by Ed Nelson
“After you read them please give me a chance to defend myself.”
After dinner that night, I met Karen near the campfire they had every evening. We stayed for the sing-along and then went for a walk.
“Rick, you sing fairly well if you don’t try to get loud. I was impressed you knew the words to ‘Rock and Roll Cowboy’; no one listens to it anymore.”
“Probably a good thing, the singer is terrible.”
“He’s not that bad, I can’t remember his name, but he isn’t terrible.
For the record, I did point out some of the constellations. Of course, to see them we had to lie on the ground. Fortunately, I thought to bring a blanket. That’s all you need to know about our walk.
The next morning the foreman joined me at breakfast.
“Movie star, inventor, British baron, Colonel in the Coldstream Guards, pilot, owner of one of the richest companies in the world. Why are you here roping calves and riding broncs?”
“Nothing better to do this week?”
“That works for me. How are you with a gun?”
“Fair.”
“We usually do a pistol and rifle shooting demonstration, You up to that?”
“Sure.”
“Then there is the Old West shoot out on our main street.”
“As long as we don’t use live bullets.”
“Nah, we have a couple of those special Hollywood guns that won’t even take live ammo.”
“I’m up for it, who am I shooting it out with?”
“Billy the Kid of course.”
“Who wins?”
“This time you do, we alternate every week.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Chapter 33
The shooting demonstration was on a special target range. It was special in the targets used. The backstop and bench rests were standard. Sitting out in the hot Texas sun like they were the bench rest were weathered and boy did they have splinters.
I learned that the hard way.
The special targets were cutouts of buffalo and mountain lions. To add some spice to the range they had a bandit, mask, and all with six guns posed, rolled out by a mechanical device.
I thought it was random until I saw one of the cowboy onlookers push a button. He could move it out and leave it or move it back immediately. He was leaving it out for the kids and pulling it back quickly for the adults.
The more obnoxious the adult was the less time the target was available.
The weapons being demonstrated were the Colt Peacemaker with wood grips, the Gun that Won the West, and a Winchester lever-action rifle.
I had shot these types of weapons in my movies, both pretend and for real, so I was comfortable with my accuracy.
It was a good thing because that clown pushing the button was giving me as short of time on the bandit target as possible.
It still was enough as I managed to hit center mass every time it came out. That was another thing. The Dudes would get one chance, it would be their last shot after shooting at all the other targets.
I had the bandit every other shot. Since the guy didn’t know that I was experienced I think he was trying to show me up. Show me up he did but in a good way.
I had the first shooting session and the last one. The first to show how it should be done, and the last to show how it was done.
The first was slow and methodical with safety in mind. This was to teach the Dudes what they should be doing. For the most part, they followed instructions well.
I only had to grab the rifle once as an eight-year-old turned with the weapon and ended up pointing it at his dad who was telling him to shoot better. Dad shut up after that.
The last time I was up, I shot for effect. I fired at the targets as fast as I could, while the bandit kept rolling in and out. The gunfire sounded continuous. I even hit the targets.
I did it in about a tenth of the time of my first round. When I finished, there was silence, then a round of applause.
The guy rolling the bandit target back and forth looked familiar. Then it dawned on me, he had to be related to the policeman from town. I asked about him and found out he was Little Joe’s younger brother.
The younger brother picked up the live weapons and ammunition to return then to the main house to be locked up as we moved over to Main Street.
The crowd was told that Billy the Kid was in town and wanted a word with me.
A man with a big Sheriff’s badge deputized me as I was the only one who could stand up to Billy the Kid. I was handed a holster with a Colt, except this one had ivory grips. I double-checked and it was a movie set pistol.
It took special cartridges which made a loud bang and that was it. Real cartridges wouldn’t fit in this pistol.
Billy the Kid finally showed up and walked into the center of the road of our main street. I followed suit. We were only about twenty feet apart. The Dudes were lining the street on both sides. Billy was being played by the younger brother.
Just as I thought we were getting ready to have the shootout, the foreman stepped up. In a loud voice, he announced to the crowd.
“Today we have a special treat for you, a movie will start filming here on Friday. Its star Richard Jackson is here early. You have seen him rope calves and ride broncos, and he taught you how to shoot.”
“Now this honorary Texas Ranger and real US Marshal will show us the fast draw.”
I had been in enough publicity moments with the Ricky Jackson Circus that I didn’t think anything would embarrass me anymore. I waved at the crowd.
The foreman continued, “The cowardly Billy the Kid is about to get his comeuppance. At that, he pointed at Little Joe's younger brother. The young man turned to the crowd and took his hat off and made a bow.
That is when I noticed his Colt with the wooden grips. He had a live weapon. The thoughts flashed through my mind. He was going to shoot me down.
These thoughts didn’t interfere with my reaction. I pulled my useless Colt and reversed my grip, so I was holding it by the barrel.
He had just straightened up from his bow, so I had a very slight advantage. He went to draw his pistol when I let my gun fly like I was throwing a tomahawk. It didn’t have a good balance like those we played with on the stuntmen’s set, but it was rotating in the air towards him.
While it was flying towards him, I charged, zigzagging slightly to throw him off target. He did flinch away from the flying pistol which missed him but made him miss his first shot. I dodged to the left as he tried to aim at me.
Most people don’t understand how hard it is to hit someone with a handgun while under pressure. His second shot went high.
By this time, the crowd had started to scream and move. Before he could get a third shot off, I hit him like a ton of bricks, well more like a 6-foot five-inch guy weighing 215 pounds running as fast as he could.
He went down hard.
The foreman rushed up and I pointed to the handgun which the kid had dropped, the foreman gave an “Oh shit,” as he took possession of the pistol. He emptied the remaining bullets from the pistol, showing me, they were live ammunition.
The kid who had been laying on the ground wheezing asked why I had tackled him. I asked in turn why he was using a real pistol.
He tried denying that he knew it was real. This was disproven by a check; the other weapons were not at the house. A search found the rifle, one live pistol, and one stunt pistol under a bush near the front porch.
Finding those weapons took the better part of an hour. In the meantime, the county Sheriff had been called. A deputy pulled in right after the weapons stash was discovered.
The deputy took a first cut of what happened and cuffed the kid and placed him in the back of his cruiser.
He then separated us and some of the Dudes who had hung around. He started taking statements. Other deputies pulled up and roped off the crime scene and assisted in getting the story from each person present.
They quickly confirmed that the kid ha
d been firing live bullets at me.
One of the Deputies spent time with the kid trying to get him to talk. He came over to us.
“The kid has signed a confession, and yes I made sure he understood that he could have a lawyer. He declined; he just wants it over with.”
I had to ask, “How did he think he could get away with it.”
“He didn’t. His dad told him that if he could get away in the confusion and back to town, he would get him into Mexico.”
‘His dad is in on it.”
“Yeah, two deputies are picking him up as we speak. We’ve known he is bad news for a long time but could never pin anything on him.”
Karen Klima and her parents were among those still standing around, so I went over to see how they were doing.
“You folks okay?”
Her dad answered, “Yes we are, this will be some vacation to talk about. More importantly, how are you doing?”
“I’m okay. This sort of thing happens too often in my life.”
Her mother spoke up, “I’ve read about you in the Inquirer; so, it's all true?”
“Very little of that is true. The true stories are much worse.”
Dad spoke up, “One thing for certain I’m not going to let my daughter go walking with you again, it too dangerous.”
“Daddy!”
“Karen, we are going home in the morning, so there won’t be any more chances.”
“What about tonight?”
Nobody had asked my opinion and I wasn’t about to step in this family mess.”
His wife Carol spoke up, “Oh Ed, let them go for a walk tonight, as you said we are going home in the morning, and this will give some story for Karen to tell back at school. Shooting, a movie star, what a vacation.”
I think she would have gone walking with me if I asked her.
Karen and I did go walking, I did have a blanket and the rest is none of your business.
Chapter 34
The next day, Thursday the actors and crew started coming in. Word of my week spread quickly so I had to answer any questions. It got so bad that I told everyone that I would give a statement at lunch and answer any questions then.
Lunch for the film bunch was set up near a field canteen that had been arranged earlier. To my surprise not only was the cast and crew there but many of the ranch guests, and maybe even some working hands?
The outsiders didn’t get in the lunch line, it was obvious that they were there to hear my statement. Wanting to get it over with I stood up on top of one of the picnic tables that had been set up.
It didn’t take long for everyone to settle down and let me talk.
“You have heard some tales about my week here. They probably have been exaggerated beyond belief.”
I then proceeded to give a synopsis of my week. Then opened it up for questions.
The first one took me by surprise.
“Is the ranch going to pay you for all the work you did for them?”
“I never thought of it. Probably not, I didn’t ask to be paid.”
The foreman a bit of a showman and certainly a good publicist spoke up, “We will pay him the standard pay for a cowhand for one week that works out to about twelve dollars and fifty cents, stop by later, Rick, to get paid.”
Now that was probably the pay rate in 1890. It didn’t matter as one cowhand had to shout, “Boss why does he get more than us.”
“Coz he works, and you don’t!
His fellow cowhands pushed and shoved a little to show that he had been put in his place.
The rest of the questions were more in line with, “Were you scared?”
“Everything happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to be scared until it was over, and then I shook like a leaf.”
I fibbed; I didn’t shake because my body had become used to coming off adrenalin highs. I didn’t want to go there.
Then there were the “I heard you broke up with your girlfriend. What happened.”
“You will have to ask her.”
“Will the movie need any extras here at the ranch?”
“You will need to talk to casting about that. They usually put out a call if they need someone.”
About this time a Deputy Sheriff pulled up in his cruiser. Since he had his lights and siren going when he stopped in a cloud of dust it couldn’t be good news.
He got on his loudspeaker. “Everybody, please try to calm down.”
The only reason they acted excited and started talking a mile a minute was his grand entrance.
“I need to make everyone aware we have three suspects on the loose and they are considered armed and dangerous.”
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it was that cop and his two sons.
“We will have a car parked at your front gate but wanted to warn you as there are many ways onto this ranch. We don’t know if they are out for revenge or are in the process of fleeing the country. Be alert and contact the Sheriff’s Department if you see them. Do not try to handle them yourself.”
He looked right at me when he said that. I don’t know why. That broke up the question-and-answer session.
I took to wearing my shoulder hostler with my new Walther P38. It had a lot more stopping power than the Colt 38 I had been carrying and would not change the hang of my suit coats.
That lasted about an hour. The foreman approached me and asked if I would wear one of the real Colt 45s. It would look more in tune with the theme of the ranch. Since it carried a modern load it had even more stopping power.
Made sense to me, so I strapped on a holster. I thought about pinning my US Marshal’s badge to my shirt, but that would have been over the top.
It all turned out for naught as the Cop and his sons were found shot to death in the desert near the border. It was thought they had a falling out with the coyote, the guide, who was leading them across.
I bet that it was the smart mouth of Little Joe that brought their end about. We would never know.
One thing it did was save me the bother of testifying at a trial.
My workday on location consisted of riding at a fair pace around the twenty-five-hundred-acre ranch. I was followed by a truck with stabilized cameras. Since most of my job on the trail drive was to deliver messages to each of the ten herds, we were moving they needed lots of footage of me riding in different areas.
I will tell you it is hot dusty dirty work. Now I know why cowboys wore a bandana around their necks, it wasn’t just for holding up banks and trains.
If you didn’t wear one on the trail you would choke. If you didn’t wear one when coming to the dust cloud of a moving herd, you would suffocate.
At one point there I was crossing a small stream and I had had enough. I brought my mount, no idea what his name was, to a halt. I dismounted and let him drink his fill while I soaked my bandana in the water then wrung it out over my head. I did this several times.
I finally said the heck with it and stripped down to my union suit and sat in the water. After splashing for a while, I had cooled off and didn’t itch in unmentionable places.
Feeling much refreshed I got dressed and went back to work. What I didn’t know was that the cameras kept running. Part of the scene made it into the movie. The editors thought it made things more realistic.
I know it made me feel better. That evening I limped a little from saddle sores, but it wasn’t as bad as if I hadn’t done any riding.
There were still guests at the ranch and many of them had been hired as extras for the movie. It was a hoot listening to them talk about their part in the movie. I didn’t have the heart to mention that most of them would end up on the cutting room floor. I noticed none of the crew said anything either.
One bit actor had a big mouth telling them that he would be in the movie, but they only had a slim chance of making it. I noticed an editor shaking his head. I wouldn’t bet on that bit actor making the final cut.
John Wayne didn’t have any filming today, so he ha
dn’t been on the set. He did fly in and had dinner with us as he had an early morning call. He hunted me up.
“Rick how are things on the international scene. Are you going to be able to keep on schedule?”
“As far as I know Mr. Wayne.”
“Dang it, Rick, how many times must I tell you, it's John!”
“Uh, a few more?”
“Ah, forget it. How are you getting along with Sally?”
“Fine. She was overwhelmed with that trip to DC, but we will work together with no problems.”
“Glad to hear that, I heard that she was freaking out later about the situations you put her in.”
“I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“Only a US President and an Empress, Nah, why should that upset anyone.”
“Exactly.”
He looked at me strangely for a moment.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“That most people are overwhelmed by meeting high-ranking people.”
“I guess I have been around so many of them that I realize that they all are just normal people in an abnormal situation.”
“Well, I know one abnormal person who thinks he is in normal situations but never is.”
I did catch onto that one but decided to let it go. Maybe I was abnormal. If that were the case, I would just have to fake being normal. What is normal?
“Change of subject Rick. I was told that you entered the local rodeo as a bull rider. It has been a while; do you think you are up to it?”
“I will find out quickly.”
“True.”
“I don’t intend to try any crazy stunts. A solid ride is all I’m going for. If I don’t win it's okay.”
“No, it's not okay, you are the star of this movie, and your ride will be reported. Win and get us some good publicity.”
“Yes Sir, John.”
He wandered away muttering about damn teenagers.
I called it a night and drove back to my hotel room. There I cleaned my pistol as I was sure it was full of dust from the day. These guns were rugged but the last thing I needed was a misfire. On that dreadful thought, I did go to bed.
