“Hey,” Snake shouted, “you can still back off, Sheriff. Just go in your office and close the door. Let me do what I want for a couple of hours, and then I’ll ride out of town.”
Larado glanced toward his office. Oh, the offer was so tempting, but Jimmy and the whole town were watching.
“Well?” Snake challenged.
Larado took a deep breath and shook his head, remembering the code of all Texans: Nothing can stop a man who’s in the right and keeps right on coming.
He had turned tail and run his whole life—drifting, not standing for anything. Today that ended, even if it meant his death. “Can’t let you do that, Snake. Now throw down your gun and I’ll see you get a fair trial.”
Snake laughed again. “Why should I? Where’s your backup, Sheriff? Where’s your deputies?”
Somewhere in the distance, Larado thought he heard a train approaching the town. No, that couldn’t be, the train had just left. Maybe he wanted Lark so badly, he imagined that the train was returning. No matter, by the time she arrived, he’d be dead.
What was that gray blur with the big ears? Oh no, that damned little burro was out of her pen and walking along behind Snake. The outlaw didn’t seem to notice the ridiculous little animal in the street behind him. Well, that didn’t matter now.
Very slowly, Larado reached into his shirt pocket, took out the gold-rimmed spectacles, and put them on.
“Hell,” Snake shouted, “I didn’t know you was a blind four-eyes.”
Larado winced. Once again he was a scared, skinny kid being picked on by school bullies. There were more important things in life than being taunted—there was honor. With his spectacles on, his vision improved, but he knew his shooting wouldn’t. He flexed his fingers, making ready to draw. “I’m givin’ you one last chance to surrender, Snake.”
“I’m gonna kill you, you four-eyed coyote!”
On the roof of the two-story hotel, Lark aimed her rifle. If she missed, Larado would be dead. Worse than that, if she saved his life he would be so humiliated, he’d never speak to her again.
Was that a train whistle? She must be imagining it. The train had already left the station. Oh my God, there was Magnolia, wandering along the street right behind Snake, looking ridiculous in her big pink straw hat. Snake might kill the burro just for fun, but right now he didn’t seem to notice her at all.
The two men were shouting at each other, and Lark saw Larado put on his spectacles. She sighed, knowing how much that was costing him in pride. He’d rather be dead than be laughed at. But he was all that stood between the killer running rampant through this defenseless settlement, and he knew it.
She took a deep breath, watching the two men flex their gun hands just above their holsters. She knew Snake was a gunfighter and that Larado was none too good with a pistol, but he was standing his ground, not running. She had to admire him for that.
There was a split second as both men slapped leather and she realized that Snake was going to beat Larado to the draw. And at that instant, little Magnolia let loose with an earsplitting braying: “ee haw, ee haw, eeee haww!”
Lark saw Snake start, his eyes widened with surprise as he hesitated. He pulled his Colt a split second before Larado fired. She said a quick prayer, aimed, and pulled her trigger.
She flinched from the sudden thunder of noise and gunsmoke as Larado cried out, staggered, and fell. Oh my God, Snake had killed him.
Snake still stood, grinning for a split second more, and then very slowly he dropped his pistol, half turned, and tumbled to the dirt.
People ran out of buildings, shouting to each other. Magnolia wandered over and began to nibble the flowers from the decorative pots in front of the hotel. The train whistled again, and from the rooftop Lark could see a train roaring into town.
Nothing mattered but reaching Larado. She dropped the rifle and clambered down, hurrying around the building and into the street. Larado was lying where he fell, Jimmy by his side.
She ran to him. “Oh, Larado, how bad is it?”
“I—I think I’m dyin’,” he groaned. “Remember to wrap me in white linen, sweetie, like the song says.”
Little Jimmy looked up at her, tears in his dark eyes. “You missed the whole thing, Mrs. Witherspoon. There was a gunfight, and the sheriff won!”
Mrs. Bottoms nodded. “Heavens, I never saw such shootin’! Why, the sheriff got him right between the eyes!”
Lark knelt in the dirt of the street and took Larado in her embrace and began to examine him. “I don’t see any blood.”
“No blood?” he asked. “But I felt the slug hit me.”
Old Doc came running with his medical bag and knelt in the dirt. “That was the bravest thing I ever saw, Sheriff—but then, we all knew you was a good shot!”
Lark attempted to hold back her tears, but they ran down her cheeks anyway. “He—he says he’s hit, but I don’t see any blood.”
Doc began to examine him. “Where does it hurt?”
“Right here.” Larado felt around in his vest and slowly brought out his pocket watch. It was a broken mess of springs and metal. “Well, if that don’t beat all. That damned hombre broke my good gold watch.”
Doc turned and yelled at the crowd. “He’s all right, folks. His watch stopped the bullet! Sheriff, I never saw such good shooting.”
Larado sat up, beaming at the admiring crowd. “Well, I reckon I’m better than I thought I was.”
She could have smacked him for his arrogance if she hadn’t been so relieved that he was alive. She walked over and looked down at Snake. His mean eyes looked straight up, and there was a bullet hole between them. Her rifle had aimed true. So where had Larado’s shot gone?
Magnolia brayed again, and Lark ran to the donkey. There was a hole through her pink straw hat, right above the top of her head and between her long ears. Larado was indeed a bad shot, but no one need ever know that. She’d burn Magnolia’s pink hat and get the burro a new one. The little animal deserved it, having startled the outlaw so that his shot didn’t get Larado through the heart. “Hey!” she shouted. “Here’s a bank bag in the outlaw’s hand. I reckon someone had better check the bank.”
The train pulled into the station and a bunch of men jumped off, all armed to the teeth.
“What’s going on?” Larado asked.
Old Bill limped up. “Special train coming in, Sheriff, bringing the posse and some Rangers back to help. Sorry they didn’t get here in time.”
“It’s okay,” Larado said. “I handled it.”
“Wow!” little Jimmy said. “Look, the sheriff wears glasses. I want a pair.”
A bunch of children gathered around. “We want some of those, too. If a sheriff can wear them, I want a pair.”
Larado grinned. “I wear ’em ’cause I don’t see so good. It’s okay to wear glasses.”
Some of the posse went into the bank. They came out again, hurrying down the street, and surrounded Larado.
Paco asked, “Boss, are you hurt?”
“Bullet hit his watch,” Lark assured him.
“I think a grateful town will buy him a new one,” Paco said.
Lark asked, “What’s up at the bank?”
Paco shook his head. “We found the banker. Before he died, he identified Snake Hudson as the man who robbed him over in Oklahoma Territory. I reckon the sheriff gets that $1000 reward the banker had put up.”
Larado shook his head. “A lawman can’t take no reward.”
“Oh yes, he can,” another citizen said, “since it was put up by a private citizen.”
Lark sighed. It was ironic that the reward money would be going to Larado. Banker Barclay wouldn’t have liked that at all. “Well,” she said, “now I reckon you’ve got enough down payment for that ranch you wanted.”
He looked up at her as she wiped the dust from his dear face. He stumbled to his feet and slipped the crutch under his arm. “Only if you love me enough to share it with me.”
“Oh, you rascal
! I came back, didn’t I?” And she kissed him with all the ardor borne of the anguish she had felt when she thought he was going to die. “That was the bravest thing I ever saw.”
“I’m not a saddle bum anymore,” he whispered. “I’m a Texas lawman, and I’ll protect my town.”
“That’s a fact,” old Bill said. “This town is mighty beholden to you, Sheriff.”
Little Jimmy sighed. “You know, I always wanted a daddy who was a lawman.”
Larado looked toward Lark, and she nodded and smiled. “Well, Jimmy, how would you like to have us for parents?”
“You mean that?” His small face lit up with joy.
“Sure do,” Larado said. “Now go catch Magnolia and put her back in her pen.”
“You can’t keep a burro penned up,” Jimmy said. “Everybody knows that.”
“Land’s sake,” Lark said, smiling. “Once we get that big ranch, she can roam all she wants, can’t she?”
“And we’ll get a couple more besides, sweetie.” Larado grinned at her.
She thought about the secret she would keep all her life about Magnolia’s hat. “You’re a damned good sheriff,” she said as she went into the embrace of his one good arm. He held her close and kissed her until she was breathless.
He whispered into her ear. “Mrs. Witherspoon, I think we’ll have to confess all to the town council, and let the chips fall where they may.”
She whispered back. “I reckon they’ll forgive you, now that you’ve proved you’re a real lawman and saved this town.”
The crowd cheered. “Three cheers for the best and bravest sheriff in all Texas! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!”
Magnolia joined in the noise, braying loudly enough that dogs started howling all over town.
Jimmy grabbed the donkey. “Come on, you, back to your pen…at least for now.”
Lark stood on tiptoe to reach Larado’s ear and whispered, “I’ve got to wire my aunt and uncle so I can mend fences there, and then I reckon they’ll want to put on a big Texas-sized wedding under my real name.”
He grinned down at her. “I can hardly wait to meet my new in-laws.”
About that time, Bertha Snootley came running out on the general store, waving a paper and snarling, “He’s gone! The rotten bastard’s run off with the banker’s wife!”
“Land’s sake.” Lark hugged Larado again. “Who said there’s no justice?”
“I love you, sweetie. You don’t mind me callin’ you that now, do you?”
She kissed him again. “I’m beginning to like it just fine. I love you, best and bravest sheriff, and I’ll prove it tonight.”
He hugged her one more time, grinning. “Oh, sweetie, I hope you don’t mean you’re gonna cook supper.”
She stood with arms akimbo. “Shut up, you rascal, you’ll learn to like my cooking.”
“Well, if Snake couldn’t kill me, I reckon your cookin’ won’t. You don’t mind bein’ married to a lawman?”
“I love being married to a lawman.” Lark kissed Larado with the promise of being together forever, right here in Rusty Spur—children, donkeys, and all.
Epilogue
Christmas Newsletter, 1910
Dear Aunt Cimarron and Uncle Trace:
Well, Larado hit another gusher last week. Like your land, the pasture is so full of those stupid derricks, I can hardly enjoy the view anymore, even though we did build a big new house overlooking the valley. Our head maid, Bertha Snootley, says it’s as big as a hotel, and complains that she keeps getting lost in it.
Speaking of hotels, maybe you remember meeting Mrs. Bottoms when you were here for a visit? She just opened another one—I think that makes twenty-five hotels she owns. Don’t know where the old lady gets the energy.
Paco is still running Sweetie Oil Company for us and bought the ranch next door to our place for his family. Old Bill is pretty frail, but quite rich from his investments in telegraph and telephone company stock. He also bought a gold tooth to replace that missing front one. Oh, I forgot to tell you that when Jimmy graduated from Baylor, Larado bought him a railroad company as a graduation gift. You know, Jimmy always did like trains.
Larry Jr. says he wants to go to Harvard next semester, but his daddy says no son of his is going to attend some prissy back East damned-Yankee college when the University of Texas ought to be good enough for God himself. I reckon young Larry will end up being president of that big Dallas bank we bought last year.
Our twins are still planning to take part in Cousin Lynnie’s protest march at the state capitol, even if they all get thrown in jail for trying to get women the vote. Their doting daddy says the governor had better not throw his daughters in the hoosegow or he’ll repossess all those cows the governor bought from us. That said, Larado isn’t dealing too well with women’s liberation. He says if they get the vote, next thing you know, they’ll be wanting to join the army or law enforcement, as if that could ever happen.
Anyway, say hello to Ace and Lacey’s bunch, and of course Raven and all the rest of the family. Since you came to our house last Christmas, we’ll drive over for the big family celebration at your ranch. Yes, I said drive. We bought an automobile. Never thought Larado would give up his buckboard for one of those. Now he wants to talk to Uncle Trace and Uncle Maverick about buying up some automobile dealerships, just in case there’s a future for those machines. I reckon they can talk about that over the turkey and pumpkin pie. Or, knowing Texas men, cigars and bourbon.
Much Love,
Lark
P.S. Magnolia’s still spry for her age, and we gave her a new red straw hat for Christmas—which, of course, she promptly ate. Her granddaughters and great-granddaughters had more babies this year. Would anyone like a little burro, or maybe two or three?
To My Readers,
Although both Buck Shot and Rusty Spur are imaginary towns, the wild and lawless “whiskey towns” of the Oklahoma Territory were a reality. Even most Oklahomans whose families have been here for generations do not know about this obscure bit of history.
Oklahoma was split into Oklahoma Territory and Indian Territory after the Land Runs. Oklahoma Territory sold liquor, but whiskey sales were illegal in Indian Territory. Not willing to pass up a chance to make illicit money, at least seventeen “whiskey towns,” selling liquor to Indians and outlaws, sprang up along the border between the two territories. When Oklahoma became a state, combining the two territories, the whole state went dry and the whiskey towns dried up. Most became ghost towns, victims of that law and the civilization that was turning the uncivilized places into peaceful settlements. I’m a member of the Oklahoma State Historical Society and found this intriguing bit of history in the Chronicles of Oklahoma, issue 74:2, (Summer, 1996).
Since I have identical twin grandsons, the subject of twins interests me. Mine are not “mirror” twins, but approximately one-quarter of all identical twins are. We know that mirror twins will always be of the same sex and that much about them will be opposites, as if looking in a mirror. Thus if one is left-handed, the other will be right-handed. If one has a dimple in the left cheek, the other will also have a dimple, but in the right cheek, etc. Scientists are still studying this interesting phenomenon. For more information, check out the Internet. I found what little I know at twinstuff.com/mirrors.htm.
So what gave me the idea to write about a lawman with poor eyesight? A small item I discovered about the famous Wild Bill Hickok, who, as most of you know, was shot and killed by Jack McCall in a Deadwood saloon while holding the famous “dead man’s hand” of aces and eights. Wild Bill was known for his steely gaze, which might have been the result of poor eyesight. At the time of his death, Wild Bill was going blind, possibly because of either venereal disease or trachoma, an eye disease that was quite common then. I found this item in a book called What They Didn’t Teach You about the Wild West by Mike Wright, published in 2000 by Presidio Press, Novato, CA.
Now I’m going to tell you something you pro
bably don’t know about the old western song, “The Streets of Laredo.” Actually, it’s not Western at all, but has its roots in an ancient Irish song dating back into the 1790s. The original, titled “The Unfortunate Rake,” concerns a young British soldier who is dying of venereal disease given to him by his sweetheart. Somehow, the song migrated to the West, had a change in words, and became a favorite of cowboys. My source for this is Songs of the Great American West by Irwin Silber and Earl Robinson, published by Macmillan & Co., 1967.
If you are interested in Texas, your public library should have a copy of an entertaining book that I highly recommend: Lone Star, A History of Texas and the Texans by T.R. Fehrenbach, publisher Macmillian & Co.
I have spent a lot of time in Texas; two of my three children were born there. If you get a chance to go to the Lone Star State, there are at least two places I feel everyone should visit. One is the Alamo in San Antonio. Remember that this originally was a church and is now the state’s most revered shrine. I can guarantee that you will be touched and impressed at this place where outnumbered brave men made their last stand. If you’re interested in the famed Texas Rangers, they have a good museum in the city of Waco.
I want to talk about burros. Indeed, when leaving the West, many prospectors did turn the little animals loose to roam and mingle with the wild horse herds. Today, the government has a rescue and adoption agency for both. For more information, here’s a phone number: 1-866-4 mustangs, and an Internet address: www.wildhorseandburro.blm.gov.
I also have two other Internet Web sites you can visit, one in the United Kingdom, the other in Tehachapi, California. Both are always in need of donations to rescue mistreated and abandoned donkeys. The Peaceful Valley Donkey Rescue in California also places donkeys for adoption if you can meet their strict requirements. By the way, the English group told me many of their donkeys live into their late twenties, but at present, their oldest resident donkey is fifty-six years old. If you would like to help: donkeysanctuary (British). The California group is donkeyrescue.org.
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