Drifter: A Short Story

The drifter paused to pull off his hat and run his forearm across his sweaty brow. Once the hat was resettled on his head, he narrowed his eyes and peered up at the sun. Not quite directly overhead. The day would get hotter. No use sighing about it. He had to keep moving. Had to find some shelter. These were dangerous parts, and he was far from any safe place. 

            His eyes drifted to the companion at his right shoulder. The bay snorted the dust from his nostrils and kept plodding along, his head bobbing each time his sight shoulder pulled his leg forward. A near empty canteen thumped against the bay’s flank. The drifter winced and patted the bay’s neck in apology.

            His own legs hurt more than he cared to admit. Years of hard labor and living on the go had taken their toll. Yet he couldn’t bear to add his weight to the bay’s burden. It was his own fault anyway. He had directed his horse to the more dangerous trail, despite the faithful mount’s quiet protests.

            Now a poultice of herbs clung to the bay’s leg. A native had shown him the mixture years before. He hoped he had remembered it right. The swelling seemed to have gone down at least. Yet still his mount limped on, not bearing a grudge for the misstep.

            And that misstep had left both of them stranded here, far from anywhere. The work he left behind had dried up, but the opportunity ahead didn’t seem to matter anymore either. Not much did.

            His thoughts went to the Colt strapped on his hip. One chamber was loaded. He looked once again to his companion, limping quietly along. Keeping the reins intertwined between his fingers, he felt the smooth grip, but with a quick shake of his head he pulled his hand back, returning to his friend’s neck for another pat.

            The drifter’s steps faltered. He gritted his teeth and leaned on the bay’s shoulder as he struggled to pull a boot off. Tipping it upside down, he watched as a small collection of stones tumbled to the ground. He wove his fingers in the bay’s mane while he balanced put it back on, knowing that the cracked leather would provide little resistance to more pebbles working their way in.

            Looking back to the sky, the drifter started to pray but quickly fell silent. He hung his head and pressed on. The bay chewed on his bit and trudged forward, and the drifter thought again of that single chambered round. Only one. Not many options with that. He shook his head and continued, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. 

            Miles passed, though he didn’t know how many. The terrain beneath his feet didn’t change much; this barren land didn’t have much to offer. The sun rose higher, and his shirt grew damp. A sideways glanced showed sweat clinging to the bay as well, though the horse didn’t complain. Still more miles rolled on, their trek only stopped by a sudden but gentle pull on the reins.

            The drifter paused to look at his horse’s eyes. The bay blinked then tugged again. The drifter’s brows furrowed. He was pretty sure there was a town straight ahead. It was their best chance, but the bay was persistent. He took a step back and turned his head to the right again. The drifter tugged back, continuing on their original course. The bay sighed and followed.

            After a few steps, the drifter stopped. He raised his eyes and looked to the right. He couldn’t see anything. The bay shifted in place, chewing on his bit once again. Now the drifter sighed and steered them both to the right. The bay went on without complaint, though occasionally lightly tugging against the reins to direct their steps. The drifter followed, still keeping his eyes on the ground.

            Several more miles passed when the bay stopped, not taking another step. The drifter groaned inwardly, despairing that his friend was succumbing to the inflicted lameness. He reached back for the Colt, though he dreaded the thought of being alone.

            The bay snorted and nudged the drifter’s arm. His heart sank, but the bay nudged him again. The drifter looked at his friend, surprised by the new brightness in his eyes. Another nudge, this one firmer, then the bay’s ears pricked forward as he looked ahead.

            The drifter followed his friend’s gaze, and his breath caught in his chest. A rumble filled his ears; he didn’t know how he had missed it before. Yet there it was – a cool river cut through the landscape; healthy green trees clung to its banks. Knee high swaths of grass danced in the breeze.           

            A smile creased the drifter’s dusty face. Dropping the reins, he spun quickly and uncinched the saddle, pulling it from the bay’s back. Once it dropped to the ground, the drifter loped forward, his awkward gait matching the bay’s clumsy strides.

            At the riverbank, the drifter flung himself into the cool water. The bay gave a little buck then splashed into the water beside him. He struck at the water then rolled. The drifter laughed as water droplets flung against his face. Then they both drank long and deep of the cool water. They spent the afternoon basking in the flow. 

*Previously published in The Prairie Times, Jan. 2026