by Gary Church
The two men looked at each other, and when they looked back at Johnny, he still had the rope in his right hand, but his left held his revolver. The men were very confused. A man who wears a gun on his right hip, holding one with his left, was something they hadn’t seen before.
“I don’t mean to be inhospitable, gentlemen, but I would appreciate it if you would ease those weapons out with two fingers and drop ’em on the ground. I’m no outlaw, but we’ve had some rustling in the area, and I need you two to talk to the sheriff.”
After a moment of hesitation, the two men spurred their horses and bolted away. Johnny shoved the revolver in his waist band and slapped the reins, a signal to Loco, who tore forward as though he were in a race and had been waiting for the signal.
They hadn’t gone far when Johnny unleashed his lariat. It dropped cleanly over one of the men, and Johnny brought Loco up, snatching the man from his saddle. He hit the ground on his back with a whump, and Johnny tossed the rope free, urging Loco after the second man. The fallen man’s horse continued to run.
Loco caught up to the second man in fifty yards, and Johnny urged him close on the right side. As the man, hearing or feeling their presence, turned his head to look back, he found Johnny and Loco running just feet behind him. He didn’t have time to look forward again as Loco pulled forward, and Johnny smacked the man in the face with the butt of his rifle.
The man dropped the reins, swooned, and tumbled from his horse. Johnny eased Loco to a gallop, then a trot, and finally a walk, before heading back. Arriving at the man he had just knocked from his horse, Johnny pulled the man’s revolver from its holster and looked at the man, who was mumbling incoherently.
Remounting Loco, Johnny rode to the second man, who had recovered and removed the lariat, but was just standing there as though he wasn’t sure what to do. Seeing Johnny trotting Loco toward him, the man started to run for the tree line, but was obviously still unsteady, and after a dozen or so steps, he fell. Johnny stopped, gathered up his lariat, walked over to the man, and relieved him of his weapon.
Johnny decided not to take them to his place. He trussed them, tied them to a tree, and left them a canteen of water. “After I’ve had my supper, I’ll let the sheriff know where he can find you.”
The two men filled the air with curses and threats. Johnny looked at them. “You might want to work on your manners,” he said. “I’ve heard the fellows in Huntsville Prison ain’t as easygoing as me.”
The two men’s horses hadn’t gone far, and Johnny rounded them up. Checking the brands, he could see they were the same as the brand on the stolen horses and longhorns in the valley.
***
Good to his word, Johnny stopped by and told Rosalinda what had happened, and after eating supper, he rode to town and notified the sheriff. He sent two deputies to fetch the two men. Johnny drew a map of where the valley and temporary pen were located. Johnny told the sheriff that the horses the men were riding bore the same altered brand as the horses that had been penned up, so they were likely stolen. The sheriff thanked him. Johnny touched his hat, walked out, mounted Loco, and headed home.
FORTY-FOUR
The cattle and horses the two men had stolen were soon claimed by their owners, and the Browns spread the word that it had been Johnny Black who had apprehended the men. The legend of Johnny Black, once again, spread and grew.
A week later, a buggy pulled into the yard in front of the house. A young couple got down, and the man lifted a basket from the back, handed it to the woman, and they walked up to the Blacks’ house. Johnny was out in the corral working with the mares, but Rosalinda answered the door and soon discovered the couple were their neighbors— such as neighbors were in the country, the nearest being miles away. These folks had traveled almost two hours to get to the Blacks’ ranch. They brought fried chicken and a peach pie.
Rosalinda said she would get Johnny, but the couple said it wasn’t necessary, they had to get back, but they wanted to come and introduce themselves and to say thank you to Mr. Black for catching the rustlers. Two of the horses and some of the longhorns had been theirs.
The next day, two more neighbors came with pies and mason jars of canned vegetables. They wanted to thank Johnny. By the end of the week, the kitchen shelves were full of pies, mason jars, and smoked jerky.
One evening, sitting on the corral fence, smoking, Bear said, “You about the most popular white man I’ve ever known,” in a matter-of-fact voice that got Johnny to laughing.
“It ain’t right, you makin’ fun of the boss,” said Johnny, smiling.
“I weren’t makin’ fun,” said Bear, also smiling. “I was just saying.”
Eating breakfast the next morning, Johnny looked up at the food lining the shelves and said, “I can’t believe those rustlers hit so many places around here.”
Rosalinda smiled and said, “They didn’t, Johnny. People feel like they’ve no protection out here. Word spread, and people came to thank you, just to thank you. You make everyone feel safer.”
Johnny looked up in surprise. “Wasn’t my intention. I’m no lawman. Just… I don’t know. Glad I could help.”
FORTY-FIVE
The Brown boys had shown up and told Johnny they were keeping busy, but truth be told, they needed to earn some cash money. Johnny put them to work under Bear’s watchful eye. He soon had them hoeing in the cornfield and the garden. After a couple of hours, Bear hollered at them to take a break and get some water.
After drinking at the well pump, they walked over to watch Johnny as he brushed the mares. “Mr. Black,” said the youngest boy, “are all the mares going to have colts?”
Johnny looked at the boy and smiled. “I hope they all have a foal,” he responded. “That’s what you call a baby horse.”
Both boys looked at Johnny, their faces intense with concentration. “Yeah, I knew that,” said the oldest boy.
“You did not,” said the young one.
“You want a thrashing?” asked his older brother.
Johnny shook his head and said, “It’s no matter. Everybody has to learn. Now listen up, both of you. A foal is a baby horse, and that can be a boy or a girl. A colt is a young male, and a filly is a young female. Don’t forget.”
“Yes, sir,” said the boys in unison.
***
Johnny was taking Rosalinda’s horse for a ride that afternoon, as it needed exercise, and Rosalinda wasn’t riding out of caution for the baby. Some five miles from his place, he passed a farm worked by a black family on shares. To his surprise, an elderly gentleman with gray hair was sitting in the middle of a half-plowed field, tears streaming down his face. To his left, not ten feet from him, sat his plow, but the mule he used to pull it was nowhere in sight.
Johnny eased Patience out onto the field and stopped close to the man. “Good afternoon,” he said.
“How are you, Mr. Black?” responded the man, not getting up, his face stricken.
“I’m well. Do you need help?”
The man smiled, although the tears continued to run down his face. “I don’t reckon there’s any helping me. I’m a black man, no changing that.”
Johnny sat and waited.
“The Smith boys took my mule. Said they needed it. No use me going to the sheriff. He won’t go to no trouble, them being white, and me black.”
“They stole him?” asked Johnny.
“It’s a female—Gertrude,” said the black man. “Yes, sir, they just up and unhooked her from her harness, laughed at me, and knocked me down when I tried to stop them.”
Life was hard, and it was especially hard for former slaves, even now, some six years since the Civil War ended, and the Thirteenth Amendment, abolishing slavery, was added to the Constitution. Johnny didn’t concern himself with a person’s race or religion. He judged on actions and character. Two actions in particular sparked a quick rise to anger in Johnny: hurting animals or taking advantage of the weak or powerless.
“Where do these boys live
?” asked Johnny.
The black farmer looked at Johnny in surprise. “They’re sharecroppers, like me. They live with their ma, one mile over to the north.” He pointed north. “I reckon they’re plowing, fixin’ to plant cotton.”
Johnny didn’t respond, but he turned Patience and rode north. They were easy to find. Two men, probably in their twenties, were trying to plow a field. One was behind the plow, the other was pulling at the halter of a mule who didn’t seem to be cooperating. They were big, husky-looking farm boys. Johnny sat on Patience and watched as one took off his belt and began to beat the mule, who still refused to move. Johnny rode out into the field and stopped just feet from the men. They looked at him.
“Help you?” asked one, his belt still dangling from his hand.
“I reckon you can,” said Johnny. “Unhitch that mule and walk it back to where you got it.”
The two men looked at each other, then back at Johnny. “What the hell you talking about?” asked one. “Why would we do that? Anyway, we need this here mule.”
“I don’t have time to debate the issue with you gentlemen. Now, I know you two aren’t the smartest fellows in this part of the country, but I have to believe you got enough sense to know I didn’t ride out into this field just to visit. Fact is, I’m not going to tell you again, so get a move on.”
Again, the two young men looked at each other. “Claude,” said one to his brother, “did you hear this old codger? I think he’s addled.”
“If I have to get down and school you boys, I’ll be late getting back for my supper, so I’m not going to be in a good mood,” said Johnny.
“Get the hell out of here before we whup your old ass,” said the older brother, turning to smack the mule again with his belt.
Johnny wasn’t wearing a gun, so there was no need to remove it. He simply got down, lifted his hat off his head, and hung it on the saddle horn. Then he gave each of his riding gloves a little tug, and then, as was his way, he walked fast and straight for the biggest man—the one with the belt. The other man had the harness wrapped around his shoulders and was slapping the reins and trying to get the mule to move.
The man with the belt turned and looked at Johnny, surprise on his face. He froze for a second, in confusion, as Johnny moved close to him so quickly that he wasn’t sure what was happening. Johnny hit him with a hard left jab that would have broken his nose, but the man instinctively turned his head, so the blow caught him above his right eye, splitting the skin. The blood had not even begun to flow before Johnny’s second left jab hit the man high on his right cheekbone, so hard it split the skin under his eye. Swinging the belt at Johnny’s head, the man stepped forward with his right foot. Johnny ducked, pivoted on the ball of his left foot, and hit the man in the right temple with a crushing left hook. The man didn’t go down, but he stumbled away.
Johnny turned just in time. The second man had freed himself from the harness, and he ran toward Johnny, his arms up to grab him from behind. Johnny’s right hand had been down at his side, and he brought it up with all the force and weight his two hundred plus pounds could bring, hitting the man on the jaw, jarring Johnny’s arm to the shoulder. The man staggered backwards for two steps, his knees buckled, and he pitched forward onto his face.
Johnny felt the belt hit him across the back. He quickly moved forward a few steps, out of range of the belt, before turning around. The older brother stood there, holding the belt, blood pouring from the cuts above and below his right eye, soaking his shirt, and blocking the sight in his eye. He began to circle.
“I ain’t got time for this,” said Johnny. “I’m already gonna be late.” Suddenly, Johnny ran at the man, who reflexively raised his arm to swing the belt, but he wasn’t quick enough. Johnny slammed into him at a dead run and knocked him on his back. The man tried to punch Johnny, but Johnny was on him and hitting him with a flurry of blows as anger and adrenaline flowed through him. Finally, the man’s arms dropped to his sides as he lost consciousness. Johnny stood and looked down at the man’s bloody and swelling face. He turned him onto his side, so the blood wouldn’t choke him to death. Turning to check on the man’s brother, Johnny saw him rise to his hands and knees. Walking over to him, Johnny waited as the man struggled to his feet.
“You ready?” asked Johnny.
Looking at him with glazed eyes, the man said, “What’d you do to my brother?”
“I been schooling him,” said Johnny, holding up his hands. “Let’s finish this.”
“I quit,” said the man. “I’ll take the mule right now.”
“Be quick about it,” said Johnny, who walked over to Patience, removed his canteen, walked over to the unconscious man, and poured water over his face. In a minute, as the second man got the mule unhitched, the man on the ground began to moan and thrash about.
“Get up and help your brother,” said Johnny.
The man struggled to his feet and looked around. His right eye was swollen shut, and his lips were swelling. He walked over to his brother, and they began to lead the mule to the road. The mule, realizing it was headed home, was in a hurry, and they made it back to where the old man still sat in fifteen minutes. Seeing his mule, he jumped up.
When the group arrived at the plow, Johnny said, “You boys harness that mule.”
It was quickly done, and the two brothers stood, their heads lowered like school boys waiting on a lecture. Johnny spoke. “Tell the man you’re sorry.”
They hesitated, but when Johnny started to move toward them, they both quickly apologized to the old gentleman.
Johnny said, “I want you to remember to never take what ain’t yours, and never hurt an animal. Now, I think if I cut off one ear on each of you, it’ll help you remember.”
The two automatically reached for their ears. “That ain’t necessary,” said the older one. “We’ll remember.” His brother nodded.
Johnny said, “If I ever hear any different, I’ll cut off both ears. You hear?”
“Yes, sir,” said the brothers in unison.
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Black,” said the old gentleman.
The two men’s faces showed shock. “Are you Johnny Black?” asked the younger one.
“Yes,” said Johnny.
“You should have told us!” exclaimed the older brother. “We’ve heard about you. We woulda done what you said, if you’d told us.”
“You best remember what I did tell you,” said Johnny. Looking at the older gentleman and touching his hat, he walked to Patience, mounted, and rode for home.
FORTY-SIX
Sunday morning, Jace was having breakfast at a small café on the plaza, his mind working. It had been three weeks since he had gotten back. He had called on Elizabeth on Saturday afternoon, still calling on her on the sly. She told him she hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to her parents and break off her engagement with Edward. How she juggled him and Edward, he didn’t know, but she always made sure that she and Jace went to out-of-the-way restaurants.
“Jace, darling, you have to understand. My parents, well, I have to find the right moment, and I can’t say anything to Edward until I’ve talked to them, so be patient.” She smiled. “We are together, but for a while it’ll have to be our secret.”
He was very, very confused. After months of suffering, and then finally winning Elizabeth back, he couldn’t stop thinking about Ruth. He couldn’t forget her grimace-smile and her big eyes going wide with delight. The girl was something else.
In fact, every day since Ruth and her family had turned toward Weatherford, he had thought of her and worried about her. He told himself that he still felt responsible, nothing more, but now, he knew it was more.
On the other hand, he was enjoying Elizabeth’s company less and less. Her favorite subjects were herself, the latest fashions, and local gossip. He realized, almost as if he’d been punched in the gut, that he didn’t care a thing about the woman. Actually, he couldn’t figure out what he had seen in her to start with.
The thought came to him with absolute certainty that he was in love with Ruth and couldn’t imagine living his life without her.
Sipping his coffee, he considered his new problem. First, he had to break it off with Elizabeth, and he reckoned that wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. Then, he had to find Ruth and tell her how he felt.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the man in the well-tailored suit until he was standing at his table.
“Mr. Watkins?” asked the man.
Looking up, Jace set his cup on the saucer. “Yes, sir,” he said, looking at the man uncertainly.
“My name is Porter. I am an attorney. Mind if I sit?”
Porter sat, and at the same moment, a waitress appeared, and Porter asked for coffee. “I have some business to discuss with you. You’re wondering how I found you, I’m sure,” he said, smiling and nodding at the waitress when she set his coffee in front of him. “I hired a private man who tracked you to the Circle C trail drive—the John Christie drive. I spoke with Mr. Christie in Austin. He told me you had drawn your wages in Abilene, and you were headed back to San Antonio. I asked at the local banks and found you had an account at the private bank owned by Duncan. He told me you had deposited some money just recently. I’m speculating it was your wages, so I spent yesterday checking hotels and boarding houses. Anyway, I’ve found you.” He sipped his coffee.
“Has something happened?” asked Jace. His face was a mask of concern and confusion.
“Yes,” said Porter. “Your Aunt Thelma has passed away. My condolences.”
“Oh,” said Jace. “I haven’t seen her since she moved to New York. What happened?”
“Her heart failed is my understanding,” said Porter.
“We exchanged letters, just this past winter.”
