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  GOOD MAN

  BAD ENEMY

  JOHNNY BLACK—

  MAN AND LEGEND

  MARCH TO OCTOBER

  1871

  BOOK THREE

  GARY CHURCH

  Copyright © 2019 Gary Church

  Published by Dusty Saddle Publishing

  All rights reserved. This includes the right to reproduce any portion of this book in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design and book layout by Diamond Design.

  OTHER BOOKS BY

  GARY CHURCH

  Fate Rides A Tall Horse

  Trouble on the Shawnee Trail

  DEDICATION

  Dedicated to the men and women,

  and their families, who have served our nation—in peace and war.

  FOREWORD FROM

  PAUL L. THOMPSON

  “Ever since his days fighting in the Civil War, Johnny Black has suffered from horrible nightmares. Trying to escape these inner demons, he has led the life of a wanderer. His parents and brother have died, and all that remains of his life before the war are his family ranch, most likely in disrepair, and memories of a woman he never admitted he loved until it was too late.

  In the fall of 1871, Johnny finally decides to return to Texas to face his past. Along the way, he is joined by a new friend, Martin, an Irish immigrant who is eager to experience the American West. Johnny and Martin face danger, intrigue, and even a murder trial as they travel along the Shawnee Trail to San Antonio.”

  This is the second full-length Western novel from Gary Church. With his first book on the bestseller chart—need I say more? Read this one—it’s great!

  Paul L. Thompson – bestselling author of the multi-million page selling series “U.S. Marshal Shorty Thompson.”

  PREFACE

  Johnny Black rode down the wide dirt street, marveling at the number of people about. He stopped at a small table where a Mexican woman, two small children hiding in her dress, was selling candy. Stepping down from Loco, he bought a few pieces and said, “Tengan un buen día,” wishing them a good day as he offered the candy to the children. They reached out and took the sweets, smiling shyly, while clinging to their mother’s skirt.

  He passed buggies, wagons, pedestrians, and men on horseback. He noticed at least two new storefronts as he made his way out of town. There was no doubt—San Antonio was growing.

  As he walked Loco along the river, he thought of his friend, Martin, and Bridgett, his wife, who had left the previous week, headed for San Francisco. In his mind, he wished them a safe journey. Lost in thought, he passed a church and came upon a half-dozen young men standing in a loose circle, holding bullwhips. They were likely nineteen or twenty years old, he thought, old enough to be at work somewhere. They might have been down to Mexico and purchased the whips there, although they could also be found at vendors in the plaza. He heard a dog’s piercing scream of pain, and then he saw it. The young men were taking turns hitting the dog with the whips. They weren’t experienced, Johnny noted, as one man tried to pop his whip, and it flew back, lashing him in the head.

  They were having success, however, hurting and tormenting the dog. Its flank and muzzle were bloody, and Johnny watched as the biggest fellow in the group lashed out with his whip and struck the dog, causing it to scream again. The dog was a fighter, though, and it bared its teeth and snarled at the man.

  “You boys can stop,” said Johnny, his tone of voice one he had used to command men in the army.

  All six looked over at Johnny.

  “That’s a big horse, mister,” said one.

  “I bet he can run,” said another, raising his bullwhip and swinging it at Loco.

  The whip snapped loudly, hitting Loco’s left shoulder. Johnny instinctively grabbed the saddle horn, as Loco snorted loudly and charged. When the sixteen-hundred-pound charging horse hit the man, they became entangled, and the man was dragged some twenty feet before falling under the horse and getting stepped on by one of Loco’s hind hooves.

  Johnny stopped Loco and turned back toward the group. “You boys gather up your friend and git,” he said, his voice low and tense. He looked at the man Loco had run over. The man was moving and groaning. “He might want to see a doctor.”

  “You’re the one best git,” said the biggest man, “before I decide to beat in your head and show your horse some manners.” Then, in a show of defiance, the man turned and lashed at the dog again with his whip, causing the animal to jump and scream.

  Johnny swung down off Loco, took off his hat, hung it on the saddle horn, and spoke quietly to Loco. The group, stunned that Johnny had dismounted, watched in silence. Johnny began walking toward the big man.

  “This is gonna be fun, old man,” the man said, turning his head to look at his gang. When he turned back, Johnny was only a few yards away. The man drew back his bullwhip, but Johnny didn’t stop or back up. Instead, he kept coming, which confused the man. He had always been big and enjoyed fighting, but nobody ever came right at him.

  Gaining his wits, the big man dropped his whip and charged Johnny, his arms held out at this sides, so he could get him in a bear hug. At the last second, Johnny swiveled slightly to his left, as though he were dancing. As the man grabbed him, Johnny drove his right knee into the man’s groin.

  Screaming, the man doubled over and let go of Johnny, grabbing himself. Johnny was in a cold rage. Not only had this group been torturing a dog, they had hurt Loco. He slammed the heels of his hands into the man’s ears, then grabbed his head, and bending it forward, he drove his left knee into the man’s face. Blubbering now, the man fell to the ground. Johnny felt the lash of a bullwhip around his neck. He was jerked off his feet, but the man who had him couldn’t free his whip, which had become entangled in Johnny’s bandana, so he dropped it and tried to kick Johnny in the head.

  Johnny rolled when he hit the ground and came up moving. He hit the man who was trying to kick him with a roundhouse, directly to the side of his head. The blow came from Johnny’s hip and hit with a mighty force. The man dropped like a rock, and a gasp of pain gushed from Johnny. Although he was wearing his riding gloves, the shock of the blow hurt all the way to his elbow. He wrenched the bullwhip from his neck, and it dropped to the ground.

  A third man made the mistake of trying his luck, stepping up and swinging at Johnny. An amateurish move, Johnny thought, as he easily blocked the blow with his left arm, and stepping into the man, hit him with his right elbow. Blood flew, and the man staggered back as he grabbed his nose with both hands. Johnny pressed forward, hitting the man with a left hook and a right cross that put him on the ground. His blood up, Johnny turned to see that one of the men had dropped his whip and backed up well out of range—a spectator now—but another had a knife in his hand. Johnny smiled, his vision narrowed to the immediate threat, as often happened when he was enraged, but as he reached down to retrieve his own knife from his boot, a flash of dark brown hit the man, and he went down screaming.

  It took a moment to grasp what was happening. The dog that the men had been tormenting had attacked and was viciously biting the man.

  Johnny whistled. The dog hesitated, then looked up. Johnny whistled again, then he said, “Come.”

  The man rolled away as Johnny continued to talk softly to the dog. “Buen perro,” said Johnny. Finally, the dog walked toward Johnny, stopping some ten feet away. “You’re okay now,” Johnny said.

  Looking over at the man who had dropped his whip and backed up, Johnny sa
id, “You want some of this?”

  “No, sir,” said the young man.

  “Then see to your buddies—and leave animals be.”

  “Yes, sir,” responded the young man, moving to help the man who had been ravaged by the dog.

  Johnny rode onto his place and headed for the barn. He figured to wash up some, before Rosalinda got a look at him. As he approached, he looked back, and sure enough, about fifty yards back was the dog. He stopped outside the barn and was unsaddling Loco when Rosalinda stepped out. She smiled at him. He smiled back. “So, is this what I have to look forward to?” she asked.

  “What’s that?” asked Johnny innocently.

  “You coming home covered in dirt and blood,” she paused, looking beyond him, “followed by a dog also covered in dirt and blood?”

  “Well,” said Johnny, “I hope not.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No, but I need to tend to the dog.”

  “I’ll put some water on the stove to heat,” Rosalinda said, looking at the dog, now sitting about twenty feet away, staring at them. She smiled and walked toward the house.

  “Huh, how about that?” Johnny said to Loco.

  An hour later, the dog had been washed and the wounds treated. Loco was brushed and fed. Johnny washed up and entered his house to find Rosalinda singing. He smiled. “All done,” he said.

  Rosalinda turned from the stove and smiled. “Supper is ready. Let’s eat. I want to hear about the trip to town and why a dog followed you home. By the way, does the dog have a name?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Johnny. “It’s so thin, I reckon it’s been on its own a long time.”

  “Do you mean to let the dog stay?”

  “If it’s okay with you.”

  “Of course, but you can’t name it. We already have one dog named ‘dog,’” she said, referring to Perro.

  Johnny smiled. “I think it understands Spanish,” he said, looking at her affectionately.

  “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about how you looked when you arrived today.”

  Johnny laughed. “There’s not much to it,” he said. “Some young fellows were tormenting the animal with bullwhips. I had a word with them, and we came to an understanding.”

  “Hmm… were these boys all alive and well—after you had a word with them?”

  “They’re all alive, leastwise they were when I last saw them. As to well, I think it’s safe to say they’re probably going to need a few days to heal up, and their feelings are probably hurt.”

  Rosalinda looked at him, shook her head and said, “Let’s call the new dog ‘Princesa.’”

  “Princess?” asked Johnny.

  “Yes, my husband. When you think of brave, you automatically think male. It is a female dog, and I think of princesses as having great character and being very brave.”

  Johnny laughed. “Princesa sounds great.” With that, Johnny rose to tend to his evening chores, which included feeding Flop, Perro, and now, Princesa.

  After feeding and checking on all the animals, Johnny checked the corral gates and the barn door. Reaching the porch, he found a small glass of whiskey sitting on the table by his chair. He sat, lit a cigarillo, and sipped his whiskey. This is the life I have been searching for, he thought as he gazed at the stars and heard the cry of a coyote. I hate to leave it, even for a day.

  ONE

  Johnny Black looked up from his book to see his wife, Rosalinda, watching him. She smiled warmly. The two had only been married for a few months, but they were already settled into Johnny’s family ranch, west of San Antonio, Texas.

  “Johnny,” said Rosalinda, “I want to spend the weekend with my mother. I know you’ve missed playing cards, so perhaps you can drop me off and take a room in town. Then you can return to pick me up after church on Sunday, and we can have lunch with my parents before returning.” She smiled again.

  “Uh, sure. I mean, I can drop you off, but I need to come back to take care of the animals,” said Johnny.

  “I have already talked to Mrs. Brown,” she paused, seeing Johnny’s confused stare. “Our neighbors to the north. They raise cotton and have six boys. The two oldest, fifteen and sixteen, will tend to the animals.”

  “Oh,” said Johnny. “Well, of course, but I’ll stay with you.”

  “That’s sweet, but you go play cards with the boys.”

  Johnny looked at her. Was the woman glowing?

  “I think I’ll turn in,” said Rosalinda, rising and putting out the lamp next to her chair.

  When Johnny raised his book again, she walked over and touched his shoulder as she passed by. In that moment he realized that he was being invited to turn in also. He hastily placed the book on the table, put out his own lamp, and headed for the bedroom.

  Early afternoon the following day found Johnny splitting logs on a large stump that had been moved up close to the house for that very purpose. As he worked, he was thinking about the future. It had been nearly six years since the Civil War ended, and Johnny had spent most of that time drifting around the country, working with horses, and playing poker.

  It had all changed dramatically just over three months ago. He realized one day, much to his own surprise, that he was not only in love, but despite his reservations about his own suitability as a husband, he needed to tell the woman. He was even more surprised when she told him she loved him and agreed to marry him. They were married in late December 1870, and Johnny had never been happier.

  Since his marriage, he had stayed busy making improvements to his family’s ranch, which was his sole responsibility after his only brother’s death. The place was now in good shape, and a spring garden had been planted. This included a new type of tomato seed called “Rising Sun” that Rosalinda had ordered from the Allen’s seed catalog that had found its way to San Antonio from New York City. The homestead also featured some recent additions, including a milk cow and hogs.

  Johnny was frugal and had saved his money over the years, but he hesitated to commit it to a new venture. If anything happened to him, or if there was an emergency, he didn’t want to leave his new wife with little cash. He had no experience in trade, and saloon keeping didn’t appeal to him. Ranching or farming seemed to be his best options. He had experience in dealing with outlaws, but he didn’t want to subject Rosalinda to the stress endured by lawmen’s wives. There was plenty of danger everywhere, but lawmen sought it out, and their wives had to learn to live with the fear that their men might not return at the end of the day. Violence had been very widespread and all too common since the end of the Civil War. He could put it off for a while, but Johnny knew that at some point, he needed to decide how he was going to make his living, going forward.

  Soaked in sweat from his labors, Johnny set the axe against the stump, pulled his kerchief from his neck, removed his hat, and wiped his brow. He replaced his hat and pulled a cigarillo and a match from his pocket. After lighting the small cigar, he sat on the stump and watched his dogs, Flop and Perro, as they chased a rabbit across the meadow below. Unsuccessful, the two dogs ran to where Johnny sat and collapsed, panting. Johnny smiled at the two.

  As he rested and smoked, his thoughts turned to his beautiful wife, Rosalinda. He thought about the exchange they had the evening before.

  “This marriage thing is much more complicated than I knew,” he said to the dogs. “There ought to be a book explaining how it works.” He paused and then continued. “Last night she told me she wants to spend the weekend with her mother while I stay in town and play poker. She seemed to be sort of asking, but after I said sure, I realized everything was already planned out, like she already knew it was gonna happen. Kind of scary, don’t you think?”

  Flop barked, which made Johnny laugh.

  TWO

  Friday afternoon, as Johnny and Rosalinda were gathering items before starting out for her parents’ ranch, Rosalinda said, “Can we take the buggy? I want to take Mamá some of the tomato seedlings from the new seeds.”
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br />   “I’ll harness General,” said Johnny, referring to the horse, a Morgan, he had purchased from Rosalinda’s father, Lupe. Less than an hour later, Johnny and Rosalinda, followed by Flop and Perro, were on their way.

  Lupe and Margarita Gutiérrez were happy to see Johnny and Rosalinda. After hugs and handshakes, Johnny and Lupe unloaded the buggy. Johnny demurred when asked to at least stay for supper. He wanted to get to town and check in at the Menger. He was looking forward to playing poker that night.

  After checking in at the hotel and eating supper at a café he favored, Johnny made his way to his favorite saloon, which had a poker game going most nights. He was greeted heartily by those he hadn’t seen since his wedding. Johnny wasn’t much for names, but he excelled at poker, partially because he remembered faces and noticed the smallest changes in expressions or mannerisms. The undertaker was at the table, as was the mercantile store owner, and a new man, introduced as Jace. The doctor was expected anytime. Johnny took a seat and ordered a beer.

  The group discussed the weather, prices of cotton and feed, and politics, while they waited for the doctor. Jace told Johnny he had learned poker while working on a trail drive. Johnny had been studying him. He was in his twenties, Johnny guessed. His long brown hair and brown eyes were set off by a handsome face and straight teeth. No one had to tell Johnny the young man had served in the Civil War. It was there, in his eyes. So, when the man got up to visit the outhouse, his limp, caused by a damaged leg, was not a surprise.

  The doctor arrived and made his usual dour comments about the sad state of humanity. He took his seat and welcomed Johnny back to the game. Johnny smiled and nodded at the doctor, but he could have sworn the doc was looking at him with interest. Probably wondering how married life is treating me, thought Johnny, as the undertaker began to deal.