Good Man - Bad Enemy

by Gary Church

  “Since you rescued us, we’ve been following your wagon’s tracks. I hope you don’t mind. It’s comforting somehow, seeing you up there in front of us from time to time.”

  “Do you have a girl?” asked Ruth, suddenly.

  “Ruth! Your manners!” said her mother.

  Jace smiled. “Sure, I do,” he lied.

  “Is she pretty?” asked Ruth.

  “Ruth Covington!” exclaimed her mother. “I’m sorry,” she said to Jace. “You’d think the girl was never taught manners.”

  Smiling, Jace said, “Oh, that’s okay.” Looking at Ruth, he asked, “Do you have a fellow?”

  Mrs. Covington laughed. Ruth’s eyes got bigger.

  After a few seconds, Ruth responded. “I do not. A few have come around, but frankly, I didn’t find any of them very interesting.”

  “Interesting?” said Jace.

  Mrs. Covington intervened, saying, “Tell us about your trail drive, if you don’t mind, Jace.”

  Jace’s face reflected his relief at being rescued from the conversation with Ruth. “Yes, ma’am. We’re driving over three thousand head to the stockyards at Abilene, Kansas. Started out just east of San Antonio. I’m riding the drag—the back—for now, but I’ll probably be moving up to one of the flanks pretty soon, so you’ll be seeing a new fellow.”

  “Oh, my, three thousand head of cattle. I know that’s a handful.”

  “I best be getting back,” said Jace. “I have night watch pretty soon. Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, rising and walking to the wagon where his horse was tied. Reaching into his saddlebag, he produced a small package, wrapped in paper and tied with a bit of string. He walked back and handed it to Mrs. Covington. “A little candy,” he said. “Lemon drops. Thank you all for the stew.” He lifted his hat, nodded to the group, and turned back to his horse.

  SIXTEEN

  Austin

  The next morning brought some excitement and their first serious injury. Many of the horses were only part-broke, and some bucking and side-stepping was common, especially among the mounts that were not ridden much. A cowboy saddled one of the horses, mounted, and the horse commenced to buck, much to the delight of the other cowboys. The horse rolled backwards, an uncommon move but one that sometimes happened. The cowboy did a good job of dismounting, but the horse fell on the man’s leg, breaking it.

  That silenced the other cowboys, who mounted up and went to work after a couple of them hauled the injured man to the chuckwagon. Cookie set the bone and secured the leg with wooden planks. Christie stopped to check on the man and offered to make him a cook’s helper or to pay him off. The man said he wanted to push off, see a real doctor, so Christie paid him what he was due, plus a bit extra. The injured cowboy was helped into his saddle on his own the horse, and he set out. Johnny was informed, and he reset the night watch and made some adjustments to the riders’ positions.

  Later that morning, with the herd moving well, B.R. and Jace had a moment to talk and have a smoke. While B.R. rolled his cigarette, he asked Jace about his dinner the night before.

  “It was okay—nice folks—a woman and her kids, trying to get to Weatherford.”

  B.R. lit his smoke, took a drag, and studied Jace. This was something he did constantly since Elizabeth had jilted Jace. B.R. rotated his left shoulder. A musket ball had torn through it, and although he had healed well, the shoulder remained stiff and painful. Jace had been hit in the leg, and his leg healed a bit cocked, causing him to limp. He and Jace had shared months and months of tedium, sickness, hunger, and terror during the war. Now, looking at Jace, he felt there was something on his mind, but if and when Jace got ready to discuss it, he would, so B.R. left it alone.

  The herd moved northward with greater efficiency, as the cowboys got to know each other, and the longhorns became accustomed to the trail. B.R. was caught totally off-guard when Jace told him he was going to ask Boss Black to leave him on drag.

  “What the devil you saying?” said B.R. “We got the most work, the hardest job, the most dust, besides having to ride all the way up front to eat and sleep.”

  “I know,” said Jace. “Maybe it’s just better for me, you know, to stay busy is all.”

  That stopped B.R. He hadn’t thought about that. “Well, I reckon if you’re gonna stay back, I will too.”

  “Nah, I appreciate it, but we’ll catch up at night. You go on. When the boss says change, you change, and I mean it, B.R. I’m better, really.”

  B.R. studied him and decided he was being straight. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” responded Jace.

  Jace couldn’t have explained his decision if he had to. In the midst of the pain he felt over Elizabeth, the thought that Mrs. Covington, Ruth, and the two young boys were relying on him in a way was somehow comforting to him. Ruth was irritating, to be sure, but still, it made him feel better about himself—someone counting on him.

  The next day was grueling as they drove the longhorns and horses across the Colorado River. It was a long, long day that wore out the horses and the cowboys. Even Mr. Christie stayed back to help at the river crossing.

  SEVENTEEN

  Rosalinda entered the kitchen just as the sun peeked over the horizon. She had a pail of milk in one hand and six eggs in a basket in the other. Pulling the tortillas from the stove, where she had put them to keep them warm, she set the pan on top and moved the coffee pot to the edge of the stove. Her mother entered the kitchen a few minutes later.

  “Good morning, Angel,” her mother said, using her pet name for Rosalinda. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “I am okay, Mamá, some of the sickness, but it hasn’t been bad.”

  “Let’s work on the baby’s quilt after lunch,” said Margarita.

  “Yes, I am enjoying sewing it so much, thinking of the baby using it.”

  After breakfast was put away, the two women worked in the garden. Collard greens, onions, and potatoes each had their own section in the large garden. Johnny had also paid the Brown boys to plow up most of an acre, where he planted rows of corn, engaging the boys to tend it while he was gone. Tomatoes and chili-pepper seedlings were sprouting in pots in the kitchen.

  Sitting in the garden dirt, Margarita looked across the rows at Rosalinda. She wore a huge hat on her head as she worked around some plants with a small tool. “Oh, I almost forgot, Angel, we must go to my house on Friday to prepare for Lupe’s birthday celebration. Can the Brown boys take care of the animals?”

  “I’ll ask, but I know they will,” said Rosalinda. “Is Papá going to roast a pig and butcher a calf this year?”

  “Oh, yes. You know your father. He has invited everyone and told them to bring their friends and relatives. There will be dozens and dozens of people. Mexicans love a celebration.”

  Rosalinda laughed.

  ***

  Elizabeth, growing warm in bed despite the breeze blowing through the large second-story window, rose and slipped her feet into her shoes. The sun was well into the sky. It must be ten or so. Padding to the door, she called for the maid. “Agnes!” Not getting a response, she cried out louder. “Agnes!” Again not getting a response, her mouth in a grim line, Elizabeth pounded down the wooden steps. Just as she reached the kitchen door, Agnes came in from outside, a load of wood in her arms.

  Elizabeth angrily confronted her. “When I arise, I expect you to be waiting for my call,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the maid. “My apologies.” She knew better than to try to explain or to complain. The last maid had been fired for just that.

  “Prepare my breakfast, and then warm water for my bath, and lay out my blue ensemble. I am going to town. Oh, and tell the boy to have my buggy ready in two hours.”

  As Elizabeth ate her breakfast, her mother sipped tea. “Dear, your father insists you accompany us to church this Sunday. You’ve missed two Sundays in a row, and it doesn’t look… well, you must come.”

  “O
f course, Mother, but Edward is taking me to a dinner party Saturday night, and I will be late getting home,” she responded, pouting.

  “You will be fine, once you’re up and about.”

  “I am going to the store to look for some new material. I must have a new dress,” said Elizabeth. “I want Mrs. Smith to have it ready before the ball in April.”

  “You must learn to sew, Elizabeth. You can’t cook, and you cannot be completely without skills.”

  “Mother… please,” said Elizabeth.

  “Whose party are you attending?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Some lawyer Edward knows, but he said there will be politicians from Austin there—important people.”

  ***

  Friday, Rosalinda and Margarita loaded the buggy and harnessed General to it. They talked and talked, both so happy, as they made their way to Margarita and Lupe’s homestead. Suddenly, the buggy careened and tilted, almost spilling Margarita. Rosalinda fell sideways against her mother, and General stopped.

  One of the buggy wheels had broken loose. Carefully climbing down, the two women assessed the broken wheel and straightened out the tomato plants and supplies that had shifted.

  “Someone will come by soon,” said Rosalinda, although the road they were on wasn’t well-traveled.

  Under the seat, wrapped in cloth, was a revolver. Rosalinda had been given a Cooper Pocket five-shot revolver by her first husband just before he left to fight in the Civil War. After they were married, Johnny replaced the Cooper with a Smith and Wesson Model 3. She had practiced using the new pistol often, under Johnny’s watchful eye. He was gone on occasion and felt better that she had a way to defend herself. A quick study, it didn’t take Rosalinda long to become proficient. She moved it to the wagon seat, within reach.

  The women discussed riding General, but without a saddle, it would be very uncomfortable. However, it wasn’t long before they saw a wagon, its bed full of cabbage. A huge black man drove the wagon slowly down the road. Coming upon the women, he called his mule to a stop and removed his hat. They could see that he was an older gentleman, some gray showing in his hair and his beard. His wagon had been repaired many times with odd pieces of wood.

  “Good morning, ladies. My name is Henry, but folks got to calling me Bear. I been calling my own self Henry Bear. Can I help you some way?”

  Rosalinda studied the man for a moment and said, “If you could take us to the crossroads, we can find a ride to town and seek help.”

  Bear insisted on loading all of their goods onto his wagon, explaining that anything left behind would likely be stolen. He unhitched General and tied him to the back of the wagon. They rode and talked, and in the end, Bear took them all the way to the Gutiérrez homestead.

  Rosalinda tried to pay him, but Bear wouldn’t take any money. He finally accepted a tomato plant and was thrilled to hear it was a new variety. On the trip, Bear had told Rosalinda and her mother that he worked a bit of land just north of where they broke down, and he lived in a small cabin there.

  Margarita and Rosalinda, talking later, agreed that Bear was a gentle giant, and they were happy to have made his acquaintance. They were amused by the surname, Bear, that he had given himself, but in fact, it fit. It wasn’t uncommon for former slaves, who rarely knew their last names, to adopt one for themselves.

  EIGHTEEN

  A struggling cow with an injured foot was slaughtered and the beef wrapped in paper. It would likely be tough but fresh, and the cowboys were looking forward to it after a steady diet of beans and salted pork.

  It was Jace’s night off the night watch, and he welcomed the chance to sleep, but after they had stopped for the day and settled the herd, he approached the cook. For some reason, he felt that he was a protector or guardian angel for the Covington family. “Evening, Mr. Herbert,” he said. Then he stood looking at the ground.

  “What’s on your mind, Jace?” asked Herbert as he walked over to the two large pots of coffee cooking on the campfire. He tossed a cup of cold war in each, to settle the coffee grounds.

  “Oh, well, there’s a family—a woman and her kids—tracking behind us, and I thought if we had some extra meat, I might take a piece to ’em.”

  The cook studied Jace’s face. He knew the boy was suffering from something—could be the war still haunting him, or a girl, or just the melancholy. “Sure,” said Herbert, walking over to the wagon and pulling out a piece of beef wrapped in paper. “We won’t be able to eat it all before it goes bad anyways.”

  “Appreciate it,” said Jace, taking the package.

  As he approached the wagon on horseback, he could see Ruth building a fire. Seeing him approach, she smiled and waved. He climbed off his horse and hobbled it so it could graze, and he pulled the paper-wrapped meat from his saddlebags.

  “Good evening. I brought y’all a piece of fresh beef,” he said, holding out the package.

  Chase and Garrett came running, carrying pieces of wood for the fire. Mrs. Covington climbed out of the wagon with the skillet and some potatoes. Ruth walked over and took the meat. “Thank you, Jace,” she said, crunching her face and pressing her lips, in what Jace had decided, for sure, was her way of smiling. In fact, he thought she looked kind of cute when she did it.

  After slicing the beef thinly, Mrs. Covington fried it along with some potatoes for dinner. Desert was apples with sugar that had been put up in a mason jar the summer before.

  After everyone had finished, and the boys had washed the utensils, Mrs. Covington told them she was going to read to them in the wagon. They climbed in, leaving Jace and Ruth sitting by the fire.

  Neither spoke for a while, as they sat and watched the fire.

  Finally, Jace said, “I lied about having a girl. I had one, but she went with another fellow.”

  “Is that why you always seem so sad?” asked Ruth.

  “I reckon it is,” responded Jace.

  “Is she beautiful?” asked Ruth.

  “Yes, she’s beautiful,” said Jace.

  “Well, I told you I didn’t find none of the boys interesting, but really, there was one. But after a while, he said he found a pretty girl to go with.”

  Jace looked at her, unsure what to say, so he didn’t respond. Finally, he said, “You mind if I smoke?”

  “No,” said Ruth, reaching for a small branch to toss onto the fire.

  Jace got out the makings and rolled a cigarette. Lighting it, he smoked in silence.

  NINETEEN

  Johnny was making his rounds, checking on the night watch. He had learned to recognize many of the hands in the dark by the shape of their hats. Some favored high crowns, others low ones, and the bills were bent into a variety of shapes—some up, some down, and many, both. The most popular style was what Johnny thought of as a cut-down sombrero. With a round crown and a round bill, the hats worked well keeping the sun and rain at bay. He could also name most of the night watchers by their voices. Almost all the cowboys sang to the cattle; it seemed to help keep them calm. Most sang slow, mournful songs. The ones Johnny liked best were the baritone voices and soulful songs of the two black cowboys.

  “Evening, boss,” said the cowboy on watch.

  “Evening,” responded Johnny. “Need anything?”

  “No, boss, but thanks.”

  Johnny was riding a mount from the remuda, resting Loco, and he walked the horse in the dark, his mind drifting to his home and Rosalinda. Reaching the back of the herd, Johnny halted the horse and lit one of the cigarillos he favored. As he sat and smoked, he saw a rider approaching in the dark. He was instantly on the alert, sliding his rifle from its scabbard on the saddle, as he sat and waited for the rider.

  Jace was a little taken aback to see Johnny Black sitting on a horse, a rifle across his lap, waiting on him as he got closer.

  “It’s Jace,” he said.

  Johnny slid the rifle into the scabbard. “You doing a little night riding?” he asked.

  Pulling his horse to a halt close to Johnny�
�s, Jace said, “Evening, boss. No, well, there’s some women with a couple of kids trailing us, and I was just checking on them.”

  Johnny was about to respond, when Jace’s head jerked around. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

  Johnny lifted his head and turned it, but his hearing was damaged from the war, and he hadn’t heard anything.

  Jace said, tension in his voice, “I’m pretty sure I heard banging or something. I’d better check.”

  With that, Jace turned his horse back toward the direction he had just come from and spurred him into the night. Without conscious thought, Johnny turned and spurred his own horse, following Jace.

  ***

  The three men had been watching the Covington family for three days. Staying well back of the wagon, they watched them with a spyglass, especially in the evenings, after they had stopped to make camp. They were enjoying themselves as they watched the women, their talking and bragging enhanced by the whiskey bottle they shared.

  The men liked to sleep late, but since they traveled faster than the mules pulling the wagon, they always got to within watching distance by evening. If anyone confronted them, they could easily pass as men traveling the country to see new places, ride a train, or find an opportunity. Their horses, clothes, and equipment spoke of men who had known some success, or who had at least worked steadily.

  In fact, they had ridden up from Mexico recently, where they had been hiding out for months after a run of successful cattle rustling in southern Texas. Struggling with the language and the culture in Mexico and being wanted men in Texas, the group had decided to move north to ply their trade. After the second day, they decided they would rob the wagon. Surely the women wouldn’t be traveling without funds. Then, the talk turned to having a little fun with the women while they were at it. One of the men asked about the kids, and they decided they could scare them enough so they wouldn’t be a problem.