Cuckolded by the Cowboy

By

Annabel Bastione

 

Copyright © 2012 by Annabel Bastione

* * * * *

Revolver "Rev" Rapture collapsed to his knees and thanked the almighty god for his luck had finally returned to him.

The quaint looking cabin on the horizon looked inviting enough. Not only that, but the lit windows gave Rev a kindling of hope that its inhabitants might be hospitable enough to take him in for the night.

The wound on his arm bled like a river if he didn't apply pressure on it and it sure was hard trying to steer his horse when he was in such a sorry state.

Rev grit his teeth as he reached towards his grimy checkered shirt and ripped a strip of tattered cloth right off of it. It wasn't the best of remedies, but for now it would have to do. He hadn't tied a knot with one good hand, not in a long time, not since his own dad, the great cowboy out west taught him and made him practice.

"You gotta make sure each one of your limb can carry the rest." the great cowboy would say to Rev when he was but a wee lad. For when one was injured for whatever reason (and trust me, in these tumultuous times of rough living, getting injured was as normal as breathing), he had to be strong enough to endure till he received proper help.

Rev was that kind of strong person, both in mind and spirit. He constantly chased after his father's shadow; hoping to live up to his legacy as the greatest cowboy out on the plains. There was no way he was going to die from a mere lead invasion in his bicep.

The horse galloped along at a steady pace. It sensed that its rider couldn't take higher speeds. Rev was good with horses like that. Maybe he was reckless and always up for a good fight in the saloon of whichever backwater boom town he was in at the time, but Rev treated his horses and cattle with love and respect, and they in turn return Rev's kindness with their willing obedience.

Even with his right arm shot, the horse made at such a steady pace Rev was able to deftly tie a crude tourniquet with his dexterous fingers. He placed a hand on the horse's mane in thanks, making a mental note to give it an extra treat later if he could.

He looked up, watching the cabin come nearer and nearer the longer he sat on the horse. While the open plains made him an easy target for bandits, sniper, red Indians and the like, the plains also helped Rev easily look and find help, food and his lost cattle (whenever they wandered off first, of course). Living in this part of the world, the plains were a double-edged sword, holding the power to make or break young Rev. Rev was determined to make sure the plains only served to help his cause.

As he sat upon his horse, his mind wandered, trying not to let the dull throbbing pain in his arm fuck up his morale. He contemplated the events that happened prior and what a big clusterfuck it had been. The frightened neigh of the horses, the clash of steel and smell of gunpowder, all committed in the name of taking his herd.

Rev considered himself lucky having escaped with his life intact. So what if those bandits were in bed with his own trusted associates, conspiring to rob him of his thirty strong cattle? As long as he could still shoot, one day, they were all going to get their just desserts.

The horse stopped right at the gate of the cabin. Rusted chicken wire that formed the fencing glinted in the moonlight. Rev couldn't blame whoever set this menacing thing up. This was a rough part of the country after all. It was considerably old though and badly in need of some maintenance.

From cattle ranching to maintaining farm property, Rev had seen and done it all. Now, he wondered if he could help with the fence in return for the imminent help he was probably about to receive.

He quickly cast those thoughts out of his mind. What good will come from thinking how to help others when he still hadn't seen the people inside the cabin yet?

With some difficulty, Rev swung his left leg over the horse and got down from it. He tied the reins to the gate and began making his way towards the cabin's front door. It was still a couple of steps and the throbbing in Rev's head wasn't making this any easier.

Sure, he would have liked to ride all the way up, but frightening the people inside when they open the door to greet a mad man on his seemingly uncontrollable ride wasn't going to win him any friends.

His gait became unsteady and irregular. Fuck, he thought as he finally leant onto the front door for support. From the corner of his eye, he saw the rag tied round his right bicep soaked red in his own blood. Was the tourniquet ineffective? Why the hell was he still bleeding? The severity of his wound was probably worse than he thought.

With his remaining strength, Rev raised his one good hand and rapped lightly on the worn wooden door of the warm log cabin. He pressed his ear against the rough door panel, listening to the bright voices of conversation and laughter inside.

Rev knocked again, louder this time.