Texas Poodle Shoot

I know I’ve had too much Jack when I start thinking like I was so I decided to go to my room at the Lazy Bones Motel, order some take out and watch TV but that plan went away when Sheriff Tom, Les, and Doc Harris walked into Jackie's Cold Day Inn talking and laughing. 

Sheriff Tom was saying, “So when I said, ‘Doc, are you ready for the Poodle Shoot next Saturday?’ she screamed, hit me with her purse and kicked me in the shin.” 

Jackie looked up from behind the bar and said, “Hold on, Tom. I wanna hear this one from the beginning, be there in a minute. You want your usual?” 

While she poured the drinks Sheriff Tom, Les, and Doc settled into the empty chairs at my table. Les was still chuckling over the Poodle Shoot story. 

Jackie came over, drink tray in one hand while she dragged a chair with the other hand. “I’d forgotten all about that one. What made you think of it?” 

“Man and a woman in car with Connecticut plates asked me for directions at the truck stop this morning. Nice people, seemed like. They had two poodles in the back seat, all done up, ribbons on the ears, fancy collars. Looked funny the way the fur was cut, like you see on TV sometimes, all poofy here and there, know what I mean?

“They said thanks and drove away. I don’t know why but I thought of old man Newman blowin’ those dogs away if he saw them on his ranch. The man shoots at everything he don’t understand.” 

“I’ll bet it was Bobbi Jean that kicked you,” Jackie said. 

“You win. You’d think after all these years she’d forgot, but Bobbi’s still mad. Doc and me, we’re standing in line behind her at the bank. She heard me say poodle shoot, she turns around and whops me. I’m laughing, Doc’s laughing, and everybody else is staring at poor Bobbi Jean, wondering what the hell. I told her I still had her $100 waitin' for her in my office and she whopped me again." 

Tom took a long sip, pulled out his pack of Cheroots and lit one. Jackie went to the bar and came back with a full bottle of bourbon and clean ashtrays. 

The Sheriff gestured towards me and said, “Everybody here knows the story except you so I’ll tell it from the beginning. The others can fill in what I forget or say how they remember it.” 

I topped off my drink, nodded at Tom, “Please proceed, Sheriff.” 

“You know how it is around here in springtime. We get migrants coming for the clean up and planting, cowboys from everywhere for the roundups and branding. Lotta people from outside and we’re ok with ‘em. They perk up the local businesses buying everything they need but forgot to bring. Les sells more jeans, hats and boots in the Spring than he does any other time of the year, ‘cept for Christmas. 

“Even the Lazy Bones Motel cashes in. Nobody stays there. The migrants and cowboys camp out wherever they are but when they come to town they want a place to shower, change clothes so they can walk around, maybe have a hot meal. Myra at the Lazy Bones rents the showers and the rooms for 30 minutes, shower, change, and out. Mamacita’s Diner does a good business taking in laundry around the back. Money movin’ from hand to hand and everybody’s happy. 

“Of course, the cowboys and roughnecks, they want showers and clean clothes, too, but mostly they come to town for the bars. My deputy and me spend a lot of time watching these boys, stop things before they get too serious.” 

“Tom’s right about those men,” Doc Harris said. “Most times it’s cuts and bruises, sometimes broken fingers, minor stuff but a lot of it.” 

The Sheriff said, “The poodle story started one night about 10 o’clock. I was on patrol out by the 7 Mile Cutoff south of the Coffman spread and I see a woman, middle age, waving me down. She points over the fence, hysterical, ‘Over there! My baby!’ 

“I jump outa my cruiser, drawing my gun and rush where she’s pointin’. Fifty yards away I see a cowboy and a man sittin’ on the ground, covered in dirt, breathin’ heavy, exhausted. They see me and start talkin’ at the same time. The woman’s ‘baby’ was a dang dog, a poodle. 

“Short version is the cowboy was sleeping in the open, supposed to be keeping an eye on a hundred head of steers. The couple in the car stopped by the road to let the dog out to pee. Dog got loose, snuck up on the cowboy, scared him awake. The cowboy whaled on the dog, knocked him out, nearly shot it, too. When the man and woman saw the dog they thought it was dead. The man and cowboy started fighting and the woman flagged me down. 

“I look the situation over and see nobody’s hurt and tell ‘em their options. I can arrest you for assault and battery, cruelty to animals, trespassing, and other stuff I’m still thinkin’ about. But seein’ as nobody’s hurt, ya’ll can shake hands and be on your way. They shook hands. 

“Later on, drivin’ around on patrol, thinkin’ back, it was pretty funny ‘less, of course, if the cowboy actually killed the poodle. I saw it all in my head, the courtroom, the mourning woman, the cowboy lookin’ scared, thinkin’ of his mama, thinkin' he’s goin’ away for life; the judge looking over the pictures of the dead dog, ribbons on its ears, funny fur, thinkin’ to himself, hell I woulda shot this thing in broad daylight just for drill, but sayin’ nothin’ just yet. Make one helluva funny story.

"Coupla days later me and Jorge, the Mexican fella lives outside a Shamrock, was tracking whitetail in the Red Rock canyon. We don’t shoot ‘em, no sense in killing when you can buy meat at a store, right? We just do it for the fun of knowin’ how to track like his folks and mine did a hundred years ago. Me, I do it ‘cause being Sheriff, it keeps my mind sharp to see clues everybody else might miss. 

“Anyway, we’re done for the day, ridin’ back to his ranch when I see stuffed toy, a poodle layin’ on the ground, middle of nowhere. A child’s toy out there didn’t make sense. How did it get there? Was there a crime committed hereabouts? My mind is turning this over every which way while I looked over the land for anything else out of place. Then Jorge says, ‘Tornado, last April.’ 

“Jorge’s conclusion was better than any of mine so I said, ‘yeah, you’re right’. 

“We’re ridin’ away then Jorge takes his rifle, aims at the poodle and says, right ear. He plugged it where he said. I know a challenge when I hear it so I call left ear. I plugged it. Pretty soon there’s nothing left but bits of stuffing all over. 

“Next day I was at the Post Office, Millie gives me my mail, wants to know how my hunting went. I say we didn’t see any whitetail, just some mule deer and a poodle me and Jorge shot for target practice. I said we might do it again just for fun. I told her the short version about the cowboy and couple near the Coffman ranch and she looked at me funny but in a nice way. 

“End of story until Bobbi Jean got hold of it. Maybe Millie mixed up the two stories but more likely it was Bobbi Jean got it wrong. 

“Bobbi Jean’s ok now but after Sam sold the ranch, retired and moved to town she kinda went nuts. Ranch life there’s always things to do you didn’t have time for the day before and more things pilin’ up for the next day. For the women it’s the washin’, dryin’ cookin’, cleanin’, mendin’, raisin’ kids. I tell you, there’s no end to it. After a life like that she had plenty of time but nothing to do, kinda like having your pockets full of money but nothing to buy.” 

Doc Harris leaned forward and said, “Bobbi Jean was what my momma used to call ‘special’, meaning almost normal. Some people said her name together with ‘bless her heart’. 

“She had a peculiar way of rememberin’ things clearly even if they didn’t happen, like the time she spread it around that Milo and Laurie were fixin’ to get married. Put Milo in a fix since they barely started dating and had to pull back while Laurie’s friends are pushin’ her to tell ‘em everything about the courtship that never was. It was a while before they were seein’ each other again but it could have turned sour just like that. 

“Sam had an easier time of it. He and other retired guys met under the trees in the town square or sat on the benches outside Les’s store, traded stories about the good ole days, told lies, or just sat there pretendin’ to listen to the others. Sometimes younger ranchers would come by asking for advice or tell their troubles. Late afternoon they’d stop in at Jackie’s for a cold one or two before headin’ home for the day.” 

I raised my hand and said, “Wait a minute. Are you talking about Bobbi Jean, the lady that runs the animal shelter? She’s a sweet lady. I took a fawn off of Newman. Broken leg, Newman was gonna shoot it. I took it to the shelter and Bobbi Jean fixed the leg and kept the it as a pet until it could be on its own. That Bobbi Jean?” 

Jackie said, “Hold on there. We’re talking about her right after she and Sam moved into town. Bobbi Jean was a lot different then. 

“One day I saw her sitting outside the library. I crossed the street and it looked like she was crying. I said what’s wrong. I remember she said, ‘I was so happy to be off the ranch, live in the city, go out and meet people anytime I wanted. Now at home I get most of my chores done in a couple of hours. No more chickens, milk cows or horses to tend to. It was just me and Sam. I still love him to death but sometimes it’s like I’m living with a big dog. I wake up, fix his breakfast, let him out the door. He come in for lunch and let ‘im out the door again. Sometimes he sits with his buddies under the trees or nap in his chair. 

‘“In the beginning I was happy about leaving the ranch and joined up with the church ladies but didn’t get much out of it. Being in the church with them was so quiet it was like being alone at the ranch. It was like I was buried alive.”’ 

Jackie refilled her drink and topped off the others. “I told her come to Women Only Night. She did, met up with Peggy Olson, the vet’s wife, who told her they needed help at the animal shelter. Bobbi Jean was reborn, doin’ all the scut work at the shelter just like she used to do on her ranch, runs the place now. Got her mind back, and you’re right. She’s a sweet woman, enough goodness in her for two women.” 

Tom rested his arms on the table, leaned forward and said, “Only person I told about me and Jorge and about the cowboy was Millie at the Post Office. Say what you want about Millie, she never lies. She repeats everything she hears without a dime’s worth of extra. By the end of the day, the story was a cowboy shot and killed a poodle belonging to a family that was just passin’ through mindin’ their own business.” 

Les stirred in his chair and said, “Everybody that came in my store wanted to talk about it. In the worst telling the cowboy chased the dog down like it was a steer in a rodeo, hog tied it, then shot it six times. I got ahold of Tom and told him do something or there’s gonna be big trouble with the locals and the cowboys.” 

Tom lit another Cheroot and said, “I asked around and found out it was Bobbi Jean who was telling about the cowboy running down the poodle and shooting it.” 

Doc Harris sat back in his chair, legs out, ankles crossed, squinted at me and said, “I can tell by the look on your face, you don’t think anybody would believe a wild story like that. Thing about those stories is that they start small, then a detail is added, then another one changed. A .22 becomes a shotgun, a dead sheep turns into a whole flock, gutted and skinned. After a while the story is so unbelievable that if you told it that way from the beginning, nobody would buy it. But let it grow bit by bit and pretty soon the unbelievable story becomes gospel truth. 

Tom said, “Don’t get me wrong. Bobbi Jean didn’t mean any harm. She’s got enough goodness for two women like Jackie said. She likes attention is all. But this time she could cause real problems so me, Les, Doc, Jackie, Milo and Laurie decided to set her up, teach her a lesson. And we even got that cranky ass Newman to help.” 

“I saw her going into Les’s store so I went in and talked to Les. When she was nearby, I said ‘poodle shoot, Saturday’ loud enough for her to hear. I gave Les the high sign so he went along with me and didn’t say anything.” 

Les said, “Bobbi Jean asked me what Tom was talking about. I told her there was rumors that we were gonna have a live poodle shoot at the Annual Founders’ Day Barbecue next Saturday. Use the little ones like clay pigeons, toss ‘em in the air, shoot ‘em outa the sky. Hundred dollar prize for the best shootin’. I also said it was just a crazy rumor Tom heard, don’t believe it.” 

Jackie leaned forward in her chair, rested her forearms on the table, gave me sly grin and said, “Actually, we shot eight poodles, fourteen bunnies, and a buncha Care Bears. Milo and Laurie had to go to a thrift store in Amarillo to get ‘em, spent maybe $10 for the lot.

“Those two really got into how to stage it. Once they got planning the rest of us got out of the way. It was Laurie’s idea to get the football team to help out. Milo’s got a damn good head for details. He said our original plan was too complicated, easy to go wrong. He made it simple, just a few moving parts. Milo and Laurie ever turn to a life of crime, ole Tom here’ll have his hands full. 

“I had the easiest part of the plan. All I had to do was keep Bobbi Jean away from the barbecue until everything was set up and running. 

“I called her and told her my truck wouldn’t start can she pick me up and we go together. I made a fuss about closing up the bar, taking my time about it. When we get to the Founders’ Day Barbecue at Newman’s place there’s smoke rising from the grills to the right, big tents for shade, a lotta people eating ribs at long tables lined up end to end, kids running everywhere like they just been let outa jail. Looked like half the town came out. 

“There was gunfire behind the barn about a hundred yards to the left. As we get closer to the barn, we hear more shooting, people whooping it up, cowboys hootin’ and hollerin’ each time they get a hit. 

“Bobbi Jean’s yellin’ at me, we gotta stop it, lemme out, lemme out, like she’s believin’ the wild story about shootin’ dogs was true. She gets outa the truck before I stop and runs behind the barn and there’s Tom, Les, and Doc watching the cowboys shoot their guns into the sky. 

“On the left side a hundred feet downfield the first string quarterback was standing behind a wall of cotton bales. Thirty yards to the right, the second string quarterback was doing the same. On a signal they’d toss a stuffed toy high in the air. The cowboys shoot at ‘em with .22 rifles. Three shots for two bits. Hard to hit a moving target at that distance with a .22 but every time there was a hit the stuffing would fly all over, people cheered, put down another two bits. 

“Bobbi Jean saw right away she’d been had. She gave Tom a hard stare then put her hand out to Les who was holding his .22 rabbit gun and said gimme. Les wasn’t sure about that but Bobbi grabbed it, put it up to her shoulder. 

“She took three shots, all hits, the first one hit the toy poodle going up, next one hit it at the top of the arc, and the third shot tore it up for good. She gave the rifle back, got in her truck and sped off. 

Les put his drink on the table and said, “I felt bad for Bobbi Jean, being made fun of in front of everybody. I guess everybody did for a while.” 

Jackie said "Yeah, she missed the next two Women Only Night meetings but showed up for the next one. All of us went quiet when she walked in. She tossed her purse on the table and said, 'I got a story to tell you about a Sheriff that’s got one comin’ to 'im someday.'"

Half, Texas, population 0

Who's your daddy?

Sheriff Tom was holding forth at Jackie’s Cold Day Inn when I arrived from sales calls one Friday afternoon. A smart storyteller, Tom could spin yarns so convincing that you could believe every word without realizing he’d slowly led you into absurdities at the end.

As usual, the Sheriff told his tales between sips of bourbon and drags on his Cheroots, letting the story out a bit at a time. Doc Harris, Les, Mike from the Conoco station were sitting with him. Doris, Wendy, Gary, and Rollie were at the next table listening carefully. Jackie busied herself behind the bar, pretending not to listen. She’d fallen for Tom’s stories too many times before.

“I bet nobody here’s ever heard of Half, Texas. I hadn’t either until my grandfather, rest his soul, told me about it when I was 10, 11 years old. At that age you’re not believin’ everything your mom and pop have told you anymore, like when your daddy told you about a monster catfish he caught before you were born. Thing so big, bigger than his boat. But when it comes to Grampa every word he says is God’s truth. Yes,sir. God’s truth.

“First he told me about a place called Texico. Now all of you know Texico's a real city right on the border between Texas and New Mexico. Some of you probly been there once or twice. It’s actually two cities but being right smack on the border, half the city goes by New Mexico rules and the other half follows Texas laws. I suppose that can get confusing for folks once in a while but their troubles are kinda trivial compared to a place once known as Half, Texas.

“Half, Texas doesn’t exist anymore and some folks even say it never existed but I’ll still take my Grampa’s words over anybody else’s. So there you have it.

“Back around 1890 a prospector claimed he found gold in the nearby hills. As you might ‘spect, there was a gold rush but not a very big one. Half, Texas was way the hell and gone from any civilization such as it was in Texas at the time and there were easier pickings in other places. For a while there was talk about the railroad adding a spur to connect the town to the rest of the world but that never came to be.

“The gold petered out sometime in 1920. Actually, there wasn’t much there to begin with but every prospector I’ve ever known wakes up every morning thinking today is the day I’ll hit the mother lode. So the town grew to about 2000 souls at the peak in 1922, 23. A few hardy families started farms or ranches. Some opened businesses, general store, blacksmith, saloons, even an undertaker/doctor/dentist/barber. Everything was fine for a few years but the truth is, there wasn’t much there to grow the town any more than it was already. There wasn’t much water from the wells and the land wasn’t suited for bumper crops of anything but lizards, mesquite and sagebrush.

“Then in 1931 government surveyors showed up to figure out exactly where the border between Texas and New Mexico was. Being so far from civilization the folks in Half, Texas didn’t give a damn where the border was. Where they were concerned it could well be either Texas or New Mexico.

“When the survey was done, the border between the two states was smack down the middle of Main Street. One side of the street was in Texas and the other in New Mexico. Still, that wasn’t a problem for the folks. Nothing changed. Nothing at all, until 1933 when Prohibition was repealed. There was so much celebratin’ everywhere you had to wonder how in the world the amendment was ever passed.

“The first signs of trouble came when a fella by the name Joe Jackson opened a saloon on the Texas side of the border. Now, you gotta remember that for a lotta folks, liquor is a sinful beverage and for years and years that sentiment was held by a large part of the population, ‘specially in the southern states. You talk to Becky and her church ladies today and you’ll hear pretty much the same things folks were saying about liquor back in the day.

“Alcohol was legal everywhere but not everybody thought that was a good thing. Some Texas lawmakers looked at alcohol and saw TAXE$ they could collect and some of it, maybe a lot of it, would stick to their hands on the way to the state treasury. Others in the lege, being God-fearing Christians, believed Demon Rum would spell the end of the world if anybody could have a beer anytime they got thirsty. The fight in Austin raged on and on. One side wanted to stay good with God and ban liquor altogether while the other side saw MONEY to be made by making liquor legal. The Senate was deadlocked Even Steven.

“The Texas legislature’s never been compared to a monastery. Fact is, those particular Texas lawmakers improved the reputation of houses of ill repute and from what I see in the capitol now, that’s still true. To be fair, there was one Senator who refused bribes of any kind. The other Senators stayed away from him, somethin’ grievous wrong with ‘im, they said.

“At last, State Senator Wilford Solomon, proposed a solution. Now I know what you’re gonna think when I tell you what the solution was, but I swear my Grampa told me Wilford Solomon was his real name. And I believed what Grampa told me and I won’t even try to look it up, see if it’s true. He said he wondered why any parent would burden a boy with such a name as Wilford.

“You probly figured out what his solution was already. If you haven’t you don’t have to say so and embarrass yourself. I’ll tell you.

“Senator Solomon stood at the podium of the Senate building and talked for two hours laying out all the arguments for and against banning liquor or legalizing it. The Senators passed notes back and forth, went in an out of the chamber. A small group started a poker game while Senator Solomon thundered on. At last, the presiding chairman of the Senate woke from his nap and told Solomon to finish up and say what his solution was.

“The Senator held up a large map of Texas and proceeded to cut it in half, north to south, with his Buck knife. He declared that one side would allow liquor and the other would not. And further, seein’ as the east part of Texas had a lot more rain than the west part of Texas, the eastern side would allow liquor and the western side would not. Half of Texas would be dry and the other wet, just as Nature intended.

“You all know what happened in the bible when Solomon proposed cuttin’ a baby in half to settle who was gonna raise the kid ‘til he was eighteen and outa the house. But that dog didn’t even pretend to hunt in the Texas Senate. No sir, nobody liked it. There were wets and dries in every county as you might expect but finally the brave lawmakers found a way to walk away from the problem with clean hands. They passed the problem down to the people. Each county held a vote to decide whether to be wet or dry.

“This great state has 250 counties and so there were 250 votes and 250 different ways to deal with when, where, and how you could have a drink – all dry, all wet, part dry/wet, wet in this business but not that one. Every county figured out how to make a little problem into a big one.

“Give you a little geography here. Texico is in New Mexico, least ways, half of it is. The other half is in Texas but they couldn’t name it the same --- too many exicos. The Texicocans claimed naming rights since the first jail was built on the New Mexico side and they got their way. The Texas side became Farwell after the richest man there who also owned a bank, general store, and a sizeable ranch. So folks in Farwell became Farwellians or Farwellicans, pick one.

“When it came time to voting to be wet or dry, Texico stayed wet while Farwell went dry. If a Farwellian wanted to have a beer or whiskey all he had to do was cross over to Texico. Credit both halves of the divided city for adopting the same motto: My business ain’t none of yours and vicey versy.

“It coulda worked out the same in Half, Texas, but the churchy people were pretty strong on the Texas side. The Texas side was dry and that was all there was to it. If a Texan was seen going to or coming from a saloon on the New Mexico side of Main Street, woe to him.

“So a lotta folks brewed their own beer and made their moonshine at home. Trouble was that drinking alone’s not the same as getting together with your friends, drinking, trading lies, play some poker. No, only thing drinking alone did was make some mean drunks. Some men you tell ‘em they can’t do something they think is their god-given right, they’re like a hand grenade with the pin pulled out, a little agitation and they lose their grip.

“I told you in the beginning that a fella, Joe Jackson, opened a saloon on the wet side of town. The minister rallied his followers to clamp down on Jackson’s customers and it got rough right away. It looked like the guns would be coming out next. But the saloon burned down and Jackson packed up and left town. The minister said it was a sign from God, praise be and all that but others thought different, wasn’t God’s hand that set the fire. After that things calmed down some but there was still bad feelings between the wets and the dries."

The Sheriff paused, lit another Cheroot and had Jackie bring him a fresh drink. He took a little sip and continued. 

“You all know that there’s smart people and not so smart people in the world. And there’s a third kind who’s smart in ways even the smartest people can’t ever be. My grampa had a word for them. He said they were crafty. You can look it up in the dictionary if you got one but the way he explained it he said it was like the guy who puts a dollar in the collection plate at church but his hand comes up with two dollars in it and nobody’s the wiser. Know what I mean?

“Bill Johnson was crafty. One day he stood in the middle of Main Street, one foot in Texas, the other in New Mexico. He looked down one way and up the other and saw an opportunity, fool proof, guaranteed to make him rich. Well, maybe not rich but better off than he was then, a stone-broke cowpoke. All he had to go was go courting.

“He spent the last of his money on new clothes, hat, and boots. Next he went to the undertaker/doctor/dentist/barber, got a haircut, and took a bath even though he wasn’t due for one for another month. He was ready to win the heart or hearts of Maggie or May Porter, didn’t matter which. They were identical twins.

“Growin’ up the twins’ folks did what most did in those times and dressed ‘em alike so you couldn’t tell one from the other unless you were payin’ attention. Maggie could do figures in her head and thought about next steps while May thought every minute was the start of a new day.

“The twins were ‘bout 22, 23 years old, spinsterhood creepin’ up on them when their folks died and left them a nice spread with two natural springs at the end of Main Street. They weren’t bad looking at all but there weren’t too many single men to choose from that weren’t too old or too crude. So when Bill Johnson sat next to them in church they were surprised that this cowboy didn’t smell like a hard rode horse. He said howdy to them and went his way. Maggie and May were smitten.

“Soon after Bill came calling. Both women were enchanted and fell in love with the not smelly cowboy. There were carriage rides in the country, church on Sundays, and picnics by the springs. Finally, Bill popped the question. He was with May at the time. She said let me think about it, trying not to sound desperate. He asked again the next week and Maggie said yes, she would marry him, but what was he bringing to the marriage besides not smelling bad? Maggie, remember, was the smart one.

“Bill was ready for that. He said, we get married and I’ll build a business on your property at the end of Main Street. One half will be on the Texas side, the other on the New Mexico side. May can run a café on the Texas side, and Maggie can run a saloon on the New Mexico side. I’ll take care of the supplies, keep the peace in the saloon if I need to. A customer can have some grub at the café then cross over to the saloon for a snort or two and there’s nothin’ the law or anybody can do about it.

“Maggie said let me think on it. That night the twins talked about which one of them would be Mrs. Johnson, they were both in love with Bill. It didn’t take long to decide. They’d been sharing everything since they were born. Why not share Bill?

“The wedding took place in June. Bill married May or maybe it was Maggie.

“Just like he said he would, Bill went to work on the café-saloon building right after the wedding. Maggie was thinking ahead. She said, Bill, you’re thinking too small. Make it big enough so families can come to the café after church, have a nice sit-down meal, relax, order big. On the saloon side, you need tables for six, comfy chairs, so the men stay awhile drinkin' and shootin’ the bull.

“Four months later, the café-saloon was ready for business. May was in charge of the kitchen and the café while Maggie kept the books and ran the saloon.

“On opening day the townsfolk gathered around, curious as hell, but nobody went inside. They stood in a crowd about a hundred feet away, gawking, trying to get a peek inside. It wasn’t a secret what Bill, Maggie and May were doing. Anybody asked, they told ‘em.

“The minister was there, of course, he’d spent the last four months doing what my granddaddy said was his job which was to scare people into heaven, preaching about the how godly men and women could lose their virtue to the demons liquor would unleash on them. He said just being near a saloon would displease the heavenly father and so on. The flock was so fearful they probly thought they’d see the flames of hell coming up through the floorboards in the café.

“The three of them, Bill, Maggie and May stood on the porch in front of the café. After an hour with nobody coming in, they walked over to the minister and said come on in, sir, and bring your bible, it’ll keep you safe. You come out alive, soul intact, you’ll see.

“The minister looked at them one at a time, give ‘em a face like he wanted them to burst into flames. But he was a man like any other, curiosity eatin’ at ‘im like battery acid. He turned to his flock, raised the bible over his head, and told them to pray for him. He was goin’ in.

“They showed him the café, big enough for five or six families, nice curtains, clean floors, kitchen, stoves, wood pile right outside, stacks of plates, cups and glasses. The next nicest looking place was hundreds of miles away in Dallas. The ladies’ room was fixed up with silk flowers and little bottles of cologne, mirrors, clean as a whistle. The men’s room was as plain as could be. It had doors at opposite ends. One door led to the café, the other to the saloon. A man could have a sit down with his family, go through the men’s room into the bar for a quick snort and come back. The bar was like any other except it was clean, lots of light from windows all around.

“Now, you might be wondering about the women. Like, maybe they might want a bit of whiskey now and then. At home they could have a sip or two of their husband’s moonshine but in secret, you know? You let ‘em drink in public, next thing you know they wanna be paid for housework, slippery slope and all. Maggie thought about that, too. She didn’t show the minister the mirror in the ladies’ room that opened on hidden hinges. The other side of that mirror opened to the bar. Maggie would oblige with a slug of bourbon, add it to the café bill as extra biscuits.

“Well, the minister refused to be impressed about the wholesomeness of it all and said so in plain language. Maggie looked him in the eye and said, Minister, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to come, just like me at your place .”

Jackie caught Sheriff Tom's attention and pointed to the six beer clocks above the bar. He said ok, drained his glass and got up to leave.

"Sorry, folks, but I gotta go, else my deputy'll be sore at me if I'm late."

I had to ask what happened to Half, Texas. Tom said he didn’t know. Towns just dry up and blow away. There’s probably hundreds here and gone in Texas and nobody remembers when or why.

Doris said, “Sheriff, before you go, did your grampa say if the Johnson twins had any kids?”

Tom put his hat on and said, “No, he didn’t say anything about kids but drivin' around the county I've thought about it now and again.

“It gets complicated pretty fast. Let’s say the women have boys, one each. Well, Bill is the daddy. Maggie’s boy is a half brother and cousin to May’s boy and vice versa. But then Maggie is stepmother and aunt to May’s boy and May is stepmother and aunt to Maggie’s boy. Change one of boys to a girl then you get half sisters, cousins. If you add more kids you’ll get lost in the weeds in a hurry. Probly the easiest way to think about it is all the kids are brother or sister and their mothers are both Aunt Mommy, or something. Maybe you all can puzzle that out and let me know. 'G night."