by J. Lee Butts
Leaned on the pommel of my saddle and tapped a finger against one of Boz Tatum’s Colt’s Dragoons. “Rumors from most of the folks in Sweetwater would lead me to believe this is a right dangerous area, Mr. Nightshade. As a direct consequence, I’ve decided never to travel in these parts alone.”
“That a fact?”
“Yes, sir. That’s a fact.”
“Well, then, where’s the rest of your help?”
“All around you.”
A knowing smile flitted across his thin, cracked lips. “What if I don’t believe you, Ranger Dodge?”
“Well, why don’t you go ahead and do something stupid, Mr. Nightshade. But be advised. Quarrelsome action of any kind might cost you your life, perhaps the lives of some of these others as well. Besides, don’t need but one Texas Ranger for a pissant-sized outfit like this one anyway.”
There’s an amazing thing about bullshit. Once a body starts slinging outright lies around, nervy mendacity begins to take on a life of its own. Sounds almost like the truth. More convincingly you slather on a tall tale, the more prone the gullible and softheaded are to believe you.
Nance boldly pushed through the pack of younger siblings to a spot near her father and said, “This is Nightshade land. No one comes in here and threatens us.”
Tipped my hat her direction. “No threat, Miss Nance. Plain facts are, you folks stole Maggie there from your neighbors, dragged the hog over here, and, from all appearances, almost have her cooked and ready to eat.”
Nightshade’s oldest daughter shook her finger at me. “You cain’t prove a word of that scurrilous lie. My brothers raised this hog from a shoat. Took ’em four years to get her up to slaughterin’ size.” That old saw, about females getting better-looking when they’re angry, turned into living proof right in front of me that morning. Flames in Nance Nightshade’s eyes flicked my direction. I could feel the heat and smell the smoke.
’Bout then, a wild-faced woman with yellowed teeth came busting out of the house carrying a pot of boiling water. Dusky Nightshade had the kind of look on her you only see in real bad dreams.
She hustled across the porch, and stopped on the bottom step. Still a good thirty feet away from me when she squealed, “Let me scald him, Pa. Let me scald the badgetotin’ son of a bitch. Cain’t let the likes of him come in here and threaten my family.”
Titus held up a reassuring hand and said, “Calm down, Dusky. I’ll take care of this.”
Crazed woman’s gaze raced all over me like a swarm of red ants. She fidgeted with the simmering pot for several more seconds, then scurried back inside behind a cloud of steam.
Answer seemed more’n obvious when things settled down again and I asked my next question. “Why didn’t you wait till the first frost? I know you folks ain’t from Texas, but I’ve never heard of anyone from Alabama slaughtering hogs in this kind of heat. Ain’t necessarily safe. Never has been.”
Man I’d taken to be Nance’s older brother Jack, during our brief meeting in Sweetwater, slithered up to his father’s side. “We ain’t trying to preserve any of this pig. Just gonna eat the meaty beast. Now, why don’t you take your worthless self on outta here, ’fore I have your sorry carcass loaded on our spit behind the sow.”
Well, that piece of smart-mouthed bullyboy behavior ripped the rag off the bush. Tapped Grizz with my spurs, and pushed the kids out of my way. Step or two more and the big rumped animal would have ended up standing on top of Titus Nightshade’s feet.
Turned the horse slightly sideways, leaned over so I didn’t have to shout, and said, “I’m tired of our time-wasting discussion. Just came from the spot where your family killed McKee’s animal. Tracked you and yours right to where I see her being cooked. You’ve got exactly one minute to start getting Maggie on the back of that spring wagon I spotted over by the barn. If that don’t happen, something like this will.”
Pointed at the bucket sitting on top of Titus’s spit. Iron-bound wooden shell splintered into a shower of broken shards. Youngest kids ran screaming for the house. In the confusion, I pulled both pommel guns. Covered Titus, Nance, and Jack.
The old man vibrated with indignation. “You ain’t got no right to treat us like this. By God, we’re just as entitled to lead our lives the way we want as any of the other sons of bitches here’bouts. We got rights too, you bastard.”
Used a pistol barrel to push my vest back and reveal Alfonso Esparza’s handmade star. “This, and the state of Texas, gives me the right. Now load ’er up.”
Not much arguing after that. Whole clan worked like field hands as they hefted the pig, spit and all, into the wagon. Nance, over the objections of her father and brother, decided she’d drive it back to Ezra McKee’s place and return with their six-foot piece of cookin’ iron.
We’d managed to get about a mile away from the house when Martye thundered up. Flashed me an ear-to-ear grin. “See, I told you my plan would work.”
Nance Nightshade’s face went scarlet. “This was your company of Rangers in the trees?”
Smiled when I said, “Never mentioned a company of Rangers, Miss Nance. Simply alluded to the fact that I don’t travel alone in these parts.”
“Well, if I’d known this little bitch had anything to do with—”
She never got a chance to finish. Martye stood on her pony’s back like a circus rider, and jumped right into the middle of Nance Nightshade’s lap. Knocked the hot-mouthed gal sideways, and out of the wagon seat. They landed in a pile, right at Grizz’s feet, and went to scratching and screaming like a pair of branded bobcats. Slapping and hair-pulling lasted so long, I finally had to step down and break them apart. Didn’t help the cussing much, though. They kept that up all the way back to McKee’s ranch. Nance gave McKee’s whole clan a hell of a tongue-lashing, while Ezra and his brood unloaded their pig. Then she whipped her team away like bat-winged demons chased them.
Naturally, McKee was glad to get his poor murdered sow back. His wife set to doing everything she could think of to preserve some of it. I figured they would have to eat most of the meat. He forced a roast on me when I saddled up for my ride back to town.
Martye followed me all the way to the Jacksboro Road. Pulled up right after I turned north. “You’ve got to go back home, Martye.” She looked like I’d hurt her feelings or something. But maybe the split lip and black eye simply fooled me.
“You comin’ back anytime soon?” she asked.
“Don’t know. Maybe so. Maybe not.”
“You gotta come back.”
“Is that a fact? Why do I gotta come back.”
She leaned over, grabbed me around the neck quicker’n she’d jumped on Nance Nightshade, and kissed me like tomorrow would never show a bright sunny face. Broke the kiss and said, “That’s why, Ranger Dodge. Figure we know each other well enough now. Seein’ as how you got Maggie back, and all.”
Whipped her pony away, and left me sitting in the middle of the road wrapped in a cloud of dust with her breath still in my mouth. Looking back, I think Martye’s impetuous behavior surprised her as much as it did me. Being as how women posed an unsolvable mystery at the time, I couldn’t do nothing but shake my head like a dog with ear mites all the way back to Sweetwater. Notice I said “at the time.” But, honestly, friends, even after all these years, I’m not sure I can actually say my knowledge on the subject has improved much a-tall.
10
“DID I KILL THE BACK-SHOOTING SON OF A BITCH?”
I MADE TOWN just in time to keep Boz from coming out looking for me. He got all bug-eyed and fuzzy-necked when I told him about my heroic rescue of Maggie, the murdered hog, and the mischievous assistance of Martye McKee.
“Damn, Lucius, you rode right up to their house and took the swine back?”
“That is exactly what I did, Boz.”
“Well, ole son, you’ve got more hard bark covering your ass than I thought. Don’t know if I would have had nerve enough to confront the tiger, in his own den, this early in the game. On
top of that, I’ve never had much personal inclination to die over the disposition of a future meal. But what’s done’s done.”
He thought the whole incident over for a minute or two, grew an impish grin as he rolled himself a smoke, and said, “You do realize, of course, this sorry tale will get spread around, and probably follow you to the grave. I can hear the leaky-mouthed blather now. Every time you walk into a well-known watering hole, anywhere in the state, people will whisper behind your back. They’ll say, “That’s him. Lucius Dodge, famed savior of slaughtered sows.’”
Have to admit, he’d hit on an aspect of the Maggie skirmish I’d never so much as given a thought. And while he waxed eloquent with a smile on his lips, I still didn’t like the sound of my prospects for the future. In an effort to jokingly steer him away from my porky misadventures, I said, “Have any problems while I was out in the big, dark and lonely, establishing a hard-earned reputation as Texas’s foremost pig retriever?”
He chuckled, snatched his hat off, ran fingers through thinning hair, and shook his head. With the hand-rolled dangling from his lips, he said, “Well, I kept my rambling talks going with folks here in town. Honest to God, Lucius, I can’t remember a time when I’ve heard such venomous hatred come from people. Truth is, given what they’re saying, don’t think we’ve seen anything close to the real, true, and genuine Nightshades in action yet.”
No doubt in my mind what he meant, and the following day we got a fair idea of how things that have been building for months, or years, can turn bad in a heartbeat. All started about the time we’d almost finished cooking coffee and frying bacon. Slightly cooler weather still held, and we looked forward to another lazy morning, outside in our chairs, waving at the locals as they passed. Couldn’t have been more than a minute or two from having our breakfast ready, when gunfire caused Boz to lose his grip on a skillet of hot grease. Honest to God, the pistol shots sounded like the fight was in the room with us.
Boz cussed a blue streak, and hit the jailhouse door with his crossover gun out and ready. I followed. First thing we saw was two men rolling around in the street a few steps away from the Texas Star’s doorway. Before we could reach them, they both sat up and fired at almost the same instant. Shooter closest to us flopped back like he’d been hit with a coal shovel.
Took about another second for me to realize the feller, still able to prop himself up on one elbow, was Captain Euless Whitecotton. The former Confederate cavalry officer had dropped his pistol, and groped at a wound in his left side just above the belt.
“Did I kill the back-shooting son of a bitch?” Whitecotton gasped as I bent over him.
“Not sure, Cap’n. Boz is checkin’ now.”
Whitecotton’s wife ran up and squealed like someone had plugged her too. Fell on her wounded husband’s chest, and wept like a baby as a crowd bunched up around them. I turned, and noticed none of those gathered around us seemed very interested in the plight of the other shooter.
Boz stood, as I walked over to check on Whitecotton’s apparently dead attacker. My friend stepped aside, and revealed the well-ventilated corpse of Titus Nightshade. Stunned don’t even come close to my reaction.
Boz grinned and said, “Something of a shocker, ain’t she? Appears our friend Cap’n Whitecotton’s one hell of a shot. Poor wretch of a cripple put two, maybe three, in Nightshade’s heart that you could cover with a ten-dollar gold piece.”
For a minute, or so, I couldn’t get my chaotic brain to make my mouth work right. Don’t know exactly what I anticipated, but the oozing corpse of Titus Nightshade wasn’t part of any of my expectations. Boz shook his head, stepped up on the boardwalk in front of the Texas Star, and took the dram shop’s owner, Nathan Macray, by the elbow and walked him back inside.
I followed and heard Boz say, “Did you see what happened here, Nate?”
Booze-slinger shook his head, a time or two, and tried to weasel out on the thing. “I don’t want to get involved in this killing, Ranger. Think the best practice, all the way round, is to leave it be.”
Tatum watched as Macray fumbled around to his regular spot behind the polished mahogany bar. “Ain’t gonna work, Nate. Everyone in Sweetwater knew Cap’n Whitecotton hit your door soon’s you opened up every morning. Hell, I’ve sometimes noticed him sitting out front waiting before first light. He ain’t missed a day’s drinking since Lucius and me got to town. Now, I want to know what happened, and you’re gonna tell me. You get my drift here, ole son?”
Macray hefted his liquor-expanded gut onto a stool, and leaned on the bar like a man who’d recently run a footrace. He slid shaking hands over his sweaty pate, wiped them on a filthy apron, and let out a ragged breath. Poured a double shot of snakebite medicine and threw the whole dose all down in one gulp. Held his head in both hands and talked to the empty glass.
“Whitecotton come in just like he always does every livin’ day. Little earlier than usual, but that ain’t nothing out of the ordinary. ’Stead of taking his regular seat in the corner, though, he sidled up here to the bar. Stood in the spot closest to the door. Guess he hadn’t been here more’n ten, fifteen minutes, when Titus blew in. Kinda unusual for him to come alone, but he’s done as much before. Think he’d already been at the bottle. A half-blind Sunday school teacher coulda seen he was red-faced drunk, madder’n hell, and spoiling for a fight.”
Boz said, “How do you know he was looking for a fight?”
Macray glanced up like a man irritated, all to hell and gone, over such a stupid question. “Every time Titus Nightshade came through my door, he was looking for a fight. And if he saw Whitecotton, you could bet money there’d be words ’tween the two of them. Mostly from Nightshade, but, ever once in a great while, the cap’n made his feelings real plain as how he wasn’t to be trifled with. Suppose ole Titus was probably the only person in these parts bold enough, or stupid enough, not to recognize how dangerous a man he’d picked to provoke.”
“They have words this morning, Nate?” I asked.
His gaze swung my direction for about a second, then dipped back into the bottom of his glass. “Yeah. They had words. Door’d barely hit Titus in the ass when he yelled, ‘You yellow-bellied Confederate dog. I cain’t believe you still have nerve enough to show your sorry ridge-running ass in my town.’ Then, he stumbled over to Whitecotton and kicked the poor one-legged bastard’s crutch out from under him. Damned thing went flying across the floor and bounced off my pie-anner. He’d done as much at least once before.”
Boz said, “That it? That what caused the shooting?”
Nervous bartender poured another fortifier, and sucked the fiery liquid down in a single breath. “Hell, no, that ain’t all by a long shot. Whitecotton hopped over to the crutch, leaned on a chair, and gathered his third leg up again. Titus was a-cussin’ him the whole time. The cap’n finally got started for the door. Titus cussed him some more. Said filthy-mouthed things what could get any man shot dead. Then the crazy son of a bitch pulled his gun on Whitecotton and said, ‘Think it’s time to kill you. Worthless, crippled trash like you shoulda died in the war years ago. Think I’ll finish what God started.’ The cap’n turned, and tried to talk his way out of the thing again. Titus wasn’t hearin’ anything Whitecotton had to offer. Cap’n said, ‘I don’t want to fight with you, Nightshade. Might as well put your gun away.’ Didn’t help his case any, though. Personally, think ole Titus had himself all primed for a killing, and wasn’t about to be denied.”
I said, “That when the shootin’ started?”
“Well, kinda. The cap’n went and headed for the door again. He’d almost made his way outside, when Nightshade shot the man. Looked like the bullet went in his left side, kinda low on the back. Came out his front, and hit my door. Sorry trick. Ole Titus paid for his treachery, though. Cap’n came up with his pistol, and fired under the arm holding his crutch. Hit Titus in the chest. Knocked him back a good two steps. But he grabbed at the spurting hole, recovered, and stumbled outside after Euless. Ca
p’n had lost his footing, tripped over his crutch, or somethin’, and tumbled down the steps.”
“Don’t suppose you waited behind the bar for the two of them to finish up killing each other?” I said.
“Hell, no. Ran to my window and watched Titus rip off another’n. He missed that time. Cap’n rolled over and plugged ole Titus again. That’s when he fell off the porch, and they ended up almost toe-to-toe in the street. ’Bout then, I spotted you boys coming out of the sheriff’s office. Think y’all can testify to anything you seen after that.”
Boz pulled his hat off and slapped it against his leg. “Anyone else see what happened, before the whole shebang ended up on the street?”
Voice from the table beside the piano said, “I seen the whole dance. Start to finish.”
Thought we’d pretty much met everyone in town. But I didn’t recognize the gent hiding in the corner. Boz strolled over to the table, and pulled me along with him. We could still hear a subdued buzz from the street, but, inside the saloon, our spurs sounded like jingling thunder as we moved his direction.
“Watch the door,” Boz whispered over his shoulder. He pulled a chair away from the table, put his foot in the seat, leaned on his knee, and said, “Who are you, sir?”
Early morning tippler poured a drink from the bottle on his table. With a trembling hand, he brought the glass to his lips. Sucked about half of the liquid down, then gently lowered the tumbler back to a wet spot in front near his free hand. So low I almost didn’t hear him, he said, “Name’s Bob Horton.”
“Disagreement went about the way Nate described?” Boz asked.
Horton pushed his hat back, and leaned out of the shadowy corner. “Happened exactly the way Mr. Macray said. He ain’t tryin’ to pull any wool over your eyes, Ranger. Like most folks here’bouts, Nate knows what this means. Jack, Nance, and their friends will doubtless blame the whole thing on him. Very likely, they’ll burn the Star to the ground. Maybe the whole damned town. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”
