The Cowboy's Revenge

I liked to listen to the wind. It was something I did a lot. Against the howling of the wind, I could hear the cattle. I could tell where they were going, what they were doing. From the sound of their hooves on the grass, I knew if they were moving forward or sideways. The sound of their mooing told me their mood. Sometimes, I would listen to the wind and find myself in a trance.

I have always listened to the wind. As a child, my mother taught me to listen to the wind. She told me that the wind had a voice. It's a voice you can only hear with your soul, she said. She would tell me stories at night. About the time she had to deliver a calf in an early snowstorm. About her first love. About when she ran away to Denver, and how the wind brought her home.

My father, he didn't listen to the wind. He was too busy counting his money. He was a shrewd man, a hard man. A man who could smell a liar from a mile away. He could smell a bull that wasn't performing up to par. He could sniff out a coyote in the brush. He could find a coyote's den. He could track a deer for miles. But he couldn't hear the wind. He never told me any stories.

When I started working the ranch, I heard all the stories that my mother hadn't told me. I heard the wind talk to me. The wind whispered the stories of the other cowboys who came before me. I could hear them riding through the hills. I could hear them saying their prayers, lying down to sleep, getting up to ride. I could hear them laughing. I could hear them crying. I could hear their anger and happiness. Their passion and longing. And I wished I could tell them that I could hear them.

Then one day, Blizzard came. They came to my ranch, and they took away my livelihood. They left me with nothing but a broken-down truck and a beat-up horse. They said they were putting me out of business. That it was for the best. They purchased my ranch from my father. All the ranchers around us were selling their land, selling their cattle. Some of them were even selling their houses. Everyone thought it was great. With Blizzard in town, we could all move on. They were going to build a new town where our old ranches used to be. They were going to build a metropolis.

Except for me.

One day, I was sitting on the porch of my farmhouse. It was late at night, and the wind was blowing. It was quiet, like it is just before the storm. I could feel the tension in the air. Then, I heard a noise. It was like thunder, but it wasn't thunder. It was quieter than thunder. I walked over to the window and looked out. There was a truck driving up my driveway. I watched as it stopped in front of my house. I waited, listening to the wind.

Someone got out of the truck.

"Hello, Cole," I heard a voice say. Based on the tone of the voice I could tell that it was a man. He walked around to the back of the truck and opened the doors. He pulled out a long rifle and carried it into my house.

"I know you're in here, Cole," he said. "I've been watching you for a long time."

I sighed. "It's not polite to break into someone's house, Mister McCree."

"Oh, don't play coy, Cole," the man said. "We both know why I'm here."

I kept silent.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find you?" McCree asked. "Did you really think Blizzard could hide you from me? Did you really think I wouldn't track you down?"

"I'm nobody," I said. "I'm just a rancher. My ranch is gone. I'm nobody, so why are you here?"

"You're not nobody, Cole," McCree said. "You're somebody. You're the last cowboy. You're the last person who cares about this land. You're the last person who wants to keep this land free. You're the last person who believes in freedom, who believes in the American way of life. You're the last person who believes in God. You're the last person who believes in America. And I'm the last person who believes in you. We're the last people who believe in this country."

"The land has been bought. The people have been bought. Even the government has been bought. The only thing left for me to do is to die, McCree."

"No, Cole. You're still alive. You're still fighting. You're still breathing. You're still remembering. You haven't sold out. You haven't forgotten. You haven't turned your back on America. You haven't given up. You haven't lost hope. You haven't lost faith. You haven't forgotten what this country is supposed to be. You haven't forgotten who we are. We're Americans. We're cowboys. We're tough as nails. We eat steak. We drink whiskey. We ride horses. We work the land. We work hard. We don't give up. We don't stop. We fight. And that's what we're gonna do. You're gonna fight, Cole. You're gonna fight for your land. You're gonna fight for your people. You're gonna fight for your country. You're gonna fight for freedom. You're gonna fight for America."

I stood up. I walked over to McCree and looked him in the eyes. "What kind of gun do you have?" I asked.

McCree handed me his rifle. "This is what I used against Blizzard," he said. "It's a Colt Revolver."

I held the gun in my hands. I looked at it. I smelled it. I closed my eyes and listened to the wind. I could hear it. I could hear the voices of the past. I held the gun in my hand. "This is my weapon," I said. "This is my Colt Revolver."