Stephen C. Satterly, II – Author

By Stephen Satterly, July 1986

It was hot the day I rode into El Paso. Seemed like it was always hot where I was. Feller’d think I died and gone to Hell, but I knew better. This place was a lot worse.

Me and Heller, my roan stallion, we were all done in. I’d just finished my last roundup, and I felt like I’d swallowed all the topsoil in Texas, except the part that covered Heller and me. I was quick sick of eatin’ dust, so I was going to take some money I’d squirreled away and buy my own ranch. Let somebody else eat the dust, I was gettin’ too old. I reckoned it was time to settle down. After I’d put Heller in a stall at the livery, I walked toward the Texas House.

El Paso hadn’t changed much since I was here last. Fact bein’ it hadn’t changed at all. The dusty streets, the false-fronted stores, the rowdy saloons, the people, none had changed a bit. It was almost scary.

The Texas House, much to the satisfaction of us Texans, was the best-looking, BIGGEST place in El Paso. I remember thinkin’ when it was built that three stories was way too tall, I remember that I kept expectin’ to see it fall, but it never did. I heard tell that New York City had twenty-story buildings, but I wasn’t sayin’ until I saw it for myself.

I was gettin’ a mite puzzled as I walked, because people would stare at me, then get a big grin on their face. I really got confused when two cowhands rode by. On seein’ me, they whipped off their hats, let out an ear-shatterin’ Rebel Yell, and rode off down the street, shootin’ off their guns. Now it’s not strange that cowhands do these sorts of things, but it is strange that they waited ’til they saw me to start doin’ it. I’ve looked in a mirror, so I know I’ve got a face that makes mothers scream and hide their children. Those two hands weren’t mothers, even though they may’ve had some children to hide somewhere, so I knew something was up. Standing on the steps of the Texas House was the man who knew everything about El Paso, so likely he could give me some answers.

Peaceful Dan Bodell was called that ’cause he wasn’t. Peaceful, that is. Peaceful was said to go out of his way to avoid trouble. Sure, he would, all of two or three inches, if that. No one knew how old he was. His white whiskers and his seamed face were ageless. Only his bowed back and his slow, rolling gait showed how far around the bend Peaceful really was. However, his eyes were just as bright as they were when I last saw him.

I stopped in front of him, and noticed with disgust that he was grinnin’ bigger’n anyone else.

“Peaceful, ya old coot! What in tarnation’s eatin’ at everybody?”

Peaceful rolled a quid of tobacco in his jaw and spat as he glared at me.

“Only the fact that ya smiled when ya said that, and because yer bigger’n meaner’n me keeps me from givin’ ya a fat lip!”

I glared right back and said, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

I took a deep breath. “Peaceful, happen ya want to survive to be more ornery than y’are now, ya’d best tell me what’s goin’ on, pronto!”

Peaceful spat again, staring at me out of the side of his eyes. “Aren’t you the testy one today!”

“Peaceful!” By this time, I was yellin’ at the top of my lungs, “I’m a week past a bout with a cactus patch! I’ve swallowed so much dirt that I don’t have to eat ’cause I’m growing my own food! I’ve just spent three days ridin’ that damn horse Heller with a sore behind! I’m saddle-sore, tired as all get out, and to top it all off, everyone’s grinnin’ at me like I’ve just gotten married!”

A low, melodious voice interrupted my tirade, “You won’t be married until tomorrow.”

I turned to see who spoke, and felt my eyes go wide. She was the prettiest girl I’d ever laid my eyes upon! I stared at her curly, dark hair, her olive complexion, and her very curvy figure. Then my eyes locked onto the deepest pair of brown eyes I’d ever known. If ever a pair of eyes could settle a man down, these two were it!

Peaceful cackled beside me and nudged me with his elbow.

“Say, ol’ hoss, she’s seen enough of yer teeth to see yer plenty healthy, so’s you can close yer mouth now.”

“Wha-?” I was somewhat dazed.

Peaceful swept off his prospector’s hat and gave the lady as courtly a bow as his rickety old bones would allow.

“Scuse Sam here, Miss Reuter. He’s been shy of womenfolk fer well on two years now. Reckon he’s got plum skeered of ’em by now.”

I tore my gaze from the dream I was having and glared at Peaceful.

“I ain’t skeered of nuthin’,” I protested indignantly, “But seein’ as howyer bein’ so sociable and all, whyn’t ya innerduce the lady and me?”

By now a large crowd had gathered around us, grinnin’ like all get out. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a memory surfaced. Looking at the lady, I could only hope it was true. I didn’t deserve such luck.

Peaceful winked at me, then turned to the lady.

“Ma’am, May I innerduce Saguaro Sam Sullivan, cowhand soopreme, and soon ta be the new owner of the Triple S Ranch!”

He then turned to me, fully smiling now, and said, “Sir, may I innerduce Miss Robin Reuter, lately from Saint Wendel, Indiana, and yer new mail-order bride!”

It was true! I looked again into her brown eyes and saw her acceptance and approval. Before I knew what I was doing, I took off my hat and knelt, dust and all, at her feet.

Taking her hand in mine, I looked again into her now familiar eyes and said, “Ma’am, I may not look like much now, but I’d be honored if’n you’d consent to be my wife.”

She stared at me for a long moment, which seemed to stretch out forever, then a faint smile curled her full lips.

“Sir,” she stated gravely, “You do me a great honor. It is with great pride that I accept your proposal.” With that she leaned forward and kissed me.

The next thing I remembered was Peaceful dumping a bucket of water on my face. The crowd was wildly cheering, and Robin, soon to be Mrs. Sullivan, was laughing daintily. Probably because she saw my face without the dust. Pa always said I was funny lookin’.

* * * * * * *

Later that night, me and Peaceful sat in the Last Chance Saloon having an unannounced bachelor party. I was shakin’ my head about the afternoon.

“Dammit all, Peaceful! I plum fergot I’d ordered a mail-order wife. I knew everybody was grinnin’ fer somethin’.”

Peaceful took a big swig of rye, then suddenly turned red-faced and watery-eyed. Mutterin’ somethin’ about, “…rye not bein’ as strong as it useta,” he ordered another one before answering.

“Of course they was grinnin’ about yer marriage. Ya don’t think they was grinnin’ ’cause ya looks purty, do ya? Fat chance o’ that!”

I solemnly looked at him and said in a very dignified voice, “After my honeymoon, I’m gonna come back and box yer ears fer that. Just be glad yer buyin’ the rye, or I’d leave now.”

He looked at me in disgust and retorted, “Way yer downin’ that rye, I was hopin’ ya’d leave off afore I go broke! Say, ya said ya had another fracas with a cactus patch, didn’t ya?”

I grimaced at the memory of it and said, “I sure as Hell did! There I was, ridin’ along and mindin’ my own business, when out of the blue Heller gets a notion to buck. Caught me off guard, it did. I flew off Heller and landed smack dab in the middle of a cactus patch. I tell ya, Peaceful, I screamed so loud Heller looked like he wanted ta apologize.”

Peaceful leaned back and crowed in delight, giving the table a thump that rattled the bottles along the wall.

“They don’t calls ya ‘Saguaro’ Sam fer nothin’, that’s fer sure!”

He was still chucklin’ when the bat-wing doors slammed open. The saloon got deathly quiet, and I turned to see what caused it.

Trouble had come to the Last Chance. The man at the entrance was evil with a capital ‘E’, from his low-slung, tied-down hgun, to his staggering walk, to his dirty, all-black outfit. Bad thing was, he was starin’; at me and grinnin’. Not with the friendly grins everyone else had been giving me, but with the kind of grin an injun’ll give ya before he scalps ya. If he didn’t watch it, he’d give me the idea that he didn’t like me.

“That’s Black Bart, Sam!” Peaceful warned.

“Black Bart!” I scoffed. “That’s a name straight from a dime novel.”

“Sam, he’s the fastest gun in Texas. Even faster than Marshal Thompson!”

“I don’t care who he is, I’m gettin’ married tomorrow.”

“Not if’n he kills ya, ya won’t.”

That sobered me up fast. That and the fact that Black Bart was staggerin’ towards me. He stopped in front of our table and leered at me through red-rimmed eyes.

“I doan like you.” His voice was slurred and had an annoyingly high timbre to it.

I slowly placed both of my hands on the table and replied in a carefully neutral voice, “That’s right nice.”

Black Bart looked at me like I was crazy, then snarled, “Yer a Rebel scum!”

“I reckon so.”

Yer a horse-stealin’ goon!”

“You could say so.”

“Yer a sheep herder!”

I winced at that one. That was hittin’ below the belt.

“It’s a livin’,” I forced out through clenched teeth.

‘Don’t see what that woman sees in you,” Black Bart sneered.

I agreed with him on that one, although now I knew the root of the problem.

“I reckon I don’t either,” I replied.

While he stopped to think that one over, I noticed that everyone else was hiding behind overturned tables, even Peaceful. I couldn’t blame them. Under normal circumstances, fists, or lead, woulda been flyin’ a whole site sooner.

Black Bart leaned forward and growled, “El Paso is a town full of swishes (homosexuals) and macs (pimps)!”

I took a deep breath and said, “I suppose so.”

Letting out a roar of rage, Bart grabbed my hat from the table and, throwin’ it to the floor, stomped it out flat. He looked at me with triumph in his eyes and said, “You yeller-bellied coward! Git the Hell out of my sight!”

Cold fury gripped me as I stared at my hat. That Stetson had cost me three months’ wages, and had just got to the point where it was comfortable to wear. My jaw set firmly, I stood up and threw my rye in his eyes.

With an inarticulate oath, Bart clawed for his iron. Before his gun could clear leather, I put two .45 slugs through his heart. The look of surprise Bart’s face matched my own, for I had never drawn on a man before.

Sure, I had fought in the Civil War, but never this close up and personal. The only thing I shot on roundups was coyotes, rattlers, and an occasional ornery longhorn steer. This was different.

I looked down at the bloody hole I’d made in Black Bart’s chest and called the weddin’ off. I couldn’t marry Robin now. I was a killer. If she married me, she’d always be wonderin’ if I’d be alive the next day, if some young greenhorn lookin’ for a reputation as a gunfighter hadn’t gunned me down. That was no life for her, she deserved better.

I turned my white face to Peaceful and said, “Dan, you’ll tell her for me, won’t ya? I gots ta go afore the Marshal gets here.”

Peaceful nodded, a grim look on his face, and watched as I walked to the door. Goin’ out, I almost ran into Robin. Not what I’d wanted.

“Are you alright?” She asked with wide eyes.

“Yes’m,” I replied in a low voice. “Black Bart was jealous of you’n me, and tried ta pick a fight with me.”

“She reached out and placed a hand on my arm. “What happened?”

I couldn’t bear to look into those beautiful brown eyes, so I stared at my boot tops.

“Well, ma’am, he sorta died of a case of the slows.”

“You killed him?”

“Yes’m. It was him or me, and I’m kinda partial to myself, so I fetched ‘im.”

I looked up to get one last look at her sweet face.

“I guess the weddin’s off, Robin. No sense in you bein’ known as ‘Mrs. Killer’. I’ll go fetch Heller and be off.”

Leaving her there, I went to the livery and saddled Heller. I rode back to the Last Chance and noticed a rider out front. With surprise, I saw that the rider was Robin.

With a smile as beautiful as any sunrise I’d ever seen, she said, “Mrs. Killer sounds better than Mrs. Saguaro. We don’t have to be married in El Paso.”

Behind us, Peaceful rode up and said, “Well, I was gettin’ quick sick of El Paso. ‘Sides, you’ll be needin’ a best man wherever ya git hitched.”

While I was tryin’ ta cope with this rapid turn of events, Marshal Thompson came out of the saloon. Slowly rolling a cigarette, he lit it and began talking to no one in particular,

“Yup. I best git a posse together. Killer must’ve headed south fer Mexico. Probably won’t be able to ketch ‘im.” He turned to Peaceful. “Say, friend, did you see the killer? A handsome feller wearing blue and red?”

Peaceful looked as thoughtful as was possible for him and replied, “Well now, don’t reckon I did. I’ve been with Sam and Miss Reuter all evening. Besides, Sam here is all ugly and is wearing green and grey.”

Robin decided to put her two cents in, “We were making plans all evening, Marshal. We’re going to Abilene to be married.”

Marshal Thompson looked at me and grinned. “Best wishes on your upcoming nuptials!” he said.

He then continued, “Could you do me a favor, friend?”

“Sure, Marshal, anything at all.”

“Since I’m a-gonna be busy tryin’ ta ketch this fierce killer, would you be so kind as to give Marshal Wayne in Abilene the killer’s description? It would be right neighborly of ya.”

“I think I could manage it,” I said, finally gettin’ into the swing of things. You didn’t have to beat me over the head too many times afore I figured it out.

“You might also tell Marshal Wayne that I said a young man, such as yourself, would make an outstanding deputy. He owes me a favor, and a young couple, just starting out their lives together, could do with a constant income.”

“Yep,” the Marshal went on, “That hombre is likely headed for Mexico.” He looked at Robin and removed his hat.

“Ma’am, I hope yer marriage is long and happy, and I hope yer sons grow as tall and strong as yer husband.”

Robin blushed and said, “Why, thank you, Marshal. May I ask your name?”

Surprisingly, the marshal blushed and said, “Yes, ya may, ma’am. I’m Thompson, Bill Thompson.”

Instead of showing surprise at meeting one of the fastest gunfighters in the West, Robin gently smiled.

“I think Bill would be a great name for our first son, wouldn’t it, Sam?”

I looked at the smilin’ faces of Robin, Bill, and Peaceful, and grinned myself.

“I reckon so,” I said.