A storm of bad luck

Chapter 1  

Greenhorn rancher Joe Tarboosh was born with bad luck. Even his last name on his birth certificate was misspelled. His parents, both born in Wales, immigrated to America in 1853. She was pregnant when they left the old country and gave birth to Joseph minutes after the boat bumped the dock in New York harbor. The parents considered this a sign of good luck. It wasn’t.

The first sign of impending foul fortune was shortly after the very inebriated doctor filled out Joe’s live birth certificate. Not only had the Italian Doctor misspelled his parents name Tarbush as Tarboosh (he couldn’t figure out the spelling of Tarbush and after three tries, crossed out the attempts and spelled it as he thought it should sound…with an Italian accent). He also dated Joe’s birth a hundred years too early. Date of birth, October 29th in the year of our Lord 1753. At least he had the month and day correct.

So poor Joe at the young age of one, was given the honor of being a living centurion in the New York news papers in the Society section, until of course they finally got around to doing a bit more research and discovered Joe’s parents and even grandparents, were younger than he was!

Living in the bustling city of New York, age meant everything. He was told at a hundred and five that he was too old to attend school with the other children and was told at 116 not to bother applying for the Naval Service as again, he was deemed too old. In fact, he was asked if he had grown up with the likes of George Washington and Paul Revere.

He could have lived a fairly decent life if age were the only factor in his having bad luck but it wasn’t. Joe’s life mirrored the statement, “A dollar short and a minute too late.”

Meanwhile, his parents prospered and like many immigrants, worked hard and accumulated a pretty good amount of wealth. To keep things simple, Joe would give his money he had earned from working odd jobs to his father each week and in return he and his father would both go to the bank together and deposit Joe’s pay into his Fathers account. After all, the family figured that being the only son, if anything would happen to them Joe would inherit it all anyway.

At the age of twenty (or 120 depending on how you want to look at it), Joe discovered that banking under his father’s account may not have been the wisest of choices.

It was in early January. The day started out with blustery freezing weather that by noon had added a major ice storm to its retinue. Sleet, slush and now the wind was blowing ice crystals around like a blind knife thrower in a cheap circus. Joe, his mother and father for some unknown reason, bundled themselves up and ventured outdoors.

Keeping their heads down and only looking up when necessary, the three blazed a path through the deepening slush and snow on the unshoveled walkways. When it finally became too deep to step without effort, they took to the street. Staring at his feet as he trudged through the miserable weather, it was then that Joe realized that he no longer heard his parents grunting and complaining behind him as they made their way forward in the storm. Turning around he soon realized why.

Both parents lay flat as pancakes in the streets center lane where the trolley car tracks ran. Thankfully for the mourners, it was a closed coffin affair.

Upon their demise, Joe discovered too that his parents had never filed a Will. When the case finally wound its way through the Probate Court system, the Court determined that Joe was not a relative as he not only had a different last name but was in fact far too old to be their son.

He was arrested for inheritance fraud and spent thirty five days in jail. Thirty for the attempted fraud and five for misconduct while in a Courtroom. The misconduct occurred when Joe stood up, screamed and rent his clothing from head to toe in frustrated anguish. It may have been understood or even forgiven except that in rending his clothes, he had forgotten he had worn no undergarments that day. Women fainted at the sight and men shouted in an angry uproar.

The judge on the other hand had a look on his face that mimicked that of a dog staring at a meaty bone.

I will go no further in this narration except to say Joe served his time quietly and when released, immediately stopped at the bank with a forged note ‘written’ by his father. Smiling and asking how her day was going, he handed the forged note to a familiar teller. The note stated due to ill health he, the father,  could not make it in person. It also said he had given his son full authority to close the account in order to pay the steep medical expenses he had recently incurred. The teller, used to seeing Joe and his Father come every Friday, gave him her condolences regarding his father’s health and handed him the money.  Joe then jumped aboard a train and headed to the Western Territories. Like a bat out of Hell he disappeared from New York before the Court discovered what he had done.

Chapter 2

It had taken three weeks to get to Laramie, two by train, one now by stage. At last the teeth jarring stage coach crossed into the Wyoming territory from it’s start at the rail head in Kimball Nebraska. The stage driver yelled down to those poor souls inside. “Laramie stations comin’ up ahead folks. For those of you continuing on to Rawlins, be ready to get back aboard in an hour. There’s a café up the street for those wantin’ a hot meal.”

Joe Tarboosh painfully stepped down onto the hard packed earthen street soon after the stage door opened. He waited for the driver to toss down his carpet bag, after grabbing it and his over coat, he stiffly walked up the street where he was told the land office was.

Walking along the wooden plank walkway that connected each building to its neighbor, Joe soon arrived in front of the land office. He was about turn the doors handle to enter when the door was flung violently open. A man resembling three boulders piled on top of each other stormed through the opening and stood red faced staring at Joe.

Turning his head back towards the open door the angry red faced man yelled back inside through foaming lips. “Ach, a bunch a thieves you all are! You knew for years I had been plannin’ on buyin’ that land! An here ya’ go an’ sell it from under me feet! Well damn your heathin’ souls the lot of you! When I find out who the miscreant is that bribed your sorry assess into sellin’ it to him, I promise you now, he’s goin’ to be pleading for his miserable existence as I bare handed strangle him to death!”

Turning away from the door he once again faced the shocked Joe and yelled, “Get your sorry ass out of my way!” Pushing Joe hard against the porch wall of the land sale office, he stomped on.

A thin nervous man wearing a green head visor guardedly poked his head out of the open door. Seeing Joe pressed against the wall he asked him. “Is he gone yet?”

“Yeah, he’s gone, who was that idiot?”

“Well, seein’ as I don’t recognize you, I hesitate to say, you might work for him.”

Joe responded, “I don’t, my names Joe Tarboosh and I need to see the land agent, is that you?”

“let me answer your first question first Mr. Tarboosh, that angry Irishman is Brian O’Donahue owner of the Lazy O Ranch. He’s the man who wants to make you regret you didn’t die in childbirth. See? You’re the miscreant that bought that land he’s been hankerin’ after for all these years. Can’t really blame him, but I warned him for three years that someday, somebody’s gonna up and buy it from under him. He’s just so bull headed and outright mean that he believed there’s no man with big enough cojones to do that. He’d been grazing his cattle on it for free ever since the Toker family moved.”

“Well why in God’s name didn’t you tell me that when I telegraphed the Land Office about available Ranches for sale? Now I’m gonna be fearing everyday that I’ll run into him someday when we’re alone and get pounded to a pulp!”

“Pounded? Naw, he’ll just kill you quick like, that’s his way!”

“Oh that makes me feel so much better! Now what do I do?”

“Hell, if I was you, I’d get over to Nebraska Territory and hop aboard a train as fast I could and go back East! I can resell your property to him. I know he won’t pay what you bought it for. No where nears that much even, but it’s better’n pushin’ up daisy’s.”

“Forget it, I bought it fair and square. I’ve learned when I turned tail and ran it never helped. Where is the Toker ranch I bought? How do I get there?”

“Well, you ain’t gonna walk that far an’ if you ain’t got one, you might think about getting’yourself a mule to ride.  I’d think about a wagon too to carry supplies in. Ain’t nothin’ there but an old empty fixer up ranch house and some weather beaten’ corrals. Ain’t no wagons I know of since Toker done sold off as much as he could. Maybe the drinkin’ well’s still good, I don’t know. I only handle the deed work for the Government.”

“Where can I buy a horse or mule?”

The stable’s next to the Smithy. Just at the end of town. You can’t miss it, follow your ears. There’s hammerin’ goin’ on night an’ day. ‘Ol Mackey got himself an order from the Union Pacific Railroad for an order of ten thousand rail spikes. They’s gonna be a rail road here by next year!”

Joe followed his ears and sure enough the air was filled with the sound of hammering. Walking up the livery, he looked for the owner and not seeing anyone around, stepped next door to the black smith’s shop.

A gigantic black man stood pounding a glowing red piece of bar stock iron over an anvil. When one end of the bar had been hammered into the shape of a two sided point, he chilled the point and dropped it point down into a hole in the anvil and pounded it until the other end took the shape of a rail spikes head. Joe stood staring at the transformation in awe. In less than ten seconds the man had turned a piece of useless iron bar stock into a very well made rail spike.  Joe waited patiently for the Smithy to set down his tools before greeting him.

“Hello, my name is Joe. I was wondering if you knew the whereabouts of the stable owner, I’m in need of a horse or mule to buy”

The powerfully built Smith named Black Mackey didn’t answer right off but instead walked over to a large water bucket and splashed his face in it. He then dipped his head into it and drank his fill of the stale water. Water streamed down his big lips onto his muscular bare chest.

“I am the owner!” The Smiths deep thundering voice reminded Joe of what an avalanche of rock must sound like. “ The stable boy who works for me is off on an errand, otherwise you’d be talking to him and not me.  But, since he isn’t here, Horses are forty dollars, mules twenty five. I can sell you a saddle for either for ten. What’ll it be?”

“I guess a mule? I never rode one, just horses but it can’t be too different can it? I got to keep an eye on how much money I spend, I aim to start a ranch over at the Toker’s place.

“Ha! So you’re the one that bought the ‘Ol Toker place? O’Donahue sure was on the war path when he found out someone had bought it. He just left here in a fit. I finished shoeing his horse not ten minutes ago. He came in here fuming and bellyaching about someone stealing his land!”

Mackey laid aside the hammer he still held and ushered Joe toward the livery stable.

“Seeing as how much I got a charge out of seeing O’Donahue stomp around like a temper tantrum baby, I’ll cut you a deal. You don’t want a mule, they’re too hard to control. A horse would do you much better. I’ll sell you one, a decent one for twenty five and I’ll throw in the saddle for five. Does that sound good to you?”

“Thirty total? Where can I buy a gun? I might need one if O’Donahue shows up at my place”

“If you want, I have a nice Golden Boy to sell for say… ten dollars. Some cow puncher left it to be fixed and later that night he got himself shot dead at the card table.  I was the only one who knew he left it with me. It’s fixed, just had to have the firing pin filed down, kept sticking. I have no use for it, it’s not like I’ll ever have the time to go hunting.’

Two hours later, Joe reigned up in front of a weather worn house that he had bought sight unseen. The glass windows seemed to be intact with only one pane cracked. The corral left a lot to be desired though. Most of the rails lay on the ground and the gate sat sagging on one hinge. But the land… the land was beautiful! The house sat partway up a slight incline so from its wide porch he could view the open valley that lay before him.  The valley floor lay carpeted by prairie wild flowers while patches of black eyed Susan’s and purple spring crocuses grew around the houses foundation.

Joe nodded approvingly at the condition of the outside. He stepped onto the wide porch to see what the inside held.

Opening the unlocked door, he stepped inside to a musty smelling but rather clean house. Whoever the Toker family was, they had made sure the buyer bought a clean place. A woman’s touch was in evidence. Flowered curtains, nicely painted wooden walls, the living room was even wall papered in flower prints. The kitchen cabinets and shelves had held up well. An old cast iron cook stove sat backed against a stone chimney. It would have been a perfect day except for O’Donahue. “Just my luck”, Joe mused, ”I finally get something really nice that’s all mine and someone wants to kill me over it.”

   Two weeks and over one hundred dollars later, the place looked like a home. Joe was proud of his accomplishments. He found he was better at handling tools than he first believed. Not a floor board now stood loose nor was a corral rail missing. Next on his list…buy some cattle!   

 

Chapter 3

Two days later Joe returned to town and once again stopped at the livery. One reason was to thank the Smith Macky for the fine horse he sold him, the second was to ask if he knew of an honest cattle dealer in town and the third was out of pure curiosity… why did the negro blacksmith speak like a white person .

Mackey saw Joe plodding down the street proudly riding his new mount. The grey mare looked pretty handsome with its shiny black leather saddle on her, even if it was used.

As Joe hitched his horse, Mackey stepped out into the sunlight to greet Joe. “Well, well. I see you and Grey Lady seem to be getting’ along pretty nicely. What brings you into town this time, more supplies?”

“The truth is Mr. Mackey, I wanted to thank you for selling me, Grey Lady. I also have to apologize, I fibbed. I said I rode horses before. The truth being, the closest I’ve ever been to a horse was when I rode in a buggy back east. Grey Lady almost seems to know where I want to go, I rarely have to even steer her”

Mackey began chuckling at Joe’s definition of handling his horse “I kind of figured as much, that’s why I sold her to you. She’s the gentlest and smartest creature I ever put a set of shoes on. She knew the way to the Toker’s place because that’s her home. She belonged to Mrs. Toker.”

“Ha! And here I thought I was such a brilliant horse rider too!” Joe continued to laugh thinking of how well he had ‘trained’ his new horse. “The jokes on me I guess.”

“You’re a different kind of man Joe, I don’t believe I’ve ever met a green horn such as you. You didn’t try to talk me down in price and you even come back to thank me for the sale! How’d you know I didn’t rob you blind? I could have you know!”

“You looked like an honest man, Mr. Mackey. I wasn’t going to insult your good intentions for giving me a good deal.” At this point, Joe decided not to ask Mackey about his accent, it could wait.

“That’s another thing Joe, you’re the first person ever to call me Mister! Everybody here just calls me Mackey ‘cause I think they feel uncomfortable calling me Black.”

“Why would they call you that, because you’re a negro?”

“Heck, I’m surely a negro but Black is my Christian name! When I was born my Father said to my Mama, That baby sure is a black one, isn’t he? So my Mama went and named me Black, just as yours named you Joe.”

Joe started chuckling but then became red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking of two friends I grew up with. One’s name was Red and the other was Whitey. I wonder if they were named under similar circumstances, that’s all.”

“No need to apologize , there wasn’t any offense taken. By the way, do you do have a last name don’t you or do you like being called just Joe?”

“Oh sure, it’s Tarboosh, it was supposed to be spelled t-a-r-b-u-s-h not T-a-r-b-o-o-s-h but the Doctor was Italian and spelled it the way it sounded to him. It caused a load of problems, especially after my parents passed on. I wasn’t allowed to inherit the house or anything. They even threw me in jail for implying I was trying to steal their home by fraud. But that’s all in the past, I’m starting my herd and I was wondering if you knew of an honest seller of cattle around here?”

Listening to Joe’s story and now his desire for cattle, Black Mackey looked at his feet and shook his head in wonder. “Good God Joe Tarboosh, you’ve sure got a whole heap of bad luck! Maybe before you go buying any cattle, you need to know a bit of history of the ranch you bought and the town here.”

Joe felt bad luck forming like a black storm cloud over his head once again. Any minute he mused, the cloudburst would come and more bad luck would rain upon his head.

“If you can spare a minute, I’d like to hear it. I know nothing of the Toker family or why they left. I’m used to facing things Mister Mackey and for sure I can’t turn around and go back. So, please tell me if you would.”

Macky sat on a stool and waved Joe to sit likewise on another. “The Tokers moved here almost ten years ago. He and the Misses had three children when they first came and added two more to that. They built everything you see out there, house, corrals, barn and two bunk houses for the men. At one point in time, a few years back, their herd numbered over two thousand and they had twelve hired hands. They were a good family, they even went to church service when a preacher passed through.”

“So what happened, why’d they move?”

“Things were going well for them, the land was good, their cattle healthy and the steam that ran through their land was flowing with good cool water from up in the mountains. All that began to change though when O’Donahue bought the land adjacent to theirs on the east side of the Medicine Bow Mountains. First thing O’Donahue did after starting up his ranch was redirect that stream with dynamite that flowed from the mountains through the Toker’s land. It passed through his land before entering the Tokers. If you haven’t already seen it, I suggest you look at the dried up stream bed. Without that stream, the Toker’s couldn’t support their large herd.”

“What about the Law? I mean there’s laws on water rights isn’t there?”

“O’Donahue offered the water but the price he asked for was beyond anyone’s ability to pay. It did end up in Court. But as you can figure for yourself, when it went before the honorable Judge O’Malley, the outcome was a given. Judge O’Malley is O’Donahue’s brother in law. Nothing was left to do but sell the place an’ move on so they did. They took what they could, sold the rest and headed to the Snake River Valley in Idaho.”

“So is there any way I can get water from another source, I got two drinking wells by the house but I know that won’t water a herd.”

“Water isn’t your only problem Joe, buying the cattle is another. You see, O’Donahue ran out the only other seller of cattle within a hundred miles of here. If you want cattle, you’ve gotta’ go to him. I’m tellin’ you here an’ now, he isn’t about to sell you any and it’s too far drive from Cheyenne to here without at least ten experienced  hired hands to drive them.”

Joe sat there looking down despondently at his new boots. For an instant he began to feel sorry for himself, but having dealt all his life with bad luck, he knew it was dangerous to dwell in self pity. Raising his head, he smiled at Mackey and reached over and squeezed the giant man on shoulder. “Thank you Black, you’re the first person that’s been straight up with me. I see where my problem lies. It’s with O’Donahue.  If I’m ever going to get on my feet out here, I’ve got to meet him head on.”

“Mister Joe? I think you’re a good man and you think like I do. If I wasn’t of a different color, I think we could even be friends. You call on me if you run into things over your head now, you hear me?”

“I will for sure, but why do you say we can’t be friends, is there some law here I don’t know about regarding Negro’s and Whites from being friends?”

“No, none that’s written down in the books anyway. Maybe it isn’t looked down upon in the big city where you came from but here I’m sure it would raise eyebrows.”

“Well that isn’t right! If I want to have a Negro or an Indian or even a Chinese man as my friend, then that’s the way it’s going to be and to hell with those who think differently. It’s true Black, I had people of all different races as friends back East, but what about you? Have folks in this town treated you so bad? I know they have to respect your skills as a Smithy. That’s got to account for something!”

“Huh, never thought about it that way. To be honest, I really never tried being friends with anyone in here in town. I just kept to myself and my family. My Father being from England, warned me all the time about how the Americans might pretend to be friendly but when your back was turned, they’d be looking down their noses at you because of our color. The only thing he ever knew of the American West was from reading books and unfortunately some of those were dime novels. He would confuse tales of the West with those of the South. He had me so mixed up I didn’t know what to believe when we all moved to America. Before we came to America, he was a successful Medical Doctor in North Hampton. He attended Imperial College School of Medicine in London where he graduated with high honors. While his clients were some of the richest and paid well, my father insisted we live in a modest house just outside of town.    Then one day he was made an offer to become the private physician to a rich and powerful family here in America. We arrived here fearing we’d be treated as badly as the Southern slaves were.”

“Did they? I mean was that the way it was or was that the way you saw it because of your father?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I kept to myself, still do. No one’s ever shook my hand in friendship. Maybe I should have tried sticking mine out first just to see what happened.”

“No need for you to do that Black, here.”

Saying that, Joe reached out his hand and presented it to Black Mackey in the act of friendship.

The two gripped hands, one powerful and black as coal and the other soft and as pale as a custard pie. The two looked at each other and smiled.

Black abruptly gave in to a deep sigh. “ Joe, I worry about you. O’Donahue will run you out like he did the Toker family, only I think this time he won’t let you walk away. If you still plan on trying to deal with him, then I’m coming with you!”

When Joe answered it was with false bravado in his voice and both he and Black knew it. “You don’t have to do that Black, I can take care of myself.”

“No disrespect intended but have you noticed he’s a might bigger than you and has a small army of armed men around him most everywhere he goes?”

“I wasn’t aware he had armed men about his place, maybe you coming with me isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

 

Chapter 4

The idea of meeting O’Donahue had Joe’s stomach tied  into knots. Even with his new friend riding beside him, Joe was reminded of the Biblical psalm of walking through the valley of death. Hopefully, not his own.

A week had gone by since their last meet up. Joe had to wait until Black finished the Union Pacific order for ten thousand rail spikes. It had taken Black two days short of a month to fill the order.

Fifty wooden crates had to freighted out by mule drawn wagons.  To their credit, the Union Pacific sent the wagons along with the full payment. Black Mackey was able to take a well deserved day off and planned on using it on the day Joe went to see O’Donahue.

The day arrived and the two rode casually from town and headed west on a well worn trail towards the Lazy O Ranch.

“Over that rise sits O’Donahue’s Lazy O Ranch Joe. The back end of his spread is what butts up against your property. That’s also where you’re your water problem is.”

“What do you think my chances really are Black? Am I being stupid for trying to solve these issues with O’Donahue? Everybody thinks I should pack up and leave, letting O’Donahue take over my spread.”

“Before you shook my hand and called me friend, I would’ve said the same. Thing is Joe, I don’t have but one friend and if he sells out and leaves, then I’m back to having no friends at all. That’s the real reason I’m riding with you. No one tells me, my family or my only friend to get the hell out… Not without feeling the wrath a God coming down on him in the form of one angry as hell giant blacksmith!”

Reining up to the front of the large woodframe ranch house, the two spotted what looked like idle hands casually standing about paying the newcomers little mind. Mackey noted how the low slung holsters had their thongs untied, they were ready for action.

The front door opened and the stocky but powerfully built O’Donahue stepped out onto the porch.

“Ha! You must be the city sniveling cheat that stole my land! If your reason for showin’ up here isn’t to apologize and return the deed to me own land, then it must be you’re wantin’ me to introduce you to Saint Peter!”

The hands began to chuckle thinking they were about to see their bosses fist go into action against the slightly built city boy. The negro was of no concern. No negro in his right mind would challenge a white man as financially powerful as O’Donahue and besides, the negro was unarmed.

“I came here to buy cattle, I need six hundred mixed cows and heifer’s along with a good bull. I also want my stream restored.”

O’Donahue looked incredulously at Joe and responded bitterly. “Ach! An’ I want it to rain gold bars but it don’t ever. You got yourself some balls, I give you that city boy. Are you stupid or just plain dumb showin up askin’ me for cows? I’d rather rot in hell kissin’ Satan’s ass day’n night than sell you a damn cow! I intended that land you’re squatin’ on to be mine and I’m gonnba’ make sure it is!”

With that said, the hands drew their pistols pointed them at Joe and Black then stepped forward.

Makey abruptly spoke up. “Before we go any further Mister O’Donahue maybe you better hear me out. When you drove off the Toker family I held my peace. I knew someday though that push would come to shove so I went and secured me an insurance policy in case it was me that you’d drive out. I know your feelings against negro’s. Sooner or later I knew you’d look my direction.”

“An just what possible form of insurance could you be havin’ to protect yourself from my plans. Tis’ true, I think you need be gone from here. I’ve already looked into me bringin’ in me a white Smithy… to buy you out.”

“Buy me out my ass!, You mean run me out. I know that’s how you get your way. You make sure you’re the only game in town then raise your price till those you don’t like have got to leave. or they just disappear”

Mackey then strode up to the porch steps directly in front of O’Donahue.

“I’ll tell you what I did to protect my interest here Mister O’Donahue but first, let me ask you this? What do you know about me? Have you ever wondered why I came out to no man’s land to open my shop? Did you ever wonder where I came from, what I did, who my family is or why I don’t speak with a Southern or negro accent?” When no response but a blank stare was returned, Mackey answered for him. “No? I didn’t think you did!”

O’Donahue, looking a might uncomfortable at being spoken to by a negro like this was still hesitant to confront the giant man that stood at the bottom of his steps. Even then it appeared to O’Donahue that Mackey still towered above him..

“O’Donahue, A wise man once said, ‘Know your enemy’. In your arrogance and conceit you didn’t do that when you thought to become King of the hill around here. You already been booted from the top of the hill and you’re too arrogant to even see it!

“Why you black son of a …”

“Don’t say it O’Donahue, I know who my Mama is and I know you can’t say the same.  You see, when my Daddy came to America, it was to be the private physician to the family of the man who now runs the Union Pacific Railroad. When my Daddy passed on, that family took to seeing I had every chance of being as well educated as a man could be. I didn’t attend Boston College after graduating from a private school and to their consternation I told them I wanted to follow my real interest, blacksmithing. They eventually relented and sent me through an apprenticeship program. I worked for ten years at different shops before starting my own place out here. Having intimate contact with the head of the Union Pacific gave me certain advantages. One of them was to know where the Union Pacific planned to expand its rail service and the other was to be in the position to ask a favor of that man”

“What kind of favor? I’m not seein’ a railroad track around here and the only rail line is going through Cheyenne through to Rawlins. What’s your point?”

“The point is when you threatened my friend here, I went and cashed in my chips with the Family. I we3nt and sat down with them to negotiate my providing spikes for them, I also asked to be allowed to choose the best route for a rail offshoot from Laramie to Soda Lake where Sodium Carbonate is being mined. I decided your property would make a perfect route for the new railway.”

O’Donahue’s face reddened darkly in anger, “I’d never sell my property to the Union Pacific or anybody else. I didn’t come all the way from Belfast just to see my hard work be taken away by a railroad bandit!”

“You’ll have no choice. The United States Government has given eminent domain powers to the Union Pacific. They’ll take your land and all of your cattle will be confiscated to feed the rail crews. They’ll pay you what I say your spread is worth, nothing more.”

By now O’Donahue had dropped his bluster and began to look like a defeated man. Even a fool knew better than to challenge the Railroad. You never won but you could lose even more by resisting.   “Why wasn’t I told of this?”

“You’re being told right now. Of course, it’s still in my powers to advise an alternate rail route. I might do so if you were willing to sell my friend here a herd at a fair price and reroute the stream you altered back into his spread. But, It’s up to you.”

“That’s blackmail!”

“I prefer to call it making a deal”

“I’ve no choice then, do I”

“Nope, none. The rail offshoot is a done deal, where it goes is up to me. I’m offering you a good deal here O’Donahue. You call down your hired guns and change them out for real Cowboys, give Joe here his water and cattle, forget about running me out of town and the railway will go north of here.”

“What’s to prevent me from changin’ me mind once the rails is laid away from here. All your cards would be played an’ I’d be holdin the Ace.”

Your holding the Joker, not the Ace. The rail road is permitted by law to add ten miles on each side of the tracks to its right of way at any time it wishes, even years from now. One telegram and your Ranch is gone.”

O’Donahue looked at his men still pointing their guns at Joe and Mackey. Admitting defeat was a bitter pill to swallow but in the end he gulped and down went the pill. Waving his hand at his men to holster their weapons O’Donahue spoke in a defeated tone.

“Ok, you win, I agree.”

Turning to his Ranch manager, he told him to separate out the cattle and bull that Joe chose.

“The rest of you put away your guns. Some of you need to be leavin here. I’ll be lettin’ you know who you are and I’ll be given’ you a months extra pay if you leave peaceful like. You have three days to clear out.”

After the cattle were separated and corralled, a bull was chosen, The herd would be delivered after the water stream had been restored and O’Donahue’s cattle moved back onto his own spread.  Back on the trail leading to town, Joe looked over at the man riding along side of him who worked a miracle.

“It Lucky for me that you’re tight with the U.P. President and his family or my infamous black cloud of bad luck would for sure have rained on me again. Thank you my friend, you saved my ranch. I didn’t know you had asked for and was given the job to choose the rail route to Soda Lake. It must have cost you some pride to ask to do it. I know how being indebted to anyone goes against your grain.”

“Oh, it didn’t cost me anything Joe. You see, I never asked them. I already knew the railroad was going north of the Lazy O.  Anyone who picked up a copy of the Cheyenne Leader could have told him that. I just happen to have read it when I negotiated my spike contract with the U.P. while in Cheyenne. ”

Joe halted his mare and looked over at his fried, “You mean to tell me it was all a fib? You being helped raised by the family an all?”

“Oh no, that’s all true. Oliver Ames helped raise me after my Father died. He also sent me to smithing school, that much is true. In truth, if I would have approached him for permission to move the route because it was such a small offshoot track, I’m sure he would have granted that to me. But like you said, I don’t like being beholding to no one, so I didn’t ask.”

Joe shook his head in wonder. “I can’t believe you got away with it!”

“Joe, the first thing I learned when I came out West was to hold your cards close to your chest and learn the art of bluffing. Otherwise, learn the art of playing poker. I don’t really cards but the game is a good way to practice both. You might learn the game Joe, there’s a lot that can be applied to everyday life…as you just saw!”

From that day on, Joe Tarboosh and Black Mackey would sit and play a few friendly games each time Joe stopped in town. Joe began to understand that it’s how you play your cards in life that determines how much luck you have. In the end, there is no such thing as a black cloud of bad luck, just one’s willingness to step up and take a gamble on your dreams…whether you’re holding a royal flush or you’re  just bluffing.

  

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Doin’ what’s right even when it’s wrong

Chapter 1  

Outlaw Bo Brooks was feeling the heat of being chased down by Texas Ranger Dusty Austin and now to boot, he had trapped himself inside a box canyon.

The twenty five year old Texas Ranger tracking Brooks was known by both Lawmen and hombres as the best tracker and most dogged pursuer of no goods as could be found north of the Mexican border. Sometimes, like now, it was necessary to go beyond the State line in his pursuit.

Clean shaven with short cropped brown hair and startling blue eyes, Ranger Austin had been every girls heart throb. He could have been one to easily play the field but it was never the case. At fourteen he met the new neighbor’s daughter, twelve year old Lisa, and fell hard and forever in love.

He could never rightly say what attracted him to her. She was at twelve, a wondered eyed somewhat a bony girl with long blond unkempt curls whose knocked knees and clumsy adolescent walk wouldn’t draw boy’s second looks even if she were sixteen. But danged if Dusty Austin was going to let her get away from him. He found the stupidest reasons to traverse over to the Triple T Ranch abutting his father’s own in order to catch a glimpse of the girl hanging fresh laundry or playing in the creek. One time it was to warn of an angry mountain lion he swore he saw prowling nearby, another he said he thought his dog wondered over there.

Lisa seemed to take all his nonsense activity in stride by paying him no more mind than she would a warty toad. Still, Dusty would not give up trying to attract her attention. He daydreamed of saving her from Indians, taking a few arrows in the process then her comforting him afterward.

By sixteen Dusty’s efforts started to pay off. Maybe it was her entering woman hood or maybe he was just plain old wearing her down but whatever the case she began to notice the handsome boy who was goggled eyed over her. At eighteen, Dusty asked her father for her hand. Both families knew of the boys comical attempts at wooing Lisa’s love over the years and permission was freely given. A year later Dusty was taken off the most eligible bachelors list.

He and Lisa settled onto a small starter spread that their Dads had cut out from their own sprawling ranches. The spread included the small stream where years earlier Dusty had hid in the bushes watching her play in the clear water. The small two room cabin was enough until a family was started. Lisa by now had cast off only a minor amount of the clumsy adolescent child. She was still prone to trip over her own feet or stumbled down the front porch stairs in her haste to greet her true love as he returned home exhausted from a hard day’s work on his fathers ranch.

Then one day a visitor would change Dusty’s work habit. A newly formed, government backed group of Lawmen called Texas Rangers had been formed to control any Lawless folk wanted for riding the Owl hoot trail. Ranger Aubrey Smith was passing through but had been convinced by Dusty and Lisa to rest up a few days before heading out again. Since visitors were rare, Lisa and Dusty took this opportunity to pry as much information about the big cities, their people and his role as a Texas Ranger as they could from their visitor. Dusty became enchanted with the idea of traveling the country side hunting down wanted hombres.

On the second day over dinner, Dusty asked, “So what does a guy need to know to get a Rangers job?”

“Well, that depends. Are you any good at handling a gun or tracking or willing to stay away from home for weeks on end with pay being inconsistent? Those are just a few things that you need to ask yourself. If you can answer yes to those, then maybe I can be of help. We just got a new post in Loving County. That’s only twenty or so miles from Pecos here. That’s where I’m being assigned. I have to be there in three days.”

Lisa saw the sparkle come to Dusty’s eyes and reached across the table and gave Dusty hand a squeeze. “Heck,” Dusty replied, “I’m near the best tracker in All Texas, and the same Indian that taught me tracking taught me to shoot and live off the land too!”

“You was taught by an Indian? What’s his name? I might know of him if he ever tracked for the law.”

“Limping Bear. He near raised me when my mother passed when I was a kid. I don’t think he ever worked for the army or law. He was working for my Dad back then breakin’ horses. He took a liking to me an’ me to him. Shoot, I followed him everywhere he went. My Dad was too busy for the most part to raise me so he kind of handed me off to Limping Bear. All I learned was…”

“Limping Bear!” The Ranger shouted. “Limping Bear is my Fathers half brother!”

“That makes us almost related” Dusty laughed.

After a good chuckle, Ranger Aubrey asked, “So whatever became of Limping Bear, is he still around”?

“Naw, I wish he was. He got bit by a rattler while in my Dads corral. Why the horses didn’t see it and make a fuss we’ll never know. It got him high up in the thigh, the Doc said right in an artery. The poison traveled quick and him bein’ old and all, he didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I only met him a few times but he was an imposing character for sure. I grew up south of here outside of Strobel in Brewster County. He’d stop by to visit now and then.”

“Sure, I remember the times he left to visit family there. They was one of the few times he wouldn’t let me tag along. Small world really. Here you an’ I meet up years later knowing the same man but still bein’ worlds apart.”

“So, might the job of being a Ranger interest you at all Dusty?”

“Do I have to live on the post or can I still live and work out of here?”

“Most men are single but you only have to report to the post for orders and after you capture someone in order to fill out the paperwork. I can’t see a problem, you’re only twenty miles away.  When I leave here you wanna ride up there with me?”

 

Chapter 2

That answer was given four years ago when Dusty was sworn into the Texas Rangers. As was Aubrey, he was stationed out of the Loving County post in Mentone. Being from the general territory was a plus as knowing which County you were in was important to a Ranger. Some County Sheriffs were more friendly than others towards the Rangers. Some were downright in your face antagonistic.

In the short time he’d been a ranger, Dusty, Now called Ranger Austin, had racked up an impressive capture count. Where others found little to no trail or evidence, Ranger Austin saw a man’s passage as clear as he’d painted the ground with his feet.

An overturned pebble, a smudge in the dirt for no reason, a bent shoot of grass, the twig on the ground showing evidence of being stepped on, even the birds and lizards cried out the trail he should follow.

He got so well known that a few no goods actually turned themselves in once they found out he was on their tail.

It was the man he now tailed that held his interest. Bank robber, Bo Brooks.

Brooks was an enigma. He was known as one of the friendliest, give the shirt off his back young men folks had ever met. Why he robbed the Santa Lucia Bank over in Pecos County was anybody’s guess. To top it all off, he left word where the others who included themselves in the heist were camped out. He alone was the sole man left to capture and Ranger Austin was hot on his trail. Unfortunately, that trail now led across the New Mexico border. Still, he was the Law and the States overlooked infringements like this for the common good.

It was at the Rio Panasco River near the small town of Roswell and nearly eighty five miles northwest of his post in Loving that he finally cornered Brooks in a box canyon.

Brooks knew he had made a serious mistake. Reaching the end of the canyon proved his worries were well founded. High unclimbable cliffs on three sides of the canyon prevented his escape.

Seeing Brooks make it to the far end of the canyon, Ranger Austin pulled up short at the box canyons entrance. He’d make camp here, knowing Brooks only way out was past him. His confidence grew as he saw smoke from Brooks cook fire. Brooks was wise enough not to panic and foolishly try to scale the steep cliffs. If it meant a standoff, then being well fed was important.

Soon two cook fires were seen spiraling gently skyward from each end of the canyon.

 

Chapter 3

Morning sunlight broke over the canyon’s eastern rim. The reddish brown rock of the western cliffs suddenly lit up like they were on fire. Ranger Austin was a patient man. He knew Brooks had only a little water left and none was visible inside the box canyon. Waiting for the sun to light up the entire canyon, he decided on a late breakfast of bacon and biscuits. Eating this way, only two meals would need to be cooked for the day.

Brooks had no such concerns. A tendril of fresh smoke drifted skyward from his rekindled cook fire. Seeing the smoke, Ranger Austin decided on trying to make contact with Brooks rather than just jump into a hell to all shoot out.

The box canyon was less than a quarter mile wide and not much longer than that. Instead of a nice flat bottom, it rose and fell with strewn boulders and house high dirt mounds. While it was a great place for youngsters playing hide and seek, it didn’t offer enough protection to allow Brooks to sneak past the Ranger. Some small scrub trees and brush made line of sight difficult but a man’s voice could still be heard if one yelled loud enough. So that’s the tact Ranger Austin decided on.

Climbing one of the dirt mounds close to his own camp, Ranger Austin cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled.

“Brooks! You hear me Brooks?”

“Yeah, I can hear ya!” Brooks shouted back.

“C’mon Brooks, there ain’t no ways outa this here box canyon. Do yourself and me a favor and toss down your weapons an’ give up!”

“I been thinkin’ along them lines Ranger, I just find it hard to voluntarily put a noose around my neck. Let me think some more on it a bit. Maybe we’ll see eye to eye, maybe we won’t. I ain’t decided yet.”

“I tell you what. By tomorrow morning you had better have decided or I’m comin’ after ya’!”

“Fair enough!” Brooks yelled back. This time tomorrow I’ll let ya’ know!”

The sun rose higher in the sky and Ranger Austin finally decided on some breakfast. Stirring the cook fire’s coals into life, he added some fuel and set his coffee pot and fry skillet with bacon on top of it.

Shortly, Brookes voice was once again heard. “Hey, Ranger! You cookin’ up bacon over there? Damn you man, that ain’t fair, all I got is some measly Jerky on my side!”

Austin started chuckling then yelled back, “See? That’s the difference between us! I got me a nice woman who makes sure her man is well taken care of when he’s on the trail! Plus I don’t rob no banks!”

“If you was in my shoes, you mighta’ done the same! Hell man, the smell a that bacon’s doin’ a better job killin’ me more’n  any noose would. You don’t think you could spare a bite for a poor outlaw?”

“Give yourself up and I’ll fry up another pound with your name on it!”

“I knew there’d be a catch! Ha ha.”

While the bantering went back and forth, just outside the entrance to the box canyon another nose sniffed the air determining the direction of the mouth watering smell of the frying bacon.

It was the grunt behind him that caused Ranger Austin to look behind him. There, standing on it’s hind legs staring directly at Austin was a full grown, four hundred pound Black bear.

Realizing his rifle was still stuck inside it’s saddle holster, Ranger Austin reached for the colt pistol strapped to his hip.

The bear charged with a loud roar. Before Ranger Austin could fully aim the gun the bear was on top of him.  Austin was knocked backwards over the fire losing his pistol. It crossed his mind that a face full of steaming coffee could halt the bear but it was only a thought because his eyes were watching the coffee pot go tumbling over and over spilling it’s hot liquid out as it somersaulted away.

Lying on his back he felt himself pulled violently backward towards the ruined fire. Pain shot through his leg as the bear bit deeply into it. A blood curling scream left the young Ranger’s lips as the bear began to toss it’s head back and forth trying to tear off the leg.

In the distance, a yell was heard back but by now Ranger Dusty Austin was losing consciousness as the bear continued to yank and twist at the leg. Suddenly, as if it had tired of the leg pulling game, the bear let go and wandered over to the bacon that had been spilled onto the ground.  Sitting on its haunches, the bear began to gabble down the hot fried bacon. No sooner had it finished when the bear once again stood up looking. Running towards the bear was Brooks waving his hand gun and yelling.

As Bo neared the bear, he fired the small 38 caliber pistol into the bear. Instead of dying, it seemed the tiny bullets just pissed it off. Slapping the air as if bee’s were stinging it, the bear backed off. Two more times Bo fired the small gun. This time the bear’s rear end caught the lead and in a roar it high tailed it out the entrance of the canyon bellowing in pain.

Seeing the Rangers 45 caliber laying on the ground, Bo quickly picked it up and shoved it into his pants.

Making his way over to the unconscious Ranger, Bo bent down to look at the young man’s leg. What he saw made him cringe.

“Hey, Ranger, you with me?” Tapping the Ranger on the face, Bo tried to revive him back into  consciousness.

“Well, you sure got yourself into a pickle here Ranger, that leg is really torn up. I’ll do what I can but I ain’t no Doctor.”

With that, Bo searched the man’s saddle bags and found a small bottle of whiskey and a tin of horse salve. Cleaning the deep wound as best as he could, he applied the horse salve to it and wrapped the leg in part of the Rangers torn off pant leg.

The day passed and no real improvement was seen in the Ranger’s condition so Bo went on back to his camp at the other end of the canyon to gather up his own horse and belongings. Upon his return he noted the Ranger had shifted his position a bit and it was then he heard him moan. Running up to the Ranger, he heard the young man asking for water.

Tilting the Rangers head back, Bo began pouring water into his mouth. After the Ranger had drunk nearly half a canteen of water, Bo pulled it aside. “I’m sure with all the blood you lost you’re as thirsty as a bear…er whatever, but you gotta’ take it a little at a time or you’ll just puke it all back up.”

Ranger Austin tilted his head sideways in order to look over at Brooks.

“My leg,” He asked, “how bad is it?”

“I ain’t no Doctor but I’d say it’s about as bad as can be without it fallen’ off. I cleaned it the best I could with your whiskey and plopped a bunch a your horse salve on it but you need to get to a Doc right away.”

“Hell, you know we ain’t nowhere near a town Brooks. If infection sets in I’m a gonner. How much did I bleed before you applied the salve?”

“Shoot Ranger, you bled out like a stuck pig. It took a bit of time before I got the bleeding slowed down. I had heard if you press real hard on a bad wound that sometimes that stops the bleedin’. I guess it worked but I’m afraid if you start movin’ around, it’ll start bleedin’ all over again.”

“You did good Brooks, The free bleeding may have cleaned out the wound good enough to prevent infection. The whisky and salve will help the surface wound but deep inside is what worries me.”

“Sounds like you know about these things, you a Doctor besides a Ranger?”

“No, just raised by an Indian that’s all. Tell you what Brooks, can we call a truce here? I need some herbs gathered and I gotta trust ya’”

“ Sure, besides I got your gun an’ you ain’t in no condition to arrest me . What kind of herbs you talkin’ about Ranger?”

“Mesquite tree. Carve of some bark until you hit the gum inside. Carve out a good handful of ngum then take a few of the smaller live twigs along with some fresh bark and bring it all here.”

Within a half hour Brooks returned with an armload of mesquite branches and bark. “I got the gum, it’s in my pocket. Here’s the branches. You doin’ OK pard?”

It was the first time that Bo acknowledged the Ranger as more than just a Lawman. Dusty took this in but was in too much pain to answer right off. When he did, it was to instruct Bo in preparing a poultice and tea.

When the gum had been squeezed hard enough a clear liquid came forth from it. “Save that juice, it’s what keeps infections down. You’ll mix it with some of the crushed leaves and pack it inside my wounds. Then make a tea using the small twigs, a bit of bark and some leaves. If I pass out again, just keep on doing what I told you,OK?”

“Sure, thing. By the way Ranger, what’s your first name? Seein’ as we got a truce goin’ on here, the least we can do is call each other by our Christian names.”

With a painful chuckle ranger Austin lowered himself to that of an ordinary citizen and replied, “Dusty, Dusty Austin. I know you go by Bo, is that short for Beau?”

“Yeah, my Momma named me after my grandfather, her father Union General Beau Brooks.”

“Well ain’t that somethin’? General Brooks Grandson is a bank robber, who’d a thunk? Your grand daddy must be rollin’ over in his grave about now.”

During this time Bo had made up the poultice and had filled the spilled coffee pot partway with water, placed it over the kicked apart but still hot coals  and added the leaves, twigs and bark. He then walked over to where Dusty lay.

“Lay still now Dusty, this poultice is gonna hurt when I put it inside the wound. Too bad we ain’t got no more whiskey, I used it up cleaning your wound, you could use some right now.”

“ I’ll do fine, just put a thick twig in my mouth to bite down on.”

Bo placed a thumb sized twig in Dusty’s mouth and undressed the wound.  Fresh blood continued to leak out of the wound but the river was now just a trickle.  Bo slowly parted the wound where the bears teeth had dug deepest. The wound immediately pooled with blood and Bo let it drip freely into the dirt. He then took the thick poultice and began stuffing it into the deepest part of the wound.

It took a second or two but then Dusty arched his back and screamed through the stick in his mouth. Suddenly the stick was bit completely through and then thankfully Dusty passed out.  With Dusty unconscious, Bo was able to complete the poultice without Dusty screaming. Satisfied the wound could hold no more, he then re wrapped the leg and made Dusty as comfortable as possible.

He brought Dusty a cup of the mesquite tea when he woke up. “Here, drink this up. It’s the tea you asked me to make up for ya’. You fainted when I started packin’ your wound and that made it easier to finish the job.”

“I owe you Bo, thank you for being so Christian about all this.” Bo lifted the cup to Dusty’s lips and let him drink.

“I have nothin’ agin ya’ Dusty, you was just doin’ your job. Heck the only reason why I asked for extra time before I turned myself in was ‘cause I wanted to see the night sky as a free man one more time before bein’ hung. I did what I needed to do knowin’ there was a price to be paid.”

Dusty turned his head to look at Bo who was again sitting on the ground next to him. “I can’t figure you out Bo. You seem to be a genuine fella. Everybody thinks you’re the best, but then you go and rob a bank and yet you turn in the rest of the gang. It makes no sense Bo, why’d you do it?”

“For my Ma. She needed the money. Last year my Grandpa, the General, died. He was the hero of the small town we all lived in so when he died the town held a big funeral dirge for him. Some state and Federal politicians showed up vowing a granite monument was in order to honor him. Well they went ahead and ordered the work started on a grand mausoleum with promises that the Government would pay for it. Well, three months later the mausoleum was finished and the folks was lookin’ to be paid for their work. We contacted the Politicians who ordered the work done but they disavowed they had promised anything. My Mom was in a dither.

The workers were threatening to go to court and force the sale of our farm so they could recover their wages. We didn’t blame them none, we blamed the rascal politicians who didn’t uphold their promise to pay. We sure didn’t have the money but I told Ma that I’d think of something.”

“So you figured robbing a bank would solve your problem?”

“Well, yes and no. My cousin found out the bank in Santa Lucia over in Pecos County was owned by the same politician that ordered the mausoleum to be built. So while I was planning on how to rob it, I ran into a group of no goods with the same idea. After talkin’ it over with ‘em, I joined up figurin’ I’d get my share then take off and pay for the mausoleum. What I found out though was they was plannin’ on killin’ me and taking my share. So I set it up that they’d get caught and I’d get away. It almost worked too. As soon as I fled, I stopped over in the next town and had a bank draft made in place of the stolen money. It was a small town and word hadn’t got to them yet about the bank in Santa Lucia bein’ robbed.”

“So where’s the money now?”

“Gone. I left that town and rode till I found a town that had regular post service. From there I sent the draft to my Ma and she cashed it an’ paid for the mausoleum. The workers and stone company got paid and all seemed like it went fine until a customer in the Santa Lucia bank came forward and said they knew who the lone escaped bank robber was. It turned out the retired school Marm I had years earlier recognized me. Seems she moved back to Santa Lucia with her brother after retiring from the school in my home town.”

“ That’s a pile of bad luck alright, I almost wished you’d gotten away with it. I don’t cotton to politicians but I’m still a Ranger and I took an oath to do my duty.”

“Like I said, you got a job to do, I don’t put no blame on you.”

“Well maybe if I say something in court about you saving me they’d be more lenient on you.”

“Fat chance at that Dusty, this is the grand pooba of politicians were talking about in that county. He got total control there. Word has it that I should only get jail except he had it upped to death by hanging. No, I’m a dead man my friend but at least  Grandpa Brooks is layin’ in peace now and my Ma gets to keep the farm. But I do appreciate the kind offer of your words in court.”

That night a low fever started and his wound began to throb heavily with each heart beat. By morning he was delirious with fever. Bo kept his vigil and kept supplying Dusty with water even though it meant none for himself now.  He remembered crossing a small creek about an hours ride back but was afraid to leave Dusty alone. Coyotes, buzzards or even the return of the bear would mean his death, so Bo stayed with him.

By the second night after he relapsed, Bo knew he had to leave the next morning and get more water. There was only a cupful remaining.

Bo looked to the night sky. The stars were so bright he could have read a novel by them. It was then that he felt overwhelmed by the tragedy of what had transpired against the beauty of the night sky. Raising his head to the heavens he asked, “Lord, how can it be that when I look upward, I see beauty and when I look downward I see misery. You know I ain’t nothing, but this here man dyin’ is somethin’ that this country needs. I promise you this Lord, if you let this good man live, I’ll be happy and I’ll even shake your hand after I’m hung.”

Morning found Bo sleeping with his arm tucked under his head like a pillow. He lay there snoring until a voice woke him.

“Hey, bank robber Bo! We got any bacon still stashed in my saddle bags?”

Bo jumped up grinning wildly. “Well tan my hide, he did it!”

“Did what, who did it? Dusty weakly asked.”

“While you was dyin’ I prayed. I ain’t no man of God but I guess he understood my tellin’ him you was needed in this country to keep folks safe an’ all. Good men are hard to come by an need to be kept around.” Bo looked down at Dusty and smiled, “Now that you’re awake I can travel back to that creek we passed an’ refill our canteens. I used it all to slack your thirst during the last couple of days when you was delirious with fever.”

“What about your canteen, surely you have some water left, don’t you?”

Naw, I gave it all to you, you needed it more’n me.”

“Well, I know of one good man that God needs saving and his last name is Brooks!”

Chapter 4

A week later, Dusty was able to sit in the saddle. His wounds were healing nicely and Bo continued to nurse him back to health. Dusty needed to resupply his food and return home to continue his convalescence. He told Bo that it was time they move on.

“Bo, we need to talk. There ain’t no way I can turn a man in to hang when it’s the wrong thing to do. I know I took an oath to uphold the Law but the Law don’t know what I know and the judge won’t give a damn either. Justice will be what that politician says it is. Right or wrong. I want you to do something. You ain’t wanted here in New Mexico. I got a good friend Ted Richards that moved to a town along the Rio Grande called Hillsboro, it’s up in Sierra County. You go on up there. Just tell him I sent you, he’ll take good care of you. When I’m better, I’ll ride over to your Moms place and explain where you’re at. If she wants to sell the place and join you there, I’ll help her do it. If not then at least she’ll know your safe and making an honest living for yourself here. It’s the best I can do, take it Bo, you’re a good man and good men are hard to come by!”

“What about you Dusty? What’ll you tell your captain? You’ll just get into trouble.”

“It’ll be some time before I’m back in the saddle for the Rangers. Maybe my leg will never be the same and I’ll have to call it quits anyway. Besides, I ain’t breaking any law letting you go. We aren’t in Texas and I really have no jurisdiction here anyway. When I do report back, I’ll explain what all happened here and it tell ‘em I decided that under the circumstances of being severely injured, I couldn’t bring you in. That ain’t no lie either. I’m so weak a five year old kid could kick my ass about now.”

The two saddled up and Bo moved his horse up against Dusty’s to say goodbye.

Pulling Dustys pistol from his pants, Bo handed it over to him.“Here, this belongs to you. If you ever get up to Hillsboro, be sure to stop and look me up. I can’t say I’m all broke up that I ain’t returning to Texas but I am wishin’ I didn’t have to say adios to you my friend. If there was ever a man I’d call my friend, it’s you.”

The two shook hands and no more words were spoken, none were needed. Bo turned his horse westward and rode to his new life.

Dusty knew they’d be crossing paths again, after all, Lisa was going into her sixth month now and he’d want to show off his baby to someone besides his Paw. “Heck,” He mused, “maybe they’ll be needing a Sheriff up that a way!”