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Short Stories & Tall Tales
A Stranger in Branchwood
Mike Smith
Intro:
Anyone who's anyone in Branchwood know's the tale of lil' Ben Sutter. He was everone's favorite fool. All of the other children were quite cruel to lil' Ben. They'd hit and kick him. They'd even stone him with rocks. More than once Ben came home with dirty clothes and a busted lip. As far as anyone could tell, they picked on him 'cause of his weight. It went on for several years.
One day lil' Ben came home from school to find his father's corpse sat upright in his favorite chair. The man had a severe heart attack and died. By the time the coroner discovered the death, Ben Sutter had disappeared.
The townsfolk speculated that the boy, distraught with grief, wandered off and got lost in the woods. They figured he was probably eaten by wolves. The boy was never seen again. Folks soon forgot about the tragic affair.
......
It was cold and raining hard the night the mysterious stranger road into Branchwood. He tied his horse at the saloon and entered the establishment.
The place was nameless and wretched. The foul odor of alcohol, puke, blood, and sex hung heavy in the air. Despite being off key, the piano player made the best of an old creaky piano. Barely dressed women inhabited every corner of the joint. Loud conversation was struggling to top the horrid piano music.
The lone stranger, soaked from the torrential downpour that pounded the roof of the saloon, made his way to the bar. “Whiskey.” he ordered. The bartender presented the beverage and the mysterious man paid for the drink. The arrival of the stranger caught the attention of a nearby drunken patron.
“Say, don't I know you?” asked the drunk, slurring his words.
The loner looked up and replied, “No. Not really....but, I've got your horse.” Confused, the patron was taken aback by the statement. “I think I've got your horse. Don't I?”
“Damn right you got my (hic) horse.” said the confused man, not wanting to let the opportunity to acquire a steed pass him by. “Where is it?!”
“This way.” the loner replied as he polished off his whiskey. He rose from his stool and headed back out of the saloon. The drunk man followed him out.
Soon after, the revelers in the tavern were startled by an anguished scream that filled the night air as the rain was slacking off. “That sounded like ol' Jolson!” someone shouted. Several men went outside to investigate the disturbance. Fresh hoof prints in the mud led off into a nearby wooded area. They strained their eyes against the darkness trying to catch a glimpse of the horse.
Greenly, the town sheriff, approached. He was curios about the commotion. “What's goin' on out here?” he asked.
“Somethin' happened to ol' Jolson.” somebody replied.
Greenly looked back at his deputy and said, “Come on.” Then he looked back at what was quickly evolving into an angry mob and said sternly, “The rest of you stay here.” Regardless of the sheriff's instruction, a small group of men followed them into the woods anyway.
After walking for some time they came across the bloody and broken body of Jolson. It was strapped firmly to the base of a large oak tree. From the looks of him he had been nearly skinned alive as a result of being brutally dragged behind a horse through the thick and thorny brush of the wilderness. “Good lord!” gasped one of the men as they approached the corpse.
“Heavens!” exclaimed Greenly.”Looks like we got a murder case on our hands.” The group of men fell silent. Most of them began offering prayers for their departed friend's soul. The sheriff removed his hat, and once again examined the man's body. “Who could have done this?” he asked, with profound grief.
Upon returning to the saloon, Greenly decided to question the barkeep. “Did you notice anyone suspicious in the bar?” he asked.
“I did'nt see much.” he replied, sadly. “But there was a stranger here jus' before it happened.”
“Did you get a look at him?”
“Well, he had this danged ol' hat pulled down so far I couldn't really see his face.” said the barkeep, struggling to remember the details. “But ol' Jolson took a like'in to him. Seems he knews him from somewheres.”
“I see...” said Greenly. He rubbed his chin and processed the new information.
......
Steve Mueller kept to himself. He lived in a log cabin in the woods. He scarcely ever ventured out. One night there came a knock at his door. “Who is it?” he demanded. He received no reply. He rose and cracked the door open slightly. He was startled by a tall man on his doorstep. The stranger had a large hat pulled down over his face. He wore a long rawhide coat.
“My horse has been snake bitten and I'm mighty tired of walkin'.” said the tall man. “I wandered if you'd be kind enough to put me up for the night?”
“You got any money?” inquired Mueller.
“Why, certainly.” grinned the stranger as he produced a ten dollar bill from his coat pocket.
“A king's ransom!” exclaimed Mueller, excitedly. “Come on in. Make yerself at home.” The man stepped inside as he removed the large hat. His brown thinning hair was wavy and unkempt. His unshaven face was solemn and expressionless. “Soup's almost ready.” stated Mueller.
Soon the two men were having soup together. Mueller decided to strike up conversation. “So where you from, stranger?”
“Branchwood.” answered the man.
“Why...that's right here.” said Mueller in surprise. “I've never seen you around.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“What do you mean, stranger?”
“I mean I lived here 'bout twenty year ago.” said the man. “Whatever happened to a kid that used to live in these parts named Ben Sutter?”
“Lets see..” said Mueller, trying to remember. “Oh yeah! Little fat kid. Ha ha! Boy did we ever have fun with that wuss! Me and ol' Greenly, he's the sheriff now, we used to beat the plum tar outta that turd!”
As quick as lightening, the stranger drew his six-shooter and put a bullet right in Mueller's forehead, cutting the man's laughter short. Then, he reholstered his gun and calmly finished his soup. After he finished his meal, the stranger retraced his steps to where he had left his horse tethered in the woods.
The next day everyone had turned out for ol' Jolson's funeral. Sheriff Greenly said some moving words in memorial of his friend. Many people mourned the loss of this long-time citizen of Branchwood. After the funeral, Greenly headed home. He left his deputy to watch over the town. He was badly in need of some rest.
As he approached his homestead, he began to feel some ominous vibes. It seemed that something just didn't feel right to the sheriff. He entered through the front door of his house. He was immediately greeted by an unfamiliar voice. “Afternoon, sheriff.” said the low, raspy voice.
Greenly spun, pulling his iron, which the stranger effectively shot right out of his hand. The gun hit the wood floor of the living room with a hollow metallic thud. “What is it you want?!” demanded the sheriff, grasping his wounded hand.
“Reckoning.” replied the mysterious intruder.
“Are you the one that killed ol' Jolson?”
“Steve Mueller too.”
“Why in God's name would you do that?!”
“They had it comin', just like you.” he replied icily as he leveled his six-shooter at the sheriff.
Suddenly, the front door swung open. A chubby, teary-eyed boy of about ten ran into the house crying, “Dad!!”
“Billy!” exclaimed Greenly, momentarily forgetting about his current predicament. The boy's eye was bruised. His nose was bloody. His clothes were tattered and torn. “What happened, Billy?!”
“It was those Baker kids, dad.” whined Billy. “They pick on me 'cause I'm fat.”
“Do you want me to go have a talk with their folks?”
“No...you better not.” replied the boy, rubbing his elbow.
“Alright son...” said Greenly, refocusing his attention on his sinister visitor. “Go on to your room now and we'll get you cleaned up shortly.”
The tall stranger watched the boy head to his room. It seemed as if he was in some sort of shock. “That your boy?” he asked.
“He's all I got in this world...” sadly replied Greenly. “Bein' as how my wife died child birthin'.”
The loner stood up to his tall, formidable height. He re-holstered his gun and walked right out of the front door without saying another word. Sheriff Greenly followed and watched the mysterious stranger ride away and out of Branchwood. For the rest of his days, Sheriff Tom Greenly never understood why the boy let him live.
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