u/Calm-Gene5764

I don’t have a title yet but the story is fleshed out in my head. Thought I’d try posting here for some feedback. This is chapter one.

Progressive western Chapter 1 (Working title)

This wasn’t the first time Emmet Hawthorn woke up screaming. It wasn’t even the first time this month. Wasn’t the first time muscle memory followed suit ether.

Having his army Remington drawn, cocked and leveled at the nearest sound or motion in the corner of his eye came naturally to him with the sensation of falling back into his body. A desperate attempt to find his madness and kill it dead as the men at its source.

Phineas “Fin” Hawthorn stood motionless at the hey loft entrance of the stable. About 20ft from Emmets bed of canvas and hey in the lofts corner. One hand raised and the other gripping the last rung of a wooden ladder, he starred down the barrel of Emmets revolver. But it wasn’t fear in his eyes. It was exasperation.

“Dreaming of Bushwhackers again?” Fin asked.

Heart still racing Emmet blinked and took a sharp breath in, completing his anchoring to the present, before lowering his Remington. Fin dropped his hands and completed his ascent up the barn latter.

“Wanna talk about it?” Fin asked.

Emmet thought for a moment then shook his head no. And tried not to take offence at Fin’s relived expression.

“Good cuz we got shit to do.” Fin continued. “Get your bearings, get dressed and mount up. We need you at the south east end of the property.”

“What’s happened?” Emmet asked, sensing Fins concern.

“Bring your Winchester.”

With that Fin hoped down the barn latter and slammed the door behind him leaving Emmet alone with his jumbled thoughts.

One moment he was a defending the garrison at Glasgow Missouri, trading bullets and blood with ol’ paps rebel cavalry. Scrambling with the other union soldiers of the town to find a horse and ride like hell before the confederates overwhelmed their position. And the next he was waking up on an old bedroll, on a pile of hay in North Texas more than a decade later.

Emmet peered out of a ventilation hatch to check on the usual activity in ranch work. Cattle being roped and branded. Horses being saddled and shod. The greater part of the Hawthorns herd ambled about the vast green pastures of their property. Kicking up clouds of dust and sending up a chorus of mooing and huffs. Emmet wondered when it was that he’d gotten used to having all that noise in the back of his perception.

Fred, the ranches head cook, was hard at work with the others preparing the morning meal of beans, bacon, cornbread and cold beef from the night before.

Sanchez, one of the ranch hands, weaving his hemp lariat under the shade of an Osage orange tree.

Fin, astride a coal black charger and leading a saddled paint, stared up at Emmet impatiently. His bright red beard blazed like fire in the morning sun. “Let’s go!”

Emmet gave him a nod and a wave. Emmet was accustomed to sleeping in his clothes as an old habit as well as keeping arms like his Remington in easy reach. His spurs were already fastened to his boots so all he need do was slide them on, grab his black Stetson hat and buckle his gunbelt. He swept his ear length auburn hair back under his hat and ran a straight razor over the fuzz on his throat. It had been a consternation to him, growing up with Fin, that he could grow a beard long and full while Emmet’s whiskers seemed to begin and end at his neck.

He contemplated taking a pull from the whiskey bottle he kept beside his bedding to steady his nerve but decided against it. He’d gotten by without it in years past and hoped to gain back that same resolve.

Emmet pulled a key from his waistcoat pocket and opened a large wooden chest sitting nearby. In it was stored his brand new 1873 Winchester rifle with fixed cloth sling cleaned and loaded from the night before as well as boxes of 44 calibre bullets, emmets gun oil and cleaning kit, his old Union uniform jacket with the yellow seargent stripes and a few pairs of socks and drawers at the bottom. Slinging the Winchester across his back, Emmet descended the ladder from the loft and made his way outside.

He mounted the paint gelding as Fin handed him the reigns.

“Took you long enough” Fin grumbled.

“Gotta be thorough if we’re going after fence cutters” Emmet moved the paint to a trot. “Especially if they’re Campbell riders.”

Fin followed along side. “We don’t know it was the Campbells.”

“Who else would it be?” Emmet scoffed.

“We signed that peace treaty. In front of the judge and the sheriff.” Fin replied.

“There weren’t nothing legally binding about that so called treaty. Just you, me and old man Campbell signing our names to a piece of paper.”

“The old man gave us his word…”

“Once again little brother you put a dangerous amount of faith in your fellow man.” Emmet signed.

After coming upon the east end of the property where the damage had been done Emmet dismounted and scanned the scene. All three lengths of barbed wire was cut on each side of a fence post which had been ripped clean from the ground.

Big Hank sat mounted on a dunn mustang nearby. Silent with eyes scanning. His days in the USCT likely having conditioned him for guard duty.

“You’re relieved.” Emmet told him.

Big Hank nodded and rode off at a walk.

Fin rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I told them to put off fixing the damage till you took a look at it.”

Emmet knelt down to examine the fence post. It was still intact but with a large ring imprinted around the centre. Sign that a rope bigger than a lariat was used to pull it free.

“Thought we posted a guard.” Emmet said.

“There should have been one.” Fin replied. “Daisy should have last nights guard list. Helps us narrow down whose dumb ass gets fired.”

Emmet scanned the ground leading out between the property line and the chaparral. Hoof prints made a clear trail to a fixed point in the brush. Though there were too many tracks to make out anything distinctive. He used the stock of his Winchester to lift and examine the severed barbed wire. He held it up to Fin.

“See that? Blood. Looks like the fence cut one of them back.”

“That’s what happens when you handle barbed wire without proper gloves.” Fin replied.

“Safe bet whoever cut it didn’t know that at the time. See how the ends of the wire is all jagged and frayed? Reckon they used a hack saw to cut it.”

“So they had no idea what they were doing?” Fin scoffed.

“Not when it comes to barbed wire anyway. Reckon they made off with any of the herd?”

“Not likely. Whoever was on watch would have caught them for sure. Some might have got out after the fence was cut though. Little Hank and Buford are doing a count. Just in case.”

“Well whoever was on watch let the fence get cut so I wouldn’t be too sure.” Emmet grumbled. “Still the herd looked pretty healthy from up in the loft so if the fence cutters did make off with any it likely wasn’t their main goal.”

“What do you think was the main goal?”

Emmet stood up slinging his Winchester back across his back. “I reckon we’re looking at it. But I’d still like to follow that trail they made into the brush a ways. Might come up with something. Maybe not. Ether way it would make me feel better.”

“Alright. Just gotta get some things in order and I’ll ride with you. Daisy can run things while we’re gone.”

Emmet shot Fin a cautious look. “You and I both know that’s a bad idea.”

“It was you that hired her on!” Fin protested. “Besides she’s done more to keep this place afloat than you and me combined.”

“The men won’t listen to her. Not as a boss.”

“They know she speaks for us. And we won’t be gone that long anyway.”

“It will at least take up the greater part of the day. Maybe more.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Fine…” Emmet sighed. “Reckon the ranch can spare Sanchez?”

“The border bandit? Why we need him?”

“I trust him. He wouldn’t shrink if shots fly.”

“I ain’t looking for shots to fly Emmet! Besides I bet he can’t even shoot no more with that milky eye of his!”

“Tell that to that deputy in Corsicana, those bounty hunters outside Fort Worth, and that drunk Chickasaw at Colbert’s ferry. We don’t know what we’re getting into. Whoever cut our fence most likely means us harm and they’ve already taken hardship to do it. Another gun on our side can only be helpful.”

Now it was Fins turn to show his exasperation. “You’re gonna bring him whether I like it or not so go ahead. I’ll just tag along as the sole voice of reason.”

“Great. Go see Fred about provisions and let Daisy know she’s got the run of the place. I’ll grab Sanchez and we’ll meet back here.”

Fin gave a sarcastically bad salute and a resentful “yes sir”. Emmet rolled his eyes and turned his paint gelding back towards the ranch. His paint chewed at the reigns and nipped at him when he tried to pull them away. He rode up on the Osage orange tree Sanchez was using for shade.

Faded hombre hat pulled down over his eyes, Miguel Esteban Aurelio Sanchez was fixed on the hand weaving of his new lariat. The last one having worn out after over a decade of hard use. He worked much through the feeling of the weave rather than the sight of the rope. Being blind in one eye made it necessary to rely on touch and muscle memory. Which is why it irritated him that this Nínio Soldado on a half feral mustang was blocking his light.

“You hear someone cut our fence?” Emmet asked.

“Sí.” Sanchez replied. “Your brother wouldn’t let anybody fix it till you got to inspect it. Don’t know why. Any fool could tell you it was the Campbells.”

Emmet let out a sigh. “Fin’s an optimist. He means well but it can be pretty irritating sometimes.”

“Times like now?”

Sanchez tilted his hat upward to get a better look at his employer. Even now on this hard scrabble ranching enterprise Emmet Hawthorn had an almost regal bearing. He sat erect in his mother Hubbard saddle with a matching black hat and waistcoat. Clean shaven, collared shirt and custom tailored riding boots. The bone handle of Emmets army Remington protruding from his hip in a cross draw similar to how the knights of old would draw a sword. It was amazing to Sanchez that the Hawthorns, Emmet in particular, didn’t have more enemies than just the Campbell clan by the way he peacocked about.

“My brother and I are following the fence cutters trail. I want you along with us.”

“Do I get hazard pay?” Sanchez laughed.

“No, you get to keep getting paid to sit on your ass all day knitting with rope.”

“Is very good rope.”

“Best in St Luis. You’re welcome by the way.”

“Sí. Gracias. It is nice working for a patron who give more than a passing thought the needs of their peons.”

“Granted I never been further south than Austin but from what I understand, Mexican peons don’t carry guns and actually WORK for their food and lodging.”

Sanchez waved his lariat. “What you call this, huh?”

“A low priority. We need you with us.”

Sanchez rose slowly to his feet. Gradually enough to drive home his point. “I’m going to saddle my horse, pack my things and say goodbye to my wife and children.”

“Meet us by the tear in the fence.” Emmet replied. “Tell your wife we’ll try to make it back before dinner.”

As Sanchez trudged away Emmet dismounted his horse and took his place under the Osage tree. Laying his Winchester down across his lap. He figured he had a little time before Fin was ready to depart.

Fiddling through his the pockets of his waistcoat Emmet produced a half smoked twirly and lit the blunt with a lucifer. As he smoked he produced a tintype from his other pocket and gazed at the face within.

Piper Beckwith was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Even through the blurred colourless image Emmet could lose himself in the soulful eyes gazing back at him from the sepia tint. Almost feel the sensation of running his fingers through her wavy black hair, feel her breath on his cheek and her warmth as he held her close. He tried to shut out the sounds of the world around him so he could recall her soft voice as she told Emmet she loved him.

“Miss your wife do ya?” Little Hank said.

Emmet turned to look the scrawny kid in the eye. He hadn’t heard him ride up which was likely a sign it was time to stop smoking. Little Hank stood at about 5 ft 5 inches in hight and weight approximately 130 pounds. His beard was perhaps the only one on the ranch more patchy than Emmets though little Hank hadn’t the wisdom to shave it.

“Always.” Emmet shrugged off his tender moment.

“Where’d she go off to again?”

“Her mother’s house over in Arkansas. Apparently she’s sick and needed Piper to help take care of her.”

Little Hank dismounted and crouched down to meet Emmet at eye level. “Get a chance to look at the fence yet? Fin won’t let us fix it till you do.”

Emmet raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you and Beaumont supposed to be counting up the herd?”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. There was over 700 to start with and it looks like there’s about that many still. How the hell are 2 people supposed to keep a count that high?”

“Fair enough.” Emmet shrugged. “Yeah I looked at it. Tell the other boys to go ahead and mend it. Spare wire and gloves are in the second shed from my house.”

“Yeah I remember.” Little Hank grumbled. “Just rots me that we gotta put all that wire up again.”

“There are worse hardships than tedium little Hank.” Emmet replied.

“Yeah like always being called little.” Little Hank grumbled. “Why can’t y’all call me curly Hank cuz of my hair. Or white Hank cuz the other fellah ain’t?”

“Because you’re 19 and big Hank doesn’t like being called negro Hank. Now go do your job and quit whining for no damn reason.”

Emmet put out his twirly on a nearby rock and stood up as little Hank vaulted into the saddle and cantered his horse off. He took a final look at his wedding photo before tucking it back into his pocket. It was the only time he’d ever seen Piper wear her hair up. It was the only time he’d ever lathered his own hair and moustache in wax to keep their shape. They both looked into the camera, Piper more at ease with it than Emmet. They had to shoot from the knees up because Emmet was still wearing his dusty work boots. They had to take the photo 3 times because Emmet kept jumping at the bang and flash. They had to go to all the way in Marshal for their photo because none of the photographers in Dallas, Forth Worth or Sherman were willing to record them as a married couple.

Emmet remounted the paint and made his way back to the tear in the fence. He needed to get his head on straight. Fence cutters weren’t known to run when confronted. Like cattle rustling, fence cutting was a serious offence on the frontier that would likely end in a hanging. Most knew that and would be almost guaranteed to fight if cornered. Emmet just wished Fin understood that too.

Fin for his part feared Emmet was going out of his way to start up the feud all over again. He’d already survived an attempt on his life by 2 members of the Campbell brood in the streets of Dallas. Broad daylight in the presence of at least a dozen on lookers. One of whom was the lady on his arm. Only for the Sheriff to let them off with a fine when one claimed that his pistol went off “on accident”. It took all Fins nerve to sit down and talk with old man Campbell about leaving each other alone and all his powers of persuasion to get Emmet to join him. Fin was just starting to feel safe again. And now this…

Fin dismounted his black charger and led him past his cabin and over to Daisy’s. He knocked and doffed his hat to the little girl who answered.

“Moss out working the cattle.” She said.

“Thank you Cathy I know it.” Fin replied. “I’m here to see your momma.”

No sooner had Fin got out the words than Daisy appeared behind her daughter. She wore a homespun dress with her curly hair done up in a hand woven turban. She put a gentle hand on the child’s shoulder.

“Run along back inside Cathy. Grownups need to talk.”

“Okay mama.”

No sooner had the girl gone out of ear shot than Daisy’s demeanour changed from one of a doting mother to a stern advisor. Eye narrowed. Brow furrowed. She eyed Fin incredulously.

“This about the cut fence?” She asked.

“How much you know about it?” Fin replied.

“That you’s raising holy hell over it.”

“Well it’s a big deal ain’t it? Somebody’s targeting us for something.”

“Mister Hawthorn, white folks been targeting me and folks like me for centuries for something. A broken fence ain’t what I’d call a big deal.”

“Not unless stock goes missing.” Fin replied.

“Which according to Moss it ain’t. Not enough to notice anyhow.”

“Not this time. Thank god. As you know it’s almost driving season. Most cattle ‘round these parts already branded. Bad time to go hunting mavericks.”

“Chances of replacing lost stock this close to spring are slim to none.”

“Exactly.” Fin scratches his beard. “My brother and I are taking Sanchez to track down whoever done it.”

“You sure that’s wise just the 3 of you?” Daisy asked.

“No but we’re doing it.” Fin signed. “You got the run of things while we’re gone.”

“Alright. I’ll let my husband know. He can spread the word over lunch. You might wanna see him about provisions before y’all leave. No sense getting you selves killed on empty stomachs.”

“Emmet said we should be back before sunset. But I reckon lunch is a good idea. Fred got anything ready?”

“Bacon and corn jacks.”

“Hell of a last meal. Still, better than nothing. You know the drill. Let the cattle graze, check all the horses and you already know what to do about any deficiencies in supplies.”

“Yup. Go on now. And take care. You and Emmet both.”

Fin entered his own cabin next to equip himself for the journey ahead.

He filled a bandoleer full of 45-70 cartridges and took up his old sharps rifle and breached it. It was bit dusty but at least there was no rust corrosion. Checked the sights, the loading lever, the firing hammer. It had been a while since he’d had cause to use it. And even then it was only for hunting.

Fin never thought there’d be a chance of this “feud” type conflict after building the ranch. Was a peaceful life really too much to ask for? He buckled on his pistol belt and checked himself over in the mirror.

Tall and barrel chested in drab clothes. Curly red hair pouring out from under his plains boss hat like a volcanic eruption with a collar length beard to match, phinius Hawthorn looked more at home on a Viking ship than a cattle ranch. In a place where the average man was 5 ft 7 and about 150 pounds, Fin stood at 6 ft 3 and weighed well over 200. He sported a scar just above his left eye that pulled on his face whenever he tried to smile or open his mouth too wide. That and the years he’d spent working outdoors with his pale complexion made him look closer to 36 than 26. He’d been told more than once that he looked like a dangerous man. Which Fin supposed was why he seldomly found himself in any real trouble with actual dangerous men. But those who knew him knew of his better nature. And Fin wished more than anything it could just stay that way.

A complete opposite to his brother Emmet who despite being three years older than Fin somehow looked about ten years younger. And for a man nearing 30 years on this earth with conventional good looks and a loving wife seemed oddly eager to leave it all behind in a coffin.

Emmet would tell Fin that people killing each other was just the natural state of things and that it was better to accept it than to fret over the how’s and whys. But that type of thinking scared Fin. He couldn’t understand how anybody could find joy in a world of kill or be killed. Which went a long way to explain why Emmet didn’t.

Fins next stop was Fred’s cook tent. He usually served breakfast around this time and it irked Fin that he couldn’t stay long enough to sit down with the others for it. The smell of bacon and flapjacks was intoxicating.

There was a blood bay mare ground tied the canvas structure. It wore an old saddle with faded dry leather coverings and what appeared to be a railroad spike for a saddle horn. It sported a rifle scabbard with no rifle in it.

Lifting the flap Fin spotted Fred speaking with one of the ranch hands. The man wore a sun bleached hombre hat with his faded clothing and had an old yellow boy Winchester rifle slung across his back. Fred packed 3 ginny sacks with cans of beans, fruits and sardines and fresh vegetables and handed them to the ranch hand.

“Carrots are for the horses.” Fred told him.

“Gracias.” Sanchez replied.

“And you be sure and share them now.” Fred pushed. “Don’t hog them all for that thoroughbred you ride.”

As Sanchez turned around to leave both he and Fred saw Fin standing awkwardly at the tent door. The ginger bearded teddy bear adjusted his posture and hooked his thumbs into his pistol belt. Sanchez found the display of false bravado rather amusing and had to keep himself from smirking. Fred broke the silence.

“Mister Hawthorn! Sanchez here was just telling me about the foxhunt y’all about to go on. Got provisions all packed up for you.”

“Thank you Fred.” Fin nodded. “I left Daisy in charge while we’re gone. Hope that’s all right with you.”

“My wife knows her ledgers. This place in good hands.”

Sanchez headed towards the door. Fin followed him out.

“You coming with us then?” He asked.

“Seems so.” Sanchez replied.

“Reckon it takes a criminal to catch one.”

“You should ask Emmet about that. I’m just another Vaquero.”

“A Vaquero wanted in 4 counties.”

“5 counties. And 1 Mexican Barrío.”

“That something you normally brag on?”

“Only to those who won’t hold it against me.”

With that Sanchez slid his Winchester rifle into the saddle scabbard, unwound the reins and mounted his thoroughbred charger. He’d hoped to run into the other Hawthorn brother before this one talked his only good ear off but Sanchez barely had the chance to turn his horse around before Fin was remounted and on his tail jabbering.

“If Emmet wants to bring you along that means there’s gonna be trouble. As much as told me so himself.”

“What makes you say that?” Sanchez asked with a level of calmness bordering on condescension.

“You’re the only hand we got with a violent history. Hell, I saw you kill a man the first day I met you.”

“That was a justified shooting and you know it.”

“I’m not sure I know a damn thing about it.”

“Well you should considering your brother shot the other one.”

“Jesus don’t remind me. I still think on that day sometimes.”

“Clearly not enough if you still think it could have been avoided.”

They made it back to the tear in the fence where Emmet was waiting. Impatient look on his face.

“What you two bickering about?”

Sanchez cast Fin a side eyed glare. “Tell him those bendehos attacked us first.”

“Which ones?”

“The Bounty hunters trailing me outside Fort Worth last year!”

Emmet blinked in confusion. “Well Fin should know. He was there.”

Sanchez widened his eyes at fin and gestured an open hand to Emmet.

“What’s this got to do with our fence cutters?” Emmet asked.

“Nothing.” Fin mumbled.

Emmet gestured to the rifle in Fin’s scabbard. “You sure a Sharps is the best choice? Won’t serve us as well as a lever gun if things go south with the old man.”

Fin looked down at the sharps buttstock to the right of his saddle horn. It still impressed him how Emmet could identify a firearm just by looking at a small part of it.

“You used a sharps rifle in the war didn’t you? In Missouri?”

”I carried a carbine. Lighter. Quicker and easier to pull and aim. And back then the crackers could only shoot back at you once for the most part. And believe me, you don’t wanna be in that position. Now go get your Spencer rifle. Seven mid rage shots is a hell of a lot better than one long range one where we’re going.”

Fin knew better than to argue. As much as he may have wanted to. Emmet was usually right about these things. He just didn’t like to be treated like a kid in front of other people. Especially the ones he didn’t trust.

“Be right back.” He sighed.

As Fin rode back to his cabin to rearm Emmet turned to Sanchez.

“This ain’t gonna work if you two can’t get along.”

“Tell him that.” Sanchez scoffed.

“I’m telling you first. I know you don’t like anybody outside your home and hearth but it rubs Fin the wrong way. He thinks it makes you untrustworthy.”

“How is this my problem?”

“Cuz he’s your boss as much as I am and I trust you to defend our interests. And I can’t be alone in that. You and I both know you don’t have to particularly like a man to trust him but Fin ain’t figured that out yet. So play nice with him till he does.”

Sanchez sighed his acknowledgement.

“How’s your family?” Emmet asked.

“Scared I won’t come home. How’s your wife? Hear from her lately?”

“Got a letter from Piper last week saying she’s on her way back. Reckon that means she’ll be here in a couple days considering how the stage coach runs. And I aim to be here to greet her.”

“Is her mother better?”

“Dead.”

“Oh. How is she handling it?”

“Won’t know till she gets here. But from what I understand she’s doing alright. They didn’t have the best relationship.”

“Then why would she go all the way to Arkansas to see her?”

“Closure. Piper almost didn’t go at all but I talked her into it. Some things shouldn’t go unsaid. And I never met the woman but Piper sure had a lot to say about her.”

“You sure that’s wise?”

“Wisdom doesn’t count for much when you’re grieving. I don’t have the best relationship with my kin folk outside Fin ether. But I’d still greave them if came to it.”

Emmet spoke in a half hushed tone. As though he were sharing some secret. Sanchez thought about it and dismounted.

“What you doing?” Emmet asked.

“My back hurts.” Sanchez grumbled. “I’m going to lie flat for a while.”

Emmet followed the dismount and sat down next to Sanchez. They sat in silence for a spell before Emmet broke it.

“If the Campbell’s start shooting I want you to take Fin and run. Fight back if you can but if the odds look bad, your priority is to get yourself and Fin out of there.”

Sanchez sighed and looked up at Emmet. “You know, I don’t fear death ether. But out of love for my family I still try to avoid it.”

The look in Emmets eye told him not to finish that sentence. It wasn’t a warning look. More just distant. The man was a master at selective hearing.

When Fin returned with his change in fire power he brought with him little Hank and Beaumont riding a mule drawn wagon full of shovels, mallets, spools of barbed wire and other fence mending supplies.

Emmet and Sanchez re mounted and the three rode off as the two hired hands began their labour.

They rode at a fast trot through a mile and a half of black land prairie till they hit the wire road leading east to Dallas.

The cross timbers flanking them to the left gave Emmet pause. The post oaks and black hawk groves would proved ample cover for an ambush. He eyed the tree line almost as frequently as he did the road. The groundswells also had a likelihood of concealing bushwhackers so he would cast an occasional glance in their direction as well.

“So there being only 3 of us, what are we gonna do when we make it to the Campbells spread?” Fin asked.

“First thing we’re gonna do is talk to the sheriff in Dallas.” Emmet said. “You can’t do all the mediating yourself little brother. Much as I’m sure you’d try.”

Fin smiled and tried not to sigh his relief. “Glad you’re seeing some sense in all this.”

“Just how dumb you think I am?!” Emmet laughed. “Campbell’s got at least 6 men of fighting age in their brood and that ain’t even counting in-laws and hired hands. They been re branding our cattle for nearly a year, made multiple threats on our lives and even tried to follow through on it with you and that friend of yours in Fort Worth.”

“Yeah…” Fin muttered. “I’m just glad Kelly’s alright.”

Sanchez gave Emmet a sideways look. Emmet returned one as though to say “don’t ask”. Fin seemed lighter somehow just after saying his friend’s name. Emmet and Sanchez both being happily married men could relate though couldn’t help but question Fin’s taste.

“I’ll be glad when this is finally all over.” Fin continued.

“We all will.”

I don’t have a title yet but the story is fleshed out in my head. Thought I’d try posting here for some feedback. This is chapter one.

Progressive western Chapter 1 (Working title)

This wasn’t the first time Emmet Hawthorn woke up screaming. It wasn’t even the first time this month. Wasn’t the first time muscle memory followed suit ether.

Having his army Remington drawn, cocked and leveled at the nearest sound or motion in the corner of his eye came naturally to him with the sensation of falling back into his body. A desperate attempt to find his madness and kill it dead as the men at its source.

Phineas “Fin” Hawthorn stood motionless at the hey loft entrance of the stable. About 20ft from Emmets bed of canvas and hey in the lofts corner. One hand raised and the other gripping the last rung of a wooden ladder, he starred down the barrel of Emmets revolver. But it wasn’t fear in his eyes. It was exasperation.

“Dreaming of Bushwhackers again?” Fin asked.

Heart still racing Emmet blinked and took a sharp breath in, completing his anchoring to the present, before lowering his Remington. Fin dropped his hands and completed his ascent up the barn latter.

“Wanna talk about it?” Fin asked.

Emmet thought for a moment then shook his head no. And tried not to take offence at Fin’s relived expression.

“Good cuz we got shit to do.” Fin continued. “Get your bearings, get dressed and mount up. We need you at the south east end of the property.”

“What’s happened?” Emmet asked, sensing Fins concern.

“Bring your Winchester.”

With that Fin hoped down the barn latter and slammed the door behind him leaving Emmet alone with his jumbled thoughts.

One moment he was a defending the garrison at Glasgow Missouri, trading bullets and blood with ol’ paps rebel cavalry. Scrambling with the other union soldiers of the town to find a horse and ride like hell before the confederates overwhelmed their position. And the next he was waking up on an old bedroll, on a pile of hay in North Texas more than a decade later.

Emmet peered out of a ventilation hatch to check on the usual activity in ranch work. Cattle being roped and branded. Horses being saddled and shod. The greater part of the Hawthorns herd ambled about the vast green pastures of their property. Kicking up clouds of dust and sending up a chorus of mooing and huffs. Emmet wondered when it was that he’d gotten used to having all that noise in the back of his perception.

Fred, the ranches head cook, was hard at work with the others preparing the morning meal of beans, bacon, cornbread and cold beef from the night before.

Sanchez, one of the ranch hands, weaving his hemp lariat under the shade of an Osage orange tree.

Fin, astride a coal black charger and leading a saddled paint, stared up at Emmet impatiently. His bright red beard blazed like fire in the morning sun. “Let’s go!”

Emmet gave him a nod and a wave. Emmet was accustomed to sleeping in his clothes as an old habit as well as keeping arms like his Remington in easy reach. His spurs were already fastened to his boots so all he need do was slide them on, grab his black Stetson hat and buckle his gunbelt. He swept his ear length auburn hair back under his hat and ran a straight razor over the fuzz on his throat. It had been a consternation to him, growing up with Fin, that he could grow a beard long and full while Emmet’s whiskers seemed to begin and end at his neck.

He contemplated taking a pull from the whiskey bottle he kept beside his bedding to steady his nerve but decided against it. He’d gotten by without it in years past and hoped to gain back that same resolve.

Emmet pulled a key from his waistcoat pocket and opened a large wooden chest sitting nearby. In it was stored his brand new 1873 Winchester rifle with fixed cloth sling cleaned and loaded from the night before as well as boxes of 44 calibre bullets, emmets gun oil and cleaning kit, his old Union uniform jacket with the yellow seargent stripes and a few pairs of socks and drawers at the bottom. Slinging the Winchester across his back, Emmet descended the ladder from the loft and made his way outside.

He mounted the paint gelding as Fin handed him the reigns.

“Took you long enough” Fin grumbled.

“Gotta be thorough if we’re going after fence cutters” Emmet moved the paint to a trot. “Especially if they’re Campbell riders.”

Fin followed along side. “We don’t know it was the Campbells.”

“Who else would it be?” Emmet scoffed.

“We signed that peace treaty. In front of the judge and the sheriff.” Fin replied.

“There weren’t nothing legally binding about that so called treaty. Just you, me and old man Campbell signing our names to a piece of paper.”

“The old man gave us his word…”

“Once again little brother you put a dangerous amount of faith in your fellow man.” Emmet signed.

After coming upon the east end of the property where the damage had been done Emmet dismounted and scanned the scene. All three lengths of barbed wire was cut on each side of a fence post which had been ripped clean from the ground.

Big Hank sat mounted on a dunn mustang nearby. Silent with eyes scanning. His days in the USCT likely having conditioned him for guard duty.

“You’re relieved.” Emmet told him.

Big Hank nodded and rode off at a walk.

Fin rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I told them to put off fixing the damage till you took a look at it.”

Emmet knelt down to examine the fence post. It was still intact but with a large ring imprinted around the centre. Sign that a rope bigger than a lariat was used to pull it free.

“Thought we posted a guard.” Emmet said.

“There should have been one.” Fin replied. “Daisy should have last nights guard list. Helps us narrow down whose dumb ass gets fired.”

Emmet scanned the ground leading out between the property line and the chaparral. Hoof prints made a clear trail to a fixed point in the brush. Though there were too many tracks to make out anything distinctive. He used the stock of his Winchester to lift and examine the severed barbed wire. He held it up to Fin.

“See that? Blood. Looks like the fence cut one of them back.”

“That’s what happens when you handle barbed wire without proper gloves.” Fin replied.

“Safe bet whoever cut it didn’t know that at the time. See how the ends of the wire is all jagged and frayed? Reckon they used a hack saw to cut it.”

“So they had no idea what they were doing?” Fin scoffed.

“Not when it comes to barbed wire anyway. Reckon they made off with any of the herd?”

“Not likely. Whoever was on watch would have caught them for sure. Some might have got out after the fence was cut though. Little Hank and Buford are doing a count. Just in case.”

“Well whoever was on watch let the fence get cut so I wouldn’t be too sure.” Emmet grumbled. “Still the herd looked pretty healthy from up in the loft so if the fence cutters did make off with any it likely wasn’t their main goal.”

“What do you think was the main goal?”

Emmet stood up slinging his Winchester back across his back. “I reckon we’re looking at it. But I’d still like to follow that trail they made into the brush a ways. Might come up with something. Maybe not. Ether way it would make me feel better.”

“Alright. Just gotta get some things in order and I’ll ride with you. Daisy can run things while we’re gone.”

Emmet shot Fin a cautious look. “You and I both know that’s a bad idea.”

“It was you that hired her on!” Fin protested. “Besides she’s done more to keep this place afloat than you and me combined.”

“The men won’t listen to her. Not as a boss.”

“They know she speaks for us. And we won’t be gone that long anyway.”

“It will at least take up the greater part of the day. Maybe more.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Fine…” Emmet sighed. “Reckon the ranch can spare Sanchez?”

“The border bandit? Why we need him?”

“I trust him. He wouldn’t shrink if shots fly.”

“I ain’t looking for shots to fly Emmet! Besides I bet he can’t even shoot no more with that milky eye of his!”

“Tell that to that deputy in Corsicana, those bounty hunters outside Fort Worth, and that drunk Chickasaw at Colbert’s ferry. We don’t know what we’re getting into. Whoever cut our fence most likely means us harm and they’ve already taken hardship to do it. Another gun on our side can only be helpful.”

Now it was Fins turn to show his exasperation. “You’re gonna bring him whether I like it or not so go ahead. I’ll just tag along as the sole voice of reason.”

“Great. Go see Fred about provisions and let Daisy know she’s got the run of the place. I’ll grab Sanchez and we’ll meet back here.”

Fin gave a sarcastically bad salute and a resentful “yes sir”. Emmet rolled his eyes and turned his paint gelding back towards the ranch. His paint chewed at the reigns and nipped at him when he tried to pull them away. He rode up on the Osage orange tree Sanchez was using for shade.

Faded hombre hat pulled down over his eyes, Miguel Esteban Aurelio Sanchez was fixed on the hand weaving of his new lariat. The last one having worn out after over a decade of hard use. He worked much through the feeling of the weave rather than the sight of the rope. Being blind in one eye made it necessary to rely on touch and muscle memory. Which is why it irritated him that this Nínio Soldado on a half feral mustang was blocking his light.

“You hear someone cut our fence?” Emmet asked.

“Sí.” Sanchez replied. “Your brother wouldn’t let anybody fix it till you got to inspect it. Don’t know why. Any fool could tell you it was the Campbells.”

Emmet let out a sigh. “Fin’s an optimist. He means well but it can be pretty irritating sometimes.”

“Times like now?”

Sanchez tilted his hat upward to get a better look at his employer. Even now on this hard scrabble ranching enterprise Emmet Hawthorn had an almost regal bearing. He sat erect in his mother Hubbard saddle with a matching black hat and waistcoat. Clean shaven, collared shirt and custom tailored riding boots. The bone handle of Emmets army Remington protruding from his hip in a cross draw similar to how the knights of old would draw a sword. It was amazing to Sanchez that the Hawthorns, Emmet in particular, didn’t have more enemies than just the Campbell clan by the way he peacocked about.

“My brother and I are following the fence cutters trail. I want you along with us.”

“Do I get hazard pay?” Sanchez laughed.

“No, you get to keep getting paid to sit on your ass all day knitting with rope.”

“Is very good rope.”

“Best in St Luis. You’re welcome by the way.”

“Sí. Gracias. It is nice working for a patron who give more than a passing thought the needs of their peons.”

“Granted I never been further south than Austin but from what I understand, Mexican peons don’t carry guns and actually WORK for their food and lodging.”

Sanchez waved his lariat. “What you call this, huh?”

“A low priority. We need you with us.”

Sanchez rose slowly to his feet. Gradually enough to drive home his point. “I’m going to saddle my horse, pack my things and say goodbye to my wife and children.”

“Meet us by the tear in the fence.” Emmet replied. “Tell your wife we’ll try to make it back before dinner.”

As Sanchez trudged away Emmet dismounted his horse and took his place under the Osage tree. Laying his Winchester down across his lap. He figured he had a little time before Fin was ready to depart.

Fiddling through his the pockets of his waistcoat Emmet produced a half smoked twirly and lit the blunt with a lucifer. As he smoked he produced a tintype from his other pocket and gazed at the face within.

Piper Beckwith was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Even through the blurred colourless image Emmet could lose himself in the soulful eyes gazing back at him from the sepia tint. Almost feel the sensation of running his fingers through her wavy black hair, feel her breath on his cheek and her warmth as he held her close. He tried to shut out the sounds of the world around him so he could recall her soft voice as she told Emmet she loved him.

“Miss your wife do ya?” Little Hank said.

Emmet turned to look the scrawny kid in the eye. He hadn’t heard him ride up which was likely a sign it was time to stop smoking. Little Hank stood at about 5 ft 5 inches in hight and weight approximately 130 pounds. His beard was perhaps the only one on the ranch more patchy than Emmets though little Hank hadn’t the wisdom to shave it.

“Always.” Emmet shrugged off his tender moment.

“Where’d she go off to again?”

“Her mother’s house over in Arkansas. Apparently she’s sick and needed Piper to help take care of her.”

Little Hank dismounted and crouched down to meet Emmet at eye level. “Get a chance to look at the fence yet? Fin won’t let us fix it till you do.”

Emmet raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you and Beaumont supposed to be counting up the herd?”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. There was over 700 to start with and it looks like there’s about that many still. How the hell are 2 people supposed to keep a count that high?”

“Fair enough.” Emmet shrugged. “Yeah I looked at it. Tell the other boys to go ahead and mend it. Spare wire and gloves are in the second shed from my house.”

“Yeah I remember.” Little Hank grumbled. “Just rots me that we gotta put all that wire up again.”

“There are worse hardships than tedium little Hank.” Emmet replied.

“Yeah like always being called little.” Little Hank grumbled. “Why can’t y’all call me curly Hank cuz of my hair. Or white Hank cuz the other fellah ain’t?”

“Because you’re 19 and big Hank doesn’t like being called negro Hank. Now go do your job and quit whining for no damn reason.”

Emmet put out his twirly on a nearby rock and stood up as little Hank vaulted into the saddle and cantered his horse off. He took a final look at his wedding photo before tucking it back into his pocket. It was the only time he’d ever seen Piper wear her hair up. It was the only time he’d ever lathered his own hair and moustache in wax to keep their shape. They both looked into the camera, Piper more at ease with it than Emmet. They had to shoot from the knees up because Emmet was still wearing his dusty work boots. They had to take the photo 3 times because Emmet kept jumping at the bang and flash. They had to go to all the way in Marshal for their photo because none of the photographers in Dallas, Forth Worth or Sherman were willing to record them as a married couple.

Emmet remounted the paint and made his way back to the tear in the fence. He needed to get his head on straight. Fence cutters weren’t known to run when confronted. Like cattle rustling, fence cutting was a serious offence on the frontier that would likely end in a hanging. Most knew that and would be almost guaranteed to fight if cornered. Emmet just wished Fin understood that too.

Fin for his part feared Emmet was going out of his way to start up the feud all over again. He’d already survived an attempt on his life by 2 members of the Campbell brood in the streets of Dallas. Broad daylight in the presence of at least a dozen on lookers. One of whom was the lady on his arm. Only for the Sheriff to let them off with a fine when one claimed that his pistol went off “on accident”. It took all Fins nerve to sit down and talk with old man Campbell about leaving each other alone and all his powers of persuasion to get Emmet to join him. Fin was just starting to feel safe again. And now this…

Fin dismounted his black charger and led him past his cabin and over to Daisy’s. He knocked and doffed his hat to the little girl who answered.

“Moss out working the cattle.” She said.

“Thank you Cathy I know it.” Fin replied. “I’m here to see your momma.”

No sooner had Fin got out the words than Daisy appeared behind her daughter. She wore a homespun dress with her curly hair done up in a hand woven turban. She put a gentle hand on the child’s shoulder.

“Run along back inside Cathy. Grownups need to talk.”

“Okay mama.”

No sooner had the girl gone out of ear shot than Daisy’s demeanour changed from one of a doting mother to a stern advisor. Eye narrowed. Brow furrowed. She eyed Fin incredulously.

“This about the cut fence?” She asked.

“How much you know about it?” Fin replied.

“That you’s raising holy hell over it.”

“Well it’s a big deal ain’t it? Somebody’s targeting us for something.”

“Mister Hawthorn, white folks been targeting me and folks like me for centuries for something. A broken fence ain’t what I’d call a big deal.”

“Not unless stock goes missing.” Fin replied.

“Which according to Moss it ain’t. Not enough to notice anyhow.”

“Not this time. Thank god. As you know it’s almost driving season. Most cattle ‘round these parts already branded. Bad time to go hunting mavericks.”

“Chances of replacing lost stock this close to spring are slim to none.”

“Exactly.” Fin scratches his beard. “My brother and I are taking Sanchez to track down whoever done it.”

“You sure that’s wise just the 3 of you?” Daisy asked.

“No but we’re doing it.” Fin signed. “You got the run of things while we’re gone.”

“Alright. I’ll let my husband know. He can spread the word over lunch. You might wanna see him about provisions before y’all leave. No sense getting you selves killed on empty stomachs.”

“Emmet said we should be back before sunset. But I reckon lunch is a good idea. Fred got anything ready?”

“Bacon and corn jacks.”

“Hell of a last meal. Still, better than nothing. You know the drill. Let the cattle graze, check all the horses and you already know what to do about any deficiencies in supplies.”

“Yup. Go on now. And take care. You and Emmet both.”

Fin entered his own cabin next to equip himself for the journey ahead.

He filled a bandoleer full of 45-70 cartridges and took up his old sharps rifle and breached it. It was bit dusty but at least there was no rust corrosion. Checked the sights, the loading lever, the firing hammer. It had been a while since he’d had cause to use it. And even then it was only for hunting.

Fin never thought there’d be a chance of this “feud” type conflict after building the ranch. Was a peaceful life really too much to ask for? He buckled on his pistol belt and checked himself over in the mirror.

Tall and barrel chested in drab clothes. Curly red hair pouring out from under his plains boss hat like a volcanic eruption with a collar length beard to match, phinius Hawthorn looked more at home on a Viking ship than a cattle ranch. In a place where the average man was 5 ft 7 and about 150 pounds, Fin stood at 6 ft 3 and weighed well over 200. He sported a scar just above his left eye that pulled on his face whenever he tried to smile or open his mouth too wide. That and the years he’d spent working outdoors with his pale complexion made him look closer to 36 than 26. He’d been told more than once that he looked like a dangerous man. Which Fin supposed was why he seldomly found himself in any real trouble with actual dangerous men. But those who knew him knew of his better nature. And Fin wished more than anything it could just stay that way.

A complete opposite to his brother Emmet who despite being three years older than Fin somehow looked about ten years younger. And for a man nearing 30 years on this earth with conventional good looks and a loving wife seemed oddly eager to leave it all behind in a coffin.

Emmet would tell Fin that people killing each other was just the natural state of things and that it was better to accept it than to fret over the how’s and whys. But that type of thinking scared Fin. He couldn’t understand how anybody could find joy in a world of kill or be killed. Which went a long way to explain why Emmet didn’t.

Fins next stop was Fred’s cook tent. He usually served breakfast around this time and it irked Fin that he couldn’t stay long enough to sit down with the others for it. The smell of bacon and flapjacks was intoxicating.

There was a blood bay mare ground tied the canvas structure. It wore an old saddle with faded dry leather coverings and what appeared to be a railroad spike for a saddle horn. It sported a rifle scabbard with no rifle in it.

Lifting the flap Fin spotted Fred speaking with one of the ranch hands. The man wore a sun bleached hombre hat with his faded clothing and had an old yellow boy Winchester rifle slung across his back. Fred packed 3 ginny sacks with cans of beans, fruits and sardines and fresh vegetables and handed them to the ranch hand.

“Carrots are for the horses.” Fred told him.

“Gracias.” Sanchez replied.

“And you be sure and share them now.” Fred pushed. “Don’t hog them all for that thoroughbred you ride.”

As Sanchez turned around to leave both he and Fred saw Fin standing awkwardly at the tent door. The ginger bearded teddy bear adjusted his posture and hooked his thumbs into his pistol belt. Sanchez found the display of false bravado rather amusing and had to keep himself from smirking. Fred broke the silence.

“Mister Hawthorn! Sanchez here was just telling me about the foxhunt y’all about to go on. Got provisions all packed up for you.”

“Thank you Fred.” Fin nodded. “I left Daisy in charge while we’re gone. Hope that’s all right with you.”

“My wife knows her ledgers. This place in good hands.”

Sanchez headed towards the door. Fin followed him out.

“You coming with us then?” He asked.

“Seems so.” Sanchez replied.

“Reckon it takes a criminal to catch one.”

“You should ask Emmet about that. I’m just another Vaquero.”

“A Vaquero wanted in 4 counties.”

“5 counties. And 1 Mexican Barrío.”

“That something you normally brag on?”

“Only to those who won’t hold it against me.”

With that Sanchez slid his Winchester rifle into the saddle scabbard, unwound the reins and mounted his thoroughbred charger. He’d hoped to run into the other Hawthorn brother before this one talked his only good ear off but Sanchez barely had the chance to turn his horse around before Fin was remounted and on his tail jabbering.

“If Emmet wants to bring you along that means there’s gonna be trouble. As much as told me so himself.”

“What makes you say that?” Sanchez asked with a level of calmness bordering on condescension.

“You’re the only hand we got with a violent history. Hell, I saw you kill a man the first day I met you.”

“That was a justified shooting and you know it.”

“I’m not sure I know a damn thing about it.”

“Well you should considering your brother shot the other one.”

“Jesus don’t remind me. I still think on that day sometimes.”

“Clearly not enough if you still think it could have been avoided.”

They made it back to the tear in the fence where Emmet was waiting. Impatient look on his face.

“What you two bickering about?”

Sanchez cast Fin a side eyed glare. “Tell him those bendehos attacked us first.”

“Which ones?”

“The Bounty hunters trailing me outside Fort Worth last year!”

Emmet blinked in confusion. “Well Fin should know. He was there.”

Sanchez widened his eyes at fin and gestured an open hand to Emmet.

“What’s this got to do with our fence cutters?” Emmet asked.

“Nothing.” Fin mumbled.

Emmet gestured to the rifle in Fin’s scabbard. “You sure a Sharps is the best choice? Won’t serve us as well as a lever gun if things go south with the old man.”

Fin looked down at the sharps buttstock to the right of his saddle horn. It still impressed him how Emmet could identify a firearm just by looking at a small part of it.

“You used a sharps rifle in the war didn’t you? In Missouri?”

”I carried a carbine. Lighter. Quicker and easier to pull and aim. And back then the crackers could only shoot back at you once for the most part. And believe me, you don’t wanna be in that position. Now go get your Spencer rifle. Seven mid rage shots is a hell of a lot better than one long range one where we’re going.”

Fin knew better than to argue. As much as he may have wanted to. Emmet was usually right about these things. He just didn’t like to be treated like a kid in front of other people. Especially the ones he didn’t trust.

“Be right back.” He sighed.

As Fin rode back to his cabin to rearm Emmet turned to Sanchez.

“This ain’t gonna work if you two can’t get along.”

“Tell him that.” Sanchez scoffed.

“I’m telling you first. I know you don’t like anybody outside your home and hearth but it rubs Fin the wrong way. He thinks it makes you untrustworthy.”

“How is this my problem?”

“Cuz he’s your boss as much as I am and I trust you to defend our interests. And I can’t be alone in that. You and I both know you don’t have to particularly like a man to trust him but Fin ain’t figured that out yet. So play nice with him till he does.”

Sanchez sighed his acknowledgement.

“How’s your family?” Emmet asked.

“Scared I won’t come home. How’s your wife? Hear from her lately?”

“Got a letter from Piper last week saying she’s on her way back. Reckon that means she’ll be here in a couple days considering how the stage coach runs. And I aim to be here to greet her.”

“Is her mother better?”

“Dead.”

“Oh. How is she handling it?”

“Won’t know till she gets here. But from what I understand she’s doing alright. They didn’t have the best relationship.”

“Then why would she go all the way to Arkansas to see her?”

“Closure. Piper almost didn’t go at all but I talked her into it. Some things shouldn’t go unsaid. And I never met the woman but Piper sure had a lot to say about her.”

“You sure that’s wise?”

“Wisdom doesn’t count for much when you’re grieving. I don’t have the best relationship with my kin folk outside Fin ether. But I’d still greave them if came to it.”

Emmet spoke in a half hushed tone. As though he were sharing some secret. Sanchez thought about it and dismounted.

“What you doing?” Emmet asked.

“My back hurts.” Sanchez grumbled. “I’m going to lie flat for a while.”

Emmet followed the dismount and sat down next to Sanchez. They sat in silence for a spell before Emmet broke it.

“If the Campbell’s start shooting I want you to take Fin and run. Fight back if you can but if the odds look bad, your priority is to get yourself and Fin out of there.”

Sanchez sighed and looked up at Emmet. “You know, I don’t fear death ether. But out of love for my family I still try to avoid it.”

The look in Emmets eye told him not to finish that sentence. It wasn’t a warning look. More just distant. The man was a master at selective hearing.

When Fin returned with his change in fire power he brought with him little Hank and Beaumont riding a mule drawn wagon full of shovels, mallets, spools of barbed wire and other fence mending supplies.

Emmet and Sanchez re mounted and the three rode off as the two hired hands began their labour.

They rode at a fast trot through a mile and a half of black land prairie till they hit the wire road leading east to Dallas.

The cross timbers flanking them to the left gave Emmet pause. The post oaks and black hawk groves would proved ample cover for an ambush. He eyed the tree line almost as frequently as he did the road. The groundswells also had a likelihood of concealing bushwhackers so he would cast an occasional glance in their direction as well.

“So there being only 3 of us, what are we gonna do when we make it to the Campbells spread?” Fin asked.

“First thing we’re gonna do is talk to the sheriff in Dallas.” Emmet said. “You can’t do all the mediating yourself little brother. Much as I’m sure you’d try.”

Fin smiled and tried not to sigh his relief. “Glad you’re seeing some sense in all this.”

“Just how dumb you think I am?!” Emmet laughed. “Campbell’s got at least 6 men of fighting age in their brood and that ain’t even counting in-laws and hired hands. They been re branding our cattle for nearly a year, made multiple threats on our lives and even tried to follow through on it with you and that friend of yours in Fort Worth.”

“Yeah…” Fin muttered. “I’m just glad Kelly’s alright.”

Sanchez gave Emmet a sideways look. Emmet returned one as though to say “don’t ask”. Fin seemed lighter somehow just after saying his friend’s name. Emmet and Sanchez both being happily married men could relate though couldn’t help but question Fin’s taste.

“I’ll be glad when this is finally all over.” Fin continued.

“We all will.”

I don’t have a title yet but the story is fleshed out in my head. Thought I’d try posting here for some feedback. This is chapter one.

Progressive western Chapter 1 (Working title)

This wasn’t the first time Emmet Hawthorn woke up screaming. It wasn’t even the first time this month. Wasn’t the first time muscle memory followed suit ether.

Having his army Remington drawn, cocked and leveled at the nearest sound or motion in the corner of his eye came naturally to him with the sensation of falling back into his body. A desperate attempt to find his madness and kill it dead as the men at its source.

Phineas “Fin” Hawthorn stood motionless at the hey loft entrance of the stable. About 20ft from Emmets bed of canvas and hey in the lofts corner. One hand raised and the other gripping the last rung of a wooden ladder, he starred down the barrel of Emmets revolver. But it wasn’t fear in his eyes. It was exasperation.

“Dreaming of Bushwhackers again?” Fin asked.

Heart still racing Emmet blinked and took a sharp breath in, completing his anchoring to the present, before lowering his Remington. Fin dropped his hands and completed his ascent up the barn latter.

“Wanna talk about it?” Fin asked.

Emmet thought for a moment then shook his head no. And tried not to take offence at Fin’s relived expression.

“Good cuz we got shit to do.” Fin continued. “Get your bearings, get dressed and mount up. We need you at the south east end of the property.”

“What’s happened?” Emmet asked, sensing Fins concern.

“Bring your Winchester.”

With that Fin hoped down the barn latter and slammed the door behind him leaving Emmet alone with his jumbled thoughts.

One moment he was a defending the garrison at Glasgow Missouri, trading bullets and blood with ol’ paps rebel cavalry. Scrambling with the other union soldiers of the town to find a horse and ride like hell before the confederates overwhelmed their position. And the next he was waking up on an old bedroll, on a pile of hay in North Texas more than a decade later.

Emmet peered out of a ventilation hatch to check on the usual activity in ranch work. Cattle being roped and branded. Horses being saddled and shod. The greater part of the Hawthorns herd ambled about the vast green pastures of their property. Kicking up clouds of dust and sending up a chorus of mooing and huffs. Emmet wondered when it was that he’d gotten used to having all that noise in the back of his perception.

Fred, the ranches head cook, was hard at work with the others preparing the morning meal of beans, bacon, cornbread and cold beef from the night before.

Sanchez, one of the ranch hands, weaving his hemp lariat under the shade of an Osage orange tree.

Fin, astride a coal black charger and leading a saddled paint, stared up at Emmet impatiently. His bright red beard blazed like fire in the morning sun. “Let’s go!”

Emmet gave him a nod and a wave. Emmet was accustomed to sleeping in his clothes as an old habit as well as keeping arms like his Remington in easy reach. His spurs were already fastened to his boots so all he need do was slide them on, grab his black Stetson hat and buckle his gunbelt. He swept his ear length auburn hair back under his hat and ran a straight razor over the fuzz on his throat. It had been a consternation to him, growing up with Fin, that he could grow a beard long and full while Emmet’s whiskers seemed to begin and end at his neck.

He contemplated taking a pull from the whiskey bottle he kept beside his bedding to steady his nerve but decided against it. He’d gotten by without it in years past and hoped to gain back that same resolve.

Emmet pulled a key from his waistcoat pocket and opened a large wooden chest sitting nearby. In it was stored his brand new 1873 Winchester rifle with fixed cloth sling cleaned and loaded from the night before as well as boxes of 44 calibre bullets, emmets gun oil and cleaning kit, his old Union uniform jacket with the yellow seargent stripes and a few pairs of socks and drawers at the bottom. Slinging the Winchester across his back, Emmet descended the ladder from the loft and made his way outside.

He mounted the paint gelding as Fin handed him the reigns.

“Took you long enough” Fin grumbled.

“Gotta be thorough if we’re going after fence cutters” Emmet moved the paint to a trot. “Especially if they’re Campbell riders.”

Fin followed along side. “We don’t know it was the Campbells.”

“Who else would it be?” Emmet scoffed.

“We signed that peace treaty. In front of the judge and the sheriff.” Fin replied.

“There weren’t nothing legally binding about that so called treaty. Just you, me and old man Campbell signing our names to a piece of paper.”

“The old man gave us his word…”

“Once again little brother you put a dangerous amount of faith in your fellow man.” Emmet signed.

After coming upon the east end of the property where the damage had been done Emmet dismounted and scanned the scene. All three lengths of barbed wire was cut on each side of a fence post which had been ripped clean from the ground.

Big Hank sat mounted on a dunn mustang nearby. Silent with eyes scanning. His days in the USCT likely having conditioned him for guard duty.

“You’re relieved.” Emmet told him.

Big Hank nodded and rode off at a walk.

Fin rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I told them to put off fixing the damage till you took a look at it.”

Emmet knelt down to examine the fence post. It was still intact but with a large ring imprinted around the centre. Sign that a rope bigger than a lariat was used to pull it free.

“Thought we posted a guard.” Emmet said.

“There should have been one.” Fin replied. “Daisy should have last nights guard list. Helps us narrow down whose dumb ass gets fired.”

Emmet scanned the ground leading out between the property line and the chaparral. Hoof prints made a clear trail to a fixed point in the brush. Though there were too many tracks to make out anything distinctive. He used the stock of his Winchester to lift and examine the severed barbed wire. He held it up to Fin.

“See that? Blood. Looks like the fence cut one of them back.”

“That’s what happens when you handle barbed wire without proper gloves.” Fin replied.

“Safe bet whoever cut it didn’t know that at the time. See how the ends of the wire is all jagged and frayed? Reckon they used a hack saw to cut it.”

“So they had no idea what they were doing?” Fin scoffed.

“Not when it comes to barbed wire anyway. Reckon they made off with any of the herd?”

“Not likely. Whoever was on watch would have caught them for sure. Some might have got out after the fence was cut though. Little Hank and Buford are doing a count. Just in case.”

“Well whoever was on watch let the fence get cut so I wouldn’t be too sure.” Emmet grumbled. “Still the herd looked pretty healthy from up in the loft so if the fence cutters did make off with any it likely wasn’t their main goal.”

“What do you think was the main goal?”

Emmet stood up slinging his Winchester back across his back. “I reckon we’re looking at it. But I’d still like to follow that trail they made into the brush a ways. Might come up with something. Maybe not. Ether way it would make me feel better.”

“Alright. Just gotta get some things in order and I’ll ride with you. Daisy can run things while we’re gone.”

Emmet shot Fin a cautious look. “You and I both know that’s a bad idea.”

“It was you that hired her on!” Fin protested. “Besides she’s done more to keep this place afloat than you and me combined.”

“The men won’t listen to her. Not as a boss.”

“They know she speaks for us. And we won’t be gone that long anyway.”

“It will at least take up the greater part of the day. Maybe more.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Fine…” Emmet sighed. “Reckon the ranch can spare Sanchez?”

“The border bandit? Why we need him?”

“I trust him. He wouldn’t shrink if shots fly.”

“I ain’t looking for shots to fly Emmet! Besides I bet he can’t even shoot no more with that milky eye of his!”

“Tell that to that deputy in Corsicana, those bounty hunters outside Fort Worth, and that drunk Chickasaw at Colbert’s ferry. We don’t know what we’re getting into. Whoever cut our fence most likely means us harm and they’ve already taken hardship to do it. Another gun on our side can only be helpful.”

Now it was Fins turn to show his exasperation. “You’re gonna bring him whether I like it or not so go ahead. I’ll just tag along as the sole voice of reason.”

“Great. Go see Fred about provisions and let Daisy know she’s got the run of the place. I’ll grab Sanchez and we’ll meet back here.”

Fin gave a sarcastically bad salute and a resentful “yes sir”. Emmet rolled his eyes and turned his paint gelding back towards the ranch. His paint chewed at the reigns and nipped at him when he tried to pull them away. He rode up on the Osage orange tree Sanchez was using for shade.

Faded hombre hat pulled down over his eyes, Miguel Esteban Aurelio Sanchez was fixed on the hand weaving of his new lariat. The last one having worn out after over a decade of hard use. He worked much through the feeling of the weave rather than the sight of the rope. Being blind in one eye made it necessary to rely on touch and muscle memory. Which is why it irritated him that this Nínio Soldado on a half feral mustang was blocking his light.

“You hear someone cut our fence?” Emmet asked.

“Sí.” Sanchez replied. “Your brother wouldn’t let anybody fix it till you got to inspect it. Don’t know why. Any fool could tell you it was the Campbells.”

Emmet let out a sigh. “Fin’s an optimist. He means well but it can be pretty irritating sometimes.”

“Times like now?”

Sanchez tilted his hat upward to get a better look at his employer. Even now on this hard scrabble ranching enterprise Emmet Hawthorn had an almost regal bearing. He sat erect in his mother Hubbard saddle with a matching black hat and waistcoat. Clean shaven, collared shirt and custom tailored riding boots. The bone handle of Emmets army Remington protruding from his hip in a cross draw similar to how the knights of old would draw a sword. It was amazing to Sanchez that the Hawthorns, Emmet in particular, didn’t have more enemies than just the Campbell clan by the way he peacocked about.

“My brother and I are following the fence cutters trail. I want you along with us.”

“Do I get hazard pay?” Sanchez laughed.

“No, you get to keep getting paid to sit on your ass all day knitting with rope.”

“Is very good rope.”

“Best in St Luis. You’re welcome by the way.”

“Sí. Gracias. It is nice working for a patron who give more than a passing thought the needs of their peons.”

“Granted I never been further south than Austin but from what I understand, Mexican peons don’t carry guns and actually WORK for their food and lodging.”

Sanchez waved his lariat. “What you call this, huh?”

“A low priority. We need you with us.”

Sanchez rose slowly to his feet. Gradually enough to drive home his point. “I’m going to saddle my horse, pack my things and say goodbye to my wife and children.”

“Meet us by the tear in the fence.” Emmet replied. “Tell your wife we’ll try to make it back before dinner.”

As Sanchez trudged away Emmet dismounted his horse and took his place under the Osage tree. Laying his Winchester down across his lap. He figured he had a little time before Fin was ready to depart.

Fiddling through his the pockets of his waistcoat Emmet produced a half smoked twirly and lit the blunt with a lucifer. As he smoked he produced a tintype from his other pocket and gazed at the face within.

Piper Beckwith was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Even through the blurred colourless image Emmet could lose himself in the soulful eyes gazing back at him from the sepia tint. Almost feel the sensation of running his fingers through her wavy black hair, feel her breath on his cheek and her warmth as he held her close. He tried to shut out the sounds of the world around him so he could recall her soft voice as she told Emmet she loved him.

“Miss your wife do ya?” Little Hank said.

Emmet turned to look the scrawny kid in the eye. He hadn’t heard him ride up which was likely a sign it was time to stop smoking. Little Hank stood at about 5 ft 5 inches in hight and weight approximately 130 pounds. His beard was perhaps the only one on the ranch more patchy than Emmets though little Hank hadn’t the wisdom to shave it.

“Always.” Emmet shrugged off his tender moment.

“Where’d she go off to again?”

“Her mother’s house over in Arkansas. Apparently she’s sick and needed Piper to help take care of her.”

Little Hank dismounted and crouched down to meet Emmet at eye level. “Get a chance to look at the fence yet? Fin won’t let us fix it till you do.”

Emmet raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you and Beaumont supposed to be counting up the herd?”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. There was over 700 to start with and it looks like there’s about that many still. How the hell are 2 people supposed to keep a count that high?”

“Fair enough.” Emmet shrugged. “Yeah I looked at it. Tell the other boys to go ahead and mend it. Spare wire and gloves are in the second shed from my house.”

“Yeah I remember.” Little Hank grumbled. “Just rots me that we gotta put all that wire up again.”

“There are worse hardships than tedium little Hank.” Emmet replied.

“Yeah like always being called little.” Little Hank grumbled. “Why can’t y’all call me curly Hank cuz of my hair. Or white Hank cuz the other fellah ain’t?”

“Because you’re 19 and big Hank doesn’t like being called negro Hank. Now go do your job and quit whining for no damn reason.”

Emmet put out his twirly on a nearby rock and stood up as little Hank vaulted into the saddle and cantered his horse off. He took a final look at his wedding photo before tucking it back into his pocket. It was the only time he’d ever seen Piper wear her hair up. It was the only time he’d ever lathered his own hair and moustache in wax to keep their shape. They both looked into the camera, Piper more at ease with it than Emmet. They had to shoot from the knees up because Emmet was still wearing his dusty work boots. They had to take the photo 3 times because Emmet kept jumping at the bang and flash. They had to go to all the way in Marshal for their photo because none of the photographers in Dallas, Forth Worth or Sherman were willing to record them as a married couple.

Emmet remounted the paint and made his way back to the tear in the fence. He needed to get his head on straight. Fence cutters weren’t known to run when confronted. Like cattle rustling, fence cutting was a serious offence on the frontier that would likely end in a hanging. Most knew that and would be almost guaranteed to fight if cornered. Emmet just wished Fin understood that too.

Fin for his part feared Emmet was going out of his way to start up the feud all over again. He’d already survived an attempt on his life by 2 members of the Campbell brood in the streets of Dallas. Broad daylight in the presence of at least a dozen on lookers. One of whom was the lady on his arm. Only for the Sheriff to let them off with a fine when one claimed that his pistol went off “on accident”. It took all Fins nerve to sit down and talk with old man Campbell about leaving each other alone and all his powers of persuasion to get Emmet to join him. Fin was just starting to feel safe again. And now this…

Fin dismounted his black charger and led him past his cabin and over to Daisy’s. He knocked and doffed his hat to the little girl who answered.

“Moss out working the cattle.” She said.

“Thank you Cathy I know it.” Fin replied. “I’m here to see your momma.”

No sooner had Fin got out the words than Daisy appeared behind her daughter. She wore a homespun dress with her curly hair done up in a hand woven turban. She put a gentle hand on the child’s shoulder.

“Run along back inside Cathy. Grownups need to talk.”

“Okay mama.”

No sooner had the girl gone out of ear shot than Daisy’s demeanour changed from one of a doting mother to a stern advisor. Eye narrowed. Brow furrowed. She eyed Fin incredulously.

“This about the cut fence?” She asked.

“How much you know about it?” Fin replied.

“That you’s raising holy hell over it.”

“Well it’s a big deal ain’t it? Somebody’s targeting us for something.”

“Mister Hawthorn, white folks been targeting me and folks like me for centuries for something. A broken fence ain’t what I’d call a big deal.”

“Not unless stock goes missing.” Fin replied.

“Which according to Moss it ain’t. Not enough to notice anyhow.”

“Not this time. Thank god. As you know it’s almost driving season. Most cattle ‘round these parts already branded. Bad time to go hunting mavericks.”

“Chances of replacing lost stock this close to spring are slim to none.”

“Exactly.” Fin scratches his beard. “My brother and I are taking Sanchez to track down whoever done it.”

“You sure that’s wise just the 3 of you?” Daisy asked.

“No but we’re doing it.” Fin signed. “You got the run of things while we’re gone.”

“Alright. I’ll let my husband know. He can spread the word over lunch. You might wanna see him about provisions before y’all leave. No sense getting you selves killed on empty stomachs.”

“Emmet said we should be back before sunset. But I reckon lunch is a good idea. Fred got anything ready?”

“Bacon and corn jacks.”

“Hell of a last meal. Still, better than nothing. You know the drill. Let the cattle graze, check all the horses and you already know what to do about any deficiencies in supplies.”

“Yup. Go on now. And take care. You and Emmet both.”

Fin entered his own cabin next to equip himself for the journey ahead.

He filled a bandoleer full of 45-70 cartridges and took up his old sharps rifle and breached it. It was bit dusty but at least there was no rust corrosion. Checked the sights, the loading lever, the firing hammer. It had been a while since he’d had cause to use it. And even then it was only for hunting.

Fin never thought there’d be a chance of this “feud” type conflict after building the ranch. Was a peaceful life really too much to ask for? He buckled on his pistol belt and checked himself over in the mirror.

Tall and barrel chested in drab clothes. Curly red hair pouring out from under his plains boss hat like a volcanic eruption with a collar length beard to match, phinius Hawthorn looked more at home on a Viking ship than a cattle ranch. In a place where the average man was 5 ft 7 and about 150 pounds, Fin stood at 6 ft 3 and weighed well over 200. He sported a scar just above his left eye that pulled on his face whenever he tried to smile or open his mouth too wide. That and the years he’d spent working outdoors with his pale complexion made him look closer to 36 than 26. He’d been told more than once that he looked like a dangerous man. Which Fin supposed was why he seldomly found himself in any real trouble with actual dangerous men. But those who knew him knew of his better nature. And Fin wished more than anything it could just stay that way.

A complete opposite to his brother Emmet who despite being three years older than Fin somehow looked about ten years younger. And for a man nearing 30 years on this earth with conventional good looks and a loving wife seemed oddly eager to leave it all behind in a coffin.

Emmet would tell Fin that people killing each other was just the natural state of things and that it was better to accept it than to fret over the how’s and whys. But that type of thinking scared Fin. He couldn’t understand how anybody could find joy in a world of kill or be killed. Which went a long way to explain why Emmet didn’t.

Fins next stop was Fred’s cook tent. He usually served breakfast around this time and it irked Fin that he couldn’t stay long enough to sit down with the others for it. The smell of bacon and flapjacks was intoxicating.

There was a blood bay mare ground tied the canvas structure. It wore an old saddle with faded dry leather coverings and what appeared to be a railroad spike for a saddle horn. It sported a rifle scabbard with no rifle in it.

Lifting the flap Fin spotted Fred speaking with one of the ranch hands. The man wore a sun bleached hombre hat with his faded clothing and had an old yellow boy Winchester rifle slung across his back. Fred packed 3 ginny sacks with cans of beans, fruits and sardines and fresh vegetables and handed them to the ranch hand.

“Carrots are for the horses.” Fred told him.

“Gracias.” Sanchez replied.

“And you be sure and share them now.” Fred pushed. “Don’t hog them all for that thoroughbred you ride.”

As Sanchez turned around to leave both he and Fred saw Fin standing awkwardly at the tent door. The ginger bearded teddy bear adjusted his posture and hooked his thumbs into his pistol belt. Sanchez found the display of false bravado rather amusing and had to keep himself from smirking. Fred broke the silence.

“Mister Hawthorn! Sanchez here was just telling me about the foxhunt y’all about to go on. Got provisions all packed up for you.”

“Thank you Fred.” Fin nodded. “I left Daisy in charge while we’re gone. Hope that’s all right with you.”

“My wife knows her ledgers. This place in good hands.”

Sanchez headed towards the door. Fin followed him out.

“You coming with us then?” He asked.

“Seems so.” Sanchez replied.

“Reckon it takes a criminal to catch one.”

“You should ask Emmet about that. I’m just another Vaquero.”

“A Vaquero wanted in 4 counties.”

“5 counties. And 1 Mexican Barrío.”

“That something you normally brag on?”

“Only to those who won’t hold it against me.”

With that Sanchez slid his Winchester rifle into the saddle scabbard, unwound the reins and mounted his thoroughbred charger. He’d hoped to run into the other Hawthorn brother before this one talked his only good ear off but Sanchez barely had the chance to turn his horse around before Fin was remounted and on his tail jabbering.

“If Emmet wants to bring you along that means there’s gonna be trouble. As much as told me so himself.”

“What makes you say that?” Sanchez asked with a level of calmness bordering on condescension.

“You’re the only hand we got with a violent history. Hell, I saw you kill a man the first day I met you.”

“That was a justified shooting and you know it.”

“I’m not sure I know a damn thing about it.”

“Well you should considering your brother shot the other one.”

“Jesus don’t remind me. I still think on that day sometimes.”

“Clearly not enough if you still think it could have been avoided.”

They made it back to the tear in the fence where Emmet was waiting. Impatient look on his face.

“What you two bickering about?”

Sanchez cast Fin a side eyed glare. “Tell him those bendehos attacked us first.”

“Which ones?”

“The Bounty hunters trailing me outside Fort Worth last year!”

Emmet blinked in confusion. “Well Fin should know. He was there.”

Sanchez widened his eyes at fin and gestured an open hand to Emmet.

“What’s this got to do with our fence cutters?” Emmet asked.

“Nothing.” Fin mumbled.

Emmet gestured to the rifle in Fin’s scabbard. “You sure a Sharps is the best choice? Won’t serve us as well as a lever gun if things go south with the old man.”

Fin looked down at the sharps buttstock to the right of his saddle horn. It still impressed him how Emmet could identify a firearm just by looking at a small part of it.

“You used a sharps rifle in the war didn’t you? In Missouri?”

”I carried a carbine. Lighter. Quicker and easier to pull and aim. And back then the crackers could only shoot back at you once for the most part. And believe me, you don’t wanna be in that position. Now go get your Spencer rifle. Seven mid rage shots is a hell of a lot better than one long range one where we’re going.”

Fin knew better than to argue. As much as he may have wanted to. Emmet was usually right about these things. He just didn’t like to be treated like a kid in front of other people. Especially the ones he didn’t trust.

“Be right back.” He sighed.

As Fin rode back to his cabin to rearm Emmet turned to Sanchez.

“This ain’t gonna work if you two can’t get along.”

“Tell him that.” Sanchez scoffed.

“I’m telling you first. I know you don’t like anybody outside your home and hearth but it rubs Fin the wrong way. He thinks it makes you untrustworthy.”

“How is this my problem?”

“Cuz he’s your boss as much as I am and I trust you to defend our interests. And I can’t be alone in that. You and I both know you don’t have to particularly like a man to trust him but Fin ain’t figured that out yet. So play nice with him till he does.”

Sanchez sighed his acknowledgement.

“How’s your family?” Emmet asked.

“Scared I won’t come home. How’s your wife? Hear from her lately?”

“Got a letter from Piper last week saying she’s on her way back. Reckon that means she’ll be here in a couple days considering how the stage coach runs. And I aim to be here to greet her.”

“Is her mother better?”

“Dead.”

“Oh. How is she handling it?”

“Won’t know till she gets here. But from what I understand she’s doing alright. They didn’t have the best relationship.”

“Then why would she go all the way to Arkansas to see her?”

“Closure. Piper almost didn’t go at all but I talked her into it. Some things shouldn’t go unsaid. And I never met the woman but Piper sure had a lot to say about her.”

“You sure that’s wise?”

“Wisdom doesn’t count for much when you’re grieving. I don’t have the best relationship with my kin folk outside Fin ether. But I’d still greave them if came to it.”

Emmet spoke in a half hushed tone. As though he were sharing some secret. Sanchez thought about it and dismounted.

“What you doing?” Emmet asked.

“My back hurts.” Sanchez grumbled. “I’m going to lie flat for a while.”

Emmet followed the dismount and sat down next to Sanchez. They sat in silence for a spell before Emmet broke it.

“If the Campbell’s start shooting I want you to take Fin and run. Fight back if you can but if the odds look bad, your priority is to get yourself and Fin out of there.”

Sanchez sighed and looked up at Emmet. “You know, I don’t fear death ether. But out of love for my family I still try to avoid it.”

The look in Emmets eye told him not to finish that sentence. It wasn’t a warning look. More just distant. The man was a master at selective hearing.

When Fin returned with his change in fire power he brought with him little Hank and Beaumont riding a mule drawn wagon full of shovels, mallets, spools of barbed wire and other fence mending supplies.

Emmet and Sanchez re mounted and the three rode off as the two hired hands began their labour.

They rode at a fast trot through a mile and a half of black land prairie till they hit the wire road leading east to Dallas.

The cross timbers flanking them to the left gave Emmet pause. The post oaks and black hawk groves would proved ample cover for an ambush. He eyed the tree line almost as frequently as he did the road. The groundswells also had a likelihood of concealing bushwhackers so he would cast an occasional glance in their direction as well.

“So there being only 3 of us, what are we gonna do when we make it to the Campbells spread?” Fin asked.

“First thing we’re gonna do is talk to the sheriff in Dallas.” Emmet said. “You can’t do all the mediating yourself little brother. Much as I’m sure you’d try.”

Fin smiled and tried not to sigh his relief. “Glad you’re seeing some sense in all this.”

“Just how dumb you think I am?!” Emmet laughed. “Campbell’s got at least 6 men of fighting age in their brood and that ain’t even counting in-laws and hired hands. They been re branding our cattle for nearly a year, made multiple threats on our lives and even tried to follow through on it with you and that friend of yours in Fort Worth.”

“Yeah…” Fin muttered. “I’m just glad Kelly’s alright.”

Sanchez gave Emmet a sideways look. Emmet returned one as though to say “don’t ask”. Fin seemed lighter somehow just after saying his friend’s name. Emmet and Sanchez both being happily married men could relate though couldn’t help but question Fin’s taste.

“I’ll be glad when this is finally all over.” Fin continued.

“We all will.”

Just wanted to tell someone who doesn’t know me. I’m so excited!

I live in Canada where starting March 17 of 2027 medically assisted passing will be made available on grounds of mental illness with depression being mentioned explicitly.

I’m walking on air right now guys! For the first time in over a decade I feel like I can breathe. Like a 50 pound weight has been lifted from my chest. I’m finally gonna be free.

I’ve struggled with depression and wanted to commit “soothe in side” since I was a kid. First attempt at 16 years old and the most recent was 2 years ago at age 27 with 3 more attempts in between.

Each time I’ve ether been talked down by loved ones or woke up on a stretcher. Still depressed only now having to console someone close to me who thinks they’re doing the right thing by “saving me”.

But now with MAID coming into law next year I can finally kiss it all goodbye! No more stress. No more mourning. No more rage. No more crying. Just sweet sweet nothingness. Just gotta stick it out another couple years. Looks like I’ll see 30 after all.

Maybe I’ll reincarnate. If so I’ll be sure to do things differently. Give myself a chance to make the next life count. Or maybe my Christian relatives are right and I’ll wake up in an eternal fire pit. I’d still take that over this life. But more likely it will just fade to black. Like falling asleep and never waking up again. Which would be ideal. I really hate existing.

Just in case it wasn’t clear I’m not advocating this as a solution for everyone. Some people can recover and beat depression. And everyone should try before resorting to this. I’m just done trying. And the thought of it all coming to an end feels a million times better than more therapy or another medication. At least to me.

Wishing you all the best! And if there is a god I’ll be sure to ask them what the hell is up with this world we live in.

My gf and I have been dating about a year. We’re both 30.

For context I’ve always been a late bloomer and didn’t end up loosing my virginity till I was 26. My gf on the other hand has been sexually active since she was in her teens.

Last night she told me when she told me when she was 18 she hooked up with a guy she worked with in a youth program. They were just friends until they both got high one day and ended up having sex. She broke things off with him shortly after.

What bothers me is how it reflects my own experiences or lack there of. Like I said I didn’t have my first time till I was 26. And before that point I was in a hard depressive spiral that lead to a pretty embarrassing phase of involuntary celibacy that lasted years and at lead to self loathing, self harm and social isolation.

The spell finally broke when I dropped out of uni and joined another countries military and gained some skills and self confidence in an actual war. Yeah… it took an actual war to get me out of my mom’s basement. (Which I’m now 1 missed pay check away from returning to btw).

So when my 30yo gf told me about the casual sex she had at 18 it brought me right back to some of the worst points in my life. I’ve seen and done things I still have nightmares about. Froze at night in the field. Starved and gone days without sleep in a devastated city. And hearing about a sexual encounter my partner had 12 years ago was about as bad a gut punch as having a flashback.

She told me that it later turned out the guy she slept with was gay and closeted. I think she thought it would make me feel better but it only made it worse.

If I’d been in that guys position at that age it would have saved me YEARS of crippling depression to THIS DAY. I never would have flown half way across the world to spend a year in war torn hell. Never would have had to do what I did. See what I saw. Live with the constant shame of not being good enough to keep my friends alive.

I would have had the confidence live like a normal person. To go out, hold a job, stay in uni, make friendships that weren’t built on trauma bonds.

An encounter like the one my gf gave another guy could have save my life and made me a better person if it had happened to me. But instead it happened to a guy mentally incapable appreciating it.

That was last night and I still can’t look her in the eye. I didn’t sleep. My heart is still racing. RJ is hitting me harder than shell shock guys!!! Wtf is wrong with me…