Devil Rising: The Heart of a Gunman. R. B. Conroy

motionless for several minutes, staring at the sky.

      A little concerned, Ed yelled at his new friend, “Try moving your arms Jon.”

      “Okay!” Jon lifted his arms up and down.

      “Your arms are okay,” Ed barked. “Now move your head from side to side and back and forth.”

      Jon’s head rocked back and forth.

      “Head seems okay,” Ed said. “Well, your arms are okay and you didn’t break your fool neck. Now try to get up on your legs,” Ed ordered, looking nervously at his pal.

      Jon’s big hand went up to Ed, beckoning for his assistance. Ed leaned down and grabbed hold; his horse pushed backwards as he pulled the muscular young man to his feet. Jon walked around gingerly, testing his legs. He was limping a little, but otherwise everything seemed okay.

      Ed shook his head. “I swear, there aren’t too many people who could come out of that alive. What the heck happened out there?

      “I was riding along in the middle of all of them buff, when all of a sudden my horse went out from under me and I went flying. Next thing I knew, I was on the back of a big bull holding on for dear life,” Jon explained, as he limped around holding his leg. Except for some soreness in his right leg, Jon appeared to be in pretty darn good shape.

      “Why’d your horse fall?”

      “I don’t know for sure, but I think she may have stepped in a prairie dog hole. By the way, how’s my horse doing? Is she alright?” Jon queried Ed as he dusted himself off.

      “Well I’ll be, you just about got killed and you’re worried about your darn horse,” Ed chuckled.

      “You’re darn tootin’, she’s a good one. Don’t want to see her get hurt.”

      “I checked her out on the way over here; she looked fine to me. A little scared, but fine,” Ed replied, reassuring his friend.

      “Good, glad to hear that.” Jon sounded relieved. “I guess we both learned a lesson today, Ed. Watch out for prairie dog holes!”

      “Guess so, Jon, but I learned another lesson.”

      “What’s that?”

      “Always let your partner go first.”

      Both men joined in a lively laugh on that one, but Ed could not help but be impressed with the toughness and resourcefulness of his good friend. This is one tough hombre, he thought. What he just did was amazing.

      Lesson one was in the bag now but there were more lessons to come. Jon thought back to another lesson the two young runners had to learn, and it was all about ammunition. Not the kind of ammo they were using but how much. He remembered a talk he had with Ed after their first day out hunting.

      Ed had just got back from the skinner and fur company, and Jon had a few questions about their first harvest.

      “Well, how’d we do Ed? Can I buy that ranch in Colorado now?” he joked as he looked at his partner’s long face.

      “Hardly. We got six hundred for the skins and our ammo cost seven hundred,” Ed said dejectedly.

      “What the heck’s going on?” Jon asked, a little shaken by the news. He and Ed had just been thinking about how many buffs they had to get to have the kind of payday they wanted; they never even thought about the cost of the ammo.

      “I talked to some of the other runners in camp and they said that our kill rate should be about four buffalo for every five shots.”

      “Hmmm.....what’s our rate Ed?”

      “It took us three hundred shells to kill two hundred buffalo; we got a long way to go, big partner.”

      “I guess so. You got any suggestions?” Jon was open to about anything at this point.

      “Yea, I think we should get ourselves a couple of .40-45 Remingtons. They’re more accurate, especially at over a hundred yards. And most of our shots are about two hundred or better. Also, we need to switch to English Powder; it’s cleaner and creates more energy.”

      “Let’s get at it, Ed. I didn’t come clear out here to lose money. Let’s get those guns and powder and see how we do partner.” Jon patted his good friend on the back. “We’re the best shots in camp. If we can’t do it, nobody can.”

      The next time out, the boys got a hundred buffalo with a hundred and fifteen shots. And it only got better from there. It wasn’t long before they had days where they only had two or three misses. They loved their new Remingtons and the English powder was giving them greater velocity and a clearer look at the buffs. The money started rolling in.

      Now that lesson number two was in the bag, Jon thought back to the third and final lesson the boys had to learn. And it was about something totally unexpected; something called a poison vial. One day Ed had taken their harvest over to the skinner in their large wagon. To his surprise, the skinner had offered him some unsolicited advice.

      “You boys got your poison vials yet? You’re gonna need ‘em,” the skinner shouted to Ed.

      “Poison vials, what the heck are you talking about?” Ed was a little confused by what the scruffy old skinner was saying.

      “You heard me right, I said poison vials. All you runners are having to go farther and farther from camp to find good herds. And there’s Injuns out there that would just love to do you in. And if they do, they’re going scalp ya, and cut your privates out, and generally chop your body all up. They believe that if they cut you up bad enough, you won’t go to the happy huntin’ grounds. And believe me, Youngin’, those Injuns don’t want no buffalo hunters goin’ to their happy huntin’ grounds. So you better take a vial of poison with you next time out. And if you happen to run into some Injuns and if they’re about to let you have it, just you take out your poison vial and drink it. The Injuns won’t scalp you or cut your privates out if you’re already dead.” The old skinner was kind of grinning as he looked up at the startled young runner.

      “Well, that’s good to know I guess,” Ed retorted, kind of shaken by the revelations from the skinner. “I guess I just don’t like hearing things like that.”

      “Nobody does, but that’s the way it is out here. This ain’t no Sunday picnic ‘round here, Young Feller,” the old skinner said emphatically.

      “I’ll talk it over with my partner,” Ed said quietly, still trying to comprehend everything the old man had just told him.

      That evening while he and Jon were sitting around the campfire, Ed decided that it would be a good time to bring up the ugly news he had received earlier in the day. Jon remembered the concerned look on Ed’s face as he explained to him in some detail the awful necessity of carrying a poison vial in case they were attacked by Indians.

      “Sounds like something we ought to do, don’t you agree, Jon?”

      “I reckon I do; there’s just one problem.”

      “What’s that?”

      “You better hustle around a get yourself one, ‘cause I already got mine. I like my privates the way they are, so I went and got me one the other day. I guess I plum forgot to tell ya.” Jon laughed as he raised his hands playfully to protect himself from what he knew would be the coming assault from his surprised companion.

      “You went and did what? You snake!” Ed shouted as he jumped over the campfire and dove on top of his big friend, the two youngsters rolled around on the ground kicking and fighting.

      “Why didn’t you tell me, you gizzard lovin saddle bum?” Ed screamed.

      “I would of, but I didn’t get one either. I’m just kidding. I was just spoofin’ you,” Jon shouted as his buddy kept on with the punishment. “I don’t have one! I really don’t!” Jon yelled as he tried desperately to rip loose from the wiry Ed.

      The