He quit his job, and from then on went through a disenchanted, depression. With his-wife looking on, she could not understand why such a brave and strongly, proud-man could give-up his career over a simple-cow. She-tried her best to keep him “chipper”, and upright, but he had to get on his feet on his own… She urged him to look for other jobs, which he did, unencouragingly. But with his wife standing-behind him he kept at it, even if she had to whip him into shape. Devoted, loving and caring she did all she could to keep him going…
She kept his-energies going but with all her strong-willed encouragement he began to search and have jobs. Cleaning himself up, taking jobs as a range-hand and regaining his wrangler’s skills. He even began to take on better-roles in his job duties, till he was doing invaluable& trusted tasks on the ranch. Not withholding deliberate, adeptness he was getting out of the duldrums. Explicatively, he was edging-forward, in return to his former-”self”… Till one-day he came home, drunk. She was be-calmingly distraught, she didn’t immediately get upset, but helped him to sober-up. He mentioned that he’d been out with a couple of the guys from work gambling, drinking and going-to bars. He said they hit the town. She listened while he bantered and howled at how much of a good-time, he had…
Nonetheless, she gave an intense scalding to what he did, she reprimanded him and set-down ‘the law’, that she was not going to stand-for it, any more. That he was letting her-down until he found work. He had been out gambling, cavorting and having a wild-time of it. He tried to play it off saying he was just having a ‘little-fun’. He said he needed to live a little. But she was not going to have any of it. And as her final-word she would leave him, if he ever did-it again… Both became silent as he slept on the couch and she locked the door to the bedroom… Though Pete was in a drunken stammer, he knew she was very important to him. He’d began to understand that all he-lived for was about to be lost. He stayed-up that night perplexed, but resolved-to keep and get-back what he lost so selfishly. All the different-obstacles he’d demonstrated to her that he’d not given-up and that now she no-longer had any need for concern… This came at the determination that he’d never give-in, again. And with luck, he thought he’d never would again. He’d planned to follow the assertion that he would find a way to regain his-competence, skills and abilities…
He started-back at ranching;working-hard, driving himself to be as good as he could be;out-’besting’ the most able-cowboy… For this his-boss promoted him to second, then first-ramrod. The work was rough but he put all his-heart into it. He had his favorite horse, saddle given him by his-wife and kids, and silver spurs;he’d been given as an act of appreciation by his former-boss. He gained reputability, esteem and confidence;in all-areas and was an excelling-steward of wrangling and horsemanship all-around. His wife and kids began to show their faith in him. He was shining-clean and was visiting the town-livery when he saw something he was always, looking for…a ‘poster’ on the shop’s wall… It read:
“San Padre Isles Horses…”
“To all who will come round-up and rodeo, for historic horses on San Padre Isles.
These horses are dated-back to the Spanish bloodline of 1863 when a ferry to Texas shipwreck and the horses went ashore on San Padre Islands…”
It went on to say that horses for their small-island remoteness;where of-line purity made them one of the most-expensive horses in the world. First-prize was $50,00.00 and a ranch to breed the captured stock. The rules was that you wrangle four white Padre-paints. Pete looked on, in intense, determination. He read-it over and over, he remembered every last-detail…
He had told his family and friends, as he showed-up for the sign-in preparation. On the day of the event Pete stood readied, accomplished and knowledgeable about the intricacies and allotments required for their wrangling and managing. As he reached an open-area, there sat several men on horse-back. He drew closer slowly, beginning to recognize the former-strangers, three westerners;a-Biff Sorgenson, Sam “Chewbit” Arnold and Luke “Sky” Joseph, the leader of the bunch… It came back to him, unwontedly… Pete had made himself a past, over the rough areas of his devisive-history, he’d earn some hard friends who put him through ‘below-the-board’, gambits and diversions of depressive, delirium. He was anxious to start, the men had alterior-motives quite, sinister. The Boss had known Pete as a former gambling-pal who’d beat him at it, he’d lost money against him, in what’d suppose to had been a “nice”-game. But Luke had a grudge against a former-”free-wheeler” who changed his-ways. He looked as Pete set readying to trail-test he was very methodical, preparing his ropes, harnesses and saddle. And his horse for any defects. While this went on Luke and his hinchmen were plotting to complete something, under-handed. He was going to send one of his gang over to grab his attention so they could bring him into-easier reach. The plan, had been set…
Pete had great-hopes for what he was going to do. He concentrated on his coming round-up, he did notice as a man rode up to him telling him that his-wife was ill and needed him, home. He immediately, left the race. He guided him into his capture. But, there was also a young-boy watching, he knew who Pete was and the men, as the seedy-men of the town. He knew, he was in-trouble. He rode his motor-bike to a matron of the town who was sitting with Pete’s wife at a local-”social”. He went as quick as he could to Miss Peuntes’ house…
The men had come into sight around an alley-way when the boss spoke-up. “Well, if it isn’t my ole buddy Pete…” They tied-up his horse and fled, bounding Pete and stealing all his-equipment. “Where are we taking him, boss?” “We’re taking him to the hide-out, where we can teach him a few things about taking ‘my’-money…” It was early-afternoon, when Pablo arrived as the emergency, “…Please come to the door.” Pablo knew it was serious, she knew he was excited about something, and that he had a good ‘head-on-his-shoulders’. He spoke quickly, and breathlessly. “Hang-on little-one, what’s wrong?” He told her everything she needed to know. After which she realized one of her friends was in serious-danger.
She knew he’d have come this far, without it being so… She called for one of the other-women to sit with Mrs.Pete Rawl’s. She did not want to make her-frightened. She knew what to do, an old friend of hers was at a friend’s house visiting nearby. She told her companions to call and ask for his-assistance, at once. Ms.Peuntes hurried with Pablo to go with her to Bo Jon, as he was to rendezvous within minutes as he had insight-in the incident. Bo Jon was no slow-moving police-officer, he was the nearest law. They met him at a nearby-home, where they-heard the whole-story, from Pablo. Within minutes, Bo and Pablo had jumped-into his pink Cad and were-off… They headed for the small-tucked away, hide-out on the beach. As he-drove, he was filled-in on all the low-down;about the potential-kidnappers, who they-were, and other things the boy-knew…
He was astutely, informed of all he-wanted to know as the boy’s keen-judgment, was par for the course. Highly, attentive as the young-boy was, he was a street-kid and was looked-after by the community. So, his deep-sense of understanding, and logic… So Bo was fully-competent, when the boy had guided him to the road. Near the ocean-front, they had to reach the shack… It was 4-miles more form where they were in-pursuit. As they-pulled onto the off-road sand-rough trail, he slowed-down. He told the boy to keep silent… He stopped a mile, before reaching the site.
Bo had figured there to be 5 or 6 of them by the boy’s witnessing, if this was so, he had to be prepared… He checked his weapons, made sure he was ready for a fight and walked slowly, up the beach. “Okay, Pete”.(slap, punch) “You get your pay-back…” “You’ve taken my money and now you get yours.” “Hey, boss what’re we going to do with him, now we got him tied-up?” “…We have to do something with him?” Sky was not going to let him off, easily. “Well.” “I think we should rough him up abit then dump him in the next-county. If anything I’m going to get mine.”(Punch, grunt…)<
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Two-men stood out-front casually, guarding the place. Another guy was out-front along the brush coming-to the place. He was quiet and unconcerned, the two on the porch were holding automatic rifles, and the boss and the big man who guarded-him. He was dumb probably, the brawns to the brains. Sky was taking especial, pleasure in beating Pete, the big man thought it was deserved due to his boss wanting it, then as the beating went-on he became disinterested in it. He stood back looking-out the open door. He and the rest of the men had become uncaring about the situation they thought the boss should be left to do on his own. Pete had fell-in with the wrong crowd when he was at a low-point in his life and now he was being repaid for his-straying.
After he was finally seeking to fulfill what he truly was desiring to do, he had been throtted against his-will when in better-judgment… If anything, was that he-faultered into the ‘bad’-side of being a cowboy. Actions, dictate that there be ramifications to all aspects of doing and undoings, which were not purposeful yet also not fateful. His own actions were what lead to this chastisement of indifferent, chasteness… His over-assumption, that life could-be under-estimated or flawed. And he was paying for it, with suffering and demise. Pete-was alone now as he had taken blow-after-blow, yet his resistance to survive, to over-come exaction, impediment and indifference was now, keeping him alive…
Sky Joseph kept hitting-him with blow-after-blow until he had run-out of strength, then he became really angry. He-decided he was worthy of his throuting. He sat breathing, hard. He wanted to hurt him as his deep-seated feelings had been sorely hurt that day everyone else was ‘having fun’…
Bo was within 40-yards of the shack, he-noticed all five by sight and sound. He heard them inside with the grunts of brunted Pete Rawl and their boss barking-off at him… He knew that he had to move, quickly. A large pebble hit in the brush in-front of the man watching-out he went over to see, and a big surprise came out. Bo Jon fell out of the top of the trees knocking him-out. The two on the porch didn’t see but heard him, they went out to see what it was, that’s when Bo-slung his knife at one then shot the other as he lifted his shoulder holstered hand gun. Hitting him in his-shoulder with snub-nose leg .357 magnum knocking him down flat. Then the big man entered the doorway startled, Bo hit him with a Judo kick throwing him off his feet. Then the boss was concentrating on Pete, heard the big man thrown to the floor. He was confused then got his bearings that’s when Bo fired a sharply aimed shot. Shooting him straight into his arm as he went for a shoulder holstered fire-arm. He fell wounded. “My name is Bo.” “I’m here to help…”
As Bo and Pete walked up the beach to his-car the state-patrol arrived walking toward them. “Bo Jon Littlehorse p.I., the men responsible for Mr.Rawl’s ransoming, are defiled and wanting…” As Ms.Peuntes and Rodger Denslow his family’s long-time friends, he believed he’d lost over a faultless occurance. When he met they applauded, Pete smiled and was proud that he was so cared about. They all went home together to celebrate. Next year. Pete rode out into the San Padre round-up successful in wrangling eight purebreds and won the second place prize he was able to start his own ranch with a loan from his good-friend, who meant more than any job or agility.
The end
Sherman Beach
[Ten]
Donald and his mother arrived at Sherman Beach when he was twelve. His was the product of a divorce. And now his mother decided-to settle in as a divorcee. She moved there to forgot and begin a new-life. They went to the beach often to enjoy their togetherness and bond and spend free-time… They learned many things about sea-life, and when they-arrived home they brought back dead-starfish, shells and other things unique about shore-life… While he was young, his mother decided if he would learn something new everyday, he’d be given money to attend college, when he grew-up… That was 10-years ago, now he sat in a lifeguard’s seat watching the sea-waves, just after-dawn, as beachgoers straggled-by. He knew them by heart the serious fisherman, the swimmers, the beach-bums, jocks and sun-tanning ladies. He was an accomplished life-guard for four-years. Achieving his first-commission at 17. An adept scuba-diver, deep-sea fisherman and surfer among other-things… Yes. The beach had become his home, he was well-known among the shoreline-community…
He sat, as wise-guarder of the sea now, in his maturing-years. Proving, his slowly fading-presence there… …Donald Sherfield was being shipped-out aboard the U.S.S. Southport, in two-months he’d be leaving… As sun grew higher-in the sky more beachgoers arose. It was late-summer. These were the last of the summer’s visitors. Soon they’d be leaving for the season. Donny was becoming Donald and his last-years there had been always, along her shores. He enjoyed it and knew the ‘grand-treasure’ of being a resident, there. It was a regular-day, temperatures were mid-80s, mild as the sun moved-south. He expected to carry on his duty a little while-longer. 6-months earlier, he’d been through-all the reigning-in to be presented as an Ensign G-4, through regiment Navy-ROTC. He’d be at sea, having duty in National Defense, while doing what he could recognizing what he would be confirmed to do. In what they’d do, enjoy, and behave among the sea, shore and surf…
One of his friends was coming-up the shore, a traveler’s ship-captain…they went fishing, scuba-diving and ocean-going, for seaward-sights. “Donny, hey what’s up?” …“You know, safe-guarding, surf-going and ‘curls‘…” “Yeah, I know how it-is…” “I’m heading-out to the open-waters taking afew of the novice-fisherman for there first-fight.” They talked-over some of the day’s concerns and discussed-things going-on at the beach. He-wished him “good luck”. The two-separated with a “Bon Voyage”… Don thought it, a typical-day. His-friend was a commoner to the beach, at Sherman. He was always ‘honest’. And a man, you could depend. …He’d forgotten about what the vacationers-shipman was upto, until the moment, came… A call came-over ship-to-shore radio-band. …”May-day, ship at sea under-attack.”
The call was staticky and heavy. “Taking on heavy-gunfire!” “Please respond, please respond, over.” Don ran into the guard-patrol shack. He immediately, picked-up. “This is shore-patrol give-me your position, over.” “Gunfire…seagoing marauders…no-defense.” “High-power bullistics, no defense…” “Give me your position, over.” Said Don. Then silence, he looked-out onto the open-ocean and saw the horrendous, plumes of smoke flowing into the air. Standard-operations required him to advance to Coast Guard immediately. After giving the run-down he was told they’d take it from there. Don sat idly, by as his-friend and a number of his vacationers were being attacked with serious-weaponry…
The shore-patrol, reached the point at which coordinates had been signed. By time Don and the Coast Guard reached their-position there was no-sign of the ship but wreckage strewn over a 185 yard-radius. There was no-sign of life. Oil, debri and ship’s parts was floating, aimlessly. Don almost cried, who would ‘kill’ such an innocent boat-load of vacationers leaving no-one alive aboard. This was more than an act of aggression, it was a total-act of senselessness. Unknown assailants were at sea, marauding ships… Who they were and why, they did such a thing was still up-in-the-air. Sherman Beach in, all the years Donny knew it, was always a place of peace, enjoyment, and calm. Now her shores were in a state-of peril. Donald had never know it this-way. He spent the next several-days thinking and rethinking, what the scenario-to what happened at his beach… One afternoon while sitting the life-guard stand, an old friend came by he’d been a long time visitor to Sherman. A self-resolved beach-bum, he spent most of his time-on the beaches of the world. From Hawaii to New Zealand he was a professional-beachgoer…
Donald told him the story-of the tragedy and loss, what had suddenly reached Sherman’s shores. After explaining-it to his friend, he felt remorse and sadness for the new occurrence in her-waters. He told of some of the experiences he’d had at other-beaches, and that was not the ‘only’-beach to see dangers… From typhoons
to shark-attack to oil spills he’d seen it all. But he felt for his friend and told him of a man, who dealt specifically with criminal detection who was in the area, on vacation. A Mr.Bo Jon Littlehorse private-investigator. He was from Nevada and had become renown for his sleuthing-abilities. His hotel was near the area and that he’d go with him to see what, if anything, he could do.
Don had thought of what was happening to his soon-to-be-left home. As evening fell and the late-waters came in he felt at a lost and began to realize that he was maturing into a man, in spirit. He-knew death was a natural-thing but he’d now lost the final-threads of youth... …The youth, that once ran the shores of his long-time home. He watched as the last-rays of sun fell down behind the high-beach shore and the darkness moved-in. He decided he had one last job to do. To find his-friend’s killer, who happened to ride the shores somewhere near the kind and welcoming Sherman beach. Deep within him, as along the sands and out far into the Atlantic he was being transformed, and reserved to finding his killer. And tomorrow would be another day, a day of shine but also a day of renewed, vindication. That night Don stayed-up until ten p.m. then fell-into a disquieting-slumber, a sleep-of-the-‘duly’. He knew was, one last thing he’d do, was find the murderers who invaded his beach. The next-morning, he had a renewed-vigor about him, he was on his toes as he went to breakfast with the guard-crew. He was accurate and sharp, at his job this lead his boss to leave him in-charge, while day-shore patrol went-on. He handled it magnificently, though he was not-prideful. He called out patrol-calls, distributed duty-rosters and completed all of the serious-work he had never claimed, without appointment. As job went-on, he was still in the precis of his mind. He was holding his friend’s death in his mind’s eye…
He was not superstitious, foolish or stubborn he was now, proving his worth as someone who could be deserving in what was till now, to sat-back and enjoy the boyishness of youth. He decided to take a breather, that afternoon when that old friend dropped in out-of-the-blue… He conversed with the gentleman who was no more, dressed in sport-shirts, trunks and sandals. Yet it felt to him as if he was a “sage” brought to enlighten his heavy-spirit…
The Continuing tales of Bo Jon Littlehorse, P.I. Page 11
