by Gary Church
He considered the possibilities. One—it could all be in his head. She had things she needed to do and things she wanted to do. Nothing said they had to go out every single weekend. “It ain’t like we’re engaged or anything,” he said out loud to himself. Okay, he thought, two—he’d done something, and she was irritated with him, and this was her way of punishing him. In his mind, he went over every hour they had been together. They ran through his mind like reading a book. She had smiled and laughed, touched his arm. No, everything had gone well. Three—she’s met somebody else and was letting him down easy or hoping he’d just go away or quit her on his own.
He wished Jace was there, so he could talk to him. Fact was, he just didn’t have any experience with girls and had no idea how they thought. Well, nothing he could do right now, but come the weekend, he was gonna run Jace to ground and talk to him about it.
***
B.R. couldn’t help himself. He needed to talk to Betty, just to get a feel for her feelings. He had survived the weekend without her, but his mind raced with possibilities. His imagination wouldn’t let him rest or enjoy himself. Finally, Sunday evening after supper, he rolled a smoke and walked up to the house.
He had planned to knock at the door, ask after Betty, but his nerve failed him. Instead, he just walked past the house and then, he turned and walked past the house again. He thought that maybe she would step out. After an hour, deciding he was acting like some sort of love-sick female, he went to the bunkhouse and went to bed.
Betty stood at the window in her room on the second floor of the large house owned by her grandfather, and watched B.R. She felt bad. He was a very nice, sweet, and dependable young man. Handsome too, she thought, smiling. Their outings were always pleasant. She found him to be an interesting conversationalist and well-mannered. Her friends were jealous and always made remarks, hinting at what must be happening when the two were alone.
For all that, Betty wasn’t interested in advancing the relationship. She wasn’t sure why, or at least not exactly why. Simply put, there was no spark, as she thought of it. Frankly, she enjoyed their conversations, but really, although she didn’t want to admit it to herself, she knew the truth. She was bored. For all of his great qualities, she found B.R., well, boring.
She dreaded the conversation, but the next time she had a chance, she would explain to B.R. what a great guy he was, but she just didn’t feel that way toward him.
Three days later, when he came to call, she told him.
Later, as Betty reflected on the conversation, she would think how stoically and calmly he had accepted her explanation. However, she could see the hurt in his eyes and his face. The man had smiled and said he understood and appreciated the time she had spent with him. With that, he touched the brim of his hat, smiled weakly, turned, and walked away.
FIFTY-SEVEN
The doctor visited the Black ranch and was surprised and pleased to find Jace and his group there, providing the doctor a chance to meet them. After visiting a spell, he examined Rosalinda and the baby and pronounced them both to be in excellent health.
Jace, Ruth, Ruth’s mother, her sister, and Chase and Garrett had a wonderful time, visiting. The two boys rode General and Patience. They threw sticks and laughed as the dogs chased them. It was soon apparent to the observant Johnny that Rosalinda had found a new friend in Ruth.
As the doctor was leaving, he mentioned to Johnny that he had been to the carpenter’s shop to see about a chair and was shown the new rocker and cradle Johnny had ordered. Both were beautiful and waiting to be picked up.
Johnny thanked him, paid him, and saw him to his buggy.
***
Monday morning, Jace and group departed after hugs and promises to get together again soon. Johnny’s nervousness was increasing by the day. Rosalinda laughed at his frequent inquires as to how she was feeling, and his constant fright anytime she lifted anything heavier than a coffee cup.
“Johnny,” she said, “women have been having babies for a long time. We’re not so delicate, and neither is the baby.”
“I just worry,” responded Johnny, perplexed. There were some things he just didn’t know much about.
Shaking her head, Rosalinda said, “I do have a list of supplies, if you’re anxious to get the chair and cradle.”
He thought for a moment. “I am. I was planning to work on that chicken coop today. You know, Bear hasn’t been to town. Maybe he’d welcome the chance to go.”
“Johnny Black, that is a wonderful thought, and he should go to town, but if you’re planning to stay here just to keep an eye on me, mister, you can just go with him.”
Laughing, Johnny said, “No, well, maybe a little, but I like being here with you.”
Rosalinda smiled and hugged him. “Go tell Bear to harness General to the wagon while I check my list.”
Bear was a little hesitant at first, but finally admitted it would be nice to see the town.
“It’s been a spell since I was there,” he noted.
Johnny entered the tack room and took down the double-barreled shotgun from its place on the wall. It was a Charles Parker Maker and had cost a hundred dollars, brand new. Walking out to where Bear was harnessing General to the wagon, he held out the shotgun and a coffee tin that held extra shells. Bear stared at it.
“You know how to use it?” asked Johnny.
“I do,” said Bear.
“Put it under the wagon seat.”
“Thank you, boss,” said Bear, taking the shotgun and coffee tin.
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Johnny?”
Bear smiled, went to the back of the wagon, and returned carrying a burlap sack. He wrapped the sack around the shotgun and turned to put the gun and tin under the wagon seat. He and Johnny were both very aware that crime was rampant in Texas. It had been since the end of the Civil War, but white on black crime was particularly bad, and white men who killed blacks, more often than not, suffered no punishment.
“Go by the house on your way out. Rosalinda has some food for you to take with you, a list of supplies she needs, and I’ll leave a letter for the cabinet maker, so he’ll know to give you the furniture. Oh, and the money, of course.”
A half-hour later found Johnny at work on the chicken coop, and Bear on the road to San Antonio.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Barlow and Smith decided to leave Austin that afternoon. The plan was simple. They would break into farmhouses on the way down. The two packed their gear. They ended up buying a few supplies, including some pistol cartridges for Barlow, two bottles of whiskey, and tobacco. Smith had a coffee pot, skillet, tin plates and the like, so they didn’t have to buy much.
They didn’t bother with anything except travel that first day. Riding easy, they made it about ten miles out of town, made camp, and after supper, they drank. Barlow finally told Smith he hadn’t been in the army. Smith looked at him.
“None of my business,” said Smith.
“Yeah, well, I been in hell for the last five years, and I ain’t never going back. Figured, given as how you and me are going to be placing ourselves in harm’s way, thought it best you know I ain’t got nothing to lose.”
“When you say hell, I reckon you’re saying jail,” said Smith, tilting back his bottle.
“Not exactly. I been in jail a few times. It weren’t all that bad. I was out of the weather, got fed regular. No, I was in the prison in Huntsville. Heard of it?”
Smith frowned. “Yeah, but I thought maybe it was just for blacks.”
Barlow spat a stream of tobacco into the fire and took a slug of whiskey from his bottle. “You’da thought I was black. They leased me and others out to a farmer. He worked us sunup ’til dark. Treated us just like we was slaves, ’cept worse.” He suddenly stood, turned his back to Smith, and pulled up his shirt, exposing the scars from the whips on his back.
“Lordy,” said Smith, his voice almost a whisper.
***
The second day they
worked some wagon trails leading off the main trail but had no luck. They only looked at two places, but both looked too dangerous. They decided to get back on the main part of the trail, and as they approached it, a man driving a wagon, which appeared to be full of supplies, came down the road. His only companion was an old dog, lying on the seat beside him.
“Why we fooling with houses? Let’s just hold up this man and ride off,” said Smith, speaking in low tones. “There’s two of us, so we can do it.”
“That’s an idea, but we’ll have to be quick. This is a pretty popular road. Let’s follow him, and the next time he rounds a curve, we’ll ride up and take him.”
They followed the wagon at a distance for two miles, and when it disappeared in a bend, they spurred their horses and charged, intending to take the man. But when they rounded the curve, he was gone. Momentarily stunned, they pulled their horses to a stop. Then they saw the tracks leading off into the brush.
Smith and Barlow followed the tracks, careful to stay back so as not to be noticed. It was a wagon track, so there was no chance of losing him. Finally, they saw a roof ahead with a smokestack, but no smoke coming from it. When they could see the house clearly, they stopped and watched the wagon pull up close to the barn. Two dogs ran out, and the man shooed them away as he began to unhitch the horses.
Seeing Smith and Barlow riding into his yard, the man reached under the wagon seat and brought out an old rifle. Holding it in both hands but not pointing it at them, he said, as they stopped close to him, “You fellas lost?”
“No, sir,” said Smith, pulling his pistol from his waist and shooting the man in the chest.
Barlow sat on his horse, stunned. He looked at the man lying dead on the ground. He looked over at Smith, who looked at him and grinned. “No use wasting time,” said Smith. “Besides, I didn’t like the look of that there rifle.”
There wasn’t anyone in the house, and from the looks of it, the man lived alone. The wagon was full of food, so they hauled it into the house, and after finding the man had purchased three bottles of whiskey, began to drink.
The next day, they moved the body out into the brush, and using a shovel they found in the barn, buried it in a shallow grave. They stayed one more night and would have stayed longer, but the whiskey was gone. There was some money, not much, but a little, under the mattress. After splitting it, they ate breakfast and started once again for San Antonio.
The two spent the next week working their way south, robbing two more people on the way. Arriving in San Antonio, they found their way to Barlow’s mother’s house. It was in such bad shape, it appeared to be deserted, but there were chickens and hogs, and a tended garden, so someone lived there. Barlow knocked, and when his mother opened the door, she said, “I thought you was dead.”
The two men took up residence in the place, although Smith had to sleep on a blanket on the kitchen floor. It was temporary, they told each other. Over whiskeys at a hole-in-the-wall saloon, they discussed using it as a base of operations while they went out and stole. It was on the east side of San Antonio, so they decided they would ply their trade on the west side.
Drunk, Barlow raised his glass. “I like your style.”
“Well, hell, I like your style too,” responded Smith, banging his glass against Barlow’s.
“We’re gonna hit it big. We just gotta hit the right place,” said Barlow.
“You’re right,” agreed the drunken Smith. “I been giving it some thought. It’s better than banks. The law comes after you hard for banks, but people, not so much. They got bigger things to worry about than some thieving, and some of these folks, hell, they got money, but they’re afraid to put it in the bank. Don’t trust banks and don’t trust the government.”
The two drank for a bit, then Smith said, “Besides, your mama don’t cook so bad.”
FIFTY-NINE
Bear enjoyed his trip into San Antonio. There were some insulting comments from some white men passing by when he was loading the wagon at the general store, but nothing serious. He had been a bit nervous—he wanted to do everything right. After picking up the new rocking chair and cradle, he had gone to the general store for the supplies. He could read some, but not well, and he had the store man look at the list to make sure he had everything. Both the general store owner and the furniture maker had asked after Mr. and Mrs. Black. Then, as he was leaving town, a pretty black woman had caught his eye and smiled at him.
He was headed back to the ranch, singing a gospel song, enjoying the day, when five white men on horses blocked his path. Pulling General to a halt, he waited to see what was happening. Studying the men, he could see they were young, but all rode fine horses, and their saddles and gear were expensive. Why is it the rich ones are always the worst? Bored, I guess. He waited patiently.
“How are you today, sir?” said the closest man, smiling. “I promised my mama I wouldn’t use any derogatory or demeaning words when speaking to people of color.” He laughed. “I bet you have no idea what I just said, do you? Of course not. Your kind is too stupid to understand, even if it was explained to you.” He looked around and was rewarded with laughter from his friends.
Bear thought the young man’s friends looked uncomfortable—no, nervous, which made him nervous. If they’re just having their fun, there’s no reason for them to be nervous. He thought about the shotgun. Oh, Lord, he hoped it didn’t come to that. Moving his eyes, looking at each rider, he didn’t see any pistols, but they all had rifles hanging from their saddles. Then, when he moved his eyes back to the speaker, the man was holding a shiny revolver and pointing it at him.
“We’re out hunting today,” said the young man, grinning. “You know how hunting goes. You don’t see anything worth shooting, and then suddenly, right there in front of you is just what you were looking to find, and a real big one at that.”
They’re just trying to scare me, thought Bear, holding the reins loosely in his left hand. He calmly said, “I gotta be getting on my way. This rig and everything in it belongs to Mr. Johnny Black.”
“That right?” said the leader of the group. “So, you belong to him to?”
“I work for the man,” said Bear, his anger beginning to surface.
“Can’t say I know him,” said the man with the pistol.
When the man looked at his friends and smiled, Bear knew what was coming next. As he turned back to look at Bear, the man raised the shiny revolver and pointed it at Bear. Instinctively, Bear ducked his head, and that movement caused the bullet, meant for his head, to hit him in the left ear, clipping off a third of it. Everything that happened next, in Bear’s mind, was like a dream.
He dropped the reins. General jumped at the crack of the shot and started forward. Grabbing the burlap-wrapped shotgun from the floorboard with his right hand, Bear jerked it up, grabbing it with his left hand, even as the burlap fell back and he cocked both barrels with his right thumb.
When the young man fired, and General started forward, the horses of the five men had started, and moved about a little. Until he died, Bear would always remember the look in the shooter’s eyes when Bear looked at him after he had shot off part of his ear.
The only way Bear could describe it was intense pleasure. The boy was enjoying himself and anticipating killing Bear. In fact, he had a second chance. As Bear hesitated, the boy fired a second time, the shot going wide as the shooter’s horse jumped a bit.
Later, Bear would say he didn’t really remember firing the shotgun, only seeing the dark, ragged hole appear in the young man’s chest.
When the shotgun blast went off, the other men spurred their horses, leaving their leader dead in the road. The man closest to the shooter was badly hurt from the blast and was bleeding profusely, although he didn’t know it at first. He just knew he had to get away. Another man had shotgun shell pellets in his arm, but they didn’t hamper him, as he urged his horse away.
Stopping General, Bear lay the shotgun on the seat, climbed down, and looked at
the dead man. What have I done? Then, sighing, he climbed back into the wagon and headed on toward the Blacks’ ranch.
SIXTY
Arriving at the homestead, Bear went straight to the barn, unhooked General, and brushed and fed him. When Johnny, working on some repairs to the hog pen, heard the dogs barking their welcome, he started up to the house. As he neared, he was surprised that Bear hadn’t stopped at the house and unloaded the supplies and furniture. He thought perhaps something was wrong with General.
When he saw Bear’s solemn face, he knew something was bad wrong. Bear told Johnny what had happened in a matter-of-fact manner, his voice showing no emotion. Johnny knew, from his experiences in the war, that Bear was still in that place, soon after an event, when your mind didn’t really accept it.
Johnny went to the house to tell Rosalinda and ask her to put on some coffee. He didn’t provide any details, he just told her Bear had a dust-up, there was some shooting, and he and Bear would need to go to town. But first they would have some coffee, and she would see to Bear’s ear.
Bear and Johnny sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee, while Rosalinda treated and bandaged Bear’s ear. She wrapped cloth around his head, careful as she covered his still-bleeding ear. It must have hurt, but Bear didn’t seem to notice. He drank coffee but seemed to be lost in thought.
After a bit, Johnny said, “Bear, they’ll be coming for you. Best we head for town, get ahead of this.”
Bear smiled for the first time, but there was no joy in it. “I killed a white man. There ain’t no getting ahead of that, boss.”
Johnny saddled Loco and Patience and asked Bear if he could eat something. It might be a while before they had another chance. Bear shook his head.
