Jambalaya on the Bayou

Sweat dripped from his nose and chin, his skin crawled with the burning reminder of mosquito bites, mud caked to his boots and pants and neither of his horses were in much better condition. Lights in the horizon had caught his eyes, and like a moth to a light he was drawn to follow it. The cabin, or as Kippel would better describe it, a shack, was sitting at the edge of the water and looked ready to fall the next time a hurricane came through the swamp. 

The runaway climbed off his saddle and landed in the slick mud, scowling and grabbing the saddle to keep his feet from sliding out from under him. Kippel didn’t have to see them to know that the water, as gorgeous as it was with the fireflies hovering over it, was overflowing with alligators. The swamp wasn’t as quiet as its waters; however, the sounds of crickets and cicadas were almost deafening in the wilderness and almost caused as much annoyance as the mosquitos had. 

Big Boy snorted with distaste, his tail flicking and swatting unsuccessfully with each bug that landed on him. The horse wasn’t built or bred for this environment, his coat sleek and shiny from the sweat and humidity, while splattered with dark clumps of mud to his lower body. Used to the pampered life of a livery, that stallion hung his head low with exhaustion and defeat. 

The portly appaloosa, wearing a similar damp coat as the sandy stallion next to him, complained for other reasons. Though not bred for the environment either, compared to the pampered city life of the horse he was dragged next to, Breakdown was acclimated to the harsh swamp, considerably a street stray when compared to the taller horse. He grumbled and groaned as he was dragged along by the younger Kippel he barely knew and being forced to run for so long without his rider and not having managed to eat anything for far too long- according to him anyways. 

The ex-lawman tethered Big Boy, who continued huffing his unhappiness when he realized he was going to be left, outside, with the unruly amount of bugs that bothered him. Breakdown was less happy about the tether, yanking his head back and planting his hooves in the mud as Kippel fought with him to get him close enough to actually tie the rope. He wasn’t thinking about how he’d handle two horses while running away, and it was something he thought he would never forgive himself for, but smacking the horse and sending him off into the swampy wilderness was far from an option.  

Kippel let out a string of curses as he finally got the tether tied to the post, nearly regretting his last minute decision to steal his brother’s horse. His frustration was quickly replaced with fear over a far too familiar sound.

Click click

A sound like that would make any man’s blood turn cold and a heart skip a beat. The horses were no different, Big Boy flaring out his nose and pawing the ground and the portly appaloosa letting out a deep huff from his chest as he pulled his head up against the tether. Unlike them, Kippel couldn’t see the barrel of the gun pointed at his back as he slowly raised his hands to the sides of his head.

“Hell are ya stopping ‘ere for, boy?” A grizzled voice spoke up. 

Tired, sore, covered with sweat and mud, the sound of a mosquito getting annoyingly close to his ear before landing on his forehead while Kippel wasn’t in the position to swat at it. With the way his luck had landed him, he was likely to get a bullet in the back and die where he stood. 

“Please- I’m lost, if you could point me the way to the nearest inn or-”

“Damn right ya lost, crazy a gator didn’t getcha out ‘ere. Ain’t a town for a long while, ain’t gone make it there ridin’ ‘round in the dark and whatnot.” The man scolded with an aged voice. “Don’t be leavin’  yer ‘orses there, go throw them in that barn- get ya hands down boy, come’n get this lantern.”

Kippel slowly lowered his hands as he turned to look back at the man, his thin silhouette being framed in the light from the cabin doorway but the gun had been lowered.

“Whatcha waitin’ for, ain’t nobody gone do it for you. Grab the lantern, get movin’ and come in.” 

The short man didn’t take another moment to start moving, grabbing the lantern with broken eyes kept down and untethered the horses, “Thank you, thank you sir.” He quickly said as he pet Bernard’s snout to settle him down a bit as he started pulling them around to the barn the man referred to. It was barely a barn, well, it was barely a building from the looks of it but it had four walls and a roof. Far better than leaving them to the elements of the swamp.

As he stepped in he heard a quiet knicker from one of the ‘stalls’ in the barn, secured and separated by only a few loose boards, where an old greyed mare greeted them tiredly. Big Boy extended his nose as Kippel dropped his reins and pulled the portly appaloosa into one of the stalls, taking the opportunity to brush Bernard while he was too tired to fight him. The horse had always been a nightmare to work with, snippy, mouthy, and considered vicious. Robert was the only one that could ever handle the horse, but he was as much of a nightmare at times… 

“That’s it.” Henry huffed tiredly, scratching his head where the mosquito had bitten him before wiping the sweat away. The horse grunted at him before sitting down with a huff and biting at one of the posts in the barn. 

“Fsstfst stop that.” Kippel scolded with a light pop to the horse’s nose, having to withdraw his hand from teeth at the action but the man bared his teeth back before stepping away with a shake of his head to collect Big Boy’s reins.  

The poor horses were both as tired and likely as sore as him, but there was only so much he could do for them in the dark. He untacked Big Boy who heaved a grateful sigh and started to use a questionable post to scratch his side. 

“Easy does it.” Henry muttered to him as he hung the damp saddle blanket up to dry, picking up the brush to try and get most of the mud and sweat off of him as well. The lean stallion snorted and muzzled at his face before bobbing his head as he was led into the third of the four stalls. 

Kippel found the barrel of food and made two buckets to give to the boys, Bernard snorting as he quickly ate the bucket and making the man shake his head as he collected the lantern and left the poor excuse of a barn to trek back towards the house in the mud. He kicked his boots off at the door, swatting away mosquitoes that had found his face again before he knocked on the door and stepped in when he heard the man holler at him. Even from outside he could smell food, something heavy and savory with undertones of spice- whatever it was, it made Henry remember he hadn’t eaten at all that day and his stomach roared at him with it’s reminder. 

“Took ya long ‘nough,” The man said as Henry stepped in and shut the door behind him. “Get yaself settled, I’ll make-a bowl of jambalaya. Got the eyes of a starvin’ man.” 

Henry’s eyes adjusted to the light of the cabin as he blinked and looked around, the home was small and the ex-lawman questioned if it was more or less stable than the barn but the walls at least seemed to keep the mosquitoes at bay and he wouldn’t have to sleep in the belly of some lucky gator. It was odd to think that the man genuinely lived here, but the evidence was all there. The chair by the fireplace Henry would have guessed was designed to burn the shack down, animal pelts and gator skins hung up as trophy, the dining table with two questionable chairs that held a gator head the length of Henry’s forearm, an old newspaper sat next to it dating about a week ago from what he could tell by the headline, the worn rug that was in as bad shape as the building itself. The back of the building was partially separated by a small wall but as Henry stepped in further to the shack he could tell it was the man’s bed quarters. 

“What’s a city boy like you doin’ out in the swamp at this hour?” The man asked with his gravelly voice as he messed with the coals of the fire and stirred the pot. 

“I got caught out later than I should be, lost my way in the dark.” Henry answered him as he brought himself to sit down at one of the chairs at the table, slowly dropping his weight on it as if he expected it to give and break under his full weight. The creaking that the chair made didn’t comfort him at all but he grabbed the paper to look at. A picture of his father’s bank on the front with ‘THE DARLINGTON POST’ written across the top and recognized the paper was from two weeks ago, . He let out a hum as he set it back down and looked over at the man to study him as he brought a bowl of food his way. 

The man was aged, that much was obvious by his long greyed hair and a beard that could be comparable to a wizard. At a glance, Henry wasn’t convinced the man knew how to read. He looked rough around the edges, his skin looking like tanned leather with his accumulation of wrinkles, age spots cursing his skin and he was dressed in what could be compared to rags. Henry had to remind himself that the man had previously pointed a gun at him and the last time he himself had lifted his gun, he fired it. 

He set down the bowl of jambalaya in front of him and to the city boy, it looked like slop you’d give to a pig- dark colored rice, vegetables and a meat that looked a little questionable. He would have stopped to ask about it if it wasn’t for his hunger. 

“Hell was ya runnin’ for?” The older man asked as he took a seat in the other chair with a heavy groan, trusting the chair far more than Kippel had. 

The question hit Henry like a train though, making him double take and force himself to swallow the burning food in his mouth. 

“Running?” He asked, shaking his head, “I think-”

“I think ya think I’m stupid, huh?” The man interrupted. “Ain’t no boy dressin’ like that is just out here at night takin’ a stroll- as much as ya look like a damn coon with ya black eyes and ya look like ya took a roll in the mud. Ya ain’t an outlaw walkin’ up on a lit house at this ‘our, so what is it?” The man pointed out.

Kippel quickly swallowed his pride at the words, a tremor of discomfort vibrating his chest for only a moment as he stared at grayed eyes across from him. He let out a groan and shook his head as he looked down. 

“Runnin’ from home, I suppose.” Henry vaguely explained as he took another bite. 

“That desperate?” 

“Just got sick of the city, felt the need to leave in a hurry.” 

“Tsk if that’s what ya willin’ to share.” The man said but cracked a chuckle. “So you paint yaself up like a coon?”

Caught off guard by the question, Henry couldn’t help but crack a chuckle as well. “Got into a fight, I guess you’d call it. Did a number on me, didn’t he? Haven’t seen it yet, but I know it don’t look pretty.” 

“Ya look pretty before?” The man teased as he leaned back in the chair and shook his head. “Ya messin’ round with a misses?” 

“Oh- no nothing like that.” Henry said as he started to relax and take another bite. “Fight I got into over my brother.”

“Well ya ought to come up with a better story than that.” 

“I wish I could.” Heny admitted when he swallowed his mouthful.

“Well ya got some time to think of one before ya find a town, next town is an ‘ours ride. I’ll take ya there in the mornin’.” The man told him. 

Henry sighed softly at the gesture, looking back up to him from his bowl of food and over the gator head. “I don’t need all that, you’re too kind to shelter me and my horses, and feed us.” 

“Don’t be stupid boy, ya clearly have no idea where ya at. ‘Less you plan on wastin’ that meal by dyin’ tomorrow.” 

The petite man leaned back in his seat, a scowl that he regretted flashing over his face at the repeat of ‘boy’. 

“I ain’t a boy no more.” 

“Yea? Why’s that?”

“I ain’t a boy, how big do they get where you come from?” Henry asked sourly.

“Bit bigger than ya shortstack.” The man snorted with a shake of his head.

As much as the nickname irritated him, it was certainly better than being just called ‘boy’. At the grumbling silence from Henry, the man brought himself to stand up again.

“Fill up, get more if ya want. When ya done, let the fire simmer and ya can rest in that chair. Ain’t too comfy but is’ better than ya other option.” The man told him.

Henry shifted, nodding to the man. “Thank you.” 

“I’m gettin’ too old to be buryin’ anyone, savin’ me the trouble of throwin’ ya in the river.” He said as he made his way to the back of the shack. 

Henry wasn’t sure how sincere those words were, but he had a feeling the man had meant those words. It wasn’t enough to stop a starving man from licking the bowl clean.

He crouched in front of the fireplace, feeling the heat hit his face on top of the humidity of the insecure shack the old man lived in. Even now, mosquitoes threatened to feast on him and he watched the occasional stray one flutter around him and land before he swatted each one a little more carefully. Despite the numbing exhaustion he was feeling in his limbs, the ache in his chest and his gut full, the man struggled to find real drowsiness as he replayed the events of the last two days that led him here.

Kippel prodded at the fire with the cast iron poker, letting out a heavy sigh as he got it to embers and stood up to stir the pot a final time. He let out a quiet groan, scratching at his head where the mosquito had bit him again and then tapping at his tender face. He didn’t think his nose was broken at least, but it still hurt like hell. He figured it was more self-inflicted and he wondered if he should have just put a bullet through Cody Carson’s head the same way he had the other Rookery Bay Riders. A shadow fell over his eyes as he stared at the pot, the bullet may have been too generous with a swift death. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.