Title - Once, The Outsider

Author - Sue

Email - susieqla@yahoo.com

Rating - PG 13, Swearing

Summary - 'The Outsider' missing scenes, angst, humor, romance, set against the backdrop of the Old West of Montana in the mid 1800s.

Disclaimer - I don't own these characters.


Once, The Outsider
by Sue


I look into the eyes of an angel on my descent to hell. The angel stares into my eyes, into my soul. She can't be real; I'm not in my right mind. I'm delirious, have been for...don't know how long. Still don't know so much. The angel told me some things, but I don't remember-- can't remember much of anything. Can't breathe right. It feels like a boulder is sittin' on my chest, suffocatin' me, not lettin' me breathe deep. Every breath's shallow, more like wheezin'.

Can't feel my legs, but I'm burnin' up everywhere else... The angel can't save me from where I'm goin'. Dyin'...I'm dyin'. Death's callin' my name. Oh, God. "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny Gault!" It ain't my time; can't be. NO--GET AWAY FROM ME! LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!!

How'd this happen to me? I was the big winner at the monte table; couldn't play one hand wrong. The biggest winner that damn saloon ever had. Bought a round for everyone and a pair of new spurs 'fore I left that dusty one-horse town, headed for parts unknown.

Bushwhacked...bushwhacked--those thievin' bastards! Blood, so much blood--everywhere...their blood, mine, even my horse's. They shot the paint right out from under me. When she fell on me--broke my damn arm. If it wasn't for her corpse, I used for cover, I would have bought it on the spot. I shot all three of 'em stone-cold dead, serves 'em right! But one of the cusses put a bullet in me. My gut hurts like hell, like it's ripped to pieces.

The angel draws closer, and as I wheeze once more, her soft little hand comes to rest against the side of my face, cradling it. Feels like heaven. Her gentle touch convinces me she has the power to take me with her...where bein' safe's a sure thing, like breathin' easy breaths.

Her soft strokes...so soft, so soothing. She can save me, somehow I just know she can. My eyelids feel like lead. I close my eyes, hearin' her say with her angelic voice, "It's all right...all right...everything will be all right."

I believe her.



Part 2

These sheep will be the death of me! By Jude they will! I should have waited until Benjo came home from school to help me round up the willful creatures. But there are so many other things I had to do before he returned home, like the milking, for instance.

The outsider, leaning against the fence, smoking and watching the woolies run me ragged seemed to be enjoying my ordeal. If it weren't for his needing more time to mend, I would have asked him to help me. Where was that lazy dog when I needed him? I called and called, but could raise neither hide nor hair of Macduff.

I waved my arms at the woolies, they zigging abruptly in the direction I wanted them to go -- thankfully. Being quick enough, I headed off the stragglers. And thank God, they were back where they belonged. I hauled the last wooden slat into place, stepped back from the pen to heave a sigh of relief at my accomplishment and following a stiff sigh, I trudged back up the rise.

Mr. Gault kept scratching his scraggly neck, but stopped long enough to lend an evident observation. "It appears those sheep have got you running every which way over there."

Evident, and oh, so true, his evaluation was. He was amused; he probably laughed at my expense. I didn't blame him...me trying to do the work of a sheep dog. "Sometimes I think it would be easier if I moved the farm closer to them," I had said.

Following his slight chuckle, more scratching, until, with what had sounded like supplication he asked, "Would you mind helping me with something?"

He needed a shave and I agreed to give him one. What I did not expect, as I reflect now, here in the peaceful quiet of my warm kitchen at this late hour, was his boldness. He asked me why I wear my prayer cap, and when I explained the reason, he wasted no time telling me what he thought about the Plain and narrow way's for, "having a rule for just about everything."

Twirling one of the cap's ties around his finger, the outsider passed judgment: "Why would God, or any man breathing, want to cover up something so pretty?"

Shamelessly, he stared into my face which I knew had gone several shades red, the razor quivering in my hand. No man, most of all an outsider like Mr. Gault, has any right to speak such impropriety. Such familiarity is the right of a husband who likewise solely bears the right to enjoy seeing his wife's hair down. He, and he alone.

I ignored Mr. Gault and his impudence and took to the task at hand, careful to apply just the right amount of pressure for fear I would nick him and he would have had an excuse to say I did it on purpose.

I think he wanted to kiss me during my reassurances that he was not bleeding, although his nose did look crooked. Noah showed up, however. Noah was not pleased, realizing that I had undertaken to shave the outsider which is considered a wifely duty. He told Mr. Gault that he looked "fit" enough to be moving on before the ewes began dropping.

Without thinking, I hastened to correct my particular friend, a prideful thing to do, by adding, "He is hardly able to ride a horse." No, Noah appeared very displeased with me and my outspokenness, indeed. There is no mistaking what his critical eye conveyed.

I am glad it is now very late. I close my eyes and rock back in the rocker, listening to the soft sounds of night. Again, without thinking, I pass my fingers over my lips, imagining how Johnny's would feel, searing mine. I am fully aware that the temptor with a face that readily lends itself to enciting wayward thoughts about minding the flesh sleeps in my bed in the next room.

If Noah hadn't happened along, I might have indulged Johnny Gault. Might have...he is who he is, and I am who I am. Somehow, I blurr that, seeing how my heart overrules my mind. Where does kindness end and obeying one's desires, rationalizing them into acceptability, begin?

"Jeremiah chapter seventeen, verse nine...'The heart is more treacherous and is desperate. Who can know it?'" I softly recite. Silently, my mind whispers the answer. Only God can. I love my God and my family, my brothers and my sisters in the faith. The Plain and narrow way is my life; I know no other.

But now, Johnny Gault is a part of my life too. The music has embraced him; it is God speaking, I believe it to be. Is the creator of us all entreating me to rescue this soul for redemption? The outsider is a solitary man, a dangerous man, a man I cannot stop thinking about. He possesses a desperate heart crying out in the wilderness. Johnny is one of God's poor, lost creatures. Lost and seemingly abandoned, perhaps through no fault of his own. I believe there is much good in him.

How can I rebuff his plaintive cries? I must save this lost sheep. I have ceased tending only to his physical wounds. I want to heal far more because admitting that I care is the truth.


Part 3

I warned Woodrow, backed him up, pressed him hard against the gambling table, and told him he was looking to get himself dead. And next time I'd accommodate him. And I did! He didn't wait long for his 'next time.' Did he think I was joking about something as deadly serious as a draw? That I'd be that easy to get the jump on? I haven't earned my reputation by twiddling my thumbs. I'm one of the sharp shootingest gunslingers in just about all these parts. Maybe he never learned to read so he couldn't understand about me in print. Not only dumb, but a hellbent coward, to boot, like I said before! I didn't need eyes in the back of my head to see his partner slip his gun to him in the cleared out saloon's huge mirror.

Now he's dead; I had no choice. It was either him or me, and I wasn't planning on dying today, not if I could help it. But, more than a stupid man died today, a crazy notion did too. That look, one of revulsion and shock, on Rebecca's face said it all. We'll never have anthing together. How in hell could we? I'm everything her way of life denounces. What was I thinking? Deluding myself, more like, just fooling myself, like never before, daring to believe it could be her and me...somehow. But it's finished before it ever had a chance to begin. The lead I pumped into Woodrow put more to death than that fool. Who's the bigger fool, me or him?

If I have any sense, I'll mount up and won't look back. Forget all about what I promoised her. In her eyes, I'm a remorseless murderer, a ruthless killer, and maybe after so many endings like this, in mine too.

* * * * * *

I know it's late, and I've been riding around for hours, going nowhere. My new mount must think he's got a real lamebrain for a new owner. Deep down, I don't want to go though. I can't leave it like this, can't leave her without making it right, some way. 'Stead of riding off, the least I can do is say goodbye. I won't blame her for not wanting me around any more. Just maybe, though, she'll give me a chance to explain, and she'll say it's all right. I won't have to go before the time I promised to stay on. Aw, hell, it's worth a chance...she's the most understanding soul I've ever known, will ever know. That's what I'll do, I'll head back for her place, after another belt of this rotgut for courage. I know I don't belong here, but leaving without seeing her one, last time just doesn't feel right...

* * * * * *

"Johnny? Johnny?"

'Go away, Rebecca, just let me be, here in your covered wagon. I ain't fit for you to see...please, sweetheart, just leave me till morning. Go back into the house, and forget I'm here. Maybe by tomorrow I'll be able to face you...just maybe. I'm dirty, too dirty for you to be near tonight. Too dirty for even your purity to cleanse.'

"Johnny..."

'The earth angel with her lantern...trying so hard to save my soul. Am I worth saving, darlin'? Maybe...for you... Try again tomorrow, Angel, just leave me to the darkness tonight. Please. I'm beggin' you...'

I close my eyes after the rotgut burns its way down my tight throat; its bite like a rattler's. How my eyes water. I haven't drunk cheap hootch for so long since coming to be with these gentle folks, the two people in this world I care most about...Benjo and his beautiful mother...dear, sweet Rebecca. When I open my weary eyes again, the light is gone. She's gone back to the house. Like an old soft, blanket, deep darkness envelops me. Sleep is a long way off. It may never come before making my peace with the cherub I've come to love...

END PART 3