by Gary Church
Johnny said, “I’m going to the Browns’, get one of their boys to fetch the doctor. Then I’m going to see if I can track the men that were here.”
“Do what you must, husband,” said Rosalinda.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“Vaya con Dios.”
SIXTY-THREE
Smith’s trousers were growing black with blood, and he shouted that he was feeling terrible, so Barlow decided they’d take a stand in some trees on the far side of a creek.
If the fellow who rode in on that big horse was coming, they’d have to be ready.
“He might not come, might go for the sheriff, but in case he’s tracking us, we gotta be ready.”
They tied the horses in the trees, and Barlow helped Smith down out of the saddle, the man crying with pain and saying his leg wouldn’t work and he needed a doctor.
Barlow told him they first had to deal with the man on the tall horse. He sat Smith against a tree, grabbed his rifle, and worked his way forty yards up stream. He found a forked branch, stuck it in the mud, lay on the ground, and positioned his rifle in the fork of the stick. He waited.
***
Johnny rode hard to the Browns’ homestead, and only minutes after telling them Flop had been shot, and he needed someone to get the doctor, two of the boys were riding hard for San Antonio.
He had little trouble picking up the outlaws’ trail after he found blood. He might have hesitated before riding over the creek embankment, but he figured them to run, not stop and make a stand.
Barlow’s nerve almost failed him, but when Black’s big horse topped the crest, he aimed for Black’s heart and squeezed the trigger. The shot cracked, and Black jerked backwards as though an invisible rope had yanked him. He fell back and to his right, his boots locking into the stirrups, holding him in the saddle as the big horse immediately bolted to the right and away.
Terrified, but thrilled at his shot, since he hadn’t fired a rifle in years, Barlow jumped up and ran back to his companion. Smith started screaming with pain when Barlow tried to get him up, so he told Smith he’d steal a wagon and come back for him.
Smith started yelling, “Don’t leave me! I’ll die here!”
His pleas had no impact on Barlow, who hauled himself onto his saddle and spurred his horse.
***
Although he was shot, it didn’t occur to Johnny to abandon the pursuit. For him, this was beyond personal. The cowards had tried to harm Rosalinda, and they had shot Flop, so this was beyond justice. This was personal vengeance. Only his own death could save them now.
Loco had stopped, sensing they were clear of danger but that something was wrong. Having been shot a few times before, Johnny had some idea what to expect as far as the effects on his body. Evaluating the damage caused by the gunshot as best he could, he decided the bullet had likely passed through his upper right shoulder. His immediate danger, like Flop, was loss of blood and passing out. He didn’t have use of his right arm. That wasn’t good. Using his left hand and his teeth, he again tore up his shirt and fashioned a small wad of cloth, which he forced into the wound. The exit wound would be worse, so he wrapped his shoulder the best he could. Once he was able to get a good grip on his revolver with his left hand, he turned Loco and headed west.
***
After riding a mile or so, his heart rate returning to normal, it occurred to Barlow he had no reason to hurry. He’d killed the man. He pulled his horse to a halt. He needed a drink. There was some whiskey in his saddlebag, and Smith had some too. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He should have taken Smith’s whiskey. The shock of it all had begun to wear off, and he was beginning to hurt badly himself. Those damn dogs had bitten him all over, and he could feel a bad tear in his face. It was starting to hurt something fierce.
He hadn’t gone far. He could go back, build a fire, and drink some whiskey while he cooked some beans and salted pork. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and that was hours ago. Smith wasn’t a bad fellow to hang with, if he’d just shut up his whining. Finally, after fishing the whiskey out of his saddlebag and taking a few pulls to help with the pain, Barlow turned and walked the horse back to where he had left Smith.
As he got close, he’d expected to hear Smith carrying on. The bullet must have lodged in there pretty good, he considered, the way the man had been wailing. He was sure he had to be close to where he’d left him, but he still didn’t hear him. Well, he must have passed out or bled to death. Didn’t matter if the man was dead. He wanted to get the whiskey anyway. Damn, if he wasn’t hurting.
Just then he saw Smith’s horse. Riding up closer, Barlow dismounted, and looked over at the tree where Smith sat. He saw the man had, just like he figured, either died or passed out. The first thing he did was to get the whiskey out of Smith’s saddlebag.
Well, let’s take a look. Walking over to the man, he saw that Smith was, in fact, dead.
***
Johnny had seen Barlow stop. He sat on Loco and watched. The man thought him dead, had left his friend to die, and thought himself safe. Feeling dizzy and weak, Johnny knew he had to end this as soon as possible. With one arm out of action, he would have to rely on his revolver. Shooting left-handed wasn’t an issue. At a young age, he had discovered that he could do everything equally well with either hand. Johnny considered. There wasn’t a moral issue. The man had attacked his pregnant wife, shot his dog, as well as him. Johnny guessed he could ask the man to surrender, take him in to the sheriff. He decided that if he had a chance, he would ask the man if he wanted to give himself up.
***
Barlow stood there, drinking whiskey from the bottle, staring at Smith’s dead body. “Things sure didn’t go well, Smith. A woman, of all things. You and me, two desperados, taken down by a pregnant woman and a few dogs.” He drank.
When Johnny spoke, Barlow jumped. Johnny was sitting on Loco, shirtless, his useless right arm dangling, his torso red from his blood. His left hand was in his lap, holding his pistol, but Barlow couldn’t see it.
Barlow stood there, holding the whiskey bottle, his mouth gaping open. “You ain’t dead?”
“I’m Johnny Black. You busted into my home, tried to kill my pregnant wife, and shot my dog. Do you want to surrender?”
After a few seconds of stunned silence, Barlow began to laugh. “I reckon not,” he said.
Watching Johnny carefully, Barlow moved the whiskey bottle to his left hand and slowly pulled his gun from its holster. As Barlow brought his weapon to bear, Johnny raised his left hand and shot Barlow through the heart.
“Good,” said Johnny.
SIXTY-FOUR
The doctor, a man of seventy-five, who was a regular at the poker game and had become friends with Johnny, was still at Johnny’s house when Loco galloped into the yard. Johnny was slumped over his horse’s neck. The two Brown boys were standing in the yard. They quickly pulled Johnny from Loco’s back and carried him into the house.
The doctor had cleaned and stitched Flop’s gunshot wound and examined Rosalinda. He was sitting at the table, drinking coffee, when the boys came stumbling through the door carrying Johnny.
Without being told, the boys went back outside and attended to Loco.
Johnny’s collarbone was broken, he had muscle damage, and had lost a lot of blood, but the doctor told him he would live, as long as infection didn’t set in. He had no idea if Johnny would regain complete use of his arm. The collarbone hadn’t been shattered, and the doctor could feel the nick in it where the bullet had hit the edge of it, breaking it. It had set well and shouldn’t be a problem, but as to muscle damage, well, the doctor said only time would tell.
“You’ll be months getting to whatever use you regain in that arm,” he said.
When Rosalinda was out of the room, the doctor said, “I see this isn’t the first time you’ve been shot. One of these scars isn’t three years old.”
“You’re observant, Doc. That one’s from a fellow who ambushed m
e in ’69.”
“Same fellow, by any chance?” asked the doctor.
“No,” said Johnny. “That fellow’s dead.”
“How about the man who shot you today?”
“He’s dead as well,” responded Johnny.
The doctor looked at Johnny. “Johnny, you’re a good man, but truth be told, I suspect you’re a bad enemy.”
SIXTY-FIVE
They sat at the kitchen table, William at one end, Johnny at the other. Rosalinda sat between Johnny and William, and Clyde sat between William and Johnny. Everyone had a cup of coffee in front of them, but no one was drinking it. Johnny’s arm was in a sling, and no one asked about it. That would have been bad manners.
William and Clyde had arrived in the buggy a few minutes earlier. When they stepped into the house, William said, “We have some news.”
Johnny studied their faces. Clyde looked self-satisfied, like a man with a pat hand, thought Johnny. He’s discovered something—a witness maybe. William looked tense, unsure, like a man with a hand but who knows he may not have the top hand.
Finally, William spoke. “Because Bear refuses to allow me to pursue his admission of guilt in return for a charge of manslaughter, we have no choice. We will have to go to trial. As we have discussed, it comes down to Bear’s word against that of the three men, still alive, who were there. He’s black, and they are white, so we all know what to expect.” He paused, sipping some coffee. Continuing, he said, “Clyde has discovered that all of the men have been questioned by the state police for murdering black men.”
Rosalinda covered her mouth with her hand. Johnny looked grim. Clyde sipped his coffee, his face neutral.
“Of course, I expect to bring this out at the trial, but I doubt it will be enough to tilt the case in Mr. Bear’s favor. Now”, he said, smiling, “Johnny, you live in Medina County, while San Antonio is in Bexar County.”
Johnny looked at him, trying to figure out what the man was getting to. “Yes, Medina County was cut out of Bexar County years ago. I think I heard it was around ’48. But it’s only twelve or fifteen miles to the center of San Antonio.”
“Yes,” said William. “I checked the records in the courthouse. It was created in 1848 and expanded in 1850, but the point is, it appears that the incident took place just inside Medina County, not in Bexar County.”
“What does that mean?” asked Rosalinda.
Johnny’s mind was working, absorbing this information. He looked at William, who grinned as he sipped his coffee. Johnny looked over at Clyde, who smiled.
Speaking quickly now, William said, “If in fact we can show that the shooting took place in Medina County, then the Bexar County district attorney will have no authority. The case will have to be referred to Medina County.”
Johnny spoke. “That would take away the influence of the powerful men in Bexar County.”
“Exactly,” said William. “In fact, according to Clyde,” he turned his head to look at Clyde, “you, Johnny, are a well-known and much-respected man in Medina County.”
Rosalinda smiled and touched Johnny’s hand. He smiled.
“What do we do now?” asked Johnny. “I heard an ‘if’ in there.”
“The location of the incident is well-marked. Clyde and I are sure it’s in Medina County. I’ll file a motion with the justice of the peace. If the judge agrees, the case will be sent to Medina. If the district attorney fights it, we might have to hire a surveyor.”
“Spare no expense,” said Johnny.
“Can Bear come home for now?” asked Rosalinda.
“No,” said William. “Johnny, you know how this works. The justice of the peace acts as a magistrate—a judge—who takes sworn statements, sets bail, and hears motions. Later, the district attorney will refer the matter to a panel of citizens, called a grand jury, to decide if the facts, as known, call for the case to go to trial. If so, they issue an ‘indictment’ or ‘true bill.’ If not, they issue a ‘no bill’ and Bear would be released, although the district attorney could try again. Right now, the three boys who were there have sworn out statements, and the judge has denied bail for Bear.” He sipped his coffee. “If the judge rules in our favor, the sheriff will transfer Bear to the Medina County jail, and the Medina County sheriff and district attorney will investigate. In effect, everything would start over, but in a different county.”
SIXTY-SIX
William filed his motion, stating that the incident in question took place in Medina County, and therefore, the district attorney of Bexar County had no authority in the matter. When he was notified, the district attorney of Bexar County was thrilled.
No lawyer liked to be out-thought or out-lawyered by another lawyer, but by golly, William Palmer had done it. It had never occurred to the district attorney that the incident had taken place on the other side of the county line. Yes, he was embarrassed, but this was good news for him.
The wealthy, politically connected men whose sons had been involved wanted a quick trial and a death sentence for Henry Bear. That, in the district attorney’s opinion, wasn’t a problem at all. The problem was the same men threatened to make sure he wasn’t reelected if one word of the state police investigations into the possible involvement of their sons and the other boys in the murders of several black men came to light.
It was very likely that William Palmer’s investigator would discover the state police investigations. In fact, the police were sure the boys were involved, but they didn’t have enough solid evidence to pursue them. Palmer would bring it up to support Henry Bear’s version of events, and his insistence that the young men indicated they were out hunting blacks.
The Bexar County district attorney would put on a good show. He would rant and rave, but in truth, what could he do? No, he would bluster a bit, but he was very happy to let the district attorney in Medina County take this particular case.
***
The justice of the peace conferred with the district attorney, and the two men agreed that it was out of their hands. This crime, regardless of who committed it, took place in Medina County, and it had to be handled there. Henry Bear was quickly transferred to the Medina County jail.
***
Flush with success, William, seeing an opportunity to bask a little and see the beautiful Rosalinda, decided to visit the Black homestead with the news. Clyde declined an invitation to accompany William, telling him his job was done, and he would present William an invoice for his services when he returned to Austin. William thanked him, rented a buggy at the stables, and departed.
***
Johnny and Rosalinda were thrilled at the news William brought, although he cautioned them that it only meant they had removed one of the major issues facing them. Sitting at the table, William decided to ask Johnny about the sling and the fact that there was a dog with a bandaged right shoulder lying on a blanket in the kitchen.
“Johnny, don’t mean to pry, but your shoulder there—did you fall off that tall horse of yours?”
Johnny and Rosalinda looked at each other. Johnny said, “No, William. Actually, a couple of very bad men came out to the house one morning while I was in San Antonio. I reckon they meant to rob us, but Rosalinda shot one of them, and the dogs took down the other one, but he shot Flop.” He turned and smiled at Flop, who began to pound his tail on the floor. “I couldn’t let that pass, as you can imagine, so I went after the fellows. The fellow who shot Flop ambushed me, thus the sling.”
“Oh, I see,” said William, but he didn’t. He did look at Rosalinda in a new light.
“Have these men been apprehended?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” said Johnny. “They’re dead.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
Word spread about the attack on the Blacks’ homestead and Johnny’s injuries, and neighbors were showing up once again with food, but this time they also came to offer help. Johnny wasn’t comfortable with the many visitors, and he was constantly checking to see if Rosalinda and the baby were well, so each mor
ning after breakfast, she changed his bandage and sent him outside to look after the animals.
Rosalinda greeted and welcomed the visiting neighbors. Thanking everyone, she accepted the food and sometimes the offers of neighbors to send their older children to work in the garden.
Johnny kept busy taking care of the horses, milk cow, dogs, chickens, hogs, and cats. If he saw someone arriving, he would often step into the barn. He was surprised to find strange food in the kitchen when he went in to take his meals. The first day, Rosalinda served him a soup brought by a neighbor who immigrated from France. It consisted of onions and beef, and Johnny found it delicious. It wasn’t the last unusual meal, however, as meals popular in Germany were dropped off. He ate potato dumplings and sauerkraut, along with several other dishes new to him.
Just before dark, ten days after William’s last visit, Johnny and Rosalinda were sitting on the porch after supper, having coffee and enjoying each other’s company. They saw an approaching buggy. It was unusual for anyone to arrive for a visit at that hour, and Johnny and Rosalinda watched the road with apprehension.
The last light was fading as the buggy entered the yard. William sat on one side of the seat and Henry Bear, holding the reins, sat on the other.
***
Rosalinda hugged Bear and William, who felt himself blush. Johnny pulled coffee cups from the shelf and poured the new arrivals coffee from the pot on the stove. Everyone took a seat, excitement in the air.
