Jack McCready's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

Jack rode the range all morning and caught nothing. By noon his belly ached and his pockets stayed empty. He turned his weary horse toward town. A wooden saloon stood near the trail, golden arches bright above the weathered boards. The sign promised burgers and sarsaparilla. Jack had no coin, but he had an idea. Somewhere in every place, he figured, a man could find something free. He tied his horse to the rail and stepped onto the porch. The swinging doors creaked. Inside, a young worker wiped the counter with a gray rag. He wore a paper hat and a bored look. "Howdy," Jack said. He kept his voice steady, though his pride stung. "You got anything on the menu that's free?" The worker stopped wiping. He stared at Jack's dusty hat and cracked boots. "Free?" he said. He almost laughed. "Mister, nothing here is free. Not the burgers. Not the drink." He pointed to a board on the wall, each price marked in chalk. Jack's face went hot. He read the board anyway, hoping for a zero. There was none. "Water, then," he said. "A cup of water costs nothing." The worker shook his head. "Costs the cup. Costs the trouble. Boss says no cup without a sale." He leaned forward. "You buying or not?" Jack had his answer. Free was a story men told, not a thing he could hold. He turned to go. Then his eyes caught a jar near the door. Inside sat a single dried flower, sun-faded orange, its petals rough as old paper. A handwritten card leaned against the glass. Take one. No charge. Jack lifted the flower out. It weighed nothing. It fed no one. But it was free, and he had asked for free, and here it was. The worker snorted. "That's for decoration. Folks take 'em for their sweethearts." Jack held the dry bloom in his palm. A flower would not fill his belly or buy his lumber. He had wasted a whole morning chasing an easy thing. The lesson landed hard. Out here, a man earned every scrap. Nothing came to the idle hand. He walked out and untied his horse. The animal looked as tired as he felt, ribs showing under a faded coat. Jack tucked the flower into his saddlebag and swung up. "No more handouts," he said to the horse. "We work." He looked back toward the open range. The wild horses were out there. Catching them was hard, and he had failed before. But hard was the only road that paid. He pointed his horse away from the saloon and rode toward the range with the hunger still in him, sharper now, and a plan that had no shortcuts left in it.