Time Stands Still

By: Robert W. Putnick

The sandy dust billowed from the rush of a galloping horse and its rider who vigorously clutched the reins between his hands. The golden sun rose above the otherwise silent prairie-like landscape and the whole hushed world seemed to have its eyes fixed on the image of the horse and its rider. It would not be long now, the man convinced himself, as he appeared to jog above the soil of the California Trail. He had traveled from the newly admissioned state of Kansas, but had gone farther ahead of the others in the caravan to ensure a safe passage for his family, along with the fellow members of the mile-long wagon train. The main thought that had driven him ahead concerned the burning desire to gain wealth for himself and his posterity. He traveled this journey solo, with the exception of his musket and the reliable steed on which he put his faith into for arriving at his goal. At the rear of the saddle weighed a leather bag of personal essentials and equipment which were irreplaceable from the personality of those, like the man, who sought riches in panning for gold. The silver stirrups glimmered in the dawn sunrise as the barren, dirt-paved trail whisked past the unforgettable haste present in the depiction of this man. Had he been around other folk, they would have taken him for mad and gossiped to the others; for he rode with a fervent vigorousness that could not be repeated. Sweat poured from his brow as he charged along at a seeming lightning-fast pace, but the sun wasn’t yet in the sky long enough to stimulate heat. Rather, it had been the anxious thoughts that caused his spirit to tremble all along and the faint whispers of lurking danger that encompassed his family, took prevalence in his mind. The hideous drum beat of the rumor of Indian attack or rather the supposed passion for hunting and rooting out settlers, pulsed through his veins. He attempted, in vain, to remove the foolish fears of harm from his mind. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t thwart the thoughts that flooded his heart with doubt and shame for having left his family behind on the trail, and he almost persuaded himself on numerous occasions, to turn back from the exploit. Yet, some wild dream welled up within him, the very same that had set his mind on traveling miles to the destination, so he continued nonetheless. The steady beat of the horse’s hooves on the shabby pathway echoed through his ears until he finally slowed the animal to a stop at the neck of untrodden woods, strewed in the east. After collecting small scraps of weed, brush, and dry branches, the man lit a small fire that simmered through the air. Feeble from the seeming stampede just minutes before, he heaved himself to a sitting position on the perch of a rotten log. Feeling notoriously through the sack that tagged along with him, he pulled out a stale piece of biscuit and a small jug of milk that was three-quarters of the way empty. This meager meal was the unappetising breakfast on which the man had to contend himself, and there was no other way to obtain food other than hunting. As he chomped through the bits of the biscuit, his tense eyes continually sought the sky, then to his left, right, and behind, until he had convinced himself that his surroundings were suitable. The sun rose to a glorious throne in the wisped, clear blue sky. As far as the man could see, the world around him was untouched by the hand of mankind, and was wild in its first appearance. Above him, gleeful birds chirped their tune to the joy of morning amidst stout branches attached to towering trees. Indeed, the place that the man had chosen as his brief resting place was filled with many intriguing facets of nature, but the man had not seemed to have taken notice. The unceasing taunts of an inner voice stripped him of all confidence and courage, while the other voice spoke up in vibe defense of himself. All along the journey, his mind was engaged in a dreadful battle regarding his welfare, and that of his family. It was not the ardent concern for his family that was negative, but rather the conceited package of despair that asserted the man to his fears. The core of all of this stemmed from rumors uttered by older ranchers and farmers who spelled disaster as the only theme of traveling west. Nevertheless, the man shoved the fears out of his main thoughts for a good while, but now they had risen to the surface once again; just to spite him. Finishing his peasant meal, he peered around him, but it appeared that the forest, all in unison, glared back down at him. After only two minutes, he just could stand it no longer, so he climbed back into the saddle and resumed his expedition at an even pace. He was sure that the fresh air that blew into his lungs would revive him of happiness and he was certain that he had said goodbye to his fears at the ten minute campsite. Riding on, the morning slowly began fading into afternoon and the horse on which he was poised began to pant from thirst. Glancing to the left, the man spotted a small stream that would provide respite for his tired mount. Patting him on the muzzle, the man gently led the horse to the trickling water and descended to the ground. As the steed began to lap, the man’s eyes focused on the smooth pebbles in the stream bottom. In an instant, his mind drifted back six months earlier when his family set out on the trip. They packed fresh supplies of food and various jars of preserved fruits that would last for the entire time. As his family cheered with brightened smiles which painted their faces, he suddenly envisioned hard-struck poverty and witnessed depravity. His worst dreams had become real, only in his mind however, as he saw the covered wagon lying in shambles off to the side of the trail and his family, arrayed in ragged clothes, begging for help from passers-by. His mind in a unshakeable trance, he felt the soaked towel of death enshroud him and his vision. Forthwith looking up from the bubbling stream, he found his horse naying politely and nudging him on the face in a kind gesture. Instincts reminded the horse that dusk was rapidly approaching, and they would have to travel a little farther in search of a site for evening. Rapidly ascending his position with fear-gripped legs, the man lightly clapped the reins, and the horse galloped out of sight of the replenishing stream. Trotting a little further down the trail, the man kept pondering the insurmountable anxieties that troubled him. The question as to whether they would ever terminate their wiles remained unanswerable. In either case, the sun lowered from its stately position in the firmament as a wide spectrum of reds, blues, and yellows adorned the dusk sky in a colorful, pleasant tone. Such an artistically crafted display would have grabbed the man’s attention, but he was sullen and groped as lost amidst the dark trenches of doom. Nothing, not even a rope of hope, could steer him in a positive direction, and neither was it conscious choice for the continual replaying of the doubts in his mind. He did know, however, that as the night dragged on, he would be all the more immersed in recapitulate movements involving his ensuring of his own personal safety. Stumbling across a clearing to the right of the trail, the man steadied the horse to a halt and lowered from the saddle. With knots in his stomach, he layed down on the grass in a hand-breadth distance from his horse, and unnoticably tried to close his eyes. It had been a long day in which he had gained more than about seven miles, at his assumption, and it was also riddled with fear that came by no surprise to the man. After what felt like hours of a feverish attempt to rest, he heard a penetrating, grating howl. In the wink of an eye, the man jumped to his feet, and this action was followed by three more long, bellowing howls. The sound appeared to have echoed from the southern part of the trail, which fell behind the man, but it had punctured the last standing resistance towards unbridled fear. In a flurry of panic, the man hastily climbed into the saddle and trembled as he seized the reins. Charging north into the bleakness of the trail, the man’s heart was frozen in anxiety and it pounded through the buttoned gingham shirt. His worst nightmare, of being devoured by wolves, was now an unavoidable circumstance as he could hear the drilling motions of paws trampling in a full-speed pack. Their howls drained louder and louder into his ears and the monotonous growling drenched itself in the man’s fear. Cracking the reins with unremovable anguish, the horse broke into a dead-stampede in competition with the pack of wolves following closely at their heels. The man felt as if he couldn’t turn back, for he couldn’t possibly bear the sight of the size and power that was seemingly overtaking him. Blinded with panic, his hands began to feel numb and cold, as the steady throbs of death painstakingly infused itself into the very core of his system. His muscles were tense and his body rigid, similar to that of a statue. Suddenly there was a slash, a glimmer of fang, a whimper, and the loud boom of a musket. The man was flung on his back in the middle of the forest, as his horse forsook him and fled further down the path momentarily. The rest of the wolves, recognizing that their leader was dead, scampered off into the forest in an ashamed fashion. Then there was an eerie spell of silence that characterized the nether part of the trail, and the man remained dumbfounded at the events that previously inflicted him. Something strange swept over him; it was the sudden collapse of the perpetual whirlwind of fear and doubt circumscribed around his family as well as the unannounced estrangement from all thought or speculation. It was as if time stood still. Remaining in the same position for nearly a half-hour, the man perceived no whiff of danger or that of unstoppable demise. Rather, he ruminated over the foolish fear that had gripped him, and also remembered the pleasant times which he spent with his family. Never before had the man stopped long enough to realize the value in all of the pleasant memories shared and stored in his mind, but he had unknowingly programmed himself into a worrying state that captivated him from enjoying life. The horse slowly began galloping down the trail to reach his master, wondering if he was at all spared from the fury of the wolf pack. The man, lying unkempt on the left side of the trail, had fallen into a deep sleep from which he was not disturbed. As the dawn split the morning sky, the man saddled his horse and peered down the trail to the exact place on which he was thrown to and had experienced a revolutionary change. Renewed and bold, the man set off in a peaceful gallop and was never the more tempted by the unquenchable fire of fear. Forever implanted in his mind was the enjoyment and yearning to rejoin his family along the quest, resolved in the night when time stood still.~