The
Kind of Guy He Was
The old cowboy rode
along at a slow walk, he’d owned cars and trucks for more than 20 years, maybe
time passed him by, he didn’t care, it was 1952 and he remembered a time before automobiles , a slower, gentler
time and then the wars, two big ones, changed everything. Something in the wind moved him back to 1952
again. He tipped his nose toward the sky and sniffed. It was wood smoke. A half
hour back, before the wind freshened, he thought he smelled smoke but passed it
off, thinking if old people could start
seeing things and hearing things maybe he started smelling things that were not
there. But now he was sure, it was smoke.
But that couldn’t be,
not in December, matter of fact it’s the 24th, Christmas Eve. Good
memories started to fill his head but he pushed them away as quickly as they
had come on. Christmas was just another day in December, nothing
special, at least to him, not anymore.
People didn’t camp this
high up in December, hunting season was long past and the only house, except
for his five miles away, was the old Godfrey place. It was maybe three
quarters of a mile over the ridge to the north. The smell of burning wood was
coming with the north wind, but that place had been vacant for what, 20 years,
at least 15?
Clark Banks pulled up
to think, but only for a moment, he had to know, that was the kind of guy he
was. The sun was setting, it would be late, long past dark, when he got home, but he tapped his heels
in his gray gelding and loped north picking his way though flat rocks and
yucca.
He always liked the old
Godfrey place, isolated, but picture perfect, like a bank calendar picture. The
place set in a natural mountain park surrounded by junipers and berry bushes.
Years ago when he and Bette last visited the Godfrey’s they were old and frail
and the place had been falling apart. Couldn’t be much of anything left now.
Another minute and
Clark Banks reached the crest of the hill overlooking the long deserted
place. Only three times in his 65 years had something left him speechless, the
day he got married, when their only child was born and now as he looked down on
the old Godfrey place.
It was spectacular, the Junipers were
sparkling with thousands of multi-colored lights. The cabin he remembered in
complete disrepair was larger, much larger, than he remembered. It was old but
perfect, looked sound, complete with light showing through the windows and the
smoke he’d smelled was wind angling north from the chimney in great black and
white puffs. There was a large barn that hadn’t been there 20 years ago along
with half a dozen out buildings and four large corrals.
Banks had not taken a
drink of alcohol for years, right now he needed a drink, but he settled for a
thorough rubbing of his eyes and another look at the scene below, a scene that
did not change. He let the gray pick his way down the steep hillside, he had to
see, he had to know, that’s just the kind of guy he was.
A thought crossed his mind as he neared the
twinkling cabin, what if this place is full of outlaws, escaped convicts or
crazy people. This could be his last minute on earth, then he smiled at the
lights twinkling as dollar sized snowflakes started to fall. If this is his
last minute to live it would not be too bad. He warmed as the snowflakes
splattered his face, chuckled to himself, and then laughed aloud, “don’t think
bad people decorate for Christmas,” he said to no one or to the snowflakes and cold.
The old cowboy tied his
horse to the rail in front of the cabin, stepped on the porch and the door
opened as if he were expected. A white bearded gentlemen in a red vest smiled and
motioned him in. Banks felt rather young looking at the old fellow, thinking,
“This guy has me by at least 20 years.”
“Can I get you
something to warm ya up, Tea, Arbuckles’, whis”
“You have Arbuckles,
real Arbuckles, haven’t tasted that since before I went off to France in the
first war, love some.”
Banks watched the old
man take a one pound bag of Arbuckles Ariosa Blend from the cabinet and make
coffee on the massive wood stove in the kitchen part of the cabin. It was good,
better than anything the old cowboy had tasted in years, but how did he do it,
Arbuckles’ hadn’t made coffee, let alone Ariosa Blend for years.
The two men sat and
talked for hours, talking about everything and chatting about nothing, like two
old friends they talked into the dark of night.
When the old cowboy
woke up he could not remember falling asleep. Now he was stretched out on the
couch, his boots beside him on the floor. He was toasty warm as he rolled back
the red and green feather comforter and turned to get up. He was all alone. He
thought the old man must be outside. Slipping on his boots he walked out on the
porch, half a foot of snow covered everything in sight, his horse was gone, but
he knew it was in the barn. He also knew he was all alone, he could feel
things, just the kind of guy he was.
Banks went back into
the house, he was hungry and he wanted to taste that Arbuckles one more time. A
skillet of bacon sat on the stove, beside a pot of mush and a fresh pot of coffee,
and of course it would be Arbuckles, he thought. Funny but he was sure there
was nothing on the stove when he stepped outside, must have failing vision
along with everything else in his old age. Then he felt it, or didn’t feel it,
he had no aches and pains, the ones that had been with him since his army days.
The coffee was good but he wasn’t sure it had magical healing powers.
It was time to go home,
he wished he could say goodbye to the old timer, thought he might ride back up
here in the spring. But now it was time to leave, he had things to do, and he
felt different, happy and healthy. Walking to the barn it seemed almost warm,
Banks felt like he had stumbled upon the fountain of youth.
Tracks near the barn
stopped him, some kind of sleigh tracks, but the animals pulling it were not
horses, smaller like deer tracks, but larger, really big deer. He saddled the gelding and rode out of the
barn right into the bright sunlight of his own place. How it happened he did
not know, but he was home.
Was it a dream, did he
have a stroke and die, was he in heaven now? Nope, he was pretty sure his place
would not do for heaven. Didn’t matter, he had things to get done.
Clark Banks rode to
town in a gallop; it was early, old man Tatum would open the store for him, especially
after he told him he intended to buy a present for every kid in town.
He wasn’t sure why he had so much
Christmas spirit, maybe it was just the kind of guy he was.
