Summary:  A tale of a man and a horse.
Rating:  PG
Words:  2,450

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The Brandsters have included this story by this author in our project: Preserving Their Legacy. To preserve the legacy of the author, we have decided to give their work a home in the Bonanza Brand Fanfiction Library.  The author will always be the owner of this work of fanfiction, and should they wish us to remove their story, we will.

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Daemon

 

Daemon was a magnificent black stallion dreaded for his reputation. He never let any man ride him, and never let those who tried go unpunished. Señor Vargas began losing hope in taming him. However, his guest from Nevada, Señor Adam Cartwright, insisted on trying once he saw the magnificent animal.

Vargas had done business with the Cartwrights before, and he was quite content to consider another sale of breeding horses to that family. He had become friends with Ben and Hoss Cartwright, and this time it was Ben’s eldest son, Adam, who came to choose the horses and negotiate the contract. The horses were already chosen, and the only thing left to do was to sign the contract, when Señor Cartwright saw Daemon.

“Let me try him,” he offered one day.

“Oh, no. He would kill you,” Señor Vargas shook his head. “This is a killer horse. You saw enough, no?”

“I’ve ridden wild horses before,” answered Adam calmly. “And honestly, Señor Vargas, I don’t think your men are treating the horse right, trying to break him with their spurs rather than patience and horsemanship.”

“That horse listens only to the spurs and to the whip,” claimed Vargas, but Adam shook his head.

“He was like that from the beginning on. He is too wild,” argued Vargas further. However, Adam was not to be dissuaded.

“Let me try,” he repeated stubbornly. “Give me a couple of days with him.”

The discussion didn’t last long, and soon Adam was carefully easing himself on Daemon’s back. The horse attempted to buck even before the cloth left his eyes, and Adam needed all his horsemanship to stay on for the next couple of seconds. Hitting the ground, he rolled out of the horse’s reach quickly.

It continued over a couple of days; the horse always wild enough to unseat his rider, and Adam always quick enough to escape the hooves. In the evenings, Adam would come into the corral and attempt to put some ointment on the spur wounds on the horse’s flanks. He often succeeded – with the help of a couple of hands.

Sitting in his room one stormy night, he was again pondering the possibility of eventually taming the horse, when he heard a cry from outside.

“FIRE! FIIIRE!!! Fire in the corral!”

***

The flames licked the air lusciously, jumping high in a dance powerful with its primitive frenzy. Daemon backed with a terrified whinny, but there was less and less place in the high-fenced corral to escape the life-threatening glow. The graceful evolutions of the fire tongues glistened in the dark mirror of the horse’s eye, narcissistic, mocking in their beauty when it was so easy for them to devour the prey like a giant snake. A fine cover of sweat wet the horse’s flanks and its gleams danced with the fire’s light with every shiver of fear.

Opening the gate, Adam had to cover his face with his forearm against the heat of the fire. There was no way he could persuade the horse to come through. The fire had blocked the way entirely and would soon claim the animal. It was just a horse, yes, but it wouldn’t make it hurt any less to see it gone in such a way. He gritted his teeth in helpless frustration. Unless… Unless…

From the tool shed, he grabbed an axe, then ran back to Deamon’s corral. The back of the corral stood proud, not yet overtaken by flames. He hoped dearly the horse would not come too close to the wood when he hit it. The slimy hands of sweat slipped down his back and torso, exploring meticulously, slowly every inch of the naked skin, while his hands viciously struck. Struck. Struck.

The wood gave way with a dramatic crack and an agonized groan. The horse whinnied and danced away from the flames – and from the break in the corral. Adam shook off his west. Hopefully the animal would calm down when blindfolded. He ran over to the horse, almost brushing against the flames. The horse was far more afraid of the fire than the human, but it was still only by some miracle of grace that Adam was able to throw his vest over the horse’s eyes. He pulled at the halter, talking to the animal soothingly, but with a sense of urgency. A step – a step – a step more – shivering, Daemon pushed Adam into the corral wall with his head when the fire breathed more heat at him, and he ground his hooves in the ground against the pull at the halter.

“Will you!…” Adam bit his lip and jerked at the halter to move the animal before fire would come any closer. The horse shivered with rising panic and resisted, although Adam was able to pull him a step or two closer to the opening. With a sudden frantic movement, Daemon freed his head from Adam’s grip and vest, his hooves dancing dangerously close to the man. Adam was forced into the corral wall again. Trapped between unyielding wood and a panicked animal, he desperately climbed the wall and jumped on Daemon’s back. The horse reared, almost throwing him off, but a kick of the heels spurred him forwards – right in the opening to freedom.

Panic, strength, a love for speed and the newly regained freedom all rolled into one powerful motion. The first few times when Daemon’s hooves thundered the ground, the strength of the confrontation jarred Adam’ body, head, and his teeth together. But all at the same time, the painful jars virtually raised the level of adrenaline, pumped exhilaration into the veins – so much that he could barely catch his breath for emotion. His lungs didn’t seem to cooperate, but then maybe they were riding too fast for the air to catch up with them – Closed in a small space for days on end, Daemon found depthless layers of unspent energy in his powerful chest and was outrunning the devil himself. Slightly raised in the saddle, no longer registering every hoof strike against the earth, Adam flew with the horse, becoming one with the animal, shiver by shiver, move by move, breath by breath, gulping thirstily for speed and for freedom.

Daemon seemed to have stretched his wings after the long confinement and flew through the air gracefully, yet with astonishing power, thunder rolling out of the sky and from under his hooves alike. For the first time, and like nothing he’d felt before, Adam was experiencing a true ride on Daemon.

Then, Daemon slipped. He attempted to regain his footing and eventually stood, welcoming the lack of burden on his back. It took him a moment to search out the dark patch of the unseated rider. Shaking now from the exertion, the horse slowly approached the unmoving figure and warily sniffed the one hand which was resting on the bank of the creek. It smelled of the ointment, and of the one man who didn’t use spurs on him.

The body moved away slightly with the creek’s current, and Daemon slowly reached into the water to grasp the black cloth in his teeth. Step by step, he pulled the limp body out of the water and then let it fall with a thump.

Quite strangely, the thump caused the man to come alive suddenly, coughing and spitting up water. Daemon waited. Waited. And waited. Eventually, the man opened his eyes and Daemon looked deep into them. Was this a foe, like the others?

The man’s eyes closed again, and Daemon was left with his dilemma. Uncertain, he once again sniffed the man’s hand. The memory of a hand stroking his flanks with the ointment he smelled convinced him to stay around just yet.

Daemon was startled out of his unintended sleep by the sound of coughing. The man’s head lolled limply from one side to the other while he coughed some more, then he was quiet again.

The storm had almost passed; the rain tapped an ever slower, quieter rhythm on the ground. The night’s chill made the wet horse shiver slightly. The man coughed again, and the horse approached him warily, bending his head to sniff the man’s face. The touch made the human open his eyes at last.

Daemon stepped back, uncertain if he liked it or not. The man’s eyes followed him, focusing with some difficulty. Coughing to clear his throat and lungs, the man began emitting a soft, low sound. The hummed melody was pleasant, soothing, relaxing. Daemon listened attentively to the human’s voice. It wasn’t shouting; it wasn’t angry; it wasn’t anything he’d heard when they tried to tame him. He slowly approached the man’s hand again to sniff it, the familiar smell of ointment almost soothing by now. The long fingers bent to scratch Daemon’s chin; after a second of hesitation, the horse slowly shifted his head so that the scratching reached his cheek, then ear. The man didn’t stop his humming while his hand was slowly coaxing the horse to come closer.

Still tired, and encouraged by the gentle actions, never before experienced in his treatment by a human hand, Daemon followed the directions until he sank to his front knees when the hand pulled at his halter gently. The hand cautiously shifted now to Daemon’s neck. The man spoke to him now, the melody of his voice unchanged, soft, low, soothing.

As tired as he was, Daemon still made a move to get up when the man shifted slightly. The hand on his neck, however, held his mane more tightly and the voice soothed on, even gentler than it had been a moment before. Inch by inch, the man shifted closer to the animal, then ever so slowly turned on his side and with some effort levered himself on the horse’s neck and mounted the animal, all the time talking gently to him. The man’s hands directed Daemon to get up, then back towards the ranch.

***

“Señor Vargas! Señor Vargas!” shouted one of the hands who were looking for the missing guest of the house. Their hearts weren’t really in it, most of them expected to find a dead body and no sign of the horse.

When Vargas reached the man who’d shouted and now was looking with wonder in the distance, he followed the man’s line of sight and his mouth opened slightly in disbelief.

A big dark horse was approaching them slowly, as though it were tired; on its back it seemed to carry a burden that resembled the shape of a man. After a few more seconds, they were able to confirm their suspicions; the moonlight shone in its pale, silvery way on Daemon’s proud head and on the head of his rider that was resting wearily against the horse’s neck. The man’s lips were moving, although his eyes were closed. Soon, the mumbled words became more understandable for the gathered men.

“I know you’re really a good horse, Daemon… Just take me to the ranch… Just to the ranch… I’m not… can’t ask you to stay there, not after what you did… Just take me to the ranch, boy… You’re a splendid horse… magnificent… I know you’re not really bad inside… Just to the ranch, so that I can get some help for myself… Just to the ranch…”

Vargas shifted slightly on his horse, trying not to startle Daemon for the sake of his rider. “Señor Cartwright,” he called quietly, gently. “Señor Cartwright…”

Daemon stopped, his ears flickering. After a moment, the rider’s head lifted a fraction.

“Señor Cartwright, are you hurt?” enquired Vargas softly.

Adam blinked, trying to wake up and focus. “Hurt?” he breathed, just as softly and gently as when he was speaking to Daemon. “Fell… Daemon slipped…”

“Are you hurt badly?”

“No, I… don’t think so…” Adam tried to lift his head somewhat higher, but with little success. “Just bruised… Fell in the water… cold…”

“Please try to hold the horse still, Señor, so we can help you on another one…”

Adam nodded minimally. “Daemon’s… tired… outrun himself… must be itchin’… to get rid of me…”

He stroked the horse’s neck soothingly, but the animal seemed too tired to care about the approaching men for once. Strong hands shifted Adam to another horse and he felt the coarse fabric of a blanket wrapped around him.

“Don’t… take him…. back, he… he’s… He saved my life… pulled me outta the creek… Let ‘im go… free…” He gasped, trying to convey what seemed most important before the whirling world sucked him into the beckoning darkness. “Just… let ‘im go…”

“We will, Señor Cartwright. We will.”

***

Adam Cartwright was resting against a couple of pillows, letting the sunrays warm his face. It was the first day he was allowed out of bed. The last three he spent under strict orders of bedrest, and quite frankly, he didn’t mind. He’d hit his head in the fall in the stream, and with the cold he’d got the headache only added to the misery.

He was now sitting on the porch of Señor Vargas’ ranchhouse and pretty much basking in the sun; he wasn’t allowed to do much of anything yet. Again, he didn’t mind.

Girlish giggles mixed with protests made him open his eyes and look around. Little señorita Vargas was protesting against the treatment she was receiving, while giggling at the same time; all in all, she did look pretty funny, dangling from the horse’s mouth in the middle of the yard. The big horse didn’t seem to pay much attention to her, its eyes fixed on the man on the porch. Then, the animal trotted over to Adam, plopped the girl on the ground and nuzzled Adam’s face in greeting.

“Daemon?” In utter surprise, Adam stroked the shapely head gently. “How…?”

“Oh, he’s been staying around all the time, Señor Adam,” prattled the señorita, getting up quickly and handing Adam his own hat. “I gave him apples. He let me come close when I had your hat, or gloves. I hope you don’t mind. You were ill and I couldn’t ask, and he looked like he liked apples, and when he sniffed your things he let me come close, and he is very friendly, only he won’t let me ride him. He won’t let anybody ride him, but you rode him, so maybe he’s waiting for you to ride him. You rode him already, and he let you, no? No, señor?”

Adam stroked the stallion’s head, then held it gently to his chest and began chuckling, at first softly, then louder and louder, the rumble of the laughter originating somewhere deep in his insides. Life was unpredictable, and that was what made it beautiful, no, Señor? No?