Artifact 28: Rusty's Turmoil

Rusty the lowly cowboy saw the US Army with something he'll never forget and it is really bothering him.

Artifact 28: Rusty’s Turmoil

 

Feeling very much alone, Rusty stood out in the dark just thinking.

 With his head cocked up and way back, he surveyed the salt-sprinkled night sky by slowly swiveling about in place in the Corona Ranch yard.  Well away from the squares of illumination thrown on the ground from the ranch house lights, his vision slowly adapted to the dark as more and more stars appeared before his wide-open eyes.

He followed the creamy swath of the Milky Way from one horizon to the other. He had to wonder at it all and suddenly his wonder bothered him innately. His drawing of the strange being for John had brought back the sick feeling he had felt when he spied the body carried on the army’s stretcher through the binoculars. Now that ache returned.

Where did those people or things come from? Up there�"somewhere? How many are there here? Is it an invasion?

 Rusty trembled. He dropped his gaze and shook his head hardly comprehending such an odd and impossible thought. He didn’t know what to think about those strange beings that the Army took away today, what they were and where they came from, but thinking it was an invasion was just plain silly. But then again…

He and Amos often mocked Tab when he brought up the tales he had read in “Outer Space Stories.” On pay days, Tab bought the small science fiction magazines from the “Five and Dime” store and then would read them by lantern light every night. He’d relate the stories of Flash Gordon and rockets to Mars where the space travelers encountered one-eyed monsters or little green men. Rusty and Amos would have a great many guffaw over Tab’s absurd tales. Several healthy doses of tequila made the occasion even more hilarious. Rusty wasn’t laughing any more.

Rusty shook his head with the recall. Is that what I saw out there? Beings from outer space? They aren’t little, green, or one-eyed�"or are they?

He thought about his drawn profile picture. For the first time in his life he felt so small and overwhelmingly unsure of his place in the world. He couldn’t recall ever having an experience that profoundly affected him so deep down like this, not even the deaths of his parents at an early age. Rusty wasn’t a very worldly person, just a lowly cowboy getting three hots and a cot plus twenty dollars a month spending money. He’d spent his entire life in this central region of New Mexico and the last twelve years not more than twenty miles from where he stood on this night. The day’s experience was so much to take and digest.

Rusty went over to the big oak near the bunkhouse to roll and smoke a cigarette. He pulled the crushed tobacco pouch out of his back pocket and a rolling paper from his breast pocket. A lantern still glowed low out on the bunkhouse stoop. 

Having done it hundreds of times under all kinds of conditions, Rusty didn’t need much light to spread the finely cut, aromatic tobacco onto the fine paper he partially rolled in his other hand held between his fingers like a watering trough. Rusty returned the foil-packed tobacco in his back pocket, the pack giving him pause, reminding him of the tin foil experiment he took part in with Mister Thompson. With two hands he held the little trough of tobacco and ran the paper’s edge along his tongue; he sealed up the paper by running the cigarette between two fingers. He nipped it between his lips.

Shifting his weight to one leg, he brought the other leg’s heel up off the ground and held it there. Rusty drew out a wooden match and flicked it along the arm of his spur. The flame flared up providing a flash that lit up the bunkhouse wall, the bottom of the oak branches, and threw out dancing shadows beyond. He quickly touched the flame to the cigarette and took a deep draw causing the cig’s ember to glow bright.

In a matter of habit in the name of fire safety, he flicked the match out with a flick of his wrist, dropped it, and with a heel ground it hard into the ground. Holding the first drawn smoke in his lungs for a welcome, comforting few seconds, he let it out with a prolonged slow sigh. He heard steps from within the bunkhouse stepping to the door.

            Amos walked out on the stoop with seemingly loud steps in the preceding silence of the night. Like a flying bug, Amos was attracted to Rusty’s glowing cigarette. He held up a cigarette. Rusty held his out and Amos lit his off with a deep draw.  

            “Thanks, Rust,” Amos said, spewing out his smoky breath from the side of his mouth. “How’s it goin’? A late night with the boss?” He pointed to the ranch house with his glowing cigarette. “Got some serious problems to sort out?”

            “Oh no, no problems to speak of,” Rusty said, and let his own stream of smoke slowly out before taking another pull on his cigarette. “Just a few things we had to discuss for tomorrow’s business�"you know how it goes.”

            “Sure thing. So. The branding went well enough, all finished off even though the boss helped.” He let out a little chuckle. Rusty saw a hint of Amos smiling in the dark.

            “So I heard, good job, you guys.” Rusty paused. “See? Ya’ don’t even need me around.”

            “Couldn’t stand doing all this work day in and day out without yer wit and wisdom,” Amos said. “The darn best Rowdy Ramrod ‘round, hands down.”

            “Don’t know about that. I jus’ like workin’ with you fellers and working for Mister Thompson.”

            “Yep, that’s true fer sure,” Amos said. They stood there silently a couple seconds.   “So what’s the deal with those Army guys? You said they were after some plane crash or something out there?” 

            “Yep, out past Well House Thirteen. Seems like they lost track of somethin’ or ‘nother before it came down.”

            “Ya’ know, when you went out there, that big plane went away and never came back…so is their, the army’s business all done out there? They pick all of that thing up?”

            Rusty felt Amos pressed for detailed information, but he didn’t want to let on too much. “Not sure, I think they’re comin’ back tomorrow,” he said before taking another deep draw. “Ya’know Amos, I need to get some shut eye, cause I got some early morning’ business with the boss.”

            “Got’cha. I’m jus’ goin’ finish my f*g off here,” Amos said, gesturing with his cigarette. 

  Rusty twisted his cigarette between his fingers and the glowing sparks drifted off toward the prairie winking out a few feet from the men. Rusty stood there watching where the sparks went out and then raised his gaze to the blackness that lay to the south. He shifted his look to the west. Amos studied Rusty wondering what his foreman might be thinking on so seriously.  

In reality, Rusty thought what happened out there US Army? What are you hiding because I know you are hiding whatever happened out there. Can we call you on it if we play our cards right with an expert of our own? We’ll all find out the truth tomorrow or we’ll all end up in prison.

He let out an amused huff that Amos caught. With that, Rusty flicked his thoroughly twisted butt out into the group of small scrub oaks along the side of the bunkhouse. Yeah, we’ll all find out…

            Rusty saw the small lantern inside shining through the front window with a whisper of a flame just bright enough to get around in the bunkhouse without breaking one’s neck. On second thought of going right inside, he paused and turned to the wash basin.

Grabbing the bucket, Rusty dumped some water into the basin on the stoop but instead he bent over, poured some water from the bucket over his head to let the water run and drip down over his ears and upper back. The water felt good as it flowed over his ears and trickled off his nose. He stood there letting the trickle slow and then twisted his head about whipping his long hair like a dog in the rain. Barely spotting the outline of the towel in the dim lighting, he picked it up and vigorously dried his hair. Taking off his wet shirt, he wiped his upper body with the damp towel. The cool breeze felt good on his damp skin, but he felt tired, dog tired. He could feel Amos still studying him.  

Going to the bunkhouse door, Rusty stepped in quietly and pulled the door shut. Thankfully, Tab was out, sound asleep loudly cutting zees. He sat on the edge of his bunk, pulled off his boots followed by his socks and pants. Lying down on the top sheet, Rusty thought about what he had seen during the day, then willed it out of his conscious thoughts by thinking about riding a round up, cutting steers. Amos came inside as quiet as a mouse.

“So tell me, Rust what’s up with you tonight?” Amos whispered in the dark giving Rusty a shock. “You got the bother on big time. What you see out there that got you all pestered, cuz’ I can tell it fretted you somethin’ deep and stuff don’t usually bother you.”

“Didn’t bother me so much like I already told you, Amos,” Rusty said followed by a feigned audible yawn. “Jus’ needing some shuteye. It’ll be jus’ another regular day tomorrow.”

 Rusty really did know better.