Bone & Loraine

by Ken Farmer

  Loraine moved quickly behind him. She grabbed the side of his thick neck and pressed on a certain spot in his nerve center at the base of his skull using her many years of study in the martial arts.

  Bone released the rope and collapsed to the floor like a side of beef beside the riata coils.

  A gaseous apparition emitted from his body. It turned and looked directly at Loraine. It appeared exactly like the life-sized portrait of Don Felipe Diego de la Vega downstairs. The apparition then walked straight to the wall and disappeared into it.

  Mason awoke with a start and grabbed the rope about his neck like it was a snake and slung it to the side.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  He saw Loraine standing beside the bed and Bone on the floor in the pale moonlight.

  “What are you doing in our room?…How did you get in here?”

  He reached over and turned the wick up on the coal oil lamp beside the bed, partially illuminating the room as Bone got shakily to his feet. Loraine grabbed his arm to steady him.

  “What are you doing, Pard?”

  Loraine quickly released it.

  Mason and Fiona were both sitting up in the bed.

  “Again, what are ya’ll doing in our room?”

  “Your room?…How did I get…” Bone looked around, confused.

  “Let’s get some clothes on, go downstairs and make some coffee…Not sure ya’ll are going to believe this,” said Loraine.

  An hour later, the four were in the kitchen, they had been joined by Sophia, who heard the racket of Bone stoking up the fire in the cast iron wood burning stove.

  She held the coffee pot and offered a refill to everyone as they sat around the kitchen table.

  “So you’re saying that the ghost of Don Felipe Diego de la Vega was responsible for those suicides? And you saw him?”

  “I don’t know what I saw, Sophia.” Loraine rolled her cup between her hands, staring at it.

  “Señora, didn’t you mention that priest said only descendants of Don Felipe Diego de la Vega, would be able to see the spirit that roams the house?”

  “Si, and several have, as I mentioned.”

  Loraine stared at the surface of the dark liquid in her cup for a long moment before she spoke, “Señora de la Vega…I know you had the spot where you buried him exorcised…and it hasn’t seemed to help…but as his next of kin…I feel it only proper to rebury him in consecrated ground…Maybe then he’ll be at peace.”

  She nodded. “I will contact the priest in the morning.”

  SAN FERNANDO MISSION CEMETERY

  SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

  A middle-aged Catholic priest sprinkled holy water over an ornate casket and blessed it. Four altar boys stood by the grave site flanking the priest. One held a large crucifix, another the heavy church bible, the third held the holy water, and the last, the incense.

  Bone, Loraine, Fiona, Mason, Sophia, and even Vernon, stood by, observing.

  Loraine laid a white carnation on the casket and made the sign of the cross.

  VILLA DE LA VEGA

  The four sat around the kitchen once again. They were joined by Vernon from the services. Sophia served midday sandwiches.

  “So, we still don’t know if those people actually committed suicide or not,” said Mason.

  “Just instinct,” replied Bone.

  “I found no definitive evidence…one way or another,” added Fiona.

  “Maybe ghosts don’t leave a trace,” said Loraine.

  Vernon got to his feet.

  “Where you going, Vern?” asked Bone.

  “Down to St. Mary’s…Think I need to light some candles…This is way too spooky for me.”

  Upstairs in Mason and Fiona’s room, the image of Don Felipe Diego de la Vega reclined in the four poster canopy bed. He twirled a white carnation back and forth between his thumb and index finger.

  JACK COUNTY, TEXAS

  Padrino trudged along a rutted, dusty, ranch road, really not much more than a cattle trail, to the north, headed, not to Jacksboro, but to the Wilson Ranch where Lucy was.

  He knew from connecting with Lucy, that Bone and Loraine weren’t at Jacksboro, but were on their honeymoon in San Antonio.

  He shook his head and grinned for the umpteenth time. “Could of knocked me over with a feather…Who would have thought…Love it.”

  Padrino approached a clear, limestone bottomed branch that crossed the trail. He unslung his canteen, shook it, and then knelt down beside the small stream and marveled at the water.

  “Huh…clear as a bell. Not like in my time.” He cupped his hand, dipped up a palm full and drank. “Mmm, sweet. Like my well water.”

  He poured the small amount of tepid water remaining in his canteen after making coffee last night and this morning on the ground and held the aluminum container under the water until it filled. After screwing the cap back on, he slung it over his shoulder, got to his feet and continued on north.

  Padrino looked up ahead to see two scruffy cowboys trotting their ponies along the trail, heading in his direction. He stopped and leaned against a large post oak that grew next to the trail and pulled out a piece of peppered jerky to chew on.

  The two men reined to a stop in front of him.

  “Mornin’, pilgrim, them’s some funny lookin’ clothes yer a wearin’,” said the younger of the two.

  “Depends on who’s looking at them.”

  “Huh…Headin’ to Jacksboro?” the older nearest one asked.

  “Not so’s you’d notice. Going more toward Rosston.”

  “Got a bit of a hike, there, then, I’d say, old man,” said the other, a younger, a rather smarmy individual.

  “Not bad. Rather have a horse, though.”

  “You got enough money to buy one, old timer?” asked the first man.

  “Probably,” replied Padrino as he tore a strip of the tough meat off and chewed it.

  “What say you give us the money an’ we’ll go git you a horse an’ bring it back?”

  “How do I know you’ll come back?”

  “Why, don’t we look honest?” The smarmy one looked at his brother.

  Padrino grinned. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  “You sayin’ we’re liars?” the older man raised up in his saddle.

  “Didn’t say that.”

  “Well, what er you sayin’?” asked smarmy.

  “Just asked if you thought you looked honest.”

  The older man looked at the other and grinned. “Don’t know ‘bout my little brother here, but I damn shore do…Now how ‘bout it?” He spat a long stream of tobacco down near Padrino’s boot.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then how ‘bout you jest give us that pack you’re a carryin’. That where yer money is?” the younger brother asked.

  “I guess not.”

  “Well, ‘pears to me you ain’t got much of a cherce there, old timer. It’s two against one…Now shuck it.” The older brother drew his battered Colt and pointed it at Padrino.

  “Yeah, ‘fore I step down an’ stomp a mudhole in yer skinny old ass,” said smarmy.

  Padrino chuckled. “Well, you boys are making a big mistake…But you see, that’s the point, I’m too damn old to take an ass whipping…so I’ll just have to kill you.”

  He shucked the ruck from his right shoulder and swung it off with his left hand, drawing his .45 clipped to his belt in the back under his Carhartt Duck Chore jacket in the process. It was pointed at the nearest man when his rucksack hit the ground.

  The man’s focus was on the odd looking bag when it fell as was his little brother’s. When they looked up, Padrino’s semiautomatic was pointed at the older brother.

  “What the hell?”

  “Is that a gun?” asked the younger brother.

  “It is. It’s a .45 caliber, seven shot semiautomatic.”

  “Haw, looks like a toy!” said the younger one as he drew his Remington six gun.

  At the same time, his b
rother thumbed the hammer back on his Colt.

  The silence of the bucolic woodside was shattered by what sounded like one explosion. Both of the road agents flipped backward out of their saddles, hitting the ground with dual thuds almost simultaneously, sending up a joint dust cloud.

  Padrino shook his head and grinned as he walked toward the two horses that had spooked a little at the gunfire, but stopped about fifty feet away and were nibbling on winter grass at the edge of the road. “Time and effort will take care of ignorance…but stupid is forever,” he muttered in wonder at the two cretins lying in the road behind him.

  Padrino picked up the reins of the best looking of the two horses, a blue roan gelding, stepped up in the saddle, grabbed the reins to the other, a blood bay gelding and walked them back to where the two highway men and his ruck lay.

  He got off the horse, bent over to check on the two men. The older brother was dead, but the younger was straining for his final breath. His mouth was working, but no words came forth, only frothy blood.

  He had hit both a little left of dead center of their chests.

  “Tried to tell you boys…Never mess with an old Marine…he’ll just kill you.”

  The smarmy man sighed out his death rattle. The heel of his left boot drummed a tattoo on the hard, packed dirt of the road for a couple of seconds as he died.

  Padrino tied his ruck behind the six inch cantle on the roan with the long saddle strings. He stuck their gunbelts and guns in the saddlebags after removing them and going through the men’s pockets. There was a total of fourteen dollars and twenty-two cents that he transferred to his own. “Spoils of the battle.”

  Padrino stuck his foot in the stirrup, dallied the lead he’d tied to the other horse’s bridle around his saddle horn and trotted off down the road to the north.

  “Well, son, you’re not the best looking cayuse I’ve ever seen, but you sure beat walking.”

  §§§

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GULF & COLORADO RR

  The two couples sat in much the same position in the passenger car of the northbound, coal-fired, train as they had when they rode it south.

  “If this trip to San Antonio is representative of what a honeymoon is like…think I’ve had enough,” said Mason as he stared out at the countyside flashing past at fifty miles an hour.

  “Don’t let your alligator mouth overload your jaybird rear, mister,” replied Fiona.

  He turned back to face his wife. “Well, you know what I mean, sweetie.”

  “No, what do you mean…sweetie?” she responded with a coquettish grin.

  “Well, I…uh…”

  “Best way to get out of a hole, Sheriff, is to stop diggin’,” offered Bone from across the aisleway.

  “Actually, I thought it was great fun,” said Loraine. “We got to relax and enjoy one another, shop, see things we haven’t seen before, eat great food, scare the pee out of a gunhawk…and solve a mystery.”

  “And play a little grab ass.”

  Loraine kicked him. “Damn you, Bone.”

  He got a huge grin on his face. “Ow…Well, it’s the truth, Acushla.”

  Loraine grinned and replied, “I know, but did you have to let the whole world know?” She glanced around to see how many of the other passengers in the car were snickering.

  “Yeah, easy for you to say, you didn’t have a rope around your neck…Did we really solve it?” asked Mason.

  “Close enough,” replied Bone.

  “Who’s going to believe it…ghosts an’ all?” Mason looked at the big man.

  “Oh, probably the same people that believe in aliens and time travel…to start with,” Bone said with a mischievous grin.

  “Well, I thought it was fun, too,” added Fiona.

  Bone turned to Loraine. “You know, Pard, I’ve been thinking a lot about my Padrino.”

  “Gettin’ homesick?” she asked.

  “Actually…Not really. I grew up wanting to live back in the old west, but I do miss my Padrino.”

  “Now, who is Padrino again? I know you’ve mentioned him before,” asked Mason.

  “My mother’s cousin and my Godfather…he’s a Shaman…Spirit teacher…We’re descended from the Nasca in Peru…Him and me, on my mother’s, mother’s side. He basically raised me…My folks were killed in an automobile crash when I was twelve.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Bone. He must have been a wonderful man,” said Fiona.

  Bone chuckled. “Still is. He’s only seventy and tough as ten year old rawhide…Retired Marine Corps Master Gunnery Sergeant…fought in a war we had or will have in our time in Viet Nam…a jungle conflict.”

  “How many wars does our country have in the future?” asked Mason.

  “Too many,” offered Loraine. “Let’s see, the next one coming up soon is the Spanish American War, that’s going to be a quickie, then there comes World War I…That starts in 1914 and goes for four years…”

  “She’s only naming the big ones. There were a whole raft of little conflicts in between the biggies,” interrupted Bone.

  Loraine continued, “Then World War II…it lasted six years. Next was the Korean War…three years…”

  “Then the Cold War with Russia…not much fighting, just a lot of sabre-rattling and threats of nuclear war till about 1988…”

  “What’s a nuclear war?” asked Fiona.

  “That’s another story all together…let’s just say we invented a weapon that could destroy the world several times over and both sides had it…The US was the first to get it and we used it to end WWII…”

  “Oh, my,” said Fiona.

  “And that was a good thing,” Loraine interrupted Bone. “With both sides having it, now, each knows that fighting with them could end life on this planet as we know it…”

  “It was like they’re afraid of us and we’re glad of it,” added Bone.

  “And pretty much from the ‘60s on, there’s been constant conflict in southeast Asia or the Middle East,” continued Loraine.

  “That’s pretty much a continuance of the age-old battle between the Christians and Muslims…Like the Crusades…Throw the Jews in there, too…I was in that one in Afghanistan,” added Bone. “Now you see why I’ve always wanted to live back in this time?”

  “I think so…The more things change, the more they stay the same,” said Fiona.

  “Pretty much,” replied Bone.

  “That was somethin’ that has always amazed me.”

  “What’s that, dear,” asked Fiona.

  “How you can hate someone and go to war with them just because they don’t believe the way you do…One believes in God and the other, Allah…I don’t understand,” answered Mason.

  Fiona grinned. “You’re not alone, but if the truth were known…they’re one in the same.”

  “How so?” asked Mason.

  “The Jews and Christians worship the God of Abraham or Abram, as he was known and so do the Muslims.”

  “I’m assuming you’re going to tell us how that worked,” questioned Bone.

  “Well, you see, Abram’s wife Sarah was barren and couldn’t have children, so she gave him her maid servant, Hagar. Hagar bore Abram, Ishmael…Then, thirteen years later, God made Sarah fertile and she bore Abram, a second son, Issac…Ishmael’s half brother.”

  “Okay?” Bone had a puzzled look on his face.

  Fiona smiled. “Issac became the father of Judaism, and of course, Christianity…Ishmael is considered the father of Islam…So, both worship the same God…Yahweh and Allah…is the God of Abraham.”

  “And they want to fight and kill each other over semantics,” stated Loraine, shaking her head in wonder.

  Mason added, “But, we have our problems, too…The Indian wars, remaining outlaws…”

  “Ya’ll remember Anompoli Lawa telling us the name of the Amerindian’s…or at least the Muskogean language speaking tribes of the southeast…God or the Great Spirit is called, Chí-hóo-wah…”

  Fiona
interrupted Bone. “Which sounds like Jehovah, one of the Hebrew names for God in the Torah.”

  “Too close for comfort…Regardless of what he’s called…I think you’re right, we all worship the same god…” said Loraine.

  “Yeah, I agree, Pard…but, this is a whole lot simpler time,” interrupted Bone. “Now, unless there’s going to be a quiz on religion…back to my Padrino…One of the things he taught me that has served me well, especially bein’ a cop, was to look at nothing, but see everything…Which was the same identical thing Lucy said to me…or will say to me.”

  “He sounds very interesting,” said Fiona.

  “Oh, he is. Lucy really thought so…they would talk for hours…Just the two of them.”

  “Well, I for one, will actually be anxious to get back to work bein’ a Sheriff…Hope Gomer hasn’t had any problems,” commented Mason.

  JACKSBORO, TEXAS

  1898

  Gomer sat at the desk in the sheriff’s office, going through a new stack of wanted dodgers. Newton got to his feet from beside his place by the stove and growled at the door.

  “What is it, boy, we got company?”

  The thick paneled wood door swung open and two hardcase appearing men stepped inside. Both were dressed in dusty, dark, three piece suits and they needed a shave. Each wore dirty gray Stetsons and had pistols strapped low around their hips.

  “What can I do for you fellows?” asked Gomer.

  “Where’s Sheriff Flynn?”

  “Uh, he’s outta town on his delayed honeymoon. Anything I can do? I’m deputy Gomer Platt.”

  “When’s he due back?”

  “Tomorrow, sometime, he said.”

  Both men drew their sidearms and pointed them at Gomer.

  “Get on your feet and shuck that iron on your side, boy,” said one of the men.

  “Huh?”

  “Now, Deputy Platt!…Not in the habit of repeatin’ myself.”

  Gomer unbuckled his belt and laid it with his Colt on the desk and backed away.