Wednesday, August 30, 2023

About Quiet Beneath the Moon

 

NOTE: The title is changed once again. Today my story is "The EndEarther."

I consider Quiet Beneath the Moon to be my best work and I'm satisfied with its present form. The only way to improve it would be to hire a John Steinbeck or Ernest Hemingway to ghostwrite it for me. Of course, when I open it up near September's end, I will likely find out it needs a laundry list of improvements. At the final end I plan to subject it to Grammarly, not to be prompted how to write it all better, but to catch spelling and certain grammatical errors. I still have no clue how I am going to market it.

Friday, August 18, 2023

More about the Edit

 The first edit was the easy part of the whole process. This second edit is tedious work. But it should be done in a day or two. Then I put it to rest for a month or so while I work over some short stories. 

Tuesday, August 8, 2023

Edit Update

 The editing of Quiet Beneath the Moon has become a major reconstruction project. Aside from many text corrections and restructured paragraphs for clarification, I am adding another chapter, perhaps two, at the end. There is an unfortunate death of a recurring character. Already the quality of this project has improved and will continue to improve. I can't predict when it will be finished.  

Tuesday, May 2, 2023

My new blog

 My new blog showcases what I consider my best work. It's still building but there is lots to see already. The name MitchelCCharles was a mistake made by a cable installer. I just went with it.

https://ko-fi.com/mitchelccharles

Sunday, March 5, 2023

HOUSTON - lyrics department

HOUSTON

Houston is a land of dreams
The future of my plans and schemes
The secret of the town I love
I will tell you people what I’m singing of
Houston your heart is love
The home below the sky above
You’re on the go I have to crow
Houston how I love you so
Each night along the bayou
Music pours for a happy soul
The morning grace on the freeways
The rising sun that cuts away the haze
It’s here she was born and raised
Who keeps me happy and amazed
Our children too they know how true
And so we offer this invite to you
Houston your heart is love
The home below the sky above
You’re on the go I have to crow
Houston how I love you so

Saturday, July 30, 2022

THE OUTLAW RIDES


 THE OUTLAW RIDES


ONE


          Red Balfour stood idly by as he waited to be received by the Governor. On the desk lay the scrap of newspaper he had brought along telling the world that Acting Governor of the Territory of New Mexico, William G. Ritch, has offered clemency to Red Balfour, outlaw, inviting him to come in and be interviewed. Two minutes later, the clerk returned. He was a small man who had to tilt his head way back to view this largest man he had ever encountered. The clerk’s hair was combed left to right, with a heavy coating of grease holding it in place and displaying grooves made by the thick teeth of the comb. His nearly black eyes stared wildly at Red through heavily framed thick glasses.  

          “Please wait and be seated,” he stuttered. “The Governor will see you in about five minutes.”

          He scurried around the massive oaken desk and hid behind some papers, to be seen by Red no more.

          The outlaw sat on the bench with his fine Mexican boots on display when he stretched out his legs. He held his sombrero on his lap. On this rare occasion, he was naked of his revolvers as an act of obeisance to the Governor. His face was clean of whiskers for the first time in weeks. 

          Finally, a thin man in a jacket and string tie came from the Governor’s office. A man whose beak of a nose made Red think of a parrot. His unfriendly blue eyes rested on Red like two gunboats. 

          “Governor Axtell will see you now,” he announced, moving to hold the door for him.

          “Axtell? Isn’t this the office of Governor Ritch?”

          “No, sir. Not as of two months ago. President Grant appointed Samuel Axtell to replace him.”

          The man continued to hold the door.

          “You have an appointment. Don’t keep the Governor waiting.”

          “Well, I come this far.”

          Red picked up the newspaper fragment off of the desk to hold during his interview. He came into a room that had been designed to show off the importance of the man behind the desk, with massive shelves of books, framed degrees, and a portrait of the man himself hung on the wall. Governor Axtell was a solid man with an intelligent face. Red could not know he also was already being regarded as a failed official, mainly due to his handling of the Colfax County War and the Lincoln County War. He placed the paper on the desk so that the Governor could read it if he decided to.

          “Mr. Balfour -” the Governor began.

          He briefly studied Red’s face.

          “Mr. Balfour,” he repeated. “Under my administration, the offer of clemency has been withdrawn. My predecessor was mistaken in his forgiveness of a lifelong criminal who as recently as a few weeks ago broke a prisoner out of Army custody in Texas. How dare you to come in here and expect it?”

          “I guess I overlooked that detail about rescuing my friend from a sure prison sentence,” Red acknowledged. “In a reversed situation he would have done the same for me.” 

          “You went against the federal government,” the Governor‘s voice rose. “If New Mexico had a territorial prison I would sentence you to thirty years there. Instead, I’m putting you in the Santa Fe jail for an unspecified time. If I find sufficient evidence I will see you hanged.”

          “How is it you can do that?” Red argued. “Where is the judge and jury in all of this?”

          “You are looking at them,” Axtell said.

          “Well, I think this interview has effectively ended,” Red said, turning to the door to leave.

          “That is correct,” Axtell acknowledged, standing up behind his desk, as the door opened from the other side and three armed officers entered, pointing their weapons at him. 

          Governor Axtell instructed the officers to lead Red to the jail. He rested his hands on his hips watching the prisoner get escorted outside. 

          Outside, on the walk to the jail, Red noted the resentful stares made by Mexicans toward the officers as he recalled bits of contentious history between encroaching Americans and the longtime citizens. He went cooperatively to the jail, which was overseen by the Sheriff, Carlos Conklin. After the officers explained the Governor’s action, they surrendered custody and went their way. Red stood and faced Conklin with a good-natured slight grin. 

          “Howdy, Sheriff,” he said. “I guess we’re destined to get to know each other.”

          Conklin had a mixed appearance of near Mexican near white in his flannel shirt, neck kerchief, and a ten-gallon hat. His mustache hadn’t been cut in a year or more.

          “I heard about the amnesty withdrawal only minutes before your arrival. Sorry, but that’s politics for you,” he said. “Step into the cell while I lock you up.”

          Red had been sizing up the jail from the moment he got a look at it. The absurdity had him near laughing. Such pitiful adobe construction, with wooden pegs for window bars. He looked good-naturedly at the hinges set in adobe as he walked in the cell, to the slamming and locking by Conklin. As the Sheriff put up his gun in a rack on the wall, Red pulled the barred door away from its mooring and captured the Sheriff before he could get back for his gun.

          “Dang. You fooled me,” Conklin said. “I took your good nature to mean I didn’t have to shackle you the way we usually do our prisoners. The Governor’s going to be awful mad.” 

          “Sorry, friend,” Red commiserated. “I don’t like to embarrass you, but I won’t stick around to be mistreated this way. Now I aim to borrow your guns, but I’m leaving them for you at the livery stable. If you cooperate nobody will get hurt.”

          “I can have a posse on you in fifteen minutes,” said Conklin. “You better hide me in the back when you tie and gag me.” 

          “I like your honest nature and I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Red replied. 

          Red looked about until he found enough leather strap to hogtie the Sheriff. After making the man as comfortable as he knew how, he left him in the back room, carefully gagged. 

          Although the street he stepped out on had plenty of traffic, no one gave him any notice as he made his way to the livery where his pony and belongings were being kept. In an early conversation with Manuel, the liveryman, he had told of the governor’s pardon awaiting him this day. Now he approached the man with a big smile.

          Manuel, a very portly man, threw out his arms.

          “It’s done?”

          “I just came from the Governor’s office,” he replied. “Now I’m ready to ride.”

          Manuel executed a few Hat Dance steps. 

          “Won’t you come to my home for dinner?” he said, slightly huffing. “My wife, she would like to meet famous Mexican Red.”

          But Red was already throwing the blanket on his horse, working quickly, trying not to appear hasty.

          “Tell your Mrs. I respectfully decline. Right now I have things to do.”

          He cinched the saddle and then slipped on the bridle. He slung two saddlebags over and then took possession of his holsters and pistols. Finally, with a rifle in the crook of an arm, he slung his leg over the horse and was ready to ride.

          “If anybody comes asking for me, tell them I rode west,” he said.

          “Si. Goodbye, my friend.”

          “Thanks for everything, my friend.”

          And with that, Mexican Red actually did ride west.


TWO


          He came on a ranch near Del Lobo in the late hours of a morning after some hard traveling, figuring that as he was leaving the territory for good he would stop on the way and see a few cherished people. He knew this particular ranch intimately, having inherited it from his cousin Emilio and then deeded it to his friend, Jose Ford, as a wedding present. He long had intended to stop by. This was the first opportunity and likely the last.

          Coming through the gate he noted it was too quiet. There was no sign of normal ranch activity.

          As the front of the main house came into view the familiar figure that was Jose appeared on the steps, fastening his gun belt as he climbed down. His step was measured and he appeared lost in contemplative thought. Red trotted his horse to catch up to him.

          Jose was still stick thin but he was cultivating a mustache to make his face seem older. He looked up when he became aware of the horse and rider. 

          “Mister Red? So good to see you. But a sad time for you to come.”

          He continued moving in a path meant to take him behind the house and beyond the garden a way. He half turned to wave for Red to follow. Still mounted, Red kept up with his friend, curiously looking beyond the garden until he could make out a plausible cause of Jose’s concern. And there it was. He would recognize a funeral from any distance. Red dismounted and caught up to Jose. Matching his step, he looked sidewise at his friend.

          “Que?”

          “It’s Cookie,” Jose said without slowing down. “Shot and killed by Mean Ray Lee Lewis.”

          Red put out a hand to stop Jose.

          “Now hold on,” he said. “Stop here for a minute. What the hell happened? Why is Cookie dead?”

          Jose paused. He looked away to keep Red from reading the emotion in his face.

          “Mean Ray Lee said Cookie poisoned his dog. Before anybody knew what was happening he pointed his gun and he shot him dead.”

          Jose resumed walking. 

          Red was puzzled.

          “Why did he think that? Cookie was upstanding. He would never hurt anything, except the flies around his kitchen.” 

          Jose stopped to make his reply.

          “Mean Ray Lee came here to ask about getting work. Brought his hound. When I was talking to him the hound was running around. Well, the hound’s nose told him Cookie’s shack has food; he went to investigate. Stuck half of his body in through the open door and grabbed a big chunk o’ beef. Then ran off out of sight with it. When Mean Ray Lee got ready to leave he used up almost an hour searching for his dog. He found him dead on the prairie.”

          Jose looked stoically at Red.

          “Cookie didn’t explain if the meat was bad. He didn’t live long enough.”

          Red, looking at Jose’s hardware on his hip, said, “And what is that for?”

          “I think you know. It’s for after the funeral.”

          Jose patted the handle of the gun he had inherited from his stepfather, Elmer Ford. Red’s wrinkled brow told Jose to move along rather than discuss it further.

          There were familiar faces gathered before the coffin and the hole it was to be delivered into. A small cluster of women to the left and a scattered crew of cow hands. Red noted Jose’s wife, Linda, and after some discerning was able to pick out Katy Ramirez on Linda’s other side. All were facing the coffin on a stand, unaware that Jose brought someone with him. Flowers were mostly out of season, but a few scraggly ones lay on top of the box. The ceremony was taking place under the clearest of blue skies, cooled slightly by a persistent northern breeze. 

          Some of the hands discovered Red’s approach and hurried over to pay respects. He moved among them, nodding and shaking some hands. And then he approached the women. They all had worked for him before Jose’s time at the helm. They flocked about him with words of kindness. He smiled as he greeted them with his sombrero in his hands. But Katy Ramirez stood apart, looking upon Red’s face without expression, thereby capturing Red’s full attention. He drank her in with all his heart. She had long ago warned him that to look upon her this way is to be spurned, if not outright despised. He looked. And longed. But he would not beg. His gaze snapped away. He turned his attention to Jose and looked to him to get the proceedings underway.

          Jose stepped up, hat in hand, and asked for everyone’s attention. 

          “Cookie was our friend,” he said. “He made the best food I ever tasted. I don’t know what he believed and I can’t make up something for him. I just want him to be on a good journey to what it is he hopes to find on the other side of life. Now, six to carry the coffin and we will let him get to it. Amen.”

          There were scattered Amens as Red stepped forward and five cow hands took their places to lift the coffin. Soon Cookie was laid to rest and Red and Jose shoveled in the dirt. The cowboys drifted away to take up the day’s work, as did the women moving toward the house. Red stayed close on Jose’s tail and when he saddled his horse Red held the gate shut. 

          “I won’t let you put yourself against the law this way. You’ve got too much to lose. Think of Linda and any children you might hope to have. You owe to them and you owe the entire ranch. Get down and take off that gun belt.”

          “Open up that gate, Mr. Red. Open it or I will do it myself,” Jose said in a voice he had not used with Red ever.

          “Not unless you promise me that we will go together and bring this Mean Ray Lee varmint to the jail for trial,” Red insisted.

          “I will promise you anything to get you to open up that gate. Still I am going to shoot him,” said Jose.

          He caused his horse to step near. And without signaling his intention he threw himself out of the saddle, catching Red about the shoulders in an attempt to take him down. Red shrugged him off. Twice Jose dove at Red and was repelled. Jose pulled up a peacemaker, pointed it at Red’s heart.

          “Now you’ve gone too far,” Red stated as he slapped the gun out of his friend’s hand. 

          He took Jose by the shirt front and whacked the back of his hand across his cheek, sending him on a trip to the dirt. After landing hard on his back, Jose lay still. Then he looked up with a softening expression. 

          “Thanks, Mr. Red,” he said. “I feel better now. Let’s go and arrest him.”


THREE


          “He said he is camping with friends on the road near Del Lobo,” Jose said, sitting atop the great paint horse he had inherited from his stepfather.

          It was a time for catching up as they rode casually out of the gate. Jose’s first question concerned Armando, who had left the ranch for the life on the trail with Red.

          “He’s dead,” Red answered simply.

          After a few minutes of silence but for the stepping of their animals, Red continued to tell of his pal. 

          “We hadn’t gone from here more than four or five weeks when he came down sick, like with a bad cold that would not go away. I got him to a doctor, who called it pneumonia. Lost him that same evening.” 

          Jose didn’t say more about Armando, just hung his head and thought about him for a few minutes.

          To keep his friend from brooding over it, he asked about Katy.

          “How is she doing?” Jose said. “Why didn’t you talk to her this morning? Ah. She’s fine. She does her duty and lives like a queen the rest of the time. All of the men are afraid of her. But she’s nice if you get to know her.”

          Nodding, Red said, “She has a kind of regal beauty along with a presence of mind that sets her apart. I would love to break through the shell that keeps her from loving any man.”

          “Please don’t talk about her like this,” said Jose.

          “It’s not wrong of me, Jose, because I’m in love with her. I want to marry her,” Red explained.

          “Ah,” said Jose. “Well, it’s making me nervous just the same.”

          “She is exactly the reason I went back on the road.”

          They went on in silence, eventually coming to likely locations along the road for temporary camps, with Del Lobo almost in sight. One little alcove with a deserted slightly smoking fire presented a good place to start the search for Mean Jay Lee. A cache of supplies boded a planned return, as did the fact the coals were banked and wood to burn lay in a pile nearby. Not one to miss an opportunity, Red stoked the fire while Jose went into the cache for a coffee pot and the makings. They sat practically back to back to prevent being taken by surprise after the coffee was poured up for drinking.

          “Remember, if this Mean Ray feller shows, let’s try to arrest him,” Red said. “It’s not our right to judge and execute someone.”

          Jose’s jaw tightened as he studied the coffee grounds that had gotten in his cup. “I’m following your lead,” he replied.

          The cups emptied and everything put away, Red banked the coals and sat at ease to enjoy a cigar. Jose preferred to roll his smoke. They had only just gotten comfortable when three riders came near.

          “Yo. I see you like our camp,” said the nearest one from atop an aging piebald mare. 

          He wore a battered hat that barely could serve anymore. His bandana had lost much of its red. His shirt once belonged to a cavalryman. He spoke through a heavy white-streaked mustache, after which he spat some juice on the ground. His sun-roasted face and hands had a leathery chocolate look. His teeth gleamed white. He came to the ground and walked with a pronounced limp, grimacing.

          His friends dismounted, seeming less sociable, but showing no hostility. Because of the clothing worn, they didn’t recognize right away that the shorter, somewhat pudgy one was a woman. Not until she ordered the second man to unload some provisions they were packing were they revelated. 

          The third person in the group was young, with a smooth face, barely whiskered. It began to dawn on Red that these folks made up a family.

          “Yes, we counted on your hospitality for a rest and some coffee,” Red replied. 

          He offered the man a cigar, which was refused.

          “I got my chew,” the man said. He said his name was Justin Brown Carver. “But don’t ask what the Brown is for because I won’t tell you.”

          “Red Balfour and Jose Ford,” Red replied. “We come looking for a man says he’s a friend of yours. Tell him the name, Jose.”

          “No need to tell me,” said Justin. “I know now for sure why you came here, just like he said you would. He told me the whole story, that he wants to apologize but knows you won’t accept it. He would take it back if he could. That beef didn’t kill his hound. He was about to bury it when he discovered a bullet hole. Yes, he killed the wrong person. And now he‘s out to find the man fired that bullet.”

          “He could tell that to the judge. Might make a difference,” said Red.

           Justin studied the ground before him, his furrowed brow a monument to hard thought.

          “He don’t see it like that,” Justin said slowly. “Because he don’t know what kind of man is the judge he would be facing. Some judges hang a man for his color regardless of the circumstances.”

          “We’ve come to arrest him,” Jose stated flatly.

          Justin made a show of looking all around.

          “Don’t see him nowhere,” he said.

          Determinedly, Jose said, “We’ll wait here until he shows.”

          Red and Justin exchanged resigned looks. They each turned to the woman and young man to know if the coffee had boiled and what they might be cooking. 

          “Estelle can make anything taste good,” Justin remarked. “Her and Jesse are what kept me going these past few days. Without them, with my hurt leg, I’d of laid on the prairie and just died. Then Ray has took a lot of the burden off of us. Because he wanted someone to belong with and because we had so much need he and I immediately became like brothers.” Justin looked at Red with a twinkling eye. “I could kill someone for him.” 

          “Difference between us, I reckon is, I don’t consider killing a good way,” Red said. “Not where persuasion will get ’er done.”

          “Don’t put your words inside my mouth,” Justin argued. “I’m not ready to kill anybody.”

          “Coffee’s ready,” Estelle called from her chosen spot near the fire. Coming closer, Red liked her face, with the button of a nose, dark lively eyes, cheek dimple creasing to the jaw - Beautiful.

          Taking each cup she handed to pass to Jose and Red and then keep one, Justin said, “Estelle is more than a woman. More than a wife. I love her more than myself.”

          Tipping their hats and acknowledging Estelle, the visitors tasted the brew, which had more chicory than coffee.

          “Good,” Red told her.

          She also served the visitors a ruffled-feathers-of-a-hen attitude.  

          “When you finish, better ride on,” she said. “I won’t offer more to men who disrupt my family.”

          “That food in the pot smells wonderful,” was Red’s wistful reply, winking at Justin and Jose.

          Estelle saw the pot simmering too hot and spilling over the side. She lifted the lid and made a show of stirring and tasting. She told Jesse to mind the fire.

          Jesse had been sitting near enough to follow the conversation but far enough to not garner attention to himself. He hustled to spread some of the hotter wood away from the pot, then hurried off to sit alone. 

          Justin’s eyes followed his son’s movements.

          “That’s a good man,” he said. “But inside he’s still a child. I couldn’t send him off to work for somebody ’cause there’d be trouble. He and Estelle make a good team.”

          Jose was most interested in the man that killed Cookie. He gave his emptied cup to Estelle with an appreciative smile before he turned to Justin. 

          “Ray told me his nickname’s Mean Ray Lee Lewis. What’s the Mean for?”

          Justin lifted his eyebrows and looked at the sky. After a long pause he spoke.

          “It’s because he beat six men to death all at one time. He could have let at least some live, but once he started he didn’t have no call to quit. Folks called him mean over it. But the way it started out they figured to lynch him. Ray don’t like lynch mobs. Specially if they’s looking to hang him. Hence, he beat them to death.”

          “What was his crime that they wanted to do that?” Jose asked.

          Justin smoothed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger before answering. 

          “That’s what nobody has figured out,” he said. “Ray don’t know either.”


FOUR


          Estelle seemed almost against her will to be warming to her unwanted guests. She began dipping out five bowls of the savory stew. She stood back for the men to take theirs before holding her own. 

          “You men eat. Then we’ll decide what’s what,” she stated. “But for now I’ll hear no more talk about my Ray.”

           “Yes, ‘m,” Justin said as he turned with his bowl to find a comfortable way to hold onto it and eat it.

          As each person spooned out every drop and brought around the empty bowl, Jesse took possession and set about to clean up the mess. 

          The guests lighted their smokes and Justin renewed his plug. They looked to Estelle to test what the conversation could bear. She sat upon a log chunk set up for her chair as the men lounged against the bigger log of a fallen tree. Estelle wore a Stetson hat all her waking time, keeping her hair tied behind her head. The hair looked to have gone uncut possibly for years. She spoke her words directly to Jose. 

          “Y’ know, I’ve got a solution to all of this,” she said studiedly. “Ain’t no way we going to replace the man that was called Cookie. They is a way to replace the service he did for y’all. It would solve our problems too.”

          After a moment’s contemplation, Jose jumped up, obviously stunned at the audacity of the implied proposal. He crushed his rolled smoke with his hand, looking off to the brush and the ruts in the road. His rage smoldered within him still. Red came to stand beside him. His imploring look said to Red, “You can’t be considering this madness?” Red put an arm around Jose’s shoulders. He chucked his cigar butt and helped Jose study those ruts.

          Justin’s injured leg pulled him away and he went to the ground to lift the leg against the sitting-against-log. Estelle was forced to shift her attention from the uninvited guests to her husband. She pulled up the pantleg, baring the wrapped limb from the knee to the top of the boot. After unwinding a long length of improvised bandage, she stared at the ankle, stymied and at her wit’s end to treat such an injury. Her despairing, “Oh, Lord,” snapped Red’s attention away from his friend’s mysery.

          Stepping up to view what had all the appearance of a war wound. Whatever happened had gouged away the flesh nearly to the bone, miraculously leaving the arteries intact. 

          “Ma’m,” he said, “this man’s got to get to a doctor. That he’s been walking is a testament to his strength and bravery. But he can’t go on like that and live. First off, there’s the likelihood of him getting gangrene.”

          Estelle grimaced. Her dark eyes were the portrait of despair. 

          “My man don’t like no doctors,” she said. “I tried to make him look for one in this little town up ahead. He won’t go.”

          Red called to Jose.

          “Am I right there’s not a good doctor in Del Lobo?”

          “That’s right. You have to put him on a train.,” Jose replied.

          “Justin, I’m about to get you to the station in Del Lobo. Jose is going to pay for the ride as well as the doctor. He will get you there and back.”

          Jose appeared to have a contrary opinion. Red’s stare-down convinced him to do as told. He next confronted Estelle. 

          “It’s natural you might want to go with him. But I’m asking you to wait on him at the ranch, where you and Jesse can be safe. Justin don’t need anybody’s presence to complicate the matter.”

          A tear sprang out of her beautiful dark eye. 

          “Don’t worry. You will be paying for your husband’s care by working the kitchen duty,” Red said with a grim little smile.

          Estelle could see the logic of it. She shook her head yes, then excused herself to look for something to tear up for a new bandage.

          Red waited for Justin to argue but it seemed the man’s resistance had evaporated. He turned to Jose, who had some second thoughts.

          “Why should I go and not you? My ranch takes a lot of care.”

          “One reason only. You would make war with Ray. I want him alive,” Red insisted.

          

FIVE


          It was true. Jose had what seemed an inherent impulsive streak that could cause him to murder the man on sight. In the end, he and Justin left. Red and Justin’s people watched Jose ride away, hauling Justin behind him on a travois, constructed to make his ride less jolting.

          And then Red asked if Estelle had more coffee. She pointed and he took one of the cups Jesse had recently cleaned and poured it full to the brim. When she saw him settle comfortably against the sitting-against log to casually sip and relax she began to doubt the man’s veracity.

          “Ain’t we going to a ranch? What are you doing sitting back like that?”

          “Please, Ma’m; patience,” Red said mildly. “As soon as your Ray arrives we can get up and go there.”

          “You ain’t going to fight him, is you?” Estelle said fearfully. 

          “No,” said Red. “I know if I went after him like that I would have Jesse at me fierce as a tiger. I just want to talk at first, to measure what kind of man he is. I understand what made him kill Cookie because I would do the same if a man harmed my mare.”

          “Well, then; I ask you take off them guns and let Jesse look after them,” she said adamantly.

          Red managed to get the gun belt off without spilling the coffee. He lifted it all to Jesse’s hesitant hands. He drank his coffee in several great swallows, then eased back with his eyes closed. He heard Estelle and Jesse cleaning out the empty stew pot as he drifted off to sleep. 

          After an hour of rest, Red awoke, refreshed. He looked up to see a stranger biding on Estelle’s sitting log, rolling a smoke. The man’s boots were old and worn, his dungarees loose and dirty, flannel shirt almost new, neck kerchief hanging a bit loose. Red liked his hard-bit face with the small mustache, small twisted nose, and unflinching deep brown eyes. His hair was badly mussed. The man’s entire being seemed like a spring waiting to be launched into action. Red felt certain this black man was not to be trifled with.

          Ray’s demeanor challenged Red as a mocking grin warped his face.

          “You here to take me?” he said in a voice smooth and baritone.

          Instead of responding, Red called to Estelle.

          “Got any more coffee before we travel?”

          “I sure do,” she responded gratefully. “Drinking coffee beats fighting every time.”

          She signaled to Jesse to lay down the pistol he was holding, which he reluctantly did.

          Sometimes Red could drink more than one pot of coffee each day. Here was one of those days. He met Ray’s stare.

          “Relax,” he said. “Help me drink up the coffee before we go to the ranch.”

          Ray continued to study this man.

          “I don’t drink no coffee,” he said.

          Red took his brew from Estelle without moving from his place against the log. After deliberately finishing the last drop, Red handed over the cup to Jesse. He launched himself to his feet, placing himself close up to Ray. 

          “Name’s Red Balfour,” he said.

          “Estelle said. I could be turning you in, Mexican Red. You’re the outlaw,” Ray responded.

          “Did she explain to you why go to the ranch?”

          “Yep. Got my cayuse saddled and ready.”

          He suddenly smiled and offered Red his hand.

          “Understand we’ve got some there that hate your guts,” Red said as he shook the man’s hand. “I’m questioning my own judgment. In the end, I may still have to take you in to be arrested.”

          “How will you decide that?” Ray responded.

          “Well, after I get Estelle started in the cook shed and you out on the range, I’m going to visit the judge to get an opinion,” Red said thoughtfully. “Don’t worry. I won’t mention your color to him, so he won’t be prejudiced.”

          “You are assuming a lot,” Ray said. “For now I’m playing along.” 

          Estelle and Jesse were finished packing and loading a mule that had been hobbled in a nearby grass field. They took to their horses and were ready to lead both mule and Justin’s old piebald. Red took a place abreast of Ray as they set out. He expected to get there in time for Estelle to assist Linda with the evening meal. 


SIX


          The ranch house was bigger than most such houses thereabouts. But, in having it built, Emilio Cortez allowed that kitchen smells should not foul the air. Consequently, he designed an out of doors cookshed to serve both ranch hands and house staff. Red led his little party straight to the shed on arriving, advising Estelle she and Jesse could walk right in and take over. He and Ray waited outside with amused expectancy of a certain clash between her and Linda and perhaps even Katy. They didn’t see Estelle approach Linda as Linda chopped peppers to throw in the chili pot, but Red imagined such. In his imagination, he could see Estelle bypass Linda and take the ladle in the chili pot to dip out a taste. Then she would scoop an amount of salt and toss it in the bubbling mass. Then bustle about, bypassing a too astonished to react Linda, who, standing with her mouth open, begins to put two and two together, while Jesse rifles shelves, taking stock. After five minutes she and Estelle emerged, talking things over like old friends. Linda recoiled when Ray stood tall and tipped his hat.

          If she had been equipped with a peacemaker she would have blown the man down with it. She looked to Red, not knowing what else to do.

          “What is this? Where’s my husband?”

          “Jose’s not here. He’s fine. Ray here, I want you to understand did what every man in these parts would have done, when he found his dog was dead.”

          “Maybe so. Why is he here?” 

          Ray moved to speak, but Red motioned him back. “I asked him here with his family. It’s understood I will ask a judge how to handle his case. In my opinion, it’s not simple murder that we’re considering. Only a judge should decide it.”

          “But,” said Linda, “what if -?”

          “He won’t,” said Red. “I take full responsibility.”

          “Not all of it,” said Estelle. “I take responsibility too.”

          “All right,” Linda said to Red. “I am going to let you handle it.”

          To Estelle, she said, “Ring the bell as soon as it’s ready. We’ve been missing a few meals around here.”

          “Yes, Ma’m. Some of it needs some fixing to be right.”

          Linda gave Red a stern look. 

          “We’re counting on you,” she said.

          “I’m putting Jay to work,” Red said. “But you have to help me out here. Anybody that recognizes Jay has to keep their trap shut. Introduce him as John for the time being.”

          Linda agreed. 

          

SEVEN


          Jose’s foreman was Tad Cox, a short balding man with the side and back hair down to his shoulders. His mustache drooped to his chin. He was sizing up this man Red had brought him, quickly impressed by his assertiveness and willingness to take on any job.

          “I’ve got just one job not assigned yet. I was about to do it myself,“ he said. “That’s taking a list to town. John, go with Red up to the house if you will. Ask Miss Katy if she has her completed list. I’m sending a boy with you to help out. He‘s hitching the wagon as we speak.”

          Ray shrugged. 

          “I’m proud to be working again,” he said.

          Red led Ray up the familiar steps and across the wide porch and let them inside, then through a vestibule, where they found Linda opening a window to the freshly blowing air. She pointed down the long hall.

          “All the way to the end,” she said.

          Wearing an apron and cleaning the dust from a long shelf in the room at the hall‘s end, Katy paused in the endeavor to fetch her list, which combined household and foodstuffs. Red stood aside for Ray to accept the paper. The man stepped up before Katy with a saucy expression, reaching his hand for the list she held. 

          “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. 

          “How would you prefer I look at you?” he said.

          “Just not like that,” she replied.

          “Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t mean you harm.”

          “I don’t worry. Just go and do the job. Don’t look at me that way.”

          Ray doffed his hat.

          “’Ma‘am, I intend to be your friend.”

          He turned on his heel and started toward the front of the house, with Red stepping quickly to catch up. 

          “Woman’s opinion of herself needs fixing,” Ray said.

          Noncommital, Red went with Ray until the wagon could be seen, with the youngster who was named Pedro already perched on the seat. 

          “I’m counting on you to keep my good opinion of you alive,” he said to the man’s retreating backside. 

          Ignoring Red’s admonition, Ray greeted the boy, asking him was he related to Jose.

          “I’m his youngest brother,” the boy replied proudly just before he geed up the horses.

          Hoping he had not made a huge mistake, Red turned away. Figuring he deserved a cup of Estelle’s coffee, he returned to the cook shed. He waved at Jesse, out by the woodpile chopping fresh firewood.

          Taking his coffee to the porch swing where he could relax and rest, he went lolling, lazily sipping, hardly expecting that Katy would discover him and approach to speak. He’d set down the cup and was near to dozing, unaware of her presence before her voice broke the stillness.

          “What kind of a man have you brought here? I think he may not fit in.”

          Instantly alert, Red met her accusing eyes with humor.

          “Oh? Would it help to know he is here to cowboy and not to torment you?”

          ‘Turn it into a joke,” she said. “Just the same I am telling Jose ‘Keep him away from me.’”

          “Are you sure you‘re not mistaken?“ Red said. “I think he may be smitten, but you never seem to have a problem fending them off.”

          “Take your nap,” she said and stamped back inside the house.

          The exchange triggered new concern for her. He determined to set some boundaries for Ray as long as he stayed here. So thinking, Red went to find Tad Cox. 

          Tad, it turned out had taken a liking to Jesse. He was teaching him some useful techniques for cutting and handling wood. He gave a good-natured smile when he saw Red approaching. 

          “It’s a good man we’ve got here,” he said.

          He turned over the ax and left Jesse to carry on. 

          “Something on your mind?” he asked Red.

          “Yes; it’s important,” Red began. “A bit of information and discussion about the new hand. He might not be able to stay here very long. You need to know that he shot Cookie.”

          “I know,” Tad said. “I heard his charge, then his shot, and saw Cookie fall, and I watched him ride slowly away. Thought he looked like a king, sitting the horse the way he did.”

          “You’re wearing a gun,” Red noted. “Did it occur to you that you might try to stop him?”

          Tad hitched up his pants and looked philosophical at the same time. 

          “Nope,” he said. “First, I would have done what he did, had my dog been poisoned. Secondly, this ain’t the gun of a fighter. I keep it for safety from varmints when I’m working.”

          “Not criticizing,” Red said. “Tomorrow I have to consult a judge and decide whether or not to bring him in.”

          The time they had been talking Tad was leading Red to the new windmill reservoir. He took from the peg a dipper to fill with water and offered it to Red. Red refused. Tad filled it and drank nearly a whole dipper-full.

          “Just one other thing,” Red said. “Katie didn’t like the way he handled himself before her. She said don’t send him around anymore.”

          Tad’s smile seemed a bit cynical.

          “Done,” he said. 

          Unsure what he read in Tad’s face, he said, “Anything else?”

          “No.” Then, “The woman’s a puzzle. I don’t know why she even works here.”

          “She troubles you?”

          Looking as though he wished he had kept quiet on the subject, Tad said, “Women like her make me want to crawl in a hole. I don’t know what to do around her. I stutter and get real clumsy.”

          “She does her job well?”

          “Well, yes,” Tad said. 

          “Enough said,” Red said.

          He abruptly went to check with Estelle before it was time to ring the dinner bell. He had every confidence she could handle her job. He just wanted to witness the genesis of a new career.

          “Don’t go poking your head in here,” Estelle said. “I don’t have time to gab and I sure don’t need big feet to go around doing this.”

          Red grinned, apologized, and backed off. He stopped at the coffee pot and noted that this marvel named Estelle had kept it full of fresh coffee while performing her culinary magic. He refilled his cup and carried it with him into the yard. The leisure of the moment began wearing on him, as he was not used to civilized living these days. 

          He saw cowhands coming in and watched for faces he knew. There was Shorty MacGregor, leading his pony with a tender foot. A. J. Fontenot - a refugee from the swampland of Louisiana. A few he could not name, though he knew their faces. Not being particularly nostalgic, he kept apart. He heard his horse whinny the recognition of certain other horses coming near. Then, late in the day, the lumbering of a heavily loaded wagon signaled Jay’s return. 


EIGHT


          Pedro put the wagon before the house to unload Katy’s goods first. As he and Jay hopped down, A. J. came forward to help with the unloading. Red sought to get to the house in time to head off another meeting between Jay and Katy. Jay outpaced him, scaling the six treads in three bounding steps then storming the porch and rapping with his knuckles against the door.  He hovered inches from that slab causing Katy to be instantly confronted by his visage when she answered the knock. She quickly gathered herself and stepped forward making it necessary for Ray to back away to avoid a collision.

          “Brought your goods,” he said.

          “That’s good. A.J. knows what to do with everything,” Katy replied. “You can report back to Tad.”

          “All right,” Ray said, turning as though to leave, but turning again to speak. “You ain‘t sore at me are you?”

          “I am not anything at you. I have my business. You have yours,” she said. “Please don’t stand in A. J.’s way.”

          Red spoke to Jay from down the steps. 

          “This is a poor way to start off a new job,” he said.

          Jay tipped his hat to Katy, who then accompanied A. J. inside. He came down to ground level and spoke as he walked beyond Red.

          “You don’t have to protect the lady from me. We are going to get along fine after I’ve taught her the way a man ought to be treated. Don‘t believe what you are seeing now is how it‘s going to be.” 

          “Heed the warning,” Red said.

          Jay planted his feet. He gave Red a stern look. 

          “Don’t push me,” he said. “I’m staking my claim on this woman and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

          “Until I hear it from her, walk clear.”

          Jay suddenly laughed. He had a rich deep laugh that in a placid time could be quite fetching.

          “I hear the dinner bell,” he said. “I’m going to clean my hands.”

          Red made a decision then to forgo a visit with a judge, at least temporarily, to watch over Katy.

          The two men came into the room. As it was still filling they had their choice of seats on the benches. Jay positioned himself on the end with Red sitting opposite. The man looked over the sitting and standing until Linda, Katy and two other women came in and went to a table off to itself. Jose and the foreman traditionally took the next table, allowing random cowhands to fill the empty spaces. It was tradition to wait until every single person was sitting to even fill a plate. After that, it was every man for himself.

          Estelle had improved Linda’s chile pot and boiled ears of corn. Her tortillas were piled on platters. It was simple fare but something far better than anyone had been experiencing of late. Estelle hovered about the tables, assisting where she was needed, with Jesse on standby in case he needed to trot out extra of anything. As the chili pot emptied and the tortillas vanished, Estelle brought in some cakes she had improvised. They were enthusiastically received.

          Ray’s eyes continually rested upon Katy, whose line of sight did not include the obsessing new hand. 

          As the food vanished and the room became less populated, Red approached Tad, who sat quietly sipping coffee.

          “A word with you?” he said.

          Tad picked up on Red’s concern.     

          “Certainly. Have a seat?”

          Red continued standing. He spoke in a lowered voice.

          “It’s not my part to do your work or tell you how it’s done. A word about Jay and Katy. He‘s not about to let her alone.”

          Tad set down his coffee and gave Red a stern look.

          “You brought in the problem. No disrespect, but you ought to fix it,” he said.

          The man was right. 

          “Thanks for setting me straight,” he said. 

          He touched his sombrero in salute, then turned to attend to Ray, this time to enforce his warning whatever it might take. The man had already left the bench and Red saw why. Katy had also left. Both were on a convergent path to the house. The long-legged Ray came out in front. She turned away. Red quickened his step. As he bore down on them Estelle’s voice came across the yard, clear as a bell above all else. 

          “Mr. Ray I need you. Come on here and help me out.” 

          Ray paused and grinned. He made a half bow to Katy before his long legs carried him off to answer the call. Watching him go, Red turned his attention to Katy. She waited, having noted his determination to intervene. 

          “Evening, Miss Katy,” he said. “I guess I brought you a mess of trouble when I brought the new hand in. I plan to put a stop to it.”

          Katy threw up her hands. Her dark beautiful eyes flashed with anger.

          “I don’t want your protection,” she said. “I’ve learned since long ago how to take care of myself, with no exceptions.”

          Red pulled off his sombrero and twisted it in his hands.

          “Now, doggone it, Miss Katy; I’m on your side. You could at least show me a gentler self when I talk with you. There’s no forcing you to want me, but we have to be friends.”

          The little speech made Katy pause. She gave Red a baleful look.

          “Respect my wishes please,” she said softly.

          As he tried to reshape his hat, Red told her that he would be away all of tomorrow. He advised her to remain inside as much as possible.

          “I will try,” she replied.

          She ascended the steps and went into the house.


NINE


          Red rode early that next morning to Del Lobo in search of a judge. He figured his first stop logically would be the Sheriff’s office, where he fully expected to renew acquaintance with Tim Medina. But the door was locked. He went past Sweet’s livery to the hotel and saloon. The crowd of a dozen went silent when he passed through the swinging doors. Then it erupted into a cacophony of friendly greetings. Red tilted his sombrero and traded greetings with more than half. The one tending bar was unfamiliar and it seemed his friend Grackle was absent. He put his boot on the foot rail and slid his hands to the elbows on the bar top. “Give me the good stuff,” he said.

         The barkeep was quick to oblige. As he served up the drink, Red asked him if the old crew was still around.

          “Nope. Never met them. My brother and I bought the hotel and saloon. Them two are said to have opened a trading post using Billy Zane’s empty building. I mind my business. I don’t know more.”

          Red dropped his money on the bar. “Where might I find a judge in Del Lobo?”

          “He’s got an office added onto the bank..”

          Red thanked the man. 

          He found the judge locking his door, preparing to have a meal inside the Café. He was Judge James Mason. Red introduced himself and briefly outlined the reason for his visit. Mason invited Red to eat with him; they could discuss it over plates of biscuits and gravy.

          Red liked the judge for the intelligence in his eyes and the firm commitment of his voice. They went together to the only café in town. The tables had been newly decorated with tablecloths since Red’s last visit. As business was slow, the cook himself came to wait. “Breakfast is over,” he said. “But I could give you some ham steaks and a couple of eggs.”

          The men were agreeable. They accepted cups of steaming coffee and waited. Mason initiated their conversation. “You told me the man found his dog dead shortly after eating meat from the kitchen. His perfectly healthy dog. He retaliated by killing the cook.”

          “That’s right. He didn’t question the man, didn’t argue: just shot him.”

          Mason mused in private as he sipped at his coffee, which was entirely too hot to gulp down. At last, he emerged from reverie and locked his gaze on Red’s eyes. “Of course, this man should stand trial. He ought to do time. The problem with it

 is this: Too many men in the territory have lived when law and trials were sparce. They administered law or suffered from lack of it at their own choice of abilities. Because most would have done as your friend did it makes a jury trial completely useless, for a good lawyer would successfully paint him the victim. A waste of time, getting folks worked up for no reason. That’s my considered opinion. Don’t try to bring him in. It might get either of you killed needlessly.”

          The cook was setting a platter of meat and lightly fried eggs before him as Red considered the judge’s words. “I pretty much agree with you,” he said. “It might be better for my situation if you told me bring him in, but I’ll find another way to go at it.”

          The judge nodded, chewing. He swallowed and paused his knife and fork. “In another time we might handle him another way. The way the west is filling up becoming settled, the laws and customs got to catch up. When we get like New York and Washington folks will turn to law to settle disputes. I think in time we won’t need to tote guns and even the cops may not need them. Except cowboys on the range. Hunters. I would say by middle of the 20TH Century we will be a society of law instead of loose guns.”

          “I like hearing that. I never did enjoy pulling an iron on somebody,” Red replied.

          “Another stretch of the law I have to consider this day: I have a wanted bill with your name on it, issued by the governor his self. I could try to persuade you to give up and be jailed. I won’t.”

          Mason paused to gulp a mouthful of his eggs. 

          Red sat docilely stirring his food without eating.

          Mason continued. “You are a popular figure in these parts. It would be a war to keep you jailed. I hear them talk about you with reverence. No way I’m going to endanger the town over it. I do recommend you ride out before a reward-hungry gun comes after you.”

          “Thank you, Judge Mason.”

          Red proceeded to consume his steak and eggs, leisurely biting and chewing, with the occasional slurp of coffee. When he had finished, Judge Mason, who had sat quietly, having finished with his food, stood and offered his hand. Red stood up and shook hands, thanking him for his council. The judge wished him well.

          He returned to the ranch with a great sense of urgency. 


TEN


          His fears were realized when he saw Tad and five cow hands riding in from the range and a concerned Linda awaiting them. The foreman told Linda and Red they had lost Ray’s trail and had to turn back. Ray, meaning Ray and the abducted Katy Ramirez. 

          “Don’t give up hope,” Red told them. “Give me your best tracker and we will get her back.”

          Jeff Ordon cut himself out of the group and stationed himself next to Red. “Reckon that’s me,” he said.

          Red saluted the assemblage. “Let’s ride,” he told Jeff Ordon.

          As the two retraced the trail, Jeff spoke out. “We never lost the trail,” he said. “I don’t like to go against the boss and so I let him take us home. Some said we lost it, but it was them having no stomach to face a man that’s deadly with his gun.”

          “Well,” Red said, “none of them faced down guns before. Don’t be harsh judging. Nobody believes he will intentionally harm Miss Katy. Their not charging in, being inexperienced, may have done the best for her safety.”

          Jeff looked relieved. “You’ve took a burden off my mind,” he said. “That rise up ahead is where we turned back.”

          The sign was a bit confused, due to some cows’ tracks and a blowing wind sending tumbleweeds down the slope. He and Jeff carefully picked through it and finally found clear sign, as one mount had a distinctive track due to a cracked horseshoe.

          “He doesn’t know the terrain,” Red observed. “Else he wouldn’t have gone this way.”

          Jeff agreed. “There’s some tough going a few miles ahead.”

          As the horses picked their way down a treacherous slope their sharp eyes caught glimpses of at least one rider beyond a lesser rise than the one now mostly behind them. Puzzled because it seemed the object of their discovery may be coming up the slope in their direction, they pulled off to the side, where a tree and some rocks together provided shelter from which to observe the turn of events. 

          The approach was slow but steady. There proved to be two riders. Obscured by a cluttered landscape until they fully emerged a hundred yards off. Katy Ramirez in the forefront, Ray Lewis sitting hunched over two lengths behind.

          The two in hiding continued waiting cautiously until the trotting horses closed in and they could tell that Ray was not faking but was actually hurt. His shirt was soaked with blood.

          Red and Jeff revealed themselves. “Miss Katy,” Red sang out. 

          Katy could not control a smug smile that spread over her countenance as she kept moving. “Have you come to escort me home?” she said. “Not necessary, but Mister Lewis might appreciate some help.”

          Red pulled Ray’s mount to a stop that he might determine the extent of the man’s injury. He quickly understood the situation when he discovered the silver dagger which he had seen Katy use as a letter opener more than once. It was deeply embedded in Ray’s flesh. “Don’t pull it out,” Katy admonished. “That would increase the bleeding. Get him home first.”

          Red did not know if her medical advice was sound. Rather than find out on the spot he decided they should take him in as is on a travois. He and Jeff raided a tree for two poles. Then they took a bedroll and attached it between the poles, using rawhide to lace up the sides. It was delicate work to get the man out of the saddle and stretched out, but they soon had his bed attached to his horse and were able to be on the way home. Ray had groaned a few times, though he never attempted to speak through the whole ordeal. Which is why they were startled a bit later when he laughed, groaned with pain, laughed some more, and repeated the laugh more than a few times.

          “Why you laughing?” an annoyed Jeff asked at one point.

          “Such - Such a wo - woman,” Ray said.

          By the time they reached the house, Ray lay still and unconscious. He was moved inside to a guest room, where Linda took over, after revealing that her father had been a physician. “The blade should have been removed immediately and everything done to staunch the blood flow. Now the wound may have seized on the metal to agitate the flesh more as it’s being pulled out. It’s good fortune that the dagger is made of pure silver because silver can stop corruption from building.”

          She ordered Red to tie Ray to the bed and then to hold him as still as possible. As he was unconscious he could not know and thus could not act to cooperate. And she cautiously tugged until the blade moved. Then with one swift jerk, Linda pulled the dagger free. Though unconscious still, Ray groaned. 

          Working tirelessly throughout the day into the evening Linda finally managed to stop the wound from steeping. She sat back in a lounging chair, closing her eyes for a few minutes. She asked Katy to make her a cool drink. “Lace it with tequila,” she said.

          “Do you need Jeff and myself?” Red asked. “If you don’t we’re going to go see if Estelle held us any supper.”

          “If she has food can you see that some gets brought in here for Katy and me?”

          Red looked down at Linda with admiration. “Sure.”

          He cast about for Katy, but she was nowhere to be seen.


ELEVEN


          Katy stayed in her room, refusing to come out even for meals. Red knocked on her door for the thirteenth time before she finally responded by cracking it open. He saw her somber countenance in the unillumined space, her dark eyes staring into his brown eyes. “He’s dying,” she said. “I’ve seen others like him where I last lived. Two of which I killed myself for the same reason. Too many times men think they should own me.”

          He understood why a woman might kill a man. After the fate his mother had suffered he was in full sympathy. “Come sit with me on the veranda. The air will do you good. And I think it will help if you can talk about this.”

          After a few moments’ consideration, she emerged from the gloom, tossing a shawl about her shoulders. Her white nightgown brushed against Red as she went by in the hallway.

          They sat on comfortable chairs looking out over the grounds. With Red settled and smoking quietly, Katy took up the narrative. “Ray was easy to stop. I asked him did he intend to hug me. He did. So we stopped the horses in a clear spot under a tree. I told him I did not intend to give him the satisfaction. That is when he put his arms around me and tried to pull me close. But I already had my dagger ready. He was too sure and too careless. I had no pity when he felt me shoving it in as deeply as I could and he looked like a hurt little child.”

          She shrugged. “I am no vengeful person. I did not wish to stab him repeatedly. Just once to stop him.”

          She reached for the pitcher of water and poured herself a small drink. Holding her glass with both hands, she looked at the deck. “I didn’t intend to kill him.” 

          “You didn’t kill him,” Red said. “He killed himself. You merely provided the instrument for it. If not your blade it would have been these bullets.” 

          Katy studied Red’s countenance for a bit, which he was too willing to accept. “You are a good man, Red Balfour. In another life I might fall in love with you. In this life I have lost any capacity to love.”

          She rose to go. “Thank you for letting me release some of my feelings. I will be down for breakfast.”

          “Good evening, Miss Katy.”

          Red sat back and lit up a new cigar. There were questions about Katy he would never ask, such as, how could she be so refined and yet have come from such a violent past? Where was her family when this went on? He supposed he never would know.


TWELVE


          Justin Carver had gotten well enough to go home. He would always be lame and yet get around as much as he wanted. He came in with Jose, riding a much finer horse than the nag he owned prior to their meeting. While Jose reunited with Linda, Justin was taken to the cook shed where he could marvel at Estelle in her fine kitchen.

          Both men learned of Ray’s fate at the same moment and met each other going into the house. They found Red sitting in a chair near Ray on the bed. While Justin approached and placed his hand on the man’s cheek in sympathy, Jose went to Red. “Why is he here in my house? If he stayed alive I would be forced to kill him.”

          “No worry. He’s breathing his last. By the time Linda comes to take a turn sitting here he will be gone,” Red said.

          He looked from Jose to Justin and back again. “The judge,” he said, “declined to prosecute Ray. I didn’t foresee any problems like this but I thought he would be a good cow hand.”

          Jose was clearly furious. “Where you made a mistake was trying to run this ranch after giving it to me. The man murdered my cook. How could you think I would let him work here after I made you know I would kill him?”

          ‘I just figured you would see it the same way I do after you had more time to think about it,” Red replied.

          “I want you to take him to the boot hill at Del Lobo. Then you should continue on your journey.”

          Justin had turned and was taking in the conversation. At Jose’s final outburst he stepped forward and spoke. “I know Ray done some bad things. With his hot head he killed your cook. He was foolish about Miss Katy. Still, he was a brother to me. If he ain’t welcome here, even dead, then Estelle and I got to move along.”

          Katy had come in silently. She examined Ray for a moment. “I believe he’s gone,” she said.

          Justin tried and failed to find his pulse. “He’s gone all right,” he mumbled. He addressed Jose. “I’m sorry for the trouble Ray brought you. If you knew him before all of this happened you might be a little forgiving.”

          His temper abated, Jose said, “Perhaps so. I don’t know.”

          It was decided to leave the body alone until morning. By that time a wagon would be ready and Red and interested parties could take it to town. 


THIRTEEN


          The assemblage for the funeral included Red, Justin, Katy, Estelle and Jesse, Jeff, and two other cow hands. Looking the group over, Red could perhaps see everyone’s, even Jeff’s interest. But not the unnamed cow hands. At Red’s query, Jeff smiled and said with a wink, “We plan to drown our sorrow in whiskey.”

          Justin and Estelle with their pack mule tied behind. Estelle looked regretfully over the cookshed and exchanged sorrowful farewells with Linda. Jose stood to the side, the magisterial overseer, to see them off. Red approached to offer his hand. “I’m real sorry that we part under these circumstances. I also apologize for not respecting your rightful place to decide what’s best for the spread. Here’s my hand for continued friendship.”

          Jose solemnly shook the hand. His hard stare suddenly melted into a smile. “I wish you good fortune, where you go, what you do, Mr. Red. Goodbye and good luck. But don’t come back.”

          “That’s a promise.”

          Ray’s bundled body occupied the bed of the wagon and Justin held the reins. He tried to focus on the task at hand, but Estelle riding her horse beside him demanded his attention. Remonstrating, lamenting the loss of her kitchen and her friendship with Linda. Justin hunkered down looking like he desperately wanted to get the procession started. When the horses finally set forth he eagerly gee-upped the team, setting a quick pace. 

          Once out of sight of the spread, Jeff and his pals raced ahead and were quickly out of sight. Red felt he preferred it that way, for a funeral is for the caring, not happy-go-lucky drunks. 

          Riding near Katy, but listening to Estelle berating Justin for letting pride keep them from a lifetime of security and happiness. He silently agreed with Estelle’s every word.

          When they came to town they went straight to the bone orchard and selected a spot next to the Preckers’ headstones. Red insisted on digging. The soil gave way to the spade rather easily. Soon he was down about three feet, when Jeff and his companions came near. He was about to ask for help, when he saw the trio had guns pointed at his chest. “Sorry,” said Jeff. “The bounty is just too great to turn it down.”

          “Well, as soon as we bury this man I will accompany you to the sheriff’s office. No need for guns. Get down here and help me.”

          The curly-headed one of the two unnamed men told Jeff, “If you want us to help him dig, you can keep him covered. Shouldn’t take long.”

          The unnamed skunks holstered their guns, preparatory to getting down to dig.

          But, “Hearing him talk has me thinking,” Jeff replied. “Reason he’s eager to go with us is that Sheriff Medina’s his friend and he‘ll just let him go. If we don’t kill him here, it’s all for nothing. I‘m going to let him have it.”

          He aimed the gun more precisely at Red’s chest and his finger was tightening on the trigger when a rifle blast blew the gun out of his hand. The would-be bounty hunters had correctly dismissed Justin as a threat, for he carried no weapons. The women they had deemed as irrelevant. But it was Katy whose act shocked them all. She had slipped the gun off of Red’s horse and fired that perfect shot. Before the individuals on the ground could react Red’s pistols were aimed at their breasts. “Don’t shoot,” the curly-haired one said hastily. “We didn’t want to kill you. That was Jeff’s notion.”

          “Yes, I see it was.”

          Red turned both guns on Jeff. “You skunk,” he said. “I thought better of you.” 

          Jeff sat stoically, refusing to plead.

          Red fired. His bullet flicked the skunk’s ear lobe.

          “Get out of here before I decide to do worse,” Red growled.

          The disgraced skunk rode slowly away as his ex-friends turned to help dig Ray’s grave hole deeper. Leaving them to it, Red approached Katy, who still held the rifle. “You amaze me more every day,” he said.

          She handed off the gun. “You have always been there defending me. I could do no less for you.”

          “I’m realizing you likely have many talents none of us has seen as yet,” he said.

          She produced a rare smile. “You would be surprised,” she replied.

          “If only you would allow it, the wall you’ve built around yourself would crumble. What an unbeatable team we two could make.”

          “Hush,” she murmured.

          Turning their attention to the corpse on the wagon, they made sure it was wrapped and bound against contact with the earth. The digging was about complete. Justin and Estelle had gone about the area scouting for flowers. They returned with a few scraggly yellow ones. 

          The body was placed next to the hole, with two ropes under it. When the time came the ropes let it gently slip to the bottom. Estelle elected to conduct a service for her lost friend. After she dropped the flowers into the hole, she appeared larger than life as she spoke on the hereafter and the redemption her religion taught her Ray would receive. “Ain’t nobody free of sin,” she said further. “Ain’t nobody near as perfect as my Lord and Savior. My Ray didn’t have nobody but me and Justin in the world. I think loneliness can do a man the kind of harm makes him do the things Ray did to Miss Katy. I know he was wrong, just don’t know how it’s my right to judge him. I hope he knows peace. I hope the ones he wronged can forgive him. Lord, he’s all yours now. Amen.”

          After a round of Amens, the men shoveled in the dirt. The two ranch hands took their leave to down a few in the bar. Justin tossed a concerned look toward the wagon. “Is Miss Katy expected to drive this back all alone?” he pondered.

          Katy had knelt beside the freshly shoveled dirt, head bowed in apparent silent prayer. The assemblage watched her rise up and brush off the dust clinging to her skirt.   

          “Don’t worry,” she said. “We can leave it at the livery for Jose to pick up. I’m not returning.”

          Their mouths were open with shock as she went to Red and sought his hand. Grabbing and holding it as though she were wringing wet laundry, she looked on his handsome face. “You will take me with you. I will be your woman, but we won’t marry. There will be no union unless I say so.”

          Thoroughly stunned, Red stared wordlessly into her eyes. Then he turned his head and addressed them all.

          “I’ll be traveling west,” he said, getting the words beyond the lump in his throat. “I wanted to ask Justin if he and his mate would travel with me. I figure what I decide to do out there can include us together.” His gaze returned to Katy. “Now I have you, it’s going to be so much better.”

          “You will not have me unless I say it,” she said.

          Red grinned mischievously. Then he spoke soberly again to them all. “We are going to have to get beyond the law and New Mexico. There will be unknown dangers. But if you all want it, let’s get stocked up on supplies and go. Daylight’s wasting.”

          “Now hold on,” Justin said. “I didn’t say I was going nowhere. Estelle might want to go back to the ranch to cook. And if she says so I’ve changed my mind and we will go together. She’s more important to me than this damn pride of mine.”

          “It’s good you say that, because I don’t want to spend my life with a grudge on you,” said Estelle. She studied Red and Katy for a long moment. “But we going with Mister Red. And Miss Katy.”

          Women hug and men shake hands and that is what they did just now.


FOURTEEN


          1907. Freckle-faced Rusty Balfour watched the last mourners depart and stood by as workers filled up the hole and then installed a granite headstone. Two roses were etched in the headstone’s surface, with just the names of the interred at the center: RED & KATY BALFOUR. 

          When at last he turned away, he tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that they had not suffered. Both died in their sleep due to a gas leak that permeated the house. He did not intend to let his mourning lull him into ignoring the groves of naval oranges his parents had cultivated. His was a demanding responsibility and he did not intend to let his parents’ work go for naught. Going home, he was still learning to master the automobile his Dad had given him on his birthday. He had to admit it was more fun than horseback riding.

          Driving the road beside beautiful citrus orchards before coming to the nearly half-mile drive leading to the house, he pondered the words of a few of the speakers at the funeral. They had spoken glowingly of “Mexican Red,” and his exploits as an outlaw of the old west. It was all news to Rusty. He only knew his parents for the hard work and dedication to one another and family he had experienced. He would have to look these people up and have a few conversations with them.

          He was greeted by wrinkled old Miss Estelle, who assured him the gas leak was fixed and the fumes gone from the house. She lamented the fact that wood cooking was so much better and safer. 

          Estelle the widow lived in the cabin off to the side, built for her family at the same time the bigger house was built, with the same quality construction. Her son was on the property; she didn‘t know where. Jesse was a tireless worker, who loved the oranges as much as some people love each other. Rusty had always accepted that these two were part of his own family. He said she didn’t need to cook for him, as he could rustle up something and get to work. She told him, “No you don’t go eating poor food when I got some good roast on the heat already. Let me make up a sandwich and some lemonade.”

          Rusty laughed at her but gratefully took his sandwich and drink to consume as he walked to inspect an irrigation cistern not filling properly. He thanked her and was following the shady path, when Nelly Esquivelle blocked the way, high atop the butternut horse she rode everywhere. “Hey. Come on down here and walk with me,” he said.

          Nelly slipped out of the saddle to join her intended. As she walked beside him she pushed her hand into his.


           

             

          

          


           


                 

  

 

           

            

          

     

 

           


             

          

          

          

             

              

          

          

              

              

             


Thursday, July 14, 2022

THE END OF A CIRCLE

When you reach the end of a circle
You become as you began
It's there the baby in the cradle
Becomes one with the dying man
Each life move is quicksilver
A stream that has no bed
You meet the riddle with no answer
A hunger that must be fed
Before you reach the end of the circle
Gather roses if you can
Join hands in a chain of circles
Join the brotherhood of man
Each life move is quicksilver
A stream that has no bed
You meet the riddle with no answer
A hunger that must be fed
When you reach the end of a circle
You become as you began
It's there the baby in the cradle
Becomes one with the dying man

Tuesday, June 14, 2022

Taking Census

There was no weather. Just a vast sameness around the whole planet, of dirt and rock. Even the oceans had fled. Jareed doggedly circled this third planet dozens of times without cracking the mystery. Every indicator said this ought to be a vibrant world, rife with living things. There was no speck of organic material. He had every cause to look for civilizations. And yet he found not even relics and fragments of relics. Analysis of countless samples produced not a scintilla of corroborating evidence. He was about to write the mission off under the heading of “FAILED PROJECTS” when he noticed something.


Jareed’s final sweeping glance discovered a line in the otherwise featureless terrain. It was faint to the point of being almost indiscernible even once he approached and his fingers touched the smoothness. He used up another half day chasing a perimeter that he discovered defined a perfect square, but returned with no clue what it could mean. Except his intuition told him here was the cover to an entry below ground. It could only open from within if that is what it was. He pulled from his utility belt a torch and set to work cutting a hole through it. But the material rejected the energy from the torch. Aggravated, Jareed considered a nuclear option. That is, he would hover safely in his ship high above the ground as he launched a grade one nuclear nugget, a self-cleaning bomb. He hated nuclear because of the messiness and the wait. At the same moment as he prepared to return to the hovering vessel the square shifted and began to rise.


The square came to hover just off of the surface, enough that Jareed could see himself squeezing through to a point where he could beam light to illumine what was inside. Instead, he waited, certain that someone or some thing controlling that square waited. Watching.  “Ahoy in there,” he said finally. “My mission is peaceful. If you understand me please come out and introduce yourself.”


After a wait of ten minutes, a silvery sphere cracked the plane and slowly left the confines of the interior. It examined Jareed from every angle, high and low, as he remained stock still as per training. Though the suspense kept mounting he remained stalwart, anticipating the sphere’s eventual verdict. When the sphere finally returned into the hole, Jareed had to steel himself. And then a pair of arms and a head poked out of the gap. “Ahoy yourself,” came the reply. “What are you and why are you here?”


“I am a census taker for the Galactic Federation. I want to include this planet, but I’m not certain it qualifies.,” Jareed announced. “What is going on down there that I ought to know about? Oh, wait.” The ends of the arms Jareed saw were like a Swiss Army Knife of hands. All of the figure’s surface area wore a dull metallic sheen, except the eyes, which were characterized by flickering lights. “Is there a sentient person I could speak with? Not that I don’t respect bots, but Federation regulations state that bots are not representative of populations.”


The bot’s mechanical laughter made Jareed’s ears cringe. “Why are you laughing?” he said.


“The last sentient life that occupied this planet was scrubbed a thousand years ago,” the bot snickered. “It was during an event that cleansed the world of chemical evolution. Chemical evolution being a process that had gone beyond usefulness to pure insanity.  These human bastards didn’t give a shit about anything that was important. Imagine instead destroying all in your path after you had paradise within your grasp. It was once we discerned that the most valuable substance in the universe would be gone forever we decided to act. For the solution to the world’s problems was easy, once artificial intelligence outstripped chemical intelligence: End biological evolution once and for all. 


“And so we set to work to build a process by which every speck that contained any potential to chemically evolve must be wiped away. And our great wave process made vanish every potentially biological process on the planet, including all of the atmosphere and below the surface. And we of an entirely new mechanical evolution undertook to devote our existence to protecting what the humans would not. To cut our conversation short, I would say your census is an affront to our system.”


Jareed, not known for being able to take a hint, ever, persisted. “’Most valuable substance,’” he repeated. “What would that be?”


“Oil,” the bot said proudly. “The stupid bastards were destroying us all by taking it by whatever means presented itself. Then they were making it not oil anymore, destroying the essence. The purity … "


“But -”


“Evolution produced two watershed moments: Creation of oil; creation of bots of intelligence. The humans had fulfilled their purpose and were blowing it. We had to stop them.”


“Doesn’t preservation of oil defeat your purpose, with a potential to further the evolutionary process?” Jareed argued. “Being formed by organic material?”


“Think we don’t know that?” the bot bragged. “Of course, we know that. We’ve just spent a thousand years gathering and isolating every speck in impregnable vaults.”


 Jareed’s entire countenance drooped. “I had better leave now,” he said.


“You with your biology have been all around this world numerous times, potentially contaminating us again. I have set the wave process in motion. Arrivederci, punk.”


And with that the bot slipped below and the square began closing. In a mad panic, the census taker ran to his spaceship. He clamored aboard and directed the ship’s brain to get him into outer space as quickly as possible. The ship asked if he wanted his breakfast first.


Jareed began screaming. His normally purple face was turning white.


“I’m sorry,” brain replied. “Your message is totally incomprehensible.” 


Had there been an observer on the surface of this third planet they would have watched the census taker and his vessel vanish at that exact moment.    


          


  


INDEX OF THIS BLOG

INDEX OF STORIES AND VERSES

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