A man called Valance

Howdy Martin R. Meyers

2012-02-10T21:24:00.001Z

Howdy Martin. Welcome to The Porch. If you can squeeze past those clucking females, c’mon up and say hello. That’s it, take a chair and make yourself comfortable. Glad to know you, Martin. Much as I love a lady’s company, it’s good to have some more brains around here. I see you’re a poet. Well, that’s good, though it ain’t something I know much about. Booze and cigarettes is poetry to me, and you’re welcome to both. Hmm, wouldn’t care for some soup, would you?

Howdy Ann

2012-02-09T20:29:00.000Z

Howdy Miss Ann. *tips hat* C’mon up and say hello. Pull up a rocking chair and make yourself comfortable. That’s it, kick your boots off and relax. Pleased to meet you, Miss Ann. Welcome to The Porch. We got coffee in the jug, cookies in the jar and all the booze you can drink. Got tobacco too, if you’d care to smoke – I can roll you a cigarette in no time at all. I’m sure glad you’re entering the cooking contest. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to eating some genuine Scottish food. I never ate a haggis before, mostly ‘cause I’ve never found one to shoot. Anyway, it’s about time we had a real lady around here – the kind that ain’t full of empty promises – ‘cause all I’ve heard so far is good intentions, no intentions and miserable excuses. And since you’ve been so good to me, I’m gonna treat you to a bowl of the most famous soup in Blogsville.

Don’t fret, Miss Ann. It tastes a whole lot better than it looks. S’ok, that timorous wee beastie ain’t so timorous any more. Just close your eyes and pretend you’re eating chicken.

Look what I found...

2012-02-03T18:11:00.004Z

I found this when I was searching for something to eat. Hmm, don’t know if I want to drink it though. There’s no telling how long it’s been in the house. Maybe I’ll just wipe the dust off and give it to Cheyenne. Darn, I just remembered he’s given up the booze. Hmm, maybe I’ll give it to Miss Frances. Or I might just keep it for myself. I know – I’ll pour some into a glass and give it to Miss Frances. If it don’t kill her, I’ll drink the rest myself.

Miss Frances? Miss Frances are you out there? Come on up here, I got a little surprise for you.

Cooking Contest

2012-01-28T21:15:00.008Z

It's time we had another cooking contest. It's been so long since the last one I've forgotten who won. Oh yeah, I remember now... it was ol' Martha Murphy, who sadly died last year and took her winning recipes to the grave, poor soul. Well, at least others have a chance to win now. Good luck everyone.

Irresistibly Sweet?

2012-01-25T19:37:00.009Z

Well, how do you like that, Nameless? Oscar’s gone and stuck me with one of those fluffy pink blog awards. I ain’t ungracious, truly I ain’t, but hell, I hope he ain’t expecting me to clap my hands and jump up in the air. Lean mean rootin’ tootin’ fellas like me ain’t supposed to get pink fluffy blog awards. It just… well it just ain’t right, that’s all. Oscar must have had the mischief in him when he came up with this. Hell, he sure stuck me good.

Reckon I’ll just have to take the award with a smile, and comply with the rules of acceptance. I’d hate to hurt the old fella’s feelings. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll tell him I’ve found a special place for it. He won’t know I’ve put it with all the rest, in the pisspot under the bed.

Ladies and Gentlemen, *smile,* I got some good news. Your good friend and mine – Oscar – has bestowed this wonderful award upon me …

Ain’t that something? Why, I’m so delighted and so overcome, I hardly know what to say. Thank you Oscar, I’m honored. You can be sure I’ll keep this wonderful award in a special place.

In accordance with the rules, I am now obliged to stick… I mean nominate ten deserving people for The Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award. Now, I know some of you politely decline these things, and I know from my travels that some of you have received this award already. But I believe some folks might take a little happiness from receiving one of these things and I ain’t so high fallutin’ that I’d deny anyone that joy. For that reason I’m nominating…

Miss Sweet, ‘cause if anyone’s entitled to The Irresistibly Sweet Award, it’s her.

Miss Trinity, ‘cause I love her coffee cake.

Miss Debi, who ain’t been around in a long time, but ain’t forgotten.

Johnny D, ‘cause he’s an all-round nice fella.

Jim Archer, ‘cause I like his sense of humor and I’m anxious to honor him before he has another heart attack.

Miss Houston, ‘cause I love her. And because she’ll sulk like hell if I don’t give her one.

Miss Cecile, ‘cause I ain’t seen her in a while and I miss her, and maybe this piece of cheese might get her over here.

Cheyenne, ‘cause he’s a buddy I can count on. Sometimes.

And finally…

Miss April, ‘cause I just found out she tells bigger whoppers than me.

I know that’s only nine, but I’m setting one aside for anyone who really wants one.

To conclude proceedings, I now have to tell you seven things you might not know about me:

1 I was a Pony Express rider. Good one, too. Then one day in Salt Lake City, I was given $1000 to take to Sacramento. Hell, I was halfway to Texas before I stopped riding.

2 Miss Houston and I have an understanding. She takes care of the cooking and cleaning and washing, while I take care of the work. It ain’t easy sitting out here all day, looking out for injuns and scavengers and preachers, but I guess someone has to do it.

3 I once rode with a bunch of outlaws called the The Slade Gang. Never knew why they called us that. None of us were called Slade, but we had some good times.

4 A gunfighter by the name of Jameson once called me out in Dodge. Folks reckoned he was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. ‘Murder!’ they cried, when he fell without drawing a gun. According to the law it most surely was, but I can live with it.

5 A friend of mine is famous. He’s promised to visit me on the porch soon.

6 I once tickled ol’ Granny Applegate. I was just fooling around, and figured it’d brighten her day. Reckon I did too, only she’s been chasing me ever since. That’s why I don’t go into town so much these days.

7 When we were youngsters, me and Henry Ball agreed to become blood brothers. Henry nicked his thumb with his Pa’s hunting knife and then handed it to me. Well, that knife was sharp. And I mean sharp. I sliced my thumb to the bone. Ain’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done but I don’t regret it. See, although Henry’s long gone now, our bond is still with me, right here in my scarred thumb.

Well, that’s about all. Though there’s one special award I’d like to make.

Oscar, this one’s just for you….

Howdy Janette Harjo

2012-01-23T20:48:00.001Z

Howdy Miss Janette. Good to see you again. C’mon up and have a drink with me. Ain’t got any tequila but I got plenty of whiskey. Ain’t seen you around these parts before, what brings you to The Porch – apart from fine company, I mean? If you’re on one of your ghost hunts you’ve come to the right place. I saw a ghost here once – the ghost of Smiley Doolan. Standing right here he was, all mean and evil. The varmint chased me all the way to the barn and did his damndest to skewer me with a pitchfork. Hell, it gives me the shivers just thinking about it. Anyway, welcome to The Porch Miss Janette. Now how about that drink? Or even some delicious hot soup?

Howdy Diane Fordham

2012-01-21T11:31:00.002Z

Howdy Miss Diane. *tips hat, smiles a friendly smile* I know we spoke already but it's customary around here to give new followers a special welcome, so step right up and pull up a chair. That's it… just kick your boots off and make yourself comfortable. If you’d care to smoke, I got plenty of tobacco. I’ll be glad to roll you a cigarette. Chew some if you want, I don't mind. Can I get you a drink? Whiskey or coffee, the choice is yours. And if you're feeling hungry, you’re in luck. I got soup on the stove – the most famous soup in the territory. Maybe I can tempt you, while it’s nice and fresh? Anyway, I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Diane. It's about time we had a real lady around here. Welcome to the Porch.

Something strange

2012-01-14T12:51:00.008Z

Strange things have been happening lately. I don’t know the how and why, or even the where and when, but things ain’t right and that’s a fact.

Some days back I found I couldn’t make a comment. Yup, right here on my own damn Porch. Every time I clicked comments the whole page just jammed up. Hell, I couldn’t even see what my visitors had said. Ain’t like I’d been drinking, either. Well, maybe I had, but a whiskey haze don’t stop me seeing straight – just makes things glow a little, that’s all. Well, since the problem had me flummoxed, I figured I’d let things ride until the problem cured itself.

This morning I tried again. Same thing happened. Everything locked up. With no comments added in recent days, I got to wondering if others had experienced the same difficulty. Coincidence I reckon, yet it troubled me to think that if my visitors had dried up, then maybe it’s time I took a bath, even though it ain’t the end of the month yet. Besides, I only just had one at Christmas.

Well, once I took a bath, I blew the dust off the blog settings and had a good poke around. Since I ain’t touched that stuff since this blog’s inception, I’m damned if I know why the problem’s occurred now, but I’ve found a way round it. It ain’t my preference to have a disembodied comments window, but until such time as someone out there can walk me through some idiot-proof trouble-shooting advice, that’s the way it’ll have to be.

And the strangest thing of all…

I found these on the porch. Don’t know who they belong to – cross my heart – though I can think of at least one likely suspect. Anyhow, if some handsome prince out there wants to take these off my hands and spend the rest of his life searching for a well sized Cinderella, believe me, he’s more than welcome. I'll be glad to pass them on. Ain't my fault he's got a death wish. Meantime, I’m scared of going in the house. There's no telling what I'll find in there.

Happy New Year?

2012-01-03T11:32:00.007Z

Happy New Year folks. Course I'm saying that without any great expectation, since it's likely to be as lousy as any other, but I guess we can hope.

Anyhow, can you guess what I got for Christmas?

Here's a clue...

Well, did you guess?

Yup, that's right, I got a fresh pouch of tobacco.

Howdy Karen

2012-01-03T11:29:00.001Z

Howdy Miss Karen. Welcome to The Porch. Lord, am I glad to see you. C’mon, step right up and take a rocking chair. That’s it, just relax and make yourself comfortable. Care for some coffee? Maybe you’d like some booze? Choice is yours. It’s a custom here to give a special welcome to all newcomers, and just about now I’d usually be saying how pleased I am to meet you, only that wouldn’t quite be so. Not that I ain't pleased, but you know that ain’t half the story. Let’s just say I’m mighty glad to see you again. And I promise I won’t say a thing about space hoppers.

*Removes cowboy hat*

I’d better just explain something to the rest of you folks. It’s seven years now since I joined a writers’ website and took those first tentative steps into the writing world. Much as I yearned to be there, an ingrained lack of confidence meant I was overawed, and I found those early days intimidating. If ever I needed a friendly word it was then, and it came from the first person to speak to me, who pointed me in the right direction. Course I strayed in the wrong direction a few times after, but I’ll always be grateful to the lady that sent me on my way. And what’s more, she’s the first follower I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in real life. Thanks Karen.

*Puts cowboy hat back on*

Well, now you know who to blame.

The Christmas Story

2011-12-24T10:29:00.011Z

It don’t seem more than a few months since I was sitting here wishing you all a Merry Christmas, but here we are, it’s that time of year again. Christmas comes around faster than it used to, that’s for sure. I put it down to age and experience, and the knowing that it don’t do any good to spend weeks and months hankering for stuff you ain’t ever gonna get. And because we don’t yearn anymore, the darn thing sneaks up a whole lot faster. Course I ain’t complaining, just stating a fact, that’s all. You know I ain’t one for bellyaching. I just shrug and smile like everybody else, and learn how to be content. Besides, Christmas ain’t about hoping for presents. It’s about little baby Jesus. That’s what the parson said, anyhow, when he buttonholed me in the saloon yesterday.

*Lights a cigarette*

A long, long time ago, in someplace I never heard of, a woman called Mary was visited by an angel. The angel said Mary was gonna have a baby boy, who she must call Jesus. I had that angel down as some kind of gypsy fortune teller, but the parson said no, the angel was an emissary of God.

I was still trying to swallow that one when the parson came up with a convoluted tale about an immaculate conception. I damn near choked on my whiskey when he tried explaining that one, but not wanting to appear doubtful, I went along with it. And so did a fella named Joseph, who married Mary. I guess some folks are plain gullible.

Just as Mary and Joseph were expecting the youngster, they had to ride over to a place called Bethlehem and pay their taxes. Only when they got there, all the hotels were full, and with nowhere else to stay, they finished up in some fella’s barn with a bunch of animals. And wouldn’t you know it, that very night, amongst heaps of hay and sheep shit, the baby was born.

Well, as a big bright star rose high in the sky, an angel rounded up a few shepherds and told them to go see the new born savior of men. Those shepherds ran all the way to the barn. Can’t say I blame them, either. I’d have ran too, if a talking angel suddenly appeared in front of me, only you wouldn't have seen my ass for dust.

And then three kings appeared, wise men from the east, bringing gifts for the baby, who’d been born just in time for Christmas. I don’t know what use gold, frankincense and myrrh is to a kid, but I guess it’s the thought that counts. Hell, what is frankincense and myrrh, anyway?

And that’s it, that’s what Christmas is about. It’s about the birth of Jesus. So the parson says, anyway. I gotta hand it to him – he sure knows how to tell a whopper.

*takes a long shot of whiskey and gazes to the heavens*

Well, I ain’t been struck by a bolt of lightning yet.

*takes a more celebratory swig of whiskey*

Anyway, I got a little surprise for you. I got a sack full of wishes here, for the child in all of us. Go ahead, help yourself to a wish. Keep it to yourself, or tell it to the world, I don’t mind. Just make it with a smile.

Whatever it means to you, Happy Christmas folks. I’ll catch up with you soon.

Mister V's sack

2011-12-09T20:00:00.007Z

Certain females around here have expressed a preference to see my face covered by a sack. I'll say no more.

The Lone Ranger

2011-12-05T19:56:00.004Z

You didn’t really think I’d made raccoon soup, did you? Well I didn’t, I was only kidding. The little fella’s alive and well, as you can see.

When Miss Frances said what she said, I got to thinking how alike that raccoon and me would look if I put my Lone Ranger mask on. Yup, that really is me behind the mask. I know that comes as a surprise, but I’m telling you that ‘cause I don’t want you wasting anymore time wondering ‘who is that masked man?’ Course you’d never have guessed, would you? It always worked for the Lone Ranger, anyway. Truth is I never did understand that. How does one skinny little eye mask make a man unrecognizable? And if folks didn’t recognize him, they should have recognized his horse. Hmm, maybe Trigger should have worn an eye mask, too.

King of the wild frontier

2011-12-03T19:42:00.008Z

Cheeky little rascal, ain't he?

Now, who wants some soup?

Be Nice to Everybody Week

2011-11-12T20:44:00.007Z

Yup, that's right, tomorrow is the start of Be Nice to Everybody Week. If you ain't heard of it before, don’t worry, it’s ‘cause I only just thought of it. And everyone had better participate, or they'll get my boot up their ass. Now, as the founder of this noble enterprise, I reckon it's only right and fair that everybody gets the week off to a good start by being nice to me. Gifts of whiskey, food and tobacco will be appreciated, received and accepted with humility and gratitude, by me, for me, in accordance with the rules of grace and favor, as laid down by me. Thank you. And don’t forget to be nice to each other, too.

Howdy Trinity4h

2011-11-09T18:32:00.005Z

Howdy Miss Barbara. Welcome to The Porch. I know our paths have crossed before, most notably on the Bonanza Brand site, but it’s a Porch custom to give new followers a special welcome and you’re as special as anyone. So step right up, pull up a chair and get yourself comfortable. Now tell me something – I know you’re a Bonanza fan. But which is your favorite Cartwright? C’mon, which one of those boys makes your heart beat a little faster?

By the way folks… this is Miss Barbara

And here’s her brand new blog

And if any of you ladies out there want to open up and confess to having a favorite Cartwright, please go right ahead.

Talking to my dog

2011-11-08T20:04:00.004Z

What am I gonna do, Nameless? I never had two females fight over me before. Miss Frances is a beautiful woman. Any man would be proud to step out with her. She’s got guts, too. Ain’t many would stand up to Housty the way she did, and I can’t help admiring her for that. And I can’t forget that look in her eye when she told me we had unfinished business in the barn…

*sigh*

And Housty, well, I know she can be a little spitfire sometimes, and I know she turned me down when I asked her to be my bride, but deep down, I know her heart is mine. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve it, but why else would she put up with a bum like me?

I don’t know what to do, Nameless. I’m torn. Seems my pants are pulling one way, and my head’s pulling another. I don’t want Housty or Miss Frances to get hurt, and I hate to see them fighting, though I just might change my mind about that, if I get to sell some tickets first. Hell, I don’t know what to do. Hmm, maybe I’ll tell them I’m in love with Cheyenne, just to keep the peace. What do you think? Nameless? Nameless? You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you?

The Deputy

2011-11-06T21:25:00.004Z

I went into town yesterday. No special reason. I just got a few supplies and caught up on the town gossip…

First, Joe Grady told me about a fight in The Lazy B. Said it had something to do with Hank Ballard being sweet on Mary Peterson. Seems Mrs. Peterson’s husband objected.

Then Eliza Holden, well, she told anyone in screeching distance what a no good worthless fool her husband was. Then she threw a punch that knocked the poor fella out cold in the middle of the street.

And then old Bob Straker, well, he just wouldn’t let me go till he’d done telling me about his bad back, his swollen knees, his glass eye and everything I didn’t need to know about his darn hemorrhoids.

I saw old Granny Applegate too, but I ducked down an alley before she could see me. A pretty good move, I thought, but then…

‘Hiding from someone, Mister?’ said a deep voice from somewhere behind me.

It sure startled me some to turn around and see a tall man holding a gun on me. By the set of his eyes and his grim countenance, he plainly wasn’t a man to be messed with, and I was quick to comply when he ordered me to put my hands up.

‘I ain’t hiding. Well, maybe I am. But I ain’t up to no good – if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘Then what are you sneaking around for?’

‘Well, I…’

‘C’mon!’ he said, jabbing the gun at me. ‘You can tell it to the sheriff.’

I hadn’t noticed the badge till then, but sure enough, the man was a deputy. The joy of knowing I wasn’t about to get gunned down soon passed, as he marched me to the sheriff’s office. It’s almost a year now since I lost the deputy’s job, but the shame still lingers, and it pained me greatly to think I was being taken in by a man wearing my old badge.

‘Well now, what have we got here?’ said Sheriff Rogers. Leaning back in his chair, he swung his feet up on the desk and made himself nice and comfortable, in anticipation of a story.

‘I found this man acting suspicious in the alley,’ said the deputy.

‘Valance?’ said the sheriff, inviting an explanation.

Well, by the time I’d done telling the sheriff the truth, the whole truth and nothing but, he was laughing so hard I thought he was gonna wet himself. ‘And that’s all there is to it, Emmett,’ I said. ‘You know what Granny Applegate’s like. I just ain’t safe when she’s around.’

‘OK Valance, put your hands down.’

‘You two know each other?’ asked the deputy, his face a picture of confusion.

‘Yeah, we know each other,’ said the sheriff. ‘I’d better introduce you two. Valance – this is Ray Fielding, my deputy. Ray – this is Levitt E. Valance, your predecessor.’

‘You mean he’s the one who…’

‘The very same,’ said the sheriff, cutting his deputy short. ‘You’d better be getting along now, Ray. I need you out on the street. Close the door behind you.’

Whatever the deputy was about to say about me, I sure got the impression the sheriff wasn’t gonna let him say it in my presence. Most likely because it was some terrible lie started by the sheriff himself. Well, I ain't one for holding grudges and criticizing sheriffs, so I let it ride. Instead, I criticized the deputy.

‘That deputy’s a keen one, ain’t he? Shame he ain’t smart enough to know an honest citizen when he sees one.’

‘Yeah, Ray’s keen. A little too keen sometimes, but he’s good.’

‘As good as I was?’

‘Almost.’

‘Almost, huh? So what’s he’s got that I ain’t got?’

‘My trust.’

In two words, Emmett delivered the biggest kick in the guts I’ve had in a long time. There was nothing more to say. All I could do was shrug and walk away, and rue the day I lost my badge.

Howdy Ron

2011-11-06T20:26:00.003Z

Howdy Ron. Pleased to meet you. Pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable. Can I get you some coffee? And maybe some cookies? How about a piece of apple pie? You just say the word, and I’ll have my good woman take care of it. Anyway, welcome to The Porch. It’s about time we had a good Christian man around here. I read the good book myself, you know.

A man called Cakeless

2011-10-25T06:07:00.005+01:00

Some birthday that was. I thought it'd be the best birthday ever. But what did I get? An ultimatum from Miss Houston and sack load of empty promises, that's what. At least I got a hug from Miss Cecile. Hell, I'm going to bed.

Good news

2011-10-21T21:33:00.002+01:00

Good news – I got my memory back. Most of it, anyhow. Ain’t sure why that crazy Irish woman brained me with a frying pan, but I guess she’s got her own misguided reasons. I’d come right out and ask her, only she ain’t speaking yet and I’m in no hurry to end that small mercy. She’ll talk soon enough I reckon, and hell, there’ll be no stopping her then. Maybe I’d better savor the silence while I can. Hmm, I just thought of something. Maybe she was showing the world how much she loves me, and acting in accordance with Irish custom when she plighted her troth and my skull with that frying pan. Hell, what a woman.

Anyhow, I’m glad I got my memory back. Just in time too, to remind you folks it’s my birthday on Monday. Course I ain’t one to crow about it in the hope of personal gain, but I just know you’ll all be itching to spoil me with booze and cigarettes and heaps of good stuff. And maybe a wonderful surprise or two – like a plate of steak and onions with potatoes and plenty of gravy. And maybe some nice juicy peaches. And maybe a nice birthday cake – a real big one with thirty one candles. And maybe a date with The Dixie Lee Saloon Girls, if it ain’t too much trouble.

A man called who?

2011-10-14T20:50:00.014+01:00

Howdy folks. I wonder if any of you can help me. What is this place? Where am I?

I’d sure appreciate someone telling me.

That’s if you ain’t all hostile.

I ain’t seen a friendly face all day. The only person I’ve seen so far is a frosty faced woman. I’ve tried talking to her, but she just grunts and flounces away. Who is she?

There’s a dog, too. I said howdy to him. He’s a sorry looking piece of crow bait, but he’s a friendly cuss. Leastways he wagged his tail before he went back to sleep.

Hmm, I don’t know why this porch is bloodstained.

Ain’t sure why my head’s bandaged either, but it sure feels sore.

But the biggest question of all is… who am I?

The Boss

2011-10-11T19:53:00.004+01:00

Told you I'd smooth things over, didn't I? That little misunderstanding over at Miss Sweet's is all forgotten now. Miss Houston ain't said a word about it - not one single word.

*lights cigarette*

Oh, I know I ain't perfect, but I ain't so bad. Housty knows that. She trusts me. And so she should, like I trust her. Neither of us has any time for malicious gossip. Besides, there's only room for one boss around here, and I know how to keep her in her place. She's a fiesty little spitfire but she knows what's good for her. As a matter of fact she's in the kitchen right now, cooking up something special.

Hey Sugar! How long's dinner gonna be?

Howdy Frances Garrood

2011-10-09T12:36:00.002+01:00

Howdy Miss Frances. Step right up and have a drink with me. I know we talked already but it's customary here to give all newcomers their own special welcome, so sit down and make yourself comfortable. Coffee's in the jug if you want some. Got plenty of the hard stuff too, if that's what you prefer. Want some whiskey? Here... have a bottle. Just rip the cork out with your teeth. If you can spit the cork beyond the hitching rail you win a prize. Anyway, welcome to the porch, Miss Frances. Glad to meet you. Now tell me something... Garrood... I never saw that name before. Where does it come from?

Incident at Miss Sweet's Saloon

2011-10-03T18:08:00.005+01:00

Hell, am I in trouble. First time I’ve been in town since I got home from my travels, too. Miss Houston don’t know it yet, but she will. Ain’t a darn thing that woman doesn’t get to hear about – she’s got spies everywhere. Anyhow, I don’t know where she’s been these past few days, but I ain’t sticking around to find out. There’s no reasoning with that frying pan of hers.

It all started the night before last…

Out here on his own, a man can get lonely. When the sun goes down and night throws its dark cloak over the land, and there’s nothing for company but one snoring dog and a bazillion crickets, he gets to thinking about a warm bed and a hot woman. Leastways most men do. But not me. Solitude is a peaceful friend, and though I appreciate a hot woman as much as any man, I’m happy with the one I got. There ain’t a finer, understanding, more forgiving woman in this whole wide world. I said there ain’t a finer, understanding, more forgiving woman in this whole wide world.

With nothing else to do yesterday, I decided to go into town. I figured I’d buy something nice for that fine, understanding woman of mine, in appreciation of her forgiving ways. Once upon a time I might have gone looking for my comforts at Cordelia’s place, and I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind, but I’m a new man these days, and I had nothing on my mind but a drink when I stopped by at Miss Sweet’s Saloon.

Well, the place was quiet, real quiet. Weren’t a soul to be seen but me, Miss Sweet and that heaving bosom of hers. And from the moment I strolled through the swing doors, she was heaving it at me and loading me up with whiskey. And the way she kept swishing her hips and batting her eyelashes... well, I’m only flesh and blood, and Miss Sweet’s an attractive woman. A man can’t help having a physical response. Course I don’t mean that kind of response – well, maybe I twitched some. No, I’m talking about a pulse racing, heart thumping kind of response. I tell you – I was scared. Not for me, but for Miss Houston.

‘You’re a real pretty woman Miss Sweet, but I’m spoken for,’ I said.

Well, the poor woman couldn’t hide her disappointment. I thought she’d feel a little better if I gave her my steer’s head belt buckle. I’ve seen her looking at it plenty of times and I know how much she liked it. But as soon as I took the belt off and laid it on the bar, she started kicking up a fuss. Well, when some fella came running down the hallway, it was plain he’d got the wrong idea, so I just got the hell out of there. That’s about all I could do, seeing as I needed two hands to keep my pants up. And that’s the truth. But who’s gonna believe me?

Anyway, I’d better be getting along now. I don’t want to be around when Housty gets back. If she ain’t heard the wicked lies already she’ll know something’s wrong when she sees my pants tied up with a piece of rope. Think I’ll head into town and lie low for a while.

CLICK HERE FOR THE TRUTH

Howdy tbaoo

2011-10-02T12:12:00.001+01:00

Howdy Alan. Pleased to meet you. Welcome to The Porch. Step right up and take a chair. Hell, am I glad to see you. This place is overrun with so many clucking females; I sometimes forget what it’s like to talk to someone with brains. Want some whiskey? I got plenty. Cigarettes too, if you’d care to smoke. Now tell me, if it ain’t too rude, what tbaoo means…

Howdy Debra Kraft

2011-10-02T12:10:00.001+01:00

Howdy Miss Debra.

*stands up and tips hat*

Pleased to meet you. Welcome to The Porch. C’mon in and kick your boots off. That’s it… help yourself to a rocking chair. Now you just relax and make yourself comfortable, and I’ll get you a drink. A mug of coffee or a drop of the hard stuff, the choice is yours. What’ll it be?

Howdy Storyteller

2011-10-01T09:30:00.003+01:00

Howdy Miss Petra. Welcome to the porch. Sit yourself down and kick your boots off. There’s coffee in the jug and cookies in the jar. Most of the whiskey’s in me, but hell, I can soon rustle up another bottle. And if you're feeling hungry, well, you're in luck. I got soup on the stove right now. Anyway, it's good to meet you Miss Petra. Yup, sure is. It’s about time we had a real lady around here.

Howdy Alan Hurley

2011-10-01T09:16:00.001+01:00

Howdy Alan. Step right up and take a chair. Pleased to meet you. Hell, I never met a dinosaur-hunting artist before. Ain’t many dinosaurs around here, but if you ever feel like painting that fence over there, go right ahead. Anyway, you just relax and make yourself comfortable. Booze or coffee, the choice is yours. Cigarettes too, if you’d care to smoke. Welcome to the porch.

Just another effing poem

2011-09-30T11:45:00.003+01:00

Well here it is...

Ruckus in a Lonesome Town

2011-09-26T21:03:00.008+01:00

Once upon a time I wrote a poem. Not much of a poem, but folks liked it enough to vote it as a favorite on the writing website I called home. Course I was pleased, but in some ways it was a kick in the teeth. Truth is there were times when I hated the darn thing. Why? Because after investing heart, soul and a whole lot of hours in things that were destined to ride the last train to Bumsville, it’s a twisted irony that one little poem, written in just two nights, dwarfed anything else I did. I guess things happen that way, sometimes. Well, I left all that behind me when I staked my claim in Blogsville some two and half years back. Here is home now. Here is where I’m settled and here is where I belong. Meantime, my former home just crumbled away and no longer exists. A crying shame, I reckon. My little piece of glory went with it.

*rolls a cigarette*

I rode out of here this summer with a long journey ahead. Where I was bound don’t matter right now. What’s relevant to this story is that’s when I got to thinking about that poem again. I wondered if I’d uploaded it anywhere else. I doubted it, but I’d been around a few places before settling in Blogsville, and couldn’t be sure. With nothing to lose, I typed the title into a search engine, and Bingo! I found my poem, in a link at the head of the results page.

*lights cigarette*

It’s a strange feeling to see something of yours, plain as day, on a site you’ve never set eyes on before. It’s even stranger to see someone else’s name on it. It just don’t seem real. But slowly, the reality sank in.

On a lonely hearts dating site…

On a forum saying Poems – when you’re feeling creative…

Some no-good, low-down poem rustler had posted up my poem, in his own name.

Clicking on the jasper’s name revealed the details of a saint. Amongst other things
he claimed to be respectful of others, sensitive, trustworthy and of strong integrity. Even better, in his pitch to the ladies, he put a high price on honesty. ‘I have been told I’m funny and honest. All I actually care about is honesty,’ he said.

‘Yeah, and I’m Mother Theresa,’ I thought.

I looked at my poem again, and a sorry sight it was. Without the original structure that was integral to its presentation, its meaning was lost. Nobody had seen fit to comment on the lifeless slab of words that had been copied and pasted and thrown on the page.

Should I feel flattered that someone stole my poem? I don’t know. The jasper hadn’t gained anything from his misdeed, but that don’t make it right. Good or bad, the darn thing is mine. Sure, I was needled. And the irksome smugness of his profile fired me up even more. One way or another, I was gonna to do something about it. Kicking his lying teeth out seemed the best solution. It’s an idea with a lot of appeal, but I gotta confess it ain’t practical online. I’d have to go to site admin. Only there was no visible contact address. Not externally, anyway. That left me with two choices. Walk away, or…

*takes a good long shot of whiskey*

Have you ever joined a dating site? Me neither, until then. I gotta tell you, it’s a real eye-opener. The first thing you gotta do is complete a registration form. Half the questions are mandatory, with pre-set answers to tick. Believe me, it discomforted me greatly to declare an interest in women aged 90-99, but it was the safest option available and something that had to be done, if I was to make it through the front door and have a good snoop around.

Once on the inside, I homed in on the poem rustler. His profile indicated that he hadn’t been around in a while. That ruled out a showdown. A good thing, I guess. As a stranger in an established community, things might have backfired if I’d gone in with both guns blazing. If I was to get what I wanted, I knew I’d have to play it cool. Resuming my search for a site admin, the only thing I found was a snail mail address. I’d have to try something different.

‘Hello, I’m a man called Valance, and I’m here to right a wrong,’ I said, on the members introduction thread. Without identifying the poem or the rustler, I explained why I was there, and called upon the hierarchy for help in resolving the problem.

I’m pretty sure there are plenty of sincere, genuine people in those places, but there’s also an infiltration of multifarious varmints. Multifarious means an assortment. Good word, ain’t it? – Oscar taught me that. I like to think it makes me sound a little more high blown and educated. Anyway, a couple of those varmints popped up with comments on my intro, causing complications I didn’t need. In previous lives, I reckon they’d have been flies around a cow’s ass. That don’t say much for my face, I know, but you get the picture. I don’t know what they were doing on a dating site anyway. Neither had a real name and neither displayed a photo.

Meantime, I carried on snooping around. Some of the profiles were just too good to be true. One woman’s profile was pure Hollywood. Too bad she had face like Lassie. And the men, well, I never saw so many self-proclaimed, pot-bellied Mister Wonderfuls in one place. I got some interesting private messages too; All women; all foreign; all professing undying love; and all with a burning desire to live happily ever after with my bank account.

*takes another shot of whiskey*

Four days of conducting myself like a gentleman got me nowhere. Moderators came and went without leaving a word. As my patience wore thin and my frustration grew, I posted a comment under my poem. Besides releasing some of the frustration, it gave me a lot of satisfaction to call the jasper for what he was, in a message that was there for all to see. Surprise surprise, one of the nefarious varmints then swooped, with a comment that put me right on the spot. He suggested I provide a link that would prove I’d written it. Though sorely tempted to use some of the fornicacious words swirling in my head, I picked my words carefully. I told him I had plenty of proof, which I’d be happy to discuss with the powers that be, and suggested he mind his own business. It was a close call. I was out on a limb. Seeds of doubt were creeping in when I decided to send a telegram to a friend: Someone who was there at the beginning; someone who knew the full history of the poem. I told her the where and why, and gave her a link. I figured she might like to keep an eye on things from a distance, and witness whatever happened next. Well, I should have known better. Next thing I knew…

Hi! My friends call me Miss JJ. Just came on here to support a friend in their plight against plagiarism. Been out of the dating game for a while, and now I'm here, might just dip me dainty toes around the ether!

Yup, the one and only Miss JJ, in person, came crashing into the place. Bold and brash as always, in one post she announced herself, backed me up, put down a marker of her own, and trebled the weight of the cause. And was I glad to see her. We might insult the hell out of each other sometimes, but when the chips are down and one of us needs a little help, all it takes is a little whistle. Not that she needs any help in swatting flies. Sure, they came buzzing. And sure enough, they got swatted. But I watched her back all the same.

Miss JJ’s profile made interesting reading. Sure raised my eyebrows, anyway. I learned things about her I never knew. The biggest thing I learned is she’s a better liar than me. Hell, if everything she said were true, I’d marry her myself. ‘Full figured, with a few extra pounds,’ she claimed. Well, as I watched the back of this full figured, fly-swatting beauty of a downright dubious age, it wasn’t hard to figure out where those few extra pounds were.

*guzzles more whiskey*

But I gotta tell you this – Miss JJ was magnificent. When it comes to fighting injustice she knows just one way to do it – her way. Her intro, my intro, the poem thread, it didn’t matter. Her three pronged attack brought new impetus to the cause. Hell, she really stirred things up. Those view counters just rattled along. She was relentless. Three days later, the fight was over. It ended when she broke down the right door and pinned down the right person. The poem thread was deleted. We got what we came for. And Miss JJ was the one that did it.

After a lot of hugging and smiling, I got the horses ready. I was all set to go. Only trouble is Miss JJ had gone missing. I found her drooling over some fella’s profile. ‘Just doing some research,’ she said.

Well, I just took her by the arm and marched her out of there.

‘But he’s rich!’

‘Maybe he is. But he ain’t rich enough to buy your class.’

She smiled. I smiled. In thanking Miss JJ for her help, I swore I’d never poke fun at the size of her ass ever again…

‘Never?’

‘Well, not for a little while, anyway.’

…though I’ll admit to being sorely tempted, as I lent a hand and helped heave those almighty saddlebags of hers onto that poor horse. Our work was done. It was time to go.

‘OK Pard, let’s get the hell out of here!’

A thing called love

2011-09-20T19:04:00.003+01:00

Sure feels good to be home. I can’t tell you how happy I am to be back amongst friends. And when Miss Houston walked in, well, my heart just soared. Reckon my pants did too, but that’s only to be expected when a woman like Miss Houston leaps into your arms and wraps her legs tightly around your waist. Ain’t a lot can sway me from a plate of steak and onions, but Miss Houston, well, she’s got mighty persuasive thighs.

*rolls a cigarette*

She’s sleeping now. I tucked her in and kissed her before I came out here. I’ll take her a cup of coffee later. Poor thing’s plum worn out. All those weeks keeping this place tidy for me, I reckon. She must have overworked herself.

*lights cigarette*

Housty’s a fine woman. I don’t know what I’d do without her. I missed her an awful lot. Weren’t a single day that I didn’t think of her. Each night I went to bed, I closed my eyes and imagined her smiling at me, her eyes full of love.

*Sigh*

Ain’t no sense denying it, I love her. She’d make any man a good wife. If only she didn’t talk so damn much.

Howdy Groggy

2011-09-19T21:24:00.003+01:00

Howdy Groggy. Pleased to meet you. Welcome the The Porch. That's a hell of a name you've got. How did you get it? You want booze? We got booze. You want coffee? We got coffee. You want cigarettes? I can roll twenty for every one you smoke. Hell, I'll even get you two large glasses of lemonade, if that's your pleasure.

No place like home

2011-09-17T17:20:00.006+01:00

Well, I’m back. S’funny how a few months can seem like a whole year. I’d have got home days ago, only I stopped in town for a drink. A man’s entitled to slake his thirst after long ride, and that’s all I had in mind when I hitched my horse at The Lazy B.

Having a quiet whiskey or three at the bar, I couldn’t help notice folks whispering. I paid no mind to it but when the whispers got louder and people started snickering, I got curious and looked around. Seemed everyone was in on the joke but me.

‘Hey Valance!’ Billy Bob Bunyan yelled. ‘We ain’t seen you around for some time. Where you been?’ The question seemed innocent enough, but for someone knee-high to a piano stool, Billy Bob can be a troublesome squirt and his fool grin had me suspicious.

‘I’ve been working for the government,’ I said.

‘Doing what?’

‘Can’t say, it’s a government secret. Wouldn’t want me spilling government secrets, would you? Anyhow, if I told you more I’d have to put a bullet in you afterward.’

Billy Bob laughed it off. If he felt threatened, he didn’t show it. Assured by the presence of his sidekicks and more men gathering round, he got bolder. ‘You been home yet?’

‘Nope’

‘Been close enough to see any smoke signals?’

Billy Bob snorted with laughter. The men around him laughed, too. Even the bartender turned away with his shoulders shaking. Seemed everybody was laughing. Everyone but me that is, and I was getting pricklier by the second.

I set my glass on the bar. The laughter soon dried up when I strode over to Billy Bob and gave him the Valance stare. ‘OK Billy Bob. You’ve had your fun. Now cut me in on the joke.’

Billy Bob backed off. Nobody was grinning anymore. One man twitched. Another gazed at the floor. Then somebody spoke up.

‘That woman of yours – she’s got herself a new man.’

A rumble of murmured agreement backed up the speaker. My gut tightened. I know I told Miss Houston not to wait for me, but it cut me to the bone to think she’d found someone new.

‘An Injun!’ said another. ‘She’s got herself an Injun!’

‘Yeah, and they’re cozeyed up together at your place,’ someone sneered.

Feeling my fists bunch up, I snarled. ‘That’s a lie.’

A heavy set fella with a dark bushy beard pushed himself forward. ‘You calling me a liar? I seen them with my own eyes. Her and that Injun were getting real friendly. Maybe more than friendly. Could be there’s a little papoose on the way.’

Well, something just snapped inside. I smashed bushy beard on the chin with a real good one. Hell, I hit him so hard I swear he bounced when he hit the floor. But in the ruckus that followed, someone busted a chair over my head and I ended up taking a hiding. It’s a good thing Sheriff Rogers turned up when he did.

Course I got blamed...

‘Valance! I might have known,’ said the sheriff, when he dragged the last man away and helped me to my feet.

‘That’s right Sheriff. He started it,’ said bushy beard. Slumped on a chair, he was rubbing his jaw. ‘Ain’t that right, folks?’

Naturally, everybody agreed.

‘Yup, some people are natural born trouble-makers,’ said Billy Bob.

There was no sense in trying to explain. I just spat the blood from my mouth and said hello to the sheriff.

‘I heard you’d gone away,’ he said.

‘I just got back. The boys got together and gave me a welcome home party. Got a little out of hand, that’s all.’

With things calming down, Sheriff Rogers took a good long look at the scene. ‘Well there’ll be no more parties without asking me first,’ he said, nice and loud for all to hear. I guessed he knew things weren’t all they seemed. And when he told me to get out of his sight and get along home, ‘before I lock you in jail,’ I was sure of it.

Sheriff Rogers did me a favor. I was glad to be out in the street, but going home meant confronting the truth and I was scared of what I might find when I got there. I thought I’d mosey on over to Miss Sweet’s Saloon. Maybe I’d learn the truth there.

So, I shuffled on up the street with my head in a whirl, too troubled to notice The Parlor as I passed by. Cordelia noticed me though, and almost busted her bustle with excitement as she came rushing out to greet me. ‘Valance! Valance!’ she cried. But then she shrank back and gasped when saw my bruised and bloodied face. ‘Oh my… just look at the state of you.’

I never did get to Miss Sweet’s. Cordelia couldn’t tell me anything about Miss Houston, but there’s nothing that woman don’t know about getting swellings down. And she can be mighty persuasive. Well, what’s a man supposed to do? So I stayed with her for a couple of days. Got fried eggs for breakfast, too.

Well, I came home to an empty house. It’s quiet but it’s peaceful. I guess that’s only to be expected when Miss Houston ain’t around. Strange thing is her clothes are still here. Could be she don’t need clothes where she’s gone. Could be she’s curled up in some teepee, making her own warmth with ol’ Spotted Weasel.

At least Nameless was here to greet me. Leastways he opened one eye and wagged his tail twice before going back to sleep. Judging by the bones lying around, he ain’t gone hungry. Wait a minute… Miss Houston has disappeared… her clothes are still here… and there’s a pile on bones on the porch? Holy shotguns. Hell, maybe I’d better get a shovel.

Anyway, it’s good to be back. I’ve missed you folks. Just one thing – if a posse should happen to come by, you ain’t seen me, right?

Howdy Alice Lyn Alfred

2011-09-17T17:19:00.001+01:00

Howdy Miss Alice. Welcome to The Porch. It’s about time we had a real lady around here. You being a religious lady, I’d better tell you that me and the Lord gave up on each other a long time ago. Course that don’t mean I don’t respect the right others to believe in whatever they believe. Anyway, kick your boots off and make yourself comfortable, while I get you some whiskey.

Привіт Juli. Ласкаво просимо на ганок

2011-09-17T17:17:00.002+01:00

Hell, I sure hope that means what I think it do, or I'm liable to get my face slapped.

I don’t suppose you understand a word of this, Miss Juli, but I’m trying to welcome you to The Porch. If you ain’t too young for drinking, you’re welcome to a shot of whiskey. Hmm, maybe you’d like a cookie instead?

A Man of Mystique

2011-06-01T17:37:00.006+01:00

Nameless, come here fella. I want you to do something for me. Come the morning, when Miss Houston gets up, she’s gonna find a letter on the kitchen table. Could be she gets a little tearful. Could be she gets a little angry, too. Well, I want you to go to her. All you gotta do is sit at her feet and be there for her. You got that?

See, I ain’t gonna be around for a while.

And Miss Houston, well, she might decide to take off someplace, too.

Course if that happens you’ll be left out here on your own, so you’re gonna have to start earning your corn. Yup, all by yourself, so forget the big-eyed sympathy routine. It don’t work anyway. Hell, I ought to know, I tried it enough times. Besides, folks are gonna have better things to do than traipse over here to feed a bone idle lummox like you. A month from now there won’t be a living soul around here. There’ll be nothing but tumbleweed. I’m giving it you straight fella – either you start catching rabbits, or you’d better start liking berries.

Well, I got me a horse and I got me a saddle. Got a long ride ahead of me, too. Ain’t much more I can say. Sometimes, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, and I wouldn’t be a man of mystique if I didn’t do something mysterious once in a while. Well, I’d better be on my way. Thanks for your company. I hope to see you all again someday.

Awards

2011-05-26T21:46:00.012+01:00

I got two new blogs awards. Those two pesky... wonderful ladies, Miss April and Miss JJ, have seen fit to bestow a ‘versatile blogger’ award upon me.

Course I’m thrilled and delighted to receive them, though I gotta say they’re a little cutesy for a lean mean rootin’ tootin’ fella like me. That ain’t to say I won’t cherish them, but I got a reputation to uphold, so along with previous awards, I’m gonna keep them safe in the antique under the bed.

In accordance with the rules, the recipient of this award has to reveal seven things about themselves, so getting stung twice means I’m obliged to say fourteen things.

1 Something you don’t like? Cats. I don’t like the way the sneaky varmints look at me, like they wished they were my size, and I was their size.

2 Something you don’t understand? I never understood why womenfolk on a wagon train are so dumb. Ain’t a single one of them knows it ain’t really an owl out there.

3 Food you don’t like? Sprouts. Hate the darn things.

4 Food you like? Steak and onions, with potatoes and plenty of gravy. I like eggs and peaches and trifle too. Not all at the same time though.

5 When did you last cry? Ain’t sure, though I came pretty damn close when my whiskey got cleaned out, just about the same time Miss Houston took off with half the womenfolk.

6 The last time you were scared? When I asked Miss Houston to marry me. For an awful moment I thought she might say yes.

7 An early memory? I was about five years old. School was in the same grounds as the church. Our teacher took us over to the church one day, and lined us up in front of a giant statue. She said ‘This is Our Lady. You’d better be good, because Our Lady is watching everything you do, and she’ll know if you’re naughty.’ Well, the idea of those lifeless eyes looking my way scared the shingles out of me. Come time to pray, I closed my eyes, but I had to know if the statue was really watching. When curiosity got too much to bear, I risked a one-eyed peep, but then screwed my eyes up double tight, fearful I’d be caught and turned to stone.

8 Your age? I’m thirty, same as Miss Sweet.

9 A confession? I lie sometimes.

10 A secret? I know the identity of the varmints who stole my whiskey.

11 Favorite place to visit? You can’t beat a hot night in Houston.

12 If you could go back in time, what would you do? I’d make a fortune betting on things I know the outcome of.

13 Are you a good cook? Well, I ain’t as good as Miss Patsy, that’s for sure. Everyone knows about my critter soup, but I’m hot at most things in the kitchen. So Miss Cecile says, anyhow.

14 Name something the size of Texas? Hmm, that’s a tough one. I’d say Miss JJ’s ass, but it could just as easily be her mouth.

In accordance with custom, I’m obliged now, to pass this award to seven lucky scapegoats. Leastways I would, if I didn’t have a rebellious streak and a disregard for convention.

This award is hereby freely given to all followers of this blog…

Alternatively, you can have this one…

And if nobody want’s either one of them, that’s fine by me. I know some of you ain’t at ease with these things.

Take them, leave them, or use them for target practice. Hell, you can even keep them in the antique under your own bed. You can list seven things about yourself if you’re minded, but the only condition I’m stipulating is that they’re taken with a smile.

Howdy suzydoodling

2011-05-24T20:51:00.004+01:00

Howdy Miss Suzy. Welcome to the porch. Sit down, kick your boots off and relax. There's coffee in the jug, biscuits in the jar, and all the soup you can chew. Got booze and tobacco, too. Take no notice of the smell – that’ll be Nameless, my dog, ‘less Miss JJ’s got a smile on her face. Anyway, I’m pleased to meet you Miss Suzy. It's about time we had a real lady around here.

And Even More Old Dan Wise

2011-05-22T09:07:00.029+01:00

My ankle healed in four days, just as Dan predicted. Being a young man with a head full of dreams, I was ready to resume my search for fame, fortune and dirty women. Over breakfast, I told Dan I’d be moving on.

Dan laid down his fork. A prelude, I guessed, to a sad goodbye and maybe a few words of regret at my leaving. I was all set to reply in kind, but once he’d digested my words with a swig of coffee, he picked up his fork, carried on eating, and didn’t say a darn thing till he’d finished.

‘Think you can make it?’ he said, once he’d licked his lips clean.

‘Yup, I’m all set to go.’

The old man nodded, and took another swig of coffee. In acceptance of the fact, I figured, until he went and complicated things. ‘Might heal better still if you were to stay a while longer. No sense you getting halfway to Springvale an’ going lame again.’

There was no denying it. Getting to the outhouse and back was no trouble, but it wasn’t much of a test. I couldn’t be sure my ankle would hold up for ten miles. While I sat there chewing it over, Dan pressed the point home.

‘Gonna be a hot one today, I reckon. Ain’t a cloud in the sky. Springvale’s a hard day’s walking. Ain’t nothing between here an’ there but scrubland an’ rattlesnakes. An’ maybe the odd fool. An’ maybe a few buzzards.’

Dan was right. Hell, he was always right.

‘Growing crops ain’t as simple as some folks think,’ said Dan. Between giving me a lecture and waving a big stick, he was marking a plot on the fallow land that bordered the vegetable garden. ‘Ain’t a question of throwing something in the ground an’ hoping it’ll grow with a little sunshine an’ rain. First you gotta work the soil, an’ dig in plenty of goodness. You only reap what you sow, an’ that’s a fact. You being a man of sayings, you’ll know that means you only get out what you put in, starting with your backbone.’

Satisfied with the long strip he’d drawn, Dan tossed me a spade. ‘Go the full depth an’ don’t leave a sod unbroken,’ he said. ‘You start here. I’ll take the top end.’ So saying, Dan grabbed himself a spade and marched up the gentle rise.

Dan taking the upper end suited me fine. The henhouse was some way up the slope, and Mister Jones was sure to be up there somewhere, and watching most likely. If that sneaky rooster had any mind to trouble me again, I figured he’d be thinking twice now that Dan was in the way.

Digging ain’t what I had in mind when I’d insisted upon earning my keep, but dig we did, and hell, was that soil dry and compacted. It helped none that the sun was blazing by mid morning. With sweat stinging my eyes, I stopped just long enough to hang my hat on a fence post, and take off my soaking shirt. Determined not to be out-dug by the old fella, I got straight back to work just as soon as I’d wiped my brow. For three hours or more, the two of us toiled, until we met in the middle with the whole patch turned over. With some pride, I rested on my spade and sucked in some long, deep breaths. ‘We did it,’ I said.

‘We did,’ said Dan, with a sorry lack of enthusiasm. ‘But that’s only the first part done. Wait here a minute.’

‘Why, where you going?’

‘Gonna get us some goodness.’

I watched closely as Dan strode up the slope. He passed a multitude of flowers and shrubs, and zigzagged through the ferns. Then he disappeared into the vines, and though I caught a glimpse or two of his hat, I couldn’t see him for sure until he reappeared in front of the henhouse. And all the while I watched, I kept a tight grip on my spade, and looked out for Mister Jones.

I needn’t have worried, though I sure had cause for concern when Dan came back laden with two heavy buckets. Something smelled real bad. ‘Hell, Dan. Is that what I think it is?’

‘What might that be?’ Dan asked, as he began scattering the stuff with his bare hands.

‘Smells like chicken shit, to me.’

‘Well, maybe it is, to the likes of you. But to someone like me, it’s nutrients. Now, are you gonna stand there with your nose turned up, or are you gonna help?’

I helped. Didn’t handle any chicken shit though. After declaring Dan the chicken shit spreader, I appointed myself the chicken shit digger. I just dug the stuff in, and let Dan do the fetching and carrying and spreading. I don’t know how many times he filled those buckets, but when he’d done toting chicken shit, he started all over again with bucket loads of rotten vegetation.

Hell, we still hadn’t planted a thing when the sun started going down. I feared a long day getting longer still, but once we’d turned every inch of soil a third time, Dan stuck his spade in the ground, in a welcome act of finality. ‘That’s about all we can do,’ he said. ‘Now it’s nature’s turn. Should be ready for sowing in about a month or so.’

Good thing too. I could barely straighten up. Mother Nature’s a fine woman, but I sure wish she’d learn to take a turn on a spade.

After supper, I joined Dan on the porch. Much as I wanted to hear some of his stories, I could hardly keep my eyes open. Plum tuckered out, I apologized, and told him I was fit for nothing but sleep.

The old man nodded. After dismissing me with a wave of the hand, he lit his pipe, and rocked back in his chair.

Dan worked me hard for a couple of days. Reckon he had to. By the way he was pushing, I guessed the three days he’d spent nurse-maiding me had set him back, and that ain’t taking into account the food I was eating. Many hands make light work, they say. Two ain’t exactly many, but I guess the principle’s the same when it comes to getting twice the work done for a half share of the blisters. And a half share meant plenty.

Me and Dan got along fine. I know he liked having me around, though I sometimes wondered why. Some days he praised me good, other days he found fault in just about everything I did. My chance to shine came when he said some rotting timber needed replacing on the shady side of the barn, only he couldn’t spare the time without getting behind with the chores. Well, I was quick to volunteer. ‘Just leave it to me,’ I said.

Dan seemed skeptical. ‘There’s a lot of timber to be cut an’ sawn. It’s a lot of work. Think you can do it without me watching over you?’

‘Sure I can. I was sawing timber before I learned to shave. You get on with your chores, and I’ll call you when I’m done.’

Well, I did it. Worked doggone hard too, chopping wood all day long to get the job done. When I hammered in the last log, I came down the ladder and felt pretty darned pleased with myself when I shouted Dan to come see.

Well, the old man took one look, and scowled.

‘That it?’ he said.

‘Why sure that’s it,’ I said. ‘It’s good, ain’t it?’

Dan’s face said different. I watched anxiously, my hopes of fulsome praise getting slimmer by the second once he started jabbing his fingers in the gaps between the logs. Hell, those hopes vanished altogether when he climbed the ladder, and found a hole big enough to push his fist through.

‘Ain’t as bad as it looks Dan,’ I yelled, doing my darndest to rescue a crumb of self-respect. Just needs a clump of mud and straw, or clay or something, to keep the draught out. It’ll be all right.’

‘I guess it’ll have to be,’ said the old man, shaking his head, ‘if you ain’t planning on putting a window in here.’

Hell, when Dan cut, he cut right down to the bone.

There’s nothing Dan wouldn’t do to help me along. He shared his food, and he shared his home. Hell, he even shared his pipe when I ran out of cigarette papers. And me – well, I ain’t rightly sure what I did, but I was company, at least. Sure, Dan teased me some, but there was no spite in him. It was just his way of trying to get me to learn fast, that’s all.

One time I got above myself, but he soon reined me in. It happened when I insisted on doing the cooking one day. Keen to please but low on patience, I rustled up a dinner in no time at all, and served it with a smile. Tasted real good, too. It gave me a lot of satisfaction to see Dan enjoying it, until he started poking suspiciously at his cabbage leaves.

‘Something the matter, Dan?’

‘You clean this cabbage?’

‘Sure I did. Why, what’s wrong?’

‘A spider,’ said Dan, fishing a soggy brown lump from his cabbage.

I leaned over the table for a better look. The soggy brown lump had legs. Hell, there was no doubting that in life, the soggy brown lump had been a spider.

‘Are you trying to kill me?’ he said, pushing his plate aside.

Well, that got me mad. Seemed everything I did, he criticized. Most times it was justified, but not this time. I’d tried so darn hard to please him and he’d just tossed it right back at me. Sure, I should have been more careful with the cabbage, but that didn’t give the ungrateful jasper the right to exaggerate, just so he could pick bigger holes in me. I said so too, in cuss words loud and clear, as I leapt up from my chair.

‘Those brown spiders are poisonous,’ Dan barked, but his words were lost in the haze between my ears. All I heard was him raising his voice and talking down to me again. Hell, I lost my temper so bad that I raised my fists and threatened to bust his head.

Next thing I knew I was pinned to the wall, my windpipe locked in the grip of Dan’s powerful hand. ‘And maybe you could,’ he said, ‘but you’d be ashamed of yourself later.’

Shocked, yet still kicking with rage, I struggled, but it did me no good. I looked him in the eye. I saw no anger. I saw no fear. I only saw the calm strength and compassion of an older, wiser man, who spoke the truth with authority. He was giving me a chance to back off with my pride intact, and his eyes were imploring me to take that chance. A tension filled minute passed before my anger subsided, and Dan eased his grip. I coughed and cleared my throat. I knew I owed him an apology, but when I tried to make things right, he cut me short.

‘It don’t matter now. Just watch out for those spiders,’ he said. ‘But I’ll tell you something – when we sit out on the porch tonight, I’m gonna drink a toast to the star that guides you, ‘cause I’m damned if I know how you’ve lived this long without me looking out for you.’

I loved those evenings on the porch. Over a jug of shine, Dan loosened up and told some wonderful stories. Some of them came from his slave days. So I figured, anyway. Leastways it seemed a fair assumption when he mentioned Old Mister Jones. I didn’t push it, but I wondered what kind of man Old Mister Jones was. I hoped he was a good man who treated Dan right, but I feared it might not be so, and let the question go. Couldn’t help asking something else though.

‘You named your rooster after him?

‘Yeah,’ said Dan. He reached for the jug and refilled his mug. I was itching to know why, but he kept me waiting till he’d taken a good long swig of shine. ‘The Lord made them the same way,’ he said. ‘Same temper. Same strut… same beak.’ Dan smiled. Then he started talking about cabbages. Ain’t sure why. I figured he just wanted to change the subject, so I talked about cabbages, too.

‘My pappy grew cabbages,’ I said. ‘And potatoes. My pappy grew lots of things. Grew radishes, too. You ever grow radishes, Dan?’

‘I been growing radishes a long time.’

‘How long?’

‘Oh, I don’t know – before your pappy grew the twitch in his pants that made you, that’s for sure.’

‘D’you ever grow spinach?’

‘No’

‘Why not? Too hard to grow?’

‘No, I just don’t like spinach.’

‘My pappy never had any luck with spinach. Crop failed every time. Is there anything you can’t grow, Dan?’

‘Nothing I can think of, though I sure wish I could grow a slice of beef sometimes.’

‘Hell, that’d be something. I ain’t had beef in a while.’

‘Well, ‘less you know of a bushy-tailed cow that eats nuts an’ climbs trees, we’ll just have to make do with squirrel meat. Want me to show you the best way of catching critters?’

‘Sure’

‘C’mon then.’

‘What, now? It’s almost midnight.’

‘Yeah. Midnight’s the best time.’

Dan got up from his rocking chair. ‘We’ll need this,’ he said, picking up the jug of shine. ‘And this,’ he said, unhooking the lamp. ‘Need a bowl, too. Go fetch one,’ he said.

Right there and then, we went out into the woods.

‘This ought to do,’ said Dan, when we came to a clearing in the midst of the pine trees. ‘Just lay the bowl right there.’

Well, I did as I was told, and stepped back. I watched carefully as Dan filled the bowl with shine. Reckon I was expecting some kind of magic trick, but I’ll be damned if he didn’t just turn around and walk on home. I was a little slow picking up on that, but when I realized he was leaving be behind in the dark, I hurried after him. ‘What do we do now?’ I asked.

‘We get some sleep,’ he said.

Early next morning I was woken, as always, by that damn rooster with its cock a doodle doo. And as always, I felt like wringing its cock a doodle neck. And as always, I turned over, intent on going back to sleep, but not this day. Sleep was impossible when Dan started banging on my door. ‘C’mon, hurry up, or it’ll be too late,’ he said.

I didn’t know why Dan was in such an all-fired hurry, but I was outside in my boots and britches before I’d had chance to wash the sleep from my eyes. We retraced our steps to the woods, and found the clearing. Well, I could hardly believe my eyes. A whole bunch of critters were falling over and rolling around. What happened next ain’t for the queasy, but meat is meat, and a three course meal was guaranteed when Dan picked up a big stick. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

We ate well that day. And the day after. And the day after that, too. Dan made the finest critter pie I ever tasted. And the finest critter stew. And his critter soup, well, it was almost as good as mine.

I ain’t sure how long I stayed with Dan – a few weeks, a couple of months, maybe. I never counted the days. I just knew it was time to move on. Fame and fortune beckoned again, and I was just itching to get my hands on a dirty woman. I told Dan on the porch one night. He just said ‘OK’ and carried on smoking his pipe, like he’d been expecting it.

Next day was a Sunday. After breakfast, Dan went outside and set about his chores like it was just another day. Being all set and ready to go, I stayed inside. I figured Dan would come back and say goodbye, just as soon as he’d done whatever he was doing. Well, one hour passed and then two. I got to thinking he didn’t care two hoots about me leaving, and though I thought about slipping away without a word, I couldn’t do it. It was almost noon when I went outside, and found him harvesting potatoes.

‘You still here?’ he asked, without giving me a second glance.

‘I been waiting to say goodbye.’

Dan straightened up, and wiped his hands on his shirt. ‘An’ I been waiting for you to come out here. I thought maybe you weren’t the man I thought you were. I thought maybe you’d sneaked off with your tail between your legs, rather than come out here an’ settle some unfinished business.’

‘What business?’

‘But I knew all along you’d come when you were ready.’

Wait a minute, what business?’

Dan’s gaze led to the hen house. ‘Go get some eggs,’ he said.

‘Eggs?’

‘You heard. Go get some eggs and bring them to the house. I’ll be waiting.’

I understood. And I knew exactly what that old cuss was doing when he went inside, and left me standing all alone. Only I wasn’t alone. Somewhere out there, between me and the henhouse, Mister Jones was minding his territory.

Hell, Dan put me right on the spot, and there was no getting out of it. He was sure to be watching, and I couldn’t let him down. I set off up the garden, wary and uncertain, though I soon found a spurt when I sighted a spade left in the new plot. I sure felt better when I got my hands on that spade, but that was the easy part. The henhouse was still a hundred yards up the slope, with all kinds of shrubs providing plenty of cover for that darn rooster. Knowing he could be just about anywhere, I figured I’d better find him, before he found me.

‘Hey, rooster!’ I yelled.

Seeing and hearing nothing, I screwed up my eyes and squinted across the garden before moving cautiously up the plot, cutting an angle that might give me a bead on the henhouse.

‘Rooster? Hey, rooster! I’m coming in. I’m gonna get some eggs. If you’re smart, you’ll step aside. If you ain’t, you’re gonna get a mouthful of spade.’

Not a leaf rustled. Nothing, nothing at all, betrayed the rooster’s presence. I got the notion I’d asserted myself well enough to put him in his place and scare him off. With some bravado, I speared the spade into the ground, like some kind of Comanche challenge, and walked on with my head high.

Well, he was nowhere near the flowers, and he wasn’t hiding in the bushes. He wasn’t by the ferns either. And when I got to the vines, I could see he wasn’t outside the henhouse. Wondering just where the hell he was, I turned around. And that’s when I saw him. Down by the plot, he was standing right in front of my spade, and puffing himself up for trouble. The sneaky bastard had circled around on me.

I’d been outsmarted, but I knew I had to keep a cool head and remember Dan’s advice. When the rooster came forward, I stepped up to meet him. When he stopped, I stopped. And when he advanced again, so did I, even though the cheeks of my ass clenched tighter with every step.

Every move the rooster made, I made. Ten yards in front of me, he screeched and threw out his feathers. In reply, I took a gunslinger’s stance and screeched back louder still. Did me a power of good too – it fair stirred my wild up. Then when he started clawing the soil, and doing his little war dance, I raked my heel in the ground, and gave him a good, snarling, talking to.

‘OK Mister, if that’s how it’s gonna be, come and get it. I’m all pumped up and ready. But you’d better know something before the feathers start flying. I fight dirty, and squawking ain’t gonna help you when I’m kicking your nuts black and blue.’

Hell, I never saw a rooster gulp before, but I swear that’s just what he did. All the bluster drained out of him and he ceased scratching the soil. He just cocked this head to one side, and started looking at me different. Then when I took a step toward him, he backed away.

Dan got his eggs. In return I got my pride.

Dan was still grinning and wiping his eyes from watching my showdown with Mister Jones. ‘Lord, I never had you down as a rooster whisperer,’ he said.

‘Well, I guess I got hidden talents same as anybody else,’ I said, figuring it was no time for modesty.

‘And you weren’t scared, not even a little bit?’

‘Me? Course not. Just had to show him who’s the boss, that’s all.’

Dan smiled that certain smile of his, the one he always smiled when he knew I was lying.

‘Well, maybe I was a little bit scared,’ I confessed.

‘But you stood up to that fear, didn’t you?’

It sure felt good to see Dan smile again, this time with approval.

The show was over. It was time to go. Together, we stepped out on the porch for the last time. I asked him if there was anything I could do for him when I got to Springvale.

‘No, but maybe you can tell the man at the trading post I’m low on coffee.’ Dan handed me a bag. ‘Here – something to help you on your way,’ he said.

It was only a bag of peaches, but it meant a whole lot more. I had much to thank Dan for, and though I badly wanted to say something, I didn’t know where to start. Hell, I got all choked up just thinking about it.

Even then, right at the end, I could still depend on Dan to help me out. He held out his hand. ‘Goodbye Mister Levity Valance,’ he said.

‘Goodbye Dan.'

I shook his hand firmly. Face to face and eye to eye, I drew new strength from a gift of communication and understanding that said words don’t matter when things are expressed in the soul.

‘Be sure to come back an’ visit sometime, won’t you?’ said Dan, when I stepped off the porch.

‘You bet I will,’ I promised. I walked away and struck out for the future, feeling blessed to have known a man that treated me like his own son.

I got to Springvale all right. Found myself a nice dirty woman, too. Only her husband didn’t take kindly to the idea, and when I left town, I left lickety-split, heading west all the time. I don’t suppose he took kindly to me borrowing his horse either, though I never went back to find out. Hell, I didn’t dare go within fifty miles of that place. I’d have got myself strung up. I never saw Dan again.

Dan will be long gone now. If he were alive now he’d have to be a hundred and twenty years old. Miss April talked recently of people that touch your lives and leave you with something warm, wonderful and lasting. Well, Dan was one of those people. He was a wonderful old fella, and I won’t ever forget him. He taught me plenty. He even taught me things about myself. Not that I understood everything at the time. ‘A man can’t live comfortable with himself till he knows himself,’ he used to say. Hell, that one bamboozled me for years, then one day it all made sense. I’ve lived comfortable with myself ever since.

Sometimes when I sit here on the porch at night, I think about him. And sometimes, when I’m here alone, it comforts me to imagine he’s sitting right beside me, rocking in a chair and smoking his pipe. And even though he’s long gone, and I know it ain’t possible, I get the feeling he’s still looking out for me. Strange, ain’t it?

Howdy Perry

2011-05-22T09:05:00.000+01:00

Howdy Perry. Long time no see. Welcome to the porch. It’s good to see you again. Hope you’re feeling fine. Kick your boots off, relax, and make yourself comfortable. Got rockers to spare, coffee to share, and enough booze to blow your head off – all yours for the asking. And if you’re feeling hungry, I can rustle up some fresh soup in no time.

Howdy Miss Bunga

2011-05-22T09:04:00.000+01:00

Howdy Miss Bunga. Welcome to the porch. I see you’re in marketing management. Hmm, that’s a shame. I’m guessing your business here has ended already, but if you ever find your way back, you can count on a friendly smile and a nice bowl of soup.

Even More Old Dan Wise

2011-04-27T20:27:00.009+01:00

I never got around to asking the old fella’s real name, I just called him Dan. He didn’t seem to mind. Truth is I think he liked it. Leastways he never objected. I reckon that amounts to the same thing.

If it hadn’t been for fate, I’d never have met him…I wouldn’t have been thrown from my horse, I wouldn’t have found myself high and dry in the middle of nowhere, and I wouldn’t have stumbled upon his place in the woods. And if the nearest town hadn’t have been so far away, I wouldn’t have stayed overnight.

Yup, it’s all down to fate. And sometimes fate deals a joker. If I’d done as I’d intended and left first thing in the morning, I wouldn’t have got beaten up by a rooster from hell called Mister Jones.

‘Three, maybe four days,’ Dan estimated, when I asked how long it’d take my swollen ankle to heal. For a young man with places to go and ladies to meet, that ain’t what I wanted to hear. I guess my frustration must have been plain to see.

‘Ain’t no use feeling bad. It won’t change a thing,’ said Dan. ‘Besides, if anybody’s got a right to feel bad, it’s me, ‘cause now I’m stuck with you.’

Dan wasn’t one for beating about the bush. He just spoke his mind. Hurtful as that could be, his sense of humor was desert dry, and sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Anyhow, I set my face straight, and went along quietly when he ordered me to rest up.

After spending most of the day doing chores, Dan served up a meal of cornbread and beans, and followed it up with blueberry pie. Seemed there wasn’t a thing that man couldn’t do. ‘Most delicious pie I ever tasted,’ I said. Meant it too. Now if someone gave me a compliment like that I’d be puffed up with pride, but it sparked nothing in Dan. The surly cuss just grunted as he got up and cleared the table.

Come sundown, we sat out the porch. I got the bench, Dan got the rocking chair. On the table between us he set two mugs and a jug of moonshine.

‘Sip it slowly and let it trickle down your throat,’ he said, before leaning back in the chair and lighting his pipe.

My words of gratitude seemed to pass him by, but that didn’t stop me gabbing anyway. Ain’t sure for how long, but when I finally realized Dan had drifted away in his own thoughts and left me talking to the breeze, it seemed a good idea to shut up. Course I didn’t like being ignored. Truth is I felt belittled, and I’ll admit to straying on the wrong side of moody as I rolled myself a cigarette.

At the right time, in the right place, silence ain’t just about peace and quiet. It’s about having your senses come alive to your surroundings. In the right company, it’s even more. It’s about being and knowing and communicating. It’s about understanding, and trust, and acceptance. It’s about harmony. And when it all comes together, you get a glow in your heart that’s as warm as anything on this earth. Sitting under the stars, sharing a long, companionable silence with Dan, these things came to me in words unspoken. And I realized how lucky I was to be in the company of a wise old man, who’d only been waiting for a young man to catch up.

At peace with the world, I paid little attention when Dan set his pipe aside, and reached for the jug.

‘You ready for some more?’

I shook my head. My mug was still three parts full. His was empty. Until then I hadn’t noticed his shine trickled faster than mine. Dan topped up my mug anyway, and then refilled his own.

Hell, it was powerful stuff. Every sip came with a kick that scorched right down to the gut. Acquiring a taste for shine takes some perseverance, so I persevered, and discovered I only needed to take one good mouthful. Course I coughed and spluttered some, but once that mouthful had killed just about everything in its path; the rest went down a whole lot smoother.

‘You’ll learn,’ said Dan. ‘One day.’

‘When I’m old and wise?’

‘Maybe, if you live long an’ store enough wisdom along the way.’

Dan smiled. That pleased me greatly. Seemed he was about ready to talk, loosened up by the booze.

‘I got wisdom,’ I said.

‘Hell you ain’t. What wisdom you got?’

‘Oh, you know… sayings and stuff.’

‘You know some sayings?’

‘Sure I do. He who hesitates is lost.’

‘Yet fools rush in where angels fear to tread,’ said Dan, coming right back at me.

Hell, he stuck me good with that one. But then I came up with an ace.

‘And there’s no fool like an old fool.’

‘I guess there ain’t.’ Dan laughed. ‘But knowing a few sayings ain’t wisdom. Wisdom is the sum of your mistakes – means learning the smart way from doing things the hard way.’

I chewed that over for a while. It made a lot of sense, but I couldn’t relate Dan’s thinking to my scrape with that darn rooster. I’d been cut and I’d been bruised, and laid low with a swelled up ankle, but aside from learning it ain’t smart to tangle with roosters, I’d gained nothing. Figuring there had to be a less painful way of accumulating wisdom, I asked Dan to teach me.

‘I can try,’ he said. ‘But it ain’t gonna do any good if you don’t listen.’

‘I’ll listen, Dan. I’m a good listener. Do you think you could teach me the smart way of dealing with roosters?’

Dan rubbed his whiskers. Seemed the matter needed careful consideration. ‘I told you to watch out for Mister Jones, didn’t I? I warned you he was mean. Did you listen then?’

Hell, I was shame faced. Dan had me fair and square, but he agreed to go on when I promised I’d listen real good.

‘First thing you gotta do is decide who’s boss. If it’s him, you back off at all times. Don’t do nothing that challenges him or his territory.’

‘What if I want to be the boss?’

‘Then you gotta act like a rooster. You gotta face up, and show him you’re a tougher rooster than he is. When he eyeballs you, you eyeball him right back. When he puffs himself up an’ shows you his feathers, make yourself as big as you can. Put your hands on your hips, square your shoulders an’ stick out your elbows. Most roosters start getting sensible about then, but if he starts clawing the soil, you gotta be ready to fight or run. Just make your mind up fast. If you’re smart you’ll have a broom close by.’

‘Is that what you did with Mister Jones?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Don’t he ever trouble you?’

‘I catch him looking at me sometimes. I know he’s thinking about it, but I just stare right back and remind him who the boss is. He pecked me one time but he’ll not do it again.’

‘Why not?’

‘I kicked his bad-tempered ass all the way to the henhouse an’ gave him a slapping he ain’t likely to forget.’

Course I laughed. Dan laughed too. Between regular shots of moonshine, Dan opened up and told some wonderful stories. I listened enthralled as he recounted how he’d come to the woods some twenty years ago, and cut down trees and built his own home. And he told it all plain and simple, without trace of a boast.

‘I know you want for nothing Dan,’ I said, when he stopped to take a drink. ‘But what brings an old man out here in the first place, all by himself, miles from anywhere?’

Dan sipped his shine while he thought about it.

‘A man’s gotta live somewhere, and I needed somewhere,’ he said, when he’d done contemplating. ‘When Mister Jones gave me my papers an’ told me I was free, I just hit that dusty road an’ kept right on walking. Didn’t know where I was going, an’ I didn’t care, so long as it was someplace where a man can live free an’ be troubled by no one. I was a long time walking. Then one day I found what I was looking for, right here. Good thing, too. I’d done wore my boots out.’

Well, that shook me. Ain’t what I expected, that’s for sure. I asked him outright if he’d been a slave. A dumb question, I know, but I felt obliged to say something.

‘Yeah, I was a slave. A slave I was born, an’ a slave I stayed, for more’n sixty years. Then when ol’ Mister Jones passed on, young Mister Jones gave me my papers. Said it was the right thing to do.’

‘How about family? You got any family?’

‘I had a wife. She died in childbirth. Long time ago.’

‘Then you’ve got a son or daughter?’

‘I had a son. He was still a little boy when the Lord took him.’

‘I’m sorry Dan. I’m real sorry.’

‘It’s all right. A lot of years have passed since then,’ said Dan, with great humility and not an ounce of self pity. ‘What’s done is done. Things are different now.’

Dan reached for his pipe. His way of closing the book softly, I guess.

Me, I just picked up my shine and gulped the whole mug in one go. Damn near wiped out my insides, but I had to get rid of the lump in my throat somehow.

TO BE CONTINUED

More Old Dan Wise

2011-04-16T22:52:00.010+01:00

Last week I started telling a story from my younger days, about Dan Wise. I got as far as saying I’d asked Dan how an old man got by, living alone in the middle of nowhere. Then I got drunk. Hell, didn’t I just. Now that I’m just about dried out, I’ll tell you some more…

After breakfast, Dan showed me to his backyard. Leastways I was expecting a yard, but that don’t rightly describe an acre of land busting to glory with berry bushes, and vegetables, and watermelons, and just about every flower in creation. Whichever way I looked, everything was rich, ripe and perfect. Well, I just stood there and shook my head in wonder. Seemed I’d stumbled into God’s own garden.

Chickens roamed free in bright sunshine, paying no heed to the stranger in their midst, as I stepped between them and followed Dan to a barn. ‘C’mon in’ he said, like he was itching to show me something special.

Hell, what a disappointment. I hate to hurt anyone’s feelings, but I never saw a bench and a collection of carpenter’s tools as something to get excited about. With the rest of the barn in semi-darkness, I figured there was little else to see, and even less to say. Or so it seemed. But as silence prevailed, my eyes got accustomed to the gloom, and I’ll be damned if that place wasn’t piled high with desks and chairs, and cabinets with all kinds of fancy carvings.

‘You make these things yourself?’ I asked, though I could have stuffed the words straight back down my throat when I noticed we were ankle deep in wood shavings.

Smiling one of those polite and tolerant smiles that people use when someone asks a dumb question, Dan said he had.

‘I meant all by yourself’ I said. Course that was a lie, but I was anxious to spare myself looking like a jackass.

‘Yup, all by myself’ said Dan, as he turned around and wandered outside.

In the shadow of the barn, we came to a working still. Though Dan tried his damndest to teach me how it worked, I only got confused. Talk of distillation and fermentation is fine for the scientifically minded, but scientist I ain’t. Lubrication I understand better, and that’s where my mind strayed when I saw a row of bottles on a nearby trestle.

‘Bet that shine tastes real good, don’t it?’ I said.

‘It does,’ said Dan, as he wandered off again.

I chased after him. ‘Ain’t you gonna let me try some?’

‘No’

‘But I’m thirsty – real thirsty.’

‘Me too, but I ain’t fool enough to drink that stuff first thing in the morning, and you got a long day’s walking in front of you. C’mon, let’s get something for that thirst of yours.’

I shouldn’t have been surprised that Dan had his very own well. Seemed that old fella had just about everything he needed. ‘Goes right down to a spring,’ he said, as he drew up a bucketful of cool, clear water. He cupped his hand and took a drink. ‘Here, try it,’ he said. So I drank the water. Good and pure as it was, it was still only water.

‘Seems there’s nothing you ain’t got right here,’ I said.

‘Almost,’ said Dan. ‘Anything I ain’t got, I get off the man from the trading post. He brings me flour, malt, corn, sugar, tobacco. Clothes too, sometimes. Then he loads up his wagon with the stuff you saw in the barn. Comes by two, maybe three times a year.’

‘Sounds like hard work.’

‘Ain’t nothing wrong with that. The fruits of labor are the sweetest of all.’

‘Well, it can’t be easy, being alone out here.’

‘While I got Jesus and Mister Jones, I ain’t short of company.’

Who is Mister Jones, I wondered. Seeing my frown deepen, Dan started poking fun.

‘You know – Jesus. His ol’ daddy was a carpenter, just like me.’

‘Hell, I know that,’ I said. ‘But who the blazes is Mister Jones? I’ve seen nobody around here but you.’

‘Don’t mean to say he ain’t seen you,’ said Dan. ‘Most likely he’s watching you right now.’

My eyes darted every which way, searching for a glimpse of the mysterious Mister Jones.

‘Maybe you ain’t seen him, but you might have heard him early this morning?’

‘Nope’

‘You sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure,’ I said, getting a little irked.

‘Didn’t you hear the rooster?’

‘Yeah, but…’

‘Well that’s Mister Jones.’

‘Mister Jones is your rooster?’

‘That’s right – the biggest in California,’ said Dan, puffing his chest out. ‘A mean one too, with a mind of his own. You watch out for him.’

Though I gave an understanding nod, I couldn’t help thinking being alone out there had turned Dan’s mind. I wondered if loneliness had sent him loco. Maybe it had, but I shrugged it off, figuring it was no concern of mine. I reckon if a man wants to crow about the size of his cock, and name the darn thing, then that’s his business.’

On the way back to the shack, we passed all kinds of vegetables. Some I recognized – beets, leeks, carrots, celery root, tomatoes and the like. Others I wasn’t so sure of. I know a weed when I see one though, and I saw plenty of those. When we stopped by the cabbage patch, I figured I’d show my gratitude to Dan by tearing up a weed or two.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ said Dan, with a growl that stopped me dead.

‘Just helping out,’ I said. ‘Thought I’d pull some weeds for you.’

Dan’s cold-eyed stare told me I’d made some kind of mistake. Just what, I did not know.

‘They may look like weeds to you,’ he said, spitting the words. ‘But those nettles, dandelions, purslane and pineapple weed are food and medicine to me, and I’d appreciate you leaving them right where they are.’

Hell, I liked Dan, but when he got mad, he had a way of saying things that cut straight to the heart. He made me feel like I’d just committed a murder. Kneeling in the dirt, I must have said sorry a dozen times as I scraped at the soil and tried replanting the weeds.

‘It’s too late now,’ he barked. ‘Just don’t help anymore.’

I trailed behind Dan as we walked back to the shack. In one long, miserable silence, Dan said nothing because he was mad at me, while I just kept my mouth shut because I was scared of saying anything that might make him madder.

We’d almost made it back when I stopped to admire a tree weighed down with big beautiful peaches. Just looking at them had me dribbling like a priest in a whorehouse. I sure wished I could have one.

Dan must have read my mind. ‘Help yourself,’ he said.

Course I was mighty pleased to hear that, and not just because it meant I’d get a nice juicy peach. Dan’s conciliatory tone said my weed-murdering ways had been forgiven. I glanced over my shoulder and said thanks, but it was too late, he’d already gone inside. Well, I should have picked me a big one, and then hurried along, but I took my time and lingered awhile. Choosing ain’t easy when there’s so many to pick from. Truth is I was hell bent on getting my hands on the biggest damn peach I could find, and I wasn’t going anywhere until I’d found it.

Serious lingering and scrutinizing takes up a lot of concentration, and that’s a fact. With no mind for anything else, I didn’t see the first signs of unease amongst the chickens, and paid little heed when something set them off clucking. But the sight of them suddenly scattering filled me with foreboding. With some dread I turned around. Standing there in all his glory, just a few feet in front of me was the fearsome Mister Jones.

My thoughts at that moment ain’t fit for repeating. Mister Jones was sizing me up, and when he started clawing the soil and setting himself to charge, I thought my time had come. It ain’t easy to think straight when forty pounds of feathered malice raises its wings, lets out a rebel yell, and throws itself at you. Stuck somewhere between praying and pissing, I did neither, but I had the good sense to put my hands over my eyes. Well, that rooster hit me full in the gut, spinning me round and sending me sprawling in the dust. Pecking and clawing, it was all over me. I tried lashing out but the darn thing was all fired up and way too fast to counter. I just lay there and concentrated on protecting my eyes, hollering as it pecked at my arms and raked its claws over my chest. Hell, I hollered louder still when the attack switched further down my body. I rolled over onto my belly, happy to take a pecking anywhere but in the nuts.

Dan came to the rescue. Not in any great hurry, and with no real concern, but at least he came.

‘OK, you can get up now,’ he said.

I waited a few moments. I wanted to be sure the attack had stopped before opening my eyes. When I opened them, the first thing I saw was the rooster hanging upside down, its feet locked in Dan’s fist. I got up slowly, hobbling on a twisted ankle, and declined Dan’s invitation to take a turn at holding the rooster.

‘It’s your own fault,’ said Dan, as he wiped away the blood and cleaned me up.

‘You knew that was gonna happen, didn’t you?’

‘I warned you. Ain’t my fault you don’t listen.’

‘Well, maybe you did, but you could have stopped it happening.’

‘What if I had – what would you have learned? Nothing.’

‘Well, you could have helped a whole lot sooner.’

‘And deny you the chance to work things out for yourself? You’re the one who failed, Mister Levity Valance. You the one who let fear cripple you.’

That shut me up. I wouldn’t admit it at the time, not even to myself, but deep down I knew Dan was right.

Dan reached for a bottle. ‘Now, this is gonna hurt some,’ he said. ‘But it’s for your own good.’

‘What is it?’

‘Just a little something I made.’

Dan wasn’t lying. I damn near cried out when he started working that stuff into my cuts. That lotion was hell’s own fury, but I wasn’t gonna let him see me hurting. I just gritted my teeth and clenched the cheeks of my ass, and made out it didn’t bother me. But I sure was glad when it was over.

After a mug of coffee, it was time to say goodbye. Dan gave me a couple of peaches. He was sorry I was leaving, but he understood I was a young man who needed to find his own way. Only trouble is when I tried to get up from the chair, I found my twisted ankle couldn’t take my weight. Wincing with discomfort, I sat down again.

‘Better eat your peaches,’ said Dan. ‘I’ll go boil us some more coffee.’

So, I had no choice but to stay at Dan’s a while longer. I’ll tell you about that soon. Right now I’ve got to attend to Miss Houston. Talking about juicy peaches reminds me I’ve been neglecting her needs lately. And mine.

Old Dan Wise

2011-04-02T15:29:00.008+01:00

The days of my youth were spent drifting from town to town. Free as the wind and just as restless, I was always moving on. Sitting here now and rolling back the years, it’s plain to see I was just another young man in search of himself. Back then though, I was greener than a frog in a cabbage patch, with lessons to learn. Those lessons came thick and fast. Most came the hard way, and in Dan Wise, I had the best teacher of all.

California ain’t a bad place, but I was down on my luck the day my horse threw me, and bolted, leaving me stuck in the middle of nowhere. Smoke rising through distant treetops drew me to woodland, where I followed my nose and the smell of coffee to a shack in a clearing. Sitting on the porch was an old Negro.

‘Howdy,’ I said, in my friendliest, thirstiest voice.

Well, the old fella just lit his pipe and rocked back in a chair like I wasn’t there. I’ve had better welcomes, but the coffee was inviting, and with a powerful thirst and a rumbling gut overriding any inclination to turn around and walk away, I introduced myself and recounted my sorry tale.

‘If you can spare some coffee, I’d be mighty grateful,’ I said when I’d done.

I got the coffee. Got a plate of beans and tomatoes, too. For a big fella of around seventy years, the old man was pretty sprightly, moving around quicker than someone half his age. Only thing is he didn’t say much. I got the notion he wasn’t one for small talk, but curiosity soon got the better of me. I asked him why an old man would choose to live alone in the wilderness.

‘Ain’t none of your business,’ he replied.

‘I guess not,’ I said. ‘No offence, Mister. Just making conversation, that’s all.’

In silence, I damned the miserable cuss, and finished eating.

‘I’d better be on my way,’ I said, after a second mug of coffee. The old man accepted my thanks, but refused to take any payment.

‘Where you bound for?’ he asked.

Well, that just summoned the devil in me. In words never taught at Sunday school, I told him it was none of his business.

‘The sun’s going down already,’ said the old man, by way of defending the question. His tone was quiet and matter of fact. ‘The nearest town is Springvale, ten miles south. With a full moon and a good horse you might make it by midnight – you ain’t got either.’

‘I’ll buy your horse.’

‘You got more chance of buying the moon.’

‘What’s the matter? Don’t you think I’ll give you a fair price?’

‘I don’t own a horse.’

I stayed the night. By lamplight, the old man showed me to a small room at the back of the shack. ‘You can sleep in here,’ he said, throwing me a blanket. On a bone hard floor, I wrapped myself in that blanket and twisted this way and that. Sleep was a long time coming, and arrived only in short spells, as one aching bone after another cried out for mercy. I’d sooner have slept under the stars. How an old man could live such a parsimonious existence I did not know, but he was welcome to it. In the morning I’d be gone.

The last thing I needed was a rooster crowing at dawn. If I hadn’t been so doggone tired I’d have done something about it, but all I wanted to do was curl up and die happy in a warm bed. Then I heard someone bumping around, moments before the door creaked open. I opened one eye. Through a bleary haze I got a real good close-up of my host’s boots.

‘Good morning, Mister Levity Valance. I brought you some coffee. What are you doing on the floor? Cot too soft for you?’

I rolled onto my back, grunting as my bones unlocked. In a room filled with early morning sunshine, the fuzz in my brain soon cleared. Over in the corner was a bed and mattress.

‘No sense in leaving on an empty stomach’ said the old man. I couldn’t disagree. Hot coffee, with bread and eggs for breakfast hardly made up for a lack of sleep, but it sure went a long way to making me feel better.

‘Thanks, I needed that,’ I said. I figured I’d have another try at being sociable. ‘Listen, I know it’s none of my business, but how do you cope out here on your own?’

‘I get by.’

‘Can’t be easy.’

‘Nobody said it was.’

‘So, how do you do it?’

The old man reached for his pipe. Thinking that was the end of the conversation, and mindful of something my Pappy always said about ‘if you can’t beat ‘em,’ I rolled a cigarette.

‘It helps that I’m old an’ wise,’ said the old man, once he’d got his pipe burning.

‘Is that your name?’

‘Is what my name?’

‘Old Dan Wise.’

A smile crept across the old man’s face. He got up from the table and opened a door to the back. ‘C’mon out here,’ he said. ‘And I’ll show you the secret of getting by.’

Hell, all this jawing is giving me a thirst. I need a drink. I’ll tell you the rest later.

TO BE CONTINUED

Running Bear

2011-03-27T13:05:00.004+01:00

Housty, it's bath time again. C'mon in and sing along...

Howdy Miss Pleemiller

2011-03-26T21:13:00.001Z

Howdy Miss Pleemiller. It’s about time we had a real lady around here. Sit down and kick your boots off, and make yourself at home. A rocking chair of your own choosing, or a place on the step, is fine by me. Coffee’s in the jug, whiskey’s in the jar, and there’s biscuits in the barrel – if you ain’t fussed about weevils. Got tobacco too, if you like a smoke. Glad to meet you Miss Pleemiller. Welcome to The Porch.

Howdy Dr. Heckle

2011-03-26T21:12:00.000Z

Howdy Doc, welcome to The Porch. Hell, am I pleased to meet you. See, I got this snakebite on my ass. Happened almost a year ago now, but it still pains me sometimes. As a matter of fact it’s hurting me right now. Hell, I just can’t help scratching it. I don’t reckon it’s healed proper. Could be the poison’s still in there. Maybe you’ll take a look at it later. Anyway, put your feet up Doc, and I’ll get you a drink. Booze or coffee, the choice is yours, and if you’re feeling hungry, I can fix you something to eat in no time.

Howdy Miss Leontien

2011-03-23T18:48:00.002Z

Howdy Miss Leontien. I know we met already, but now I’ve got my clothes on, I’d like to introduce myself properly.

*Raises hat*

Welcome you to The Porch, Miss Leontien. That's a Dutch name, ain't it? Pleased to meet you. Kick your boots off and sit a spell, and I’ll fix you a drink. Coffee, booze and tobacco are yours for the asking. Chocolate cake too, if you’re partial, or for a real treat, I got the most delicious soup you ever tasted. Just relax and join in with the folks, or sit quietly in a rocking chair, and soak up the ambience. The choice is yours. Either way, it’s good to have you here.

Bath Time

2011-03-19T19:25:00.004Z

Nope, it ain't my birthday again. I just figured it was time I had a bath, even though I've had three already this year. I'm a new man these days, and I can't be new man if I'm still smelling like the old one.

Now, no peeking...

Talking to my dog

2011-03-08T19:11:00.011Z

C’mon fella, eat your dinner. And don’t look at me like that. Ain’t my fault we’re having critter soup again. Well, I guess you’ll eat when you’re hungry enough.

*Sighs*

Truth is I’m getting tired of it, too.

*pushes bowl aside*

Some birthday that turned out to be.

*Lights a cigarette*

No cake, no steak, no potatoes, no gravy and no tasty treats. Nothing at all, but good wishes and broken promises. And Miss Houston and Miss April, they couldn't muster a pancake between them - and I know they made some, because I overheard them talking. I thought they were gonna surprise me. Hell, this birthday's almost as bad as the one I had in November.

Well, at least Miss Houston’s talking to me again. Maybe she’ll make us something special. I sure hope so. I’m hungrier than a bear.

Hmm, I'd better take the ribbon off this…

And I'd better hide this…

Remember the Alamo and don't forget my birthday

2011-03-06T20:39:00.007Z

I woke up this morning in the arms of melancholy. I ain’t one for letting things get me down, but for once, something had me under a cloud. I couldn’t think what and I couldn’t think why, until three cigarettes and a whiskey breakfast cleared the haze in my head and I remembered what day it is. Today is the anniversary of the death of my great Grandpa, who lost his life at The Alamo. Poor fella died in the chapel with Jim Bowie. It ain’t something I’m open to shouting about, but Ma was so proud of him. Every year come March 6th she lit a candle in his honor and prayed for his soul. She said ‘Levitt, promise me you’ll never forget his bravery, nor his foolishness.’

So, in respect of family custom, I lit a candle today. Sure, the old man was brave, but I just wish he’d been smart enough to stand back and let someone else kick the door down. Then they’d have gotten their head blown off by Jim Bowie, and not Grandpa Gomez.

Anyway, that early morning melancholy’s all but gone now, and I’m ready to celebrate. Besides getting one of those fancy blog awards from Miss Patsy, my brains and ingenuity has helped me acquire a little money and a whole lot of booze, just in time for my birthday tomorrow. Now, I know you’ll all be itching to snowball me with good wishes and a whole heap of goodies, and I ain’t got the heart to disappoint you – after all, it ain’t every day a man turns thirty nine. I gotta be practical, too. Since it seems I’m now estranged from a certain strange woman, you can bring all the good wishes, and food, and booze, and tobacco you want. I’ll be wai – I mean, I’ll be grateful.

Howdy Adrian

2011-03-06T19:38:00.001Z

Pleased to meet you Adrian. Welcome to the Porch. S’funny, until last week I’d never had a photographer round here, now I got two. Anyway, sit down and put your feet up, and I’ll get you some coffee. If you’re partial to something stronger, I’ll treat you to a bottle of whiskey – the good stuff, too. I bought a whole crateful of it yesterday, after I’d done auctioning locks of Custer’s hair in The Lazy B, right after I’d followed Yellow-Haired Jake into the barbershop.

And if you want to take pictures - go ahead. Just make sure you get my good side.

Trouble

2011-02-28T19:34:00.007Z

I’ve gone short on a lot of things since Miss Houston ran out on me. I ain’t used to having nobody around to scrub my clothes, fill my bath, and chop the wood. And cooking – hell, I can’t remember when I last ate something that wasn’t boiled in a pot full of its own piss.

Ain’t had any booze either, since those thieving varmints came by and cleaned me out. I’d drink at the saloon, only I ain’t got a cent. And then there’s my special comforts – I’d have gone short on those too, if Cordelia hadn’t obliged.

Where Miss Houston went I do not know, but it seems she left me for another man – Jesus. Anyone’s entitled to find God, but something seemed a little fishy when she took Miss April, Miss Sweet and Miss Brandi along with her. If there’s any virtue in that bunch of sinners then I’m John the Baptist.

Well, they went their way and I went mine, minding my own business, as usual. I just carried on being my own gentle unsuspicious self, even when I heard Miss April was holed up in some place called The Bahamas, with plenty of booze.

And then wouldn’t you know it, just as I was sitting peaceably on the porch, contemplating berries for supper, three visitors came by. Yup, See-no-evil, Speak-no-evil and Hear-no-evil all turned up together, and they didn't look like they'd just come from a prayer meeting.

Surprised, I smiled, and nodded to Miss Sweet and Miss Brandi.

‘Here’s a bottle of whiskey...’ said Miss Houston.

Then right under my nose, she smashed the bottle – purposely – on the edge of the table.

‘Ooops’ she said, smiling the devil’s own smile. ‘Miss Cordelia told me to give it to you...yes, we had a nice little chat the two of us...anything you'd like to tell me, Cowboy?’

As the whiskey trickled from the table, I glared at Miss Houston with sorrowful eyes. I saw a woman that needed a good stiff talking to. Instead, I shook my head and watched the whiskey seep away

‘Nope,’ I said. ‘I got nothing to say.’

Howdy Stephen

2011-02-28T19:33:00.000Z

Howdy Stephen. Pleased to meet you, welcome to The Porch. Sit down, put your feet up and make yourself at home. I got coffee in the jug and biscuits in the jar. Got tobacco too, if you’d like a smoke. I’d offer you some liquor, only some low down rotten stinking varmints cleaned me out last week when I was in town on business. Ain’t had a drink since. Anyway, it’s good to have you along. I’ll stop by your place just as soon as I can.

The Avenger

2011-02-21T18:59:00.014Z

Sure is quiet around here lately. I’m surprised Miss Houston ain’t back yet. I thought she and the rest of the ladies would have grown tired of hymns and bonnets by now. Hmm, I guess a little peace and quiet ain’t a bad thing. I need it after last night.

*Lights a cigarette*

I rode into town last night. Figured I’d settle a score with the sheriff for sending that trouble-making preacher out here. By the time I tied my horse outside The Lazy B, my throat was burning like the devil’s ass. I was good and ready to hit the town, the booze, the sheriff, and anything that got in my way. Only thing is when I stepped through the swinging doors, who should I find but the sheriff himself, backed into a corner by a bunch of varmints.

The place fell silent. Sure, there were eyes on me, but thirst came before caution, and I strode to the bar, spurs jingling, boots clunking on the wooden floor.

‘Whiskey, over here,’ I snapped, at the timid little fella behind the bar.

‘Hey Valance? Is that you?’ a male voice barked.

Though I recognized the voice right away, I waited a moment for the haze in my head to clear. A ghost from the past had leapt out at me, taking me by surprise, and if that ghost still carried a hunting knife, the sheriff was in a heap of trouble. Leaning on the bar, I turned around slowly.

‘Howdy McKenna,’ I said. ‘It’s been a long time.’ Big boned and barrel-chested, only a graying beard aged a man I knew well. Strapped on his thigh was a sheathed hunting knife.

‘Ain’t it just,’ said McKenna. ‘Where was it now – Hope Springs? Little Rock? Abilene?’

‘Sherman Falls’

‘Yeah, I remember now – that’s where you got that arrow in your ass.’ McKenna grinned. ‘I guess you wouldn’t forget a place like Sherman Falls.’

‘Nope’

‘Well, ain’t this just like old times? It’s good to see you again, Valance. You’re just in time to join us. The sheriff here objected to me and the boys having a little fun, so we’re gonna teach him a lesson.’

McKenna laughed. His three sidekicks, liquored up and full of bravado, laughed with him. One of them waved a gun at the sheriff – the sheriff’s own gun, I figured, since his holster was empty. If ever I saw a helpless looking man it was Sheriff Rogers. He sure looked a pitiful sight.

‘What’s the matter McKenna – ain’t four of you enough? I said. ‘Time was you’d have taken him on your own, with your fists.’

‘Time was you would too,’ McKenna replied.

I couldn’t deny it. I shot a glance around the saloon and saw a sprinkling of men, each hell bent on minding their own business.

The bartender set a glass on the bar. His hands were shaking as he tried pouring me a whiskey. I told him to leave the bottle, and tossed him a handful of bits. ‘And don’t get any dumb notions about interfering on the sheriff’s account,’ I said, nice and loud. ‘Or I’ll have to shoot you.’

Well, that made the poor fella jumpier than a frog on a hot plate. He fled.

When McKenna had done laughing, he set about the sheriff.

As one good slug of whiskey soothed my parched throat, a good slug of another kind connected with the sheriff’s jaw, and sent him sprawling on the floor. I took another swig, and watched McKenna’s boys drag the sheriff to his feet for some more. None had eyes for me.

‘Blam!’

Can’t say who was the more surprised, McKenna and his boys, or the sheriff, when they heard the gunshot and saw me standing there with a smoking gun.

‘Party’s over, McKenna,’ I said. ‘Stay right where you are, or I’ll put a bullet right between your eyes.’

McKenna gazed wide-eyed at me, like he couldn’t believe what was happening. ‘Are you as good with that gun as you used to be?’ he asked.

I shook my head. ‘Nope – I’m better.’

One of McKenna’s boys, a weasel faced kid with a few wisps of hair on his chin, wasn’t giving in so easily. ‘We can take him!’ he hissed. ‘There’s four of us. He can’t get us all.’

The kid wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t hope to get all four of them, but with three of them needing to draw first, the man holding the sheriff’s gun was my main concern. Just then, he made his move…

Blam!

It was his last. As he hit the floor with a loud thud, I gave some friendly advice to Weasel Face. ‘You’re right, son. But now you’ve got your friend killed, the odds ain’t so good anymore. Think careful and you might just live a little longer, because the sheriff’s gonna pick up his gun now, and I’ll shoot the first one that tries to stop him.’

The sheriff reclaimed his gun from the dead man, and set about taking the guns from the rest. A confused McKenna stared at me. Shaking his head, he asked ‘why?’

‘You just ran out of luck, McKenna. Sooner or later everyone’s luck runs out. Like mine did, at Sherman Falls.’

There was nothing else to say. Emmett and I marched them over to the jailhouse. After locking them up, he expressed his appreciation.

‘I’m grateful to you Valance, but I sure wish you’d jumped in a little quicker,’ he said, stroking his swollen face.

‘Wasn’t much I could do till they started hitting you,’ I explained. ‘I had to bide my time and wait for the right moment. Besides, you had it coming.’

‘Why’s that?’

I looked him squarely in the eye. ‘For sending that preacher over to my place.’ Without waiting for a reply, I jabbed my finger into the swollen lump on his cheek, and shot out of the door.

*Lights another cigarette*

I wandered way up the street to the far end of town. I’d seen enough of The Lazy B for one night, and I reckoned it was high time I paid a visit to Miss Sweet’s Saloon. Nice place – she’s got a wonderful piano player too, only trouble is Miss Sweet wasn’t there, and I was hoping for some female company. The fella behind the bar said he’d not seen her in days. Said she’d took off somewhere with her lady friends.

‘You a friend of hers?’ he asked.

I told him I was. He gave me a drink on the house.

I sat there for a while, wondering where Miss Sweet, Miss Houston, Miss Brandi, Miss April and the rest of the ladies had gone. When I called for another drink, I told the bartender Miss Sweet wasn’t just any old friend but a very good friend. Made no difference, I had to pay for it anyway.

*Pours a mug of coffee*

It must have been around midnight when I wandered into the one place in town where I could count on being greeted with a friendly smile – Cordelia’s Parlor.

‘Howdy Sweetlips,’ said Cordelia. Reclining in a cozy chair in the foyer, her face lit up what she saw me. ‘What brings you in here tonight?’

‘You’

‘Business or pleasure?’

‘Both.’ Lifting her from her chair, I carried her to the staircase.

‘My, aren’t you in a hurry? And I suppose you’ll be expecting breakfast in the morning?’

‘You suppose right.’

‘Valance…’

‘Yup?’

‘Are you gonna do what you did to me last time?’

‘If you’re a good girl.’

‘Aren’t I always?’

Cordelia giggled, and whispered something in my ear that ain't fit for repeating.

*Sips coffee*

Well, I woke up with a smile this morning. But when I got home this afternoon, there was still no sign of anyone.

But I know someone’s been around, because the whiskey’s all gone, every last bottle, including Miss April’s secret stash.

And that’s why I’m sitting here drinking coffee.

And if I get my hands on the low down, rotten stinking varmints that took it, I swear I’m gonna…

The Visitor

2011-02-13T20:19:00.004Z

A visitor came by today, a little fella on a scrawny mule. I spied him as he came dawdling up from the creek. Who he was I did not know, but the cut of his clothes told me what he was, and that had me reaching for my whiskey long before he pulled up at the porch.

‘Howdy!’ said the visitor, raising his hat. ‘I’m Theophilus Thurman – the new pastor in town.’ He wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked around. ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’

Wary of his cheery smile, I eyed him with a scowl and rocked back in my chair. Ain’t good manners, I know, but I ain’t comfortable with preachers. I never met one yet that needed any encouragement.

The man dismounted, and led his mule to the trough. ‘Mind if I water my mule?’ he asked.

I told him to go ahead. Calmly swigging whiskey, I wondered how I’d get rid of him. The last thing I needed was a pesky preacher hanging round. Shooting him seemed a little drastic, but I swore I’d do it, if he said Hallelujah Brother just once.

‘Beautiful day isn’t it?’ said the preacher.

‘Yup’

‘A fine day for a man to sit in the sunshine…’

‘Yup’

‘…and count his blessings.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t suppose you came out here just to tell me that,’ I replied, quickly running short on patience.

‘Indeed not Sir, I’m here on a mission,’ he said, securing his mule at the hitching rail.

‘Someone send you?’

‘Oh yes,’ said the preacher. He leaned back and smiled skyward. ‘Well, maybe not directly,’ he said. ‘But in essence certainly. I’m looking for a man called Valance. Would I be correct in assuming you are that man?’

With a beaten shrug, I admitted I was.

‘I thought so. A tall man of rough appearance; a whiskey worn face; a bear’s demeanor – Sheriff Rogers described you perfectly.’

‘The sheriff, huh? He sent you out here?’

‘Indeed he did, and I know all about your work here – how you provide food and shelter to lost souls and fallen women.’

Suddenly, I smelled a large badge-wearing rat. Though we were wriggling on the same hook, I didn’t have the heart to tell the preacher we’d been had by a mischievous lawman, and that same lawman was gonna get a fat lip.

‘Hmm, did he now? Well, I’m sorry Pastor Thurman, but you’re wasting your time. Sure, I used to do those things, but I had to stop due to er… a shortage of funding. Doing the Lord’s work don’t come cheap.’

With touching concern, the preacher hopped up on the porch. I was just warming to the idea of getting a donation, when suddenly; the preacher stopped dead. Something had scared the hell out of him. By the terror in his face, I guessed he must have seen a rattler or something. But even as I reached for my gun, the preacher started stammering and spluttering. Between some high-pitched gurgling, the cause of his fear became plain.

‘Oh, y-you have a dog. T-tell me, does he b-bite?’

I never saw a man so frightened of a dog. Seeing Nameless lying there, sprawled out and fast asleep as usual, I shook my head. Though sorely tempted to say Nameless was the meanest dog I ever had, with a bite like an alligator, I held back. The preacher already had the shakes, and he’d practically wrapped himself around one of the porch supports. I didn’t want him messing his pants. Not on my porch, anyway.

‘S’ok Parson, he don’t bite,’ I said. Calm as I could, I got up and guided him past Nameless. Once I’d sat him down in the chair next to mine, I held a glass of whiskey to his lips.

It took a while to talk him round. A second bottle of whiskey helped, and though he still glanced anxiously at Nameless, he found his voice again.

‘No Sir, I just don’t like dogs. Never have, never will. I just don’t like them.’

I offered him a cigarette, figuring it’d take his mind away from Nameless. When he declined, I smoked it myself.

‘No, I don’t smoke. Don’t drink either – except for medicinal purposes.’

‘Me too,’ I said.

For an hour or more, I sat back and let Pastor Thurman ramble on about the scriptures. He forgot all about Nameless as he spun tales of one miracle after another. Between nodding once in a while, and refilling our glasses, I drifted away in my own thoughts. Sometime later, he snapped me out of a wonderful daydream concerning me and a girl in Reno.

‘What happened next?’

‘What do you mean – what happened next?’ I said, fearful the preacher had read my mind.

‘Before the starving multitude, Jesus asked that the five loaves and two fishes be brought to him.’

‘And?’

‘So what do you think he did next?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But he sure picked a fine time to make a sandwich.’

The preacher slumped back in his chair, a pained expression betraying a realization. ‘You’re not a religious man, are you Valance?’

‘No Parson, I ain’t,’ I confided. ‘Truth is me and God went our separate ways a long time ago.’

‘A shame,’ said the parson. ‘A great shame, that you should turn your back on the Lord.’

‘Now hold on a minute, Parson. Don’t go spilling all the blame on me. I ain’t turned my back on anybody, and I’m carrying nobody’s guilt.’

‘You’re not beyond salvation, Valance.’

‘Well, that’s kind of you to say so, but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll walk my own path.’

‘And if it leads to the devil?’

‘Then I’ll spit in his eye and face him with a smile.’

‘I’ll pray for you.’

‘Save your breath, Parson. I ain’t interested in going someplace where the dice are loaded and people like you are waiting to sit in judgment. Wherever I’m going, I don’t care, but when I’m done holding up my hands to the wrong I’ve done, and taken full praise for the good – without God creaming off the credit – I’ll take what comes.’

Deciding it was time the preacher went on his way, I gave Nameless’ tail a sly dig with my heel. Nameless jumped up, startled. So did Parson Thurman.

‘Are you s-sure he doesn’t bite?’ he asked.

‘Nope, he don’t bite. Likes to jump up and lick people’s faces though, when he ain’t licking his ass.’ From the corner of my eye, I could see the preacher shifting nervously. It was time to play my ace. ‘The only thing that bites around here is Miss Houston.’

‘Miss Houston?’

‘My er… my elderly aunt,’ I said. ‘Bites all the time, ‘cept when she’s howling. The poor woman was raised by wolves. It’s hard to understand, I know, but it’s true. I’m the one person in the world that knows how to handle her.’

Well, when he heard that, the parson gasped. Hell, he damn near popped his eyeballs out.

‘Is she here now?!’ he asked.

‘S’ok, you’ve got nothing to worry about. She’s locked up and muzzled. I don’t let her out till nightfall. That’s when she goes hunting fresh meat.’

Well, one look at the setting sun, and the preacher was up on his feet, apologizing for having to go somewhere in a hurry, and abruptly refusing my invitation to stay for supper.

‘Some other time, then?’ I said.

‘Some other time,’ he replied, with no conviction, as he untied his mule.

A hurried goodbye and he was gone. Watching him ride out at twice the speed he rode in, I yelled after him.

‘Hey Parson! If you find any fallen women – save one for me.’

Growing up

2011-01-30T10:57:00.007Z

Once upon a time there were two young whippersnappers. One of them was me. The other was Henry Ball, my best friend. I was barely a month older than Henry, but that month was important when it came to deciding who did what in the games we played. Mattered too, in deciding which of us kept lookout on the day we raided Clem Randall’s orchard. Well, all that changed when Henry busted his leg falling out of an apple tree. His leg just never set right. Course it didn’t help any that I carried Henry clear of the orchard before I went for his Pa. Henry feared he’d be skinned alive if his Pa found out we’d been stealing. So that’s what I did, and Pa Ball had nothing to be suspicious about when I took him to where Henry lay, beneath the oak tree at the side of the schoolhouse.

Henry didn’t get around so good after that, but I never heard him bleat about it, not then nor after. Just as soon as he was able to walk again, we went back to that apple tree and with Henry keeping lookout, we practically picked it clean.

I couldn’t tell you how many times we raided that orchard. Clem Randall came close to catching us a time or two, but never did. By the time Clem took to laying traps, Henry and I had grown sick of eating apples anyway. We moved on to other things, and though we grew up looking out for each other in all kinds of escapades, nothing beat the satisfaction we got from our success in the orchard. We reckoned we were the finest apple rustlers in history. Shame we couldn’t tell anyone about it.

*Lights cigarette*

At seventeen years old I thought about leaving home. Soon as I turned eighteen, I did. With nothing but a young man’s troubles to run from, my own path beckoned when Henry talked his Pa into taking me on as a ranch hand. I didn’t know Pa Ball so good – only that he skinned apple thieves – but when I heard the job came with food and lodgings, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.

Leaving home gave me the freedom to live and learn by my own mistakes, and I wasted no time in making the first one. Pa Ball gave me the choice of bedding down in the bunkhouse with the rest of the hands, or staying with Henry and his brothers in the family home. I liked the idea of the bunkhouse – I was ready to live in a man’s world, but I shied away from hurting Henry’s feelings, and moved in with the family.

Pa Ball was a strange old cuss. Some days he’d treat you like a best buddy, other days he’d walk on by like you weren’t there. He’d married late in life, and fathered six sons before his wife died in childbirth. In his prime he’d been a bare knuckle fighter. Good one too, but maybe he’d taken a punch too many. With a short fuse on a tinderbox temper, nobody dared talk him down. Barely a week went by that he didn’t take his belt to one of his boys, or beat the hell out of someone. Even the toughest hands walked in his shadow. One time I saw him joking with Tucson Charlie. Next thing I heard a yelp. When I looked again, Pa Ball was all over Tucson. He’d knocked him down and was giving him a good kicking. I never worked out what triggered his mean streak. Only that it didn’t take much.

I worked doggone hard, seven days a week for Pa Ball, most of them out on the range with Henry. I got fed and I got watered, but I never saw any wages. I got pretty much the same deal as Henry and his brothers. The only thing I didn’t get was a regular beating. But the day was coming.

Eight, nine, maybe ten weeks had passed when Pa Ball held a birthday supper for his youngest boy, Nathan. He was thirteen. Sitting at the top of the table, Pa Ball pushed his empty plate aside, wiped the cake crumbs from his mouth, and told his housekeeper to bring a bottle of whiskey.

‘Fill Nathan’s glass first’ he said, when the housekeeper returned.

After toasting Nathan, we laughed when the birthday boy took an almighty swig and then coughed it back down his nose. Pa Ball laughed loudest of all. Yup, the old man was in a good mood, and when he lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair, I saw the chance to ask about my wages. The whiskey steadied my nerve, and though I’d have welcomed another glass before asking the question, I figured the time was right. The words I’d use sounded slick enough in my head, but as soon as I tried saying them everyone stared, and my confidence seeped away. The words came out awkward and I soon got tongue tied, but not before I’d said enough to kill the party stone dead. The silence said it all.

“Wages,” said Pa Ball. He spat the word out, his contempt plain to see, as he shook his head and rose slowly from the table. Fearsome tall, he looked bigger and wider than ever. “At my own table you dare to speak of wages? I give you work. You ain’t up to it yet, but I give you time and the understanding. The roof over your head, the food in your belly, everything you need to grow into a man, you get from me.”

Seeing Henry and his brothers sitting quietly with their heads bowed, I got a sickly feeling in the guts. Part of it fear, most of it guilt, for a moment of selfishness that had ruined Nathan’s big day.

“I welcome you into my home. I treat you like a son. Maybe that’s the problem?” said Pa Ball. “Maybe you need treating like one of my own?”

Pa Ball unbuckled his belt, his purpose plain to see.

“Please Pa,” pleaded John, the eldest son.

Henry leapt from the table to challenge his father. “No Pa, you can’t!” he yelled.

Pa Ball slammed poor Henry against the wall, and let him fall to the floor, his lip split and bleeding. The old man stood over his trembling son, fists balled and ready. “Don’t you tell me what I can and cannot do in my own house, boy. Go to your room, or you’ll get the same. All of you – get to your rooms!” he barked. “This is between him and me,” he said, his wild eyes staring at me. “It’s time he learned some gratitude.”

I didn’t sleep so good that night. Sure, I took a beating, but I ached just as much for spoiling Nathan’s party, and for getting Henry hurt. Pa Ball’s attack had taken me by surprise. I hadn’t defended myself, or even tried. I felt bad about that too, and swore I’d be ready for him next time.

Next time happened a month or so later. The result was the same. I didn’t sleep so good that night either. Sure, I’d thrown some punches, but the fight was over before it began. I had no heart for fighting Pa Ball. Whatever else he was, he was my best friend’s father. I could never fight him and win. I’d be the loser, whatever happened.

I had more sleepless nights in the weeks that followed. Though he gave me many a kicking, I don’t believe Pa Ball was a bad man. With six boys, a ranch, stock, and upwards of twenty hands working for him, he didn’t have time to sit down and explain everything. It just came easier to hand out the beatings and let people work out the lesson for themselves. Yup, he was mean, but he cared for his boys the best way he could, and most times he was right about things. He treated me like one of his own, and even though it hurt sometimes, I respected him for that.

Henry didn’t ask for an explanation when I told him I was moving on. I think he expected it. He knew I’d left home to get away from a father just like his. Yup, my father and Pa Ball were two of a kind.

Early next morning I said goodbye to everyone, and slipped out the door. I found Pa Ball sitting on the porch. He’d been waiting for me.

“You planning on going far?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You’re not going home?”

I shook my head. My heart sorely wanted to, but pride stood in the way.

Pa Ball got up, nodding like he understood. “Don’t waste the things I taught you,” he said. “Tucson’s in the corral. He’s got a horse saddled for you. You’ll find your wages in the saddlebag.” After shaking my hand, he just turned around and walked away.

On a chestnut Morgan, with the sun already high in the sky on a bright summer day, I rode out into the big wide world. A young man in search of himself, I headed west. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I was going far. On the way, I blew every cent of my wages on women and booze. Yup, that was another mistake. It was also the best hundred dollars I ever wasted.

*smiles at the memory*

As the years rolled by, I thought about going home plenty of times. But I was always drawn to something else: another town; another job; another woman. Yup, there was always something, and I ain’t discounting the odd spell in jail when something didn’t work out right. I told myself there was no hurry. Home was home; I could go back anytime and find it waiting for me, just as it was on the day I left. Well, of all the mistakes I made, that was the biggest of them all. After ten years, I finally got around to going home.

Whatever my Pa had said and done didn’t matter anymore. He was dead and gone, with only a wooden cross and mound of stones to mark his existence. I just got down on my knees and cried, and told him I loved him.

After oiling my sorrow at the saloon, I figured I’d go see Henry and his Pa before moving on. I asked the barkeep if he knew them. He didn’t, but that didn’t stop me telling him the story anyway.

“Well, you don’t sound too unhappy about it Mister,” said the barkeep, when I’d finished. “If I’d been kicked in the Balls as often as you, I’d be downright resentful.”

I felt a whole lot better when I left the saloon and rode out to see Henry. I imagined him jumping around in surprise, and I saw myself leaping out of the saddle to hug him. I hoped his Pa might be secretly pleased to see me, too.

*Takes a long, hard drink of whiskey*

Nathan was there, all grown up and broad shouldered, but there was no sign of the rest of the brothers. Nathan said they were all out working.

“Henry?” I asked.

“He’s over there with Ma and Pa,” said Nathan, pointing to a fenced off plot at the side of the house.

Hearing that almost cut me in two. The headstone said Henry had been gone three years. Seems he died trying to save a calf in a swollen river. Pa Ball died soon after. From a broken heart, Nathan said.

Nathan invited me to stay awhile. I declined. Said I’d better be getting along. Truth is I was choked up and angry, and had to get away.

I ain’t ashamed to admit I shed tears for Henry and his Pa, when I stopped by at the oak tree by the school house. And I shed many more on my way back west. I never went home again.

How to get a man - the answers

2011-01-17T20:56:00.006Z

Last week I told you about the anonymous lady who needed advice on how to get a man. Well, I knew I could depend on you folk to come up with some helpful answers, and help you surely did. Even I learned a few tips. Thanks everyone.

Anyway, after chewing things over these past few days, I’d like to share a few thoughts of my own.

I guess the first thing a lady needs to be sure of is why she wants a man anyway. If she needs someone to chop firewood, there’s no sense in waiting for Henry Handsome to come along. Ain’t no use shivering her life away, when some big ugly skunk is happy to chop wood for nothing more than a friendly word and a mug of coffee.

*ponders for a moment*

Course I can’t be held accountable if the big ugly skunk were to get the wrong idea and come knocking at the door a day later, with a big soppy smile and a huge bunch of flowers in his hand.

*lights a cigarette*

Any woman can get a man, and that’s a fact. And there’s plenty of men out there to choose from. All shapes, all sizes, all ages. All born beautiful, all born liars. Too bad none were born smart enough to realize what evolution has done for the female ability to detect a whopper.

If any of you ladies are a little on the large side, let me tell you something – size don’t matter. Just have the confidence to make the most of what you’ve got. If you can wiggle and jiggle enough in the right places, men are inclined to overlook the saddlebags hanging elsewhere. A woman’s only got to walk into a bar to raise male interest. How she plays it then is up to her. With the power to do whatever she wants, she can lure her prey with a smile, or she can get straight down to business. Ripping her bodice open and yelling ‘Come and get it boys!’ is about as direct as it gets. Romantic it ain’t, but it’s a sure fire way of getting acquainted with the pick of the house.

*Takes a slug of whiskey*

Women need a little romance, I reckon. Firewood ain’t enough. They need to love and be loved. Grunting and squelching under the blanket is fine, but it ain’t the half of it. A gentle kiss on the cheek when she’s falling asleep means an awful lot to a woman. So does the glow she feels when a warm blanket is tugged over her shoulder on a chilly night. Likewise the security she feels when she wakes in the morning, in the arms of her man. Besides telling her she’s appreciated, cared for and protected, these and a thousand and one other things tell a woman she’s loved. That’s the way it is. For all their peskiness, it’s what women deserve.

*Opens another bottle*

The best advice I can give our anonymous lady is this – smile and be yourself, because the person you are, is the person some lucky fella’s gonna meet and fall in love with one day. He’s out there somewhere, only he don’t know it yet.

How to get a man – the question

2011-01-08T12:05:00.004Z

A whisper in the breeze tells me one of the ladies around here has been asking for help in how to get a man. This surprises me some, as this lady shouldn’t be short of pickers. She’s well known for her warm personality and big beautiful smile. Got a wonderful sense of humor, too.

Hell, I’d pay her a call myself, only Miss Houston can be downright unreasonable sometimes. It don’t take much to make her mad, and when she gets mad she bares her teeth. And that’s when I start getting nervous. Because when she’s all fired up and baring her teeth, there’s no telling what she’ll bite. And I ain’t taking the chance.

Miss Houston’s way of getting a man is simple enough – Don’t try to understand ‘em, just rope and throw and brand ‘em, but I reckon there’s more to it than that. Hell, I’m the living proof – she’s a long way from taming me, but for the sake of a quiet life and a hot supper, I’m gonna put on my angel face and shine my halo for a little while yet.

Anyway, without naming the lady with the problem, I figure we can help. I’m gonna think about it. Meantime, maybe you can come up with your own suggestions.

Home

2011-01-02T11:24:00.011Z

Well, here I am. Home again, all by myself, with an empty gut, a dog that don’t care two hoots, and a runaway jezebel on my mind. My last hopes of a warm welcome and a plateful of turkey are gone. Seems the rumors were true. The aforementioned jezebel has vanished, and so has the aforementioned turkey, in the belly of the varmint she took off with. Hell, that’ll teach me to hang all my dreams on one hook.

*deep sigh*

Who needs her anyway? Right now I’d settle for the turkey.

*lights a cigarette*

I suppose I ought to be thankful that Nameless was here to greet me – if peeping through one eye counts as a greeting. He ain’t exactly overjoyed, but he seems happy enough. By the size of his gut, he didn’t go short on turkey over Christmas, either. Guess I’ve got you folks to thank for that.

Anyhow, it’s good to be back on the porch again. I got out of jail yesterday, but with nothing to hurry home for; I stayed overnight in town. A man’s gotta get his comforts somewhere, and Cordelia’s Parlor is as good a place as any. Hmm, brings a warm glow to my pants just thinking about it…

‘Well, this is a surprise,’ Cordelia purred, when I wandered into the lobby.

Two of her girls came fussing round, but Cordelia soon shooed them away. Makes me feel kind of special when she does that. Ain’t many fellas get entertained by Cordelia herself, but me and her go back a long way. She’s got a soft spot for me, and she’ll tell anyone who cares to listen that I’m up there with the best.

Hands on hips, a wiggling and a jiggling, Cordelia sidled over. ‘Something I can do for you, Valance?’ she asked.

Nice and slow, I looked her up and down. ‘Plenty,’ I said.

‘You’re a man of good judgment.’ Cordelia smiled, lighting a fire in her hazel eyes. She slunk in a little closer. ‘But what about the little lady – I thought she took care of your needs these days?’

I couldn’t help but wince.

Cordelia laughed. ‘So, the little big mouth’s run out on you, huh?’

I don’t now how she does it, but Cordelia’s got a way of reading me like a sign in the store window. Tactful she ain’t, but if every woman had her intuition, mankind would be in big trouble. I tried shaking my head and denying it, but Cordelia had already moved on.

‘So what’s the matter – that heart of yours aching again?’

‘It ain’t my heart that’s aching,’ I said, letting my gaze wander over her curves. ‘The ache I’ve got is a little further south.

‘Oh, I should have known. It’s your belly ain’t it? You’re hungry,’ Cordelia teased.

‘Nope,’ I said, staring at her fulsome cleavage. ‘But you’re getting a whole lot warmer.’

‘Oh my!’ Cordelia giggled. Clasping my arm, she led me to the stairs. ‘Well, if that’s what you want, I’m the girl to do something about it, free of charge and all night long. Just give me everything you got Honey, and I’ll do the same – with fried eggs in the morning.’

Yup, she makes a mean fried egg, too. Oh well…

It’s time I did some reading. I ain’t one for books, but I’m darn sure to read this one. It’s called Blood and Blazes in Upamona, by a fella named Oscar William Case. Yup, our very own Oscar. Good yarn, too.

And one more thing… Happy New Year everybody

Howdy Possibly Normal

2011-01-02T11:22:00.000Z

Howdy Miss Possibly. Welcome to the porch. It’s a customary to give every newcomer their very own special welcome, so step right up, pull up a chair, and make yourself at home. That’s it – kick your boots off and relax.

Pleased to meet you Miss Possibly – I’ll call you that ‘less you come up with something different. It’s about time we had a real lady around here. Makes a change from the usual bunch of crows, but don’t tell anybody I said that.

Anyway, we got coffee, booze, and cigarettes and just about anything you could wish for, all yours for the asking. How would you like some good, wholesome soup?

Diary

2010-12-30T18:16:00.017Z

December 22nd

Went into town tonight. Played poker at the saloon. The stakes were high. One by one the boys folded, leaving Bull Bradley and me chasing more dollar bills anyone had ever seen. Bull’s face was a picture when I cleaned him out. Course, he was none too happy about it. Sore loser that he is, he accused me of cheating. I didn’t wait around to talk it over. I left him to steam, and sang a happy little song all the way home.

‘You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to reach for the ace tucked in your boot…’

December 23rd

The folks on The Porch are having a good time. I’m looking forward to a quiet, peaceful Christmas with Housty. Think I’ll stay away from town today, and go buy her that dress tomorrow.

December 24th

In jail. If only I hadn’t stayed so long at Miss Sweet’s place this afternoon, then maybe I’d have got into town sooner. And maybe I wouldn’t have run into Big Bull Bradley.

“Hey, Valance!” a voice boomed from somewhere behind me, as I eyed the dress through the store window. I turned around to see who it was. “Merry Christmas,” said Bull, as he smashed his fist into my face.

Well, the store window got broken. And in the fracas that followed, so did the window at the newspaper office. Likewise, the steakhouse window when Bull put me through it. Most of the steakhouse got busted up too, when Bull jumped in after me. I’ll stand my ground with any man, but Bull ain’t called Bull for nothing. He was throwing me around like rag doll when the sheriff turned up. Good thing, too. I couldn’t get over to the jailhouse fast enough.

December 25th

Sure took a long time to get to sleep last night. Wasn't just my aching ribs and busted face. I kept thinking of Housty, crying alone, worrying where I’d got to. And I kept thinking how I’d promised folks I’d stay out of trouble. Course it helped none having Bull in the next cell. Truth is it’s a wonder I slept at all. With nothing but iron bars between us, I was scared of closing my eyes.

A plate of beans on Christmas Day ain’t exactly what I hoped for, but it’s what I got. Ain’t no use crying over it. I’m in jail, and there ain’t a damn thing I can do about it

December 26th

Slept no better last night. Big Bull snores as loud as he talks.

Can’t get poor Housty out of my mind. After all the plans we made, I feel real bad about her being alone at Christmas. Though I try and tell myself different, I can’t shake off the feeling I’ve let her down again.

Sheriff Rogers brought some good news. He’d struck a deal with Arthur and Martha Elderberry, proprietors of Elderberry’s Steakhouse. From sunrise till nightfall, the sheriff wants me to work for them. By night I gotta report back to jail. When restitution is paid in full, I’ll be free to go. I thanked the sheriff, and promised I’d be up and ready to report first thing in the morning.

December 27th

Sunrise – went to work at the steakhouse. The sheriff’s hoping to arrange the same kind of deal for Bull to work at the store and the newspaper office. I hope he can. Bull ain’t such a bad fella when he ain’t tearing people apart.

Sundown – finished work at the steakhouse. The Elderberrys fed and thanked me for my day’s work. I thought about sneaking off home, but I returned to jail like I promised. Right and wrongs apart, I lost my job as a deputy when Emmett said I couldn’t be trusted. This is the first chance I’ve had to prove him wrong.

December 28th

Another day spent fixing tables and chairs at the steakhouse. The Elderberrys fed and thanked me again. I like the Elderberrys. They’re good people.

The sheriff said Miss Houston came by today. Said she was hysterical. Said she was screeching at him, demanding to know why I was in jail.

‘Didn’t you tell her I’m working in the steakhouse? Didn’t you tell her about our deal?’ I asked.

‘Never had the chance,’ said Emmett. ‘I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.’

It figures.

Seems Houston wasn’t alone either. Emmett said she left in the arms of a handsome stranger. It’s a sorrowful thing to contemplate, but I’m thinking Houston ain’t been so lonely after all. Do not forsake me oh my darling.

December 29th

Didn’t sleep so good. Had Miss Houston and that stranger on my mind. And Big Bull never stopped snoring.

Worked all day at the steakhouse.

Returned to jail.

The sheriff told me Bull had gone. ‘Busted out by a bunch of crazy females,’ he said. I’ve never known Emmett get as bashful as he did when I pushed him for more details, but it sounded like one of those women kept him busy while the rest of them walked right in, helped themselves to the keys, unlocked the cell doors, and walked right out again. I don’t know how they pulled it off, but I sure wish I had friends like Bull’s.

Wonder what those ladies see in him anyway.

December 30th

Slept like a baby last night. No Bull. And no more torment over Miss Houston. I’m facing up to the truth. If she’s hell bent on riding into the sunset with Hopalong Gigolo, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll just wish her luck, kiss her goodbye and thank her for the good times. It’ll hurt like hell, but that’s the way it’s gonna be. It’s the noble thing to do, and I’m gonna be noble. I might even shake his hand too, when I’m done kicking his teeth out.

Worked in the steakhouse. Returned to jail. Saw a woman across the street, tethering her horse by the hanging tree. From behind she looked just like Miss Sweet. Same sweet ass, anyway. Hell, it ain’t quite a week yet and I’m already getting the urge.

Sheriff says the Elderberrys are pleased with me. Looks like I could be going home soon, a few days, maybe. It’ll be good to see the folks and go visit them again. Though I don’t suppose Miss Houston will be around.

Darn

2010-12-25T05:54:00.003Z

Advent 24

2010-12-24T11:36:00.021Z

Well, here we are. It’s Christmas Eve.

Stand back everybody, while I blast away the rest of that curtain…

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!

…and let the smoke clear.

Well, there it is folks, we made it. The Porch Christmas picture is complete. I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. And of course, the fella at the front is me, but you’d know anyway, unless you were someone who’d just wandered in for the first time. Good looking bunch, ain’t we?

Miss JJ can have her curtains back now. They’re a little singed, but they’ll be as good as new once she’s done sewing all the pieces together. She didn’t take kindly to me stea.. borrowing them, but at least she didn’t go running to the sheriff. Anyway, I’ve smoothed things over by giving her some flowers.

Well, Christmas is just about here. This being the season of peace, goodwill, endless backslapping, and throwing up in a bucket, I suppose I’d better say a few words. Firstly, I’d like to thank you all for joining me here on the porch. A man, a dog and a few rocking chairs don’t amount to much, but a man and a dog, and your company adds up to a whole lot. Thank you. That goes for Johnny D too, and Miss Sulphur, and others I ain’t forgotten – people like Miss Natascha, Miss Jes, Miss Kirsche, and Bud, and Jim Humble, and Logicus. And I ain’t forgetting those of you who like to sit quietly in the corner, and watch over my shoulder. I’ll even thank the jaspers who turn up just to leave a calling card, and never come back. Hell, I’m thanking everybody.

I expect you’ve still got things to do yet, so I’ll quit yammering and let you get on with whatever you gotta do. Besides, I’ve still gotta go into town and get that dress for Miss Houston. Got money to spare too, since cleaning out Big Bull Bradley at the poker table, just a couple of night’s back – I’d have gone into town yesterday, but Bull’s a sore loser and I’ve kept out of his way for as long as I can. Well, I reckon that’s about all. I got food and booze aplenty, so just help yourselves. Soon as I’ve brought that dress home for Miss Houston, I’m gonna roast my nuts on an open fire, and then settle down for a nice, quiet, peaceful Christmas. And I wish you all the same.

Let's have some Perry Como.

************************ MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE ***********************

**************************************** HO HO HO ***********************************

Advent 23

2010-12-23T10:52:00.004Z

December twenty third. Hell, I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to today. There are only two people left behind that curtain. One of them is me, so I figure you’ll have a pretty good idea whose smiling face you’re gonna see today.

Well, let’s see if you’re right.

Blam!

It’s Miss Houston! And oh my, will you just look at that lemon sucking face. She must have spotted Cordelia. We’d better move on quickly to today’s music.

I got two songs for you today. I couldn’t pick one above the other, so we’re having both. Each is dedicated to ‘ol lemon face up there. I’ll leave it for you to decide which is more befitting.

Like those songs? Good, ain’t they? That ought to put me back in her good books. Maybe I’d better say a few nice words about her, just to make sure.

In the character of Miss Houston, this little lady has been cook, cleaner, lover and laundry woman. Screeching nag too, sometimes, but hell, she’s a woman and I guess that comes with her birthright. As a matter of fact, she’s been just about everything – ‘cept a wife maybe, but the less said about that the better. Course I love her dearly, but staying foot loose and fancy free is the only way I can keep a step ahead.

The lady behind the character is Houston AW Knight. Course you know her as Hawk. It ain’t the most ladylike name I ever heard, but I guess it’s befitting of someone who sees every damn thing I do, and swoops before I can cover my tracks. Well, Houston AW Knight ain’t just a wonderful, fun loving lady. She’s also a friend. And if you didn’t know it already, you’ll find her right here.

Advent 22

2010-12-22T12:53:00.004Z

Christmas is real close now. I bet you’re all getting excited. I know I am. Finished buying your presents yet? I’ve got my eye on pretty little dress for Miss Houston. Ain’t got the money for it yet, but I will by tonight. A few hands of poker in town, and come tomorrow, that little lady can have anything she wants.

OK, let’s see who’s behind the curtain today. I’m gonna blast that patch of curtain behind Cheyenne.

Blam!

Holy chicanery! It’s Miss Em – and she’s got the missing bottle! Well I’ll be damned, such a fine woman too. I guess she must have been a little nervous about having her picture taken. Miss Em ain’t around so much these days, but she’s a serious writer, so I reckon that’s sure to keep her busy. Miss Em has her own site here, but I sometimes drop in on her here, where she’s an occasional contributor.

OK, it’s time for some music. I got a happy little song for you today. You might not have heard it before, but there’s a good chance you’ll finish up singing along. This song’s about living for the moment and being happy with what you got. It’s also about relationships, and the great temporariness of everything. I guess it boils down to making the most of what you got, while you can. The song’s called ‘We’ll sing in the sunshine.’ It seems appropriate. I reckon that’s pretty much what we do here.

Advent 21

2010-12-21T16:42:00.007Z

Sorry I’m a little late today folks. I just got out of bed. Me and Miss Houston had a wild night last night. Yeah, I was up longer than usual.

OK, just four days to go now. Remember when we were young, how Christmas was the most exciting time of the year? Christmas couldn’t come soon enough. Closing in on those yearned for presents set our hearts thumping, but having to be good all the time was a hell of a strain. Keeping a lid on all that tension wasn’t easy. For some reason, mine always seemed to spill over on Christmas Eve. Well, when Ma had done shaking her head and given me one of those pitiful looks that mothers give you when you’ve let them down, and Pa had done dispensing seasons greeting to my hide, the tears flowed. All that goodness had gone to waste, and for a few hours at least, I was off Santa’s list.

Course I got the presents anyway, but not without enduring a little misery first. I guess the moral of the story is – if you’re gonna be naughty, don't get caught and be better at it than I am. Hear endeth the lesson.

Now, let’s see who’s behind the curtain today. I’m gonna blast that piece of curtain between Miss Cecile and Miss Sweet.

Blam!

Whoa! Now there’s a fine looking gentleman. Kind of distinguished, wouldn’t you say? It’s Neil, sometimes known as the old guy rambling. Neil don’t come by so often, but as luck has it, he rambled in here only this week. Good thing, too. With so many womenfolk around, it’s important to keep the fellas’ end up. You’ll find Neil, and his wonderful western fact and fiction, right here… Neil

And now for today’s music, a fun piece that I’ve watched plenty of times, yet it still mesmerizes me. It’s weird, it’s wacky, and it’s wonderful. Pure entertainment. See for yourself...

Advent 20

2010-12-20T13:05:00.005Z

Christmas is getting closer by the day now, and we’re getting down to the end. Let’s see who’s behind the curtain today. I’m gonna shoot high at the back, between Miss Sy and Miss Bernie.

Blam!

It’s Miss Debi!

Beautiful, ain’t she? Miss Debi ain’t been around for a while now. Truth is her appearances tapered off some months back. Her personal struggles are such that she’s finding it hard to come back. Well, I hope she does. It’ll be a crying shame if doesn’t, and not just because I’ve missed her. She’s a sweet lady with a sweet smile and a sweet personality. If you’re looking in Debi, we’re rooting for you.

You’ll find Miss Debi here… Miss Debi

I gotta little extra for you today, something a little different. I don’t usually do this kind of thing, but hell, Christmas is coming and I thought it’d be nice if we had some music this week.

Life can be tough sometimes. Seems every silver lining has a big dirty cloud waiting round the corner. Like anyone else, I’ve known sadness and dark days. Loneliness, too. But not anymore. These days I just roll along, taking life’s little peaks and big peaks in my stride. And all because of a secret I learned a long time ago. I’m gonna share that secret with you now. This song’s for Debi and anyone else who needs it. Have a little cry if you want to, but make sure you smile.

Advent 19

2010-12-19T12:03:00.006Z

Hell, I spent so long revealing Miss Sweet, I’ve gotten myself behind with this thing. I need to catch up, so I’m gonna blast two holes in the curtain today.

OK, here goes… two shots in the corner, top right.

Blam! Blam!

See the fella at the back, with the glasses and the beard? That’s my old friend Logicus. He don’t come around often, but he drops in every once in a while, just to let me know I ain’t forgotten. I don’t know where he is these days, but he’s out there somewhere, and if he sees this, he’ll know I ain’t forgotten him either.

Now, see that little cutie standing between Cheyenne and Oscar? Any idea who that is?

OK, well I’m gonna tell you… it’s Miss Brandi. Pretty little thing, ain’t she?

Miss Brandi ain’t been around long, but she’s been around long enough to make a big impression. Hell, she even ate my soup. You can learn more about her right here…. Miss Brandi

Advent 18

2010-12-18T15:42:00.005Z

Well, we’re just a week away from Christmas. Hope you’re all being good, because if you ain’t, Santa’s sleigh will pass over your house and keep right on going, leaving you with nothing but a sad face and a roof spattered in reindeer… well, never mind. Just be good, that’s all.

OK, let’s see who’s behind the curtain today. I’m gonna aim at the space between Miss Valerie and Miss Patsy.

Blam!

Holy Smoke! It’s Cordelia from the Parlor. What's she doing here?

All right, who let that shameless jezebel in here, flaunting herself amongst us clean-living, decent folk? Miss Houston’s gonna be mighty displeased, and if she goes on the warpath, I ain’t taking the blame. Whoever it was had better get her out of here right now, before I get my dander up.

Psst! Cordelia! Are you trying to get me hung by the balls on a Christmas tree? I said meet me round the back.

Advent 17

2010-12-17T17:37:00.003Z

Howdy folks. The days are flying by now. If you ain’t bought those presents yet you’d better hurry. OK, it’s time to see who’s behind the curtain today. I’m gonna shoot way over to the left.

Blam!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you... Mister Jim Archer!

Yup, that’s him – the cavalry sergeant that's eying Miss Janna. And I’ll be damned if that rascally Irishman ain’t got one of my missing bottles. But I reckon he deserves it, not least for the smiles he gives me with the wonderful stories he writes. You can find Jim right here… Jim

Advent 16

2010-12-16T17:39:00.003Z

OK folks, it’s time to see who’s waiting behind the curtain today. I’ll shoot somewhere near the center…

Blam!

Whoa! Just look at that elegant lady.

See the lady standing just behind Miss Cecile? That’s Miss Patsy. Sure is pretty, ain’t she? Talented too. Miss Patsy is a writer, with a whole string of credits to her name. Go see for yourself. You’ll find Miss Patsy right here… Miss Patsy

Advent 15

2010-12-15T18:18:00.004Z

Christmas is getting closer by the day now. I hope you’re all getting set and ready. OK, let’s see who’s behind the curtain today. Now, where shall I aim this time? I think I’ll go way over to the right.

Blam!

It’s Oscar!

Yup, that's him - that suspicious looking cuss tending the booze. Hmm, something’s put a smile on his face. What do you suppose he’s looking at? Well, never mind that now. You can find Oscar, his reviews, and his wonderful stories right here… Oscar

Advent 14

2010-12-14T18:29:00.003Z

Let’s see who’s behind the curtain today. I’m gonna aim left of center.

Blam!

*Whistles!*

Well I’ll be… it’s Miss Valerie!

And it looks like she’s been having a high kicking time. I betcha there’s a garter somewhere under those skirts, too. All things wise and wonderful, that’s Miss Valerie. I wouldn’t get into half as much trouble if I listened to her more often. Besides having brains, Miss Valerie is an accomplished writer. And you’ll find her right here… Miss Valerie

Advent 13

2010-12-13T18:00:00.005Z

OK folks, it’s time to see who’s behind the curtain today. I’m gonna shoot low to the left.

Blam!

Well, it’s female, and it has a big beautiful smile, but does anyone know who it is?

I’ve known this lady quite a while now. Her mouth is the size of Texas, and her ass ain’t far behind, but I gotta tell you, her heart is even bigger. Ladies and gentlemen, this wonderful lady is none other than my good friend Miss JJ. And you can find her right here… Miss JJ

Advent 12

2010-12-12T09:57:00.006Z

Let’s see who’s behind the curtain today. I’m gonna shoot straight down the middle.

Blam!

Just look at that smile. It’s Miss Cecile!

One of the warmest, friendliest people in Blogsville, Miss Cecile brings many a smile to many people, including me. I don’t get to Miss Cecile’s half as much as I’d like to. Book reviews ain’t my thing, but I go whenever I can, just so I can talk to this wonderful lady. You’ll find her right here… Miss Cecile

Advent 11

2010-12-11T06:52:00.004Z

OK, here goes… now you’re gonna find out who the lady with the chest is…

Blam!

Well, did you get it right? It’s Miss Sweet! Adorable, ain’t she? Hell, I think I’m in love. You’ll find Miss Sweet and her salacious stories right here… Miss Sweet

Advent 10

2010-12-10T17:38:00.003Z

Well, let’s see if we have better luck today…

Blam!

Shucks and fireflies, I aimed too low.

OK, I know you're getting suspicious. Maybe I aimed low on purpose. Maybe I knew exactly what I was doing. All right, I admit it. Can’t blame me, can you? Only I know exactly what’s behind that curtain and I couldn’t wait to see that fine woman’s legs again. You’ll find out who it is tomorrow. Promise. Meantime, keep guessing.

Advent 9

2010-12-09T18:41:00.005Z

I wonder who’s behind the curtain today...

Blam!

Holy sh-shotguns, if that ain’t my best miss ever. Now who do you suppose that chest belongs to?

Let’s try again… no, wait a minute.

I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll try again tomorrow. Meantime, maybe you'd like to guess who it is. I’ll give you a clue… it ain’t Oscar.

Advent 8

2010-12-08T18:16:00.005Z

OK folks, it’s time to blast the curtain again. Let’s see who we’ve got today…

Blam!

Hmm, it’s that stranger again. He rode in on a mule some days back. Had a reward poster, said he was looking for Miss Houston. Seemed mighty disappointed when I told him that little misunderstanding had been cleared up and the reward had been withdrawn.

Quiet fella. He didn’t say much but ‘Nice dog,’ as he was leaving.

‘Oh him,’ I said, once I’d looked over my shoulder and made sure it was my dog he was talking about.

‘What do you call him?’ asked the stranger.

‘Besides bone idle – Nameless,’ I said. ‘He’s a dog with no name.’

That seemed to amuse him some. I swear he was fighting back a smile as he left.

Advent 7

2010-12-07T17:30:00.004Z

I wonder who’s behind the curtain today?

Blam!

It’s… Miss Sy!

Miss Sy ain’t been around much lately. Her blog’s been pretty quiet, too. Well, let’s just hope she’s fine. A sassy lady who believes in telling it like it is, you’ll find Miss Sy right here… Miss Sy

Advent 6

2010-12-06T18:49:00.004Z

Let's see who we’ve got today…

Blam!

Well, wouldn’t you know it? That darn dog idles the whole year through, sleeping, eating, and sleeping some more, yet the moment there’s a photo call, there he is, pushing his way to the front. If anyone doesn’t know it, that big lummox is Nameless, my dog.

Advent 5

2010-12-05T16:56:00.004Z

Blam!

Today we have a lady of mystery. The image you see here is a representation of her avatar. Miss Janna ain’t exactly shy, but she’s keen to hold on to her mystique. Me, I’d sooner hold on to her physique, but I ain’t pushing my luck. If you ain’t sure about the erotic content of her blog, just put your hands over your eyes and peep through your fingers first, like I do. You’ll find the lovely Miss Janna right here. … Miss Janna

Howdy Miss Brandi

2010-12-05T08:55:00.001Z

Howdy Miss Brandi. I’m sorry you ain’t feeling so well, but I’m glad you dropped by. Welcome to the porch. Yup, cozy and inviting is what it is. I like to think so, anyway. Anyone signing up gets their own special welcome, so step over the dog, pull up a chair, and kick your boots off. We got coffee, booze, cigarettes, biscuits, and all kinds of things. Right now though, I reckon you need nothing more than a bowl of soup. That’ll get you on your feet again.

Advent 4

2010-12-04T16:43:00.006Z

Let’s see who we’ve got today…

Blam!

I know what you’re thinking – you’re thinking ‘Saints alive! What is George C. Scott doing here,’ ain’tcha? Well, I got news for you. It ain’t George C. It’s our very own Cheyenne. Yup, that’s him, and you’ll find him, his wonderful tales, and a lot of horse sense right here… Cheyenne

Advent 3

2010-12-03T19:17:00.013Z

Let’s see who we’ve got today…

Blam!

It’s… Miss April!

Though she ain’t had the best of years, Miss April continues to make me smile. A lady with guts and fortitude, I love her wonderful sense of humor. You can visit her right here… Miss April

FOR AN EXTRA SPECIAL TREAT... here's my favorite picture of the Memphis Belle herself, along with her own words…

'If this ain't sexy I don't know what is.'

Step forward and take a bow, Fussy Britches.

Advent 2

2010-12-02T18:05:00.004Z

Here goes… first shot… straight down the middle… Blam!

And here we have… Miss Bernie!

Just look at that smile. And don’t she look cute in those feathers? Besides being a warm, wonderful lady, Miss Bernie has a wonderful outlook on life. She’s an inspiration to me. You can see her blog right here… Miss Bernie

Advent 1

2010-12-01T18:11:00.004Z

Ladies and gentlemen, I got a little surprise for you. Now we’re on the rundown to Christmas, it’s time we had a little fun. Porch regulars are familiar with Porch names, but what about the faces behind those names? Some are instantly recognizable. Some ain’t. Ever wonder what they look like? Well, now you’re gonna see them. They’re all here, waiting behind these curtains, as you’ve never seen them before. You might even recognize yourself. The fun begins tomorrow, when I start blasting holes in these curtains. And I’ll be blasting every day till Christmas. Stay tuned.

The Valance Blog Award

2010-11-29T18:07:00.008Z

Some weeks back I had some fluffy pink blog awards bestowed upon me by Miss Patsy and Miss JJ. Though I’ve yet to shake a suspicion that these awards were bestowed with mischievous intent, I accepted them with due grace and humility, befitting of the spirit in which these things are supposedly given. Now, I want everyone to know that just because I ain’t got them on open display, it don’t mean I don’t cherish them. Along with a previous award from Miss Houston, they’re safely stashed away in the antique under my bed.

In accordance with the rules of etiquette concerning these things, it seems I’m obliged to pass these awards on, along with a few questions that need to be answered. Well, I gotta tell you, I ain’t too comfortable with that. There are certain things a lean, mean, rooting’ tootin’ hard boiled son of gun just cannot do. And handing out fluffy pink blog awards is right at the top of the list.

Now, I apologize for not fulfilling my obligations sooner, but it’s taken till now to come up with a compromise. So here it is… the Valance Blog Award.

This award is freely given to all followers of this blog. Take it, leave it, display it, or use it for target practice. I don’t mind. I know some of you ain’t at ease with these things. Hell, you can even keep it in an antique under your bed. But it’s yours if you want it. The only condition is you take it with a smile.

Happy Birthday to me

2010-11-27T07:44:00.012Z

I did something real hurtful this morning, the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Miss Houston broke down and cried when I broke the news. Hell, I could have cried myself.

‘I got no choice Houston. It’s the only way. Someone gave the sheriff your name. It’s only a matter of time before he comes out here looking for you. You can’t run for the rest of your life.’

Miss Houston just stood there, sniffling and shaking her head.

‘Nothing’s gonna change between us,’ I said.

And that’s when the strain finally got to her. She’d been brave for so long, but she couldn’t be brave any longer. Miss Houston’s face just crumpled. She flung herself into my arms, sobbing.

*

Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. It don’t matter that he’s scared. It don’t matter that he’s hurting inside, and worried if he’s doing the right thing. It’d be the easiest thing in the world to turn around and go back, but when a man makes a decision he’s gotta have the backbone to ride with it. I made my decision, and I rode with it, all the way into town. That decision didn’t rest any easier when I opened the door to the sheriff’s office.

‘What’s this?’ asked the sheriff, as I heaved my saddlebags onto his desk.

‘It’s the money from the bank robbery,’ I said. ‘All of it.’

*

Sheriff Rogers scratched his ear, and shook his head in turn, as he struggled to take in my explanation. ‘It’s all here? All five thousand dollars?

‘Yup, plus an extra couple of hundred in restitution to the bank, to cover the interest.’

The sheriff sucked in his cheeks and blew them out again. ‘I can hardly believe it,’ he said.

He wasn’t the only one. Alone on a horse, with five thousand dollars in my saddlebags, I could have rode away to a new life anywhere, yet there I was in the sheriff’s office.

‘Then this woman… the bank robber… is your woman?’ said the sheriff, as the magnitude of the story sunk in.

‘Yup. She’s awful sorry for what she did, but after nearly getting killed in that fire, she turned to God. It was God’s will that she stole that money. She didn’t take it for herself. She took it to feed and care for the lost souls and fallen women that visit The Porch.'

The sheriff looked sympathetic.

'Without her they’d be eating nothing but critter soup,’ I said, for good measure.

‘Poor devils,’ said the sheriff.

I didn’t care for the way he said it, but this was no time to feel insulted. Just as I was thinking things were working out fine, the sheriff hooked me through the lip with a question I hadn’t foreseen.

‘And all the while this was going on, you saw nothing?’

‘Nope, not a thing. If I had any call to be suspicious, I’d have turned her in right away. Then when she told me the truth last night, and said she was gonna return the money, I said…’

The sheriff cut me short. By now he was one step ahead. ‘You told her to leave it to you. You said you’d come in and see me, and smooth things over?’

Emmett’s a smart one. I could do no more than hold my hands up. ‘That’s about the size of it.’ I said.

With his elbows on the desk, Emmett clasped his hands under his chin and looked thoughtful, leaving me waiting on edge.

‘What are you gonna do?’ I asked, when I’d stewed awhile.

‘I’ll talk to the bank’ said Emmett, gazing into space. ‘They’ve got their money back. Maybe they’ll settle for that. If they will, I will.’

I thanked Emmett. I thanked him real good. Itching to get home and tell Miss Houston the news, I spun on my heel.

‘Valance!’ Emmett yelled, stopping me in my tracks.

‘Emmett?’

‘Leave your badge on the desk.’

‘My badge?’

You won’t be needing it anymore.’

‘What about my pay?’

‘Get out,’ he said. He didn’t even look at me.

*

Some birthday this has been. Handing over five thousand dollars is bad enough. Giving the bank two hundred of my own hurts even more. I reckon it’ll be worth it if keeps Miss Houston out of trouble, but...

Darn…

I was saving that money to buy everyone a present for Christmas.

Darn…

And letting Emmett down, that hurts too. I like Emmett. And I liked being a deputy. It gave me a purpose. For once in my life I felt like a somebody.

Darn…

Happy Birthday to me.

Hey, Oscar...

2010-11-21T15:36:00.001Z

...this one's for you.

Blogsville's Most Wanted

2010-11-20T20:16:00.006Z

Until yesterday I’d done little this week but break up a few fights and throw a couple of drunks out of the saloon. Then today I arrested someone for pissing in the street. Some people have no shame. The perpetrator was in the church bell tower at the time. I just hope a lesson will have been learned by the time the sheriff lets her go in the morning.

Meantime, I’ve been keeping an eye on the bank, and doing everything the sheriff told me. Hell, there ain’t a woman in Blogsville I don’t recognize by her wiggle and her jiggle at a hundred paces.

Got some bad news, too. Hell, I need a whiskey…

I’ve done just about everything I can to keep Sheriff Rogers off Miss Houston’s trail, but it ain’t no good. The sheriff is closing in, and there ain’t a damn thing I can do about it. Just wait till Miss Houston sees this…

A man could sure do a lot with a thousand dollars.

Stranger in Town

2010-11-15T19:40:00.008Z

A stranger dropped in at the sheriff’s office today. He’d heard the town bank had been robbed. ‘By a woman’ he said. Me and the sheriff looked at each other, but said nothing.

The man pulled a wanted poster from his coat and tossed it on the desk.

‘This woman robbed our town bank sometime back,’ he said. ‘Been tracking her ever since. She's an outlaw known for riding with some of the meanest gangs...Jessie James and the likes. She's tough I hear. And quick with a gun. Got any idea's where I might start looking for her?’

Emmett shook his head. Me, I just stared at the woman on the poster, heaven sent and devil ugly. ‘Sheriff!’ I yelled. This is her. She’s gotta be the one who robbed our bank!’

Emmett looked dismissively at the poster. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Rumor has it she's staying at some hole in the wall around here,’ said the stranger. ‘It's called The Porch. Know where that might be?’

Well I damn near choked on my coffee. ‘You gotta be kidding, Mister. The Porch? That’s my place. That’s my home.

‘And you’ve never seen this woman before?’

Nope, never. Someone’s been leading you on, Mister. There ain’t a face like that this side of hell.

‘He’s right,’ said the sheriff, looking again at the poster. ‘She couldn’t have robbed our bank. Our robber is much prettier. Looks like you wasted your time. Sorry.’

The man raised his hat, and left. I asked Emmet why he’d been quick to dismiss the woman on the poster. ‘She could still be our bank robber, couldn’t she Sheriff?’

‘Not with that face,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine the wiggle and jiggle on that?’

He had a point. I lit a cigarette, and stared at a face only a mother could love. ‘What do you suppose BJ stands for,’ I asked.

‘I don’t care to speculate,’ said the sheriff. ‘But with a mouth like that, I wouldn’t be going anywhere near a hole in the wall.'

HawkValance

Lawman

2010-11-13T22:33:00.014Z

Sheriff Rogers took a chance when he made me his deputy. ‘Valance,’ he said. ‘Being a lawman ain’t easy. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It takes a special kind of man to be a deputy. Knowing right from wrong and being good with a gun ain’t the half of it. I need a man of honor, truth and integrity. Men like that don’t come along so often, so I’ll just have to make do with you. The job’s yours if you still want it.’

S’funny, just a year ago I was in jail and bound for a date with the hangman. I still scratch my head and wonder how I got caught up in that. What began with a simple act of kindness when I rescued Nameless from a cruel old man, turned sour very quickly when Sheriff Jessup got himself killed. Emmett Rogers was the deputy at the time. He hated my guts. He was sure I’d killed Sheriff Jessup, but by the time the trial was over, he and I had become friends. When they made him sheriff, he asked me to be his deputy. I never dreamed there’d be a day when I’d come back and say yes. But then I never dreamed I’d get my brains mushed up by a woman.

I took the job to impress Miss Houston. I wanted to show her I could be the man she wanted me to be. I figured she’d be happy. Trouble is she went out and robbed the bank, thinking she'd impress me. All by herself too. Impressed? You bet I am. That little lady has spunk to spare, but it sure puts me in an awkward position. When nobody else in this town would trust me, Emmett gave me the chance to be somebody. I can’t let him down.

Meanwhile, Miss Houston’s getting fired up and pricklier by the day. Since she got it into her head I don’t love her anymore, she's been saying a lot of mean things. I tried to reason with her. ‘I ain’t turned you in yet, have I?’ I said.

Well, she pounced on yet and threw it right back at me. ‘Maybe you’re just waiting till the reward money goes up,’ she said.

‘Maybe I am,’ I said, as I ducked and left the house. I shouldn’t have said it, but she got me mad. Hell, it’s getting so I can’t say a thing without riling her. And when I say nothing at all, she says I’m acting high and mighty. She’s even threatened to leave. I’d hate to see her go. Nameless would miss her, too. That big lummox’s one loyalty is to the hand that feeds him. Where she goes, he goes. He follows her all over the house.

Sheriff Rogers is no fool. He’s young and he’s keen, but he’s no longer the greenhorn of a year ago. He’s shrewd, and nothing’s gonna stop him getting someone for that bank robbery. We were talking about it only this morning...

Valance, we gotta catch up with that robber, and fast.

Robber? I thought there was a whole gang of them?

No, I'm satisfied there was just one – a woman. And if word gets around that a lone female can rob our bank and get away with it, we’ll have every rattlesnake in the county coming trying their luck.

A woman? Are you sure? I remember seeing a big fella in town that week… 300 pounds of pure ugliness he was, a scar-faced Mexican in a big sombrero, armed to his broken teeth. I remember thinking ‘I wonder what he’s doing hanging around the bank. He looks suspicious.’

No, it was a woman all right. Everyone said the robber sounded like a woman. Tom Brady the clerk swears by the wiggle in her ass it was a woman. And old Abe Wilson, who saw her running from the bank, said he hadn’t seen melons bounce like that since his wedding night.

Did anyone see her face?

Seems nobody was looking at her face. Have you any idea who it could be?

Nope, beats me.

Well, by all accounts she rode out toward the creek. The only person I know that lives out that way is you. I hear you get quite a lot of women visitors.

Not that many, Sheriff. My elderly Aunt JJ comes by once in a while. And Miss Sweet and Miss Cecile, sometimes, on behalf of the church. And then there’s Miss April, from the temperance society. The rest are lost souls and fallen women, seeking spiritual guidance.

And you give it to them, huh?

Only too willing, Sheriff. It’s my duty to the Lord, to provide food, shelter and sustenance to those poor wretches, men and women alike. You should see us when we join hands and sing hymns together. It’d bring tears to your eyes.

As I recall, you once swore in court that you didn’t believe in God.

I found him again. Why, I’m almost a lay preacher these days.

Hmm, I guess the Lord works in mysterious ways.

Yup, wouldn’t be right to question him now would it?

It wouldn’t, but then it ain’t him that's telling whoppers.

Emmett, I’m shocked. Hurt even. Are you doubting me?

Sorry Valance, but this bank robbery has the whole town spooked. The bank’s lost public confidence, and now folks are losing their faith in me. There ain’t a day goes by that I don’t get harangued in the street. Hey – what about that whore Delia?

Never heard of her.

Someone told me you were sweet on that whore Delia.

That’ll be Cordelia from The Parlor. No, not her, Sheriff. She wouldn't do something like that. And I ain’t sweet on her. We’re just good friends, that's all.

Hmm, OK. Well, let me know if you see anything suspicious.

Want me to watch the bank from The Parlor, Sheriff? It’s right across the street. I could keep watch from an upstairs window.

No, I just want you to walk the town, and let folk know you’re around. Maybe hang around outside the saloon awhile. Look out for ladies with a wiggle and a jiggle in the right places. Think you can do that?

I’ll try my very best, Sheriff.

Lawman Theme Song

Respectable

2010-11-07T19:35:00.014Z

*Miss Houston awakes to see Valance is already up and moving about. After the ecstasy of last night she was sure he'd sleep in a wee bit, but the man had stamina like no man she'd ever met. Obviously all that virile energy for making a woman feel as if she'd been to heaven and back isn't the only energy the man has.*

Valance? What are you doing, Honey?

*Houston sits up right quick when Valance kneels beside the bed. ‘OMG, is he going to propose?’ she thinks. A wee bit of hope rushes through her, only to come crashing down when she notices he isn't holding a small black velvet ring box, but the ‘antique' he keeps under the bed. She peeps as he places his latest blog awards in it, and then hops back into bed.

‘Housty,’ he says, as Houston cuddles up to him. ‘I’ve called in at the saloon a few times this past three weeks, hoping to see you singing. I never saw you once. If you ain’t been working, how did you get all that money?’

What money?’ *Houston plays dumb*

The money that’s stashed under the bed. Smells like more’n five thousand dollars.

Oh, I was waiting to surprise you!

*Houston jumps up, beaming with pride.*

When you ran off and left me here all alone…you didn’t tell me where you were going or if you’d even be back.

I said I was gonna find a job that’d make you proud of me. Jobs like that are hard to find.

Well you can be proud of me, instead! The money I made from posing ran out mighty quick…Nameless eats like a hurricane when he thinks you’ve left him for good. Nothing can stop him. He’s sucks up everything in sight! Most of me money went into his stomach. So…being low on cash, food and whiskey, and not knowing if or when you’d be back, I really had no other choice.

*Houston thrusts her shoulders back boastfully*

I had to do it, Levitt. I tried to get a gang together but your friends are yellow bellied when it comes to becoming long riders, you know -- outlaws! Not one of them even offered to help me! Anyway, I did it! And I did it all alone. Yap, I robbed the bank. It was sooooo easy! You’d be proud how I handled it all! I was fast. In and out like lightning.

*Houston jumps out of bed and crawls almost half way under it, her bare behind wiggling in the air as she pulls out bag after bag of dollar bills.*

They all thought I was Jessie James…guess he’s a little guy!

*Houston finishes getting all the loot, and sits back on the bed, her pretty green eyes waiting for approval. A delighted smile spreads across her face.*

Well, are you proud of me? Valance... are you proud of me?

I erm, well I erm… I guess so. All on your own, huh?

Yap!

Darn.

Something the matter? You are proud of me, aren’t you?

Housty… you know I went looking for a job?

Yeah, sure, but you and honest work don’t go together.

I wanted to make you proud of me.

But I am proud of you! C’mon, smile and be happy for me. You could never find an honest job Levitt, I know that. And now you don’t need to.

Too late. I’ve already got one.

You have? Why didn’t you tell me?

I’ve been trying to tell you ever since I got back.

What is it?

Get my vest off the back of the chair. Take a look inside the pocket… and see for yourself.

HawkValance

Howdy Miss Debra

2010-11-07T08:26:00.003Z

Howdy Miss Debra. Pleased to meet you. Pull up a chair, kick your boots off and make yourself comfortable. Coffee's in the jug, I'll get you a mug. Got booze and cigarettes too, if you're minded. Course being a God-fearing man, I don't drink much. I just like to keep some in for visitors. Anyway, welcome to The Porch, Miss Debra. It's time we had a real lady around here. Hmm, the soup's just coming to the boil. Must be your lucky day. Would you like some?

Blog Awards

2010-11-03T19:43:00.008Z

I picked up some blog awards today. Pink, fluffy ones. Appreciative as I am, I hope Miss Patsy and Miss JJ will forgive me if I don’t display them. It ain’t that I’m ungracious, but we lean mean rootin’ tootin’ types are mighty particular about having such things around. I’ll quietly cherish them, of course, and maybe I’ll look at them in times of misty eyed sentimentality. Till then, I’m gonna keep them safe with the rest of my awards, in the antique under the bed.

In accordance with propriety, I’m honor bound to say six things about writing. But beyond saying the biggest thing I’ve learned about writing is how little I know, I don’t know what else I can say. So I’ll take Miss JJ’s way out and tell you six things about me, just for fun.

1 My best subject at school was… Art.

2 My worst subject at school was… French.

3 I was almost killed aged 13, when I was knocked off a bicycle. I was not singing Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head at the time.

4 At the age of 31 I busted my wrist in an accident. Never played the piano since.

5 I don’t always finish what I set out to do.

Well, that’s about it. I realize I’m supposed to pay these awards forward, and I will in good time, when I’ve modified all that pink fluffiness into something more befitting. Right now I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Hope to catch up with everybody soon.

Dog house

2010-10-13T19:50:00.007+01:00

Life ain’t fair. Never was, never will be. I ain’t one for bellyaching, but it sure hurts to get lambasted for trying to do the right thing. I liked working for Miss Cordelia. She was good to me and respected what I was trying to do. And today, after I’d thrown out a bunch of no-goods, and the Parlor was quiet, she insisted on taking me for a drink. “C’mon, you’ve earned it,” she said. Reckon I had too, since I hadn’t touched a drop since Sunday. So she took me to the saloon… and she bought me a drink… and just as I raised the glass to my lips…

Well, that’s when Miss Houston came in, all guns blazing.

Cordelia! This is the last time I’m gonna warn you…

*Miss Houston fire’s a shot off into the air*

I done warned you to keep your nasty paws off me man and here I go hearing from Cheyenne you got my man working here! What a bunch of bull cocky!

*Houston Spots Cordelia hiding behind the bar and shoots another shot in that direction*

Working? At what? Keeping you happy!

*Houston shoots another shot off at Cordelia*

And don’t you be thinking I’m missing because I’m a bad shot! Just you be asking Miss Cecile…I’m a good shot and I’m only missing ‘cuz I choose to…for now. I got nine more of these to go… so you best be thinking fast! I ain’t take’in to some of the Porcher’s who have hinted my man’s over here doing the dirty deed with the likes of you!

*Valance pokes his head out from behind the bar, and Miss Houston shoots off another shot hitting the whiskey bottle behind him.*

Ah Ha! So…. it’s true! You are here, ya’ fickle lipped cowboy!

*Valance yells at Miss Houston to stop her shooting and let him explain*

COWBOY, YOU’D BETTER HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR “WORKING” HERE! AND YOU’D BETTER NOT BE DOING WHAT I’M TOLD YOU’VE BEEN DOING! The whole towns a talking!

*Houston stalks over to the bar and reaches over to catch Valance by the ear…she pulls hard, bringing him up into view*

I done told you I loved you! I done told you I was proud to be your woman! I striped down to me birthday suite FOR YOU! I got cash sitting at home to carry us through! I done told you NO MORE CORDELIA! And here I find you cavorting with the wench! That’s a slap in the face Cowboy!

You get that sorry ass of yours out from behind this bar! Now! Or I’ll shoot it out! And if I don’t see your butt on the porch by the time I get there…there will be hell to pay! And don’t you be giving me that mean outlaw look of yours like I’ve pushed you too far! You’re the one putting the whole town a talking! Coming here…”working” for Cordelia when everyone know you two have had a thing for years – WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO THINK? I look the fool for loving you Valance…this is how you treat me? Shame me with the town knowing my man’s still in love with this bar wench and not me!

Hell’s bells Cowboy…if I ain’t good enough for you then tell me. I ain’t sticking around to be having the man I love play me as a fool! And I ain’t afraid to tell YOU I love you like you are with me…well maybe it ain’t that you’re shy a’tall in telling me you love me…maybe, you can’t tell me that because you don’t love me!

*Cordelia tries to escape and Miss Houston catches her with the sound of a gun being cocked*

One more step Miss Cordelia and you’ll be missing a heart…you and me…we got some strong words to be talking.

Valance, I’ll be dealing with the likes of you at the porch!

So that’s that – Miss Houston’s upset, Cordelia’s upset, my job's gone and the whole town thinks I’m a low down, womanising, fornicating drunkard.

I should have listened to Miss Valerie.

Well, I’m going now. And I ain’t coming back, not until I can return with my head held high, and a job that’ll make folks sit up and take notice. I’ll make Miss Houston proud of me yet.

Howdy jhvansciver

2010-10-13T19:46:00.003+01:00

Howdy JH, welcome to the porch. Glad to have you around. Kick your boots off and sit a spell. Join in or sit quietly in a chair. Either is fine by me. Coffee, booze, cigarettes - all yours for the asking. Soup too, if you're partial to good wholesome cooking.