Chapter 2: "On the run"

The next morning, Pa had to go to work. I was left to putter around and wait for him to get back for supper before we could have some time to talk. About all we had time for when I got in last night was a quick hello and an almost as quick explanation of why I was where I was. I promised to give him all of the details of my adventures when I saw him that evening.

Meanwhile, I helped the cook with a few chores and mostly lazed away the day. Late that afternoon, the mean bastard that I had met when I first rode into the other camp showed up and started to give the cook a hard time. I was sleeping under one of the wagons so I did not hear the first part of the conversation. However, I sure heard it when the tough threw the cook against the chuck wagon and knocked all of the pots and pans off their hooks.

The resulting crash should have been heard for miles I thought as it tore me from a sound sleep. I was fully dressed from my boots to my hat, so I wasted no time in rushing to see what had caused the noise coming from the cook's domain. I arrived just in time to see the tough jerk the cook to his feet and slap him across the face with a hand the size of a side of ham. This broke the cook's nose and caused blood and snot to fly everywhere.

I yelled, "THAT IS ENOUGH! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

The tough snarled, "Mind you own business unless you want some of the same thing that your friend is getting."

"Leave him alone! He is not big enough to give you a reasonable fight, much less a fair one. Neither am I, but I am armed and can take care of myself! Now, stop beating on that man, or I will blow your stupid fucking head off!"

The tough dropped the cook and turned to me. He glared at me for a moment before drawing a bowie knife and running toward me. I had a sudden flash of memory of Mr. Hawthorn's charge at me with that broken beer mug. That was all it took. I drew my revolver and started blasting at the galoot charging me with murder in his eye.

Three of the bullets hit the monster in the chest, but he never slowed down. Shit, what the hell was going on!?! I stopped shooting at his chest and put three bullets into his head. That finally did what I was hoping for. The bully fell awful damned close to me. He was dead, but he still looked dangerous.

I paused only a moment before I changed the cylinder in my revolver, but I could see that I was going to need more than one gun if I had to face many galoots the size of this one. Just to be on the safe side, I reloaded the expended cylinder before I dropped it into my pocket.

I rushed to see how Cookie was doing, and found that he was in a mess. Not only did he have a broken nose, but he had some broken ribs and a dislocated left shoulder. I did not know what to do for him, so I just made him as comfortable as I could while we waited for the men to come in from the range. I knew that Pa could help Cookie, and I figured that there were others who could, too. I knew enough to know that I would just make matters worse if I tried to do any doctoring. All I could do was give Cookie some laudanum to ease his pain while we waited.

I did not mess with the body of that giant that I had killed. I figured that it would be better for me if the other men saw him where he lay. I also did not clean up any of the mess that he had made because I wanted them to appreciate what Cookie and I had faced.

The first three men to show up wanted to give me a hard time for killing one of their fellow riders. Cookie was out from the laudanum I had given him, so he could not vouch for me. We had almost come to some more gunplay when Pa rode in with four more of the men. Pa was able to calm things down a bit until they could hear what Cookie had to say. Meanwhile, I told Pa what I thought was wrong with Cookie. He and two other men put Cookie's shoulder back into place while he was still out from the laudanum.

They wrapped Cookie's chest to take some of the pressure off his ribs and set his nose back into place as best they could while Cookie was still unconscious. Cookie woke up about an hour later, and was already feeling better just from the little bit of medical aid that he had just received.

The ramrod showed up and asked Cookie what had happened. Cookie told his story, and everybody thanked me for looking after Cookie by killing the galoot what was beating on him. Cookie was not only the best camp cook in the county, but he was a friend to every man working the roundup. Everyone of them was happy to see what had happened to the galoot what was hurting their friend. The men who had given me a hard time at first all said how sorry they were, and we were all friends again.

The ramrod asked Cookie what had caused the trouble, and Cookie admitted that he had been approached to poison the drovers so that the cattle could be rustled. This visit was punishment for not going through with the deal even though Cookie had tried to give the money back. Cookie had not said anything to the ramrod because he was afraid of being fired, and he needed the job.

The decision was that I should have anything of value the dead galoot had on him. That was great because he was holding the $400 that Cookie had returned, plus he had another $63.50 in his pockets and money belt. Hell, I now had enough money to carry me a whole year if I was frugal with it.

I also got a gun and a knife that I could sell. The gun was a LeMatt that was in pretty sad shape, so I decided to sell it along with the knife. I figured it to be pure luck to get more than $2 for the gun.

Pa and the ramrod talked about my situation and figured that it would be best if I hightailed it out of the county tomorrow morning. By that time, the gang would know who had killed the galoot and would probably be gunning for me. They would be after me, not for killing the gang member, but to recover the $400 of their money that I was holding. I had to agree with them when Pa told me about their discussion.

That evening, I told Pa about my adventures up to date, and he was impressed with my luck, both good and bad. I already had three men to my "credit," and I would start building a reputation pretty damned soon at the rate I was going. When that happened, I could expect to be braced by a lot of fools looking for a reputation with a gun, and one of them could get too damned lucky for my own good!

Pa advised me to learn to shoot that there Henry as well as I could the pistol. Pa was always right with his advice, so I resolved to follow his suggestion. I knew the basics of shooting a rifle, but I never had practiced very much with anything but a muzzle loader. I figured to stop at the first town I came to and stock up on ammunition.

I left the next morning, headed north. That would keep me in Texas for a long way, but it would angle me away from the Rio Grande. There was a lot of trouble going on around that there river, what with rustlers and Mexican bandits, and Pa figured that was the kind of trouble that I did not need right now. I agreed with him; thus, I headed north.

I came to a town the next day and there was a good-sized gun shop in the town. I figured to pick up the Henry ammunition I needed along with some more .38 rounds for my revolver. I asked for the Henry ammunition first, and the gunsmith dragged out three boxes of 50 rounds each. I figured that was enough for the Henry for now, so I asked for .38 ammunition for my revolver.

That was when the gunsmith's face lit up. He asked, "Why not switch your hand gun to one what uses the same cartridges as the Henry?"