Gold Dust

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  “Yeah, but I ain’t lying. I was kinda sneaky when I was a kid, not in a bad way, I just didn’t want anyone to know what I was up to. One day I was at a friend’s house and found a gold Waltham railroad pocket watch laying in the yard. I had an idea who it might have belonged to but I wanted it. I figured lost and found, right?

  “Well sir, later that evenin’ after supper, I got to thinking I needed to hide it. I had an idea that I might try and sell it for cash, and believe me, hard money was hard to come by in the Valley. I stuck it between some newspapers in the rack beside my old daddy’s chair, but I be danged if he didn’t decide to read that night.”

  A truck pulling a boat trailer came from the Lamar Dam and parked on the shoulder, parallel to the highway. Two men tromped into Neal’s store, but not before giving the two old men a long look.

  Ned pursed his lips, unconsciously touched his little badge with his fingertips.

  Tom didn’t take his eyes off them until they were inside. “Dad pulled a paper from the rack and that watch fell on the floor. It was like somebody’d throwed a live rattler into the living room, it got so quiet. Both my brothers and a sister wouldn’t take their eyes off of it. Daddy asked where it came from, and none of us fessed up. He quizzed us all night, but I didn’t say a word, because I was scared. Of what? I don’t have any idea, but everything froze up in my chest and I just sat there with the rest, shaking my head.

  “The longer Dad asked, the less we had to say, and the madder he got. Mama finally cooled him down and we all went to bed. I didn’t get a wink of sleep. He started in on us the next morning before chores and I was so groggy I finally gave in and said I’d found it.”

  Ned turned his ice blue eyes on the Ranger beside him who nodded like he’d been asked a question. “Wore my ass plumb out, once for lying and saying I didn’t know anything about that gold watch, and again because he thought I’d stole it.”

  “And all it woulda took is you saying you picked it up.”

  “Ain’t that the truth? That’s how things start, bad little decisions. We walked down the road to the house where I found the watch and I had to knock on the door and ask who it belonged to. The old man inside said it was his and I had to apologize, saying I took it. Stole it.”

  They were silent for a long moment.

  “We went back home and Dad put a hoe in my hands and worked me for two days straight without stopping until I fell out at the end of a row of cantaloupes.” He smoothed his mustache. “I never lied again after that, and never stole so much as a piece of penny candy, either. I believe that’s why I became a Ranger, to atone for something I never did.”

  “What’d your daddy say when you finally told him?”

  They watched the two strangers emerge with packets of white paper, probably containing fresh sliced baloney and cheese.

  “You know, that’s always bothered me.”

  Ned raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “I never did, and he died thinking I stole that watch.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Friday night, two miles north of Austin, Texas, smoke hung heavy below the Broken Spoke’s low ceiling. Neon lights advertising Lone Star Beer and Pabst Blue Ribbon filled the walls, bathing the interior in the soft pastel glow of advertisement.

  Dozens of tables covered with red checkered tablecloths covered with beer bottles and highball glasses were arranged in a semicircle around the golden oak dance floor. The floor was packed with couples two-stepping counterclockwise in a rhythmic whirlpool of bright plaid button-down shirts, cowboy hats, and women wearing tops that glittered in the stage lights. The long-haired Cosmic Cowboys were beginning to infiltrate the traditionally older western crowd.

  The rest of the overflowing crowd gathered along the walls two and three deep, waiting on the night’s top draw. Deputy Anna Sloan watched a man in oiled hair and a silver and white Nudie suit step onto the honky-tonk’s low stage after the last notes of a new style of psychedelic rock ended with a polite response from the primarily country crowd.

  “That was Roky Erickson and the 13th Floor Elevators. They’ll be back tomorrow night to open for Earnest Tubb. Thanks guys, and I hope that Janis Joplin gal really does join up with y’all!”

  The more progressive patrons at the back of the room yelled and whistled at the mention of Janis’ name. A number of men wearing cowboy hats turned to glare at the long-haired youngsters.

  “Evenin’ folks! I’m James White and I hope you’re all here to have a good time tonight. For those of you who’d like to hear more of that new sound, go on over to the Saracen or the Jade Room tomorrow night. You won’t get much more of that in here.”

  The good-natured crowd whooped and clapped. Anna sat at a table by herself and had already turned down half a dozen dance requests before the headliner was supposed to start playing.

  “Now I know you’re here to dance, so I’ve got just the man for you. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Willie Nelson!”

  The hatless country music star took the stage wearing a cream-colored suit. His short hair was oiled back and glistened in the light. Deep dimples bracketed his smile. “Hello. I’m Willie Nelson and I’m glad to be here again for…what James, the umpteenth time?”

  “That’s right!”

  “Well, let’s get to it.” He hit a chord and the band joined in. “Each night I make the rounds…”

  Couples poured onto the hardwoods at the same time a waitress in jeans and tight-fitting western shirt appeared at Anna’s table. Dodging the flow of happy dancers, she sat a fresh Miller High Life down beside an empty bottle. The lights and smoke softened the hard edges of the waitress’ face, showing Anna what she’d looked like fifteen years earlier, when she was young and fresh out of high school. “Here ya go, hon.”

  Anna handed her three dollars. “That should keep me paid up for a while.”

  The waitresses face fell. “It sure will. Some feller let you down?”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, we don’t always get single women who stay that way for very long. You’ve been settin’ there for two hours and haven’t danced a dance.”

  Anna realized she was standing out in a crowd, the exact opposite of what she wanted. “Well, I can’t listen to the music and dance too. The guys are always trying to talk, or be funny, or running their hands around where they shouldn’t be.”

  The waitress glanced around. “I know what you mean, hon.” She popped her gum. “Some of these old boys in here sure are watching you though.”

  “Well, I could have gone to hear something else like Steppenwolf or Jimi Hendrix, they’re playing across town, but I was raised on western swing and would rather hear country myself.”

  “Did you know Hank Williams and Elvis played here?”

  “No!” Anna saw a square-jawed guy at the bar who looked like a true working cowboy. Most of the others were townfolk, or what her daddy called “drugstore cowboys,” but the man who caught her attention was in worn-down boots and a sweat-stained straw hat that had seen better days. “Do you know who that is?”

  The waitress looked over her shoulder. “Hon, I thought you said you were in here to listen to music.”

  “Well, Willie does make me want to dance.”

  The beer gal laughed big and loud. Her just-rolled-out-of-bed pageboy haircut reminded Anna of Goldie Hawn from the Laugh-In television show. “He does at that. You’re looking at Stan Ewing. He works on a ranch out west of town. Comes in here pretty regular. He mostly just sits there and drinks beer, though. I don’t remember seeing him dance more than two or three times.”

  Willie finished his song and held up a hand to see past the lights. “Any of y’all like the nightlife?” The crowd whooped. “I thought so. I wrote this one about the Esquire Ballroom in Houston.” The crowd cheered and he started singing before the first chord. “When the evenin’ sun goes down…”

&nbs
p; Ewing saw her looking in his direction and nodded. Anna held up her beer and his eyebrow twitched. The waitress gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

  A minute later, Ewing appeared at her table with a cold, sweating beer in each hand. Anna took a sip of hers. “This one’s fresh.”

  “These are for me.” He grinned. “Did you want another one?”

  Beer almost shot out of her nose and she immediately liked him. “Sit down, cowboy.”

  He hooked the chair leg with the toe of his scuffed boot and settled down beside her. “Name’s Stan.”

  “Anna.”

  “What brings you here?”

  “My daddy’s looking to buy some cattle.”

  “You won’t find any in here.”

  “Got in early. I’m heading for the sale barn tomorrow.”

  “Yep, Saturdays are always busy.”

  She took a long swallow. “That’s what I’m hoping for. Some good stock moving through the ring, and I might even get some names there and go out to a ranch or two.”

  Ewing drained his first beer. “You want to dance?”

  “Sure.” Anna tilted her bottle and took a long swallow. “I’ll even let you lead.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It was nearly dark on Friday when Ned stopped by the Chisum sale barn. Even though the stock inspector had already been there, he had to do something and he indulged his theory of poking around until he stirred up a hornets’ nest.

  The cold front had backed up, bringing a strong south wind that stretched the flags outside, meaning that in a day or two, another front was going to drop the temperatures once again.

  There were only a handful of pickups in the parking lot so late in the day. By ten the next morning, the lot would again be packed with cars, trucks, and trailers. The owner, Sammy Alison, was still in the office, feet on his desk and Bailey hat tilted low over his eyes, chewing on a cigar. He put down The Chisum News. “Evenin’, Ned. I reckon I know why you’re here.”

  “Bet you do.” Ned tilted his hat up to cool his forehead. The picture on a black and white television resting on a file cabinet was the clearest he’d ever seen. The only station Ned could get at home, Channel 12, was always snowy, no matter which way they turned the forty-foot antenna. The evening news highlighted race riots in Miami. “You on the cable?”

  “Yep. They ran it out here last week.”

  “You have to pay for that, don’t you?”

  “Sure do.”

  “You ought not to have to pay for TV. That’s like paying for radio.”

  “Changing times, Ned.”

  He cut his eyes toward the images of police and rioters. “This ain’t right.”

  Alison grunted around his cigar. “It’s a shame about Pat Walker. You find out anything new about his murder?”

  “Naw. I was hoping you might have thought of something you didn’t tell the stock inspector.”

  “I’d have called him if I did.” Alison had started at the sale barn by working cows in the pens. His voice and attitude were gruff. “You know we’re careful here.”

  “I know it. You hear tell of anyone y’all don’t know hanging around?”

  “There’s always people coming in to watch the sales.”

  “Nobody trying to work deals in the parking lot?”

  “Hell!” Alison removed the cigar and laughed. His belly jiggled under a blue western shirt straining at the snaps. “There’s always folks tradin’ in the parking lot, and every one of them are looking for a good deal, but none of it had to do with Pat Walker that I know of. I hear he’d been down in his back for a while before he was murdered.”

  “Yeah, he hadn’t been up to snuff for a couple of weeks. Where would you take a load of stole cattle, if you was to try and sell ’em somewheres else?”

  Sammy chewed on his cigar in thought. “Well, I wouldn’t go to Oklahoma or anywhere around here. I might think about high-tailin’ up 287 to Amarillo, but they watch pretty careful up there, too. I believe I’d either haul ’em into the Thicket, or down west of Austin.

  The 3.3 million acres of heavily forested land in southeast Texas called the Big Thicket had refused to be tamed since white men first arrived. It was said some parts still weren’t explored, and the families who lived there kept to themselves. Lawmen had been known to disappear forever.

  “Hell, it could be happening right under our noses with unbranded cattle. There’s a little larceny in all of us and even though a feller might know them cows should be branded, they’ll say ‘well, it’s only a heifer or steer,’ the laws ain’t gonna find out. Then it’s only between them and God. Ned, you’re looking for a needle in a haystack. I’d bet a dollar to a donut that Pat hadn’t branded ninety percent of his cows.”

  “You’re right. A lot of folks around here don’t take the time for branding no more, but they should.”

  “Yep, and they wind up paying for it in the long run, too.” Sammy swallowed tobacco juice and chewed his cigar back into place. “From what I’ve heard, those old boys that steal cows usually just take a few from first one place, then another. They don’t steal every single cow a man has.”

  “Pat hadn’t been out there for a while. It means they were watching and got greedy. They didn’t need to take the man’s life. Those people turned from thievery to murder, and that’s why I’m a little more inclined to know if you’d seen anything suspicious.”

  “Can’t help you. What I don’t understand is why they killed ol’ Pat.”

  “He saw ’em and they shot him for it.” Ned set his hat. “All right, holler if you hear anything.”

  “You know I will.”

  Back in the empty parking lot, Ned settled into his car and started the engine. He plucked the microphone off the bracket. “Martha, this is Ned.”

  “I know who it is.” Martha had been in dispatch so long she knew all of the officers and their families, even the inlaws and outlaws that moved in and out through the years. “You need to get on over to the hospital.”

  Ned’s stomach sank. “What for?”

  “It’s not real bad. Miss Becky called and said your grandboy’s there.”

  “Which one?”

  “Top.”

  “How come?”

  “Didn’t say.”

  His tires spun on the gravel, sending a roostertail of dust into the air that quickly disappeared in the wind.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Ned hated the astringent smell in hospitals. He avoided eye contact with the nurses in nuns’ habits who carried covered trays full of unidentifiable items. The bare walls echoed with his footsteps and it seemed like an eternity before he found the third-floor corner waiting room full of family members. Other folks visiting patients half glanced at him with a look that said, ‘I’m sorry you’re here, too.’

  “Is it his asthma again?” His question was directed at anyone who would answer.

  Miss Becky clutched her Bible in one hand. “No hon. Dr. Heinz says it might have started that way, but it’s turned into something else that came on fast. He was coughing up blood when Cody drove us in.”

  Top was in X-ray. Cody and Norma Faye sat together in the uncomfortable chairs by the windows. Looking pale and weak, Mark waited beside James, Ida Belle, and Pepper, who were huddled together on one of the bench seats at the end. An expressionless Tom Bell in his black coat stood with his back against the wall, hat in hand.

  Mark was still coughing, but not as much as before. Ned stopped beside his granddaughter and absently pulled her head against his side, addressing the Choctaw boy. “You feeling all right?”

  “Yessir. I believe I shook it off.”

  “Good.” He cupped the back of Mark’s head and turned toward Cody. “What are they X-raying him for?”

  Elbows on his knees, Cody worried at the brim of his hat. “T
he doctor’s thinking it might be pneumonia.”

  “But it’s not pneumonia, yet.” Looking every bit like the elderly slope-shouldered doctor he was, Doc Heinz stepped into the waiting room with a clipboard in his hand. His white lab coat hung heavy with bulging pockets. “The boy’s lungs are filling with fluid from a bacterial infection called Serratia marcescens. The thing is, I’ve never seen it before this week. Only read about it.”

  “Then how do you know what it is?” The tone of Ned’s voice was stern, almost aggressive.

  Dr. Heinz held up his hands. “Cool down, Ned. I know you don’t trust us doctors, but I’m trying to help the boy, not hurt him.”

  James cleared his throat. “Mark here’s coughing, too, but it ain’t as bad. Is it contagious? We don’t want Pepper to come down with it.”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “You don’t know much.”

  Miss Becky rubbed Ned’s arm. “Hush hon. Let him talk.”

  Dr. Heinz scratched at his thin white hair. “I’m gonna check Mark out and put these two kids on a round of antibiotics. That’ll help with the infection. Their lungs are stronger than Top’s, and I believe they’ve already fought it off.

  “I believe Top’s in bad shape because his lungs are weaker. That’s how this kind of thing usually spins up. It gets ahold of whatever’s wrong with the people carrying it and then goes to work on those weak spots and other organs. To tell you the truth, I’ve loaded him up with a stout IV antibiotic drip. I don’t want it to get to his heart or brain.”

  “Oh, God.” Miss Becky’s hand went to her mouth. “What if it does?”

  “It wouldn’t be good, but I’m not gonna let that happen. Any of the rest of y’all showing any symptoms, coughing?”

  The adults shook their heads. Cody patted his empty shirt pocket looking for the pack of cigarettes he used to carry. “You said you’d never seen it before, but you know exactly what it is. How?”

  “The first case came in four days ago. You know Curtis Gaines?”