"Okay
Harry," Benny grimaced when the contents spilled on his hand. Grinding his
teeth until it hurt, Benny shot a scowl toward the doorway where Harry had
disappeared. Dirty spittoons, dirty lanterns. That's all he did was clean. What did they think he was, a woman?
The sun beat down on like an iron skillet, sizzling the
earth, only one bird sang his lovely tune, a mocking bird, Benny noticed
silently. The streets of Del Rio, Texas were quiet. Unusually so for this time
of day.
Benny Gates was unaware of the beautiful day as he sat on
the boardwalk right outside the Silver Spur Saloon. He was brooding again, his
shoulders slumped making him appear shorter than he really was. With a mop of
dirty blonde hair, and clear blue eyes, he might have been handsome if he
carried himself better. But he continued to carry the nastiness of the world on
his shoulders.
They'd called him a dim-wit this morning, mocking him.
Yesterday Johnny Hatfield and Clay Roberts had teased him as he tried to keep
the bar and spittoons clean for Harry the bartender. Johnny and Clay were Privates
for the army, and they often frequented the bar. And every time they came to
town they gave Benny a hard time. For one thing Benny's clothes were all
tattered and torn, and his shoes were worn out and flapped when he walked.
"One of these days though…. I'll make them all sit up
and take notice of Benny Gates." Benny mumbled out of the side of his
mouth.
Benny went inside. Not that he wanted to, but he had work to
do. A half-drunk Indian played a wicked piano filling Benny with disgust, he'd
heard every tune. Music didn't interest him, neither did drinking. He'd had a
lifetime of both. The saloon had been his home all his life, a disgusting home,
Benny determined. He hated it. He hated everything at the moment. He hated
Johnny and Clay, he hated the army, but most of all…he hated his mother.
He hated saloons too. He hated the people inside them.
Saloons were nasty, stinky, and filled with the rotten apples of Del Rio. He
wished they were dead. He wished half the town were dead. So many had called
him ugly names and poked fun at him for years on end. He'd been known as the
bastard child of Del Rio. Every day was the same, it never got better like some
told him it would.
He breathed deep and the stench of rot-gut whiskey and long
ago chewed tobacco permeated the air.
He put his hand on the bar he'd cleaned only an hour ago and
already, slopped whiskey, dirty hands, dust from cowhand's clothes, and spilled
tobacco formed a paste on top of it.
Two saloon girls got up and moved around a poker table.
Their hands were everywhere, touching, feeling, making themselves known to the
men. Benny grimaced. This was his private hell. He was born to it, and it
looked as though he'd die here, unless he done something about it.
The mirror that hung behind the bar was smeared with dust
and smoke until no one could truly see much out of it.
"I'll show them. I'll fix them good." Benny
mumbled.
He sat contemplating how he would even all the scores.
For years, he'd taken ridicule, snide remarks, people
laughing at him. And why?
His mother, that was why. His mother had been a saloon girl
all her life, and as of late she hobbled about the bar with her thick mask of make-up
and drooping white shoulders. The times she'd went up those stairs with ugly,
dirty cowboys were too numerous to count. Benny didn't want to think about
that. He didn't want to think about her. They made fun of her too. No one knew
who Benny's father was, even his mother. Perhaps that was the biggest problem,
he was the bastard of some unknown cowboy drifter, and the laughing stock of
Del Rio.
With no education, he'd still managed to learn to count with
the cards of a gambler. Decent young girls didn't look at him, but they giggled
at him behind his back. He didn't understand what was so different about him?
Disgust and anger roiled inside his body, festering like a
sore. But this sore never healed. It wouldn't heal until he did something about
it, and he had plans to do just that. He'd thought it up some time ago, but
soon they would all be sorry how they treated him. Very soon.
Two strangers rode up and hobbled their horses in front of
the saloon. Benny stared at them as they came through the swinging doors. They
didn't look much different than the cowboys who hung out in the saloon, except
they were cleaner, and they were strangers. When Benny was younger, he might
have given these two the benefit of the doubt, but not anymore. Anyone who
sought out a saloon was the same to Benny.
The one thing Benny did was observe people, filing away the
information on each new person he met, to refer to at another time.
He studied these two. One was a Mexican and the other was
white. They both wore guns though and looked as though they knew how to use
them. Benny squirmed a little. He had them pegged as gunfighters, just the way
they walked and carried themselves told him they could handle their firearms.
He eyed them for a long minute, but they paid little
attention to him.
He listened as they were greeted by an old friend, Chocko.
"Antonio, I have not seen you for years. Where have you
been, my friend?"
Chocko asked his friend. Chocko was a tall Mexican, with
a big sombrero and a perfectly manicured mustache. He had slicked back black hair
and eyes that could pierce any target. But his smile was genuine and aimed at this
Antonio and his companion with interest.
"Lots of places my friend. Let me introduce you to John
T. he used to be a Texas Ranger."
"Used to?" Chocko questioned quickly.
"Yeah, he's just a Sheriff now, and I'm worse, I'm his
deputy." Antonio smiled.
Chocko snickered. "I didn't know you could quit the
Rangers?"
"Sort of retired…" John T. smiled.
"Say, aren't you two the ones that got that crazy
fella, Victor Frank?" Chocko asked buying a round of beers for his
friends.
Antonio bowed his head, and John T. looked away, "Yeah,
we're the ones." Antonio's voice lowered.
It wasn't so much what he said as how he said it that had
Chocko speechless for a moment. Benny paid close attention. The tension in the
room mounted for a moment.
"Everybody is talkin' about that. He was one mean hombre. Even the Rangers
wouldn’t mess with him, I'm told. Said you got him in an Indian camp and nearly
wiped out the whole bunch…"
"Yes, my friend, but we don't talk about it much…"
Antonio said lowly. "It is not a good thing to remember."
Chocko's smile disappeared. "Why not. He was one bad
hombre, eh? I would think you would brag of such of feat. He was a killer of
women, no doubt he deserved to die…"
John T. turned his drink up and swallowed it down, slamming
the glass on the bar. Antonio leaned on the bar and looked out the door.
Chocko saw their gazes disappear out the swinging doors.
"I do not understand, he was a bad hombre, wasn't
he?" Chocko twisted his head and stared at the two of them.
John T. nodded, "Yeah, he was."
"Then why so sad…?" Chocko hit Antonio on the back
and laughed.
Antonio gripped his beer tightly. "It was like killing
a mad dog, Chocko. There is no honor in killing a mad dog, you are simply
putting him out of his misery."
Antonio explained. "That's what we
did, put him out of his misery."
"Si…. I understand that." Chocko nodded to the
bartender for a refill. "So, what are you doing here?" Chocko quickly
changed the subject when he saw they were both withdrawn from this conversation.
John T. stood up straight now, "We're here to pick up a
prisoner."
"Sorrels?" Chocko cocked his head at him.
"That's the one." Antonio nodded.
"He has a big mouth, and a fast gun, but he is trash."
Chocko said with disgust. "He says he accidentally killed the woman who
ran out of the bank, while he was robbing it."
"Was it an accident?" Antonio questioned.
"There were no eye witnesses. She was the only one in
the bank accept the teller at the time. No one knows, but…he shot her in the
back…"
Antonio pushed his hat back from his head. "Didn't the
teller see it?"
"Nope, they killed him too."
"Why do we always end up with the no-accounts?"
Antonio sighed.
John T. snickered. "Just lucky I guess…"
"Too bad they can't hang him here?" Antonio said.
"And, why can't we?" Chocko laughed.
"He's wanted on a previous charge over in Austin, seems
he killed a politician up there during another robbery." John T. informed
him.
"So, you are from Austin?"
Antonio shook his head, "No Chocko, but since we are so
famous for killing Victor Frank, they sent us to pick up this Sorrels. It seems
they consider him a very dangerous hombre."
"You will ruin their plans then…" Chocko pointed
to a table of men who seemed bent on getting drunk.
"Who are they?" Antonio looked toward the table
with interest.
"Friends and family of the lady he killed. They will
not be so happy about you taking him."
John T. and Antonio glanced at each other. "That's too
bad." John T. shot the men at the table a quick glance.
Antonio glanced around the bar. "So, what do you do
now, Chocko?"
"I work for Don Pedro, on his ranch. I am foreman
there."
"Foreman, well, you are moving up in the world."
Chocko smiled a brilliant smile, "Si…"
"What are you doin' in town then?"
"Don Pedro is making arrangements with the buyers, we
will soon move the herd north to the railroad." Chocko said.
"I guess he's got a pretty big spread now."
Antonio thought about it.
"Si, very big. Thanks to God we do not have to take
them to Kansas any longer." Chocko said.
"Yeah, I guess the days of the big cattle drives are
over now." John T. added.
"Yeah," Chocko nodded. "You know, I kind of
miss it. Sleeping out under the stars, listening to the cattle low at night. It
was peaceful."
"Yeah but how about the storms, the rain, the up all
night with a stampede? Bet you don't miss that do ya?" John T. smiled.
"No senor, I do not miss that…" Chocko laughed.
Benny came strolling around them, he shot Chocko a quick
glance then went to tie his apron on and sweep the floor. He kept his head
down, and seemed bent on not looking at anyone.
All the time they talked, he swept, but John T. noticed how
Benny kept getting closer and seemed to be listening to every word.
When John T. caught Benny staring, Benny moved away quickly.
"Who's that?" John T. asked.
Chocko shot Benny a quick glance, "Aw…that is Benny,
he's a little short on brains, but he's harmless. He keeps this place clean.
He's sort of belligerent, as they say."
John T. glanced again at the young man.
"He doesn't look like he likes you Chocko."
Antonio observed.
Benny edged up to them. "What does belligerent
mean?"
Chocko laughed and shook his head. "Never mind
Benny."
"No…you called me belligerent…what does that
mean?"
"Means you got a bad attitude." Chocko narrowed
his focus on the young man.
"Now go back to your work, Benny. This doesn't
concern you."
"I don't like bein' called names. Every day I take it,
from the men from Camp Hudson, and Ft. Clark. Well, I'm tired of taking it.
Take it back, Chocko." Benny yelled.
"Settle down pardner, he meant no harm." Antonio
got between them.
Benny bristled. "Stay out of this mister…"
"You're taking offense awfully easy kid." John T.
studied him carefully.
"I'm gonna get a gun and shoot you Chocko. I'm gonna
shoot you dead. You hear me?" Benny hollered and ran out the door.
Chocko turned back to the bar, swallowed another whiskey and
eyeballed his friends. "That is one strange kid. He's never happy. Never
knows a joke when he hears one. He's
gonna get himself killed one of these days. He's got so much hate stored up,
Lord help us if it ever comes out."
"Does he always threaten to shoot people?" John T.
asked, still watching the swinging door.
"No, but he's all talk." Chocko laughed. "Benny
doesn't like anyone."
"I can believe that?" John T. said, his eyes
darting around the room.
Chocko shrugged seeming uncomfortable talking about the kid.
"Perhaps we should talk of him another time…"
John T. nodded, "Well, we've had our drink, we better
get on over to the jail. We got a long ride ahead of us."
Antonio paid for the last drink and nodded. "Good
seein' you again, Chocko, take care."
"Adios my friends." Chocko tipped his hat to them.
But just as they would have walked outside, Benny came
charging in with a six-shooter in his hand and aimed it at Chocko.
John T. reacted as he always did.
"I'm gonna kill you dead, Chocko…" Benny raised
his gun.
John T. shot the gun out his hand and walked toward the kid
who was stumbling to the floor and blabbering about his bleeding hand.
"You shot me! You shot me!" Benny cried in stunned
confusion.
"Better be glad he didn't kill you." Antonio
glanced down at the flustered kid.
"He shot my gun hand…." Benny shouted.
"Aren't you gonna do something about it?"
"Nope!" Chocko bent over him.
John T. stared down at the kid and shook his head. "I
shot your gun hand on purpose kid. It will be awhile before that heals up, and
you probably won't be handling a gun with it again. Mabye that will keep you
out of trouble. At least I hope it will."
"I'll come after you! I swear it! I'll kill you,
mister."
John T. turned to look over his shoulder as he headed out
the door. "You can try, kid, but I wouldn't advice it."
Chocko nodded to his friends.
As John T. and Antonio walked out of the saloon, John T.
glanced back at Chocko and waved. But John T. got another glance at Benny too
and something unnerved him about the kid. Just like it had Chocko.
"Something wrong my friend?" Antonio asked as they
strode toward the jail.
"That Benny…does he remind you of anyone?"
Antonio glanced back over his shoulder and saw Benny staring
out the swinging doors at them. "He's just a kid."
"A kid with a real chip on his shoulder. You wouldn't
think a kid would be like that, would you? I'm thinking that Benny and Victor
Frank might have had a few things in common…"
Antonio looked again, but Benny had disappeared.
"He probably went to see a doctor," John T.
surmised quickly.
Antonio studied his friend. "There will never be
another Victor Frank!"
The way he said that had John T. staring at him.
"Don't be so sure, Antonio. The kid hasn't been
physically abused, but he sure is nursing a grudge or two. I wouldn't be
surprised to find him on our trail. Like Chocko said, he's a little short of
brains."
"With a bad gun hand?" Antonio frowned.
"He's got a different kind of problem Antonio, he's
been emotionally battered, just as bad as someone whipping you all the time.
After a while it festers like a sore and he's picking at the sore right now. We
haven't seen the last of that kid…mark my words."\
Antonio made the sign of the cross, "Madre mia, not
another…."
John T. shrugged. "I could be wrong, but I got a gut
feeling…"
Shrugging away the eerie feelings, they sauntered over to
the jail to meet the Sheriff, Sam Jones.
The office was musty smelling. Worn sets of guns were
hanging on the wall just inside the door. Several cells were filled.
The Sheriff, a tall lean man of about fifty stood up and
regarded them with curious intent as they introduced themselves.
"I heard about you boys. Got that Frank guy, didn't
you?" Sam spit his chaw in the spittoon by his desk.
"Yeah, seems everyone has heard about that."
Antonio muttered noting the Sheriff's dead accuracy in the spittoon.
"Well, it's big news boys. He was a tough one. No one
wanted to go after him. And I can't say as I blame them. You fellas here to
pick up Charlie Sorrels, aren't you?"
"Yeah. Got official papers from the governor for you."
John T. answered as he took a chair in front of the Sheriff's desk and handed
him the papers. "Hear he shot a woman during a bank hold up?"
"Sure did, killed her, shot her in the back, and he
killed the teller too." The Sheriff nodded.
"Did you get the others?"
"Killed one, and the others got away."
"No witnesses?"
"Nope…but that won't stop a hanging party that I figure
will happen this afternoon after a few of the boys get liquored up." The
Sheriff said as he glanced at the cell. "They been nursing a real grudge
over at the saloon all mornin'. Nothin' worse than a bunch of drunks wantin' to
hang someone. Even if he does deserve it."
The Sheriff looked over their papers and laid it down on his
desk.
Sorrels was sleeping, they all noticed.
"Then I guess we better wake him up and get going.
Don't want you to have to worry over a mob." John T. said glancing at the
cell once more.
"Better keep the cuffs on him, he's a mean one."
The Sheriff said as he went to get the prisoner.
Sorrels moved on the bunk when the keys rattled to the cell,
then he peered over his shoulder. "What's goin' on, Sheriff?"
"You're leaving Sorrels."
"What? Why?" Sorrels stood up, and John T. and
Antonio saw that Sorrels looked well over six foot, with long dark shaggy hair
and mean black eyes.
"You want a fair trial?" The Sheriff asked him.
"Sure, I do…"
"Then you'll go with them."
"Who the hell are they?"
"They are lawmen, that's all you need to know, now
let's move. You better get your butt out of here if you want to live Sorrels.
That lady you shot in the back, she had lots of friends and family here. They are
out to hang you. So, we're getting rid of you now."
"You'd let them hang me Sheriff?" Sorrels asked.
"I ain't got but one deputy, and he was injured in the
robbery. How long you think I could hold out, alone?" The Sheriff asked
him.
"What makes you think those two can handle it?"
"Well for one they were sent by the governor himself. One
of them was a Texas Ranger, the other one killed Victor Frank. I think they can
handle you Sorrels." The Sheriff cackled.
"Victor Frank? That maniac?"
"Yeah."
Sorrels looked John T. and Antonio over good, then as they
led the way to the horses, he walked between them. He had a scowl on his face,
but John T. gave him the benefit of the doubt, since they woke him from a deep
sleep.
"Thanks boys, and good luck." Jones called to
them.
John T. nodded, Antonio tipped his hat.
It would be a long ride to Austin. They were sitting on the
outskirts of Del Rio, Texas, a small southwestern town.
"Say, I thought they called this San Felipe del
Rio?" John T. squinted in the morning sun that kept hiding behind a big
dark cloud.
"They did until we got a post office, they shortened it
to Del Rio so there'd be no misunderstanding about San Felipe de Austin."
"A post office huh?"
"The military needed it." Jones laughed.
John T. and Antonio smiled at each other and nodded to the
Sheriff.
"You give us no trouble on this trip and we'll put it in
our report." John T. told Sorrels once he was sure he was in his saddle
alright. He'd handcuffed him so he could hold the reins, but Antonio had to
help him get up in the saddle.
"And what good will that do?" Sorrels asked.
"It could have some bearing. When your relatives read
of it, it might give them some peace of mind."
"Don’t give me no hogwash about how you'll speak up for
me or how my family will feel. My folks are dead, got a brother somewhere, but
I don't know where. And he wouldn't care. I killed a woman, they'll hang me
sure." Sorrels narrowed his gaze on John T.
John T. was weary and in no mood. "You are right, you
have absolutely no hope. You are gonna hang, Sorrels."
"Then why didn't you just leave me there." Sorrels
pointed back to Del Rio.
"Because there, you'd be hung by a mob, which might end
up killing someone else. If you hang by a court, no one gets hurt but
you."
"You got a big heart Sheriff." Sorrels swore under
his breath at them.
John T. shrugged. "No one said you wouldn't get a fair
trail."
"Little good that will do me."
"Maybe, but it'll make the rest of us feel
better." John T. assured him.
"What the hell do you care, Sheriff?" Sorrels
glanced at him.
"I care about justice, and justice will be served.
Besides you made another big mistake Sorrels."
"Yeah, what?"
"You shot a politician. He died. So, Austin has the
right to hang you first. And that's where you are headed. It's really not over
the woman, although I never met a politician yet that I liked."
"You the sheriff there?"
"Nope, Round Rock…"
"You got to get me there, first!" Sorrels told
them.
"We will…"
Antonio watched the entire play between John T. and Sorrels.
John T. shot Antonio a glance, when he stared at him too long. "You're
awfully quiet, something eating you?"
"Not exactly, you just seem a little edgy for some
reason." Antonio said not looking directly at him.
"I am edgy. I got a kid back there that wants
vengeance, a man here that is gonna hang, and a lot of miles in between, and a
lot of heavy looking clouds. And part of his gang wasn't caught. I'm hungry and
it's getting chilly and the sun hasn't gone down yet. And that cloud looks like
a gully-washer for sure."
Antonio smiled to himself. "Don't worry, I got your
back, John T."
"Just make sure you don't get your own head blown
off." John T. told him.
"I won't, 'cause you got my back." Antonio
laughed.
John T. had to smile at that. He wasn't sure what he'd do
without Antonio. He sure didn't want to find out.
