Riley’s “Last Ride”

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It’s been forever since I posted a Riley’s Ramblings Journal entry. Enjoy! You can also click the link above “Riley’s Ramblings” to read his journal, starting with the day he leaves the Circle C as an 11-year-old boy. (Since blog posts are in descending order with the newest first, you’ll have to scroll down to the bottom of the page and start at “old posts” to find the first post). I have posted some of his adventures at various forts, and there are a couple of holes I have not yet filled. However, I wanted to create this most poignant entry now. I’ll fill in the rest at a later date.

📝 Riley’s Journal — May 3, 1887
Memory Creek Ranch, California

It’s the hardest thing I ever had to relate, but my horrible experience was so close to what Andi was suffering with Taffy’s passing that I took a deep breath, asked God for courage not to break down in the middle of my retelling, and said, “You have never asked why Midnight is no longer with me. Aren’t you curious?”

That got Andi’s attention, and I waited for her to reaction. Finally, after a little back-and-forth, she said, “Tell me.”

The oak leaves rustled like old paper just before I started my story. The leaves remind me of Arizona—and the last night I saw Midnight. So I told her.

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We were three years deep into our stay at Fort Apache. Pa had just gotten command of a unit up there, and the fort was hotter than a cast-iron skillet and twice as tense. Apaches were a constant ghost—silent one day, stealing horses the next.

One evening, I was sitting by the corral when Pa walked up, hands behind his back.

“Trouble last night,” he said. “Six horses gone.”

My stomach dropped. “Midnight?”

“I’m afraid so, Son,” Pa answered. He adjusted his hat and gave one nod. “The men and I will get him back, as well as the rest of the horses the Apaches stole.” With that, he turned on his heel and hurried away, shouting orders into the dark, clear night. A full moon showed the men mounting up. With a rush, two dozen soldiers took off like a shot out of the fort and into the desert. The pounding hooves drummed on my ears.

Go after them . . . go after them . . . go after them . . .

I ran before I could change my mind. I didn’t tell Mama where I was going. I didn’t tell anyone. I grabbed the first horse I could find in the stables, tacked him up, and was out of the fort not more than five minutes after Pa and his men had galloped away.

I chased after the men under a bright, full moon. It was easy to track them. When Pa saw me, he waved the men to a stop and pulled his horse to stop next to me. “Go home, Riley,” he said softly.

“No, Pa,” I said through chattering teeth. The desert is COLD after sundown. “Let me come along. Please.”

“You’re fifteen,” he said. “This isn’t just chasing wild goats. When we catch up to the thieves, there’s bound to be shooting. The Apaches are not playing around. They’re downright serious about getting away with this.”

I nodded. “I know, and I’ll stay back. But you’ve got to let me come along.”

Pa studied me for a long moment, then gave a single nod. “Stay close. And stay sharp.”

Hours turned into dust and sweat. We followed broken brush and hoof prints under the moonlight unti one of the soldier’s pointed out an unnatural-looking heap of black. It was Midnight—collapsed on the edge of a dry gulch, his body slick with sweat, and gasping for every breath like he was drowning in air.

I flew from my horse and dropped beside Midnight. “How could they do this to you?” I whispered. “You weren’t made for this, and those Apaches knew it, so they–” my voice choked–“they left you here to die all alone.”

Pa sent the rest of the unit on ahead. After all, the fort’s mission was to retrieve those stolen horses. If they waited too long, the Apaches would gallup out of reach and hide themselves where nobody could find them. Then they’d laugh their heads off over a successful raid.

When we were alone, Pa crouched next to me, jaw set, eyes heavy. “He’s done for, Riley.”

“No!” I hollered, springing to my feet. “I can save him. We can drag him back to the fort, if we take it slow. I can nurse him back to health, Pa. I know I can–”

“No, Son,” Pa cut in, his voice low. “There’s no ‘slow’ with this. There’s no nursing him back to health.” He dropped a compassionate hand on my shoulder. “He’s old, and he’s suffering.”

I looked at Midnight and slowly lowered myself back to the ground beside him. I stroked his mane, scratched under his forelock, and begged him quietly not to die. His eyes flickered up at me—recognition, pain, everything. No, God. Please— But I knew deep inside that he would not make it, and I knew what had to be done.

“Riley.” Pa held out his rifle. “Do you want to take care of this?”

I shook my head. “I—I can’t.”

Pa waited a breath, then he rose and gently led me away from Midnight . . . and he did what I couldn’t.

The sound was sharp. Final. I flinched. Quiet followed, thick as thunder.

I stood there for a long time after Pa put away the rifle. My hands shook. My heart felt carved out.

“I’m sorry,” Pa said, voice hoarse. “For everything.”

I couldn’t answer. I just nodded. Then I furiously swiped the tears from my eyes, looked at Pa, and said, “I want to go back to the fort.”

Pa nodded. He left his unit to chase down the Apaches and take back our horses. They returned the next morning, successful but looking weary beyond belief.

Later, I asked Pa for a transfer. I couldn’t bear riding outside the fort, perhaps riding past that gulch, seeing the spot where Midnight fell. Maybe seeing Midnight clawed or chewed up. Or seeing him next summer, nothing but dry, bleached bones.

No. I shivered. I had to get away from Arizona and Fort Apache.

Pa understood and put in for a transfer to Fort Yuma. But the hardest part in all of this? Forgiving the Apache who ran him so hard. But I did. It took prayer. Tears. Time.

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When I finished my story, tears were streaming down Andi’s face. Then she started crying. I didn’t mean to make her cry—I just wanted her to understand. To understand what she was going through with Taffy. To understand the part about forgiving the unknown Apache that had left Midnight to die.

“Reckon I never cried so hard in my life,” I told her.

She nodded, and I could see my words were turning over in her head. And I knew that–with God’s help and with me digging up my own past hurts–I had made a breakthrough. And through my silent, unseen tears, I rejoiced.