Good Man - Bad Enemy

by Gary Church

  “Something wrong? You gotta speak your mind if we’re to work together,” said Johnny.

  “No,” said Bear. “I’m just happy for the opportunity is all.”

  ***

  That evening, Johnny got in a bit late after a trip to town for supplies. After washing up, he entered the house to find Rosalinda passing a cup of coffee and a plate piled with food out the back door. He heard a “Thank you, ma’am” as the door closed. Rosalinda turned and smiled her beaming smile at him.

  He hugged and kissed her, patted her belly, and said, “Is Bear not joining us?”

  “No, he asked me if he could take his meals to himself.”

  Johnny looked at her, frowning.

  “I argued with the man but found he’s stubborn. He says he wants to leave us to ourselves at meals.”

  ***

  As the days went by, Johnny wondered how they had gotten by without Bear. He proved to be a tireless worker and seemed to possess an unlimited knowledge of both farming and animals. He shared a special affection for animals, and Johnny and the horses and dogs had taken to him instantly. Soon, without much discussion, the two men had worked out their personal responsibilities and routines, but they had to take into account that Rosalinda accepted no excuses for being late for meals. Bear continued to take his to his room, where he had built a table from barrels and an old door. The room had a bed and a chair, and Johnny brought out a lantern. Bear smoked a pipe and sometimes, especially in the evenings, he and Johnny would sit on the corral fence and smoke after Johnny did his final check of the grounds, as was his custom.

  ***

  Lupe and Margarita came for a visit one Sunday after church and brought two cats with them. Both were quickly relegated to the barn to keep down the mouse population. A week later, after supper, Rosalinda sent Johnny out with a slice of hot apple pie for Bear. Johnny knocked at the door to the room in the barn, and Bear said, “Come in!”

  Johnny found the room neat and uncluttered, the bed made up with an old army blanket covering it, and the two cats curled up in the middle of the bed.

  “If those cats are bothering you—” said Johnny, but Bear smiled and interrupted.

  “No, sir. Fact is, I invited them in. Found they’re right good company.”

  FORTY

  Hollis Barlow, convicted murderer, was operating a weaving machine. He had been at the prison in Huntsville, Texas for almost five years, and now he was only days away from completing his sentence and obtaining his release. At six feet and two inches, he had weighed almost two hundred forty pounds when he arrived at this hell on Earth. He wasn’t sure what he weighed now—his clothes, rags really, hung on him, and his ribs were clearly visible. His arms and legs were thin, his back and shoulders a mass of scars from the guards’ whips. He’d been very sick a year ago, and rather than let him see a doctor, the guards said he was faking. He knew one thing—he would die before returning.

  He’d been at the prison a week when he understood that he would probably have been better off if he’d been sentenced to death. The punishment for murder ranged from death, solitary confinement for life, to a lesser sentence of confinement at labor for three to fifteen years. Five years had been his sentence, and at the time, he thought he had really gotten a good deal, considering he could have been hanged. But if there was a hell, he reckoned it was very like this place.

  In ’67 or ’68, he and a good many other convicts still in reasonably good health were leased out to private farms where they labored from sunup until sundown. The food and housing were no better, and most of the time, there was less of it. They got no new clothes and were still beaten regularly for slacking or just because the guards were in a bad mood. With his weight loss came a loss of stamina and strength, and he was eventually returned to the prison and traded for a healthier convict.

  Lloyd, a convicted horse thief sitting next to him on the machines, said, “Barlow, you’re nearly out of here. You going back to San Antonio?”

  “I am, Lloyd. It’s home.”

  “What you gonna do? Look for work in a mill?” Lloyd asked.

  Barlow ignored him, but as he worked, his mind considered his plans. He would find some work, eat all he wanted, and regain his health. That done, he would become a one-man crime wave.

  His anger was what kept him alive. It was burning inside him. Yes, he had killed a man, but it was in a fight the other man had started, and how he was convicted and sentenced to five years in this place, he didn’t know. His lawyer said it was because he had pulled a knife and stabbed the man when he was clearly beaten. One thing was certain; someone would pay.

  Finally, he said, “If my mama is still alive, I’ll stay with her awhile, see how it goes.”

  FORTY-ONE

  B.R. was settling in quickly and felt at home on the Circle C. He was, after all, living the life of a cowboy. He had been assigned to breaking and tending to horses and tack, but he had spent his first day helping another hand dig a new outhouse hole.

  The Circle C was building up its stable of horses, and of course had to build a new herd of beeves. B.R. didn’t see much of Betty, although he thought of her and saw her in passing from time to time. Talk in the bunkhouse was she didn’t step out. Probably had a beau in another town.

  Jace arrived and explained to B.R. that Elizabeth and he were together again, but B.R. thought Jace didn’t seem as excited about it as he thought he would be. B.R. asked him if he had met Betty, John Christie’s granddaughter.

  “I was wondering how she fit in here,” said Jace. Studying B.R., he said, “She’s a looker, or did you not notice?”

  B.R.’s face gave him away, and Jace burst out laughing. “So, you’re human after all. Well, she’s too pretty for an ugly fellow like you.”

  B.R. snatched his hat off his head and began to hit Jace with it, laughing.

  Finally, deciding he had nothing to lose except getting hounded relentlessly by the other hands and Jace, B.R. approached Betty and asked her to town on Saturday night. “We can eat dinner and dance, or just eat, if you’d like,” he said. When she didn’t respond, he said, “If you have a beau, I understand.”

  “No, I accept,” said Betty, although she wasn’t smiling. “We can take Grandfather’s buggy. I mean, I’ll ask, but I know he won’t mind. Can you have it ready and call for me at the house at five?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” responded B.R., thrilled at her unexpected acceptance.

  ***

  John Christie had made two trips to Austin since returning from the trail drive. His second stay lasted longer than the first, and now he was telling his granddaughter, Betty, he had to go back and might be gone a week.

  Betty said, “Grandfather, I wish to accompany you to Austin.” She smiled as her grandfather, flustered, tried to think of a reason she shouldn’t go. She suspected it was more than business he was attending to in Austin and planned to confirm that.

  Finally, John Christie spoke. “Well, sure, that’d be fine. I’d enjoy the company on the trip. There is one thing,” he paused. “I, uh, I met a lady a while back, and I generally take her to dinner.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Betty. “Well, I won’t be a bother.”

  Christie stared at her a moment and said, “I want you to meet her. I think you’ll like each other. Oh, and Betty, bring a gown. A banker friend in Austin has invited us to a ball.”

  ***

  Betty and B.R. attended the dance, and B.R. found himself popular, as cowboys and clerks appeared at his side, wanting to be introduced to Betty. He took it all in stride, and he and Betty danced and talked. It was a very pleasant evening, and when they arrived back at the Circle C, B.R. asked Betty to take a ride with him Sunday afternoon.

  She quickly accepted, and B.R. was so happy he thought he might bust, as he unhitched the horses at the barn and tended to them. They had decided to ride out to the creek on horseback and eat their noon meal under the willows. Betty told him she would bring the food, if he would prepare the horses.
He could never understand Jace’s single-minded pursuit of Elizabeth, but now, he seemed to have caught whatever it was that took hold of a man so firmly.

  Although he had only to wait for the next afternoon, time seemed to slow down, as B.R. waited for the agreed time to call on Betty. Finally, it came, and he brought the horses to the house and found her waiting with a basket. Her smile almost made him forget to help her onto her horse.

  B.R. studied Betty and listened intently when she spoke. He wanted to know everything about her, but she asked him about his life, his interests, and his plans. She was enthralled with his stories of the trail drive, but when he asked her to step out with him Friday night, she told him she would be traveling to Austin with her grandfather and would be gone for several days.

  Smiling, B.R. said, “I hope you have a nice time,” but his face expressed his disappointment.

  Over the next week, B.R. saw Betty only once, and that was just to wave at her. She waved back, smiling, and B.R. had to be satisfied with that. When he came in Friday evening for dinner, he saw that the big buggy that was used for travel was gone. He sighed and went to wash up.

  ***

  John Christie and Betty arrived at the hotel in Austin and settled into their rooms. Betty was prepared to dislike Luella, but she found her to be a fun and happy woman who looked at her grandfather like he was the only person in the room. Betty couldn’t understand what these old people were thinking, but she reasoned they were both lonely and found some comfort in sharing their thoughts.

  The ball was fun. Betty found herself on the dance floor constantly, but when resting, she watched her grandfather and Luella dance. My, they were certainly dancing closely together. Was he whispering in Luella’s ear or kissing her neck? Betty felt herself blush.

  As she sat and watched the couple, Betty remembered her grandmother telling her about being courted by John Christie when he was a young cowboy. “Rowdy to the point of scandal,” was what her grandmother had said. Well, I guess men age, but don’t grow up. She would have a word with her grandfather about his behavior, she told herself.

  ***

  As the days turned into weeks, B.R. was a happy cowboy. His best friend, Jace, seemed distracted, but B.R. was pleased his friend had gotten back with Elizabeth, although he personally didn’t like her. He was enjoying working for John Christie, and his friendship with Betty was progressing nicely. He had seen Betty every weekend, accompanying her into town for dinner or shopping, or for a ride and a picnic. He found her to be an interesting person and was pleased to find that she enjoyed the ranch life.

  FORTY-TWO

  Mrs. Brown stood on the porch. Just behind her stood her husband, holding his hat in his hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Brown, come in, come in,” said Rosalinda, wiping her hands on her apron.

  Stepping into the house, Mr. Brown said, “We’re sorry to bother you, especially at meal time, but we’ve got trouble and don’t know where to turn.”

  “Johnny will be coming in for his meal in a minute. Please sit and let me fetch y’all some coffee. There’s plenty of beans and tortillas as well as fresh tomatoes.”

  Ten minutes later, Johnny came in, greeted the Browns, and while they ate, listened as the Browns explained. They had a small herd of longhorns, all branded, and a dozen horses. Someone had been stealing the cattle and had stolen six of the horses. The sheriff had sent out a deputy, but he said it was a big county and there were lots of things going on. He said he would keep an eye out.

  Johnny listened. This was a common problem, and he wondered what the Browns wanted him to do. Mrs. Brown spoke up. “Last night, they took the boys’ horses. Both of them are beside themselves with grief. I know they’re horses, but the boys raised ’em from birth.”

  Johnny felt his anger swell. He couldn’t imagine Loco, or one of the other animals that he and Rosalinda had become so attached to, being stolen. He felt a deep sympathy for the boys, and his rage began to build—not visible to the Browns, but Rosalinda noticed the tightening around his eyes.

  Johnny knew the horses. The boys helped around his place and always rode them when they came over. He asked the Browns for whatever details they could provide and told them he would keep a look out. They thanked him, clearly disappointed that he didn’t seem to have an answer. After the Browns left, Johnny and Rosalinda sat on the porch with cups of coffee. Rosalinda didn’t speak. She knew Johnny was thinking about the Browns and the boys’ stolen horses.

  “I reckon I’m going to scout around a bit,” said Johnny. “See if I can find some tracks, maybe. If there’s a gang rustling, they’ll be holding the beeves and horses in a valley somewhere.”

  Johnny saddled Loco and rode west toward the Browns’ homestead. He would start there. About a mile from their place, Johnny turned north. Having grown up here, he and his brother had roamed the countryside. There was one large valley in that direction, its slopes ending in a deep creek. It was a good eight miles away. It would be a good place for thieves to try to hold cattle, and a good place to pen up horses, he reflected.

  Loco’s big strides ate up the distance. At the bottom of a small hill, Johnny eased him to a stop, turned him loose to graze, and taking his rifle, began to climb. It was steep, and from time to time he had to use small shrubs and trees to pull himself up. Reaching the top, Johnny peered through a bush at the valley below. Sure enough, he could just make out a make-shift corral a quarter of a mile to the west. Using his spyglass, he surveyed the area.

  The valley held fifty or sixty longhorns, grazing lazily, and there appeared to be maybe eight horses in the pen, which was built of stripped tree branches and rope. He didn’t see any people. Climbing back down, he mounted Loco and rode slowly, looking for the entrance the rustlers had used to enter the valley. He found it, covered with cut trees— an attempt to disguise it and keep the beeves in, he guessed. He got down, pulled away some large branches, and made a space big enough to ride through.

  Once inside, he replaced the tree limbs, remounted, and rode to the horse pen. Just outside the pen, he found a cold fire and the iron the rustlers were using to re-brand the horses and cattle. It was a running iron—a rod with a curved end. Many rustlers had a legitimate operation somewhere and would add to their herd by rustling and re-branding. This appeared to be this group’s plan. They would have to drive the animals some miles to sell them because they had stolen horses. Men knew horses; they were distinctive.

  They may have registered the brand they were using, but likely not. Most likely, they were just trying to cover themselves until they could sell the longhorns and drive the horses out of the area where they could be sold without suspicion. Texas had made recording brands with the county clerk a requirement, but unrecorded brands were often accepted as ownership by the sheriff.

  FORTY-THREE

  Johnny pulled down one side of the corral, roped one of the Brown boys’ horses, and led him toward the opening out of the valley. Reaching it, he got down and pulled the tree branches and brush aside. The second horse belonging to the Brown boys, and two others, followed Johnny and Loco. He led them toward their home for three miles and then removed his lariat. The four horses circled, and the two belonging to the Browns sniffed the air and headed for home.

  ***

  Johnny was happy he had found the boys’ horses, and he knew how thrilled they would be. Tomorrow he would ride into town and tell the sheriff, although he doubted anything would come of it. Rustlers were hard to catch unless you caught them selling animals and could show they had been stolen. As he neared his own spread, Loco’s head came up and his ears went forward. He had caught a scent, for sure. Johnny slowed. It could be anything from another horse to a mountain lion. They were too far away for Loco to smell the other horses at the ranch. Instinctively, Johnny eased Loco into a stand of trees and out of sight. He sat, waiting and watching.

  Two men on horseback appeared, coming from the direction of Johnny’s ranch. He didn’t know them and wondered what they were about. Pull
ing out his spyglass, he observed them, but the horses weren’t branded on the side he could see. He decided to follow them. Were they the rustlers? Could they have been scouting out his own place?

  Johnny reached into his saddlebag with his left hand and pulled out the revolver Lupe had given him. It was wrapped in a piece of oilskin cloth. He pushed it into his waistband, just behind his left hip. Then he removed his lariat, holding it in his right hand. He eased Loco out of the trees just as the two men rode by.

  “Afternoon,” said Johnny, startling the men. They turned their horses quickly, and Johnny noticed that they dropped their hands to their sides, to their revolvers. It wasn’t unusual to see men wearing guns out on the range. Johnny was wearing one, but their nervousness was telling. Johnny, holding his rope, said, “That son-of-a-gun can stay lost,” waving his arm in the general direction of the trees and brush.

  The men seemed lost for words, but they stared at Johnny as though he were an apparition.

  “I don’t think I know you fellas,” said Johnny affably as he walked Loco closer to the men.

  “We’re headed to a place out west of here,” said one of the men. “An old friend’s place.”

  “I probably know him,” said Johnny, looking at the men expectantly.