Walk the Shadow Trail

In half an hour, the twelve forty-five from Lincoln and Points East would be pulling into the station.
Tying his buckskin to the hitching rail behind the depot, Will Brandt slid one hand across its flank as he limped around the animal to catch the reins of the second horse and secure them also.
He was a tall, blond man, posture still straight in spite of being past the bare edge of fifty, blue eyes appearing startlingly pale in a face tanned to a leathery sheen by the harsh Nebraska sun.
Taking a deep breath, he looked up Front Street.
Town was looking pretty good these days, he decided. Seemed to be prospering. From where he stood, he could see the Sheriff’s office, Painter’s Mercantile and General Emporium, run by the original owner's two sons, and a haberdashery shop, and next to it, the milliner’s.
Though they were out of his line of vision, he knew that the offices of the Wolf Creek Gazette, the Wells Fargo Bank, and Rosita’s Eatery--great place for an after-sermon breakfast on a Sunday!--as well as the Lucky Shamrock Saloon, which had replaced the old Wagon Wheel when that establishment had closed fifteen years before, lined the main thoroughfare, plus a dozen other buildings on side and back-streets.
Across the street and a few buildings down from the Shamrock, its rival, the Daisy Belle Bar, was already open for business, faint but beautiful music coming from its unlocked doorway. Something surprisingly classical--a Chopin waltz, if he wasn’t mistaken--rendered by Karl Neuschafer, a German immigrant and former music teacher, who’d discovered there was more money to be made in playing the piano in a Western saloon and dancehall than trying to drum musical knowledge into stubborn little minds.
Will sighed. Good man, Karl. From near Will’s old home in Germany. Sometimes, he’d stop by when his former countryman was taking a break and they’d share a drink and reminisce about the old Country, taking quietly in their native language to insure they never forgot it.
One of those new-fangled horseless carriages clattered by and he turned to look at it with barely concealed amusement. The motor sputtered and coughed and, with a backfire like the crack of a rifle shot, died.
The horse threw back its head and snorted, eyes rolling wildly, and Will put a hand on its muzzle, speaking to it quietly, soothing its fright.
“Shh. It’s all right, don’t let that infernal machine scare you! Quiet, liebling. Whoa, now.”
Cursing silently, the driver reached under the seat, then slid out of the contraption, duster flapping in the breeze. He removed his goggles and stamped to the front of the automobile where he fitted the handle he carried into a slot in the front of the engine and began to turn it vigorously.
Behind him, hooves sounded.
Two of Will’s riders trotted their ponies down the street, nodding to their boss as they passed.
They saw the stalled auto and pulled their horses to a halt, conversing quietly a moment as they watched the driver struggle with the handle. Abruptly, one of them pulled off his hat and swatting his horse on the flank, making it leap forward. His companion copied his action and they thundered toward the car, circling it twice, hats waving, “Yee-haah! Get a horse!” then galloped away amid whistles and jeers, leaving the driver staring after them and working the lever angrily.
The horse looked after them and neighed a short, distressed cry, signaling its dislike of the sounds of civilization flowing around him. It missed the open plains and fresh air, free of the smells of people, smoke, and internal combustion engines.
It was a range horse, a blanket Appaloosa, coat blue roan with a raindrop spotting of color on its white flanks and rump. Will had bought the animal from an old trapper who had lived a while on the Oklahoma reservation of the Nez Perce, credited with originating the breed. He had been on his way to the Dakotas and had needed the money and Will knew the minute he saw the animal, that it was the one he wanted for Shadow, as a welcome home present for his son.
Making certain the reins were tied so the animal couldn’t pull free and make good its escape, he left both horses and went around the building, trying not to favor his bad leg.
Jehosaphat! The long ride to town had aggravated it, sudden needle-like stabs radiating from his thigh downward.
He paused a moment, waiting for the pain to pass.
He hoped the placidity of his own horse would quiet the appaloosa. It appeared to be temperamental--that was another reason the trapper was willing to part with it--and was probably a one-man horse, a challenge Shadow would accept with pleasure.
Stopping at the steps leading up to the depot platform, Will dug into his vest pocket and extracted a large gold watch. Opening the case, he held it at arm’s-length as he peered at the face before looking down the tracks.
Blasted eyesight wasn’t getting any better.
If he didn’t watch it, he’d be wearing spectacles pretty soon, and once that happened, it was only a hop, skip, and a stumble to rheumatism, and rocking chairs, and hot milk before he went to bed at night.
Confound it! Once a man started getting a little age on him, it was downhill all the way.
Well, he wasn’t ready to lie down and die, although at fifty-one, he sometimes did feel a mite stiff after riding all day, and once in a while, would like to stay in bed a little longer when the sun came up, and often, his bones did ache before a rainstorm. Still, he supposed that a man with a grown son, a college-educated son who was now on his way back home, a son he hadn’t seen in nearly six years, since he’d sent the boy Back East to school--well, a man like that ought to ease up a little, let the younger generation do some of the work.
Thoughtfully, he studied the watch.
Its gold case was scratched and worn, aged incised like wrinkles into the soft metal.
Just like me, he thought.
It had been his father’s watch, presented to Heinrich Emil Johann von Brandt by the Kaiser during a long-ago war. It was one of the few things he owned that reminded him of another life in another country. A life that seemed like nothing more than a dream now--a sad, but pleasant and very innocent dream.
The wind blew up the tracks, ruffling his hair.
At least, he still had all of it, thought there was now some white in its fairness.
He touched a hand to his collar. Did need a trimming, though.
He had two bits. Maybe after he met the train.
The hand strayed to the bristle on his chin.
Maybe a store-boughten shave, too.
There was a step behind him, and the jingle of spurs.
Will turned.
Andrew Jorgensen, the sheriff, stood there, still looking too young and fresh-faced to be a lawman, Will thought.
“’Morning, Will. Waiting for the twelve-forty-five?”
“Ja.” Even now, he still slid into German, language of the world he’d left behind, when he was worried, or excited.
“Heard Shadow’s going to be on it. Guess you’re looking forward to seeing the kid.”
“You better believe I am!” Will declared, and if anyone had ever doubted his love for his son, they were assured of it in that moment.
Andy sighed, looking down the track.
“Funny how things turned out, ain’t it, Will? Shadow being such a fine boy and all.” He turned back to face his friend. “You know, in spite of everything that happened, I can’t help but wish that Johnny and Summer could see him now.”
“Ja,” Will agreed, adding softly, “After all this time, I still miss that worthless half-breed.”
That was always the way he referred to Johnny Moon, that worthless half-breed. Ever since the day Johnny died, even since the day he and Will had faced-off in the Slash-C's front yard.
He forced his thoughts away from that, making himself think about Shadow and how the boy would react to the Appaloosa, and the changes he had made at the ranch.
Ranch wasn’t the only place that was different. Lots of changes throughout the whole country now.
There was talk they were thinking of stringing lines for that newfangled electricity so people in the boonies could have homes lighted with something other than kerosene lanterns, had even formed a company. the Cattlemen’s Rural Electric Cooperative. Always ready to try something new, Will had already signed up. Now he waited to see if and when it would happened.
‘Course, Shadow would probably already be accustomed to stuff like that, having lived Back East for six years. Will had heard they even had running water and indoor plumbing in some of the richer homes. Maybe he’d consider Wolf Creek a totally primitive place. Wouldn’t like it here. Might even look down on his old Pa and all the people he’d known when he was just a little bare-butted copper-skinned tad.
Maybe.
Shut up, Will. He’s your son, and he loves this place as much as you do,
no matter how long he’s been away. Why else would he have written all those letters while he was gone? Why would he be coming back?
Why, indeed?
Pull of the blood, maybe?
A return to the place where it had all began. Where his mother had died. Where his father--
The town had changed considerably since Shadow went away, was hardly like the little whistle-stop Will had known when he was young.
Gott! It seemed like a million years had passed since he had first set foot in this place.
Will fished a slightly bent hand-rolled cigarette out of his vest pocket, twisted the end and lit it with a wooden match struck against the depot step, and allowed his mind to wander back to a Spring day in eighteen and seventy-nine.