The Last Tumbleweed in Texas

Every cowboy movie has one

The Lazy Bones Motel was three blocks down and one block over from Jackie’s Cold Day Inn. I checked in and made an executive decision that even though it was only 3 o’clock, it was time for a cold beer or my usual Jack & Coke. A big flatbed lost its load of alfalfa on the 87 a half mile outside Amarillo forcing me to make a 60 mile detour. By the time I arrived at Panhandle I was done for the day. Amarillo could wait.

I saw Les at the cash register as I passed his General Store. He waved, made a drinking motion with his hand and pointed at the clock on the wall. Either he was saying it was too early to drink or that he’d join me after when he closed up at five. I waved and pointed in the direction of Jackie’s place.

And the 22 miles after that

The bar was empty, except for Jackie and Wendy who was sweeping out the storeroom and stacking the empties. I took a seat in the corner next to the window facing the street. Jackie said hi and gave me a look --- beer or Jack? I said one each.

I saw Sheriff Tom coming out of the post office holding some letters in one hand and his hat in the other. He dropped the mail in his cruiser except for one letter and made his way to Jackie’s.

He called to Jackie when he came in and sat down with me. I complained about the detour. Yeah, he heard about it, road’s still jammed up probly for another couple of hours.

Patting his breast pocket he said, “Jackie, I got a letter here in my pocket from somebody in El Paso. You ever hear anybody named Luís Ordaz?”

“Can’t say I have. What’s he say?”

“I haven’t read it yet. Here goes.”

He opened the envelope. It was one page.

“Damn it! It says here he’s Charlie García’s neighbor. Charlie died on the tenth and they’re holding up the funeral until they hear from me. They found out about me from papers found in his house. Funeral home, address, phone number, call Kaster & Maxon to confirm arrival. And that’s it.”

Tom’s shoulders slumped. He shielded his eyes with his hand and said, “I gotta go to El Paso. Charlie was an old friend. Les, Charlie, and me did a lotta growing up together.” He folded the letter and put it in his pocket.

Jackie brought Tom a shot of bourbon and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Tom. All I heard about him was the trouble you three were into all the time.”

Tom stood and said, “I gotta tell Les. Be back in a minute.” He came back a few minutes later and said Les was real upset about Charlie but couldn’t travel. His wife was having a bad time with chemo.

It seemed to me that Tom would need some company so I made up a story about going to El Paso to see a new line of small tractors. It wasn’t much of a lie but that’s all I could think of.

I said let’s go in my car the next day; spell each other at the wheel, make the eight hour trip and arrive in El Paso before nightfall if we left by noon, bunk at my hotel on my company’s dime. He gave me that look cops give when they know you’re lying, but he didn’t say no to my offer.

We decided to leave before sunrise, me driving the first leg from Panhandle to Seminole. Tom put his bags and gun in the trunk and a cigar box between us on the front seat. I hoped he wouldn’t light up.

It breathes so you don't have to

He started talking as soon as we cleared the city limits -- unusual for Tom. He usually waits for you to talk so he doesn’t have to talk about himself.

“Charlie and I go back a long ways. Les, Charlie, and me grew up in the same neighborhood since we were kids, same schools, teachers, right through high school. We were more or less best buds unless grownups were around. Him being a migrant family’s kid, it wasn’t smart to treat him equal. I loved my momma and my daddy but now I’m old and still don’t understand what made their hearts so hard. Gotta give Charlie credit, he knew his place and pretended it was ok when he had to.

“We got our draft notices a year after we registered with the draft board and found out right away the military mind works in mysterious ways. They sent Les to Fulda, Germany, Charlie to Fort Greeley, Alaska, got bad frostbite; me, I wound up in forward bases north of Saigon.”

He was quiet for a while then said, “My daddy was the Sheriff ‘til he retired. Folks elected me probly so they wouldn’t have to change the name on the office door. He was Sheriff so long nobody could remember who came before. After me, probly Deputy Dudley. He’s a smart cop, been a good one to have around. I’m thinking of retiring early, before the elections so he’s already sitting in my chair when it’s time to vote.”

I asked about Les.

“I wish he was coming with us. I remember times Les took the blame for stuff Charlie did; took the punishment because Charlie would be punished worse than him. Same crime, different perp, go figure. He’s a good friend, sticks with you no matter what. Charlie can back me up on that. Well, not anymore he can’t but it’s still true.

“Some people think Les ain’t too bright because he don’t talk much but I’ll tell you what, if you wanna be on the losing side of an argument, don’t matter which side, bet against him. He coulda been a lawyer. He opened his store after he talked the bank into lending him $500. I mean, the kid was 17 years old. Who lends that kind of money to a teenager? Especially one that hung around with the likes of me and Charlie. If my daddy wasn’t the Sheriff, no telling how we woulda turned out.”

  

We stopped at Seminole, gassed the car and switched drivers. Next stop, Carlsbad.

Tom didn’t say anything for the next hour. Finally, I said, “What about Charlie?”

“Oh, Charlie’s an old friend I haven’t seen since we were young and fit. That’s all.”

We went on to Carlsbad, had some homemade chili at a little diner, gassed the car. We could see the Guadalupe Mountains and El Capitán as we drove into White’s City.

Mind the crosswinds on the way down the other side

We switched drivers again and Tom stirred around in the seat, stared out the side window for a long time. He made up his mind about something, turned to me and said, “I loved him like a brother. After ‘Nam, Charlie stuck around for a couple of years, fell in love with a girl who had to make up her mind between him and another guy. When she did, Charlie was out. I never saw a man go so deep into himself and I saw plenty of that in the war. He thought, and I did, too, that she’d pick Charlie. You see them two you’d think love and caring was invented just for them. I was as heartbroke as him.

“A few months later he said he was leaving for Galveston, work on the docks, maybe join the Merchant Marine, see the world. I figured he was just talking to say something but he left like he said. And like everybody who’s ever left friends behind he said he’d write. I said sure, not believing it. But he did write, kinda. Every few months I got a postcard from somewhere he’d been. Never said what he was doing, only where he was, what he saw. The postcards stopped coming ten, eleven years ago.”

Patting the cigar box, he said, “This box has all the postcards he sent. Now he’s dead and I won’t know anymore about him than I do now…” He slammed his fist on the dashboard. “Shit.”

As we crested Guadalupe Pass we saw El Paso and Juárez sprawled across the desert all the way to the horizon.

We checked into a Holiday Inn then went to the funeral home to see Charlie. The receptionist gave Tom a note. It said, “Tom, I’m at the Kentucky Bar across the border. Meet me as soon as you get this note. Also, I promised the nice lady $10 to give you the note. Give it to her for me, Charlie”

“Sonofabitch. What the hell is the Kentucky Bar and why tell me he’s dead? I’ll kill the sonofabitch.”

We left the car at the funeral home and took a taxi to the border. On the way I told Tom about when I was a teenager growing up in El Paso I’d go to the Kentucky Bar for cheap drinks and to listen to musicians bang away on a creaky six-man marimba. I could tell he wasn’t listening but I kept talking anyway hoping he’d get mad at me for chattering and get his mind off murdering Charlie.

The Kentucky Bar in Juárez was at the same location but twice the size and sterilized top to bottom. The seedy dive I remembered from my youth was gone, replaced by a fern bar as inviting as a walk-in freezer.

How I remember it

I love what you've done. It has that certain nothing.

It was mid-afternoon so there was nobody there except for the bartender and a waiter who idly waved us in, evidently sensing we were bad tippers.

Charlie sat with his back to the wall so he could see anybody coming in. He called out “Tom, over here”, waving his Stetson. His table was littered with empty bottles of beer and tequila.

Tom slammed the cigar box on the table and swatted Charlie back and forth with his hat. He was sorely pissed. Charlie covered his head with his arms, laughing.

In between swats he managed to say, “Tom, how does a Mexican become a Spaniard? He works hard and makes lots and lots of money.”

Swat. “So, are you a Spaniard now?” Swat.

“Halfway there, my friend. I might make it to full on Spaniard but my wife says I’m half crazy so maybe half and half is all I can do.” Still laughing he said, “Sit down or I’ll take away your hat.”

“Joven” he called to the waiter, “más tequilia, birria y limón para mis compañeros, por favor.”

Tom plopped down on his chair. “How did you know I was coming today?”

“I asked the nice lady to call me at home when you picked up my note. I’ve only been here 15 minutes. I paid the waiter a dollar to put the empty bottles on the table. He thinks I’m crazy. Did you give lady the $10?”

Pointing at me, “Who’s he?”

“This is a friend of mine who’s never once told me he’s dead. What the hell, Charlie.”

“Hey, it was a joke. I didn’t think you’d come but I took a chance and here you are. Here we are. How’ve you been, Tom? You look a lot older than me. What’s it been now, 30, 40 years?”

“Goddamit, Charlie. All the way down here I was thinking about how we wouldn’t sit around and bullshit like we used to, talk about women, horses, or whatever. Now all I got in mind is to kick your ass back across the border.”

“Tom, this isn’t Texas.” Stretching his arms wider with each syllable he said, “Es Méx-i-co. Your badge might get you in trouble. Juarez cops and El Paso cops, they’re not best friends. Hey, man, I’m sorry. If I knew you missed me so much I would have sent flowers on your birthday or chocolates.”

Swat.

“Ok, ok. It was a bad joke. Really, I’m sorry.”

The waiter brought tequila shots, beer chasers, and small plate of lime slices. He cleared the empties and gave Charlie a little smile. We had another round before Tom cooled down enough to stop glaring at Charlie.

He patted Tom’s hand and said, “It’s good to see you, Tom. What’s happened to everybody we knew in Panhandle? Les? Doc Harris, Mary Ann, Cindy, did the Hammond brothers make it back from ‘Nam?”

Between sips of beer and tequila shots Tom told him about everyone Charlie remembered. When he finished they relaxed, settled into their chairs, thinking. Thinking what? I felt like a third wheel, eavesdropping on a reunion of old friends. I got up and went to the bar to pay the tab, intending to leave, but Charlie wouldn’t have it.

“Amigo, don’t you want to hear my rags to rags story? I’ve been rehearsing it for years. It didn’t work with women but it’s not a bad story. Come on, sit down, have another drink with us.” Both men waved me back.

“Before I tell my story. Tell me who you are, what you do?”

Compared to other people’s lives, mine wasn’t that interesting but Charlie asked questions that made me feel that I wasn’t as ordinary as I thought. When I was done, I said, “So, Charlie, what’s the story that doesn’t work on women but not a bad story?”

He took a long swallow of beer, rested his arms on the table and looked off at some point above and behind me for a moment.

“Before that cabrón Columbus ‘discovered’ us, my family was already here for hundreds of years. We came to the U.S. side in the 30’s.Things were bad in the U.S. back then but they were worse in Mexico, you have no idea.

“Tom, you never noticed that I didn’t have any uncles, aunts, or cousins. Well, neither did any of the other Mexican families. Not by blood but by necessity, every woman was our aunt, every man was our uncle, every kid was our cousin. We were like a pile of tumbleweeds in the corner of a barbwire fence, pushed together by the wind.

“When I left home my father give me a little notebook with the names of his and mom’s brothers and sisters, their kids’ names. All these years I never found anybody in the notebook. I was lonely. It was like I was the last tumbleweed in Texas.

“Been everywhere in the country wherever there’s work I can do, mostly construction work where there’s a lot of Latinos. All the time I was looking for people who might know the names in my father’s notebook. You know, after work you sit around having beers with the guys and it’s always the same at the beginning. Somebody says, ‘So, Paco, where are you from?’ And Paco will say ‘Sinaloa’ or ‘Durango’. Pretty soon they say, ‘Do you know fulano or sotano de tal, that means ‘so-and-so’. And it goes like that back and forth. Sometimes the guys have people in common back in Mexico and it’s like finding a brother even if you just met the guy a few days ago. I was never that lucky.

“I met a lot of good people but I moved around so much there was no way to stay close... I fell in love with two women, one in Arizona, another in Tulsa but they didn’t love me back.

“Twelve years ago I heard there was a lot of work in El Paso restoring historic buildings. They offered top dollar for stonemasons, English speaking a plus. I was good on both counts. Been here ever since.”

My tequila brain stirred. I heard myself say, “So the lonely guy routine didn’t work on the women?”

“No, it didn’t except the one time it counted. Margarita.”

“No thanks, I’ll stay with beer.”

Tom didn’t say anything out loud but in my head I heard him say, “Jeez, try to keep up, Dumbass.”

Charlie flicked a slice of lime at me and said, “I married Margarita, a widow with two teenage sons. Her brother, a carpenter I worked with, invited me to his house for a birthday party. He didn’t say he was setting me up with his sister. He told her I was rich but when she saw me she laughed. She said, ‘Luis! You told me he was rich. Look at his hands!’ Working with rocks, my fingernails were chipped and broken; calluses on my palms. She was nice to me anyway and apologized for laughing. We had a nice time at the party talking about books and then we said goodbye.

“Luís invited me to his house again a few days later. I said I would go if his sister was gonna be there. He smiled and said she wouldn’t come unless I was coming, too. Long story short, Margarita and I been married eleven years. Her two boys and I fought but I expected that. Their father was quite a man and me replacing him was a hard sell but it happened eventually. They call me Papá now.”

Tom pushed the cigar box toward Charlie. He opened it, surprised to see his postcards. He picked one up, studied the picture and read the back.

“The horse farm in Kansas City.” Pointing to the horse on the front, “This is a Paso Fino, the finest riding horse in the world, the Cadillac of trail horses. My job was to ride the owner’s six horses every day, keep ‘em exercised, brush their coats. Best job ever, riding fine, fine horses through the woods and hills and getting paid for it. Had to clean the stables though, six horses make a lot of shit.”

Leather seat, power steering

He flipped through some more cards, let out a laugh over a postcard of a wooden bridge in Colorado.

“Boulder, Colorado, there was this three chair barber shop. One of the barbers was a nice looking woman and guys were always hitting on her. Man, she was like Wonder Woman bouncing their come on’s away with her magic bracelets, a real artist. When it was my turn in the chair I asked her what her name was. She said, ‘Barbara Seville’. I laughed so hard I fell out the chair. I got even, told her my favorite Spanish composer was El Beethoven. She had a nice laugh.”

Another card. “Conch Republic, Key West. I almost got elected mayor, lost to Jimmy Buffet by 326 votes. I demanded a recount and lost by 413. Worked on deep-sea fishing boats, first mate. All that meant was that I did all the work while the captain got drunk with his customers. Sometimes they actually fished. But the tips were good, made a lot of friends there.”

I picked up one of the postcards. This one from Houston had a picture of the city skyline. Charlie took it from me, looked at Tom and said, “I saw her there. She asked about you.”

With too much tequila buzz to mind my own business, I blurted, “Who’s her?” before my memory reminded me that “her” was the girl Charlie had lost to the other guy in Panhandle many, many years before. I really shouldn’t drink tequila.

Charlie didn’t react like I thought he would. He put his arms over his head, stretched, and said, “Yeah, when she picked what-his-name instead of me, it messed me up. Until I met Margarita I never met another woman like her. For a long time I went through a hundred ‘what ifs’ but one day it came to me that I was only thinking about myself. If she was happy with him then I should be happy for her. Isn’t that what love is? It still hurt but not so bad.

“I saw her ten years later in a shopping mall in Houston. She called my name and I froze when I saw her walking towards me. In my mind I saw us hugging, going off together, leaving our lives behind. Together again, starting over.

“What actually happened, she put her hands on my chest and kissed my cheek. We had coffee at a kiosk and talked about our lives for about an hour before she had to leave to pick up her kids from school. The way she smiled when she said, ‘my kids’, I could tell she was happy, no regrets. I watched her walk away and the last of my ‘what ifs’ went away.”

He put the card back in the box and picked up another one.

He had a few more postcard stories. Tom spoke about life in Panhandle, some tales about Jim and Angel, his favorite miscreants. Said Charlie should come visit, have a reunion at Jackie’s with Les and Doc Harris and the others, “Before we're all dead for real, you sonabitch.”

Charlie said, “Maybe next Spring. Right now we’re building a rock house out on three acres near the river in the Upper Valley. Teaching my sons all I know, work with their hands and their brains at the same time.”

Cool in the summer, warm in the winter

Tom started to say something but Charlie interrupted.

“I think it’s better if you come here for the housewarming, Tom.

“I spent most of my life looking for my roots. I felt like a tumbleweed going wherever the wind took me. Most people don’t know that tumbleweeds aren’t native to this country. They’re Russian Thistle, got here in the 1800’s from Asia. Western movies, TV shows, they all have tumbleweeds blowing in the wind. Maybe they're looking for their home like I was.

“I’m not a tumbleweed anymore. I’m a hundred year old Mesquite. My roots go all the way to the center of the earth.”

Texas Rose

I was on the last leg of my South Texas sales route when I arrived in Panhandle. Smoke was rising from the small grove of cottonwoods at the edge of town. Sheriff Tom and Doc Harris were surrounding the area with yellow “Police Line Do Not Cross” tape.

I parked my car and walked over there.

The Sheriff looked up and said, “Dry lightning. Don’t see it that much but this is proof that it exists.”

A thick cottonwood lay on the ground, smoke rising from the trunk and some of the larger branches. A scorch line from the top branches to the base of the tree marked the lightning’s path. The trunk was split in two.

Doc Harris finished tying off his end of the tape and joined us next to the Sheriff’s cruiser.

“Lotta history on that old tree”, he said. “There usta be an artesian spring here years ago. Shallow water but I hear tell Indians counted on this place to water their horses ‘way back when. The aquifer must be near the surface though to keep these dozen trees alive even through the droughts.”

He wiped his hands on his pants, pointed to the fallen tree and said, “Back in the day before anybody said ‘back in the day’, folks took their wedding vows under these trees. Nothing romantic about it, just common sense. It was cooler under the trees than inside the church.”

I stepped over the tape to take a closer look. Doc and Tom followed. If I had to guess, the tree was at least 50 feet high, the trunk three feet in diameter. There were dozens of initials carved in the trunk, many of them partially covered with hardened sap as the tree healed itself over time. A large carving in the shape of a heart with the initials KM+RO inside had an “X” cut through it.

Doc Harris ran his finger over the “X” and said, “It was before my time but I’ve been told the initials stand for Kenny Miles and Rose O’Dell. As to who put the “X” there, it coulda’ been done by a fella called Burt or another one named Jeff. The story goes those boys, Kenny, Burt, and Jeff courted Rose at the same time. And they all lost.”

I said, “A love rectangle.”

“Yes, you could call it that. Some older folks talk about the time when those boys near killed each other, not intentionally you understand, but dead is dead so there’s that. Courtin’ Rose was not for cowards with these boys around. They had other choices, plenty of other girls available, but they all fell for her.

“They went at each other a whole summer. According to old timers there was some dynamite, horse thieving, a range fire, and other stuff, everybody wondering how it would turn out. Then all of a sudden it was over.”

Tom took off his gloves, put them in his back pocket and said, “Come on, let’s go to Jackie’s. Deputy Dudley ‘ll be here in a minute, watch the place, keep the kids away.”

The bar was empty except for Wendy and Jackie.

Not-So-Happy-Hour at Jackie's

“Jackie, where is everybody?”

“Hi, Doc. You heard I killed the Happy Hour? Nobody was happy about it so they’ve all gone to Billy’s or Chato’s. They’ll be back. It’s noisy and rowdy in regular hours over there and it gets worse with half price beer. Only thing that makes things quiet down is Sheriff Tom starin’ the roughnecks down once or twice a night.

“With the men gone I invited my lady friends to come in for a visit. Doris, Jenny, and Flora comin’ by in a bit. I’m thinkin’ I might make it a regular thing. I invited some churchwomen but they won’t be comin’, this being a bar and all. You know how it is with their kind: If you’re havin’ fun, it’s gotta be a sin. Too bad about that old cottonwood. I used to climb on it when I was a little girl.”

The Sheriff picked the table near the door. Wendy brought our drinks, went back to the bar and sat with Jackie.

I said, “Doc, what was that about dynamite, range fires, and horse thieves?”

“Well, the Rose O'Dell story is so old hardly anybody alive now that saw it in person but people talked about it for years, sort of a legend. Hard to tell what’s true and what’s imagination. I know some of it. The Sheriff does, too. Most of what anybody knows is second or third hand anyway, but it still makes a good yarn.”

Jenny, Doris, and Flora came in, said their hellos, and sat with us. Wendy brought beer mugs for Jenny and Doris and a cup of tea for Flora. “Allergy pills, no alcohol,” she said.

Doc gestured towards the women and said Doris and Flora might know some things. They volunteered at the old folks home where Rose lived ‘til she died.

“Come on, Doc”, I said. “What happened? Dynamite? Range fire?”

“I’ll tell it, but bear in mind every time a story’s told something’s left out or something’s added. My daddy used to call it the 10% Rule – whoever's telling you a story is sure to be addin’ 10% more or taking 10% off if something in the story puts ‘em in a bad light. You won’t know if I’m addin’ or subtractin’ but this what I heard. Anybody here can correct me if I don’t get something right but it’s as best as I can do.

“Those three boys, Burt, Kenny, and Jeff were classmates along with Rose. Nobody knows exactly why they all figured her for a wife after graduating. Could be the fact that the three of them were athletes, football, baseball, basketball, one always tryin’ to do better than the other two. So when Kenny said he was plannin’ to court Rose, the other two probly seen it as a challenge. Who the hell knows what goes through young boys heads, I mean besides the obvious. But it wasn’t like that, I don’t think. Tom, Les, and I talked this over and considerin’ the ‘facts’ as we know ‘em, we more or less agree on that point.”

Tom pointed at me with his drink and said, “Back then, courtin’ meant you had to meet the family before anything else. And if the girl had brothers they might give you something to worry about if they didn’t like you. No matter who you were, just to be safe you’d be wise to take a month or two before even tryin’ to hold hands.”

Doc signaled Wendy for another drink and said, “Kenny had his sights set on Rose so one Sunday he waited ‘til she and her folks got to the church and fixed it so he sat next to her, said hello and what a nice day it is, and all that. Next Sunday there’s Rose in church sitting between Kenny and Bert with Jeff sitting in the pew behind them. They were fidgeting so much the minister stopped the sermon, called them out, made the three of ‘em sit together in the front pew.”

Front row for children and rowdy young men

Flora put her teacup down, cleared her throat and said, “Doris and I helped out at the old folks home. Rose died a year after we started. We used talk to her, give 'er some company, let her talk about the olden days. All her family was dead and gone. She told us the summer those boys courted her was the most fun she ever had. Whatever one of them did, the other two would try twice as hard to top ‘im. It got so her daddy had to give ‘em a schedule so they wouldn’t fuss over who would take her on a date Saturday night. They rotated days. Monday and Thursday one of ‘em could sit with her on the porch and just talk. ‘Course, daddy or one of her brothers would be inside next to the open window just in case, you know. Sundays at church, same thing, take turns sitting next to her, take her home slow after.”

Mind your manners. You know everybody's listening

Doris added, “Her friends were jealous but what could she do? It wasn’t like she was showing favor for one over the other two. If she ever thought of marryin’ one of ‘em she never let on. She told us she didn’t think she was anything special. She was prettier than some, not as pretty as others but is was mighty flattering to have those boys doin’ everything they could to get her attention.”

Wendy brought Doc’s drink. He thanked her and said, “Those boys kept raisin’ the stakes then things got out of hand at the end of August. Each one thought one of the others had the upper hand.

“One day Rose told Jeff in passin’ that she wished she could still sit under the shade by the pond near Seven Mile Road. The pond dried up when ranchers dammed up a natural spring upstream a ways so cattle could have water year round.

Cool off. Dip your toes in the water

“Jeff got the idea he could blast a small gap in the earthen dam, just enough to fill the pond so he set out with two sticks of dynamite to do just that. Rose was sure to be grateful.

“He cut the fuse for a 10 second lead, time enough to get away from the blast. Ten seconds go by, no explosion, then a minute, five minutes, ten minutes, nothin’ happens. He figures he’s got a dud so he takes another stick, cuts the fuse, and gets up to set it on the dam. Of course, like in every story you ever heard, the first stick exploded shootin’ dirt and rocks everywhere. Lucky for Jeff, most of it blasted away from him but one stone hit him square on the head and knocked him out.

“Well, ‘cept for the big ol' knot between his eyes and a concussion, Jeff got what he wanted. The dam gave way and sent water down the gully filling up the hollow under the trees. It kept risin’ and goin’ ‘til it reached the road where Burt’s truck had started a grass fire.”

I started to ask what fire but he said, “Don’t interrupt, sonny boy. Everything in its time.

“Seems Burt found out Jeff bought some dynamite an’ he got curious about what he was up to so he followed him around without him knowing, stayin’ back just enough. Saw ‘im leave town pullin’ a horse trailer. When Jeff got off Seven Mile Road and mounted his horse Burt couldn’t follow anymore so he parked on the side of the road to follow on foot. That old truck was overheated from being old, probly. Anyway, the grass under it caught fire.

Straight 6, no airbags

“Burt walked maybe a hundred yards up the road and he could see Jeff pretty far off crouching behind a boulder facing the dam. He saw Jeff stand up just as the dynamite exploded. A second later Burt’s truck exploded behind him from the grass fire. He was so startled he stumbled into the culvert and twisted his leg real bad, hurt like the devil, he couldn’t stand up.

“That leaves Kenny, probly the smartest of the three. He noticed Jeff acting funny, too, so he kept his eye out for him, saw him leave town towin’ his horse trailer. A few minutes later he spied Burt getting’ in his truck and headin’ the same way. Kenny followed him.

“He was watching Burt turning on to Seven Mile Road when he ran out of gas. Nothin’ to do about that so he headed back to town on foot thinkin’ of stopping at a ranch see if they could give him some gas. Half hour walkin’ he gets to a ranch when he hears two explosions up in the hills where Burt was goin’. There’s thick, black smoke risin’ to the sky. It’s gotta be Burt and maybe Jeff, too. Not thinkin’ twice he runs to the bunkhouse where there’s three horses saddled up. He hops on a horse and gallops off towards the smoke.

“Meantime, the rancher’s wife hears the explosions, she goes outside to take look and sees Kenny stealin’ the horse. She doesn’t have her rifle so she does the next best thing; she yells at her cowhands to get the horse thief and calls the Sheriff.

“Kenny reaches Seven Mile Road, he can see Burt’s truck on fire ‘bout a quarter mile away when he’s lassoed, jerked off his horse. Lucky for him the cowhands didn’t shoot ‘im, just beat him up some. Thievin’s serious business. They were gettin’ ready to lay him across the horse and tie ‘im up when the Sheriff and his Deputy interrupted them.

The wages of not too smart

“They found Burt’s truck. The fire was out. Water from the busted dam had flooded the culverts and washed over the road where the truck was parked. Burt was up a ways in the culvert, covered head to toe in mud, half drowned, holdin’ his leg and moaning. They pulled him out and he told 'em go look for Jeff at the dam.

“The Sheriff and the Deputy went up the trail on horseback. They found Jeff, thought he was dead, all the blood on his face.

“That ended the competition for Rose O’Dell’s hand what with the three boys injured in various ways, also from their daddies layin’ in on ‘em hard for being knuckleheads.”

“Wow. That’s some story, Doc. So which one did she pick?” I asked.

He looked at me as though I should be arrested for breathing air I didn’t deserve.

“Weren’t you payin’ attention, sonny boy? I told you right at the beginnin’ she didn't marry any of ‘em. Pity’s sake, if dumb questions was a crime you just committed Felony Stupid.”

He finished his drink in one hard swallow, nodded at Flora.

“Flora, you tell ‘im what happened.”

“Rose O’Dell, she was a sweet lady, always tried to look her best, be nice to everybody. She told me she met her husband at a USO dance down in Snyder. He was a sailor just out of the service. Rick was the only Navy man in the VFW hall, all dressed up in starched Navy whites, seemed to glow among the rest of the men wearing khaki Army uniforms. Accordin' to her she decided on him inside a minute after she laid eyes on ‘im.”

Doris said, “And you won’t believe what she said happened next. Lord knows I don’t.”

“He stood in front of her and the very first thing he said was, ‘Will you marry me?’ And she said, ‘Yes, but, first, we’d better call my folks and let ‘em know.’”

The Navy gets the gravy but Army gets the beans

  

Just Enough, Texas. Population 2

"...Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues.
You can tell by the way she smiles." Bob Dylan

I was on my sales route in the Texas Panhandle when the right front wheel on my car started screeching and smoking. At the time I was 30 miles from the next town and 30 miles from the last one. Choosing FM1488 turned out to be a bad choice because it was rarely used anymore since SR 73 was built. Half hour went by and I didn’t see a single car or truck until Jim and Angel happened by and stopped to help.

 “Looks like the wheel bearing’s seizing on the spindle. If it ain’t too bad we can grease it up and get you to Mike’s Conoco have ‘im fix it right.”

Between the two of them, bickering the whole time, they jacked up the car, took wheel off, and greased the bearings so I could go on to Mike’s place. I knew better than to offer them money so I just said thanks. They followed me to Mike’s, waved at me as they drove by on their way to wherever they were going.

Mike said he had to order a new spindle and bearing set from Amarillo, so settle down somewhere ‘til tomorrow afternoon. It was near sundown when I checked into the Lazy Bones Motel. I headed over to Jackie’s Cold Day Inn, my all time favorite bar, for my usual Jack & Coke.

Mike bearing bearings

Sheriff Tom, Les, Doc Harris, and a couple of others were at a table near the door where the Sheriff could see who’s coming or going. I sat down with them and waited for Wendy to bring my drink, waved hi to Jackie who was washing glasses at the far end of the bar.

I told my story about Jim and Angel helping me out and how they had argued about every single thing start to finish.

Monday morning at Jackie's

“Jim said it’s a Ford so the bolts have to be SAE. Angel says, no, they’re metric. Jim says 5/8, Angel says 16mm. Well, I don’t know who was right. I backed away and pretended to be busy with my samples in the trunk. What an odd pair.”

Les smiled, leaned back on his chair and said, “We were just talking about them. Ever meet Jim and Angel before today?”

“All I know is what I hear in the stories you tell. They sound kinda rough, always in a jam, getting in a jam or getting out of one.”

“You know that Angel is Gina’s twin sister, the one who painted Jackie’s portrait, the one over the bar. Made it big in the art world.”

I nodded.

“Then you know neither one is real big on rules and conventions. Gina’s paintings don’t make sense to folks around here and Angel herself doesn’t make sense either. She didn’t marry until she was past 21. Most girls marry right outa high school. I mean, what else are you supposed to do?

“She had her pick, being so good looking and all but she scared the bejeesus outa the boys. No, she wasn’t the kind to wait by the phone hoping one of them would call. If she wanted to go drinking and dancing she’d call one or another and say ‘let’s go to Billy’s or to Chato’s, I’ll meet you there’. From what I can tell she had normal appetites so it wasn’t like she was holding out for Mr. Right. It was more like she was ok with Mr. Right Now once in a while. Nothin’ wrong with that, I suppose, but some folks still aren’t comfortable with it.

“Anyway, before you came in we were talking about something Jim and Angel do that nobody else around here does on purpose -- buy each other the wrong birthday gifts.”

“You mean like a prank or joke?”

Tom shook his head. “No, it’s a real thing and it makes sense if you think about it some. When Angel’s birthday comes up Jim gets a gift that he would like for himself and on his birthday Angel buys him something she really wants for herself. Doin’ it that way neither one is disappointed with what they get. It all started at Les’s General Store, I dunno know, eight, ten years ago? Tell ‘im, Les.”

“I thought he was pullin’ my leg when he told me he was giving his wife a chainsaw for her birthday. He said can you wrap it up like a gift, and here, stick this birthday card on it. I’m thinking he’s lost his mind ‘cause I know Angel’s not the type to use a chainsaw ‘specially one that heavy. Besides, that’s what Jim’s for.

“What happened was day before her birthday he blew his paycheck on beer for his buddies and didn’t have a thin dime to his name. All he had worth anything was the Stihl chainsaw he’d special ordered two weeks before. His buddies were broke, too.

“I said, Jim, can I ask you something? He said no, I’m in a hurry, be back before you close. He came back like he said, took his saw before I could say anything about the wisdom of such a gift for a woman like Angel. I expected to hear something about it sooner or later. Six months and I didn’t hear nothing about it.

“Then Angel comes in one day, says, Les, can you special order this for me? I look and it’s a sunshade, floor mats, and seat covers for a pickup. I say sure thing, Angel. The pink ‘Hello Kitty’ stuff’ll look good in your truck. You know, just makin’ conversation. She says, no, it’s Jim’s birthday gift, for his truck. Can you get it here by the fifteenth? And don’t tell Jim.”

Happy Birthday, Jim

Tom chuckled and said, “I wish I’d been there when she tore the wrapping off the box with the chainsaw in it. She’s as tough a woman as you’d ever meet but that don’t take nothin’ away from her feminine side. She dropped hints about really wantin’ something nice, like the big makeup kit she saw at Laurie’s Gift Shop. Wendy knows something about that, right, Wendy?”

“Yeah, she told me what happened one time we had lunch together. The wrapping’s off and she thinks there’s something nice for her inside the box but she sees a yellow chainsaw. She doesn’t show she’s disappointed. She pulls it out of the box and says Jim, show me how to start it. He puts in some gas, pops the choke, and pulls the cord ‘til the thing starts. It’s a new saw so there’s smoke pouring out while it warms up. Jim’s saying something but she can’t hear him over the noise. She takes the saw outside and lays the blade across the front fender of Jim’s truck, rips up paint something awful. He’s yellin’ at ‘er, she gives him a dirty look then rips another chunk of paint off the hood."

Tom stubbed out his Cheroot and said, “For most men messing with their truck is about as bad as stealing it. Angel’s a little bitty thing and if Jim had a mind to it, he knows could knock her into next week. He also knows if he lays a finger on her, she’ll be gone forever.”

Wendy said, “Naturally, the chainsaw and the ruined paint was an epic fight. They were getting into deep waters and I guess Jim was thinking they’re both gonna lose if they keep it up so he stops arguing and says for his next birthday Angel should buy whatever she wants for herself. It’s worked out fine since then, giving each other the wrong gifts every year."

Tom added, “Tell you somethin’, if it weren’t for her, Jim would be doing time somewhere for sure.”

Jackie brought a tray of fresh drinks and said, “That’s right. Most everybody thinks Angel’s a walkin’, talkin’ demolition derby and it’s Jim keeps her on the level. But I’ve seen how they get into scrapes and it’s Jim with the hair trigger.

“Angel’s a man magnet. That smile, red hair and green eyes make ‘em wanna get close to her real bad. The wedding ring on her finger don’t mean a thing to guys on the make. They work in the fields in the middle of nowhere, three weeks running with no days off, hardly ever coming in contact with civilized human beings. Those knuckle draggers don’t have a pig’s notion on how to look at or talk nice to a woman, get ‘er interested.

"Wendy, tell what happened at Chato’s with that cowboy from Lubbock.”

“Sure. I’m sitting with Angel and some girlfriends when this git leans in, says to her, ‘If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?’ Her eyes light up like five alarm fire, she cocks her head sideways then in a flash hauls off and lays a one-two slap on the guy’s face. ‘I heard that old song before, cowboy’, she says and turns away. Instead of walking away, try his luck some place else, he grabs her arm and that’s the last thing he did before Jim comes outa nowhere and lays him out cold. He did the same to two more of the cowboy’s buddies and he wasn’t finished yet. It was Angel made him stop.

"Jim doesn't mind if she talks to or even dances with other men, but if they get too familiar, he takes it to 11 in no time. Angel's done the same for him with other women but she only goes up to six, sometimes seven.”

Tom said, “Jim’s a roughneck, one of the toughest. Hell, I think those boys fight just for something to do. I heard times when fists are flying right an’ left Jim switches sides to even things up and keep the fight goin’. Used to keep count how many times my deputy or me took Jim and Angel into custody. Now, what the hell, who knows how many that is.

“Justice has been real friendly to Jim over the years. Nearly every time I’ve arrested him for fightin’ or some such, witnesses that weren’t even there swear on their dead momma’s sainted head that he was defending himself or his wife. I think it’s probly ‘cause he never hit anybody that didn’t deserve it right and proper, know what I mean? Jim’s idea of Texas justice.”

Everybody at the table smiled.

Tom gave me a sideways glance and said, “The way you’re lookin’ at me you think them two is a public nuisance, oughta be corralled and controlled? Maybe I’ve made Jim look worse than he is. Fact is, He’s never gone past simple assault. It’s only one more punch or kick that gets "Aggravated"  added to your arrest record. He’s come close, though. But I’ll tell you what, on payday when the oil field grunts come to town to drink and party, Jim’s just one of many.

“Any other day of the week he's as likely to ask you for money as he is to give you some. Money’s somethin’ he’s got or he ain’t. It don’t mean a damn thing to ‘im. Angel’s the same way. Long as she and Jim can get by, it’s enough.

“Year ago his crew set up a betting pool on the Texas Oklahoma game. Jim got the over/under dead on and won the pot. I think it was $500 or so. The deal was the winner had to buy the crew a round of beer with the winnings. So they all went to Billy’s, Jim put the money on the bar and told the bartender to keep serving his boys ‘til it was all gone. You never heard hollerin’ and yellin’ like those boys did that night.

“I was makin' my rounds looking in on trouble spots like I do. It was only 9 o’clock, still too early for any fights but I had to make a show of it anyway. I see Jim standin’ at the bar, go over to say hi. The money was half ways gone, his friends coming up, tell ‘im what a great guy he is. He waves ‘em off. I tell him the same, he says ‘Nah, don’t you get it, Sheriff? I’m not spendin’ my money. I’m spendin’ theirs. It took a little detour through my pockets, that's all.’”

Les cut in, “It’s a good thing Bobby wasn’t there. For sure them two would’ve gotten into it about Jim giving away his winnings like that. Don’t let Bobby’s fancy clothes and shiny boots fool you. He’s as tough as Jim when he has to be.”

“Who’s Bobby?” I asked.

“Jim’s brother, wants everybody to call ‘im Robert, night and day different from Jim. He made piles of money on some shady land deals, lives in Midland now, I think. Always flashing his money in your face. If you ever meet ‘im he’s bound and determined to tell you all about the money he’s got and you ain’t. In five minutes you’ll know what he paid for his trucks, his pinky ring, the hat on his head, and how much money he’s making. He’s all money all the time, never stops talking about making more."

Jackie finished wiping down the bar. She poured herself a drink, took a seat across from me and said,

"Outsiders looking those boys over would think Bobby's got it made with all his money while Jim's barely getting by payday to payday. A winner and a loser, they'd judge.

"To Bobby all money belongs to him. Your money is his money and he'll take it if he can because all money is there for him to take. Even if his pockets are full to bustin' and he can't stuff another nickel in 'em, he'll still grab at it.

"Jim, he knows something Bobby never will.”

“What’s that?”

“He knows when he has enough. Angel does, too.”

Just a Mexican

After a day of peddling farm equipment I stopped at Jackie’s Cold Day Inn, my favorite bar in the Texas panhandle. It isn’t the cleanest or the dirtiest place to relax after a long day in the Texas sun. The windows have been gathering dust and cigarette smoke undisturbed for 20 years. Some of the gum stuck under the tables is older than that. What makes Jackie’s good is the waitresses, bartenders, and the regulars. They only want to know what you choose to tell them.

Leave your horse outside and tip the waitress when you leave

When I walked in Sheriff Tom and Les were at their table by the front door going over the events of the day. Tom called out, motioned for me to sit down. Wendy hipwalked over with my Jack on the rocks and a clean ashtray.

“I was just telling Les that I arrested ole Jorge for trespassing and suspicion of cattle rustling.”

“Jorge? I can’t see him for rustling, Tom.”

“Jorge stealin’ anything is nuts but the D.A. is running for re-election again, pushing his law n’ order bullshit. I tell you, Judge Martin wasn’t happy about it but he had to hear the case. I wasn’t happy about the whole mess either but I had to take the complaint.

“If he was white nobody’d think twice about seeing him around town doin’ what anybody else would do. But no, they watch him like he’s up to something they won’t like. And Jorge being Jorge, won’t do anything to make anybody like or trust him. Just minds his business and expects the same from everybody else. Tell you what, if more folks did that this town would be a better place.

“So the judge starts off with Jorge, reads the charge and says how do you plead.

“Jorge says ‘bullshit’. Judge Martin gives him the eye so Jorge says not guilty.

“’I was fixing Newman's fence when he comes up, points his rifle at me and calls the Sheriff, says I’m trespassing, and taking the fence down so I can steal some of his steers.’

“The judge gives the D.A. and Newman a hard look that says everybody in the courtroom knows the charge is bogus. The D.A. starts to say something but the judge shuts him up, looks at Jorge.

“Mr. De La Cruz, how long have you lived in Carson County?”

“More than 20 years, Your Honor.”

“When did your family come this country?”

“1850 or 10,000 B.C., depends on who you ask. My grandmother says one; University of Texas says the other.”

“Have you ever been arrested?”

“Just once, a long time ago. Disorderly Conduct and Possession.”

“Ok. What were you doing on Newman’s property?”

“Your Honor, everybody in these parts knows I like to ride all over the hills. Everybody knows my horse and me from a mile off. Nobody minds if I cross their land, ‘cept Newman, today.”

“So what was different today?”

“I was riding along Newman’s fence line on my way to the artesian springs. I could tell the fence was new from the shiny barbed wire but it was falling over. Whoever put it up did a crappy job. I thought I’d do him a favor. So there I was setting the posts two feet down, the way they’re supposed to be when he pulls a gun on me.

If you build it right it'll last 50 years

“Judge Martin drops his chin, rests his forehead on his fingertips and says, ‘Sheriff what did you see?’

“I saw a fence falling down. What wasn’t down was gonna be down soon. It was a lousy job. In my opinion, Jorge was doing Newman a favor and doing a good job of it, Your Honor.

“The judge stands up, gathers his papers, points at Newman fines him $50 for wasting the court’s time. He’s about to leave the bench when he says, ‘And Newman, next time you want a job done right, hire a Mexican.’”

It was getting close to sunset and the evening crowd began drifting in, all regulars but Tom checked them out anyway, making mental notes. Jackie came by to take the empties. She stood by Tom, put her hand on his shoulder and said, “So what’s with Jorge? Is he ok?”

“Oh, he’s just a little pissed. I drove him home after the hearing. He’s fine”. Jackie patted him on the shoulder and went back to the bar.

“I’ve known Jorge a long time. He was born and raised in Southern California. He told me that the first time he came to Texas he fell in love with the open range and just wanted to see it all. At first he rode all around in his truck but eventually went off road on his horse. Been doing that as long as he’s lived here. Some folks think he’s crazy but I think lots more envy him.

Miles and miles of Texas

“In 1988 Jorge married Jenny, one of the Jensen girls he met in Crosbyton. They bought a few acres in hill country just south of Shamrock. They raised kids, chickens, ran a few head for meat, and had a fair size vegetable garden. The place wasn’t big enough to make a living but Jorge never lacked for money. When he was home Jorge spent a lot of his time just riding the range. When the kids were older, he and Jenny rode together.

I remember goin' out to his place right after he got married. Some ranchers were calling the department about a horseman riding on their land, a stranger. His wife said he was out hunting but she could bring him back. She went indoors, came out with a .22 rifle, fired three shots in the air, 10 seconds apart. By and by, Jorge rode in, said he’d been tracking white-tail just west of the caprock ridge, come along if you want. I told him not today but maybe on my day off. Next thing I know, we’re hunting together once a month or more. He’s one hell of a tracker, better’n me and I’m pretty good.

“Some people thought he was a drug dealer. It didn’t help that he was a Mexican with a big mustache. You know how it is; a juicy story’s easier to believe than simple truth. Jorge would suddenly disappear for a month or a couple of weeks at a time. He come home flush with cash, go into town, pay off whatever he owed Les, Doc or anybody and put the rest in the bank.

Blade, bucket, or scoop, Jorge can run it

“The fact is he’s a heavy equipment operator first class. If it’s got treads and a blade, a bucket or a scoop, he can run it better than most. He belongs to the McCoy Disaster Recovery crew. You probably never heard of it. McCoy’s and other outfits like it are called in whenever there’s a natural disaster anywhere in the country. If there’s floods, tornados, hurricanes, fires, first thing they need is a crew of experienced cleanup guys working fast. McCoy’s got ‘em. The call goes out, the crew members drop what they’re doing and fly or drive to wherever they’re needed. They get paid top dollar. Four months work they make enough to get them through a whole year or more.

Take a number

“I met him the first time back in 1970 or 71. I was a rookie Deputy Sheriff in Riverside, California. Lots of immigrants there. The head nurse in the ER at County called in a gunshot wound so I had to check it out. The victim was brought in by his friend who told me they were sitting outside a convenience store when somebody drove up and took four or five shots at them. No witnesses, no motive anybody knew. One bullet grazed his friend’s head; the doctors were sewing up the damage.

“He wanted to smoke so we went to the parking lot and lit up by my patrol car. His ID said his name was Jorge Washington De La Cruz, age 22. I’ve seen lots of phony ID’s but this one looked legit. I looked him in the eye. He just shrugged and said, “I was born right after my parents became citizens. They named me after George Washington. Very patriotic.”

“Musta been tough growing up with a name like that.”

“Yeah, I guess it made me tough, too. My friends call me Washington D.C. for short.”

“When I gave him back his ID he asked, ‘How long were you in ‘Nam? You got the look, you know.’

“He had me there so I told him I mustered out year ago but I didn’t want to go back to Texas right then, had to get my head on straight first.’”

“Man, I know what you mean. For me it was like the whole time I was over there didn’t happen, but I knew it did. I’d stare at my girl and I couldn’t decide if I was dreaming or if she was real. She broke up with me, said I made her nervous.”

“He reached for another cigarette and a joint fell out of his pocket. His face froze like he wanted to stop time and rewind it 10 seconds. I picked up the joint and put it in his shirt pocket. He said thanks and relaxed.

“We talked some more. When he finished his second cigarette and we went inside to see about his friend. The ER doc gave me what I needed for my report and I said goodbye to Jorge. A few months later, I got homesick finally, and came back to Panhandle.

I didn’t see Jorge again until maybe 1985, no wife yet. Deputy Dudley arrested him and Carson brothers for disturbing the peace, disorderly conduct, and possession of marijuana at Billy’s Last Stand.”

Wendy came over with fresh drinks. I told her to put it on my tab. Tom saluted me with his drink and continued.

“You know me how I hate puzzles but I love mysteries. I talked to everybody who’d been there, put the pieces together and framed out the story. Dudley’s arrest report named several witnesses and it looked like Judy Butler was in the middle of it. Billy’s is Judy’s second home. That woman loves to dance and it don’t matter who asks, she’s game. Anyhow, Jorge sees her and asks her to dance. And they’re dancing up a storm, two steppin’ with the best of ‘em.

Mind your feet

The Lonesome Foursome take a break, Jorge goes outside to cool off and have a smoke. Judy sits down with her girlfriends and the two Carson boys who’d been watching Judy and Jorge come up to her asking questions like it’s somehow their business.

“So who’s the lover boy, Judy?”

“Name’s Jorge Washington De La Cruz. What’s it to you? He’s nice and he doesn’t stomp on my feet. And he’s polite with his hands, not like you, Harley.”

“Jorge Washington De La Cruz? So he’s Spanish?”

“Oh, hell, Harley. He ain't rich. He’s just a Mexican. Now go away, bother somebody else.”

Lonesome Foursome

“The band started up again. This time they did a long line dancing set. Jorge was pretty good on his feet and you could tell Judy was having a great time kicking up her heels, showing off. The Carson boys watched them close, guzzling beer like they was going to prison next day.

“The Lonesome Foursome upped the tempo and the dancers got sloppy, bumpin’ into each other, laughin’, just havin’ a good time. The music stopped suddenly. Hec, the bandleader, said it was time to slow things down. He cued the band to play a slow song, and fellas, mind your manners.

“Well, Judy put her arms around Jorge’s neck and hung on him like wallpaper. Jorge put his hands on her waist to help her hang on.

“When they danced close to the bar, Harley stepped up, tapped Jorge on the shoulder.”

“Hey, PAYdro, I wanna cut in.”

“Sorry, hoss, I’d rather dance with Judy. Ask your buddy there; maybe he’ll dance with you. And my name isn’t PAYdro. It’s Jorge.”

“OKAY, HORHAY or whatever. Billy’s ain't a beaner bar. Beaners hang out at Chato’s on 14^th.”

“Been to Chato’s but I like it better here. The ladies smell real nice even if the cowboys don’t.”

Sheriff Tom paused, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He rested his arms on the table holding his drink with both hands.

“Jim and Angel. Jim and Angel. You know if there’s a fight or a hint of one, Jim and Angel gotta be nearby. It’s like they can sense it just before it happens, kinda like sharks smelling blood from miles away.

“Harley and Jorge square off. The other Carson boy, Colt, moves closer to Jorge to make it two-on-one but Jim comes up behind him, puts one hand on his neck, gives it a squeeze, punches him on the shoulder real soft with his other fist. Angel takes Judy’s arm and leads her away.

“Ever hear the word lummox? I’m pretty sure it was invented for Harley Carson. He’s dumb and clumsy. Get a few beers in ‘im and it takes every bit of his brainpower to walk and say his name. He rears back to throw a punch upside Jorge’s head but it takes so long coming Jorge could have gone to bar got another beer and come back in time to duck under it. I said Jorge could dance. He let Harley punch air over and over and never even lost his hat. By now, the crowd’s into it, laughing at Harley, cheering Jorge. Colt can’t take it anymore, he charges in, rabbit punches Jorge.

“Jorge goes down on his knees. Colt’s about to smash a stool on his back when Jim kicks Colt’s feet out. The belly flop knocks him out. Harley still wanted to fight but Jim got between him and Jorge.

“You know, I kinda wish Deputy Dudley hadn’t arrived just then. I got the feeling that Jim woulda taken his time punishing Harley. I seen it before. Jim’s got a mean streak that’s long on justice an’ short on mercy. Maybe some other time.

"Long story short, the judge fined Jorge $25 for possession of one joint. It could have been worse but the joint got lost somewhere between evidence locker and the courthouse. The Carson boys paid $100 each for disturbing the peace and three days in lockup just because."

Tom pushed his chair out and stood to leave.
“Hey, I gotta run, turn in early. Me and Jorge are huntin' tomorrow.”

“Wait a minute, Sheriff”, I said. “How did the joint get lost? And why didn’t the judge make an issue of it?”

“Well, it was so long ago I don’t rightly remember. It was late and the judge probably just wanted to wrap things up and go home to his new wife. Maybe whoever was carrying the joint to the courthouse smoked it on the way over.

“What’re you two looking at? It coulda happened.”

“Sheriff, was it you?”

“Like I said, I don’t remember.”