Chapter 13

It finally got hard dark, so we headed back to Jake Witherspoon's ranch house. No lights were showing, so we checked both front and back doors to see if either one was unlocked. The back door was unlocked, so we decided to go in that way.

I had a premonition of danger, so I stood to one side as I opened the door. Damn, was I lucky I paid attention to my hunches. An explosion like both barrels of a 10-gauge shotgun went off, and segments of the door frame disappeared. Shit, that Witherspoon was downright antisocial!

We were leery of more traps, so we waited to see what would happen. In only a couple of minutes, Jake Witherspoon showed up in the kitchen with a kerosene lamp in one hand and a pistol in the other. I stayed behind the door frame and said, "Jake Witherspoon, you are under arrest for murder and bank robbery. Surrender now or risk getting shot."

"YOU'LL NEVER GET ME!" he shouted as he fired a shot through the door. That was all I needed to incite me to shoot him in the chest. Of course, he dropped the lamp and fire rushed all over the place as the spilled kerosene started to burn. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed his feet to drag him out of the burning building. Damned if he didn't try to shoot me as I pulled him out, but he was too far gone and was not able to raise his gun far enough. As it was, he nearly shot me in the shin as he died.

Just to be sure, Janet double checked his picture on the wanted poster against his face, and, yes, it was the same man. I went into the barn and brought out a horse to use to haul him back to Texas. While I was about it, I released all of the other stock so that they would not starve, penned in their stalls.

The house was very dry, so it rapidly burned. We could not have put it out, but we did stay around until the fire burned itself out. We left for Texas, immediately, in case somebody showed up to argue with us about the body.

We were now $645 richer, but we were undecided as to what to do. I was not real interested in heading back to Oklahoma or Indian Territory, since it was getting late enough in the year that I could smell the sound of those damned winds heading my way. Other people might hear the wind, but these winds were bad enough that I could smell them!

Janet smiled at me, but she agreed to head south. We decided to head for the Gulf, since neither one of us had ever been there. I figured that we could follow roads from Galveston to Brownsville and see as much of the Gulf Coast as we ever wanted to see. It seemed sensible to head through Dallas and Houston on our way to Galveston. There should be enough traffic to insure that the roads were in good condition.

Dallas was not just like any other small Western town. It was like any other large Western town. The streets were dusty, the store fronts were dirty, the place smelled bad, but there was a difference from small towns: there was a saloon and a brothel in every block. Sometimes on the same side of the street, and sometimes on opposite sides of the street, but, both in the same block.

There was something else you didn't see in most small Western towns: men walking around in Union Army uniforms. I hardly paid them any attention, but Janet groaned at why they were here. Such is the penalty for losing a war, even if it was a stupid war.

This was where I saw something I never expected to see: a man in Army blue came flying out of a saloon door, followed by a man dressed in civilian clothes. The two got up from where they had been tossed onto the street, started to swing at each other, thought better of it, and ran back into the saloon. A moment later, a man dressed as a bartender came flying out the door and landed in the street. A few seconds after that, the soldier and the civilian came out of the saloon with an arm draped over each other's shoulder and singing a bawdy tune.

Janet and I laughed and went on our way. It was getting late in the afternoon, so we decided to spend the night in Dallas at a hotel and try to find a place where we could get a decent meal. The desk clerk suggested a couple of restaurants, so we tried the first one that he named. The meal was excellent, though it was a little pricey—we actually paid $1.50 each for our meal.

We visited a few saloons just to get a feel for the city, but the tall tales and the saloon whores were about the same as what we had seen in other places, so we weren't impressed. We did sample some over priced New Orleans beer, but it was not up to the standard of the Mexican beer we were accustomed to drinking. Oh, well, live and learn.

Dallas just did not offer us anything that we wanted, so we left the next morning to head for Houston. That was a trip of just about 200 miles, so we expected to be on the road around two weeks, since we were in no hurry. We had traveled for two days when we encountered our first excitement. We came upon a stage coach holdup. Four men were sitting on horses and pointing pistols at the driver and guard up in the driver's box. It looked like we got there just moments after the bandits and they had not had an opportunity to harass the passengers.

We sped up when we saw what was going on and left the rest of our animals behind. We drew our pistols as we got closer, but one of the bandits fired the first shot. All of the bandits then turned to shoot at us, and, when they did, the guard let fly with both barrels of his shotgun, and the driver began shooting with his pistol. Then, unexpectedly, someone shot from inside the coach. This was enough to end the hold up with four dead bandits, and we never fired a shot!

We slowed down and holstered our guns before anyone could start shooting at us. All we got out of this encounter was some general conversation and thanks for distracting the bandits long enough for the robbees {I know, I just made up the word!} to get in their own shots. Anyway, we left the people at the coach to clean up the mess since they made it and continued on our way.

All-in-all, things were pretty quiet for the remainder of our trip to Houston. In fact, things were so quiet that they got downright boring. The only thing we did to liven up the trip were the stops we made at likely secluded places for a little sexual exercise. Man, I tell you, traveling with a woman of like mind can't be beat!

Houston was pretty much like Dallas. It was alright, if your tastes ran to crowds, saloons, and brothels. Only the middle one had any attraction for either one of us, and that not for very long. We even tried a little poker, but, as usual, Janet won and I lost, so I got bored even quicker than she did. After less than a week in Houston, we decided to push on to Galveston.

It was our trip to Galveston that kind of changed our lives! We were riding along a few miles from Houston when we heard a lot of shouting and carrying on off in the woods to the side of the trail. Being naturally curious, we headed in to see what the merriment was all about.

We came upon a crowd of about 40 White men and multiple barrels of whiskey. The crowd was surrounding a wagon on which four Negro men were standing along with a couple of White men. Just off to the rear of the wagon was a fifth Negro man still jerking at the end of a rope around his neck. The rope was not tied with a hangman's knot, but had a regular loop like a cowboy would use to lasso cattle. Obviously, the idea was to strangle the victim, not to break his neck for a quick death. They had not even tied the victim's hands, so he had tried to relieve the strain on his neck by pulling up on the rope with his hands. This only delayed the moment of death, but it provided a lot of amusement for the onlookers. Apparently, the other four Negroes in the wagon were scheduled to be a part of the entertainment. Both Janet and I were badly shaken by what we were witnessing, but I wanted some more information before we took any action. I found somebody at the edge of the crowd who was still sober enough to answer questions and asked him what was going on.