I've killed me all kinds of animals. Sometimes in defense, but most of the time so's I could eat. And I've eaten me all kinds of critters, some would go down real good, others -- well, you been out here as long as me, sometimes you get real hungry. But I ain't killed just for the sport, or for the fun. And one thing I never brought myself to kill was a wild horse -- which might put some sense into what I done.

     It was seventy one -- maybe two, I don't exactly recall the time I come up here. That was the whole point I reckon, to coming up here. Lots of folks got their reasons to forget, but most don't, just go on day to day -- lettin' the memories fester, build up to a real good boil -- then ... Me, I had my reasons, good ones -- at least to me. But I don't think none on them no more, and I ain't about to start now.

    Them wild horses, I see a bunch off in the distance right now. Kicking up a big cloud of dust off in the distance, an I recognize the herd. I really do miss the leader though -- big, ornery, just about breathed fire he did, and black as night. An old indian ruin, what this place is. High up on a cliff, carved back into a cave, built up around the front with flat stones, just like a brick mason would of done, except no mortar. Big wide ledge juts out maybe fifteen -- twenty foot. I rigged a pole ladder down to where there is a narrow winding path goes down to the river. That's where I get my water, and firewood. I set out snares, catch rabbits, maybe a deer once in a while.

    Nobody comes out this way, never. Must be thirty mile from the nearest road, an that's how I like it. I discovered the ruins couple years after I first come out here. I had built up a hogan -- all made out of mud and sticks. Spent my days just wandering around, living off the land -- forgetting. Then I found the ruins, moved my stuff up here an been here ever since. Still range around, track animals, live with nature.

    That's how I come to enjoy the horses. I would track them, get as close as I could before I spooked them; then just laugh my ass off watching them run off when the leader spotted me. It got to be a game, at least with me, I got to imaginin' that the horses was having a game too with me. But, I don't know -- It never did get to where they would trust me. Probably just as well I guess.

    I got to know them horses real well. Four herds that I could recognize. Out here running with the wind, they would run like all get out across the flat plains the other side of the river. This side of the river they would go up into the canyons. You could hear their hooves clattering off the walls just like thunder. Up in the canyons is where they would bed down, then they would come thundering out, sometimes I had to jump out of the way before the run me over, coming out of a canyon all hell bent for leather.

+++

    Must have been six or seven months ago, I thought I saw one of the herds way off in the distance. A big cloud of dust coming across one of their trails. But when it got closer, I could see it was one of them Ford Broncos. Big four wheel drive, all jacked up around, big knobby tires. Kicking up the dust, bouncing up and down over the ruts. Come to the river and stopped, two badass dudes -- all in camouflage jumped out. Went right to the river, bent down to get a drink. Then they both took a piss -- right in the river! By now, the hair on the back of my neck is standing up, this kind of shit brings back memories that I don't want brought back. I figure to lay low, I don't for sure want any company, specially those two. I pull up my pole ladder, and stay back away from the ledge, figure I won't light no fire 'til they are gone.

    The next day, I look down to the Bronco, they got a camp set up. I can just hear them, yelling and laughing. I can hear sounds of cooking, pans clanking, chopping fire wood, those kinds of sounds. I keep an eye on them, cause I got nothing better to do. My eyes narrow down a bit, an I take a special interest when they pull some rifles out of the back of the Bronco.

    Then they gear up, put on those camouflage coveralls, grease up their faces -- just like they are some damn commandos or something. They both put on back packs, shoulder their rifles, and take off down the trail. By now, I have guessed they are going to do some hunting, being it's deer season. Looks like I am going to be eating rabbit for a while, by the time they get done, deer wont come around here for a long time.

    Once they are out of sight, I put down the ladder, and scout around their camp. You never know, maybe something I can use, just make sure it's something they wont miss. I find a few things, roll of toilet paper, extra book of matches, little stuff they won't miss.

    About noon, I'm back up on my ledge when I hear the crack of a rifle crashing out of one of the canyons. It echoes around for a few seconds then I hear another one, then another. Couple hours later, same thing.

    Just about sundown, they come back to camp; laughing and carrying on. Not carrying no deer or anything though, which makes me think either they ain't hunting deer or they are awful bad shots. Somehow they don't look like they would be bad shots. Maybe they shot some coyotes or rattlesnakes. Just the same, I don't feel too easy about it.

+++

    When night time hits, they got themselves a roaring camp fire, sitting around it drinking beer and laughing. The moon is full, and I know the area like the back of my hands, so I decide to take a look what they've been up to. I lower the pole ladder and make my way down to the river.

    About two hours later, I've been following their trail, and it goes back up into this canyon. So, I follow it up, and I hear hooves shuffling around. Once in a while I hear a snort, some quiet whinnying. Almost reminds me of a crowd of people milling around.

     Then I see this mare, nose to the ground like she is grazing. She snorts and looks up and I freeze, don't want to spook them now. Back behind her, maybe ten horses are milling around. The mare's nose goes back to the ground, but when I look closer, there is a horse laying there, not moving.

    Just then, the mare snorts again, and heads further up into the canyon with the other horses following. I make my way very carefully to the horse on the ground. As I get closer, it stirs. Tries to raise its head, struggles a little, and goes still. I run my hand over its shoulder, up to its muzzle, and I see his eye staring back to me. Then I see the gaping hole at the base of his skull, and the blood on the ground; lots of warm sticky blood. Even at night, I hear flies buzzing around it -- and worse, I recognize this horse, I recognize him. Then I look around, and there are three more horses, just laying there -- all dead.

+++

    It's almost morning by the time I get back to the camp. Unwanted memories have been creeping back into my mind, and that pisses me off. Come out here to forget, and just like that these bastards bring it all back.

    I sneak into the camp, I can hear snoring coming from the tents -- deep snoring that comes from a couple of six packs apiece. The first thing I do is locate the rifles, then I stick the barrels into the spokes of the Bronco's custom wheels, and I bend the barrels about thirty degrees. I go through their stuff, and I find a pistol -- a forty four magnum -- on the dashboard. I check, and it's full.

    I guess I shouldn't have grinned then, but I couldn't help myself. I press down on the horn, which turns out to be an air horn off a Mack or something. The next couple of minutes are pure pleasure to me, watching them run around just about to shit their pants. They grab their rifles, one look at the barrels tells them who's in charge and they glare at me, but their hands are in the air.

    My first instinct is to gut shoot them, but I already got enough forgetting to do, besides they might get missed and I would have to move on. So, I yank out their tent stakes, grab me the camp hatchet and some rope, and I lead them back to the canyon.

    I show them the dead horses, tell them off good, then I make them kneel down over the big black horse. By now, they are both blubbering, not knowing what to expect next. So the next thing I do, I crack each one of them on the back of the head with the butt of the magnum, and knock them out.

+++

    By the time they both come to, they got a better idea of what I got in mind. I got them both stripped naked and trussed down right in the middle of the trail. Held down real good with the rope and the tent stakes. I'm not in a hurry though, so I sit and talk with them for a while. We shoot the shit for a bit, and under different circumstances we might of got along. I expect they think they are going to talk their way out of it, really doing their best to sweet talk me, and I go along with it.

     It ain't different circumstances though, so I set my mind to what I got to do. I stand up, and I think they expect me to cut them loose. Instead, I just tell them it's been good talking, and I walk off. Then the blubbering sets in real good, I can hear them screaming for help as I make my way up into the canyon.

    I quietly reach the remainder of the herd, which is stirring restlessly, real spooky. I make my way around them to get above, then I jump out and let out a warwhoop. The magnum kicks violently as I empty it into the air. Then with a terrified neigh, the horses bolt down the canyon. I throw the magnum as far into the brush as I can, and start back down.

+++

    When I get back to where I left them, I see that the horses have stopped. The mare is nuzzling one of the guys on the chest. Both of the guys are just sobbing -- and not a hoofprint on either one of them. The horses must have went around them, then I guess they got curious and come back.

    The mare looks to be comforting them, kind of like she tried with the black horse back up in the canyon. I just stop and stare, not what I planned to be seeing. Then the horses see me, and they bolt away.

    I take the hatchet out of my belt and walk over to the two. They both start screaming, and one of them pisses this little stream, right up in the air, as I raise the hatchet.

    Nothing left to do, justice gets funny sometimes. So I cut one of the ropes, and drop the hatchet where they can get at it. I grab up their clothes, and I high tail it back to the camp. I figure it will take them a couple of hours to get back, being naked and barefoot. Gives me time to disappear up to the ledge.

    They finally make it back to the Bronco, I already tore down their camp and put it away, make sure they know what I expect them to do. They throw their clothes back on, and the last I see of them they are tearing down the trail leaving a cloud of dust.

+++

    So, the herds of wild horses is still running like the wind, but without that black leader. And I spend my days, trying again to forget. But even as I try to forget, I wonder what happened when those guys got stopped for not having any license plates -- and when they found the horse head I packed under their tents.

The End