Sunday's Colt & Other Stories

by Randy D. Smith

  Ty Lee nodded. “Fair for a fact. It’s time to head for home.”

  As they saddled fresh horses, Red River said, “We probably ought to buy ourselves some grub for the ride back. Is there anything you need from the store?”

  Ty Lee nodded without looking up. “I could use some tobaccy, but I’ll have to get a loan from you.”

  “You spent it all?” Red River asked.

  Ty Lee smiled and tightened his cinch. “She stole it. When I woke up this morning she was gone and my whole poke with her.”

  “The hell you say. We better get to the law and get them on her.”

  Ty Lee threw down his stirrup and lifted his foot into it. “No, let her have it.”

  Red River swung into his saddle and settled into the cantle. “That’s a lot of money for one night, partner.”

  Ty Lee smiled and gently spurred his pony forward. “All I know is…for a spell there last night I was more than I ever was and more than I’ll probably ever be.” He turned to his partner and his eyes cut deep. “What’s that worth to fellows like you and me?”

  Red River gave it some thought, nodded, and rode on in silence.

  The Black Queen

  It was down near Trace Madres where riders from the Square Bit trapped her among thirty other head of mustangs. Those old boys had been trailing that bunch of broomtails for nearly a week when they found them watering in a shallow Comanche mudhole at the upper end of Blanco Cliffs Canyon. They closed off the exit with a thorny locust barricade and figured they would manage a right handsome remuda once the culls were shot and the rough rode out of the rest. At the time she was nothing more than a scrawny little black filly weighing less than six hundred pounds. In fact there wasn’t much showy about her at all. She was block-headed, split-hoofed, knock-kneed, and sported a notched left ear. She had an inch-wide irregular scar running from the point of her nose to just below her right eye and her wild mustang mane looked like a drunkard’s mop after a three-week binge. She was pure Spanish from her slit nostrils and narrow eyes down to her bushy fetlocks and ratted tail. Showy, hell! She was pretty damned plain when you think on it. About the only good to her was that she was free for the taking and could turn a man a four-dollar profit if he didn’t break his neck riding the green out of her.

  Her first victim was a Mexican named Banuelos. As was the custom, each vaquero roped out a choice in turn and worked his way down until the whole bunch had been green broke. Banuelos had just rode down a pinto buckskin for his fourth bronc and the pickings were getting pretty slim. It’s told that he missed his loop on a scrawny gray and picked the black because there wasn’t much difference between poor or a little poorer and he was getting tired. Anyway, she piled his ass in four jumps and then put a hoof through his forehead for his trouble. No one thought too much about it as that’s the way it goes sometimes if a hand doesn’t land on the run when he gets pitched.

  Banuelos had a compadre by the handle of Mexican José. José took it upon himself to take retribution on the black the next morning. He lasted the same four jumps and hit the ground crawling. She broke his leg and bit off a piece of his shoulder before the others dragged him to safety. The Square Bit boys realized right quick that she was a stomping, teeth-gnashing, kicking, farting whore from hell with no mercy toward Mex, black, or white. Every man but Arky Blue had a go at riding her and she managed to get a piece of every one of them before he made it to safety. Old Arky was nearing forty and said the hell with it after watching a few of the others. He figured that he wasn’t up to spending another winter with a broken leg or arm and he had nothing to prove.

  In fact, Old Arky was getting ready to put a .36 ball in her brain when he came up with the notion that the black might be the most valuable bronco of the bunch. He’d never seen any animal with less looks and more guts. When the boys got to considering it, not a man among them had lasted more than four jumps. Arky proposed that they might turn a nice profit by placing out wagers that no man could ride her. Of course they knew that there never was a horse that couldn’t be rode, but if they kept a poke back to pay off the winner, they could turn a handsome profit watching the wannabes pay to get their turn at a dance with Satan’s mistress. The way she went through the Square Bit crew it could be quite a spell before she was rode down, and the profits promised handsome. They came up with the name Black Queen for her, more to get a sucker’s curiosity up than any other logic. A black queen is considered bad luck by many who favor the pasteboards and is an omen of impending disaster. Them old boys didn’t realize at the time just how prophetic a handle they had placed on her.

  Well, the Square Bit boys had no idea what a gold mine they had on their hands. The boys decided that since they had to work, they would make Arky the mare’s manager. He quit work and took her out on circuit, hitting every small settlement, ranch house, and bar he could find. No less than forty wranglers, some of the biggest reputations in Texas, took a crack at her. In six months she piled all forty, killed two, and crippled a big-eared kid from down by San Antonio. She turned a five hundred dollar profit for the partnership. As she built her reputation, Arky made sure that she ate better than any broomtail alive and she gained a good two hundred pounds of green bile meanness. As she filled out, her strength grew but her quickness never slackened a bit. She grew into the strongest, meanest, quickest bitch that ever drew a breath or lipped grain from a trough. She had some kind of hate festering deep down in her guts for anything that walked on two legs. It weren’t enough that she would just pile an hombre. She took a particular delight in leaving her mark on him before he could make a getaway. Once she felt the load shift from her back she took a specific satisfaction in turning on the rider with teeth snapping and hooves stomping in an ears-laid-back endeavor to finish him off with a murder. Some mighty fine vaqueros were witnessed with the wide-eyed shakes after making an escape. More than once old Arky had to pull his revolver to keep a gent from putting a bullet in her out of sheer frustration and hatred.

  While the mare didn’t change much during this time other than get meaner and stronger, Arky Blue did. Arky got the big head for better want of a term. He took to dressing up in fancy duds and standing the house to a drink when he entered any new establishment. He smoked nickel cigars, wore fancy stitched stovepipe boots and charged it all to expenses. While his pards labored away on the Square Bit, Arky led the high life and looked down on most folks as “unworthy” of his company. He’d twist his mouth and say “Well, sir, I’ll tell you,” like he knew something special and had some kind of privileged insight on just about any subject you cared to mention. When a wrangler took a pile from the Black Queen, he developed a particularly nasty inclination of ridiculing his efforts in spite of the fact that he never mustered the nerve to try her himself. As bad as most hombres hated the Black Queen, they held an even lower opinion of Arky Blue. This circumstance only encouraged more to try to ride the black down and consequently increased Arky’s profits even further. In this case two wrongs made a right, as it boosted the cash flow significantly for Arky. He was one unpopular son of a harlot and had the money to prove it.

  After cleaning house in Houston, Arky wandered down Williamson County way to see if he could find any new blood that hadn’t heard of the Black Queen. The mare’s fame was so great that several local outfits knew he was working their way. Rather than run the risk of being picked off one by one, the outfits decided to back one broncobuster and put all their money behind him. They wanted to break Arky and put an end to the Black Queen once and for all. More importantly they wanted a Williamson County rider to do it.

  The hombre they picked was Rattlesnake Jack Calendar of the Olive-O. Rattlesnake Jack was more than just a broncobuster; he had the reputation of being an authentic gut-busting horse killer. He was a medium height, thickset scalawag with arm muscles that looked like they belonged on most fellows’ legs. He had black, evil eyes deeply set under heavy bushy brows that joined in a single line across his forehead. He had the wide mouth a
nd square jaw of a Cheyenne warrior and the bad humor to match. He didn’t just break a horse if he lost his temper; he broke it down. Rattlesnake Jack wasn’t satisfied with wearing a mount to a stall. If the animal riled him he’d go to spurring and quirting it until the beast went down beneath him. A lot of outfits would have nothing to do with him as a broncobuster because he ruined almost as many mustangs as he broke, but in this particular case the outfits reasoned that the best way to deal with a man-hater like the Black Queen was with a bona fide horse killer like Rattlesnake Jack.

  Word was out and the cowboys were waiting when Arky Blue led the Black Queen into town. Hell, one feller remarked that it shoulda been a rustler’s heyday with nearly every wrangler and outrider within a fifty mile area gathered in the Bale-O-Cotton Saloon for Arky Blue to step through the door. Arky knew that something was afoul when he recognized every hitch post on the street jam-packed with ponies. He tied his horses to the porch pole, swaggered through the swinging doors, pulled out a roll of bills, and stood the house to a drink. It took nearly fifteen minutes for the round to be poured, and the wranglers waited in near dead silence for Arky to make his announcement.

  When every glass was filled, Arky raised his and toasted Jeff Davis, A. P. Hill, and the Confederate cause forever. No one could take offense at that and the wranglers were honor bound to join him with a fair hoo-rah for Texas. When they were finished Arky waited for the room to go silent before he started his handiwork. He swaggered to the center of the room, threw back his chest, and bawled out the words like he was speaking to a company of retired artillerymen.

  “Well, gents, I’ll tell you, I’ve got this little black mare outside. She just followed me into town as gentle as a hound dog. Well, gents, this here little mare needs to be ridden. She needs to be taught some manners. I told a feller I was a-going down to Williamson County to see if I could find someone to green break her for me. Gents, do you know what that feller said? He laughed out loud…right in the streets of Houston for every town dandy to hear…in front of the Bell of Texas Saloon…and said that there wasn’t a Williamson County wrangler living that could ride that mare down.”

  He paused and gave every man a squint-eyed look of disdain.

  “You know what I said? I said that there was plenty of fellows in Williamson County that could ride that mare.”

  He paused again and toothed an evil grin.

  “Well, gents, that fellow just laughed again and said that he had five hundred dollars to risk against any five hundred dollars in Williamson County that there wasn’t one lily-livered little reb scalawag alive or risen from the grave in Williamson County that could ride that mare down. Now, what do you boys think of that?”

  A local rancher by the handle of Dil Townsen, owner of the H-7, stepped from the bar. It had been prearranged by all that Dil would act as the spokesman for the pool. “That little black mare out there—the one you say is just as gentle as a hound dog—that little black mare wouldn’t be the Black Queen, would it?”

  Arky Blue twisted his face into a caught-with-the-pie contortion and stuck his thumbs into the lapels of his fancy gold vest. “Well, sir, I’ll tell you, I guess it would. Thank you kindly for asking. It keeps me from committing a possible misrepresentation.”

  “Just how many men has that gentle-as-a-hound-dog critter killed and maimed in the last six months?”

  “Forty’s tried to ride her,” Arky grinned and cast a sly eye around the room. “To my best recollection she’s only killed two.”

  “We hear she’s killed four and sent one home to his mamma without legs that work.”

  Arky nodded and poured himself another drink. “Well, sir, I’ll tell you. You said in the last six months. I told you the straight story cause them other two was nearly eight months ago. I honestly don’t know if that other fellow can walk or not. You know how stories get started. But now, fellows, what’s that got to do with the likes of Williamson County riders? Ain’t it a bunch of you fellows that fought the good fight at Vicksburg? Men like that oughtn’t be bothered by a few bad falls.” He scanned the room slowly and grinned. “Or is the fight plum wrung out of Williamson County and carpetbagger courage all that’s left?”

  Some of the wranglers became uneasy and shifted their weight in their chairs. Townsen was their spokesman but this Arky Blue was getting himself right close to a lynching if he kept talking like that.

  Arky could see that he was a-getting them going. Red necks and swollen eyes began protruding throughout the room. Still, he could tell he needed to tone things down a bit. “Now, I don’t want you fellows to take offense. I was just asking a fair question. I’m sure no one in Texas doubts Williamson County courage.”

  Townsen smiled. “You talk a good war, but are you really up to fighting it?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Arky asked softly.

  “Five hundred dollars at even odds don’t hardly seem fair for a man who rides down the Black Queen.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  Townsen grinned broadly. “Eight hundred dollars at two-to-one seems more like it. I mean after you rode all the way down here, I wouldn’t think it would be worth your time to see her rode for less.”

  “And you think you got a man that can ride her, do ya?”

  “We do.”

  “Fetch him out so I can take a look at him.”

  Dil motioned for Rattlesnake Jack to come forward. Jack stepped to the fore and stood for Arky’s inspection.

  “Well, now, I’ll tell you, this is one right handsome hombre. I can tell he’s a vaquero through and through.” Arky stepped to Jack’s back and took a long inspection. “Straight as an arrow. Strong. Real strong. Just look at them shoulders. Them sharpened rowel spurs got horse killer written all over them. You boys wouldn’t be a-trying to put a ringer on me, would you?”

  Dil answered. “No more than the fellow who led that gentle-as-a-hound-dog mustang into this town.”

  Arky laughed, nodded, and grinned at the crowd. “Well, now, I’ll tell you, you got me that time. This is quite a joke you’re a playing on old Arky Blue, yes-sir-ree. But, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take them odds at that price. But, this gent has to ride her down in one sitting, using his saddle. He don’t get no second try. Not for this money.”

  “Won’t need one,” Rattlesnake Jack said.

  “Fairly and bravely spoken,” Arky blustered. “Now who’s going to hold the stakes?”

  “I will if you’re a-willing,” Dil offered. “We’ve pooled our money for this bet and I’m known locally as a fair man.”

  “I can tell you are,” Arky nodded as he pulled out another roll of cash and counted out sixteen hundred dollars.

  Not a wrangler spoke. No one could remember ever seeing that amount of money at one time in Texas before or since the war.

  “And now I’m waiting for your eight,” Arky said grimly.

  Dil counted the pool’s resources into a neat pile on the table next to Blue’s wager.

  “One ride for the wager until he’s throwed or she quits,” Arky said loudly.

  Dil nodded. “Until he’s throwed or she quits.”

  Arky grinned and took his time studying the anxious faces that surrounded him. “Let’s get to it.”

  A cheer rang out that rattled the windows and shook the rafters of the place as Arky led the procession through the swinging doors of the Bale-O-Cotton. Arky gathered up the mare and took his directions to the local livery corral where the spectacle could be witnessed by one and all.

  No one noticed a pair of threadbare, saddle scarecrows that had just ridden into town and were meagerly watching the procession. Lord knows that if they had it might have put a damper on the whole shebang. These boys looked like two cats that had been accidentally nailed in a barrel for a week. Their ponies were so thin, knock-kneed, and rough-haired that it was a certainty the only load they could carry were the almost-as-bad starved riders on their backs. Without knowing anyone they dismounted and s
traddled up to the corral fence with the rest to see the goings on. They happened to position themselves right next to old Dil Townsen.

  As the boys were saddling the Black Queen, Dil took a sniff of the air and decided that something musta died nearby in the last week before he realized the half-starved wretched condition of the pair standing beside him.

  “You boys all right?” Dil asked as he gave them a gander.

  A big-nosed, pocked-faced imbecile with a six-inch handlebar moustache answered. “Yes, sir. We could use a little work on one of the outfits if anyone’s looking. We just came home from the war and need to build a stake.”

  Dil nodded. “I don’t know about work but I’ll sure as hell stand you boys to a steak dinner when this is over. You look as though you need it.”

  The imbecile nodded a thank you. “We been living on leftover army issue Johnny cake and shot rabbit for the last two months just trying to get back to Texas.”

  Dil nodded again. “Didn’t see too many rabbits I take it.”

  “That’s a fact.”

  “Well, who are you boys, anyway?”

  The imbecile smiled and removed his hat. “Red River Sam Bonnet, thank you kindly. This is my partner, Ty Lee Driscoll.”

  Dil looked past Bonnet and gazed upon Driscoll. He was about the sorriest lot of raggedy-ass bones, hair, and hide a man could imagine without waking up in the middle of the night with the screaming fever fits. Dil shook his head in sad consternation. “And they allowed you boys to fight in this condition?”

  “We fought them Yankees till they told us it was over and we should go home. So here we are ready to start a new life.”

  “We get this ride done and I’ll feed you boys. That’s the least I can do. Right now, we want to see old Rattlesnake Jack here ride down the Black Queen.”

  Driscoll mumbled softly, producing an immediate chuckle and a nod from Bonnet.

  “What’s that he said?” Dil asked.

  “Ty Lee says that feller won’t last more than four jumps. Says that mare will pile him square and sharpen her teeth on his ass before he can be rescued.”