Good Man - Bad Enemy

by Gary Church

  Jace left early, pleading fatigue, but everyone at the table gave each other a knowing look. Johnny had a good night and was the biggest winner of the evening. It was very early morning when the game broke up, and everyone said their goodnights. Johnny promised to try and get back soon, and the doctor told Johnny he would be out the next week to check on Rosalinda.

  The two men who had seemed so interested in the poker game had left an hour before. Stepping outside the saloon, Johnny paused, lit a cigarillo, and studied the darkness.

  Satisfied, he walked toward the stable to check on Loco and the dogs before going to his room at the Menger. There weren’t many people about at this hour, but a few buggies, wagons, and horses made their way down the street, in addition to the occasional person on foot. Johnny was aware of his surroundings and sensed no danger. He walked along the sidewalk until he was across from the stable. As he stepped off the sidewalk to cross the road, a man on a horse cut in front of him as though to take the cross street, but he stopped, slid off the horse, and pointed a revolver at Johnny.

  “Well, if it ain’t the big winner,” the man said, grinning.

  A second horse passed behind Johnny, and he heard a man dismount and then felt a knife press into his back. The man smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in years. Johnny recognized the man with the gun as one of the two men in the saloon who had been studying the poker game.

  Johnny whistled, just as the first man said, “Empty your pockets. Drop everything on the ground.”

  There was a moment when no one spoke or moved, and the man with the pistol said, “What, you whistling for your horse? Empty your pockets! I ain’t gonna tell you again.”

  Johnny, seeing the three dark shapes appear and move silently closer, reached slowly for his shirt pocket and said loudly, “Ataque!”

  “What?” asked the man with the revolver, but he never knew what happened. The force that knocked him off his feet came fast, hitting him at his throat, but catching his lower jaw as he looked down at the huge black shape that launched itself at him. One hundred and thirty pounds of crazed dog began to bite and tear at him.

  As the man holding the knife turned his head, Johnny stomped down on his right foot with his boot and twisted to his right, away from the knife. In the small space created between Johnny and the man, Princesa slammed into the man, and as the man tumbled backwards to the ground, she bit into his crotch and began to shake her head. The man screamed in agony.

  As Johnny turned, he saw Perro with a grip on the first man’s leg, and Flop still atop the man, tearing at his face. Seeing the revolver on the ground, Johnny stepped over, picked it up, and whistled. He had to whistle a second time, as the dogs’ blood was up, and they were reacting with the instincts of their ancestors.

  The three dogs came to him, and he kneeled and petted and praised them as the two men lay groaning and twisting about on the ground. The men’s horses, well trained, had walked a short distance away and stopped. Now they were standing, waiting.

  Johnny took the pistol and the knife, saw the dogs back to their places in the stable, talked to Loco, and, stepping back outside the stable, saw the two men and their horses were gone. He saw blood covering the ground where the man with the revolver had lain. Johnny lit a cigarillo, walked to the Menger, and turned in.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Jace loaded the entire family, along with food and water, into a large rented buggy and rode for Bandera County. It was a good twenty miles from the hotel to the home he had purchased. It took four hours of steady travel in the buggy, but they made it without incident. As they traveled, Jace explained that San Antonio was in Bexar County, but this place was in Bandera County, which had been carved out of a couple other counties, including Bexar, before the Civil War.

  “It sits on the Edwards Plateau,” explained Jace. He looked over at Ruth, who was listening intently. “The place has been sitting empty for a spell and will need some work, I’m guessing,” he paused. Then he continued. “You remember the trail boss, Johnny Black? His place is down south of here.”

  They worked their way up what had been a road at one time but was now badly overgrown. Reaching the top and coming within sight of the house, Ruth’s mother gasped.

  “Oh, my,” said Ruth’s aunt.

  Jace looked over at Ruth, who was staring at the house, her face blank. Jace pulled the buggy up close, warned the boys to be mindful of snakes, and helped the women down. Ruth had still not spoken. The group walked to the front of the house and stared out over a sloping hillside, seeing a grassy savanna.

  As they turned to look at the house, Ruth said, “Cowboy, I reckon this place will do.”

  Relief flooded Jace, and he smiled. The huge house, featuring two stories, was built of limestone rocks and wood. A wide porch ran around most of it. Not one, but two outhouses sat out back, not far from the back door. There was a fireplace in the kitchen, and one in a large living area. It was a handsome building, even though it showed signs of neglect. They entered the house, and the boys ran through it and up the stairs, as the women immediately began to discuss how to make it into a home. It was full of furniture—the lawyer had told Jace the owner said it was easier for him to buy new than move it all.

  Jace walked out on the porch and looked out at the grasslands, dotted in places with mesquite, juniper, and live oaks. He pulled out the makings and built himself a cigarette. Standing and smoking as he looked out over the land, he felt happy. Could life be any better?

  When Ruth emerged a few minutes later, the two walked down the way toward a huge barn, passing a small bunkhouse with another outhouse behind it. After they surveyed the large barn, Jace pointed out the chicken coop.

  “Way down yonder, under that live oak, is the hog pen.”

  “Jace,” said Ruth, her face serious, “the house is very nice and big enough to be a hotel.”

  “Don’t you like it?” asked Jace, concern on his face.

  “I like it a lot,” said Ruth, “but how can we afford it?”

  “Oh, it’s paid for,” said Jace, smiling. “Well, it will be, if you like it.”

  Ruth frowned. “How can that be?” she asked.

  “I told you, Ruth. I inherited some money from my aunt. Thirty thousand dollars. Even.”

  “The wedding is off,” said Ruth, her voice firm.

  Jace’s mouth popped open. “Because I have some money?” he asked.

  “That’s right, cowboy,” said Ruth.

  “I thought women liked money,” said Jace, his voice almost a whine.

  “Oh, the money is nice, especially if you have kids. It’s the security of it. Makes a woman feel safe, sort of. But the wedding is still off.”

  “By dang it, if that don’t take all! If I live to be a hundred years old, I won’t understand a thing about women.”

  “I’m not gonna have you laying around the house, getting in my way, that is, when you aren’t in town drinking or chasing after loose women. I know how it is with rich men. Grandma told me.”

  “But I ain’t gonna be like that. I was thinking we’d be sheep farmers.”

  Ruth’s mouth formed into an O, and her eyes went wide. “Sheep farmers? Well, cowboy, I have to say, you’ve surprised me again. Don’t sheep take watching?”

  “They do. I was talking to this fellow on the trail drive. He used to work on a sheep ranch, and well, it sounds like they would do well in this area,” Jace said, waving his hand at the land. “Besides, now look, Ruth, this place will cost nearly ten thousand dollars, and by the time we get it fixed up and get some livestock and all, well, I don’t reckon we’ll be rich.” He paused, then smiling, he said, “But you’ll have security, and so will all them kids.”

  “Who, my brothers?”

  “No, I mean, we haven’t talked about it, but I was thinking, you know, me and you. Our kids. Ten, you think?”

  Ruth’s mouth formed into an O once again, her big eyes widened, and her hands flew to the sides of her face. “Ten kids!” she exclaim
ed.

  “Is that too many, you think?” asked Jace. “You know, having a passel of ’em will help with the sheep-watching.”

  “All right, if you promise not to be laying around the house and not go out chasing loose women, I guess the wedding is back on, but we gotta talk about this kid business.”

  Jace smiled. “I promise,” he said.

  As the two walked back toward the house, Ruth said, “Jace, this place is so big, truly, would you mind if I asked Mama and her sister to just live with us? I know you said you’d build them another house, but…”

  “It’s fine by me, as long as I’m with you,” said Jace.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Hollis Barlow made it to Austin in mid-afternoon, and after making arrangements for boarding the skinny stolen horse, he asked about a hotel. He told the stable owner he was looking for a place to stay, but he didn’t require anything fancy—just a bed. He was directed to an old hotel run by a Mexican woman. She studied him suspiciously, but he told her he was passing through and needed a place to sleep for a night or two. She gave him a price of twenty-five cents a night, and he just looked at her. He offered the twenty-five cents to cover two nights, and when she didn’t respond, he turned to leave, and she said okay.

  He was careful she didn’t see how much money he had. It wouldn’t do to have some Mexican trying to rob him in his sleep.

  Seeing the gun in his belt, the woman said, “No guns in town.”

  Momentarily confused, Barlow looked at her. “You can’t wear a gun in this town no more?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, not smiling.

  “Well, thanks for telling me,” said Barlow, who now knew to keep it under his shirt when he left the hotel.

  He decided not to ask the woman about a bath and haircut. He wandered around a while and spotted a general store. He bought new clothes, including boots and a hat.

  “You off a trail drive?” asked the proprietor, happy to make the sale, but wondering about this emaciated man, whose clothes were too big and whose hat was so sweat- stained it was almost a new color.

  “No,” said Hollis. “I just got out of the army, up North. Been traveling, living rough.”

  His new outfit cost him five dollars, but he figured it was worth it. He took the clothes, wrapped in paper, and asked about a bath and haircut. He was directed two streets over. An hour later he was unrecognizable. Shave, haircut, bath, and new clothes had transformed him.

  Hollis ate his supper in a café, enjoying it so much, he ordered twice. After he finished, he went in search of a drink and a woman. He found Guy Town easily enough—just walked toward the river. The first saloon he entered didn’t suit. He knew it as soon as he walked in. It was too fancy, and as he looked around, he saw folks who had to be businessmen, politicians, and the like, judging by their clothes. Not his kind of people.

  Three blocks away he found what he was looking for—a place filled with workers of all sorts. The whiskey wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t bad, especially after the first two gills. At twenty-five cents a gill, Hollis nursed his after the first two. The bartender, wiping the bar close to Hollis, looked at his drink, saw he was good, and was starting to turn away, when Hollis spoke to him.

  “Say, I been up North for a good while. What’s this about no guns in town?”

  “It’s a state law, pushed through by Governor Davis,” said the bartender, walking away to serve another customer.

  The man next to Hollis Barlow spoke to him. “It’s the damnedest thing, for sure. No guns, knuckles, or knives. What’s a man to do? You think the outlaws gonna pay any attention?”

  Barlow nodded at the man, and the man continued. “Not only that, but we got us a state police force, made up of Negroes, Tejanos and Asians.”

  “What the hell you saying?” asked Barlow. “How’s that possible?”

  “You’d have to ask the good Governor Davis. It’s his doing. There’s some white folks on it too, but how they found any white men to work alongside them others is beyond me.”

  Barlow drank his whiskey. After ordering a fourth, he asked the man, “Where’s the best place to find a woman?”

  Grinning, the man said, “That’s against the law, too.”

  Barlow looked at the man with a hard look.

  “I ain’t funnin’ you. There’s a law against it, but generally, the police look the other way, unless there’s trouble. I found myself in the hoosegow some time back—nothing serious. Anyhow, a fellow in there with me,” he hesitated, sipped his whiskey, “got himself arrested at a disorderly house. Fool wouldn’t pay the woman, and she chased him into the street.” He laughed, remembering the story. “Anyway,” said the man, “what do you favor? There are Mexican places, black places, and white places.”

  Barlow studied the man.

  “I ain’t one to judge. I’ve visited ’em all, one time or another. Just saying, you got choices.”

  “White will do. I ain’t looking for no high-class place, neither.”

  “There’s a place over on Colorado.”

  After a couple more drinks, the man offered to accompany Barlow. The two men ended up making a night of it, and Barlow and the man (named Smith) arranged to meet up again the next evening.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Hollis Barlow surprised himself. He showed up at the saloon as he said he would, and he was surprised a second time to see Smith was waiting. The two drank themselves into a stupor, but somewhere in the middle of it, and Barlow couldn’t remember how they got started on it, the two started talking money.

  No matter how hard he had argued the night before, the woman wouldn’t budge on the price and had charged him ten dollars. His money was going fast, and he could tell Smith was being careful with his money. They were both drunk, and Smith asked him if he would be hanging around Austin for a while. Barlow told him no, he hadn’t seen his ma in over five years, and he didn’t even know if she was still alive. So, he was going to San Antonio, where she lived.

  Smith nodded and then said, “I reckon there’s plenty of work down that way, but I’m not sure what former soldiers do these days. You a cowboy or a farmer maybe?”

  Barlow considered for a time, and then, since he was drunk, he told Smith, “I’ve worked at a number of things, but I’ve decided to be an outlaw from now on.” He smiled.

  Studying him, Smith, his words slurred, asked, “Are you joshing, Barlow?”

  “No, I ain’t.”

  “Well then. That makes two of us. I’ve been an outlaw for a good long while now. Started out by necessity, I guess, but I’ve gotten accustomed to working for myself.”

  He smiled, and Barlow noticed he was missing a lot of teeth.

  They called it a night soon after but met for breakfast at a café the next morning. Neither spoke for a while—both were suffering something fierce from the whiskey. Finally, Barlow said, “You work all by your lonesome?”

  Smith looked up from his eggs. He was trying to remember how much he had told Barlow about his business. He drank some coffee before he answered. “Yeah, I work for myself, but I got partners in my business. It’s my business, though. I make the decisions.”

  Barlow wiped his plate with a biscuit and put it in his mouth. “Well, I ain’t looking to work for nobody.”

  The two drank their coffee in silence. After a few minutes, Smith said, “It ain’t exactly like that. There’s a place, out in the country, used to belong to my uncle. There’s five or six others stay there, off and on. Sometimes we do a thing together, and when we do, well, somebody has to make the decisions. It’s my place, so I make ’em. Anybody don’t like it, they’re free to not participate.”

  Smith got out the makings and began to build a cigarette. Barlow pulled out his plug, pulled off some, and stuck it in his mouth.

  “We’re all getting by, but I’m gonna have to do something soon—money is about gone.” Smith shut his eyes as a streak of pain ran through his head. Opening them, he drew on his cigarette.

  “Y�
�all robbing banks or something?” asked Barlow, curious.

  “Nah, we been rustling, mainly. That’s why it helps to have a gang of sorts. Anyways, I was drunk last night and shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “It’s all right. I weren’t kidding around. I’ve decided to work for myself too. ’Cept, I ain’t working with no stinking, ornery beeves. It’s a hell of a lot easier just to take stuff— especially money.”

  Smith looked at him. “Yeah,” he said. “I reckon that’s a fact.”

  Barlow spat on the floor. Looking back at Smith, he said, “Well, I was drunk too, but what I was thinking was that what I do would be a lot easier if I had a partner. Somebody to stand watch or help, if needed.”

  Smith drew on his smoke, drank some coffee, and said, “I ain’t married to Austin, Texas. Guess I could see my way clear to visit San Antonio. I mean, if you’re serious about a partner.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  B.R. felt ill, but it wasn’t from sickness. For the first time since they had gone out, Betty had made excuses for the approaching weekend. She had to catch up on some work for her grandfather, and a girlfriend was getting married and wanted her help in planning. She was really sweet about it and apologized, but when she said that hopefully things would slow down by the next weekend, well, there it was.

  He’d smiled and been polite. “Yes, ma’am, I understand. Sometimes things come up.” He heard himself in his head, remembering his response as he tried to hide his disappointment. Disappointment, hell—his fear.

  He walked back to the bunkhouse, changed his mind, and walked on out a ways, rolling a cigarette and smoking while he walked.