Chapter 5

The next day, I went looking for a poker game where I could try my luck. I was not sure that I was in the same league as these pros who worked the larger towns and cities. There was only one way to find out. Ouch! I was in for a major hurt! In less that two weeks, I had lost almost $500 and had learned my lesson!

OK, I was not the poker player I had deluded myself into believing I was. Well, the other thing that I could do was shoot, so I was going to have to put up with the hot sun and depend on my guns to earn my daily bread and shelter. I went by the courthouse to pick up the latest stack of wanted posters. I needed a new set, anyway, since I was now working in Texas and not NMT.

The stack was pretty thick, so I took it to a saloon and began to thumb through the stack over a beer. I was about half way through the stack when who should come stomping through the door but The El Centro Kid. He was wanted on a Federal warrant for killing a Federal Judge and two Federal Marshals. There was a big reward, $350, so I was definitely interested.

He leaned on the bar, and I walked up to him and politely asked, "Are you Mr. Wilbur Hopkins, also known as The El Centro Kid?"

He growled back at me, "Yeah, I am. What is it ta ya?"

"In that case, I find it necessary to place you under arrest. I am a bounty hunter, and I would appreciate it if you would come with me."

He seemed to burst into laughter, but I was watching him closely. Hopkins reached for his gun under the guise of laughing. He had it partly drawn when I drew from my shoulder holster and put a new hole in his chest. It was a good thing for a lot of people that I was using black powder, because the bullet only had enough power to penetrate his breastbone and rattle around inside his body. Smokeless powder would have driven the bullet all of the way through him, and it might have hurt an innocent bystander.

I flipped two-bits on the bar and asked the bartender to send his swamper for a deputy marshal. A bounty hunter has a lot of privileges not available to the average citizen while in the process of capturing a wanted man, so I could have walked out, dragging The El Centro Kid behind me. However, I have always felt that it was not a good idea to step on the prerogatives of bureaucrats and officials, it only irritates them, and sometime I might need a favor. Therefore, I waited for the swamper to return with a deputy marshal.

I only had to wait about 10 minutes, so I was not inconvenienced all that much, and it did give me time to take what I wanted from the dead body. He was carrying almost $30 in gold and silver, so I was doing pretty good with this capture. His gun was good for another $8, and his clothes would pay for the burial.

I showed the wanted poster to the deputy marshal and he wrote me out a receipt on the spot. The body now became his problem, so it was well worth the wait. I tipped the swamper four-bits for cleaning up the blood and headed back to the courthouse to collect my reward. Of course, I took the posters with me.

I think that settled it, I was sticking to bounty hunting. In just a few minutes, I had made up for most of the money I had foolishly lost trying to play poker with the big boys. After collecting my reward for The El Centro Kid, I started making the rounds of saloons looking for useful information from the bartenders.

There wasn't much to interest me as I dug into the El Paso gossip. I know that I had been unforgivably lucky with The El Centro Kid, but it looked like I was going to have to work for any more rewards. I bought a horse and tack, but I stayed away from a pack mule. If I stayed on the main roads, I should be able to spend overnight at the local equivalent of motels. I still hate camping out!

If I was going to stay in Texas, my choices were somewhat limited. I could either head east toward Dallas, etc., or I could head southeast, following the Rio Grande. For no known reason, I decided to head east.

It was a bright, sunshiney day, as most mornings are that time of year in West Texas, when I started out. I was planning on taking my time and making 15 or so miles a day. It was around 700 miles to Dallas, so it was going to take a minimum of 6-7 weeks to get there, if I was not delayed, and I really went that far.

The first couple of days went by with not much happening. I had been warned to watch out for marauding Comanches and Kiowas. This was the season for war parties, especially the young braves out to prove themselves as brave and noble warriors. The ground was mostly covered with grass of some form or another, so there was less likelihood of a big dust could being raised by a bunch of horses. That made it easier for the Indians to sneak up on me if I was not alert. Fifty or a hundred years from now, the story would be different because of the death of the grass, but right now, I had to pay attention.

Most of the Indians were still using lances and bows, so I did not need to worry about a long range shot. It was the close in stuff that would be dangerous. That was why I made sure that my two shotguns were within easy reach if I needed them. The third day was the charm!

I had been riding for about two hours since breakfast, and I was in a territory of rolling hills that made it difficult to see everything that was going on around me. Suddenly, I heard some bloodcurdling yells off to my right and only moments later saw about 12-15 Indians come boiling out of a slight depression in the landscape. I don't know if they were Comanches or Kiowas, but that difference was a detail, because they would take great delight in killing me if they had the chance to do so. If they captured me alive, they would have taken even more delight in killing me—they would just take longer to do it.

I had seen a small pile of rocks about 100 yards to my rear, so I pulled my horse around and rode for what I hoped would be an adequate makeshift fort. I got there in time to jump off my horse with my two shotguns in hand, along with my extra ammunition, water, and some jerky. I knew that the Indians would not hurt my horse if they could help it, so I didn't worry about him.

I ran to the rocks and found a place to fort up. It took only moments for the Indians, Kiowas in this case, to arrive, and I blasted at the closest ones with my shotgun. I had 25 rounds of shotgun shells, and I figured to have to depend on them, so I was a bit stingy with my firing. I did managed to wound at least one in my haste, but I did not kill any, nor did I harm any horses.

One of the braves came charging at me, so I had a little time to spend on this shot. I don't know what he thought that he could do, since he was brandishing a lance, and there was no way that he could reach me with it without throwing it. The Kiowa was not about to do that, so I had some time to take more care with my aim. I fired, and that was the end of one Kiowa.

The rest of the Indians stopped at what they thought was the edge of my range with the shotguns, and I was able to get a count. There were now 12 Kiowas in the physical condition necessary to attack me. One of their group was dead, and the other was wounded too badly to contribute much to a fight.

There was a spirited conversation going on, and I was really sorry that I couldn't understand what the Indians were saying. Knowing might help me to plan my defense. I had reloaded my shotgun, so that was ready when I needed it, but there was not much I could do with a shotgun at the current range. On the other hand, if I was careful, I might be able to take out a few Indians with my pistols. I should have brought my Henry with me to my fort, but I simply forgot it in the haste and confusion of trying to get here in one piece. My horse was now out of reach, so I had to work with the tools at hand.