April, 2011

Issue #19

It Happened in Oso
by John Duncklee

The first slug slammed into his right shoulder lodging into bone, spinning him around all the way so that he still faced his attacker. The sound of the .37 caliber Potrio followed before he knew what had happened. Then a second spiraling lead bullet struck him in the stomach, spilling his blood onto the dust of Durand Street, the main thoroughfare that split the town of Oso, the county seat of Oso County, New Mexico, into two parts, one gringo, the other Mexican. The man stood precariously weaving back and forth as his blood drained from the gaping hole. He wondered what was bleeding. What had the bullet severed to cause so much blood to gush from his gut. Pain dulled his brain. It was all he could do to keep standing.

The first shot to his shoulder made it impossible for him to draw his own weapon, a .42 caliber Pacemaker, from its low-slung holster tied down to his right thigh just above his knee. Then he saw his attacker approaching slowly with revolver in hand pointing the weapon straight at his heart. His blurred vision managed one clear glimpse. Sam Craver. How in hell did Sam Craver find me?

“Well, Sam, I reckon you are hankerin’ to finish me off,” he groaned.

“Halpern, I suppose I should. I’ve shot horses better off than you seem to be right now,” Craver said without pausing. “I just want you to know that when you messed around with my wife, Kate, you made the biggest mistake of your entire sad life, you scum of the earth. You varmint. You creeping worm.”

Oscar Halpern stood with his blood draining his life to the dust. Sam Craver lowered his Potrio and aimed it at Halpern’s groin.

“You can die knowing your manhood wasn’t attached, you reptile.”

“Leave him be, Sam,” a female voice shouted from the opposite side of the street from Marcy’s Eatery. “I invited him myself.”

A loud rifle shot intruded on the conversation. Craver twisted, bent over, and fell onto the dusty street. His felt hat fell off as he slumped to the ground and the sweated up headpiece landed crown up along side its owner.

A woman on horseback loped up to where Halpern stood ready to fold up his body and fall to the dust with his opponent. She grabbed Halpern under his shoulders and swung him up behind her. “Hold on, Oscar, I’ll get you to the sawbones before you croak.”

Onlookers gathered around Sam Craver. Marcy Ingram, who ran the only eating-place in Oso, leaned over to discover if Sam was breathing. “He’s still alive,” she said to the crowd. “Someone get a blanket and we’ll carry him into my place. Somebody go get Doc Reed.”

Dan Gravy stood there. He enjoyed looking half way down Marcy’s melon-shaped breasts. He had tried on numerous occasions to take her on buggy rides into the country.

“The doc’s probably busy with that other jasper,” Gravy said.

“Tell Doctor Reed that he needs to save this man’s life,” Marcy replied with desperation in her voice. “Get going, Dan. Do something useful for a change.”

The rutted main street of town was constantly splattered with horse manure and sometimes after cattle had been driven across town to the railroad corrals circles of green dotted the road and often helped fill in the ruts made from buggies, freight wagons and infrequent automobiles. Across the street from Marcy Ingram’s eatery the door to the sheriff’s office opened and a rotund man sporting a shiny silver badge attached over the breast pocket of his shirt stepped out of the doorway, looked up and down the main street of Oso, and took out a red plaid handkerchief from his pant pocket and blew his nose with a honk that Marcy heard just as she started back inside her restaurant. The Sheriff took a fresh cigar from his shirt pocket, reached into his pant pocket again and took out a small jackknife that he opened. He then proceeded to cut the tip from the cigar. After accomplishing that operation he took the cut off tip, and popped it into his mouth before grabbing the cigar with his teeth and lips and lighting it with a match that he had struck on the edge of the office door. He sucked on the cigar and blew out a cloud of smoke toward the street without taking the cylinder out of his mouth. Again he glanced up and down the street before stepping forth to walk to Marcy’s for a cup of coffee. Marcy stood by her door and watched. When Sheriff Bell reached halfway he seemed like it was the first time he had noticed Marcy waiting for him. He stopped, removed the cigar from his mouth and flick off the ash with his little finger.

“I heard some shots out here, Marcy, what in hell was going on?”

“Sheriff, where in the world have you been? There has been two men shot. Neither probably won’t be alive for long and you finally show up after all the shooting is over.”

“Now, Dammit, Marcy, you know I take my nap every afternoon. It was lucky I even heard the shooting.”

Before the sheriff could enter Marcy’s place of business two women arrived trotting with two folded blankets. Marcy went back to Sam Craver’s limp body on the street, grabbed the blankets from the women and wrapped Sam as best she could, trying to lift him gently onto the blankets. She stood up and wiped the sweat from her brow, and looked at the sheriff. “All right, Sheriff Bell, why don’t you earn your salary for a change and carry Sam Craver to Doc Reed’s.”

“You’ll have to give me a hand, Marcy, you know I ain’t supposed to lift anything heavy after that horse rolled on me,” the sheriff said.

“If you hadn’t been so engrossed lighting your cigar that old horse would have fallen on you and just died peacefully in front of the Lucky Dollar Saloon. You grab the legs and I’ll try to hold on to his arms,” Marcy said.

Slowly, the two carried the unconscious Sam Craver to Doctor Reed’s office, and left him in the waiting room after telling the doctor he had another patient to look being back to life. They returned to Marcy’s Eatery where she poured two cups of coffee and sat down at a table opposite the sheriff. With her tin cup full of coffee in her right hand and her left palm under her chin she stared at Sheriff Alfonso Bell. Dan Gravy sat at the counter without paying any obvious attention to the couple. He was the only customer.

“How come you were to run for sheriff to begin with?” Marcy asked Bell.

Well my father is gringo and my mother is Mexicana and Oso County is 50/50 so I figure I couldn’t lose.”

“Was the election close?”

“No I won by a landslide.”

“How did you manage that, Alfonso?”

“Easy, there wasn’t anyone who wanted the job so I had nobody running against me.”

“How long ago was this?” Marcy asked.

“Fifteen years ago, before you came to town.”

“Heavens, that’s before I even knew there was a town or county in New Mexico called Oso.”

”Verdad, true, and I have never had any opposition running for my job since then.”

“Why is that?”

“The only reason I can figure is that I have done a good job of keeping law and order in Oso County.”

“For heaven’s sake, Sheriff, nothing ever happens here, at least until today, and you slept through it all,” Marcy said.

“I’ve been taking my naps every afternoon for fifteen years,” Bell said, scratching his chin with his right index finger.

Marcy glanced toward the door as Kate Craver entered and walked straight to the table where Bell and Marcy were sipping their coffee. Kate stood with arms akimbo glaring down at the Sheriff. “What do we pay you for, Sheriff Bell?” she shouted. “There are two men shot and killed, and you are nowhere to be found.”

Bell looked up at Kate, saw her scowl, and looked back to his tin cup swirling it around nervously. “I was just telling Marcy that I was taking my nap and barely heard the shots.”

“Do we pay you to take naps or keep law and order in this durned county?” Kate asked.

“You said that the two men were shot and killed,” Marcy said. “Are both your husband and Oscar Halpern dead?”

“Deader than mackerel,” Kate said.

“Who shot Sam Craver?” Marcy asked

“I shot that unfaithful slug. He called me unfaithful for spending a little time with Oscar Halpern, and I knew very well Sam was seeing you on occasion, Marcy.”

"How in the world can you accuse me of being with your husband?” Marcy asked, with forced indignation in her voice.

“Come now Marcy Ingram, you have quite a reputation in this burg. Your so-called eatery is nothing more than a house of ill repute and you are both the madam and the girl.”

“I must ask you to leave, Kate,” Marcy said, raising her voice. “What you are saying is uncalled for.”

“I’ll leave,” Kate said, and turned toward the door. Halfway there, she stopped and swirled around. “I’ll leave so you and the sheriff can cuddle up in your bed in the back room.”

Marcy rose from her chair, tin cup in hand and rushed toward Kate. She stopped within four feet of Sam Craver’s widow, and tossed what was left in her coffee into Kate’s face. Sheriff Alfonso Bell kept his seat, and watched the two women in astonishment.

Kate wiped the coffee from her face with her sleeve. “Bitch,” she yelled. “I ought to give you a load of lead from my Portchester.”

Bell rose from his chair and started toward the women. He grabbed Marcy’s her right arm, and tried to restrain her. Kate left the restaurant just as Marcy squirmed away from Bell and grabbed a chair from a nearby table and swung it at the sheriff’s head. One of the chair legs splintered when it hit the sheriff’s skull. His Stetson flew off, and sailed across the room. Bell staggered under the blow and sunk gracefully to the floor unconscious.

Still holding the chair in both hands, Marcy looked down at her target and laughed.

“You have one helluva swing, Marcy,” Dan Gravy said. He had turned around when the yelling started and witnessed the entire situation.

“Nobody grabs me by the arm when I am mad,” she said.

“Do you need help moving Sheriff Bell out of the way?”

“Since you are the only customer and I know very well you really don’t care what is on the floor, I’ll just leave him be, and he can go back to his office when he wakes up.”

“Sure has been a lot of ruckus in Oso today,” Gravy said.

“By the looks of Kate Craver I doubt if the ruckus is over yet,” Marcy said.

Marcy went back to the kitchen area and began washing the dishes in the deep sink. Gravy was still sitting at the counter when she finished and was hoping the entire time that she would bend over and he could steal a glimpse of her bosom.

Gravy’s quest was unsuccessful because Marcy had been well aware of Dan’s ocular intentions ever since she came to town and opened Marcy’s Eatery on Durand Street. Anytime Dan Gravy was in her restaurant Marcy made sure her blouse or dress was pinned securely to disallow Dan a view of her breasts.

About the same time as she went into the kitchen area Sheriff Bell came to and looked around from his position on the floor wondering where he was and what had happened to put him in such a position. Leaning up he felt a sharp pain from the top of his head. He rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up so that he could grab the legs of a table and pull himself up to his feet. He glanced at Dan Gravy and Marcy momentarily before retrieving his Stetson and heading out the door. He was in no mood to make conversation with anyone. He decided that a good stiff drink of mescal would cure his headache so he ambled down Durand Street toward the Lucky Dollar Saloon. Inside the saloon he hesitated to let his eyes become accustomed to the dark interior except for the light hanging from the ceiling over the pool table so that the players could see what they were doing. Two Mexican cowboys were playing a game. One stood holding his pool cue as the other concentrated on a bank shot into the side pocket. The sheriff ambled up to the bar.

Frank Villa, the bartender stepped over and looked into Bell’s eyes. “What will it be today?” he asked.

“I think a double of your best mescal will do it for me,” Bell replied.

Villa took a bottle of mescal from under the bar after putting a double shot glass in front of the sheriff. He poured the glass full of mescal to the point where it came close to spilling over the edge. “I heard some gunfire a while back, Sheriff. What was that all about?”

Bell lifted the full shot glass to his lips and tipped it high so that the entire contents went into his mouth. He grimaced and put the glass back on top of the bar. “A couple a fools fighting over a woman like bulls over a cow in heat,” Bell said. “Might as well pour me another.”

Villa grabbed the bottle from underneath the bar, and brought it up to pour the sheriff another double shot. “Anybody killed?”

“Oscar Halpern and Sam Craver are both dead,” Bell said, and then threw down the second double shot of mescal.

“They must have shot at the same time,” Villa said.

“Damned if I know. I was taking my nap when it all happened.”

“Eso es la vida,” Villas said.

“That’s life, all right,” Bell said, and pushed his way from the bar and left the building. He smiled when he was ten yards away headed toward his office. He thought about the many free drinks he had enjoyed at the Lucky Dollar Saloon since Frank Villa had opened it five years before. Villa had a definite Mexican accent and, for that matter, Bell talked very much the same way. Bell blamed it on his mother teaching him Spanish first and then English. There were times when he wondered about Frank Villa’s background and where he had come from. Villa never revealed any of those facts to anyone. Sheriff Bell didn’t care where he was from as long as the free drinks got put on the bar at the Lucky Dollar.

He was a few yards from the door to the bar when he saw Dan Gravy coming toward him. “Howdy, Sheriff,” Dan said. “How’s your head?”

“My heads just fine, Gravy. After watching all that stuff going on you must have enough gossip for the next six months.”

“Now, Sheriff, I don’t gossip. You should know that. I just tell what I see, and everyone seems to believe me.”

“That depends on how drunk you are when you’re talking.”

Gravy turned, waving a short good-bye to the sheriff and walked into the Lucky Dollar Saloon. Bell continued to his office where he sat at his desk to think about the trouble that had come to “his” town. He took off his Stetson with his left hand and scratched the top of his head with his right fingernails. After putting his hat crown down on the desk he took his chin in both hands and stared through the window in the door, watching Durand Street to see if anything else might be happening. “Nothing ever happens in this stinking burg when I’m awake,” he murmured.

The following afternoon the sheriff sat at his desk after his nap. Again he stared out the window in the front door wondering whom he had heard ride up to the hitch rack at the side of the building. Not bothering to knock, Kate Craver opened the door and strode in like she belonged there. “I just wanted to inform you, Sheriff, that I am filing a recall petition calling for your ouster as sheriff, and holding an election to fill your office with someone who will earn the salary,” she said, enunciating her words with precision. “Here is a copy for your information.”

She slapped several pages onto the desk. “By the way Sheriff Bell, should you decide to reclaim your office, I am running against you.”

Kate swiveled on her high-heeled boots and walked out the door. Sheriff Bell heard her horse’s hoof beats as she reined him toward the Lucky Dollar Saloon.

The sheriff took the petition papers in his hands and slowly read the legal language. “Now, I’ll have to go to the county offices and see what all this crap means,” he said out loud. He rose from his chair, put on his hat and left for the nearby Oso County Court House.

Kate Craver smiled as she rode up to the Lucky Dollar. She had met Frank Villa several times and was confident she could persuade him to aid her in the election in getting the Mexican vote in Oso County. She didn’t worry about the gringos because most were dissatisfied with Alfonso Bell, but could never find anyone willing to run against him. Dan Gravy stood against the bar with a shot of mescal in front of him. He tipped his hat as she approached. “Howdy Missus Craver. Sorry about your husband,” he said.

“Thank you, Mister Gravy. Did you happen to witness the skirmish?”

“No M’am, I was in the restaurant drinking coffee when all the shots happened.”

Kate walked to the end of the bar, out of earshot from Gravy. Villa looked up and met her eyes. “Missus Craver, I am sorry to hear about your husband. Is there anything I can get you?”

“If you don’t mind, I would like a glass of wine and I also need to discuss something with you.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have any wine. All I have is tequila and mescal,” Villa said. “With this prohibition on I don’t want to keep a lot on hand in case those revenue men pay Oso a visit and decide to put me out of business.”

“Well, if all works out with my plan you will have another income besides the bar.”

“I don’t understand what you are saying Señora.”

“Frank, I am passing a petition to recall Alfonso Bell and will run against him and whoever else decides to run. I am offering you a deputy sheriff’s job if you will pass this petition around among the Mexican people and have them sign it so we can get rid of that worthless Bell and bring law and order to Oso.”

“I guess I can do that,” Villa said.

“Tell me about yourself, Frank,” Kate said. “I don’t even know where you came from, just that you rolled in one day, bought the Lucky Dollar and have been here ever since.”

“If I tell you what you want to know you must keep it all a secret. Otherwise I will have to leave.”

“What in the world have you done to worry about being forced to leave Oso?”

“It’s like this, Señora,” Villa said. My real name is Doroteo Arango. I was born down south in Durango. I had to leave after I defended my sister against a hacienda owner and killed him. I changed my name to Francisco Villa. You probably know me as Pancho Villa, the general who invaded Columbus, New Mexico. I think I pissed off General Pershing because he chased me all over the Sierra Madres but I always got away. Anyway, I surrendered my troops to General Huerta in 1920 and went to live on a hacienda called Canutillo that the government gave me. I knew there were some hombres that wanted me dead so I took off in 1922 and drove across the border on July fourth. All the customs people were celebrating their independence holiday and were nowhere in sight. I drove up here to Oso, bought the Lucky Dollar and have been here ever since. Those people in Parral that wanted me dead shot the wrong person and buried him thinking it was General Francisco Villa.”

“That is quite a story Frank. It is amazing that nobody around here recognized you.”

“I shaved off my mustache and I look like just another Mexican.”

“Did you change the name of the Lucky Dollar when you bought it?”

“I just took ‘Saloon’ off the sign and replaced it with ‘Pool’. I keep wondering how long your government is going to try to stop people from drinking.”

“Heaven knows and it’s not telling,” she said. “How do you manage to stay in business?”

“I have no problem with that,” Villa said. I keep the tequila and mescal hidden and don’t keep much out here at the bar in case the policia comes to town. I have good amigos that bring the bottles to me from Chihuahua. They know a hole in the barbed wire that they drive through.”

“It sounds like you have everything figured out,” Kate said, still amazed at the story of General Francsico Villa.

“Do you still want me to be your deputy sheriff?” Villa asked.

“I think you will be perfect for the job. If the revenuers come to town, between the two of us, we can point them in the wrong direction.”

She handed Villa a stack of petitions, gave him instructions and started for the door. Gravy tipped his hat again as she walked by him. Villa examined the petitions, and walked over to Gravy. Handing one to the town ne’er do well Villa raised his left eyebrow. “Señor Gravy, would you like to be the first to sign this petition to recall the sheriff?”

Gravy looked at the paper, turned his head toward Villa and handed the petition back to the owner of the Lucky Dollar. “I don’t think I want to get mixed up in all that political stuff, Frank. Try someone else.”

Gravy finished his mescal and left the bar. He headed straight for the sheriff’s office and found Bell sitting at his desk with his head in his hands.

“Hey, Alfonso, did you hear about that Craver woman passing out recall petitions to get you out of office?”

“She was already here. I wonder why she is so mean. I’ve seen old wild mares that weren’t near as mean as she is.”

“What do you figure to do about it?” Gravy asked.

“What in hell is there to do?”

“You could go around and talk to people.”

“I don’t think I have to worry about all this stuff. I have never been defeated in an election yet.”

“But this time you not only have an opponent, but your opponent is a wild mean woman.”

“She is probably mad because Sam killed her lover boy before she could kill him.”

“Why don’t you arrest Kate Craver for murder and that will solve the recall stuff?”

“I was taking a nap when it all happened and that won’t set well with the voters.”

Gravy shrugged his shoulders and left the sheriff’s office to have a talk with Marcy at her Eatery and see what she was thinking about the latest news to hit Oso.

Within a week, Kate had more than enough signatures on her petitions to file them with the county clerk. Tapping her fingers on the counter, Kate showed her annoyance that the clerk, never having been involved with a recall petition, had to consult with the county attorney to determine what course of action she needed to take. Further delay arose because the county attorney had to research the proper legal procedure for a recall petition and subsequent election. When the obese clerk finally returned waddling up to the counter she suggested that Kate return the following day to find out what needed to be done to hold an election. Kate turned abruptly and strode out of the office and out of the courthouse. The following morning she returned to find that all was in order and that the election would be held in thirty days. The clerk had informed her that the thirty-day period allowed for candidates for the sheriff’s office would have time to run a campaign.

Frank visited as many Mexican families as he had time for and Kate made the rounds of the gringos. They collected twice the number of signatures necessary to call for an election and both huddled across the bar at the Lucky Dollar planning their campaign.

Alfonso Bell did nothing out of the ordinary, making sure he had his nap every day. He didn’t feel comfortable at the Lucky Dollar, so he bought his bottles of mescal and drank at home. He couldn’t understand why his friend Frank Villa had chosen to side with Kate Craver attempting to what he termed “steal” his office of sheriff.

On election day Kate rode around town a few times and worried that not enough voters were showing up to put her in the sheriff’s office, but when the polls closed and the county clerk counted the votes she was delighted that she had won by a significant enough margin. She also learned that Alfonso Bell had one week to vacate the building and turn in the equipment for inventory.

After the transition had been accomplished, Kate pinned her badge on her curvaceous chest and Frank bought a new shirt on which to pin his deputy’s badge. They walked around Oso to show that the law was in good hands and then went back to the office where Kate did most of the talking laying out plans to keep peace in the town and county. At the end Frank complained that he needed more time to keep the Lucky Dollar open, so Kate modified the schedule to suit Frank’s needs at the saloon.

When Frank returned to the Lucky Dollar he found Alfonso Bell and Dan Gravy waiting for him to open. The only conversation was Alfonso requesting to buy two bottles of mescal. Gravy asked for one. Frank went into the back room and carried out three bottle for his customers, took their money and watched them leave. Frank realized that Alfonso had changed his attitude toward him especially since he could no longer expect free drinks at the bar. Bell and Gravy went to Alfonso’s house to drink their mescal and talk over a plan that Alfonso had been thinking about. They sat at the kitchen table with their drinks in front of them. Before taking the first taste Alfonso admonished Gravy to keep what he was about to say a secret.

“Hell’s fire, Sheriff, you know I don’t hardly talk to anyone in Oso,” Gravy said.

“Good,” Bell said, hoping he could trust Gravy. “I am not happy that Frank is a deputy and that Craver woman beat me out of the job I held for fifteen years. I don’t know how to get back at her but I have an idea how to put Frank out of his bootleg bar business.”

“What you figure on doin’, Sheriff?”

“I think that the revenuers would enjoy knowing about the Lucky Dollar selling bootlegged mescal and tequila that has been smuggled out of Chihuahua.”

“I think you’re right, Sheriff. Frank might start thinking about siding with that Craver woman, and come the next election, you could get your job back.”

“You are reading my mind, Dan. I think I will contact those revenuers in El Paso, and see what happens to the Lucky Dollar.”

Two days after Bell reported the Lucky Dollar to the revenuers, Frank Villa received a call from his old friend Jim Clay, who had sent weapons and ammunition into Mexico for Pancho Villa’s army. Because of his job with the United States Government, Jim was privy to most decisions made by the revenuers. Jim was also instrumental in arranging shipments of mescal and tequila to Oso from Chihuahua. Jim and Pancho had been close friends for many years. Jim warned Villa that the Sheriff of Oso County had tipped off the revenuers. They were planning a raid on the Lucky Dollar in three days if all went well with the trip from El Paso.

Frank hurried over to the sheriff’s office and told Kate that he would be busy and why. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“If you want to forget about law and order for a while, you can come to the Lucky Dollar and help me carry mescal and tequila bottles down into the cellar.”

“Are you sure Alfonso Bell tipped them off?”

“That’s what my friend Jim told me. Bell even told them he was the sheriff of Oso County.”

“I ought to go over and arrest him for impersonating a law officer,” Kate said.

“I think it is better not to do anything that might let Bell know that we know what is coming from El Paso. In fact, I will carry the bottles to the basement myself.”

“This might be exciting!” Kate said.

Frank returned to the Lucky Dollar and began by lifting up the heavy trap door in the floor that led to the cellar composed of three rooms, each with shelving from floor to ceiling on each wall. It took Villa two days to transfer all the bottles from his storeroom on the ground floor, down the stairs into the cellar. After finishing the chore, he spread an old rug over the closed trap door. He went to his room in the rear of the Lucky Dollar and went to sleep. He hadn’t worked as hard a since he was riding through the Sierra Madres eluding ”Black Jack” Pershing and his “flat lander” soldiers.

The following morning he fixed an early breakfast of beefsteak and frijoles before walking to the Sheriff’s office to tell Kate he was ready for the revenuers any time they arrived to raid the Lucky Dollar.

“I left the sign up so they could find the place easily,” he said.

“Why make it easy for them?” Kate asked.

“Because what I have in store for them is something I look forward to.”

“When will they arrive in Oso?” Kate asked.

“Maybe late today. I will be ready for them whenever they get here.” Villa then voiced a string of Spanish epithets and waved his hands as he spoke.

“What does all that mean?”

“It is probably good that you didn’t understand. It was my personal message to the revenuers and the government that would not help me in the war.”

Villa returned to the Lucky Dollar, made sure the entrance door was locked and then took a position in a grove of trees across the road from the bar. He had brought a kitchen chair out there previously so he would have a place to sit while he waited for his prey.

A black sedan drove up, paused for a few moments and then parked in front of the Lucky Dollar. Frank remained seated obscurely in the grove of trees. Three men in dark suits and fedora hats got out of the car and walked casually toward the entrance door.

“This has to be the place,” the first officer to arrive at the door said.

“The sign says ‘Lucky Dollar Pool’, and that’s what the Oso Sheriff told the Chief,” the shorter of the three said.

The first man tried the locked door. “The door is locked. Maybe the owner got wind of the raid.”

“He’s probably inside and locked up when he saw us drive up,” the first man said. “Get the ram and we’ll see what kind of booze they drink in Oso.”

The shorter man walked back to the sedan and opened the trunk from which he took an iron pipe with an angle welded to one end and handles on the other. He returned to the door. “Who gets to open the door?” he asked.

“Since I am in charge of this raid I think I should be the one to open the door,” the first man said. The shorter man handed the battering ram to the leader and stood back out of the way. First the leader of the raid knocked hard on the door several times with his fist.

“This jasper ain’t about to open his door to us,” he said and lifted the ram into position. It took three thrusts of the ram to splinter the door and the doorframe so that the three could gain entry to the building under suspicion.

Villa waited until all three had entered his building until he stood up from the chair and walked to the Lucky Dollar to stand in the open doorway. “Can I help you?” he asked.

The three revenuers had reached the far end of the bar and were about to go to the storeroom. They stopped dead in their tracks and turned toward Frank Villa standing in the doorway complete with his badge pinned on his new shirt.

“Are you Sheriff Bell?” The leader asked.

“No, I am the owner of the Lucky Dollar. Alfonso Bell is no longer Sheriff of Oso County.

The three revenuers started walking toward Villa. Villa pulled out his Potrio and pointed it at the men. “I don’t know who you people are or who you think you are, but you have broken down my door and damaged it beyond repair. I liked that old rustic door very much.”

The leader pushed his head toward Villa, and looked at him with glaring eyes. “We are from the government and are raiding this establishment because it was reported to be selling bootlegged liquor.”

“I think you have made a mistake, gentlemen. And, I must insist that you pay me the damages to my door. I think a hundred dollars should cover the repairs.”

“That is preposterous,” the leader said. “Lower your weapon. We are officers of the government.”

“I will lower my weapon as soon as I see one hundred dollars on the bar.”

“We need to look around inside here some more,” the leader said.

“Help yourselves, but put your weapons on the bar first,” Villa said.

“We are government officials.”

“I really don’t care who you say you are. You broke my door and I want a hundred dollars for the repairs.”

“You are being very difficult, Sir.”

“Thank you. ‘Sir’ sounds quite appropriate. I think I need to take you under arrest to the Sheriff.”

“This is getting completely out of hand.”

“All right, let’s go. All three of you get in line and we are going to visit the Sheriff of Oso County.”

Frank took his position in back of the revenuers and marched them up to Durand Street and into the Sheriff’s office where Kate sat at her desk. “What do you have here, Deputy Villa?”

“These people claim to be government officials, but they broke down the door to the Lucky Dollar and refuse to pay me a hundred dollars for repairs.”

“Hmm,” Kate murmured

“Gentlemen, this is Sheriff Craver.”

The three revenuers looked wide-eyed at Kate, tipped their fedoras and stood waiting for their fate.

“Put them in the cell, Deputy, until they decide to pay those damages. We can’t have people going around town breaking doors down for no reason.”

“Now wait a minute, Sheriff. Let’s see if my fellow officers and I can come up with the hundred dollars.”

The three officers rummaged in their pockets and put what money they carried on the Sheriff’s desk and counted it. The amount came to ninety-six dollars and forty cents. “That’s all we have, Sheriff Craver,” the leader said.

“It’s up to Deputy Villa to say if he will accept that amount.”

They looked over at Frank. He put his right hand on his chin, scratched the stubble a couple of times and brought his arm down to his side. “I suppose that might cover it if I do the work myself,” he said, and went over to the desk and collected the money.

“Now gentlemen, what was it that brought you to Oso?” Kate asked.

“A man who called himself Sheriff Bell contacted us, and said that the Lucky Dollar is selling bootlegged liquor,” the leader said.

“I think you might be more careful when a man claiming to be Sheriff tells you something that isn’t true,” Kate said.

“Are we still under arrest?” the leader asked.

“I will release you if you go straight back to your automobile and go back to wherever you started from. And, please don't waste our time again. We are far too busy keeping law and order in Oso County than to deal with bumbling government officials.”

When Prohibition ended in 1933 Frank and Kate held a big party for the town of Oso. She had never lost an election and Frank was still her only deputy. Even Alfonso Bell attended the party.

A month later Kate was sitting at her desk when Frank Villa drove up in his Cadillac convertible. She stood up from her desk and walked out the door to see her deputy grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s with the grin, Frank?”

“I sold the Lucky Dollar to an hombre from California,” he said.

“Why on earth did you sell the Lucky Dollar now that Prohibition has ended?”

“Kate, it just isn’t fun any longer.”

“Golly gee,” she said. “I was thinking the other day that we ought to get married.”

“I appreciate your thought dear Kate, but I already have two wives—one waiting for me in Durango, the other in Parral.”

“Francisco Villa, Doroteo Arango, whoever you are, you are an old devil. But, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Kate. Adios!”

Click here to be notified when each new issue comes out!