Wings on Fire

Texas, Spring 1870

The smell is what awoke him.

He opened his eyes, peeled back the sheets and went to the window. His eyes widened, reflecting the orange glow coming from outside. Before going out there and greeting the flames, Archie figured bringing his shotgun with him was a good idea. Once close up to the blaze, he realized just how unbearable the smell really was. He headed back inside, grabbed an old shirt and fashioned it into a balaclava. With breathing being a less strenuous task, Archie had the wherewithal to inspect the burning stable. He poked the bits of flaming wood with the barrel of his shotgun. He managed to flip one of the beams over to reveal what laid underneath. Bone. The burning flesh that still clung on was causing the smell. That's why, Archie mused, he recognized the scent. Another beam was overturned and out came the owl. It's wings ablaze as they stretched out and soared the bird into the night sky. Archie jumped back and watched as a trail of glowing feathers slowly rode the air. He shook off the peculiar sight and looked back to the stable. They're all dead then, Archie figured. All he could do now was wait for the fire to die down. So, that's what he did. He dragged a wooden, rocking chair from the porch. He sat and watched as the flames grew dimmer and the sun grew brighter. Morning came and brought with it, clarity. A single trail of hoof prints in the sand lead away from the charred rubble of the stable. One horse. One man. They rode up to the stable, torched it, maybe stayed for a while to watch the show, before riding back off into the night. Who? Archie asked himself. He may not have known who was responsible, but he did know who could help him find out.

***

Dickie Martell had been sheriff of Oxgorge for over two years when his old friend Archie came strolling into town. That morning had been another particularly uninteresting one for Sheriff Martell, as he found himself sitting across from Georgia Illingsworth, in his office. "It's a what?" he asked, twisting up his face and leaning in closer towards the ninety year old woman.

"He is a lizard," she said slowly.

"Of course, how rude of me. And how long has he been.... missing?"

Georgia took a moment to consider. "About a fortnight, now."

"Well, isn't that what lizards do, Mrs. Illingsworth? I'm not so sure you're supposed to keep him in the house, is all. They're nomad type creatures, you know. They like to roam the desert."

"But, he was my lizard. He lives with me, he belongs with me."

Dickie sighed. "How did you even come into the possession of your... companion?"

"He came to me. Just hopped up onto my porch, looking for a friend."

Dickie didn't have the heart to tell her that the lizard was almost definitely not looking for a friend. Nor, could he bring himself to tell her that locating a lizard was not something the sheriff would ever handle. Looking at the old woman's genuine bereavement, Dickie asked her for a description of the lizard.

"Black," she said bluntly.

"Black? A black Lizard? That doesn't sound very... you know, some of these things you find in the desert aren't always so friendly, you know? They can be... poisonous and things."

"Not Jerry, he wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I thought they ate flies?" Georgia stayed quiet. "Anything else I should know?" asked Dickie, reluctantly.

"He has a yellow stripe going down his back."

Definitely poisonous, thought Dickie. "Well, we'll look into it, Mrs. Illingsworth. In the mean time I think you should stop bringing in animals you find out in the desert. Especially, ones that have bright, alarming colors on them."

"Thank you, Sheriff. You'll keep me posted, won't you?"

"Of course. As soon as he's found we'll let you know."

Next order of business for Dickie Martell's morning was visiting his deputy, Billy Hemmingway, who hadn't shown up for work yet. It struck Dickie as odd because Billy was usually at the office before him. Billy would usually be the one to handle a case like that of Mrs. Illingsworth's lizard, but that morning Dickie was left high and dry. He must've been knocking on the door for ten minutes before Hemmingway's daughter answered. She looked pale, thought Dickie, like she was ill with something. "Is Billy here or what?"

"Billy's dead," she just about said.

Dickie could smell the alcohol on her breath, "What are you talking about?"

"Billy - my father, your deputy - is... dead. Still lying in his bed if you wanna see him?" she slurred.

Sure enough, just like she said, Billy Hemmingway was lying dead in his own bedroom. Dickie thought about how lucky he was to be able to die in his sleep. "Damn it, Billy. Why'd you have to go and die?" Dickie assumed he and his friend had a few more years of boozy afternoons and irresponsibly boozy hunting trips left in them.

"He told me to give you this back," sounded his daughter, who was on track to having a boozy afternoon of her own. She hands Dickie the silver deputy's badge. Dickie put it in his pocket before going over to the bedside of his oldest friend and pulling the blanket over him, keeping the man's dignity in tact.

Back at his office, there was nothing but silence, for Dickie. He sat twiddling the silver badge between his fingers. Nothing to distract from the thought that Billy's chair was empty. He stared at the indent Billy's ass must have left in it last time. He chuckled, knowing how much Billy hated jokes about his weight. Seeing the shocking sight of Archie walking past the window was the only thing that stopped Dickie from weeping. He jumped to his feet and ran out onto the street.

"Archie!" he called. "Archie, over here!"

He didn't smile when he saw Dickie Martell standing by his office, waving him over. He just nodded and walked inside, ignoring Dickie's outstretched hand waiting for a shake.

"Wow, Archie, I can't tell you how great it is to see you. After all this time. Have you been living on that ranch of yours this whole time or...?"

"Do you know how difficult it is to keep twenty-two horses alive over winter?"

Dickie hesitated, slightly confused. "No, not from personal experience, but I can imagine that's a difficult task."

"Most men can't even keep themselves fed over winter, but I did. Kept myself fed and I kept twenty-two horses alive," said Archie in the same matter-of-fact unemotional tone he said everything in.

"You wanna medal?" Dickie chose his words purposefully. He wanted to remind Archie of what they'd been through. The war they fought and won together. He wanted to remind Archie of the medal he'd turned down after being hailed a hero. After all these years Dickie couldn't fathom why Archie turned the medal down. All Archie had ever said about it was, "I don't deserve it." A statement that just about every man in their infantry would disagree with.

"Somebody torched the stable. All of my horses are dead."

"Oh, so this isn't a social kind of visit."

Archie shook his head. He would never spend time around people like Dickie - or people in general - unless he had to. "You're a sheriff. I need you to work out who killed my horses."

"Well, OK then. I can do that."

Archie nodded appreciatively before standing, getting ready to leave. "Woah, woah, woah. Where are you going?" asked Dickie.

"Home," replied Archie with a shrug.

"I need to ask you a few questions first."

"Why?"

"You may be able to shed some light on who did this?"

"If I had any idea of who did this, they'd be dead already."

"Just sit down and let me ask you a few things." With a sigh Archie complied. "So, is there anyone you can think of that may hold some sort of grudge towards you?"

"Yes."

"Okay... You wanna tell me who?"

"Any man that fought for the south."

"Well, being that we're in Texas... that's just about everyone."

"Not you. Or me."

"Yeah, that's true. But, we're a long way from home, you and me. Do you think that's what this about. You're northern man down in the south?"

"Do you ever get trouble for it?"

"No. Although, I did before I found this place. The people are nice here. I like them, they like me."

"Well, it could be a war thing, or it could be Danny Bridges," said Archie.

"Danny Bridges? Who's that?"

"The guy who owns the next ranch along from me. Hates my guts. He, too, breeds horses. Views me as competition."

Dickie scoffs, "I thought you said you didn't have any idea of who did this? This Danny guy sounds like the obvious culprit."

"I don't think so. Sometime last year he snuck one of his stallions into my stable. Mated it with one of my mares without my permission. I chopped of his arm."

"Christ, Archie."

"He can't ride anymore. The guy who burned my stable was riding."

"You haven't changed much since the... you know."

"Neither have you."

"I beg to differ. I'm done with all that fighting."

"That why you became a sheriff?"

"I became a sheriff so I could help people. Caused enough hurt for one lifetime."

"You still got a gun at your hip."

Dickie knew what he was trying to say. Once you see what they saw, do what they did, it's hard to go back to a citizen's life. Holding a gun in your hands, feeling your finger on the trigger is the closest to feeling whole again these men can get.

A flap of wings from outside caused Archie to stand and look out the window. He already knew what would be out there to greet him. The owl. It's wings still burning, it perched itself on the roof of the building opposite. "Do you see that?" he asked, Dickie, calmly.

"Huh?" Dickie joined him by the window. "I don't see anything."

"The owl? You don't see that owl?"

"Owl? Come on what is this? Don't do that. You trying to mess with my head?" Archie stayed silent. "Don't say his name, it's not funny."

***

Dickie Martell visited Danny Bridges at his ranch and sure enough the one-armed man could be ruled out instantly. Yes, he would want to seek revenge against the man that took his arm, but there was no way he could've rode out there and set the fire. Dickie, also deduced that his horse breeding business had promptly collapsed. Danny struggled to keep the ranch in shape. He couldn't have paid anyone to do the deed for him as it didn't look like he could pay for anything anymore. A sad sight, Dickie thought. Another life destroyed by another soldier.

"I'm not the only one who holds a grudge against Archie, you know?" said Danny, mouth filled with chewing tobacco.

"Any names you could give me?" enquired Dickie.

"Uh, yeah... for a price," Danny spat a glob of brown into the jar his remaining hand was holding.

"A price? Mr. Bridges I don't know what you know about the law, but there's a little something called 'obstruction of justice' that you may be familiar with." Danny could only reply with a vacant stare. "It means I can arrest you for keeping information from me, Mr. Bridges."

"All right, all right. He's called Miguel something-something, Mexican fella. Met him in some watering hole, only God knows where. Nice guy, you know, for a Mexican."

"And he knows Archie?"

"Yeah, sure does."

Dickie cleared his throat. "How?"

"How much is this information worth to you?"

"Obstruction... of... justice, Mr. Bridges."

"Right, right, yeah. That's my bad. Forgot," he spat into his jar again. "We got to talking about the problems I was having with Archie and this Miguel tells me that they've met. Something about a card game a couple years back. I don't remember the specifics, but Miguel wanted to find Archie. Serious bad blood between those two."

"What happened at the card game?"

"You'd have to ask Miguel."

"Do you know where I might find him?"

For a moment Danny Bridges considered saying something along the lines of, 'it'll cost ya', but another phrase came to mind instead: 'Obstruction of Justice.' So, instead, Danny replied with: "Yeah, I've been to his place."

"Well, then Mr. Bridges," said Dickie, getting to his feet. "You're gonna take me there."

***

Utah, summer 1868

By Archie's calculation, the train pulled in at the station around noon. The only watch that Archie carried was a broken one. Stuck at a quarter to four. It belonged to a friend, a fallen friend. Archie had a lot of fallen friends, but none as special to him as Johnny Connors.

It was a relief to dump the suitcase onto the dusty porch. Archie's shoulder felt light again. He let out a sigh and collapsed into the chair. Just need to rest for a second, he thought to himself, just a second.

The footsteps came from behind, sounding against the wood. Then the voice, "Hola, amigo." Archie turned around to face the voice, his movements slow and deliberate. Three men surrounded the table, looking down at him. He knew they were trying to intimidate him, but it was going to take a lot more for them to be successful. "You seem to be lost, Mr. white man."

Archie squinted his eyes and asked, "This Utah?" The leader of the group laughed, amused by the white man's bravery. "If it is, I'm not lost." He turned away from the leader and stared up at a crack in the verander above. A beam of gentle sunlight leaked through landing on Archie's cheek. A welcome warmth for a man who spent most of his life in Philadelphia.

One of the men held the reigns of a beautiful, grey stallion. The horse seemed weak, struggling to keep it's legs steady. "You're horse needs to drink something, he's dehydrated," explanined Archie, calmly.

"You got a lot of guts to talk to me like that," said the Leader, moving closer. "You clearly do not know who I am."

"Can't say I care who you are," said Archie.

"You're talking to Miguel Andreas." The name registered nothing in Archie's mind. He remained still, enjoying his small slither of sunlight. Miguel seemed fustrated by Archie's indifference. "I fought in the war. Not many men like me can say that, but I can."

"Which side?" The slight smirk, Archie was trying to hide let Miguel know that this mysterious man with a seemingly never-ending supply of bravery, sitting in his chair, fought for the winning side. Miguel was one more exchange away from putting a bit of lead in between Archie's eyes.

The grey horse neighed in an attempt to convey it's discomfort.

"You should seriously give that horse some water."

Miguel steadied his rage with a deep breath. "Tell you what," he reached into his pocket and took out a deck of cards. "I'll give you a game. Any game you want, white man. If you win, we'll give the horse some goddamn water."

"And if you win I give up the seat?"

Miguel shook his head. "If I win, I get to shoot you in the face." His men started laughing. "And then I'll shoot the horse in the face."

Now it was Archie struggling to contain his anger.

"Higher or lower," Archie said, finally opening his eyes again. "I wanna play higher or lower."

"You want to bet your life on a game that involves no skill?"

"I'm a lucky guy."

The first card to be overturned was the five of clubs. Archie didn't look down at the card and instead held his eye contact with Miguel, who was sitting opposite him. "Higher," he mumbled. Miguel drew another card: the six of diamonds.

"That was close, white man, very close."

They had agreed that in order to win, Archie would need three correct answers in a row. One wrong answer and the game was over, along with Archie's life.

This time Archie's attention was solely placed on the six of diamonds. He had no intention of dying at that old, raggedy shed that acted as a train station. No matter what card was turned over next, Archie was leaving with his life. He was sure of that. "Lower."

Miguel Andreas turned over another card. As he did, Archie's fingers found the holster at his hip. He slowly freed his gun and pointed it at Miguel, underneath the table. The final card of the game was revealed. It sat there for a silent moment in between the men. Miguel looked over at Archie's stoic face.

"Well, then..." Miguel cleared his throat, failing to conceal the gleeful grin on his face. "You strike me as a man of honour. I'm sure you'll respect the terms of our--"

The bullet shattered Miguel's kneecap less than a second after Archie pulled the trigger. The two men heard their leader scream in agony. They grabbed Archie, took his gun and threw him into the sand. Before he could crawl onto his knees a swift kick to the ribs drove him back down. He heaved, searching for air. Another kick, this time to the side of the head.

Archie had taken on guys like these before, the kind of guys who kick men when they're down. As another kick landed, taking a few of Archie's teeth out, his mind was sent back to the little straw hut that sat in the middle of Huxley Bridge. He was back in the war as if it had never ended. Archie supposed he hadn't ended for him, not really. And it likely never would.

Archie, Johnny Connors and Dickie Martell were told that a band of deserters had taken up refuge in this quaint straw hut. It looked like it was abandoned. Most would've never given it a second glance. The three men were instructed to give the deserters no second chance, no opportunity to explain themselves. And so, Dickie opened the door to the hut as Archie threw the flaming bottle inside. The straw went up instantly, and less than a minute later the screaming started. The six men inside, deserters or not, had families waiting for them back home. Archie never knew their reason for deserting. In fact, Archie never saw any of their faces. How was he to know, with any certainty, that these men had deserted anything? One of the men had managed to avoid the flames long enough to reach his shotgun. A bullet fired from one of the windows and landed in Johnny Connors' shoulder. The men retreated knowing the gunman would soon be nothing more than a pile of ash. Archie & Dickie led the way across the other side of the bridge. Johnny's call to them from behind alerted them. Emerging from the hut, one of the deserters, adorned in flames had grabbed onto Johnny's collar and wasn't letting go. In the struggle, Johnny's pistol fell onto the rocks below. Dickie started his way back towards the hut, but was stopped by Archie's outstrectched hand. Dickie pleaded with him to let him go. To let him, at least try, to save his friend. Archie pulled Dickie back. He didn't want to lose them both, he couldn't allow that to happen, because then what did he have left? Archie took aim and fired at the deserters hand. He missed and struck the hut behind them. The burning structure came crumbling down. The deserter fell back into the fiery pit and took Johnny Connors with him. Dickie cried, fell to his knees. Archie stayed quiet and still. He would never say it aloud, but Archie owed Dickie a great deal after that day. Owed him for not blaming Archie. For never holding a grudge against the man that cost them they're friend.

Archie awoke, face againts the sharp sand, the taste of blood in his mouth. He pushed his head up slightly. He could see that the men hadn't left. They were holding their leader up as he blood pooled down by his feet. Archie could see that he'd been crying. He smirked to himself. "Let's go, white man. Get up. You've got two minutes."

Archie was pulled up onto his knees. "Two minutes 'till what?" asked Archie.

"'Till you die."

"How do you figure?" A distant train whistle sounded. Archie suddenly knew. Miguel began to laugh. As if that was their cue, the men draged Archie towards the tracks. He kept a neurtal face, but Archie's heart was pounding. His breaths were growing shorter. The train was getting louder.

Archie closed his eyes. In the darkness there was no train. There was no end. He found a comfort in that.

A new light graced his eyelids. A warm glow grew larger in the darknes. Archie opened his eyes hasitly to see his old friend sitting there with him on the tracks. The heat from the owl's wings warmed his heart. "Tell me what to do, Johnny," he muttered.

The train was now in sight. The two men had Archie's head pressed against the steel of the tracks. Archie took a deep breath. He pictures Johnny's final moments, his freind disappearing into the fire, never to return. He used it, converted the pain into motivation which turned to strenght. As the train closed in enough so Archie could see the fear and panic on the driver's face, he pulled his head up and his arms forward. The men couldn't think fast enough to know what was happening before they were hurled in front of the train. Their blood splattered up onto Archie's face.

Stumbling onto his pained face, Archie stared into Miguel's stunned eyes. He gave the mexican a nod. A nod to say, "you won the bet, so I'll let you live." But the fury in Archie's eyes said, "just know you're only alive because I allowed you to be."

Archie limped over to the grey stallion and took it gently by the reigns. "You can come home with me," whispered Archie. The first horse of many to be grateful for Archie's protection. The first of many to die on his watch.

***

Danny Bridges had sent word ahead of their arrival.

Dickie & Archie followed him to where he claimed was Miguel's ranch. All they found was a large, empty barn. A similair structure to that of Archie's that was attacked.

"You said this is where he lives," said Dickie.

"It is, I swear," said Danny.

"Doesn't look like it to me," Archie chimed in.

"I told you not to speak," said Danny, pointing his finger. "That was the condition. You could come along, but only if you don't say a word."

"How 'bout you point with your other hand," said Archie.

"All right, all right," Dickie intercepted, "settle down."

"I don't where he is. But maybe if we wait for him, he'll show up," proposed Danny Bridges.

Archie sized the one-armed man up. Something shift in his eyes. More shifty than usual. "There something you're not telling us, Danny?"

"What? No," said Danny abruptly.

"You're not a very good liar," Archie drew his gun.

"Woah, woah, woah!" yelled Danny in panic. "What's he doing?" he asked Dickie.

"Archie, come on now. We can't know for sure that this is a trap."

"You can't hear that?"

"Hear what?" aske Dickie.

"The hoofs in the sand. They're coming." Archie backed away towards a gap in the wood. He peeked through to see what he expected to see. Miguel leading a band of men towards the barn. They were sitting ducks. "We''l be surrounded soon." With his back turned Danny managed to get his gun out from his sock and pound the handle of it into Archie's skull, sending him to the floor.

Danny held the gun out towards Dickie. "We had plenty of arguments about who was gonna get to finsish you off, Archie. Miguel won that privelage though."

The stomping of hooves came to a stop.

"Come on out, it's over for you, white man," came the familair voice of Miguel Andreas. The door opened and a gleeful Danny Bridges stepped out.

"I got 'em for ya. I got 'em," he said excitedly.

"Yes, you did well, Mr. Bridges," began Miguel. "I suppose you'll be wanting your reward."

"Yes, sir," replied Danny, laughing.

Miguel gave his man a nod. Danny's reward came in the form of a lead bullet. Dickie saw the back of Bridges' head smash open from the force of the fatal bullet. His body slumped at the entrance of the barn.

Miguel cleared his throat, "You have two minutes, white man, then we're coming in."

Dickie turned to Archie, who was holding the back of his head. "What do we do?"

"I've seen how many there are out there. Not much we can do," Archie leaned back againts the wall.

"What? Is that all you got? Archie, there's a time and a place for a cool head and a calm demanor, but now is not that time or that place. This is war again. They're gonna kill us."

"Maybe we should just let them. You said it yourself, you're done with all this fighting."

Dickie sighed. "So that's really it? We're done? After all the things we've been through, all the things we did to win that war so we could live freely with our countrymates. All that just to give up now?"

"Aren't you tired?" asked Archie.

"What?"

"When was the last time you had a good night's sleep? 'Cause I haven't had a single peaceful night since we got back. They call it a dirt nap, right? Well, I could use one."

The two fell silent. Simply, sitting, awaiting death to come knocking.

Archie reached into his pocket and took out his broken watch. Dickie breathed a laugh as soon as he saw it. "You want it?" asked Archie.

"Not gonna have much use for it after today."

Archie held it out, staring at the frozen hands. It felt as though time was standing still for them. Like the watch was finally useful. "Okay, then."

"Huh?" asked Dickie.

"Okay, then. You're not dying today." Archie got to his feet and went to the closed barn door.

"What are you doing? Stop!"

"I'm giving myself up. Maybe he'll keep you alive if you I give him me."

"I don't think that's likely, Archie. If you go out there, you're dead and then I'm dead." Archie replied with a defeated shrug. Dickie got to his feet and joined his old friend by the door. "But, if we go out there all guns blazing, then I think we may have a shot."

Archie simply smiled and brought his gun up to meet Dickie's. This was it, the final stand for these soldiers. For these friends. For these brothers.

Archie's hand found the door. He pushed and it swung open slowly.

Upon seeing the pair, Miguel got down from his horse. He limped closer to barn. "It's good to see you again, white man. I've come to homour our arrangement. I've already had the horse killed. I presume it was among the others. So, that just leaves you. You lost, you die."

"Come and try it," grunted Archie.

A smile crept onto Miguel's face. He took another step closer, sadistic intentions on his mind. He took another step, then stopped. Archie could see the mexican's eyes widening. Fear and panic replaced the gleeful smile. Miguel slowly looked down to see the instant swelling, the instant redness caused by the bite.

Miguel collpased to the ground. "Help," he muttered. He could feel his legs going numb. "Help me, goddamit," he shouted to his men. "It's the venom. I'm dying, you idiots!"

The men suddenly ran towards their leader. They helped him up onto his horse. Knowing he wouldn't be able to ride, Miguel instructed another to take the reigns as he held onto their waist. And with that the gang were gone. Archie, Dickie & the body of Danny Bridges were left alone in the barn.

"What just happened?" asked Dickie.

"We just survived," said Archie. "Whatever it was... thank you, God." Archie let out a tense breath.

"Oh, I know what it was," Dickie amusedly watched as a small, black lizard with a yellow stripe running down it's back scuttled away in the sand.

"So, what now?" posed Archie.

"Well, if he survives this, he'll be coming back."

"That's right."

"Are you gonna just sit and wait around for him to kill you...?"

"I sense a but coming, Dickie, so how 'bout you just say what you're thinking?"

Dickie pulled out a silver deputy badge and slotted it into Archie's pocket. "Anytime you feel like being proactive, you stick that badge on and come ridin' into Oxgorge. We'd be happy to have you."

Archie didn't say a word. He nodded and tapped the pocket.

"See you around, Archie." Dickie patted his friend on the back before taking his leave.

Archie looked at the watch again, half expecting to see it ticking again. It was still broken. In a way, Archie prefered that way. He had more sympathy for broken things.