by Lou Bradshaw
We sang at the appropriate times, bowed our heads at the appropriate moments, and fed the plate as it was passed around. The parson must not have ever spent any time in the Missouri hills because he wasn’t any good at yellin, fist banging, or stomping around waving his arms. In fact he didn’t do any of that. What he did was give a nice quiet sermon on peace and love of fellow man and lead the choir with a fine rich baritone voice. I kinda doubted that he had ever even been to Missouri.
All in all it was a pleasant hour spent among good people and some mighty fine singing. I thought that maybe I’d come again sometime, if I could remember which day was Sunday. They had decided that since the day was warm and sunny that the box supper would be held outside. So that gave everyone about an hour to mill around and be neighborly. Sam took me by the arm and led me outside to meet a few of the ranchers. The womenfolk all went somewhere to see to the boxes and mostly gossip I suppose. Andy disappeared, but I suspected there was a cute young thing who also disappeared about the same time. Charlie stayed with Sam and me.
The first person I met was Joe Tucker of the rockin J. He was the father of Linda and Maggie, whom I had yet to thank for my housewarming. Joe was Sam’s good friend and closest neighbor. We made the rounds and I was doing my best to keep everyone straight, trying to connect faces with names. It wasn’t working out too well. I’d have to sit down with Sam or Andy and make some notes. I could remember the brands but not the faces. After a while Sam led me to a stocky fella with mutton chop whiskers. He looked more like a banker than a rancher. Sam said, “Ben, I want you to meet Matt Barkley.”
Chapter 32
My mind was racing. Was this the man we had been tracking for eight years? Was this the leader of that murderous gang that changed our lives completely in only a few minutes? Watch yourself, Ben. Don’t show anything. Be good old Ben Blue.
Sam went on, “Matt here’s got a nice spread a little ways north the bar M bar. Matt this young fella is a good friend of mine Ben Blue of the MB connected. He took over that valley below the mountains. His brother is one of my hands, Andy Moore. Well, he works for me now; he’ll be a deputy sheriff this time next week.
We shook hands, and he started talking about what a lucky stroke that was to latch on to that piece of property. He congratulated me on my good fortune. If this was a cold blooded murderer, he sure did a nice job of covering it up. He was not only affable, but he was likable. Then I remembered what Juan Domingo had said about his magical cows, and I had my reservations. I guess this business of playing detective wasn’t going to be as easy as I had hoped.
Barkley asked, “Your brother, Andy Moore, is he the one they started callin’ Hickory Jack Moore?”
“Well,” I said, “there were some back in Texas and Kansas who started callin him that, but I never did. It’s not the kind of reputation he was wanting. He just seemed to be a little quick. We were both disappointed when that name caught up to him here.”
“Where’d you get that Spanish style jacket?” Barkley asked. “It’s very well made, and you wear it like you were born to it.”
I looked down at it and said. “It was a gift from Don Carlos Vasquez of Santa Fe.”
“You know the old bull of the woods, do you? He must think highly of you. That’s a really fine piece of goods.”
“I knew his son back in Texas, and we became very good friends. He did me a very big service one time and when we came to Santa Fe, I looked up his ma and pa. I had no idea what a big man he was… a very fine gentleman, and she is certainly a fine lady.”
All he said was, “Do tell.”
We had lost Charlie. He’d spotted a cute little miss, and he took his lanky, spur jingling, Adam’s apple bobbing self off in pursuit. Sam was stoking up his pipe when I looked to my right and standing there just below my shoulder was Patty, smiling like she knew a big secret.
“Ben,” she said, “where did you get that beautiful jacket? That’s all the women are talking about in there. You’re a big hit, and they don’t even know you yet.” I told her the story of Don Carlos and Father Paulo. She said, “When you used to come out to the ranch to visit Andy, I thought I knew you pretty well, but these last few weeks, I’m finding that there’s a lot to learn about Ben Blue. I think I want to learn more.”
“Aw I’m no mystery. All I want to be is a big good natured Irishman like they said my pa was.”
“Now young lady, will you please give me a hint to which one of them boxes is yours because I’d love to have supper with you?” I couldn’t believe what I’d just asked her and told her until I heard myself saying it. I had no plans to say it.
I think she was as shocked by it as I was because she was speechless for a few seconds. Then she said, “According to the rules, I can’t tell the color, size, shape, or markings. But the one thing I can tell you without breaking any rules is it has your name all over it. There’s no one else here that it could mean anything to.”
“A big lot of help you are. With that kind of clue, I could wind up eating with a goat.” I told her. “I’ve never been good at riddles.”
“Just wait.” Was all she said. I reckoned I’d have to.
Shortly after, they started setting up trestle tables and bringing out the most fanciest collection of boxes and baskets a body had ever seen. I was looking real hard, but couldn’t see my name on any of them. There were some decorated with wild flowers, some with ribbons and bows, some were painted in a multitude of colors, some were wrapped with print fabric, and one had my name all over it. I knew it immediately. She must have seen me looking at it and smiling like a village idiot who finally figured something out. I glanced at her, and she was looking smug and pleased with herself.
They started the bidding and the first few boxes went for fifty cents or six bits. Occasionally a box went for a dollar or two. Near the end of the box bidding a few went for three dollars. Then finally it came my turn to bid. I started out with two dollars, and heard a gasp go through the crowd. Then someone bid two fifty. I went to three, and looked around to see who was bidding against me. When the bid came in at three fifty, I saw that same cowboy I had threatened to shoot in the head a few days ago. So I bumped it up to five dollars, and I was treated to another gasp. This time it came from Patty. I looked over at the cowboy, and saw one of the other riders hand him some money. That meant I was bidding against the whole Pickering crew. He went up to five dollars and six bits. I said seven and won that pretty box all covered with shiny dark blue fabric and a big light blue bow.
I turned to Patty and she looked as if she was in shock. I thought; oh don’t tell me I read the signs wrong. Then she started to smile and simply glowed and sparkled. When I went up to pay the man and get my dinner, I had about twenty or thirty women looking at me and smiling. There was an equal number of men folk there who looked as if they wanted to tear my heart out. I came back to where she and Sam were waiting, and as I got to them, I sniffed the box and said “It’s gonna be worth every penny.” I offered to share the meal with Sam, but he had made arrangements to go have Sunday dinner at the cafe with some of his friends.
We found a place on the lawn and I got a blanket from their buggy to spread on the ground, and we sat down to our own Sunday dinner. I just looked at the box, afraid to touch it. She said, “Well go ahead and open it.” I told her that it was too pretty for big old heathen like me to open, and that I’d probably wreck it. So she called me a big boob and untied the bow. In that box was a huge pile of fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy in a jar, some other fixins and a whole apple pie. And I always thought I’d have to die to go to heaven.
The food was cold, but it was delicious. For a man who is used to eating cold or burnt and dried out food most days, this was a real treat. When I felt like I couldn’t ever eat another bite if I lived to be a hundred, she went into the church and came back with two mugs of coffee and cut that pie. I guess I must have been a hundred and one years old because I flew into that pie like a man near starved to deat
h.
We sat there drinking coffee and just relishing the moment. Then out of nowhere she said, “I guess I’m going to have to stop calling you a heathen. You sat through the service without fidgeting or squirming like most men are apt to do. I’m afraid that after you paid so much for the box they’re going to be after you to join the church. I’m sorry it got so heated. I don’t know what got into Rafe Baker to keep bidding like that. He’s never even spoken to me that I can remember. Unless he thought it belonged to someone else.”
I didn’t tell her that I had threatened to blow a hole in that gent’s skull. She didn’t need to know that. I said, “Oh was that his name? I met him once, but we weren’t introduced at that time.”
I told her, that it was a right friendly church and I might join up somewhere down the line. I said that I couldn’t abide those fire and brimstone preachers, and that Parson Millner was pretty much to my liking. But I’d give a little more time before I joined. Then I told her how I had wandered into this little Mexican church and met Padre Paolo who was Don Carlos’s son. I also told her that the Padre’s services were in Latin and I had no idea what was going on.
About that time, two young ladies strolled up to where we were sitting. I got to my feet, smiled and said howdy to them. Patty stood up and said, “Ben, I would like you to meet my two best friends. This is Linda and Maggie Tucker, who were at your house with me and helped with the house warming surprise. Unfortunately, you didn’t see fit to stay at home, but went out gallivantin around the range.” I shook their hands in turn and thanked them for their hard work and thoughtfulness.
Linda was about Patty’s age, maybe sixteen or seventeen, and an attractive young woman soon to be. Whereas Maggie, or Margaret, was maybe thirteen and all neck and elbows, but if Linda was any model, Maggie would soon make the grade. Maggie spoke up and said, “We kept waiting for Patty to bring you over, but it was taking so long that we just came on over.” I told her that I was sure glad they did.
The four of us strolled around the grounds, and I was introduced to a number of other young people, my age or younger. Again, I was at a loss for their names the second we moved on. We ran into the parson and I told him how much I enjoyed the service, and that I was one of those who thought there was enough damnation and anger outside the churchhouse so it needn’t be brought in. He said that unfortunately there were those in the congregation who wanted a bit more brimstone on a Sunday morning. I looked around and saw nothing of my rival bidder, Rafe Baker. I guess he didn’t stick around for another box.
Directly, Sam came strolling back from the center of town. When he got to where the four of us were standing and waiting for Joe Tucker to bring their buckboard around, he said, “Ben, danged if you ain’t the gittin aroundest feller I believe I ever met. Now I find out that you ran a bunch of Pickering riders off your place the other day. And you threatened to shoot Rafe Baker for callin you a naughty name. If you ain’t just a ring tailed cougar, then I’ll be a naughty name.”
Patty looked at me, with one eyebrow cocked and said, “Weren’t exactly introduced… Indeed. Maybe you are a heathen after all.”
I told them all, “I didn’t have to shoot him. He took it back.”
The social had just about come to an end, so while Sam brought their rig around, Patty gathered up dishes and made me a nice little package of leftovers, for which I was truly thankful. Andy and Charlie showed up and told Sam, “Were takin this rich New York play actor down town for a couple of beers. He’s buyin the first round if he’s got any money left, that is.”
I told Patty, “It was a wonderful meal and I can’t remember ever enjoying eating a supper near as much as I did this one.” She flushed and took my hand and squeezed it, and I felt my ears getting red again.
I waved as they drove off, and she turned around as they reached the end of the lane.
Chapter 33
We mounted up and rode the two or three blocks to the first saloon we came to. As we were tying up at the hitch rail, Andy nailed me with a direct Andy kind of question. “Ben, are you gettin a case on our little Patty? I know for a fact that she’s already got a case on you.”
I told him, “Andy, I don’t even know what a case is. And I don’t even know if she’s old enough to be gittin a case of anything. But I know, she sure keeps me all churned up inside.”
“Well,” he said, “she’s sixteen and will be seventeen before Christmas. So I reckon she’s old enough, but you best be on your good behavior because you cause that little gal any heartache, and you’ll have the entire Esses crew and one deputy sheriff out scalp huntin. Ya hear?” Then he kinda smiled and said, “In other words, I can’t think of a better pair of hands to put her feelins in.”
I acknowledged his threat and we went inside, where I picked up three mugs of beer and they found us a table. I placed the mugs in front of them and Andy said, “Charlie, you know why I always get Ben to buy the first round? Mainly because he only drinks one beer at a sittin, so I never have to buy him any.”
Charlie replied, “Yehupp”. And his adam’s apple bobbed up and down like it was on a string.
We sat there and kidded each other… well. They sat there and teased me through their first beer. I flagged the waitress down and ordered them each another one. I’d about reached my limit. Pretty soon I saw my old pal, Rafe Baker break away from the crowd at the bar and weave his way toward our table. “Uh oh.” I said.
“Uh oh what?” Andy asked looking around the room.
By that time, Baker was standing in front of our table directly across from me. “Wal, Mr. Big Shot fancy coat. You ain’t got your rifle pointin at my head now, so you wanna see what you can do with a six shooter?” I told him, I didn’t, and went back to my beer.
“Whatsa matter… yaller?” Folks were stopping what they were doing and everything got deathly still, with all attention given to our table.
I said, “Baker, I’ve already embarrassed you twice and made you back water. Don’t make me kill you too.”
Andy asked, “What’s this all about, Ben?”
“This yay-hoo and three other morons came up to my gap the other day with a herd of cows they wanted to move onto my range. I sent em’ packin. And this one called me a son of a bitch. Now I took that as a slander against my ma, so I aimed my rifle at his forehead and he took it back.”
“Baker,” Andy said, “this overgrown boy here is probably gonna have your scalp hangin from his horse’s mane come morning if you don’t just back off and go about your business.
“Mister Baker,” I said, “I’ll call you that out of respect for someone who may soon be dead or maimed. You don’t know whether or not I’ve got a gun under this table aimed right at your little pee pee. If I do and should pull the trigger, you’ll probably have to start wearing a dress and squattin’ when nature calls.
“Now, you’ve already cost me three or four dollars more than necessary at that box social, but I’ll allow that. It’s a lucky thing that you didn’t win because I’ve already been told the consequences of trifling with that little princess’s feelings. So why don’t you just buy a round for my friends here, and we’ll call it even? Or we can go out to the street and I’ll stomp you into a pile of dog poop.”
Baker was in a sweat. You could see it all over his face, it was fairly dripping. You could also see his mind working. Some men, maybe all men, will face death sooner than facing the possibility of having their thing taken away. All I could do was hope he made the right decision because I was pretty sure I couldn’t get that gun out of my holster in time. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t even packin a gun; it was in my saddle bag. I was getting ready to slam that table into him and hope for the best when he muttered, “Aw hell, you ain’t even worth shootin.” Then he turned, went back to the bar. A few minutes later the waitress brought two beers and set them down in front of Andy and Charlie, and said they were from Rafe Baker at the bar.
Andy asked, “Would you really have shot his play toy
off?”
I pulled my hand out from under the table with my finger pointed like a gun and said, “What with?”
Andy just buried his face in his hands, and Charlie blew beer suds out his nose. Then I told them, that I didn’t even have a gun on me. “I didn’t think it was appropriate to wear one to a church social. And besides, it didn’t go well with my fancy Mexican jacket.” Andy just shook his head and Charlie bobbed his adam’s apple.
I sat with them for a little bit longer, and then I bid them farewell. On my way out, I stopped at the bar and spoke to Baker. I thanked him for the beers, told him we were all square as far as I was concerned and asked for no hard feelings. I offered my hand; he looked at it for a second or two and then took it. He looked down and noticed that I wasn’t wearing a gun and said, “Dammit, man. I could a shot you over there and you were unarmed. Holy Moses, Blue, you must have a huge pair. That took a ton of nerve.”
It was long shadow time when I rode through the gap. The sun was still up, but the house was already in shadows. Lucky for me, I had supper already fixed, and I could enjoy the afternoon all over again. I kindled a fire in the fireplace and set the coffee pot on to get it started. Then I went out and made sure my horses were okay and forked out a bit of my small amount of hay for them.
I didn’t want to fence in a horse pasture just yet, nor did I want to spend hours hunting them down every time I needed a horse, so I started to give a loud whistle each time I gave them some hay. That way they might come to a whistle. Bob, I would keep in the corral and barn, but the others I was planning to turn out to forage. Hopefully, they’d stay close enough to whistle in.
By the time I got back to the house that water was boiling in the coffee pot, so I dumped a handful of coffee in it and let her cook up real good. I was able to warm up the taters and gravy in a pan and the other fixins in another pan. The chicken I would eat cold as I would the pie.
