Home to Texas: Recollections of a Texas Badman - Part 8

out on the plains, the indians sure had the love of war. and they knew they had to win the war against our little groups of buff hunters. not only did killin off the buff make me rich, it made a bunch of bankers rich, and it killed off the chuck wagons of the Comanche, and the other indians.

as for our little bunch, you can guess that killin buff got boring real soon. lucky we brought out wagonfuls of supplies, to be refilled with hides as we went through the major supply, whisky. we had picked up a crazy whore in san antone, Rosita. she wanted to be a pistolera. actually, the rest of the boys had added her to the group. I had rode out to the ranch to visit the folks.

that trip surprised the hell outa me. they was happy to see me, but I wasnt welcome to stay long. didnt make a lotta sense to me, but I dont guess too many other folk on the ranch kilt all the people I did. the first big surprise was that I had a coupla brats of my own, from when I was waitin for Gabriela to grow up, and I didnt wait in every meanin of the word. John and maria was raisin Thomas, whose ma had died in childbirth. that surprised me, for that girl had had luxuriant hips, for a good dimestore word to describe em. my other boy had a mex name, Jesus. his ma juanita had been luxuriant too, but dumb as a stump. I aint bein mean about it, thats just how she was. she was livin in with John and maria, and Jesus was just as much their kid as Tommy, or their own. they was both strong, fine lookin boys. Jesus looked like a little me, so it was said, and Tommy looked more to the indio side of his heritage. they was both too young to talk to, and both was hellions, Im proud to say. what pa wants a boy who clings to his mas skirts? my ma wanted me to marry juanita, but the hell with that. a dumb woman is fine to lie with, but too boring to talk to.

the next surprise was that John had allowed a passel of niggers to settle down on the ranch, bout eight families, and some young bucks, who John was tryin to find wives for. the men was learnin the vacqero ways, and the women tended the hearth. John kept his eye on me, but these women just looked too worn to a frazzle to trouble. John and ma both tolt me to watch my mouth, and not say nigger around em. but thats the was I always talked, and not meanin it or sayin it like I heard others, to talk down to em. so as long as I was outside a mas reach, I didnt waste my time tryin to relearn talkin. I hate havin to think about what I was sayin. if Jehovah wanted us to spend all day plottin and schemin our next word, wed all be politicians and crowbait horse traders. John had three, three mind you, churches built on the ranchero. one for the niggers, whod brought their own preacher, one catolica church for the mex, and one for ma. well for ma, and for some of our folk hed moved out to the ranch. a blacksmith, bless his benevolent soul, a tailor, and a dry grocer. my brother was building a fair sized city. he laffed when I asked him where they were puttin up the whorehouse. the last surprise was that John, Jr. was all grown up, and had married a mex girl in the first wedding at the catolica church. I managed to pay a proper, in the behavin meanin of the word,visit to Gabriela. she musta been a good wife, for roberto was fat and happy as a married man should be. I stayed sober enuff so as not to clean her pas plow, for I am sure I woulda married her had he not interfered. I left with my family smilin at me, for onct, and found that our buff crew had been increased by a pistol wearin, sweet smilin, hot and cold eyed puta.

Rosy had been ill used by somebody, and was lookin to get good with the pistols, and gun him down. she werent real pretty, but she had nice eyes, and could feed a buffalo calf with those huge tits she had. she didnt mind the smell of us, nor us of her, on the bloody plains. I had got too used to baths in new orleans and was more picky then the rest. I wasted a bit of that whisky wipin me and her down. kind of stung her, but she didnt care. she just wanted to practice the pistol. shed only sport twice a day, and only with one of us a day. once during the day, when shed allow you to bend her over a wagon whils she shot buffalo, or buffalo chips, or praire dogs, or whatever she was blastin away at that day wih her pistols. She didn’t mind you buckin away, but didn’t seem to be part of the bronc bustin. then shed allow it again later at night, and shed be sweet as sugar. John was not in favor of sharin Rosy with the niggers, but after the first indian fight, and they showed as men, and soon after when his lust got high enuff, he didnt care no more. Pierre always was laffin about that, like it was a private joke, and I got to thinkin he probably had some darky in the woodpile, anyway, and Domingo, the lovelorn fool, skipped his turn anyway. the situation was fine by me. I never like usin a whore after other cutomers, and Rosy, only allowin one a day, with a whiskey bath, suited me just fine.

huntin buff was like a picnic where you had to keep an eye out for unwelcome guests, like Commanche. me and Mick would shoot buff, whils Domingo and Big Abe would skin em, and Domigo would cook a nice chunk of buffalo. Pierre and Skinny John would salt the hides down, and stack em on the wagon as we cleared a wagon of ammo,salt, and whiskey. Rosy would guard us, hahaha, by practicin up on how ta fast draw and shoot and reload all day. whoever was guardin that night would bed down in the afternoon, sos to be able to watch good at night. when it wasnt my turn on night guard, Id get up and check on whoever was guardin to make sure they were alert. I knew just how damn sneaky the Comanche was.

one day, a Comanche I called One Shoulder Lower came into our camp. I called him that cause of he was was one of the godforsaken Buffalo Eaters that tried sneakin into my teepee to kill me and Heart-Catcher. my bullets had smashed up his shoulder bad enuff that it was droopy all the time. that was his good arm too, hahaha. he wanted to save some of the meat. he had brought a couple of beatup wives with hin. he had always beat on his wives at sill too. so I traded him a cranky mule and some fresh shot carcasses for his two wives. one of em didnt like me cause of I had shot her brother in the same way I shot One Shoulder Lower, so I traded her back to John the Mick for a hunnert dollars. One Shoulder Lower rode away and I coulda swore he was actually happy with the swap. I hope not, cause of I always thought I shoulda shot him again back before whilst I was at sill.

so I had a nice Texas sun burnin me up, juicy buffalo to eat, plenty of whiskey, and one and sometimes two women to keep my bedroll warm at night. I got very few demands after that, even if a bath more often woulda been nice.

we had six wagons, and we got fifty hides in each wagon by the end the week. three hundred hides at three dollars a hide was nine hundered dollars. divided six ways that was one hunred and fifty dollars apiece, or about twenny times what a waddie made. we gave Rosy twenny dollars apiece for her guard work.

Rosy tried her hand at revenge, but she decided she liked our payroll, so she didnt kill her man, but called him out and made him beg for his life. now that was a man with no sand. it was funny watchin her cuss him, and him cryin and beggin for his life like a goddammed yankee brat cryin after candy. I aint ashamed to say I egged her on to shoot him in the leg, just to see if she had learnt to shoot. yup, she learnt pretty good.

she stayed with our crew after that.

John Stevens:

It is utter laziness and stubborness, traits found in long streaks in my brother, that he would simply not use the word "Negro" or even "freeman" instead of "nigger". A man is a man or he is not. A man can lose his own dignity by looking down on another man for a stupid reason, or he can lose dignity by using his skin to avoid responsibility.

Men shouldn't scold each other or reign in other men over behavior that doesn't affect them. In part, that tendency led to the war. On the other hand, a man shouldn't tolerate behavior that riles him. I came close to striking Wallace on this visit, but he soon stopped referring to our new cowboys and their families as "niggers", whether he realized that or not, I don't know. Maybe he did so to please the family.

The US Army finally took a decisive stand against the Comanche. The reason wasn't politics in Texas or Washington, but rather that General Sheridan himself was almost scalped. A war party had let his small formation pass by in order to ambush a supply train following after. After that, Sheridan unleashed Mackenzie upon the Comanche. Mackenzie took three strategies against the Comanche. He kept constant action against them in the form of troops, he attacked their horse herds, and he encouraged the buffalo hunters. Sheridan said,"Let them kill, skin and sell until the buffalo is exterminated"

Once Mackenzie had destroyed the last Comanche horse herd, the Red River War was over. The horse was almost as much a part of the Comanche as the man.

Part 1 is here:
https://steemit.com/fiction/@stevescoins/home-to-texas-recollections-of-a-texas-badman-part-1

Part 2 is here:
https://steemit.com/fiction/@stevescoins/home-to-texas-recollections-of-a-texas-badman-part-2

Part 3 is here:
https://steemit.com/fiction/@stevescoins/home-to-texas-recollections-of-a-texas-badman-part-3

Part 4 is here:
https://steemit.com/fiction/@stevescoins/home-to-texas-recollections-of-a-texas-badman-part-4

Part 5 is here:
https://steemit.com/fiction/@stevescoins/home-to-texas-recollections-of-a-texas-badman-part-5

Part 6 is here:
https://steemit.com/story/@stevescoins/home-to-texas-recollections-of-a-texas-badman-part-6

Part 7 is here:
https://steemit.com/story/@stevescoins/home-to-texas-recollections-of-a-texas-badman-part-7