Cowboy Charlie
by
Walker Bradley
HCBN 102-002-0130
This e-book is published by
Hiddencave
Southampton, UK
www.hiddencave.com
[email protected]
Published by Hiddencave UK 2002
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002 by Walker Bradley
Cowboy Charlie
The first time I ever laid eyes on Charlie I knew he was trouble. He was all smiles and freckles underneath his bright red five and dime cowboy hat. A sure sign of trouble if ever there was one. A kid in a cowboy hat has a vision in his mind that should unsettle anyone who ever played cowboy as a kid after watching a Saturday morning filled with half hour serial western shows. As a child of the fifties I remember well the Saturday afternoons we spent hog-tied to a tree or straddled over a broomstick pretending to ride into the sunset. I can never forget the day our Aunt Carol nearly had a cardiac arrest when she looked outside just in time to see our posse about to hang her youngest son. We had fashioned a gallows from a discarded stool and we had the clothesline rope securely tightened around young Donny’s neck. He’d been caught and tried and found guilty of horse thievery. Naturally his sentence was to be hanged by the neck until he was dead. In a strictly television sense, of course. Not that we had any idea of how they hung a person on television without actually hanging him but details aren’t so important when you’re only six or even ten years old. Now the oddest thing about that hanging was Aunt Carol’s reaction to it. She screamed and hollered at all the kids involved but she nearly beat her own son to death. All the time asking him if he was stupid enough to let us hang him. By the time she had gotten him inside the house we were all pretty sure that Donny was going to be as dead as though we had hung him. For some reason or another Donny didn’t play cowboys much after that day. Anyway I was thinking about all this the day I saw Charlie coming through the wooded path that led to our property where we board horses.
Charlie was a real throw back to the days when every boy wanted to be either Hop-a-long Cassidy or Gene Autry. His hat was pulled low to his eyes and his jeans were rolled to form a cuff big enough to hide a saddle. His holster was black with shiny tin plated ornaments that gleamed in the sunlight and his six shoot-er was worn loose in its holster, gunslinger style. He even knew to wear a red bandana around his neck tied with a slipknot. I had to wonder if the black plastic vest wasn’t a might hot to be wearing on top of the flannel shirt he already had on.
For a cowboy Charlie lacked any sense of the strong silent type ethic that characterized the cowboys of my youth. Charlie was a talker and he loved to socialize. That first meeting couldn’t have lasted more than twenty minutes but I learned all there was to know about Charlie in that time. He was a non-stop, never draw a breath kind of kid. But true to the cowboy myth Charlie was well mannered and outside of being a bit annoying he was all kid and that made him all right by me. Course I hear Billy the Kid was likable enough at first meeting. Ever look back at a situation and realize what you should have known right off but didn’t? One thing I didn’t notice about Charlie right off was going to haunt me for the longest time. He was smarter than I was.
On our first meeting Charlie conned me out of my last ice cream bar. In between all the talk about horses and cowboys and wanting to ride the horse one-day he would mention how hot it was that morning. He’d even pull off his hat and wipe his brow while he let out a big whoosh of air. After the third or so such display Charlie just came right and asked if I didn’t have something cool for him to eat or drink. Water would be fine but soda pop was more to his liking. Ice cream though was his favorite. Now I knew Charlie was fishing for a treat and I didn’t mind it. At least he was willing to work for it, so to speak. I told him to go up to the house and knock at the door, when the pretty lady answers ask her for a cold drink and tell her I said it was okay. I watched him knock at the door and when my wife opened it and led him inside I figured everything was all right. By the time I finished feeding and watering the five horses we were currently boarding, the idea of something cool to drink led me back to the house. When I came in I went right for the pitcher of iced tea we kept in the fridge and poured myself a tumbler. My wife came up behind me and gave me a hug that said something more than she was glad to see me.
"What’s that for?" I asked. She was smiling at me like I had just won some kind of husband of the year award. Women get all dreamy-eyed when you’ve done something special. Like most men I never realize when I’ve done something wrong, much less so when I’ve done something right.
"That’s for giving your last fudge bar to Charlie." It took me a minute to think it through but I eventually got the picture. Charlie hadn’t bothered to ask for water or even soda pop. He went right for the ice cream and I bet he had even told my wife I said it was ok. I’d been looking forward to that fudge bar since I went to bed last night. Now I couldn’t even show my disappointment without losing the admiration of my wife. I made a mental note not to send Charlie to the house by himself ever again.
The next day I discovered Charlie carried a never-ending strand of string in his jeans pocket. He said it was his rope and he used it for setting traps and occasionally to tie things and people to things. Cute kid that Charlie. He was full of imagination. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that string wouldn’t hold anything or anyone worth their salt. Looking back on it I’m glad I never mentioned it. Just a few days after our first meeting, while on my way to the barn with two buckets full of water, I found one of Charlie’s traps. Actually I fell over it. Me and the water. As I lay there examining the strands of string wrapped between the door posts and slinging the mud off my hands Charlie came bounding towards me from the outer gate, " Gee whiz Mister, are you hurt?"
Trying not to lose my temper and feeling the squishy warmth of the mud oozing under my butt I looked up at Charlie and said, "If you ever do this again Charlie I’m going to introduce you to the business end of a willow branch." He just stood there moving his leg from left to right and staring at the ground. No doubt about it, Charlie was feeling pretty low about catching me in his trap. So I thought.
" Heck mister," he began, pushing his red cowboy hat back to the crown of his tiny head, " You ought to be thanking me for setting this trap. What if you’d have been a rustler?"
" Charlie, there aren’t any rustlers around here. Just ranchers, and there won’t be many of them if you keep setting traps like this. Go home and tell your parents what you did and see what they have to say about it."
He pulled his hat back down over his eyes
and turned to walk away. I’m not real sure but I think I heard him say something about stupid old people ruining all his fun.
When I told my wife what happened she thought it was just so cute. So when I put my muddy clothes into the washer I added a few of her white blouses. It seemed to be the right thing to do, at the time.
Next morning I had a real surprise waiting for me in the barn. No, there weren’t any traps. There weren’t any horses, either. We’d had horses get loose on us before but never all of them. I called to the wife to start calling neighbors and let them know our horses were out and if they found or saw them to give us a call. Since the gate was locked when I came through it the horses had to have either jumped the fence or they had found a new way out. I was looking for that new way out when I heard Charlie. "What’s the matter, mister?" He was running to catch up with me. " Rustlers get your horses?"
" I told you yesterday, Charlie there aren’t any rustlers around here."
"Oh yeah." He said. "Then where are your horses?"
Good question I thought. I debated the possibility of Charlie either letting t
hem out or maybe even setting some kind of trap for them but I wouldn’t let myself confront him. Mostly I knew if he did do it he wasn’t going to tell me and right about here I began to realize how much I enjoyed the challenge of a kid like Charlie.
"Bet some rustler took them to the ravine and is holding them there until the trucks come to load them up." Charlie was so full of excitement about the possibility of rustlers he could hardly contain the eagerness in his walk. He was nearly to the path that leads from our place to the ravine where he thought the horses might be before he turned to look at me quizzically. If the horses were at the ravine then I would have no option but to believe Charlie had placed them there. If that was true then Charlie would have to be told not only was it wrong for him to take the horses but we couldn’t let him come around any more because we couldn’t trust him. I’d really hated to lose his company. I acted like Charlie hadn’t just given me the location of the horses and nonchalantly told him I’d better go get the truck and drive over to the lake because that’s where the horses probably went. As I headed back to the house I think I heard Charlie say something like, rustlers wouldn’t care if the horses were thirsty and something else again about stupid old people and his fun, but I’m not sure.
I threw a lead rope into the old pick-up and for no known reason headed for the lake. Maybe I didn’t want to find the horses at the ravine. I guess I didn’t want to believe Charlie could stoop to rustling. Even if he had meant it only as a prank, it was the kind of prank ranchers couldn’t tolerate.
Not surprisingly the horses were not at the lake. I drove the old truck to the edge of the water and set the parking brake before getting out. There wasn’t anything left to do except head for the ravine where I knew I’d find the horses and also Charlie. It was a moment in my life I wanted to postpone. Darn it Charlie, I said out loud flinging a rock across the water’s surface. I watched as the rock skimmed over the water’s still calmness, counting the skips it made. My mind floated back to the days of my youth when I also loved to play cowboy. Had I ever done something as serious as taking someone’s property? No, probably because horses weren’t anywhere around. When I was playing cowboy we always had to pretend that our playmates were either horses or cattle. Of course there was that incident with Donny and nearly hanging him. But heck, we were just kids. I flung another rock across the lake and that’s when it hit me. Kid, Charlie was just a kid! He was playing cowboys and rustlers! I was the only one taking this more serious than it needed to be taken. As I continued to throw rocks I worked out a plan that would serve both my desire to keep Charlie around and hopefully stop him from ever doing this again. Have I mentioned the fact that as a child whenever I played cowboys with my friends I was always tagged to be the not-so bright-but- likeable sidekick? It’s true. Maybe what follows will help to explain why that was my calling?
I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this before. What Charlie needed was a lesson in reality. In my head I had the perfect plan, but I’d forgotten in my haste to put my plan in to action, that Charlie was the smart one. I was just his rube.
The first order of business was to return home and get myself decked out in my sheriff’s costume, left over from some Halloween party of years gone by. Now as I looked myself over in the full-length mirror it occurred to me that only a boy like Charlie would fall for this masquerade. My hat was too big and it slid down over my ears and made them stick out and bend forward. The handkerchief I had tied around my neck was too small and the knot was all wrong so it had to be turned sideways just to keep from choking me. The vest was another sight. My girth had increased significantly since I’d last worn it and now it looked like one of those pamper pull-ups gone astray. But it held the badge that said sheriff and since it was stitched onto the vest I couldn’t very well not wear it. The toy gun and holster had to be strung across my shoulder, bandito style, for the same reason the vest didn’t fit. The worst component of this outfit had to be the boots. Yes, they too had gotten smaller, and they hurt my feet like the devil. The toy handcuffs on the other hand made me look quite official. I kept wondering why the hat had gotten bigger. It seems obvious in retrospect. My brain had shrunk.
The only thing I needed to complete this charade was an arrest warrant with Charlie’s name on it. Thanks to the Internet, in just a few moments and a couple of clicks I had it. The time had come for me to arrest Cowboy Charlie, last of the old west rustlers.
Now, a clear headed, right thinking man might have called ahead and let Charlie’s parents know what was about to happen. That it never occurred to me rests squarely on the outfit I was wearing. The handkerchief was cutting off the oxygen to my brain. The vest was clearly interfering with my hearts ability to pump blood, and the boots would have been right at home in some medieval torture chamber. I say this not to escape the undeniable truth of Charlie being my mental superior. It is the only excuse I have for all that follows.
Arriving at Charlie’s and seeing him on the porch with a gentleman I assumed to be his father made getting out of my truck a little embarrassing. After all my preparation I was having some reservations as to whether this brainstorm of mine was really such a good idea. Still, I decided to plunge ahead and hope Charlie’s dad would see the redeeming value in my attempt to teach his son and lesson, or at the least, not mistake me for the village idiot and shoot me on the spot.
" Howdy neighbors." I used my best western drawl and winced at the sound of the words. I sounded more like a mentally challenged Tonto than an old west sheriff might have sounded. The way Charlie’s dad was eyeing me I’d say he was somewhere between bolting and looking for a weapon. Fact is he was trying real hard to determine if my shouldered pistol was real or fake. Not that I blame him. If some loony tune character had strolled on to my porch looking as I did I’d have secured myself behind locked doors, immediately. Right now I needed a way to calm Mr. Charlie’s dad’s fear. Of course I wanted to maintain the image of a real sheriff so as not to foil my plan to scare Charlie. I positioned myself between Charlie and his dad and as I talked I began winking at the man, hoping he would pick up on my clue that this was all a joke and he should play along. Finally he smiled at me. Much like you’d smile at anyone you thought might be crazy and dangerous. Now that I was bolstered with the confidence that Charlie’s dad wouldn’t blow my cover, it was time for the showdown.
" Cowboy Charlie," I began, pulling the phony arrest warrant from my pocket. " You’re under arrest for horse thieving and trespass. Put your hands behind your back and come along peaceful like." Heck that sounded pretty official. I was struggling with the handcuffs and Charlie was doing what he did best, talking.
" Are you crazy Mister! I didn’t steal any horses! And what are you all dressed up for? You ain’t no real sheriff! " I could tell from Charlie’s protests that my plan was working. I had him scared up real good. The darn handcuffs were too big on Charlie’s wrists so I had to kind of hold them at an angle to make them stay on. I was trying to get my toy gun from its holster when things just started speeding up. The whole world was spinning around and my feet were beginning to lose traction and then suddenly gravity got real forceful and I went flying off the porch. I landed belly first on the ground and the dust billowed up as the air went all bye-bye from my lungs.
Nothing was making sense to me as I lay there while this man was pulling my arms behind me and saying things like; You’re under arrest for attempted kidnapping. Anything I say could be used against me and I probably should call a lawyer. When he finally got off me and the air started returning to my lungs I turned my head to see Charlie sitting next to me and looking at me with concern in his eyes.
" What’s the matter, mister?" He asked. "Did you eat some locoweed?" Never have I heard a guiltier kid ask such questions so earnestly.
" Charlie, tell your father who I am and that this is all just a joke." I tried to sound intimidating, but I could hear the panic in my own voice. This was not funny and it needed to stop right now.
"
That isn’t my dad, he’s deputy Watson from the county. He showed up looking for your place because someone over in the next town found your horses. I was telling him how to get to your house when you pulled in all dressed up like a real sheriff!" Charlie was having the time of his life. Maybe there weren’t any rustlers but he had just witnessed a real life arrest of a kidnapper and potential imitator of a police officer.
It took about four hours for my wife to get me out of the pokey. The ride home was a bit strained. She kept shouting a thousand questions at me but never let me answer a one of them. It was probably best that I didn’t answer. What was I going to say anyway? All I wanted to do was get home and get out of my costume and forget this whole day. When we pulled in to our drive Charlie was sitting on the porch waiting.
" You apologize to Charlie before you even come inside." My wife said looking at me like death was my other option. I dragged myself out of the truck and plopped down next to Charlie on the steps.
" My dad says I shouldn’t stay too long." Charlie began, " He says you might need your rest and maybe even I shouldn’t come over anymore unless the miss is here. He said you must be under a lot of stress and strain. He talked with your wife over the phone and she told him you just hadn’t grown up all the way yet. Are you strained, mister? Do you think you might grow up soon? You look all grown, why did she say you weren’t? Can I wear your sheriff suit sometime? It looks like it’d fit."
Cowboy Charlie Page 1
