by Gary Church
Jace assured her that all was well, and it wouldn’t be long before his purchase of the house went through. He arranged for baths for everyone, and they made plans to meet for dinner in the hotel restaurant.
The following day, Jace visited the lawyer he had retained to pursue the property for him on the Edwards Plateau.
“I’m happy to report success,” said the lawyer. “I feel like the price is beyond fair. I’ve drawn up the paperwork, so if you’re agreeable, we can make the deal.”
“I’d like to visit the place with my fiancée, just to make sure it pleases her,” said Jace. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Jace rented a horse at the stable and rode out to the Circle C. He found B.R. at the corral. B.R. was beside himself and full of questions. When Jace told him about riding to Weatherford, asking Ruth to marry him, and her acceptance, B.R. was astonished and thrilled.
“I gotta find Mr. Christie,” said Jace. “I left sudden-like, and I want to explain to him. I brung everybody back with me. We’re at the Menger, so come see us Saturday.”
“The Menger?” said B.R.
“Oh, I inherited a little money from my aunt,” said Jace.
Mr. Christie took it all in stride. He offered Jace his job back, but Jace declined, explaining he hoped to buy a small place on the edge of the Edwards Plateau. Christie wished him well, and Jace rode back to town to rent a large buggy, so he could take the group out to see the house.
***
B.R. hadn’t had a chance to tell Jace how things were going with Betty. He was happy for Jace and knew how he must be feeling. Every day he still awoke thinking about Betty and watching to catch a glimpse of her if he was near the house. Their friendship had grown, but somewhere, in the back of his mind, B.R. felt a tiny bit of unease. He wasn’t sure what exactly was bothering him. It just seemed that Betty was a little distant this last week. Likely my imagination. He went over their last outing in his mind. Had he said or done something that had offended her? No, he couldn’t think of anything.
FORTY-NINE
After they turned him out, Hollis Barlow walked away from the prison in bit of a daze. He had a hard time finding a ride, but he knew better than to try anything criminal too close to Huntsville. He walked and hitched two wagon rides, covering the fifty miles from Huntsville to the outskirts of Bryan, Texas. It took him three days. He had been given a few dollars when they released him, and he had bought a canteen, some jerky, and a plug of tobacco in Huntsville. He wanted whiskey, but that had to wait. Sleeping in the open had actually been pleasant after the confines of the prison. He had taken off his clothes and washed the best he could in the Navasota River. Figuring he was still a good five miles or so from town, he approached several homes in the country, watching them carefully. It was a good place to get shot, no questions asked, or attacked by dogs.
Finally, he waited on a back road, hidden in the bushes, holding a big rock. He waited all day, letting the one wagon that went by pass, its passengers a fairly young couple. The man would be too difficult. He had been able to steal another canteen from a horse rider as well as a bedroll from another. He still had some jerky and some chew, so he waited. At last, an old man, driving a wagon, came slowly down the road. As soon as he passed, Barlow jumped out of the bushes, ran up behind the wagon, and clambered up into it.
The old man turned his head, his face registering his fear. There wasn’t an ounce of empathy, sympathy, or Christianity left in Barlow. Five years in a Texas prison had seen to that, but seeing the old man’s sunken cheeks, he saw a reflection of his own shrunken body. He dropped the rock and hit the man in the head with his fist. The old man swooned, dazed, but didn’t drop the reins, and the horse pulling the wagon kept walking. Barlow was ready to hit him again, but the old man’s mouth hung open and his eyes were glazed. Then, the old man fell over. At first Barlow thought he had killed the old fossil, but after taking the reins and stopping the horse, he checked and found the man to be breathing.
Working as fast as he could, he searched under the wagon seat and found a sack of supplies, including some plug tobacco and matches, an old revolver, and even better, a bottle of whiskey. The old man came to and started yelling. Barlow pointed the pistol at him, and the man went quiet, his eyes big. The horse had pulled the wagon to the side of the road and was trying to graze on some high grass.
Barlow rummaged through some tools and old pieces of wood in the bed of the wagon, but he found nothing useful. He looked at the old man sitting on the wagon seat, his breathing ragged, and said, “Go home, and if you tell anybody you was robbed, I’ll come back and kill you in your sleep.” He paused, then added, “I don’t stay too far away.” With that, Barlow walked off into the brush, away from the road.
He felt much more confident now that he had a weapon. Barlow walked steadily southwest toward Austin.
He reckoned he was still some two hundred miles from his mama’s house, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to walk that far. He’d just steal and rob his way home. He figured he was plenty far from Huntsville for anybody to suspect him, the recently released prisoner. He needed a horse, a saddle and tack, and some money—mainly money. A woman was what he really wanted, he thought, tilting back the whiskey bottle, feeling the burning liquid all the way down his throat to his stomach. He didn’t reckon things had changed all that much since he was last in Austin. He knew where to find both whiskey and women there, but he’d need money.
He spent another night outside, making sure he was hidden. He thought how much he missed coffee. Before daylight, he got up and started again, scouting for a cabin or house he could pillage. He walked with difficulty over the rough terrain. His feet were hurting badly. There was no way a lawman would be looking for him, especially out here, but he relished his new freedom and wanted to get a little farther away from his last crime. The old man had stared at him and could identify him if he was somehow picked up. He worked his way a little north, and by the afternoon, reckoned he’d walked a good ten miles or better since he had robbed the old man. That wasn’t far on a horse, though, and somebody could be scouting the area, looking for him. He needed a horse, and soon.
FIFTY
As Hollis Barlow walked, he tried to figure out what day it was. Finally, he decided it was Saturday. Good. Folks will be going to town. Sure enough, an hour later he came upon a small homestead. He studied it, hiding in the bushes. No smoke from the stack, no wagon, and one skinny horse in the corral. From the smell, he figured they were hog farmers, but he couldn’t see the pens. They were probably out back. Nothing to do but walk up carrying his sack, the pistol hidden, and knock on the door. If someone was home, well, he’d see.
No one answered, and no dogs appeared. There was a door in the back of the two-room house, and he kicked it in. He found some men’s clothing that was a little big, but he would grow into it, so he put it on, and put his old clothes in his burlap sack. He took the coffee pot, coffee, and some mason jars of vegetables. He couldn’t find another weapon or any whiskey.
Moving out to the barn, he found everything he needed in a small tack room, and soon he had saddled the horse. There weren’t any saddlebags, so he found another sack, put half of his haul in it, tied the two sacks together, and hung them over the back of the saddle. He went back into the house and took a blanket. The bedroll he had stolen had one thin blanket, and the ground was uncomfortable on his back.
He sat on the horse for a minute, pulling a piece of chew from the plug and putting it in his mouth. Chewing slowly, he gave the situation some thought. It was getting on to late afternoon. Likely these folks would be returning home soon. He’d work his way toward town, staying off the roads, and move around past the town first dark, afore anybody could get back to town to raise the alarm. No stopping at the saloon, if there was one, he told himself. Too risky. Well, I might stop for one drink.
He eased into town, nervous someone might recognize the horse, but it was dark, and the streets were pretty empty. He was a little
taken aback by a one room building, standing some fifteen feet in the air, supported by logs. A ladder ran up to a door.
The other thing that caught him by surprise was a train. He hadn’t known the tracks had been built this far north of the coast. A Houston and Texas Central Railroad Company train sat on the tracks.
The saloon was easy to find—there were a half-dozen horses tied out front. He couldn’t help himself. He waited until he didn’t see anyone about and walked the horse to the front, dismounted, and entered the saloon. Taking a place at the bar, he drank three whiskeys, one after the other, using the last of his money. As he finished the last one, he asked about the building perched on top of the logs.
“The jail,” said the bartender.
Barlow smiled, nodded, and walked out. He stood on the porch, looking about, to make sure no one was taking an interest in the horse he had stolen. Finally, he walked out, untied the horse, mounted, and rode into the night.
He didn’t stop until he was on the west side of Yegua Creek. He made camp, drank five or six cups of coffee, and ate some jerky. He knew this country. Before everything had started going wrong for him, as a younger man, he had ridden this area, mainly chasing beeves. He had worked for a ranch located northeast of Austin. He had done some hunting and exploring, too. He figured it would take him a good three days to work his way to Austin. He needed cash money though, so he was going to have to break into some more houses or ambush some travelers.
***
The next day, Hollis began to follow wagon trails and tracks. He scouted out two homesteads and discarded them. One had ranch hands milling about, and the other had a pack of dogs, and what looked like geese, up close to the house.
At the third, he watched a man ride off on a horse, and a young boy carry a bucket of something out to a hog pen and toss its contents to the hogs before returning to the house. He didn’t have any qualms about killing people, including women and kids, but after thinking about it, he reasoned a pursuit would be certain if he murdered someone, but maybe not so certain for robbery. He tied the horse to a tree, pulled his stolen revolver, and after tying his handkerchief over his nose and mouth, walked to the house, opened the door, and walked in.
A woman turned, her mouth open to speak, and she started to scream when she saw him.
He hissed, “Shut up if you want to live!”
The boy came out of the bedroom, his eyes wide.
“Both of you, git over there in the corner,” snarled Barlow. “I’m going to ask once, and if I don’t get the answer I want, I’m gonna shoot the kid and ask again.”
The woman gasped and grabbed the boy.
“Where is your money?” he asked. When the woman hesitated, he raised the pistol and pointed it at the boy.
“It’s in the jar above the sink,” the woman blurted.
Barlow found it, keeping one eye on the woman and the boy. He didn’t count it, he just put it in his shirt pocket. “You got any guns?” he asked and watched as the boy’s eyes turned toward the bedroom. “Lie to me, and I’ll kill you both and search the place.”
“Under the bed,” said the woman. “A rifle.”
“You fetch it and all the ammunition. Anything goes south, and you’ll have a boy to bury.”
Five minutes later, after making the woman fill a sack with salt pork, beans, and coffee, Barlow was on his way. He didn’t count the money until he was miles away, clean out of Burleson county. It came to forty-one dollars. Money, a rifle, bullets, and food. His luck was changing, he could feel it. Hot damn, he was headed to Guy Town in Austin to get himself a woman.
FIFTY-ONE
Bear, like Johnny, wasn’t much to talk about himself, but Johnny found him to be an interesting conversationalist about many other subjects. Two or three evenings each week, they sat on two old chairs outside the barn, rather than on the corral fence. The two men smoked, and some evenings, Rosalinda would appear with two cups of coffee and disappear into the house. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes they just enjoyed the evening. It was early August now, and the days were hot, but if there was a breeze, the evenings could be pleasant. Johnny never stayed long, returning to the house for his time with Rosalinda, sitting on the porch or at the kitchen table, usually reading or sometimes discussing books, the day, or the future.
One of their topics of discussion centered around the fact that Bear had taken over the majority of the outside work. The winter wheat bed had been prepared, the corn and garden were flourishing, and the animals—chickens, hogs, horses, dogs, cats, and milk cow, were always seen to, whether Johnny was about or not.
Johnny, always one to be prepared, had thought to cut some wood one day, and he found there was enough for the rest of the summer and the winter, already cut and stacked.
***
Johnny had tasked a woodworker in San Antonio with building both a rocking chair and a cradle. One Saturday morning, he came in from outside, helped himself to some coffee, and sat at the table. Now almost six months pregnant, Rosalinda moved a little slower around the kitchen, but she refused to hire any inside help. After twenty minutes of moving around Johnny, and him questioning her about how she felt, and if the baby was okay, she said, “Sweetheart, why don’t you ride into town to check on the new furniture? Stay the night, so you can play cards.”
Johnny looked at her, trying to judge her mood.
“Bear will be here if anything happens, and you’re in my way,” she said, smiling.
“Well, if that’s an order…” said Johnny.
“It’s either that, or I’ll have to lock you out of the house so I can get some things done,” said Rosalinda.
Laughing, Johnny said, “I’m gonna grab my kit and be on my way.”
A few minutes later, he had a word with Bear. He wanted to make sure the man didn’t want to go to town himself. Bear said no, he was thinking of going in a week or two. Johnny nodded, saddled Loco, and mounted. As he turned Loco, he found the three dogs standing and staring at him.
“Bear!” he hollered.
Bear appeared, and Johnny said, “When you go to supper, will you tell Rosalinda that all the dogs went to town with me?”
“Sure thing, boss,” said Bear, smiling.
“Come on,” said Johnny to the dogs, and off the group went, headed to San Antonio.
Johnny’s first stop was the stable, where he made arrangements for Loco and the dogs, telling the dogs to stay. He walked to the Menger, where he took a room for the night. As he was leaving, he was very surprised to see Jace. He might have not noticed, but Jace’s limp caught his eye. The two men greeted each other and shook hands. Johnny was taken with the change in Jace. The man, so melancholy on the trail drive, exuded confidence, energy, and happiness.
“It’s good to see you, Mr. Black,” said Jace.
“Good to see you, Jace.”
Johnny waited a moment, and then Jace said, “I’m getting married pretty soon, and I’d sure appreciate it if you and Mrs. Black would come to the wedding. I don’t know when or where yet, but somewhere around here, soon.”
Smiling, Johnny said, “Congratulations, Jace! I’m glad to hear your plan worked out.”
Jace smiled and then started laughing. Johnny waited, studying the young cowboy.
“Well, things didn’t go as planned, but everything worked out. Are you in town to play cards?”
“I am,” answered Johnny. “Kind of got kicked out of the house for the night. Reckon I was making a nuisance of myself.”
“I’m keen to play—it’s been a while. I’ll see you there, and we can catch up.”
Johnny stopped in at the woodworker’s and checked on the progress of his order. The rocker was coming along. The cradle was finished, and it was beautiful. Tasks completed, he went to supper at José’s.
FIFTY-TWO
Jace was true to his word, and everyone at the poker table knew Jace and found his story of love lost and true love found entertaining.
After folding his hand, Johnny
looked at Jace and said, “You’d best be on your best behavior. The woman is handy with a frying pan.”
This brought laughter from everyone, including Jace. Johnny was interested to hear that John Christie and Herbert had made it back, and Christie had healed well. Jace added that B.R. was pursuing Christie’s granddaughter. Johnny took a minute, during a short break, to draw a map out to his place, hand it to Jace, and invite him and his fiancée and family out for a weekend visit.
“Bring them young’uns,” said Johnny. “We’ll teach ’em a little about horses and such.”
The old doctor asked about Rosalinda, and Johnny told him all was well.
The undertaker asked the lawyer, “Are you getting any pistol cases since this law went into effect? I saw two fellows, just today, both of ’em with revolvers on their hips, walking around the plaza, pretty as you please.”
“I don’t handle criminal cases,” responded the lawyer, “but the law has only been in effect for a few months. Besides that, the law says you can carry a weapon if you have a fear of being accosted.”
“Well, everybody is afraid of being accosted,” replied the doctor. “As usual, them politicians are passing laws that are confusing as hell and figuring to keep everybody happy.”
Johnny consciously studied the other poker players, noting the slightest change in their expressions or movements, and sometimes their voices. It made him an exceptional poker player. But his mind, unconsciously now, since the war, scanned the saloon as he played, smoked, and sipped on a beer. Normally, once he didn’t sense danger, he would not dwell on it, but tonight something registered. Two men standing at the bar seemed to be paying special attention to both the faro table and the poker game. They had sauntered over to the faro game and watched, but they also seemed to be watching the poker game, while trying to act as though they weren’t. After a bit, Johnny noticed the two were barely sipping their whiskeys. Not totally unusual, but they had been nursing the same drinks for a little too long.