Thanks to Patti, Mad Cat, and Lion for commenting so faithfully on this
fic. I really appreciate your taking the time to write.
Here is the second to last part. It continues in the same type of
'style' that the part before it did; Jonny encounters more danger on the
trail. Let me know what you think!
--Dark Sentinel
THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST
"To Risk Death Daily"
Part IV
written by Dark Sentinel
The prairie was beautiful. So much wide, open space. The storm clouds
had disappeared; the golden sun beamed down upon the damp earth and
bathed everything in its amber brilliance. Old Gold truly was a good
horse: his rolling, smooth sprint made Jonny feel as though he were on a
Tennessee Walker, not a galloping mustang. Old Gold's flaxen mane
billowed in the gentle breeze. All was tranquil...but, unfortunately,
this was only a temporary state.
Before the boy knew what was happening, the sound of horses approaching
from behind ripped the soft silence. Several rifles were fired. Jonny
clucked to Gold, who switched from his easy, smooth gait to an all-out
mad dash. Jonny turned around to see who their assailants were.
Four Sioux Indians, aboard stunning paint ponies, were flying towards
them at remarkable speed. Jonny removed his pistol from one of the
saddlebags, and turned around halfway in the saddle. He removed both
his arms from the reins and hung on with a death-grip clench on Gold's
sides. He fired a couple of shots, trying not to hit the innocent
horses. One of the Sioux let out a wail and tumbled into the dust. The
other three continued to gain speed.
Jonny fired again. "Damn, another miss," he mumbled as he cocked the
pistol and fired. A miss again!
A rifle was fired at him. He swerved his head out of the way just in
time; the bullet sped past Old Gold's neck so closely that it lopped off
some of his tawny mane. "They've got deadly aim," he said to Old Gold,
who kept on dashing for their lives.
Jonny managed to kill another. The remaining two clenched their teeth
in anger and whooped to their ponies to hurry up.
Jonny wiped his sweaty brow nervously as the advancing hoof beats
became alarmingly close. He swung to his right and was upset to find
one of the Sioux pulling their pony up dangerously close. The Sioux
reached towards one of the cantinas.
With a sharp blow, Jonny struck the Sioux's hand with the butt of the
pistol. The Sioux yowled in pain, then jutted the barrel of his rifle
into Jonny's arm. Terrified, he flailed his arm and knocked the rifle
to the ground, just before the Sioux was able to shoot him.
And as the last Indian approached Gold's left side, Jonny kicked
outward with his leg. His boot sunk into the fleshy side of the Indian
pony, who reared and threw its rider. Jonny turned and grinned. He had
kept himself, his pony, and most importantly, the mail, safe and sound.
Old Gold slowed to his Tennessee Walker gallop, now that they were
temporarily safe. Jonny couldn't wait until his two-day break, starting
tomorrow, for there would be many things to write his father about.
Sprawling trees dotted the prairie now; soon he would be entering the
timber area, which was teeming with brooks and rivers.
Jonny urged Old Gold on, though he was tired. Old Gold selflessly
obliged, hurrying his way along through the vegetation. Soon the good,
solid ground became sludge, and Old Gold traveled as quickly as he
could, despite his hoofs getting sucked into the mud. The mud soon gave
way to water, which reached up to the middle of Gold's cannon bones.
Jonny soon found the cause of the trouble: a river which had overflown
its banks. He discovered the riverbank when Gold lost his footing on
the slope and nearly plunged headfirst into the fast-flowing water.
Jonny backed up Gold with some difficulty, since the horse continually
slipped in the mud. At last, free of the river, but still standing in
deep water, Jonny dismounted and landed with a gloosh! into the freezing
fluid. He removed the mochila from the saddle, and placed it atop his
head. There it would stay as dry as it was going to get. Gold's reins
slipped around one arm, one hand holding the mochila up, and one hand
paddling, Jonny descended into the river.
Old Gold faithfully followed his rider, and together they struggled
through the river, though they ended up somewhat downstream from their
original crossing.
Sopping wet, both emerged from the creek and stood shivering for a
moment on the opposite bank. Jonny patted Gold's neck and grinned.
"You're a real good horse, Gold. We made it, boy!" With that, he swung
the dry mochila onto the saddle, mounted up, and clucked to the horse.
Gold willingly took off in a gallop, and both arrived safely at the next
stop.
However, Jonny could see something was wrong with the station, even
though it was quite a ways away.
The shack was black and in ruins as Gold approached it. A man
straggled out from behind the smoldering station house, limping. He was
bruised badly and his clothes were in tatters.
"What happened?" Jonny cried as he dropped off of Gold and hurried over
to the man.
"Bandits," he croaked. "Watch out for them...they stole my horses and
my food, and they burnt my house to ashes!"
"Come with me. I'll take you to the next station."
"No," the victim rasped. "Mail comes first, before me, or you, or your
pony. You'll have to go on with your horse. Otherwise..." he broke off
and coughed.
Jonny looked doubtful. "GO!" the man managed to shout, but he crumpled
to the ground as his body was racked violently with wheezing.
With a last, pitying look, Jonny hurried back to Old Gold, who was
panting heavily. He'd have to take it easy with Gold, otherwise he
could get seriously injured. "I'll send help!" Jonny called over his
shoulder as he prodded the stallion into a swift trot.
"Fifteen miles, yes, a horse with stamina," Jonny talked to himself as
Gold sped over the ground to the best of his ability. "But thirty
miles? No horse could do it. Not even the strongest, most long-winded
Thoroughbred in the world go that fast that far. There's no way I'll
average fifteen miles per hour. I'll just have to take it easy."
Even though a safe journey would have made it easier on both the
breathless horse and his nervous rider, destiny had something else in
store.
Comments or questions? Coconut creme pies or money? Send them all my
way! darksentinel@geocities.com
--D.S.
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