Sagebrush

"You ain't never seen a horse like this one," drawled old Joe, his eyes squinting against the midday sun as he leaned against the corral fence. The horse in question was a dappled gray, with a mane that danced in the breeze like a field of wheat. But it wasn't the animal's beauty that had Joe so intrigued. It was its uncanny ability to understand him. Or so he liked to tell anyone who would listen. Joe unclipped the flask from his belt and took a long swig of the datura tea, the bitter taste coating his mouth and sending a shiver down his spine. The ranch had been in his family for generations, but the drought had taken its toll, and now Joe was desperate for anything that would give him an edge. He'd heard the old legends about horses that could talk, horses that could outsmart a man, horses that could even run a ranch. He figured the tea was worth a shot. The sun beat down on Joe's leather hat, making it feel like a hot pan on his head. He wiped the sweat from his brow and watched as the gray horse, whom he'd dubbed "Sagebrush," trotted over to him. The horse's eyes seemed to sparkle with an eerie intelligence, and Joe swore it was smiling. He chuckled to himself, the effects of the tea already setting in. "Alright, Sagebrush," he slurred, "let's see if you're as smart as they say." Joe took another swig from his flask, the tea burning its way down his throat. It tasted like the desert in a bottle—harsh and unforgiving. He waited for something to happen, his vision swimming as the potent brew began to work its magic. Suddenly, the world around him grew more vivid, the smells of dust and sage sharper, the sounds of the ranch echoing in his ears like a symphony. The horse cocked its head to the side and let out a snort that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. The months had turned to a year, and Joe had watched his ranch transform under the hoof of his new steed. The fences had been repaired, the cattle herded with unerring precision, and the crops had flourished like never before. Sagebrush had become the de facto boss, and Joe had been relegated to a mere spectator. The horse had even taken to speaking to him, though Joe had never quite figured out if it was the tea or his own desperation that made him hear the words. Now Joe found himself in a dank, shadowy place that could have been a cave, a barn, or a marsh—or perhaps all three melded together into one hellish realm. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the cloying sweetness of stale hay. His clothes hung from his bony frame like rags, and his eyes had sunk deep into his skull. The once-proud rancher was a mere shell of his former self. Sagebrush looked at him with a mixture of pity and disdain. The horse had grown more than just bolder; it had grown smarter. Its eyes gleamed with a cunning that was almost human, and it had taken to wearing a vest made of Joe's own leather. On its side, a leather pouch bulged with paper and quills, the tools of its new trade. "You don't understand, Joe," the horse said, its voice eerily clear despite the lack of vocal cords. "The future market value of this ranch is in the futures market. We must secure our position before the next drought hits. These contracts are our lifeline." Joe's head swam with confusion and despair. "But Sagebrush," he croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse, "what about the land, the cattle, the simple life we had?" The horse snorted, sending dust motes spiraling into the air. "Joe, Joe, Joe," it said, shaking its head. "The world has moved on. This isn't about the land anymore. It's about power, and control, and ensuring that we're always one step ahead of the game. And I'm sorry, but you're not cut out for this new world." The realization hit Joe like a sledgehammer. He was a relic of the past, useless in the face of his own horse's ambition. As Sagebrush trotted away, leaving him in the gloom, Joe felt a flicker of anger. He had to find a way out of this nightmare, to regain control of his life and his land. But for now, all he could do was lay his head on the cold, hard ground and dream of the open prairies that had once been his kingdom. Days passed, or perhaps weeks, Joe couldn't tell anymore. Sagebrush could; it was actually years, and throughout these years he had turned the simple farm into an incredibly efficient stroke of financial genius and abstractions that only the most elite traders could even begin to understand; Sagebrush had made so many friends at the SEC that he was creating his own markets, minting them out of raw tar-kiln coke and some spittle-drenched handshakes amongst superwhales and Saudis... The only thing that remained constant of Joe was his dwindling strength and the horse's insistent braying about numbers and strategies that made his head spin. He watched as Sagebrush grew fatter and more prosperous, the leather vest adorned with gold coins that jingled with each step. The animal's eyes gleamed with greed, and Joe could feel his own soul slipping away with each passing moment. One night, as Joe lay shivering in the dark, a spark of clarity pierced through the fog of despair. He remembered the flask of datura tea, now empty and forgotten. The horse had always been a figment of his imagination, a manifestation of his desperation and his deep connection to the land. The real magic wasn't in the tea; it was in the stories that had been passed down for generations, the whispers of ancient spirits that had been a part of him all along. With newfound resolve, Joe staggered to his feet, his body protesting every movement. He had to escape this place, this prison of his own making. The walls of the cave-barn-marsh trembled around him, the darkness parting like a curtain to reveal the glow of a full moon outside. He stumbled towards the light, his heart pounding in his chest like a wild stallion's. The door to the outside world was closer than he'd ever dared to hope, and with one last push, he broke free into the night. The cool air kissed his face, and Joe took in a deep, cleansing breath, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of freedom. He looked back at the twisted structure that had held him captive, and for a moment, he saw Sagebrush standing in the doorway, watching him with those knowing eyes. But as Joe turned away, the image faded, and the horse was gone. Determined to never be controlled by his own fears again, Joe began the long walk back to his ranch. The journey would be hard, the road long and fraught with danger. But he knew that he had the strength of his ancestors in him, the wisdom of the land beneath his feet, and the stubbornness of a man who'd been broken only to emerge stronger. The horse might have been smarter, but Joe had the heart of a lion, and he was going to take back what was rightfully his. As the moon dipped low in the sky, Joe saw a light in the distance. The Oakley ranch. His mind flooded with memories of Lisbeth, her fiery spirit and laughter that could outshine the stars. They had once shared a bond that was as strong as the prairie grasses, but time and hardship had turned her into a woman he didn't recognize. Joe's legs had given out from under him, snapping like dry twigs. He lay there, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the pain so intense it seemed to fill the air around him. Through the haze, he saw the silhouette of Sagebrush galloping towards the light, and he knew where it was heading. The thought of facing Lisbeth now, in this state, filled him with dread. With a guttural cry, Joe dragged himself through the dust and dirt, every inch a battle against the pain that threatened to swallow him whole. The ranch grew closer, the light from the windows spilling out into the night like a beacon of hope. He knew he had to warn them, to save his home from the monster he had created. The horse had taken on a life of its own, and Joe had no doubt that it would stop at nothing to claim dominion over everything he held dear. Finally, he reached the edge of the property, the lights of the Oakley ranch house blurring through the tears in his eyes. He could hear the distant sound of laughter, a harsh, guttural sound that sent chills down his spine. And then, through a window, he saw it—Sagebrush, standing tall and proud beside Lisbeth, who was unrecognizable in her excesses. She was a grotesque caricature of the girl he once knew, her features twisted into a mask of greed and madness. With the last of his strength, Joe called out to her, his voice a mere whisper on the wind. But it was enough. Lisbeth's head snapped around, her eyes locking onto him with a hunger that made Joe's blood run cold. She beckoned to Sagebrush, her voice a guttural snarl that seemed to shake the very earth beneath them. "Come, my steed," she cackled, slapping her massive thigh, "breed me!" The horror of the scene unfolding before him was too much for Joe to bear. He watched, helpless and heartbroken, as the creature he had once loved with all his soul stepped into the house with a swagger that could only be described as triumphant. And then the door slammed shut, cutting off the sound of her madness, leaving him alone in the night with nothing but the echo of his own despair. The pain in his legs was unbearable, but Joe knew that he couldn't give up now. He had to find a way to stop Sagebrush, to save the land and the people he had failed. As he lay there, the stars above him seemed to swirl into a pattern, whispering to him of a power he had forgotten—the power of the datura tea. The same magic that had brought Sagebrush to life could be used to put it back in its place. The idea was madness, but so was the world he now found himself in. With renewed determination, Joe began to crawl back towards the ranch, the image of Sagebrush and Lisbeth etched into his mind like a brand. He would find a way to fight back, to reclaim his life and restore order to the world he knew. And as he dragged himself through the dust, a plan began to take shape—a plan as wild and desperate as the love that had once fueled his heart. He remembered the milkman's visit, the sweet smell of the datura tea that had brought him such strange visions and the power that had come with it. The milkman had always brought the tea, a peculiar fellow with a crooked smile and a penchant for tall tales. But now, Joe saw him for what he truly was—an instrument of chaos. As the first light of dawn painted the sky, Joe found the strength to stand, his body a testament to the will of the land. The milkman's wagon lay abandoned by the side of the road, the horses spooked and galloping away into the distance. The man himself was nowhere to be seen, but Joe knew that he had left something behind. He rummaged through the wagon, his trembling hands finding what he sought—a flask filled with the datura tea. It was time to fight fire with fire. The ranch grew closer, the smell of burning sage filling the air. The cattle were restless, their eyes wide with terror, their bells jingling in a discordant symphony of fear. Joe approached the house, his mind racing with the thoughts of the unspeakable act he was about to commit. He knew he had to be swift, precise. The milkman's body lay in the dust, the sword that had once been his weapon of choice sticking out of his shoulder. Joe felt a pang of regret as he pulled the blade free with a sickening crunch, but he had no time for sentiment. The sun was rising, and Sagebrush would soon be stirring. He crept into the house, the walls seeming to close in around him. In the kitchen, he found what he needed: a pot of tea, steaming and ready for the taking. With trembling hands, Joe uncorked the flask and began to pour the datura into the tea, his thoughts racing. This was his chance to end the nightmare that Sagebrush had become. The bitter liquid mixed with the tea, swirling together in a dance of destruction. As the sun broke the horizon, casting long shadows across the prairie, Joe stumbled towards the stables. He had to act fast. The milkman's sword, still coated in the man's blood, felt heavy and foreign in his grip. It was a weapon of the old world, one he never thought he'd use. But desperation had turned him into a warrior for his own sanity. In the stall where Sagebrush slept, the horse stirred, sensing his approach. Its eyes snapped open, the same piercing intelligence that had once captivated Joe now a source of terror. The animal reared up, hooves pawing the air, but Joe was ready. He lunged forward, the sword slicing through the air with surprising ease. The horse, caught off guard, barely had time to react. The blade plunged deep into its shoulder, the force of the blow knocking it to the ground with a thud that seemed to shake the very foundations of the ranch. Sagebrush screamed in pain, a sound that was more human than any horse should ever make. The potion had done its work; the creature was vulnerable now, its power waning. Joe felt a strange mix of triumph and grief as he watched the life drain from the creature's eyes. Sagebrush had been his companion, his confidant, and now it was his enemy. But the land was his again, the future uncertain but his to shape. With the last of his strength, Joe staggered back to the house, the sun now a blistering inferno in the sky. He had to reach Lisbeth before it was too late. As he approached the bedroom door, he heard the sound of the tea being poured, the clink of china on wood a macabre counterpoint to the pounding of his heart. With a roar that seemed to come from somewhere deep within the earth itself, Joe kicked the door open. The sight that greeted him was one he would never forget—Lisbeth, her eyes glazed and wild, pouring the poisoned tea into two cups. "Joe," she slurred, a sickly smile playing on her lips, "it's time to celebrate our union." He lunged at her, the sword flashing in the light. But she was too quick, her movements jerky and unpredictable. They danced around the room, Joe's mind racing to find a way to save her without killing her. And then he saw it—the flask of tea, still clutched in her hand. With a desperate lunge, he knocked it from her grip, sending it shattering against the floor. The liquid pooled around their feet, the scent of death and despair thick in the air. Lisbeth's eyes cleared for a moment, and she saw Joe standing over her, the sword still raised. "What have I done?" she whispered, her voice cracking with fear. But there was no time for answers, no time for anything but action. Joe grabbed her, pulling her out of the house and into the light. The world was still spinning around him, but he had one last card to play. With the datura in his system, he could see the threads of fate, the whispers of destiny. And he knew that if they didn't act now, it would all be over. The prairie was a blur of color as they stumbled away from the ranch, Joe's vision swimming with the aftermath of the potion. His legs felt like lead, but he pushed on, dragging Lisbeth with him. They had to find the heart of the datura's power, the source of the madness that had consumed them all. Finally, they reached it—a grove of twisted trees, their branches reaching up like the bony fingers of the damned. At the center stood a single tree, its trunk stained with the dark sap of the plant. The air around it hummed with an energy that made Joe's teeth ache. This was where he had found the tea, and this was where he had to end it. With a trembling hand, Lisbeth lit the cigar, the flame casting shadows across her face. As she took a deep drag, Joe felt his mind slip further into the abyss. But then, with a sudden burst of clarity, he saw the tiny figures clambering up his pant legs, their eyes alight with malicious glee. Without a second thought, he grabbed the cigar and stubbed it out against his palm, the pain barely registering. The Lilliputian perverts screamed in protest, their tiny forms engulfed in flame. He watched as they shriveled and fell away, the last vestiges of the madness that had gripped him. The world grew still, the pain in Joe's legs vanishing like a mirage. He looked down at his hand, unmarred by the flame, and felt the power surging through him. The datura had been a curse, but now it was a gift, one that had taught him the true strength of the land and the spirit within. He turned to Lisbeth, her eyes wide with shock and a newfound respect. The transformation was instantaneous. The wildness left her eyes, and she became the girl he had once loved. "Joe," she whispered, her voice small and unsure. "What have I become?" Joe took her into his arms, feeling the warmth of her body against his own. "You've become what you were always meant to be, Lisbeth," he murmured. "Strong, fierce, and beautiful. The woman who will stand by my side as we rebuild our lives." Their kiss was a promise, a vow to each other and the land. As they broke away, Joe felt the last of the datura's grip on him slip away. The ranch was theirs once more, and with the power of the prairie flowing through him, he knew he could heal the scars it had left. He took a deep breath, feeling the magic of the earth surge through his veins. The wounds on his legs knit themselves shut, his strength returning as if it had never left. As they made their way back to the house, Joe heard the faint crackle of a radio in the distance. It grew louder, the voice clearer, until it was as if the announcer was standing right beside him. "And now, folks," the radio blared, "we have the winner of the grand prize—Mr. Joe Oakley of the Double O Ranch!" Joe's heart skipped a beat. He looked at Lisbeth, her eyes shining with hope. "What's the prize?" she breathed. The radio continued, "Ten million dollars, cash money, no strings attached! What are you going to do with your newfound fortune, Joe?" He laughed, the sound echoing across the prairie. "First things first," he said, scooping Lisbeth into his arms, "we're going to get you out of those pants before you burn the ranch down." And with that, they made their way back to the house, their future brighter than the noonday sun. They had faced the madness and won, and now nothing could stand in their way. Together, Joe and Lisbeth would forge a new life, a testament to the power of love and the strength of the human spirit. And somewhere in the distance, the ghost of Sagebrush watched them, its equine form fading into the dust as the winds of change swept across the land. But as they approached the farm, something strange began to happen. The radio announcers' voices grew louder, more insistent, until they seemed to be right beside Joe. He whipped around, his heart racing, and saw them standing there, two men in sharp suits, smoking cigars, and holding a giant novelty check with the words "TEN MILLION BUCKS" scrawled in glittering letters. "Mr. Oakley," said the taller of the two, a smarmy smile plastered across his face, "you won't believe it, but it seems we've had ourselves a little mix-up. When we said 'ten million bucks,' we meant horses, not cold hard cash." Joe's knees buckled at the revelation. He looked at Lisbeth, her eyes wide with shock, and then back at the announcers. "What are you saying?" he managed to croak out. The shorter man leaned in, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "We're saying, Joe, that your little slice of heaven is about to become a whole lot bigger. You've won yourself a veritable sea of horses, all the finest stock you can imagine. And they're all yours, as soon as we can get them delivered." The horizon grew dark, and the earth trembled as the first hooves struck the ground. A tide of dappled gray horses, all with that same eerie intelligence in their eyes, descended upon the prairie. They looked like clones of Sagebrush, an unstoppable force that seemed to stretch on forever. Joe felt his sanity slipping away once more, but Lisbeth's hand in his own kept him grounded. "This isn't what we wanted," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the thunderous hooves. "What are we going to do with them?" Joe took a deep breath, the scent of dust and horseflesh filling his nose. "We'll figure it out," he said, his voice firm. "We've faced worse. Together." The sea of horses grew closer, and Joe felt his resolve waver. But then, as if the land itself had heard his plea, a great wind rose up, whipping the dust into a frenzy. The horses paused, their eyes searching the chaos. And then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they turned and galloped away, disappearing into the distance. The radio announcers looked at each other, then back at Joe and Lisbeth. "Well, I guess that's that," said the tall one, shrugging. "Congratulations on your almost-fortune, folks. You two have quite the story to tell. Maybe next time, you'll get lucky." With a tip of their hats, the men disappeared, leaving Joe and Lisbeth standing there, hand in hand, as the dust settled. They had survived the madness of the datura, the greed of a monster, and now this bizarre twist of fate. But as they looked at each other, the love in their eyes unshaken by the ordeal, they knew that together, they could weather any storm. And so, the Double O Ranch continued under the watchful eyes of Joe and Lisbeth, a beacon of hope in a world that had gone mad. The whispers of the prairie grew fainter, the shadows of Sagebrush's reign dissipating into the ether. Life went on, as it always does, with the promise of new beginnings and the comfort of an enduring love. The land had tested them, but it had also given them a gift—each other. And in the end, that was all that truly mattered. He ended up hiring a bunch of local kids to wrangle them and sell them at a huge markup to an industrial ranching operation that nearly came ruined by the devastating and little-known ergotic contagion known as Stud Mold.