Arizona Blue—Gunfighter, in: Colorado Death-jackal
Arizona Blue—Gunfighter, in: Colorado Death –jackal
((1869)(Colorado Territory, by Mesa Verde)) It was a dim, cold night, not excessively cold, perhaps five above,--and the moon seemed to diffuse within the mist of its light, which covered up a good portion of the stars. The ground was a pale-greenish brown, from the dim radiance which exhaled its due. As the night creped on, it ploughed overhead into a heavy ghostly blacker descent, almost like ash. A commotion was nearing, a twisted one, with an angry roaring to it, the sky all around seemed to brood, right and left, under his feet, then came a silence, and several howls, long drawn out howls, that would have brought shivers to most men. The man in him was aware of the Colorado lands, the wolfs, and tornados or twisters the dark nights, the cold it produced, the vague whispers, and shadows that appeared out of nowhere and vanished, as if burning up with the stars.
Ebbing was the beast as if to the rhythm of Blue’s his heart, a glimpse now and them from the luminous fragments of light from the moon, into the campsite. The canopy of purple mist mixed with a deep purple-blended in, interwoven around the man, as the night flourished. Even he was airily shaken. As he looked up from his spot, there seemed to be a dome over head, immense, and the stars blinked one by one, the sounds of he wolf-beast mourned once more. He was a wanderer like Blue.
Arizona Blue, was only a gunfighter, bred of a long line of shooters, mean and carnivores, and his ethics were as crude and simple as his any jackal. And his long periods of no-contact with civilization had given him an insight into the ways of a contemptuous secret world, the Indians and the lone gypsies, and other gunfighters, and gamblers, he knew their secret soul, and perhaps even the wolfs and jackals. He had previously worked for many ranchers in one way or another, response to the hard times, and needed money. He was perhaps considered at times lax but vigilant. He was all this and more, and the wolf that neared his campsite, was his equal, at least under these circumstances.
Ha-how, is what he named the large circling jackal (more like a wolf), it looked up and down his camp, and at him, their the heavy veil of mist of the night made them both barely distinguishable to each other, yet the beast could smell his flesh, but could not see his eyes, while his hat looked like a hood to the wolf, effectually concealing his eyes.
On the other hand, all Blue could see was the outline of the beast, it was huge, perhaps six feet on all its fours, a few more feet if it leaped backwards onto its hind legs; it had a long dark black body, slim with a powerful chest, and large head, and saber teeth, incased, and rooted deeply into its gums, and ascended upwards, drooping inches outward.
The jackal passed again, looked cunningly at the campgrounds, as if looking for a crack, one that would allow him a moments advantage; on the other hand, Blue not too familiar in the vague outline of the beast, tried to keep focused on its eyes, once the light of the fire hit it, they looked a deep glowing red, and he learned the unmistakable pose of the beasts head when it bobbed back into a fixed position as if it was zeroing in on him, for a shot in the dark, thus, Blue moved so he was not a standing target.
Then Ha-how’s eyes went blank, dark, it fled into the thick of the foliage, running around the camp wild like, inspecting to see if life would emerge. Blue’s own brain soared in a disorder of confusion, his emotions were bewildering, abstractions—nothing but marred facts, and unerringly he moved back closer to the fire expecting the beast to leap out of the woods and onto him, at any time, his gun in hand.
Blue was now talking to the beast, but could not see it, informed the beast he was ready for a showdown (he talked like a gunfighter, perhaps he was thinking like one, maybe this was not good, possibly the beast knew this), but the beast would now show himself. With even and friendly tones Blue beckoned the beast to come and fight get it over with.
“Much better we go this way quickly, than sit around waiting,” informed Blue to the Ha-how, as if he was human. Then he added, “Much better if you go,” and repeated, stolidly.
The beast scowled from the woods, as if it was taunting Blue. Perhaps was thinking also, who was this man to think he is the superior race at this moment; Blue, he had not shaken off the grip he had on the handle of his gun. The beast simply took notice of it, and started running again around the inner rim of the camp. Blue glanced expectantly at the wolf-jackal in dismay. Gripping the gun, wanting to aim it, but not quite knowing where, and even when.
Ha-how grunted, and howled, for he could not withhold it anymore—a haunting sound it was, and the beast knew it brought shivers to mankind. And Blue shot a bullet in that direction; it fell to the ground, but got back up. An accident or wound thought Blue. Did the sound startle the beast, I mean, they don’t reason—right?
In the next sweep, the vision of the beast dimmed, and it fell again, and Blue shot again. And again, Blue thought: another accident, or another wound? He extended his body closer to see, the foreground was empty of foliage, just dainty grass, sweat rolling off his forehead, his nostrils sucking in the cool night air, his own boyhood rose up in front of him, and smote him as he turned his head, bleak eyed to every nook and corner of the woods.
“I’m glad you came,” Blue was saying, “But do come out of the cold and get some warm heat from my fire, please.” So he said, almost sarcastically, as he looked into the woods, yet, all he could think of was how thick it was, and perhaps he could use the beast for its fur after he killed it. Thus, he was counting on the shrewdness he had learned in life, and I suppose, he figured the beast never got any brighter beyond its incapable limits, one that God Himself put upon beast, and gave to man.
The beast now sank down into a low –seated posture, with grace almost, he did not want his prey to escape, and it was the beauty of the kill, the capture that was enthralling: it was warrior against warrior; seldom did Blue or even the Beast find a good opponent, an equal. And with a proud pose head sticking out of the woods, silent eyes, tongue, inside its mouth, it listened for the movements of Blue, the seconds ticked away; both observed one another, almost in amusement, painful toil.
“What have you come for…?” asked Blue; for usually such beasts would simply move on. A slip, Blue fell on one knee; he had stepped on ice, and then resumed to get up. The beast could sense Blue’s warm blood, and vulnerable moment, and leaped its sleek body across the unfathomable gap, from the woods to the nearby fire, onto Blue.
Abruptly, the beast’s face was unheralded into a grinning form, over Blue’s, and Blue’s hand quaver, dropping the gun, sailing three feet in back of him, next to the fire.
It all happened in less than a minute, Blue’s mind flooded with definitions, on what he did wrong, those black red rosy eyes rosy and perturbing tongue, in front of him, over him, in a point of immobilization, its teeth next to his neck.
Then the beast moved back off Blue, it’s faced blazed. As if to say, I have a heart.
Blue stood up warmly, slowly, left his gun where it laid. When Blue looked at his gun, the beast sneered. He had won the battle fairly, thought Blue, both now clear-eyed. Blue tapped a finger to his forehead, as if to wipe sweat off it. The beast moved backward into the woods, and that was that.
Perhaps the Beast sensed Blue was a wonderer like him, a warrior like him, or perhaps it had seen him before, but it didn’t kill him, it was in essence telling him, he was on his territory I would think, and it was just a useless test of dominance, and perhaps the beast knew Blue was not afraid of death per se, for who ever lives like Blue or the Beast, lives more lives than one, and thus must die more times than one, die each time until death captures him completely. Whatever, Blue learned (for in 1869, he was young, and just out of the Army four years), pride comes before destruction.
Notes: it might be of interest to the reader, that in most every story Dennis writes, or poems, he himself has visited that area; to include Colorado a number of times, and Mesa Verde, once (Written 8-12-2007 (10:00 PM) Huancayo, Peru). Episode No: 38
((1869)(Colorado Territory, by Mesa Verde)) It was a dim, cold night, not excessively cold, perhaps five above,--and the moon seemed to diffuse within the mist of its light, which covered up a good portion of the stars. The ground was a pale-greenish brown, from the dim radiance which exhaled its due. As the night creped on, it ploughed overhead into a heavy ghostly blacker descent, almost like ash. A commotion was nearing, a twisted one, with an angry roaring to it, the sky all around seemed to brood, right and left, under his feet, then came a silence, and several howls, long drawn out howls, that would have brought shivers to most men. The man in him was aware of the Colorado lands, the wolfs, and tornados or twisters the dark nights, the cold it produced, the vague whispers, and shadows that appeared out of nowhere and vanished, as if burning up with the stars.
Ebbing was the beast as if to the rhythm of Blue’s his heart, a glimpse now and them from the luminous fragments of light from the moon, into the campsite. The canopy of purple mist mixed with a deep purple-blended in, interwoven around the man, as the night flourished. Even he was airily shaken. As he looked up from his spot, there seemed to be a dome over head, immense, and the stars blinked one by one, the sounds of he wolf-beast mourned once more. He was a wanderer like Blue.
Arizona Blue, was only a gunfighter, bred of a long line of shooters, mean and carnivores, and his ethics were as crude and simple as his any jackal. And his long periods of no-contact with civilization had given him an insight into the ways of a contemptuous secret world, the Indians and the lone gypsies, and other gunfighters, and gamblers, he knew their secret soul, and perhaps even the wolfs and jackals. He had previously worked for many ranchers in one way or another, response to the hard times, and needed money. He was perhaps considered at times lax but vigilant. He was all this and more, and the wolf that neared his campsite, was his equal, at least under these circumstances.
Ha-how, is what he named the large circling jackal (more like a wolf), it looked up and down his camp, and at him, their the heavy veil of mist of the night made them both barely distinguishable to each other, yet the beast could smell his flesh, but could not see his eyes, while his hat looked like a hood to the wolf, effectually concealing his eyes.
On the other hand, all Blue could see was the outline of the beast, it was huge, perhaps six feet on all its fours, a few more feet if it leaped backwards onto its hind legs; it had a long dark black body, slim with a powerful chest, and large head, and saber teeth, incased, and rooted deeply into its gums, and ascended upwards, drooping inches outward.
The jackal passed again, looked cunningly at the campgrounds, as if looking for a crack, one that would allow him a moments advantage; on the other hand, Blue not too familiar in the vague outline of the beast, tried to keep focused on its eyes, once the light of the fire hit it, they looked a deep glowing red, and he learned the unmistakable pose of the beasts head when it bobbed back into a fixed position as if it was zeroing in on him, for a shot in the dark, thus, Blue moved so he was not a standing target.
Then Ha-how’s eyes went blank, dark, it fled into the thick of the foliage, running around the camp wild like, inspecting to see if life would emerge. Blue’s own brain soared in a disorder of confusion, his emotions were bewildering, abstractions—nothing but marred facts, and unerringly he moved back closer to the fire expecting the beast to leap out of the woods and onto him, at any time, his gun in hand.
Blue was now talking to the beast, but could not see it, informed the beast he was ready for a showdown (he talked like a gunfighter, perhaps he was thinking like one, maybe this was not good, possibly the beast knew this), but the beast would now show himself. With even and friendly tones Blue beckoned the beast to come and fight get it over with.
“Much better we go this way quickly, than sit around waiting,” informed Blue to the Ha-how, as if he was human. Then he added, “Much better if you go,” and repeated, stolidly.
The beast scowled from the woods, as if it was taunting Blue. Perhaps was thinking also, who was this man to think he is the superior race at this moment; Blue, he had not shaken off the grip he had on the handle of his gun. The beast simply took notice of it, and started running again around the inner rim of the camp. Blue glanced expectantly at the wolf-jackal in dismay. Gripping the gun, wanting to aim it, but not quite knowing where, and even when.
Ha-how grunted, and howled, for he could not withhold it anymore—a haunting sound it was, and the beast knew it brought shivers to mankind. And Blue shot a bullet in that direction; it fell to the ground, but got back up. An accident or wound thought Blue. Did the sound startle the beast, I mean, they don’t reason—right?
In the next sweep, the vision of the beast dimmed, and it fell again, and Blue shot again. And again, Blue thought: another accident, or another wound? He extended his body closer to see, the foreground was empty of foliage, just dainty grass, sweat rolling off his forehead, his nostrils sucking in the cool night air, his own boyhood rose up in front of him, and smote him as he turned his head, bleak eyed to every nook and corner of the woods.
“I’m glad you came,” Blue was saying, “But do come out of the cold and get some warm heat from my fire, please.” So he said, almost sarcastically, as he looked into the woods, yet, all he could think of was how thick it was, and perhaps he could use the beast for its fur after he killed it. Thus, he was counting on the shrewdness he had learned in life, and I suppose, he figured the beast never got any brighter beyond its incapable limits, one that God Himself put upon beast, and gave to man.
The beast now sank down into a low –seated posture, with grace almost, he did not want his prey to escape, and it was the beauty of the kill, the capture that was enthralling: it was warrior against warrior; seldom did Blue or even the Beast find a good opponent, an equal. And with a proud pose head sticking out of the woods, silent eyes, tongue, inside its mouth, it listened for the movements of Blue, the seconds ticked away; both observed one another, almost in amusement, painful toil.
“What have you come for…?” asked Blue; for usually such beasts would simply move on. A slip, Blue fell on one knee; he had stepped on ice, and then resumed to get up. The beast could sense Blue’s warm blood, and vulnerable moment, and leaped its sleek body across the unfathomable gap, from the woods to the nearby fire, onto Blue.
Abruptly, the beast’s face was unheralded into a grinning form, over Blue’s, and Blue’s hand quaver, dropping the gun, sailing three feet in back of him, next to the fire.
It all happened in less than a minute, Blue’s mind flooded with definitions, on what he did wrong, those black red rosy eyes rosy and perturbing tongue, in front of him, over him, in a point of immobilization, its teeth next to his neck.
Then the beast moved back off Blue, it’s faced blazed. As if to say, I have a heart.
Blue stood up warmly, slowly, left his gun where it laid. When Blue looked at his gun, the beast sneered. He had won the battle fairly, thought Blue, both now clear-eyed. Blue tapped a finger to his forehead, as if to wipe sweat off it. The beast moved backward into the woods, and that was that.
Perhaps the Beast sensed Blue was a wonderer like him, a warrior like him, or perhaps it had seen him before, but it didn’t kill him, it was in essence telling him, he was on his territory I would think, and it was just a useless test of dominance, and perhaps the beast knew Blue was not afraid of death per se, for who ever lives like Blue or the Beast, lives more lives than one, and thus must die more times than one, die each time until death captures him completely. Whatever, Blue learned (for in 1869, he was young, and just out of the Army four years), pride comes before destruction.
Notes: it might be of interest to the reader, that in most every story Dennis writes, or poems, he himself has visited that area; to include Colorado a number of times, and Mesa Verde, once (Written 8-12-2007 (10:00 PM) Huancayo, Peru). Episode No: 38
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 12:47 PM
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