THE SAGA OF DEL AND DOBIE

SAGA OF DEL AND DOBIE

By

Richard A. Sukup

My oil painting “A Thousand Miles from Nowhere”, seems incomplete without the saga about a lone rider and his adventures in the Southwest. Look upon this painting and see as I do the drama unfold as I write this story's first chapter.

CHAPTER ONE

A THOUSAND MILES FROM NOWHERE

Traveling alone brings many pleasures if only for one’s self, yet endless days can bring want. Want for comfort, for a bath, a good shot of bourbon, for a woman’s touch-all together is all the better. Where was Betty Jane? My name is Del. I travel alone with Dobie.

Tonight was not the night for want. No sir, as my mind drew keen eyes into focus ahead. What was it? Shadows can play tricks with you but not your trusty steed. His vision is his primary detector of danger, eyes instantly changing their focus from near to far objects. His head was cocked, his ears were alert and his flightiness told of potential threat. A sudden chill brought the hairs on my neck to attention. An eerie distant sound crept into the deep arroyo, as the sun receded into a brooding red sky above.

Alone, the wilderness can be the opportunity for the four and the two-legged hunter. The comfort of cold steel riding in nearby leather is known only to those who carry. While riding, I always carry my revolver with an unloaded chamber under the lowered hammer as a safety precaution, knowing its lightening presence on my command. God made man, and somebody once said Colonel Samuel Colt made all men equal with his revolver invention. Uncle Hugh-Uvalde Texas Sheriff-taught me and Seldom how to shoot, and shoot a lot we did. Never would I have though those skills would lead my brother Seldom astray. Where was Seldom?

Dobie will give me all the warning I need as always, and we keep riding slowly. The desert is never without caution. A horse’s vision is tuned, just like my revolver, to notice predator-like motion in distance far greater than human eyes. Realizing that for millions of years, the horse has been the prey and survived says it all. With eyes on both sides, he can see almost all around. My soft gentle voice reassures him, as he quickly processes the eerie sound. He’s not threatened, but I just might be.

So I ease the big 45 out of its holster and gently cock the hammer rotating the cylinder with a 250 grain chunk of lead bullet at the ready. The wicked of the world declared open season on the vulnerable since time began, and in my travels alone, it often occurred to me that I might have to shoot a human being not even knowing his name-my God given right to defend myself from harm. Strife is part of life and we might encounter it anywhere.

This eerie, wailing sound. What is it? Floating like a ghost, a dark buoyant long-winged object suddenly and silently flew above us with a wail in the wilderness evening sky. The Nightjar-bird; mystery solved.

End of the line and a gentle tug of the reins, he leaped up a steep embankment onto the ‘ole Ore Mine Trail above, just below an imposing dark mountain bathed in a reddish grey hue of iron ore. What a sunset. That's where we'll head for next.

Perched on high, his painted splotched hide glowed an iridescent white, as the final rays of a blazing yellow ball shown upon us, quickly disappearing in the expanse of a southwestern sky. I marvel at the magnificence of colors filtered through particles of cooling desert moist air and dust. Distant tall mountains on the horizon provide stark contrast of orange and purplish hues. Far reaching lands to be traveled.

Its a long day in the saddle at the end of a long week, traveling under endless skies and fiery sunsets. There is no home waiting for us and tomorrow brings another adventure for Dobie and me. Tonight we both will welcome the warmth of a nearby campfire and the fading song of that Nightjar high above.

Questions unanswered. Who is it that pursues me by day, by night, and in dreams - a thousand miles from nowhere? My past haunts me for what I have done and left undone. Some pain must be endured to suppress a greater one. Grieving is the price we pay for lost love. Where was Betty Jane?

Suddenly his eyes were wide-open, nostrils widened, ears pointed off to the darkness. His wet mouth signaled a parasympathetic response-danger lurked somewhere out there. There was no time for fear to build up. My consciousness was upon the matter of the immediate. Now I realized all too well it couldn't have been just a bird. Could it be.....

(painting image and narrative are copyright © materials by owner-Richard A. Sukup)