Submitter: Pecos Date: 2005/12/29 Views: 3241 Rate: 7.00/10

“America has been discovered before, but it has always been hushed up.” – Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)


“Hey, Aaron, come on over here,” Jacob called, pulling off his dusty cowboy hat to wipe ineffectually at the line of mud across his brow. He waved at the stranger, and the handsome man urged his horse over to the rail with no visible cue and dropped to the ground soundlessly. His mount, green broke at best, stood patiently by. “Sure wish I knew where you learned how to do that,” Jacob muttered, reaching into his back pocket to pull out the folded paper.

Aaron Ghorn, as they’d taken to calling him, looked at the paper with interest as Jacob unfolded it. “I been curious about where it is you came from, and where it is you mean to be going,” Jacob explained. He smoothed the map out against his knee, then turned to hold it against the side of the shed. “This here map’s got our part of Nebraska on it, you understand?”

Aaron was staring intently at the paper, reaching out to rub a finger over the coloured ink and finger the texture. He seemed amazed at how thin and delicate the map was. He finally seemed to realize that it WAS a map, and his eyes grew wide. Catching Jacob’s puzzled gaze, Aaron gestured at the ranch around them, then stabbed lightly at the surface of the map, speaking quickly in that soft tongue of his which no one understood.

“Here, right here,” Jacob told him. “Jefferson County. See, there’s the road, this is where Kearney is, just over that way.”

Aaron’s glance went from the map to their surroundings several times. He turned and pointed to a hill in the distance, not much more than a bump on the horizon, then stabbed the tip of his finger at a place on the map.

“Not quite!” Jacob laughed. “Them’s the Rockies, over in Colorado. That’s hundreds of miles from here. Now, where is it you’ve come from?”

But Aaron’s eyes had grown frightened, like he’d had no idea where he was and this new information was more than he could handle. He took a step backwards to see the map from a different angle, but the sound of the stock truck coming up the road caused the horse wrangler to spin. He stared at the approaching truck with what could only be wonder – and perhaps a bit of fear.

Others came out of the barn and house, waving to the driver and calling out welcomes. Jacob forgot about the map, shoving it in Aaron’s hands as he sauntered over to the yard. They might need help getting the truck backed up to the loading ramp. He didn’t see the stunned look on Aaron’s face as he watched the enormous horseless wagon arrive to take the horses away.

“Great Job, Lieutenant!” Inspector Grieves told him as he came through the door late that morning. Grieves didn’t stick around to elaborate, obviously in a rush to get somewhere.

One of the Sergeants was happy to expand on the topic, though. There was a hastily drawn certificate on his desk, declaring Colin Farrell a new Knighthood in the ‘Order of Old Lady Saviors.’ He didn’t bother to correct the spelling errors, put the certificate in the only uncrowded drawer of his desk and set to work. It was a couple of hours later when he overheard the news from the front desk: someone had finally captured the Wild Man.

Colin hurried to the source of the raging discussion and gathered what information he could.

“Constable Simmons it was,” someone was explaining. “Just minding the corner where that signal was out, and the Wild Man steps out of an alley and right up to him!”

“Simmons?” someone else scoffed. “He’s the smallest man on the East London force! Must have ‘bout pissed himself!”

“Yeah, well he tried to sort the bugger out, but the guy didn’t seem to understand a word he said, and started to back away. That’s when Simmons realized that he had a pair of cuffs on him. Quick as Bob’s yer uncle he caught the guy’s hand and cuffed him. Got the other end onto a railing while the Wild Man was looking at him all puzzled. Simmons blew his whistle and the Wild Man did just what you’d think….”

“What?” Colin questioned, unaware of how intently he was hanging on this account.

“He went totally nuts, didn’t he? Thrashing and pulling on the cuff, yanking at it, trying to get his hand free. Simmons said he thought it was like a fox in the legtrap, one step away from ripping his own hand off. Simmons had to clobber him just to get the Wild Man to stop fighting. Then a couple RAF guys arrived, and one of ‘em’s armed. He points his pistol at the nutter, thinking maybe this guy was a Nazi or something.”

“Nazis in London…as if!” snorted someone. Colin hated the interruption in this incredible narrative.

“Well, the Wild Man just stares at the gun, like he doesn’t know what it is! He actually bent forward and looked right up the barrel, they said, sniffing it!”

This brought a round of laughter from the gathered police officers, and Colin grabbed the Constable’s arm to get his attention. “Where’d they take him? The Wild Man? Where’s he at now?”

“The Yard, I imagine. They had six men there when they unlocked the cuffs from the railing, and he still nearly got away. Imagine they had their hands full getting him into the wagon too! Wish it’d been me caught him. Nice for the old record, that one.”

Colin was already moving, heading for the door.

Aragorn sat on a block of pressed straw in the shade of one of the big trees. He had no idea what the name of this tree was. He reflected ruefully that even Legolas probably didn’t know the name of this tree. If the Elf were there he’d be cooing over it nonetheless, touching the bark and singing a song of wonder to this new discovery, climbing the big limbs to the very top just to feel the breeze and listen to the whisper of the leaves.

But Legolas wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere nearby. Aragorn could only hope and pray that Legolas was back home, safe, in Middle-earth. All the curses of Sauron were, at least, something that Aragorn could understand.

He turned again to study the ‘trucks’ which had arrived, stinking of some unnatural smoke, moving without any apparent means of doing so. He’d badly underestimated this place, Aragorn realized. He would have to remedy this situation. If he had been brought here by some means, some unknown power, he could be taken back again. All he had to do was find Legolas -- if he was in this place -- capture Saruman – if he was here as well – and get them all back to Middle-earth before the rising evil in the East overtook the world. He sighed, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

One of the women of the ranch came out of the house and started laying lunch out for the hungry men, putting platters of food on the trestle tables under the trees. She smiled warmly at Aragorn and he forced himself to smile back.

Inside his gut churned, and he realized that the tasks before him were larger than any he’d ever faced before. No simple errand to escort the Ring Bearer across unfriendly lands this time. The dangers here were unknown to him, and the goal impossible to judge.

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