An Outlaw Named Canebrake Divinity
Prologue:
The mysterious outlaw and pistoleer named Canebrake Divinity placed the barrel of his gun to his horse's eye.
"Song sung blood." Canebrake whispered. "Everybody knows one."
Canebrake pulled the trigger. His horse took another two steps and collapsed. And then Canebrake had to walk the rest of the way.
Chapter One: The Holdup
The stage driver was uneasy; the horses could sense it. It was in the way he held the reins, tight and twitchy, like a kitten on a paintball range.
The box at the back of the coach pressed heavy--heavy on the wheels and heavy on the driver's mind.
"It's too much gold." Bill mumbled to himself morosely, giving the reins an involuntary twitch. "Too much gold and too many people know I'm transporting it."
Bill stared out at the dirt road before him. It cut a narrow swath through the rugged land. Its very straightness seemed a promise; it spoke of towns up ahead--towns with banks and preachers and law. A place where no one man had to bear the burden of gold alone. And the road was not a liar; it did lead to such a place. But it wasn't entirely honest either, because in between here and there were a hundred places for outlaws to hide.
Bill knew this all too well, and he regretted every one of life's little tricks that had led him to this place. One minute later a shot rang out and there was Canebrake Divinity, standing in the road.
"Stick 'em up." Canebrake whispered. And Bill numbly complied.
Epilogue:
I wish I could tell you this ended well for the stage driver named Bill--that Canebrake Divinity spared his life. But it simply was not to be. Canebrake Divinity was a mysterious outlaw and pistoleer--probably the most mysterious and outlawish there ever was. And his guns sang a song sung blood and then Bill died moaning, making wriggle marks in the sand.
A song sung blood I tells ya--a song sung blood it were.
(Hey, I'm talkin' 'bout Canebrake Divinity. I'm talkin' 'bout outlaws and pistoleers. I'm talkin' 'bout Canebrake Divinity--click it to meet him again.)
posted by Latigo Flint @ 12:06 AM
9 comments
9 Comments:
Ah buggrit. I was just getting to know Bill. Did his wriggle marks spell out any last words.
Am I correct in thinking that clicking it with Canebrake and perhaps saying "Yo!" would grant a reprieve from song sung blood?
Canebrake Divinity I can't believe he can be that evil a devilish outlaw. He sounds like a sweetie. Quite literally to a Brit, for whom sweeties are candy. In fact he sounds a lot like a stick of rock, which has letters all through the middle.
Does Canebrake have words written all through his middle? Perhaps he has "song sung blood" inscribed on his belt buckle.
If song sung blood turns out to be some piece of current poplorica, I will hang my head. In shame, that is, (not with a rope - it would chafe) for my failure to be with it.
Why, Latigo?
Why can't Canebrake ever suffer a horse to live? The body count just gets higher and higher...
Oh, the humanity...
I thought ol Cranebrake Divinity deserved at the very least another dislocated shoulder for goin' round shootin' horses like that.
I think I woulda liked Mr. Divinity had I had the opportunity, as I am partial to theves and nut-cases.
Nevertheless, I think you'll do just fine Mr. Latigo.
(well, it *is* a white wine Friday...)
"thieves" that is.
Anybody who likes Neil Diamond can't be all bad.
My mom used to sing me Song Sung Blue as a lullaby. Song Sung Blood was a poor choice because I'd wake up with nose bleeds later in the night. It's a documented fact.
It appears I have revealed an appalling lack of Neil Diamond knowledge. But I'm still a nice person.
"Oh the humanity..." for sure, but the PC Pony People might insist you say "Oh the equininity..."
Off for a bit of a Google to fill in the gaps in my Diamond education.
Bill's wriggle marks spelled out nothing Sam, you problem child bride you, absolutely nothing and the next big wind blew them away and coyotes scattered his bones and then it was as if he never lived.
The west was a very, very savage place. Many songs were sung blood.
I truly don't know Nicolas Papaconstantinou. Canebrake Divinity was an extremely mysterious outlaw and pistoleer. He acted on motivations unfathomable.
Well Peter... when the last one spasmed he stabbed himself in the thigh. Perhaps he learned his lesson about dislocated shoulders.
I like you too Noir Muse, very much. I think Canebrake Divinity would have too. And like him, I've gone so much crazier than I ever thought I'd go.
(It's okay--if it weren't for Microsoft Word's spell check I'd be branded an absolute moron.)
Good Lord LBB you magnificent bastard you!!! I bet myself a million dollars no one would ever pick up on that. Well done sir. Well done.
(And I had better pay up too or else.)
Bloody noses attract night weasels Amandarama. That's a documented fact too. Shudder the night weasel approach my dear, shudder the night weasel approach.
I like to think the line works regardless Sam. But research the Diamond if you like, he's certainly time well spent.
Deedle-ee dum dum Talulah Trashbag. Deedle-ee dum dum indeed.
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