to his head and pulled the trigger with a smile on my dirty face. He kissed the cold mouth of death. I didn't leave him with any choice. Between memory and oblivion, I chose oblivion for him. I turned around, saddled up and rode off as fire swallowed the fields, and happiness and celebration was spreadin' amongst the slaves at the O'Miller plantation.

Memories have voracious appetites. Bonnie's dead and gone and I'm a dead man walkin'. I like to think I chose right for myself, but Bonnie didn't have that choice.

Am I running from the past or racin' back towards it? I don't know anymore. I keep on comin' back to that memory. Thirteen years ago, back in the fields behind her father's house. With wavy black hair thick as a horse's mane, hangin' down over her milky white shoulders and dancin' to the happy tune of the wind and the rustlin' of the corn fields... that's how I remember her best.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I liked this tale. Old fashion feel and I liked the character and the honest thoughts.
"Memories have voracious appetites. Bonnie's dead and gone and I'm a dead man walkin'. I like to think I chose right for myself, but Bonnie didn't have that choice."
The above lines stayed with me. Thank you for sharing the amazing story.
Coyote