Texas Drifter’s Non-Fiction Devil’s Gold Part I
Marshall’s Law Townhall Dateline – Following non-fiction story was told to Texas Drifter by Texas bounty hunter Johnny Angel. Texas Drifter is in process of acquiring Gambler’s pistol to verify factualness of following events.
As contemporary events in America under Obama’s regime seem more like fiction nightmare than living real world history, hopefully this Texas Drifter’s non-fiction story provides away from other reality entertainment.
Players:
Bounty Hunter (Johnny Angel - pronounced: Johnny On-hel)
Fugitive
Corrupt District Attorney and Deputy Sheriff
Girl With Car Trouble Felina - pronounced: Fe-lean-ah)
Ghost Rider
Bartender
Witch (Bruja - pronounced: Bru-ha)
Gambler
All stories start somewhere. This one started at an abandoned bordello on the road to the Arroyo Colorado. Colorado is Spanish for “red,” and describes the blood which flowed into the Arroyo following the massacre of the Flores family by politicians from Harlingen, Texas.
Some call me Johnny “the desperate” Angel, a title given to me for my fair treatment of fugitives during my days as a bounty hunter. I had just passed “the curve” which is about a mile east of the long abandoned bordello known as Paso Real. I was delivering my prisoner, Mr. Fugitive, to the courthouse in Brownsville.
The Fugitive and I were still about three hours from our destination when he started complaining that it had been about six hours since I had allowed him to take a personal rest stop.
I decided that this might be a good time for a stop, since I did not want him "going" inside my 1951 Ford pickup. Another incentive to stop was the nasty looking blue northern that seemed to be heading our way.
Upon our stepping out of my most valuable possession, my banged up old truck, Mr. Fugitive asked what would keep him from disappearing into the South Texas mesquite thicket. I told him nothing but the derringer that I always kept concealed above my wrist.
Upon preparing to resume our journey, I noticed a Cameron County sheriff’s car headed our direction. People in my line of work often know when it’s not going to be their day.
Two men stepped out of the sheriff’s car. The man in the suit asked why my passenger was in handcuffs. I informed him that I was a bail enforcement agent and had all the necessary papers to be transporting my prisoner to the court house in Brownsville.
The second stranger wearing deputy’s uniform said that maybe they would do me a favor and deliver my prisoner to Brownsville for me. I told both strangers that would not be necessary since I would only get paid if I delivered Mr. Fugitive in person.
The deputy pulled his weapon and informed me that it was an election year, and that it might be nice of me to donate my prisoner to the man in the suit who was seeking re-election as County District Attorney.
I informed both strangers that since I was not a registered voter in their county and did not care who got elected, both men could go have sex with themselves or each other. I did not really care.
At that point the District Attorney pulled his weapon and asked me if I wanted to die now or some other time. I’m not inclined to start a fight I know I cannot win, so I told the public sector outlaws that I would rather die some other time.
The District Attorney was informed that he would not be able to take credit for Mr. Fugitive’s capture if he could not get the prisoner’s handcuffs off. I added that since the prisoner was wearing specially made cuffs which required a special key, it might be a good idea to let me keep my handcuffs.
Both public sector outlaws were informed that Mr. Fugitive had a bladder problem and needed personal rest breaks about every hour, and that if they didn’t want a mess that would permanently fowl the inside of their car, they should accommodate their prisoner’s medical problem.
I thought Mr. Fugitive’s expression would give my plan away when I slipped him my derringer while removing his handcuffs. The thought was that I would lag behind, and recapture my prisoner after his hopeful escape. Heck he might even be worth more money at that point in time.
The District Attorney told me to turn that piece of junk I called a truck around and get out of his county as fast as I could. No problem since I figured I had some time to waste while waiting for my prisoner to escape.
I had almost reached the curve heading back to Paso Real, when I noticed a truck the same year model as mine stopped on the side of the road. As I approached, I gazed upon the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
Closer inspection showed that she had a flat tire. Further inquiry determined that she did not have a spare tire. Without hesitation I took my spare and put it on her vehicle. While she was talking about what a coincidence it was that my tire would fit on her truck; I couldn’t help thinking, how could any woman living in the land of the dead be so beautiful.
As she was getting ready to continue her journey she handed me a small cross, and said this will protect you from the coming storm. As she drove off, I couldn’t help thinking: what a fool for not asking her name.
The approaching storm had me thinking, I hope the cross she gave me will make up for giving my derringer to Mr. Fugitive.
I knew that my day was not going to get any better when I heard my right front tire explode as I started skidding into a ditch.
Not wanting to spend the night in my truck, I thought; since I’m only about thirty yards from the curve, perhaps I can run fast enough to make it to the abandoned bordello before the rain and sleet start. At least that way I’ll only be cold instead of both cold and wet.
I could not believe what happened next. I was almost trampled flat by a run a way wagon being pulled by four of the blackest horses I have ever seen. Two simultaneous thoughts struck me, why hadn’t I seen or heard the wagon coming, and second maybe the cross from the lady with car trouble was more valuable than my derringer.
There was little time for thinking as the storm had started to blow in. I started running towards the curve and Paso Real abandoned bordello with every ounce of energy in my body.
The strong wind and swirling dust blocked my view of Paso Real until I collapsed from total exhaustion twenty to thirty yards from the entrance.
What I saw next shocked me more than the incident with the run a way wagon. I could not believe what I was seeing. The abandoned saloon/bordello looked like it must have the first day it was open for business.
As I struggled to stand up, I realized that I was still holding the cross given me by the lady with car trouble. I then made my way to the swinging doors to get in out of the now pouring rain.
The cantina part of Paso Real, a part time hotel and full time bordello, was empty except for the bartender. The glance of his warm eyes was instantly followed by a haunting baritone voice bidding me welcome.
The reassuring greeting caused me to put the lady’s cross in my pocket I asked for a beer. The bartender quipped “the special is two beers, and a burned steak with black beans. It’s a better deal for the money.”
Not in any hurry to settle in and wanting to find out more about what was going on; my response was that I could only afford one beer.
In less than a heartbeat the bar tender announced that he was always willing to run a tab for anybody looking for the devil’s gold. My wary look generated the following one sided conversation. The devil1s gold used to be called Taylor’s Gold.
During the 1845 war General Taylor came this far south to secure the Rio Grande from incursions by Mexico. He crossed the Arroyo just beyond the curve just east of here. After marching about twenty miles General Taylor started thinking he might have actually crossed the Rio Grande and be twenty miles in Mexico.
Not wanting to jeopardize his army’s gold payroll, Taylor sent one of his most trusted officers with twelve of his most trusted enlisted men to cross back across the Arroyo and bury the payroll which consisted of a thousand pounds of gold coins.
History has it that after burying the gold, the entire unit was ambushed by who knows who. Unfortunately, the dead thirteen took their secret of where the gold was buried with them. Taylor was forced to bring in an additional payroll for his troops through Point Isabel.
Legend has it that the devil sent his demons to destroy Taylor’s unit because he wanted all that gold to attract greedy souls. The rules are simple those who find the Devil’s gold can keep all they can get away with.
The special is two beers, and one burned steak with black beans. Want me to run a tab? I just know anybody named Johnny Angel would never pass up two beers and a burned steak with black beans.
My response, “You can tell me how to go about finding Taylor’s gold while I settle back and enjoy your hospitality.”
The long and the short of the Bartender’s second one sided conversation was … to be continued Part II.
