Texas Drifter’s Non-Fiction Devil’s Gold Part II
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.
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 that I had to walk back to the curve east of Paso Real. Go around the curve and walk until I found an old witch known locally as Bruja under a giant mesquite tree.
I was not looking forward to the walk, but the meal had been good, the blue norther had blown through, and the skies were clearing while the temperature continued to drop to freezing.
All that aside, a deal is a deal. Besides that, I did not feel like sitting around and listening to the bartender all night. At that point in time, it seemed appropriate that a strange day should be followed by a stranger night.
Except for the increasing cold the walk to and around the curve was uneventful. I was amazed to find that my truck had not disappeared from where I had left it. After a pretty good walk I spotted a woman who looked to be a hundred and fifty years old standing under a huge leafless mesquite tree.
The Bruja’s first words were “Why should I help you?” I never was good at protocol, and responded, “Your commission is on my soul.”
Her response caught me totally off guard. I’ve never heard such laughing.
She started speaking almost as quickly as she started laughing, “I influence spirits; I don’t collect them. I’ll answer your question in return for you treating my niece; like your one and only love.”
Before I could respond, she continued, “The rules are: 1) jump before the curve 2) never take more than you need, and 3) never draw first. You can start back at Paso Real; my niece will find you. Now leave. You bore me.”
It was not long after I left the Bruja that the breezy midnight turned to still darkness as a wagon appeared. The ghostly driver was young. His excited voice was cold, “Get on he said.”
Continuing without hesitation, “I was the best around running cotton for guns. Kept on getting through, we’re brothers lost in time. Told Felina I’d quit after one last run.”
“Fifty cal drained my blood, still working my team trying to get through. I know Felina will wait; with your help I know I can get through and spend eternity with my Felina my love. I’m begging you; please don’t jump before the curve.”
Like the Bruja under the mesquite tree said, when evil hearts collide, it’s the walking away, not the winning that counts. It’s a long way to paradise when you’re headed back to Paso Real.
I did not really know what to expect as I walked through the swinging doors back into the Paso Real. Was somewhat relieved to only see one new player, a well dressed man who appeared to make his living as a never lose gambler.
Before I could reach the bar, the soft spoken stranger asked if I wanted to “pay the cards.” Told him I was broke only to see the bartender toss a gold coin on the table and bark I’ll put it on your tab.
After barely taking the first two hands, I knew the game was rigged because Mr. Gambler was letting me win. Next came the hard part, deciding when I should walk away. Remember rule number two: never take more than you need.
Some where through out the next two hours, I decided that being the seventh son of the seventh daughter; I could settle for forty-nine thousand in gold coins. I expressed my desires and waited for the gambler’s challenge.
Without saying a word, the gambler got up and stepped in front of the swinging doors. I slowly emptied my pockets to show Mr. Gambler that I was not carrying a weapon. The bartender stepped around the bar, and laid a 1851 Navy/Sheriff black powder "six shooter" on the table next to my right hand. His comment was predictable: I’ll put it on your tab.
Trying to buy time, I asked how I could be sure any gun that old still works. The gambler said that the bartender could exchange the gun on the table for his. After the exchange, Mr. Gambler told me to draw anytime I was ready.
Told Mr. Gambler that I would not draw on him; the response: “Not even as a reflex?” I heard the last sound I wanted to hear, a warning from a rattlesnake. I partially looked down and saw a rattlesnake coiled on the table across from the gambler’s gun.
The only thought going through my mind was, “God, please don’t let me draw when that serpent from hell strikes.” Before I could finish my desperate prayer, the snake struck towards the gun. I don’t know why I didn’t flinch, but I didn’t and the snake eased off the table and crawled away.
I looked back and the gambler was holding a Bowie knife against the temple of the girl who had car trouble. Before I could totally grasp the situation, he moved the knife to her throat and said: You draw now or I will toss you her head.
No time for a prayer. Speaking without thinking, “I know the rules; you kill her, I don’t draw, you lose. You have nothing to gain by hurting her. Since this is between you and me, killing her would be a sin.” As he whirled her into thin air, Mr. Gambler evolved into an exact image of me, Johnny Angel.
There before me stood me. I don’t know what I sound like, but I’m sure he sounded like me. I saw his hand start to move. What scared me was that I knew I was moving my hand. I started clenching my fist, his hand kept moving. My hand kept moving. All I could think about was squeezing my fist tighter and tighter.
Suddenly he screamed with a shrill that would scare the dead. He opened his gun hand and it was burning. I opened my hand and showed the bartender the cross in my palm that was a gift from the girl with car trouble. When I glanced back, my evil apparition had disappeared.
As I started gathering up my winnings, I noticed that the sun would be up shortly. Wishing nothing more than settling my account with Mr. Bartender and wanting to leave, I laid three gold coins on the bar.
He smiled and asked if I wanted my change. Thought of rule number two before I answered, “Good try, but I’ve come too far to lose on the last play of your game. I think I'll keep my soul for now.” Evil never gives up, his last words were, “There’s always an open tab for you here at Paso Real.”
Where to go, where to go? Headed back to the curve and my pickup; talk about strange luck. Just as I reached the curve who do I see leaving a note on the windshield of my truck but the girl with car trouble. Turns out she was heading up to Del Rio and wanted me to know where I could find my spare tire.
I know what I said must have sounded totally goofy, but I asked her if I might ride along with her to Del Rio to pick up my spare tire.
As we were passing the again abandoned Paso Real headed west, I heard on the radio that the district Attorney and his chief investigator had been found shot to death just outside Brownsville. The newscast also reported that their car had been found covered with brush near the bank of the Rio Grande.
The girl who had car trouble asked if I had any unfinished business in this part of Texas. It dawned on me while I answered; the bartender got two souls after all. Not any more, I don’t believe I know your name.
She smiled with warmth that few seldom see, “I thought you would have figured it out by now, it’s Felina.”
