The Fourth Horseman

 

The wind kicked up and blew around the snow. There was no traffic on the main road. No one walking in town. Some of the shops were still open - the General Store, the café – but most of the town lay silent under the blowing snow. Dave was pressed into service by the horsemen. They had no idea what they were asking him to do. His riding experience amounted to short leisurely rides around his property – now he was pushing his horse beyond the pale. The horse had never been ridden alongside strange horses, never been ridden into town - never ridden so far and so long, and never under these conditions.

Earlier that day, in the late afternoon, Dave cut a path through the snow to the barn. He pried open the metal door and fumbled inside for the light switch. A single light cast the long shadow of a horse onto the dirt floor. Two mares were hiding in the far corner of an open stall, in the shadow, under a burnt out bulb. Dave watered and fed these horses, but he had lost his confidence with them. For months, he had stopped riding. Now he needed to choose a horse. The older mares were safer. They didn’t spook easily. The younger, quirkier horse was unpredicatable, but a loner. The young horse could be pulled away from the others, safely. Still, Dave didn’t feel entirely comfortable on any horse. And he didn’t know where this pursuit would lead him.

It was months ago, at the beginning of fall, when Dave spotted the first rider. There weren’t many folks left on the north side of town who rode horses. Seeing someone on horseback was rare. This man rode through the field near the edge of Dave’s property. The man rode beyond the last tangle of fallen branches and buckthorn, along a barbed wire fence that ran between Dave’s woods and a farmer’s field. Horse sightings were rare because land development had overtaken the pastures. Land around the township was subdivided, graded and guttered. Dave was responsible for that. He sold lots for a developer. Years ago, he rode his horse into the subdivisions he helped create. When children saw his approaching horse, they got excited - but anything steaming, dropped from under a lifted tail, was met with squeals of disgust.

Land development came within earshot of Dave’s property. It was the sound of graders and the beeping they made as they moved in reverse. It was all happening somewhere beyond the woods on the far side of the farm field. Then one day the machines just stopped. The economy just stopped. Everyone Dave knew lost his job – realtors, surveyors, developers, civil engineers, carpenters, brick layers. Dave’s entire network of people, out of work in an instant. And Dave lost his job, too. The rider who Dave saw that day at the edge of his property was mounted on a large white horse. The sighting was a mystery to Dave. The only horses he knew that remained in the area belonged to an elderly Viet Nam Vet. Dave knew the old veteran didn’t ride anymore – ever since the day Dave helped the man out of a ditch - gash across his forehead and blood splattered spectacles. His horse had run off.

The white horse didn’t belong to the vet anyway. His was mostly old draft horses. They just grazed in the pasture. Nothing for old draft horses to do, but graze in the pasture. At the wintry edge of fall, Dave spotted another horse and rider. Dave was mending fence. There wasn’t much for him to do while he drained his unemployment insurance – mend fence, cut wood, putter in the garden. It was all stuff that he always wanted to do, but never made time for. Now, he did them, but felt restless, like he had been put out to pasture and there was nothing better to do. He tried his hand at cooking, gardening, but he didn’t seem to do these things well. His wife would be gracious about it, but the patronizing glint was in her eyes. There was no escaping it.

Soon, his children picked up on the theme and so there was nothing left for Dave to do but cut wood, mend fence and stay the heck away from everybody. The second horseman was on a shiny brown horse – the color so light and shiny that it was almost reddish. The horseman was leaning forward, intent on moving fast, kicking the horse to ride faster. Dave hadn’t seen anyone on horseback in years. Now, in the space of several months, he saw two different riders. Both were men. Both rode aone. They followed the tractor path along the property line.

Then it happened a third time. Dave was plodding through the woods, surveying the trees after a strong winter storm. His woods were ravaged by oak wilt. Huge trees were lifeless, white husks. Every storm brought down more trees. The third sighting was of the most unusual horse of all. It was tall and black with the build of a draft animal but with the proud gait and bounce of a show horse. The horse would have towered above a very tall man and, as if outfitted for the snow, its fetlocks were covered in long white bulky hair. The horse danced about on the edge of the woods for a moment, sensing something unknown to its rider. Finally, the rider urged him forward and they cantered away.

Then as the winter hung more heavily on the woods and fields, passing horsemen became a regular occurrence. Just before nightfall, a horseback rider would ride along the tractor path. Dave could spot the rider from the barn, each evening as he fed his horses. They were distant, but Dave spotted them in the clearing behind his back pasture. As Christmas approached, they rode by every other evening – sometimes in pairs. Once, three horses together. They always rode in the same direction – never returning. Dave didn’t hold much stock in faith or signs from above or anything of the sort. He asked his wife and children if they ever saw horseback riders. They said no – and even taunted him. “Why don’t you go follow them, Daddy? It would be an adventure.”

But, of course, they didn’t expect him to. They didn’t expect anything exciting out of daddy anymore. No one seemed to ever see these horses, but Dave. He even teased himself with the conceit. Three horses. It was almost apocalyptic. There was just one missing horse. What if it were a sign? What if he were meant to follow? Only someone as uninspired as he would let the sign go unanswered! As Christmas approached, the mystery of the thing became too tantalizing. What if, indeed, it were a sign? How long would the star shine brightly in the east, before someone had the wisdom to follow? By Christmas Eve, he was resolved.

On this Christmas Eve, he was left alone. His wife and children went into town to attend mass. Dave couldn’t bring himself to go to mass. The longer he was unemployed, the more morose he had become about it. He was fifty – and he was unemployed. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t provide for his family. And at fifty, his prospects were not plentiful. He felt useless and hopeless. He had never felt like that in his life. He was so full of dread, he couldn’t face up to the others in his church. So he stayed behind. On this Christmas Eve, he decided to track the horsemen. He chose the younger, friskier horse. The loner. Dave wasn’t sure if he could manage him. Even in the best of times, Dave didn’t ride much in the winter outside his own property. He led the horse out in the open air, so that he could keep an eye on the clearing where he normally spotted the riders.

After a lot of clumsiness, he managed to cinch the saddle and slip on the bridle. Before he could fasten the throat latch, two of the riders crossed the clearing. Dave gave them plenty of time to move on, then he followed. It was easy to pick up the tracks at the edge of the woods. It was beginning to snow again and the light was failing, but Dave had a general sense of the path the horsemen were taking. They were already well out of sight. Not wanting to take any chances and be discovered, Dave pulled back on the reins to make the horse stand still. The horse mistook this signal to mean they were returning home – and so Dave struggled a moment to make his real intent known. Finally, after some time, Dave nudged his horse forward and they rode further onto the farmer’s land.

The horse at first refused to be led on this unfiled flight plan. Where a hog wire fence had been trampled down, the horse backed away and hopped up on its hind legs. He wasn’t quite rearing – but placing the rider on notice. Then the horse crow-hopped. This started to unnerve Dave, but he pressed on. He slapped the horse’s backside and dug in his heels. The horse complied and moved forward. The tracks in the snow soon fell way from the edge of Dave’s property. They wound up to the highest point in the township. Outcrops of limestone lay exposed in the snow and the tracks climbed up some natural steps to the very top. They rode along a rocky edge. Dave gripped tighter and willed the horse to keep its footing. He knew he couldn’t return this way, in the dark. He would take a longer route home.

From this highest point, Dave could see a few homes at the edge of town. The snow was falling steadily now filling in the pockets of silence between the main road and the houses. The snow was also filling in the tracks – but a clear trail descended into another strip of woods. Again, Dave’s horse was reluctant to descend into the woods. It snorted and faultered and began backing up on Dave. He pointed the horse home to get it moving and swung it right back round again toward the woods. He grabbed a branch and struck it against the horse’s backside. The horse finally understood the weight of Dave’s resolve and trotted down the slope toward the woods.

The ride through the woods was short. At the end of the path and at the foot of the clearing lay an old red barn -- the barn that belonged to the veteran. Light from inside the barn spilled out onto the snow through tiny panes of glass. Next to the barn in a tiny corral, Dave saw the horses he had seen ride past his property. They were already unsaddled. Nothing but rotted fence kept them in. Dave’s pursuit ended here. The old barn was rather dilapidated. Dull red boards ran vertically from the roof line to a crumbling foundation. Panes of glass were missing, cracked or frosted. Beyond the barn stood the old farm house. The veteran lived there with his wife.

The horses grew agitated as Dave’s horse drew nearer. They snorted and pawed the ground, then darted around the corral. Dave didn’t understand. Men rode on horseback to come to this ramshackle place in the woods. The reason why lay behind the frosted pane, beyond the cob webs, inside. Dave wanted to know why. He backed up on the path and then wrapped his horse’s rein around a tree branch. He knew this was a bad idea – but he hadn’t a rope, so he did it anyway. Then with his puzzled horse tied to a branch, he crept back up to the barn.

He kept low and came up to a window. Through the glass he could vaguely hear and see their congregation. It puzzled him even more. None of it made sense. An elderly man, white hair, small moustache, wire frame glasses, no beard, was at the center of the room. All around him were tables, drill presses, lathes, belt sanders, routers, planers, vices, clamps. Every imaginable tool was arrayed on thick wood topped tables. In the corner were four walls of bricks, clamped together in a makeshift kiln. The men, whom Dave reckoned to be the horsemen, were all standing in the room. The white-haired old man, Dave recognized as the veteran. Beyond him and the men and the tools, Dave saw something extraordinary. Along each wall were shelves that reached from the floor to the rafters.

Upon them were toys of every imaginable shape. There were wood cut puzzles and pull toys in the shape of frogs and ducks and geese and bears and horses. They were simply shaped with big round curves. Some of their parts were painted bright green or red or silver. A little string -- a pull string – dangled from some part of their body – a mouth, a snout, or a neck. A stove stood in the corner. A bed warmer utensil hung off a rafter – along with tongs, a poker and a bellows. Stacks of wood stood on the edges of tables.

The men appeared to have not much to say to one another. Dave watched them for the longest time, until he felt uncomfortable. Then his horse put an abrupt end to it all – and whinnied loudly as if to call back across the woods and fields to his herd. Dave tried to pull away, and quickly. But he was caught. The vet tore through the hinged door and stopped Dave in his tracks. There was no slipping away. They stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment. The scar across the man hadn’t healed gracefully – made the man look meaner. Then the vet recognized who the interloper was. The anger slipped off his face.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. “I…I was out riding my horse, “ Dave answered. “He’s tied up over there. ” “You shouldn’t be out here.” Dave resigned. “I kept seeing riders pass by my land. I rode out to see what was going on.” Then, as if something registered with the old man, his face lit up. “You know I can’t ride anymore,” he said. “She won’t let me.” He motioned toward the house. Then he looked toward the path. “You said you brought your own horse?”

“Yes, but I have to go now. I have to go home.” “Come inside” “Why? I need to go.” “Come inside!” It wasn’t an invite – more of a command. Dave hesitantly stepped inside the woodshop, inside the barn. The men surrounded him. He vaguely recognized them, perhaps from town, but didn’t know who they were. They looked menacing, as if he had truly broken up their operation. But the walls weren’t covered in drugs or guns or contraband or anything – there were toys everywhere. Cute, little wooden toys with draw strings. Dave wondered, what could possibly happen to a person inside a toy shop?

Dave looked around at the men. His heart sank as he suddenly placed them. It was at a township public hearing. A local truck farmer wanted to develop his property. Dave was at the hearing to assist him. There were many who came to block the development. These men were among them. Dave was on the side of development; these men wanted to preserve the valley. The farmer wanted to survive. This was going to be a lynching. The meanest and most menacing of the group stepped forward.

“I recognize you. You’re that development fella.” “Yes”. One of the men started chuckling. “Development? Nothing much come of that property, did it? It was all a big stir over nothing.” They all chuckled. The man was right. The farmer won. He got his money. The land was subdivided. But the bottom fell out of the market. The land remained undeveloped; the fields lay fallow. “Yeah,” David admitted. “I lost my job after that.”

“You lost your job. Everybody here has lost his job. You’re in good company, “ said another man. “The town’s full of guys who’ve lost their jobs,” said another. “Except they never made any money to start with. You don’t see them come around here poking their nose in other people’s business.” “I’m sorry,” Dave said. “I didn’t really mean to pry into ...” The veteran interrupted. “He didn’t come to poke his nose in anything. He came here to help us.”

The men looked at the vet surprized, and then at Dave - but Dave didn’t know what the veteran meant. “Well, alright then,” said one of the men, easing off. “We could use another rider. I take it you brought a horse. It ain’t one of those prissy arena horses, is it? That kind a horse aint gonna last five minutes.“ “I don’t own an arena or an arena horse,” Dave objected. “Look. I really don’t know what’s going on.” “You’re here to help?”

“Yes. I guess I’m here to help. But I don’t know what you want me to do.” “We’re gonna deliver them toys, “ the man said, gesturing at the shelves. “We made them. We’re gonna deliver them. The’re some in town who, believe or not, are a little worse off than you. They got nothing coming in. Absolutely nothing. You still got your big property and your big pool and your big SUV.” Dave understood. “Is that… Is that who these toys are for?” “For people in town’s got nothing. So that’s what you’re in for then? You sure don’t look like you know what you’re getting into.”

One anxiety in Dave fell away. Toymakers didn’t kill people. He suddenly found himself in some misfit Santa shop in the Minnesota northwoods. Then a deeper dread set in. “You’re going to deliver these toys…tonight?” Dave probed. The vet answered, “Yep. I hope you brought a good horse. You see, I can’t ride anymore. I’m not supposed to ride.” “What do you mean by a good horse?” Dave asked. ‘Where you’re going you aint never gonna drive in, even with a four by four. There are parts of town, folks like you, I’m sure, have never seen.”

“Folks like me?” Then Dave got it. He was the yuppie developer who got his comeuppance. These men made toys, perhaps instead of wallowing in their self-pity. But Dave couldn’t do this. He couldn’t help deliver the toys. He couldn’t push his horse any further. He had to turn back now. The snow was falling heavier. He wasn’t even sure he could make his way back safely. His wife and children would be trying to get home. The horse needed water. “So, “ the mean one pressed closer. “Are you riding with us?” Dave had reached his limit. His horse had reached its limit. “Yes.” he blurted out, against all reason. It’s not what he wanted to say. He just said it.

***

In town, the snow picked up by the wind was ghostly. It blew off the roofs in big sweeping arcs. It made Dave’s horse uneasy. It kept pulling its head in the direction of home, but Dave pulled hard and neck-reined him back. The four horsemen rode through town with saddle bags bulging with burlap-covered toys. Dave kept wanting to turn back; but he still pushed forward.

They rode to the edge of town, underneath the bridge and railroad. Soon they were plodding through a part of town Dave had indeed never seen before. The roads were steep – very steep. The houses clung to the side of the roads as if they would topple over. Even through all of the ice and snow, Dave could see that the houses were worn and patched together. The siding was rotted; facia boards under the eves were torn away; the porches sagged; screens flapped in the wind. In the newer developments - the developments consigned to Dave -- the houses brazenly exposed their transoms and window walls to the Minnesota winter -- but in this neighborhood, the windows were small and boarded up or obscured by sheets of plastic. The inhabitants were trying to preserve what little heat they had.

The horsemen rode up the walks and partly up the stairs. They unlatched their saddle bags and pulled out the burlap bags that held the pull toy. They tossed the bundles onto verandas – so that in the morning the front door would open and there would be the bag, cinched up with yarn – with the little toy inside. Dave’s horse approached the houses with trepidation. Oftentimes it halted and refused to go any further. Dave dug his heels into the sides of the horse – but the horse wouldn’t budge. And then it would make one tentative step , followed by another, until Dave could reach over and toss the package to the front door.

This went on for some time, then the horsemen rode off to another part of town. It was another side that Dave had never seen, but heard about. Again, he wanted to turn back. He wanted to turn back before it was too late. His horse had long exceeded its limit. Dave knew that. Its hair was wet and foaming with perspiration. It was tense and jumpy – and just wanted to unload its rider and head for home. It was just a matter of time. The horsemen rode near a shut down factory – down in the lowest part of the valley. It was a part of town teaming with kids. But there were no children to be seen now. No sign of life. Some of the houses had car parts and vehicles parked on their front lawns.

One house had a pile of cut wood and a big wood burner set right in front of the house. Dave carefully guided his horse around some drive shafts and axles. But, one of these scrap configurations spooked the horse. It began backing away further and further. Dave was no longer in control. He had lost control. The horse backed into a picket fence – it wasn’t enough to stop the horse. The fence snapped underneath as the horse backed over it and then finally it reared straight up with Dave tumbling back, ripping the bit out of the horse’s mouth. He somersaulted backwards and landed in a snow bank, behind the horse.

***

 

For a long time, he lay there. He just lay there, not making a sound, not calling out, not cursing. He stared up at the snow, listening to the other horsemen thudding up wooden stairs. They were oblivous to Dave’s fall. Soon they were gone, and there was no sound but the blowing snow. They never returned. Dave lay silently and let snow fall onto his face. He lay there feeling every cold bite of snow on his wet face. And yet he wasn’t uncomfortable. A strange warm sensation washed over him. He lay comfortably in the snow – a middle-aged, unemployed man lying in the snow. And then some crazy impulse came over him.

In the dead of winter, in a part of town that seemed so forlorn and forsaken, he spread his arms and legs and flapped them up and down. He made a snow angel. And then recognizing that he could move, he laughed. His horse wheeled around, and just stood over him, waiting for the bridle to be strapped around its head again, waiting to go home. Dave finally sat up and gathered up the bridle. He fit the bit back in the horse’s warm mouth, and then reached inside the saddle bag. There were two remaining toys there. He knew exactly who they were meant for. He returned them to the bag and headed home, feeling, for the first time in a long time, oddly at peace with himself.