Excerpt from Chapter 17
PENDENCIA CREEK: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF A TEXAS GUNFIGHTER
Background: King has hired the experienced trail boss, John Lytle, to drive his herd to Abilene, Kansas on the Chisholm trail. The drive started from Lytle's ranch outside of Castroville.
The first day was uneventful with the outfit stopping on the banks of the San Antonio River just four miles south of San Antonio. As the cook prepared beef, beans and biscuits for the cowboys, King changed into his good clothes and he and John rode into town.
On the road into San Antonio, the two men passed four different old Spanish Missions. Although all were in disrepair, they were beautiful examples of early mission architecture. Two of them, San Jose and Concepcion, were still in regular use. They reminded King of Mission Espiritu Santo in Goliad where he played as a child. The Alamo, in downtown San Antonio, was the last in the line of Missions.
San Antonio, with a population of just over 18,000, was the second largest city in Texas, behind only Galveston. Substantial German immigration over the years had brought in significant wealth and business know-how. The town prospered as the major trading center serving southwest Texas and the border region. King and John stopped at the largest mercantile store in town and bought supplies that were unavailable in Castroville. They arranged for delivery to the herd.
“Let’s get ourselves something to eat here in town,” John said as they left the store. “We’ll get our fill of trail grub over the next few weeks. Might’s well take advantage of someone else’s cooking while we can. There’s a place down the street that serves pretty good grub and you get entertained to boot.”
“Sounds good to me,” King replied.
The two men rode the three blocks to the Vaudeville Variety Theater. Along the way, they passed the Alamo. It was in ruins with the intact portion of the mission being used as a shelter by vagrants. High weeds grew inside the crumbling outer walls of the garden area. King wondered how the city could allow this most important structure in Texas history to reach this state of decay. In a few minutes, they reached their destination.
“This is the place,” John said.
“Doesn’t look like a place to eat,” King replied. “Sign says its a theater.”
“That’s right, but they serve some of the best Mexican food in town while you enjoy the show. They charge two-bits just to get in, but take it off your bill if you have something to eat.”
They rode around to the side of the building where a long hitching rail was attached to the wall. They found spots on the already crowded rail, tied up their mounts and walked to the theater entrance.
Inside, the two men looked around. The stage was at one end of a large open area and the huge, horseshoe-shaped bar was at the other, shielded from the two entrance doors by a screen made from wooden window blinds. In between the bar and stage were about twenty-five round tables, each with four chairs. Directly in front of the stage was a sunken orchestra-pit where a few musicians were starting to warm up. In addition, chairs lined the walls on each side of the open area with long, narrow tables in front of the chairs. There was a balcony that made a giant horseshoe ending at the wall containing the stage. The narrow balcony was compartmentalized, with each compartment containing six chairs and a small table. Heavy purple and gold colored drapes hung on the windows. The second floor that was above the balcony and closed off from the theater contained gambling tables of all sorts. The theater appeared to be about half full of customers, most having dinner. About twelve men were at the bar. Some of the dinner customers had women companions.
A well-dressed man came up to King and John..
“Welcome to the Vaudeville Variety Theater, gents. My name’s Jack Harris. I’m proprietor of this establishment. We have a twenty-five cent cover charge, but if you plan on having supper, we’ll waive that amount.”
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Harris,” John said. “My name’s John Lytle. I’m the trail boss of a herd of cows camped just out of town. This is King Fisher, the owner of the herd. We did, indeed, come in for supper.”
“King Fisher?” Harris asked excitedly. “You the one that gets all the newspaper space?”
“Don’t know what newspapers you read,” King said, “but if I’m mentioned, I reckon they must be scratching for news. I’m just a rancher trying to make a living.”
He was sincerely surprised that his name would be familiar this far away from home. On the other hand, he had heard that his name and likeness had appeared in the San Antonio newspapers on several different occasions.
As he directed them to a table, Harris said, “Show starts in about twenty minutes. I’ll send a waiter over to take your order. Enjoy yourselves.”
Harris rushed to the bar and told everyone that a famous gunfighter was in the theater. He pointed out King. A young man who was seated on a stool at the end of the bar seemed particularly interested. He appeared to be in his late teens or early twenties and wore his Colt 45 low on his hip. He stared in King’s direction.
“So that’s the legendary King Fisher,” he said. “Looks kinda like a dandy to me. Hell, he ain’t but a boy himself. Must of got his reputation by scaring a bunch of sod-busters.”
“Where you from, young man?” asked Harris.
“Name’s Luke Adams and I come from Missouri. Made my mark up there in real he-man country, not where you get a name because no one else is man enough to stand up to you.”
“Well, son, I never saw Mr. Fisher in action, but those who have say no one is faster or surer with a pistol. And believe me, the Nueces Strip ain’t no place for titty-babies. Newspapers say there are more outlaws in that area than anywhere else in the country and Fisher is their boss.”
“Ain’t no one down here ever heard of the James brothers or the Younger brothers? There may be a bunch of outlaws down in King Fisher country but they can’t hold a candle to Missouri shooters. I learnt my skills alongside the best, so I reckon King Fisher’s pistol wouldn’t even clear leather if I faced him.”
A full-bearded, middle-aged man sitting on the stool next to the young man entered the conversation.
“Pardon me, son. You shouldn’t be talking foolish. I been to the Nueces Strip and watched King Fisher show off his skill at a renegade camp. No one came close to matching him in shooting contests. And he did it with both hands.”
“I guarantee he ain’t been up against anyone as fast as me,” boasted the young man, “but I reckon I won’t show him up in front of you folks. You seem to be in awe of him.”
“You made the right decision,” Harris said. “Besides, I don’t look kindly on anyone picking a gunfight in my place, especially when he has no reason except an over-blown opinion of himself.”
In anger, Luke Adams said loudly, “You saying I got an over-blown opinion of myself, mister? Keep it up and you’ll get a taste of my temper! I don’t abide insults!”
“Just calm down, son,” Harris said. “I didn’t mean no insult.”
King heard the loud talk and turned to see Jack Harris being scolded by a young man at the bar.
“Wonder what’s going on?” he mused aloud as the waiter brought two large platters of Mexican delicacies.
“Some loud-mouth cowboy, I’d guess,” answered John.
As they started to eat, Jack Harris went upon the stage and disappeared behind the curtain. In a few moments, he came back out with a three-legged easel and a printed cardboard sign. After placing the sign, which read ‘Rufus The Great, Juggler Extraordinaire’, on the easel, Harris shouted to the audience.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the Vaudeville Variety Theater proudly presents an evening of entertainment for your enjoyment. Opening our show is a man who has been proclaimed the greatest juggler in all the world. He has entertained the crowned heads of Europe. Please welcome......Rufus the Great!”
The band provided an opening flourish as the curtains parted to reveal a slightly chubby and balding man with a huge handlebar moustache wearing tights and doing a deep bow to the audience. The band played subdued background music as Rufus picked up four balls and started juggling them. After a few moments, he dropped one of the balls and it bounced and rolled toward the orchestra pit. Rufus staggered as he unsuccessfully tried to retrieve it before it fell into the pit. Unnerved, he picked up some clubs and began juggling them. Again, he staggered slightly and almost fell as one of the clubs got away from him and dropped to the stage floor. It was becoming obvious to the audience that Rufus was more than slightly inebriated. The cowboys began to whoop, stomp their feet and boo as Rufus tried to salvage his act by attempting to juggle several daggers. His dexterity problems continued and he dropped a dagger. It stuck into the wooden stage. The booing became so loud that the curtain was lowered as Rufus bent over with his rear pointed toward the audience when he attempted to retrieve the dagger. Harris rushed to the stage and apologized for the fiasco. He pleaded for forbearance while the next act, a ventriloquist, prepared for an earlier than expected appearance.
King and John, who had roared with laughter at the inept juggler, agreed that they should get back to the herd. Harris, seeing them rise to leave, rushed to bid them goodbye just before they got to the door.
“I wish y’all would stay. Rufus actually is a good juggler when he’s sober. He comes in like this about once a week and each time I tell him to never come back, but the next night he shows up and puts on a hell of a show.”
“We better get going, Jack. Got to get back to the herd before dark. Enjoyed the food and I’m sure the entertainment will get better. It couldn’t get much worse,” John said with a smile.
Turning to King, Harris said, “I gotta warn you, Mr. Fisher, that a wanna-be gunslinger was at the bar bragging about how good Missouri gunfighters are and saying you wouldn’t have a chance against him. He left about twenty minutes ago. Thought you might want to keep an eye open once you get outside.”
“Was it the boy who was talking loud to you?” King asked.
“Yep, that’s him. I think he was just showing off, but you can’t be too sure.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“I’m glad you both stopped by. If you are ever in San Antonio again, come in and say hello. I’ve got two partners I’d like for you to meet.”
Although he was talking most directly to King, he also was aware that John Lytle was the most prominent trail boss in Texas. Both of them, in Harris’ mind, lent sophistication and credibility to his establishment. He could, and would, boast that King Fisher and John Lytle were regular customers and good friends of his.
King and John stepped outside and squinted as their eyes became more accustomed to the late afternoon sunlight. King looked up and down the street to see if the young gunslinger might be lying in wait. Seeing nothing suspicious, the two men walked around the side of the building where their horses were hitched. Luke Adams was leaning against the building across the alley.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t stay for the show,” Adams said as he stood erect and took a step away from the building. “Wanted to ask you a thing or two about gun fighting, since I hear you’re an expert.”
“I reckon you must be talking to me,” King said. “I never heard that my friend John was considered a gunfighter.”
John stepped aside.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you,” Adams said with a smirk. “I want a lesson on how you got half of Texas thinking you know anything about drawing and shooting a pistol. All I can figure is that there’s a bunch of gullible dimwits down here that never saw a real man handle a Colt.”
Almost imperceptibly King unbuttoned the last button on his duster as he said, “Yep, you’re right. There are a lot of gullible folks and I got most of them buffaloed. But the only way I figure to make them believe that I’m good is to shoot anyone who challenges that notion.”
He slowly moved his arms backward, pushing back coat flaps to reveal the gutta-percha handles on his Colts.
He watched the would-be gunfighter’s eyes then continued, “But I go a step further. I like to call where I aim to put the bullets. For example, if you was to challenge me, I’d tell my friend John that the first slug’ll be in your left eye and the second through your throat. I figure to be considered really good, you gotta get two shots off before the other guy has a chance to pull the trigger.”
At this, Adams began wavering and wondering if King was really that good. He considered backing down, but instead made the mistake of continuing the confrontation.
“You don’t think I’m falling for that line of bull, do you?” he asked with attempted bravado. His quavering voice belied his bluster. “I’ve seen the best in Kansas and Missouri and I’m better than any of them.”
“No doubt you are,” King replied coolly. “I was wishing that you’d just walk away and not risk getting killed for no reason whatever, but I suspect you’re set on proving a point to me, aren’t you?”
King made a slight move in order to square his body toward Adams and said, “Well, boy, either let us be on our way or show me how fast you are. Me and my partner got more work to do tonight.”
King was concentrating on watching Adams’ right hand which was shaking slightly. As Adams made a quick motion for his gun King drew both of his Colts and fired. The bullet from his left pistol struck Adams in the right arm, just above the elbow. The bullet from his right pistol hit him in the left thigh. The young man’s pistol, which was barely clear of its holster, fell to the ground. He staggered a few steps, then slumped backwards.
King holstered his guns and walked to Adams who was sitting up and moaning loudly. He leaned over and inspected the arm wound.
“Give up thinking you’re a gunfighter, boy. I decided to let you live when I saw how scared you were. Your hand was shaking so much that anyone could’ve beat you.”
By now, a crowd had gathered along the sidewalk. Jack Harris, who had heard the gunshots and correctly guessed the source, had come out of a theater side door. He recognized several of the onlookers and asked two of them to go for a doctor and the marshal. Within a few minutes, a deputy marshal and a doctor arrived on the scene.
As the deputy interrogated King, John and Harris, the doctor looked after Adams. John described the events that led to the shooting and Harris told of the conversation with Adams at the bar. He told of warning Fisher that Adams might be waiting for him outside the theater.
“I’ll give my report to the marshal,” the deputy said. “You men can go back to your herd. No doubt that Mr. Adams was the troublemaker in this action.”
King thanked the deputy and told him how he could be reached by mail if he was needed later. He then walked to where the doctor attended to Adams.
“Doctor, I figure that this boy should pay you out of his own pocket, but I reckon that his pocket is about as empty as his words.”
King withdrew a roll of money from his wallet, peeled off five ten dollar bills and handed them to the doctor.
“Take this for his treatment. If you need more, you can write me at the Carrizo Springs post office. You’d be doing him a big favor if you’d cut his shooting arm off.”
Although said in jest, King realized that Adams wouldn’t live long as a gunfighter. Most of the Pendencia outlaws could outdraw him.
King and John rode into the trail camp just about sundown. About half of the cowboys sat around the campfire. The others were standing watch over the herd.
“Well, boss,” Russ asked, “how was it in San Antone?”
“Just a dull evening, boys, just another dull evening in San Antone.” He turned and smiled at King.
Excerpt from Chapter 3
PENDENCIA CREEK: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF A TEXAS GUNFIGHTER
Background: Jobe Fisher has moved his family to Goliad from Lampasas because he has been advised to do so for Minerva's health. Jobe and Jasper develop a freighting business, and leave King at home to help Minerva and the baby, Laura.
Despite the Lampasas doctor’s beliefs, living in Goliad did not result in any improvement in Minerva’s health. On the contrary, her coughing spells became more frequent and severe. In addition, after four months in Goliad, she found that she was again pregnant.
Her persecution of King continued without letup. One night she threw a heavy cast-iron skillet at him because he had pushed Laura and told her to ‘shut up’ because she was being a noisy pest as he was trying to study. Laura had let out a wail that sounded as if she was being tortured.
“Who do you think you are?” Minerva screamed at him. “You don’t touch my daughter and talk to her that way in my house!”
She grabbed the skillet and tried to throw it but, because of her weak condition, it hit and broke the leg of a wooden chair.
“See what you made me do? I hope you’re satisfied! I can’t wait ‘til you’re old enough to get out of our life forever!”
“Me too,” he replied, almost under his breath.
This sassy comeback was too much for Minerva to bear. She grabbed the broken chair and rushed at King, intent on crashing it down on him. But King stood up and stopped her before she had the chance to hit him.
“Momma, stop it!” he yelled into her face while wresting the chair from her grip.
She was still shouting at him as he picked up a blanket and left the house. He went to the corral that had been built for Major and the mules. The horse greeted his master by bobbing his head up and down and snorting several times. King hugged his neck and put his cheek up against Major’s soft, warm, silky muzzle.
“Someday, boy, we’ll just get our stuff and go. You and me.”
Major seemed to understand and whinnied his approval of the plan.
It was a warm night, so King spread his blanket on the passageway porch, lay down and went to sleep.
From that time forward, King would make it a point to spend as little time at home as he felt he could get away with. After doing his daily chores, he would ride or walk into town and talk to the people he ran into along the wooden sidewalks. He became well-known by most of the merchants and other people who were in town on business. The citizens of Goliad saw an affable, charming young man with a quick smile who was always willing to provide a helping hand loading wagons and running errands.
King also got to know many of the Spanish speaking people of Goliad. He would spend a lot of time talking with them about their culture. Since he had an ear for languages, he picked up enough basic Spanish that he could understand the gist of most Hispanic conversations. He especially liked to wander through the abandoned La Bahia presidio with his friends from school, sometimes pretending that he was a Mexican military officer shouting orders in broken Spanish to his friends.
Doc White liked King and occasionally gave him light jobs, such as grooming his horse, and paid him a nickel or a dime. White had a special affinity for animal husbandry and had become well known around the region for his abilities as a self-taught veterinarian, thus the nickname ‘Doc’. He had often told his friends that he was tired of cotton farming and driving wagons and wanted to try raising cattle instead but all the good cattle land around Goliad was already taken.
Two years earlier, some of Doc’s Goliad friends had migrated to a region of Texas where good grazing land was plentiful and available. Since then he had become obsessed with putting together a group of settlers to join them. He was ultimately successful in getting ten families to pull up stakes and go with him on the venture. Five of the seven Vivian brothers were the most prominent of Doc’s collaborators. Their father, Lloyd Vivian, had come to Goliad in 1839.
On a cool night in early December, a group of about 50 men, women and children camped a few miles outside of town with all their belongings and livestock, ready for an early start to their new home. As the adults sat around the campfire excitingly discussing the upcoming adventure, they heard a rider coming at full gallop towards the camp. As he rode into the light of the fire, they recognized King Fisher.
He dismounted, took off his hat, and timidly walked over to the circle of travelers. Although he appeared older, he was only 13 years old. He was tall for his age, about five foot, seven inches, and slender - about 135 pounds. A spurt of growth over the last year had turned him into one of the tallest boys of his age in town. His horsemanship, excellent for a man of any age, also gave him an air of maturity.
“Come and join us, young man,” Doc said. “It’s mighty good of you to come this far to bid us goodbye.”
“Well, Mr. White, I ain't here to say goodbye. I want to go with you,” the boy blurted out.
He quickly scanned the faces of the people around the campfire.
“I’ll do anything you ask and then some if you’d please take me with you.”
John Vivian spoke up. “There ain’t no way we’re going to take that boy, Doc. Why, he’s just a child. We have enough children with us without adding another to worry about.”
Vivian also had an unspoken reason for not welcoming King to the traveling group. His daughter, eleven year old Sarah, had an obvious schoolgirl crush on the handsome young man. Vivian was sure that the feeling was mutual and guessed, correctly, that was one reason young Mr. Fisher wanted to go along.
Doc turned to King. “Mr. Vivian’s right, son. Besides, me and your daddy are friends and I couldn’t possibly take you without his say-so. He’s out of town for a while, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir, he is.”
“I hear that you’re having a tough go of it at home these days, but just abide with it the best you can. Time will come soon enough when you’ll be on your own and can go anywhere you darn well please.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Mr. White,” King said with a shaky voice as he fought back tears, “but nobody would have to look after me. I can fend for myself. I don’t have anything to bring with me - no livestock, no wagons, no nothing. I guess if I was y’all I wouldn’t take me along either.”
King glanced around the campfire, looking for Sarah Vivian. She and the other children were already asleep in the wagons.
“Well, then if y’all ain't going to change your minds, I’ll just say goodbye and wish y’all a safe journey. I want y’all to know if you ever need me, just send word and I’ll come on the double.”
“I’m sorry King. Thanks for coming by,” Doc responded. The others nodded and said their goodbyes as King strode back to his horse with his head held high, mounted Major, and rode back to Goliad. With tears in his eyes, he returned to the home that he hated.
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