Francis Louis Guy Smith

The Salado Kid

Copyright © 2013 Books by Guy.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, without written permission from the author.

ISBN:

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Dedication

To all the screenwriters and those with vivid imagination, who came up with masked hero’s, such as Fran Striker (The Lone Ranger) and Paul Franklin (The Durango Kid).  We owe you all for what you gave us in a time of need.

Acknowledgements

All historical references are from Wikipedia, the free on line encyclopedia.

Editing by Dorothy McWha.

Foreword

The Salado Kid is an exciting story of a hero of the ‘Old West’ when Texas needed to be tamed. It took all kinds of people to make Texas a safe place to live. The hero in this story had the courage to go against the bad guys and bring law and order to the west.

Dorothy McWha

Homemaker, Bookkeeper

In 1891, the country was finally settling down from the effects of the Great War. West Texas was one of the exceptions. Dumas, Texas was a booming town and rumors of gold in the bottoms of the Canadian River had brought even more settlers into the panhandle. Outlaws were running rampant over sodbusters that had homesteaded the land along the Canadian from one end of the river to its termination point somewhere in the New Mexico territory.

There was no surface water in the narrow, winding river, but the bottomland around it was fertile and great for planting wheat and other crops.

Other men who came into the territory were there to find the golden rocks that would make them rich. It didn’t matter who they had to run over or kill to get it. Greed was the driving force behind many normally honest men. Greed was also behind those who came into the territory to deceive their neighbors and take what they could get. Even at the point of a gun.

One such man moved into Dumas and no one knew where he came from, but he was a very wealthy individual. Within a month, he had bought the one saloon in town and was determined to buy up every other business in the thriving community.

A month after buying the saloon, he opened the first bank in town. He called it The Greater Dumas Throckmorton Bank. The owner of the bank and saloon was Oliver P. Throckmorton. He was wanted in the Oklahoma territory for bank robbery, extortion, and murder.

Others, who had come before the gold was discovered, were settled in and did not want to give up what they had worked hard to create. Farmers were having a hard time of it, but they knew only one thing. Growing crops and working the land. Few went after the rock that drove men crazy.

One of those homesteaders who chose not to pursue the raging fever was the Dawson family. Frank Dawson, his wife Myrtle, his son Brad and his son’s wife Delores had homesteaded a section of land on the upper reaches of the Canadian and did not think they would be bothered. The gold, after all, was way down the river, closer to Amarillo.

All the settlers were worried about the raids that took place in the middle of the night and burned people out, or scared them into giving up their homesteads and leaving the country. Some were never found nor heard from again.

Oliver P. Throckmorton had hired a gang of wanted outlaws from his days in the Oklahoma territory to come in and either frighten the settlers into leaving or suffer the consequence.

The Dawson’s had been warned before, but were not going to be chased off the land they had worked so hard to improve. Brad’s young wife Delores was with child and the happy couple was looking forward to becoming parents like Brad’s folks.

__________ ….. __________

Lefty Lackey was a ruthless, immoral, wanted fugitive who led the gang that Throckmorton had brought in from the badlands. He and his gang of ten ruthless killers made masked raids on farms and gold mine claims in the dark, so no one could identify them.

On one of those raids into the headwaters of the Canadian River, they rode onto the Dawson farm and set fire to the Dawson barn. Frank Dawson and his wife Myrtle ran out of the house with buckets to extinguish the fiery inferno. Brad followed after, seeing that his wife stayed in the cabin, safe from the fire and gunshots that were sure to erupt.

As Brad, threw the first bucket of water a searing pain ran through him as three bullets tore through his body. He tried to get to his feet to help his parents, but could only stagger around until he lost his footing, and fell into a pool of blood. He watched, as cold- blooded outlaws murdered both his parents. The last thing he remembered before he lost awareness, was the cabin, where his wife was hiding, exploding into flames.

The house, barn, and all other buildings went up in flames, leaving Brad to watch through glazed eyes as his entire world fell apart. The pain finally became so excruciating that he lost cognizance. Sometime during the dark, starry, night, his eyes opened and he thought he had died and gone wherever dead people go. He hoped he was in heaven. His body was swaying to some kind of movement.

He was in and out of consciousness for a long time before he realized that someone had tended his gunshot wounds and, that through the pain and delirium he was recuperating. It was the last thing he wanted to do.

His mother and father were dead, and so were his wife and child. There was nothing more to live for. For week’s he was in and out of fever and near death. He cried out for his wife and family.

On a bright sunny summer day, he opened his eyes again and found he was fully conscious and aware of what was going on around him. He was in a teepee; the hand of a young red woman was washing his head.

“Where am I?” He asked. “Why didn’t you let me die?”

“You with friends. My husband save you from fire. We are Jumano. We, like you, have no home. We must keep moving to follow the buffalo.”

Brad Dawson did not care about what she said. He wanted to be with his own wife. He just wanted to die. He closed his eyes and once more found a deep sleep. When he awoke, again, it was dark and the woman was still there.

“You eat now.” She handed him a bowl of some sort of liquid. It didn’t taste bad and he was starving, so he sipped until it was all gone, then went back to sleep.

He woke at times, and found that he was being moved on a travois. He had no idea where he was or where they were taking him and he did not care. The young farmer could see that he was among a small band of Indians. No one spoke except the woman who tended him. Occasionally a man, walking alongside, would bend down and look at him out of curiosity.

Finally, after several months, he was able to get to his feet and walk short distances. The man who had looked down at him, walked along with him on the slow treks.

“I am black warrior.”

Brad finally took a good look at the man and realized he was part Indian and part black man.

“Is that your name?”

“My name Charro. I am black warrior.”

“I am Brad Dawson.” Why did you save me?”

“Red man or black man no likes to see man die. Bad men burn your home. Kill others. You no die. You go get bad men?”

“I do not know. You should have let me die.”

“You go get bad men. I help. I know where find bad men.”

“We’ll see.” Brad did not have much interest in killing bad men for now.

“Bad men kill your woman. Kill you papoose. You kill bad men!”

Brad Dawson did not reply. He still wanted to go be with his wife. He continued to travel with the small band of Jumano Indians for several weeks and he was beginning to get back to the form of a strong young man.

He had awakened in a teepee all alone just after daybreak, and heard the sound of a horse whicker outside the flap. Charro and the others, including the women were on a hunt for buffalo, so he knew it was not them. He lifted the flap, and peered into a bright sun and saw a shadowy silhouette prancing around and stamping his feet. Stepping outside, he managed to get a better look at the animal standing in front of the teepee.

It was a magnificent, mane swirling in the sunlight, coal black stallion rearing on its hind legs. Brad could only stand and stare. He had never seen such a beautiful horse. It was almost as if it had descended from heaven without the riders of the Apocalypse.

The stallion did not run away or even try to leave, but stomped his foot and dipped his head at the lone man standing there. Brad slowly approached him, and allowed by the black, he touched him on the nose and along the withers. The stallion shook his head in response. For some reason, this beautiful stallion wanted to be his friend.

At that very moment, the young farmer saw a way to get revenge on the men who had murdered his family. He would find a way to help all those who needed rescue from the likes of the outlaws. First, his priority must be to find some kind of surprise and to hide his identity.

When Charro and the others returned from the hunt, they saw a different man than they had left all alone in a teepee. He was standing with his arm around the neck of a great black stallion. Charro recognized it as a sign from God.

“You go kill bad men now? I help!”

“First, I must find a way to hide who I am.”

“Charro give Brad Dawson much gold rock. Then Brad hide who he is.” He went into the teepee and came back with a handful of gold nuggets. You go. Get what you need. You ride my horse. We keep black one here for you. You give black one a name?”

“I will call him Storm, because he came from the heavens in a roar.”

Brad left the stallion, Storm, with the Jumano and rode into the nearest town, which was just across the border in New Mexico. In Tucumcari, he found everything he needed or wanted to accomplish his disguise.

First, he found black trousers, shirt, and boots, and then a double holster and black gun belt with silver trim. A black hat and handkerchief were next, and then he found a saddle and bridle, all black with silver Conchos and trim. Pearl handle, chrome plated twin forty fives set everything off. Mounted on the black stallion, Storm, he would be nearly invisible. He had to buy a packhorse to carry everything back to the camp.

He arrived back at the Jumano camp before dark, and showed Charro and the others what he had accrued.

“What name you use?” Charro asked, and was met with a blank stare.

“Name?”

“Where you come from?”

“Well, before my folks came west, we lived in Salado, Texas. That is it! I will be the Salado Kid. I will root out injustice wherever I find it. I will bring all the outlaws and murderers to justice. They’ll pay for what they’ve done. That is my promise to my parents and to my wife and child. Charro, I’ll need your help.”

“I will help. My people will help. We will be your hideaway. We keep move, they no find Salado Kid.”

__________ ….. __________

Before he could go fight crime, the Salado Kid must saddle the black stallion, he called Storm and made sure he could ride him. He did not want to break the spirit of the great animal; he wanted him as a partner in his escapades. They would ride under the cover of night and interrupt the raids of the murderous outlaws.

Brad Dawson became part of the Jumano tribe, staying close and wearing the buckskin of his friends, along with moccasins and a colorful headband. Together they traveled the tall grass of the Llano Estacado. They heard from others, the devastation that was taking place along the Canadian River.

For two months, Brad listened and observed the activities of Lefty Lackey and his gang until he had found a flaw in their operation. They had developed a pattern. After he had figured out what they were doing, Brad picked a night for his entrance into the world of a masked rider fighting for justice for farmers, like his family.

Sitting astride Storm under a cluster of trees, he watched as a group of masked riders rode slowly onto the farm of a family who had worked hard to hang on. One of the outlaws lighted a torch, and then lit another one off it in the hand of another raider.

In the glow from the torches, barrels of two, chrome six guns shown through the dark moonless night. Twelve inches of fire blazed out the end of two shiny barrels and three outlaws hit the ground, one of them dropped a torch as he tumbled from the saddle. The man carrying the other flaming torch, threw it away and spurred his horse to a run. Confused and unaware of where the shots were coming from, the rest of the gang turned and rode at a full gallop into the dark night.

The owl hoots did not even return fire as they scattered to the winds of the Texas plains. The Salado Kid holstered the two chrome pistols and rode away in the other direction. He had completed his first foray into the world of lawlessness. The Salado Kid was on the trail.

__________ ….. __________

The Kid rode back to the encampment with a new feeling of worth. He had seen the enemy and won the first round. When he arrived back at the Jumano village, he unsaddled Storm and turned him loose to roam the grasslands through the night. Knowing that he would return at first light to spend the day out of sight of enquiring eyes, Brad would sleep much better after their first victory.

Charro helped Brad construct a somewhat larger teepee, than the others, for the Stallion to call home. The black saddle and all the clothing worn by the Salado Kid were kept in the same shelter, in the center of the circle of teepees, and to the outsider, it looked like a council meeting lodge. When the small tribe traveled, the saddle and all the Kid’s gear, was covered on a travois, as were all the other village shelters and clothing.

The black stallion was turned loose to roam free when they moved, and always showed back up when they had settled in a new location.

Two days after his first run-in with the outlaws, the Salado Kid rode hell bent down the main street of Dumas, Texas as the sun was dipping low over the western horizon. Without slowing, he threw two shots from each chrome barrel into the air. Men scrambled to get out of the way of the magnificent black stallion and his mysterious rider in black.

“Who is that man in black?” A wide-eyed man standing on the boardwalk at Throckmorton’s saloon yelled.

As he spoke, the Kid holstered one chrome six-shooter and threw a large stone through the bat wing doors, rolling it across the floor until it stopped at the feet of Lefty Lackey.

“What the heck is that?” He yelped as the rock hit his foot.

“Well, pick it up and see.” One of the other men spat a stream of tobacco juice into a brass spittoon. “Looks like a rock to me!”

Throwing the scruffy looking owl hoot a dirty look Lefty bent down and retrieved the paper wrapped stone. “Looks like some kind of a letter.”

“No kiddin! We can see that! What do it say?”

“Ain’t none of yore business, it’s addressed to the boss. I’ll let him read his own mail.”

“Ain’t no mail! Mail got stamps. Don’t see no stamp.”

Lefty shot him another dirty look, turned and walked to a door in the back of the room. Three others followed. Without waiting, Lefty shoved the door open and stepped into the office of Oliver P. Throckmorton.

A saloon girl jumped from the desk. “Ollie! What’s he doing in here? You said we was alone!”

“Out, woman, we got business.” He brushed the hussy aside.

When she had gone, he turned to Lefty. “How many times I told you to knock before you come in to my office?”

“It’s important, boss. Somebody threw this rock through the door!”

“Did it hit you?”

“One of the others laughed loudly. “ Hit em on the foot. Shoulda seen him jump!”

“Shut up Roscoe.”

“Well, what is that paper in your hand?”

“Letter, boss. Addressed to you.”

“Well, what does it say?”

“I didn’t read it. It’s addressed to you.”

“Give it here!” Ollie grabbed the paper from Lefty’s hand.

He dropped into his chair and read the short note from the Salado Kid.

“Who is this Salado Kid?”

“Who?”

“Says Salado Kid wrote this letter! Who is the Salado Kid?”

“Never heard of no Salado Kid. Roscoe, you know who it is?”

“Must be that hombre threw that rock and hit yore foot.”

“I know that! Who is he?”

Throckmorton looked at the two arguing men. “Well, don’t just stand there. Go see if anybody saw him.”

The two bungling outlaws stumbled out onto the boardwalk. There a group of men was standing in a cluster.

“Anybody see who threw this rock?” He held out the rock that had bruised his big toe.

“I reckon it was that man in black rode through here.”

“What man in black.”

“That one rode through town shooting off them two purty chrome six guns. He was riding a big black stallion and wore a black mask.”

“A mask? Who was he?”

One of other men in the group spoke up. “Don’t know who he was, but he wore all black, ceptin that silver trim on his holsters and saddle, and them shiny six guns. Plum near invisible, he was.”

“Musta been that Salado Kid the boss was talkin bout.” Roscoe spat on the boardwalk.

“Salado Kid? Who is that?” Another man spoke up.

“That hombre wrote that letter to the boss.”

“So, that’s who he is.”

“Must be that hombre run us off the other night. That’s why we couldn’t see him.” Roscoe blurted out.

Lefty gave him a dirty look and slapped him on the shoulder. “Shut up, Roscoe.” Lefty turned and walked back into the saloon and headed for Throckmorton’s office.

“Found out who that hombre is, boss.”

“I know who he is. He’s the Salado Kid. Did you see him? What’s he look like?”

“I didn’t boss, but everybody on the street seen him. He wears all black and rides a black stallion. Wears a mask too.”

“A mask? Is he an owl hoot like you?”

“Must be that man shot at us the other night.”

“Says he already killed three of my men. Says if we don’t stop raiding them sodbusters and miners he gonna kill some more of us.”

“That’s got to be him. He sure got three of my men and we didn’t even see him. What we gonna do boss?”

“We gonna find him and kill him! That’s what we gonna do! Now get out there and look for him.”

“But boss, it’s dark out there. How we gonna find him in the dark. He’s invisible!”

“I don’t care how you do it, just go find him and shoot him down like a dog. Git!”

__________ ….. __________

Sunset, two days later, found the Jumano clan gathered along the banks of the Canadian River across from Tascosa. Indians were not allowed in the town, for fear they would scalp all the drunken cowboys lying in the street. Most of who were from cattle drives on their way to Dodge City. Some had been left behind by drives long gone.

Even though Brad wore the buckskins and moccasins of the Jumano, no one mistook him for a red man. He was free to roam the stores and businesses and pick up tidbits of information.

Late in the afternoon, he heard talk of a raid on miners just downstream of the town. Lefty Lackey and his gang were going to attack the miners and kill them all or run them off and jump their claims.

Once again, a group of outlaws rode into a miners claim with torches held high.

Lefty spoke in a muffled voce behind a tobacco stained mask. “You got five minutes to clear out. I’m timing you! You ain’t gone by then, I shoot you dead!”

“Wait a minute, mister. You wouldn’t shoot a poor, defenseless unarmed man, would you?”

It was not the miner begging for his life, but a voice out of the darkness behind the owl hoots. One of the men whirled and tried to get off a shot at the shadowy figure. Fire belched from the barrels of two chrome six guns and the outlaw who turned, bit the dust.

“Now, if I was the rest of you boys, I would blow out them candles you’re holding and ride on. I don’t cotton to no killing don’t need to be done, but my finger sure is getting itchy right now.”

“Let’s go, boys. We’ll meet up with this hombre again when he don’t have the drop on us.”

“Be careful Lefty, you might get more than you bargain for. Now git!”

The Salado Kid fired a blazing shot over the head of the outlaw gang leader. Lefty kicked his mount in the ribs and took off at full speed into the shadows of a dark night.

Once more, the Kid had foiled the plans of Oliver P. Throckmorton. He would be furious when Lefty got back to Dumas and told him what had happened.

The black stallion pranced and walked into the cold waters of the Canadian, crossing over and turning downstream to take the Salado Kid back to the village and then go for a romp with the small herd of mustangs he had found to run with.

The Salado Kid once more transformed into the mild mannered farm boy who had found a home with the Jumano. He sat around a fire with his friend, Charro and told of how the outlaws ran away in fear.

“I am glad you saved me, Charro. I miss my wife and parents, but I have found a new purpose for my life. I will strike fear into the hearts of all that hear about the mask man who helps the poor and downtrodden. They will keep their homes and mining claims. When my work is done here, we will move on to other places where people need our help.”

They sat and talked until Storm came frolicking into the village and headed straight for the council lodge. Then Brad Dawson turned in for another night of peaceful sleep.

First light brought a thundering of hooves into the village, waking everyone. Charro and Brad Dawson were the first two to see the oncoming riders. It was Lefty Lackey and six of his outlaw gang. They pulled rein right in front of the council teepee.

“Can we help you men with something?” Brad stepped up beside the mount that Lefty was riding.

“We looking for a man.”

“No strangers been by here. What did he look like?” Brad had to smile inside as he waited for the outlaw to describe their prey.

“Don’t know what he looks like. Rides a black stallion. Dresses all in black. Carries chrome forty fives on his side

“Wow! Does he wear a mask too?” Brad knew that the raiders had not gotten close enough to see the Kid’s face.

“Don’t know nothing bout no mask. We gonna find that owl hoot and string him up. That’s all I know.”

“Owl hoot! How do you know he’s an owl hoot?”

“He rides around in the dark, shooting people. That’s how I know!”

“Funny, I hear the same about you boys.”

Lefty Lackey yanked on his reins, pulling his horses head around and rode out of the village, followed by the other six.

The Salado Kid and his Indian companions had a good laugh as they rode out of sight. Storm nickered his agreement from inside the council tent.

__________ ….. __________

A small rancher between Dumas and the Canadian river had been verbally speaking up for the homesteaders in town and people were beginning to listen to Robert L. Parker.

Oliver P. Throckmorton did not like it. It was his intent to run all the homesteaders out of the country and take the land they would leave behind.

It wasn’t long before Lefty Lackey and his gang of cutthroats began to rustle cattle on Parker land. As always, they did not want to be identified, so they wore masks.

After a week of every night raids on the rancher, a masked man riding a black stallion came thundering across the plain firing two chrome plated forty fives at the rustlers, dropping one from the saddle. The others turned and ran their cayuses as fast as they would go.

When they were gone, the masked rider rode to the ranch house of Robert Parker. The silver Conchos on his saddle glistened in the moonlight as he rode slowly through a small white picket gate. He pulled rein in front of a white boarded house with green trim around all the windows. Dismounting, he dropped Storm’s reins.

“Don’t move mister. I’ve got a scattergun pointed right at your mangy face. Now, take that mask off and let’s see who the rustler is.

“I’m not a rustler ma’am. If you lower that scattergun, I’ll tell you who I am.”

“What makes you think I won’t shoot you?”

“Cause I’m a peaceable man ma’am. Don’t want any trouble. I’m here to help. My name is the Salado Kid, fighter of bad and evil. I intend to find justice for the homesteaders and miners, and ranchers too, where they are wronged. I too was a victim of men like Lefty Lackey and the man who sent them.

“Put the gun down, Molly. This man is no outlaw. I saw him run them rustlers off.” A tall man stepped out of the shadows and walked around the porch.

“But Pa. He’s wearing a mask!”

“That don’t mean he’s an outlaw. I heard tell of a man in black running that bunch off from some of the settlers and miners.” He turned to the Kid. “That be you?”

“Yessir. I am the Salado Kid. I hide my identity so I can fight the outlaws in the dark of night where they hide and do their evil deeds. I am a friend to all peace loving people.”

Molly Downey lowered her head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry I pointed that scatter gun at you mister Salado. I didn’t know. “

“That’s all right, Miss Mollie. You were just protecting your home. I will be around at night. I won’t let those men take any more of your cattle.”

“Thank you, mister..... Mister?”

“Just call me the Kid, ma’am.”

The Salado Kid mounted Storm and touched him in the ribs, The Magnificent stallion left with a burst of speed and galloped into the dark night.

__________ ….. __________

Charro sat next to the Throckmorton general mercantile listening to a conversation between two of Lefty’s men. They paid no attention to the half-drunken red man sleeping on a bench in front of the store. It was an everyday thing. Before the sun was down, Charro knew where the raiders would strike that night.

Once again, a bunch of masked outlaws rode down on a miner at his claim on the Canadian river. Guns drawn, they chased him down the river, until he found shelter in the rocks and fired back. From out of nowhere, a masked rider joined in the gun battle from beside the miner. One of the outlaws bit the dust and once again, the cowardly bunch rode away into the night.

“Thanks mister. I thought sure I was a goner. Hey! You’re wearing a mask too! You one of them?”

“No sir! I am here to fight injustice wherever I find it. My name is the Salado Kid.” Once more, he leaped into the saddle and rode into the dark of night.

The next day was a traveling day for the Jumano band. Charro had gotten wind of a big raid on a homestead farther down the river. A friend of Brad Dawson’s father had moved farther down the river from the Dawson homestead. Brad had grown up with the two Martin boys in Salado and they all moved west together.

In no hurry, the Jumano clan moved slowly along the banks of the clear, cold waters until they were within a mile of the Martin homestead.

Brad rode out at daybreak and called on his old friends. They were surprised to see the young man they had heard died in a raid on his father’s place.

“Howdy Mister Martin.” Brad rode cautiously into the front yard of a man he had known all his life.

“Do I know you?” The older man shaded his eyes from the sun with one hand while holding a rifle in the other.

“It’s me Mister Martin. Brad Dawson.”

Suddenly a glimmer of recognition sparked in his eyes. “Brad! We thought you was dead!”

“I am dead, Mister Martin. Where are Johnny and Jimmie?”

“They’re out in the field, plowing. They’ll be glad to see you Brad. Where you been, boy?”

“With friends. Indian tribe called the Jumano.”

“Heard talk of a masked man, helping folks out. You know anything about that? Heard he called hisself the Salado Kid! Wonder why he does that?”

“Mister Martin, I heard rumors that a gang of outlaws was headed your way. I come to warn you. Tell Johnny and Jimmie I’ll be back. Keep everybody close tonight. I’ll try to get back and help. Maybe the Salado Kid will show up.” He turned the paint Indian pony and rode out along the river.

A woman came out of the small sod cabin, wiping her hands on an apron. “John, who was that? Why didn’t you offer him a cup of coffee? I just made an apple pie.”

“That, Sarah, was the Salado Kid. I’m sure of it.”

“I thought he wore a mask. Looked kind of familiar.”

“We will see him again.” John Martin turned to his wife. “Better batten down the hatches. May be trouble coming. Now, where is that apple pie? I better get mine before the boy’s come in.”

__________ ….. __________

The sun was slipping down over the banks of the Canadian River when a group of riders moved slowly across a fresh plowed field. Two of them were holding long torches in their hand waiting to be lit. In the house, John Martin sat by a window watching through a peephole for any movement.

His sons were deep in sleep, worn out from a long day behind the plow. Sarah Martin sat in a rocking chair, dozing, with a copy of the good book held firmly to her breast.

Suddenly shots were fired and bullets chinked against the outside sod of the cabin. John Martin strained to see who was doing the shooting. It was a moonlit night and he could finally see a gang of men riding deliberately toward his home. A bright light appeared as one of the outlaws fired a torch, and then lit another one off it. They held them high and started a gallop toward the front of his home.

Neither of the torchbearers got close enough to fling their flaming sticks. A volley of shots rang out and off to the side of the outlaw gang, John Martin caught the glimpse of two chrome forty- fives blazing in the moonlight. Both of the candleholders catapulted over the necks of their horse, dead before they hit the ground.

The rest of the masked riders turned and fled into the night. Once again, the man in the black mask had outmaneuvered them. The noise woke Sarah Martin and her sons. She turned to look at her husband and the two boys ran into the kitchen from their beds.

“What is it, Pa.? We thought we heard shots.”

“Go on back to bed, boys. You need your rest. The Salado Kid’s got everything under control. Better heat that coffee, Ma. I think we bout to have company.”

“Who?” Both the boys asked in unison.

“An old friend of yours is stopping by, boys. Somebody you used to know.”

A soft knock at the door caused them all to cower, except for John Martin. “Come on in Brad.”

His wife and sons looked at each other as the door slowly inched open. Framed in the moonlight was a man dressed in black with a black mask covering his face.

“Look out Pa! It’s one of them outlaws!” Jimmy Martin yelled to his father, who did not react.

“No, son. That is the Salado Kid. Otherwise known as Brad Dawson.”

“Brad’s dead, Pa. Them outlaws burned out his farm and killed his folks and wife. Don’t you remember, Pa?”

The Kid reached up and slowly removed the black mask. “I thought I smelled an apple pie when I was here earlier, Mrs. Martin. Got any left?”

“Why, it is you, Brad.” Sarah gasped. “We thought you were dead.”

The two boys were speechless.

“I am dead, Mrs. Martin. That is, Brad Dawson is dead. I am the Salado Kid. I am sent to fight for law and justice wherever I find wrong. I know you are my friends and will keep my identity a secret.”

It was nearing light as the Kid rode back into the village and unsaddled Storm and put him into the council tent. Charro was seated next to a fire waiting for his return.

“You gone long time. Think you may be dead. Think Storm gone too.”

“No, Charro. I was visiting with old friends. They are about to give it up and return to Salado. I will miss them. This country is hard on folks. Especially farmers who can’t get a crop in for the heat and dry ground.”

“That why Jumano move all time. Farm too hard. Hunt better. Fish better. No have to work to eat.”

“I think Brad Dawson will make a trip into Dumas. You stay and rest today, Charro. You look tired.”

“Charro fish today. You better change out of black, before Lefty come by again.”

Brad laughed and went into the council tent where he kept all his Salado Kid gear. When he emerged, he was in the clothes of a farm boy from east Texas.

Throckmorton had no idea who the young farmer who rode into Dumas was. It was below his station to speak to or even recognize someone as poor looking as the young man who was checking out his bank building.

Brad strolled up and down the boardwalks on both sides of the street, looking at all the businesses with the name Throckmorton on their signs. He was amazed at how many Throckmorton had forced out of business or paid them more than they could refuse. Usually the offer was made with a threat involved.

After spending a half-day in the town, Brad realized it was time for the Kid to make another visit at sundown.

He rode back to the Jumano village and waited for late afternoon. Waiting until near midnight Brad donned the mask and mounted the great black stallion. It took him forty-five minutes to reach the outskirts of Dumas, riding much slower than the black had wanted. When they touched the edge of town, the Kid gave Storm his head and galloped into the town with both chrome six guns pointed to the sky.

Lefty Lackey was the first to see him coming and yelled at his outlaw friends.

“It’s the masked man! Shoot him!”

His men went diving for cover. One of them yelled back.

“You shoot him. I’m getting out of here. He done killed half of us. I ain’t gonna be next!”

All the others had seen all of the Kid they wanted to. Dodging up and down alleys the four remaining raiders made their way to the livery and saddled their mounts. Firing over their heads, the Salado Kid watched them thunder out of the double doors of the livery and hightail it out of town.

Turning Storm to face the saloon, he pulled back on the reins and reared the magnificent animal onto his hind feet. Lefty Lackey was waving his weapon around trying to get a shot at the elusive black mask. The Salado Kid fired one round from a chrome pistol and hit the cylinder on Lefty’s six-gun. The outlaw gang leader threw the gun and grabbed onto his wrist as he backed through the bat wing doors.

He too, had seen enough of the Salado Kid. The only thing left was to run Oliver P. Throckmorton and Lefty out of the territory. He would leave that for another day and another way. Pulling on the reins, he turned Storm and galloped out of Dumas, leaving the outlaws to wonder where he would show up next.

Riding out of town, he let Storm have his head and rode slowly along the bank of the Canadian river. It was the first time that he felt a sense of relaxation since his wife and parents were killed by the marauders, From somewhere in the trees, he heard the sweet sound of a young woman singing. Whoever it was, was also strumming softly on the strings of a guitar.

He pulled rein on Storm and sat listening for a while. He had heard the voice before. It was the girl that he had helped one night not too long ago. The song moved on his heartstrings and he decided to ride along. There was no time for love in the life of the Salado Kid.

__________ ….. __________

It was almost light when he got back to his friends at the village. He thought about his other friends, the Martins and their trip back to Salado, where he grew up. Soon, it would be time to end the reign of terror that Oliver P. Throckmorton had held on the people of west Texas.

The Salado Kid waited one more day, contemplating how he would take care of the outlaw Oliver P. Throckmorton. When he had decided, he rode away at dusk and headed for Dumas.

Slipping into town under cover of darkness, he found his way to the office of the mayor. He tied Storm to a rail at the back door of the mayor’s home and knocked quietly on the back door. An elderly woman opened the door and without blinking called to her husband.

“Harry, you have company. I think his name is the Salado Kid.”

A short bald man stuck his head around the doorpost and gaped in astonishment.

“What do you want with me? I’ve done you no wrong!”

“It is not you I want, Mayor. It is Oliver P. Throckmorton. I have heard that you were a good man before he came to town. Some say you are honest.”

“That he is!” The mayor’s wife defended him.

“Then you will help me run him out of town?”

“What can I do?”

“Call all the townspeople together that you can trust. I will tell you what to do, then. Have them in front of the saloon at midnight. That gives you thirty minutes to get them there”

The Kid backed out the door and mounted Storm. Riding to the front of Throckmorton’s saloon, he waited until the piano had stopped playing, and the townspeople were gathering along with the mayor, and then called out to the outlaws inside.

“Throckmorton, Lackey, I’m waiting for you in the street!”

A quiet hush came over the normally noisy bar room.

“Don’t shoot, Kid! I’m coming out!” It was the voice of Lefty Lackey. He slowly pushed the batwing doors apart and walked onto the boardwalk with his hands raised high into the air. A shot rang out from inside the saloon and Lefty Lackey, with a shocked look on his face lurched forward, trying to turn to see who had shot him in the back. Oliver P. Throckmorton eased to the door and pointed a revolver at the Kid.

The Salado Kid fired one shot into the hand that was holding the weapon, knocking it from the killer’s grasp.

“Mister Mayor, I think you should arrest that man for murder. You have plenty of witnesses. When he is tried and sentenced, give all the property he has stolen from your townsfolk back to its rightful owners. My work here is done. Adios!”

The Salado Kid pulled back on the reins and Storm stood on his hind legs and waved goodbye to the people of Dumas, Texas. They thundered out of town on their way to another place where there was crime to fight.

__________ ….. __________

Brad Dawson pulled out of the Jumano village at first light, leaving behind the many friends he had been so close to. They had saved his life and created something in him that would go on to other places to fight crime and violence wherever he found it, as The Salado Kid.

Somewhere in the back of his mind was the memory of a childhood. A time when he and the Martin boys, Jimmie and Johnny, played in a series of lost caverns south of Salado, just off the Chisholm Trail.

The caves were many, but were hidden from view to all passersby. The boys, being boys, had found the grottos quite by accident, when they were walking back to their respective farms, from a day of fishing at their favorite spot. The caverns were dark and damp, but some were lighted by the rays of the sun filtering down through a scattering of cedar trees that lined the hills that covered them.

Brad Dawson was an inconspicuous farm boy riding on a wagon, pulled by two mismatched horses. One was a paint, given to him by an Indian friend. The other was a black stallion with a straw hat on his head with both ears sticking through.

The wagon rolled slowly along on the trail that had led many head of cattle up to the railhead at Abilene, Kansas. Brad was returning to the home he had known as a boy.

He thought about Charro and his other Jumano friends as he rode along. He would miss the comradery he had had among his rescuers. Had it not been for them he would not have survived and the Salado Kid would not exist. It was time for the Kid to find a place to call headquarters and a place to hide Storm with more room than a council tent.

Brad had decided to find a cave hidden from view. A cave that Storm could leave at his own need and run with any small herd he may find. Brad knew that the black stallion would always return to him.

Riding through the town of Waco, he heard the sounds of gunfire and tried not to pay any attention, but being the Salado Kid, he could not turn his back on someone wronged. It was his purpose in life now to fight crime and wrongdoing wherever he found it.

Pulling the wagon under a large tree on the outskirts of town, he waited until dusk and tethered the paint near the bank of a small stream. Removing the harness and straw hat from the black, he removed the black saddle from the wagon and placed it on the back of Storm. Donning his Salado Kid attire and strapping on the two chrome plated forty-fives; he threw a leg over the saddle and mounted the prancing steed.

A masked rider entered the raucous main street of Waco under cover of darkness and rode slowly to the front of the busy saloon, from where he had heard the shots. The bullet-riddled body of a farmer still lay on the street where a dirty rotten scoundrel with nothing to do but take the life of a poor dirt farmer who had only wanted to have a drink in peace had left it.

Pulling the two chrome plated forty-fives; he called out to the doors of the noisy saloon.

“Whoever shot this man come and meet your justice!”

A silence fell over the place as his voice penetrated the sound of a player piano banging out a happy tune. A tall ugly man uncoiled himself from the bar where he was holding onto a bottle of rotgut whiskey.

“Who said that?”

He removed a long barreled six-shooter from his holster and waved it around.

“Come from outside, Slim.”

“Yeh, Slim. It come from outside.”

No one in the saloon wanted him to think it was them.

Slim staggered to the batwing doors and peeked through the opening above them. What he saw opened his eyes wide and his mouth fell agape.

Others went to the windows on either side of the door and stared into the dark street.

“Why, I’ve heard tell of that man! It’s that black masked rider called the Salado Kid.!”

“Yeh, that’s gotta be him. Nobody else dresses like that!”

“He’s totin two silver forty-fives.”

“Where is the sheriff of this town?” The Kid asked.

“Ain’t got no sheriff. Slim done kilt him!” A voice called from inside the saloon.

“Well, it’s time you elected another one! Who shot this man?” He pointed to the dead farmer lying in the street.

“Slim done it.” Another voice in the crowd spoke.

“Come on out Slim. You’re going to jail to be tried and hanged for murder.”

“Nobody gonna hang me!” Slim burst through the doors with six-gun blazing.

One shot from a chrome forty-five took the weapon from his hand. Grabbing his wounded hand the outlaw fell to his knees.

“You men come take this man to jail. Come morning, you find a new sheriff and bring law and order back to Waco.”

The black stallion reared onto his hind legs and whinnied his adios, then turned and took the man in black into the shadows of the night. The Kid had avenged another wrong.

__________ ….. __________

Salado creek looked so inviting. It had been nearly five years since Brad Dawson and his family had left the Brazos valley for a new life in the west. Now, all alone, he had returned but with a new perspective on life, and what it held in store for him. He was no longer a simple farm boy with chores to do every day.

Brad stopped at the creek just long enough to water the horses and him. He was tempted to go for a swim as he and the Martin boys had done many times as kids. Instead, he sat under the shade of an elm tree until it was nearing dusk, just soaking in memories.

Crossing the creek, he headed south toward Austin. When he had gone far enough to see the familiar green grass that hid the cavern that he had found as a boy, he made sure no one was around, and then searched, until he found the entrance. Once he located the opening, he drove the wagon under the overhanging limbs that presented an optical illusion, which from a distance, appeared to be a stonewall.

Inside, the chamber was getting dark and the sunlit opening was closing, so he unhitched the horses, and found a familiar spot against one wall of the cave to bed down for the night. It had been a long ride and the stop in Waco had taken much out of him.

__________ ….. __________

The sun filtered through an opening in the top of the cave and shone in the eyes of the young farmer. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but the stream of light followed his movement. Finally, he sat up and looked around, locating the place where the boys had built fires to cook their fish from a day of fishing. He made a pot of coffee and after breakfast, explored the deep cavern until he found a place to hide the wagon. It would provide him with a bed on those times he must rest and recuperate.

Brad spent the next several days building a corral and shelter deep in the catacombs. He wanted Storm and the paint to be well fed and comfortable while they awaited his return from the outside world. When he was satisfied that everything was good, he saddled the paint and rode slowly out of the cavern entrance.

Turning west, he followed the creek upstream for a mile until he came to a small farm. Riding through the gate, he saw two young men chopping wood for their mother’s cook stove. When they saw him, they stopped and stood with their hands shading their eyes from the sun watching his approach.

“Why, I think that’s Brad Dawson.” Johnny Martin recognized his old friend.

“I believe your right.” Jimmy responded.

“Howdy boys. Ya’ll bout ready to go fishing?”

“I wish we could! Got to get this wood chopped for Ma.”

“Your Ma got any more of that apple pie she makes.”

“Naw. She don’t make them apple pies no more.”

“Too bad. I sure am hankering for something sweet.” Brad missed his own mother’s home cooking.

“Is that you, Brad Dawson?” Mrs. Martin stepped out onto the farmhouse porch.

“Yes ma’am. I was just enquiring about them good apple pies you make. Johnny and Jimmy said you don’t make them anymore.”

“Well, I guess they told you right. I bet they didn’t tell you about my Salado creek blackberries though. They sure do make good blackberry pies.”

“Aw, Ma. What did you tell him for? Now we won’t have none left.”

Just then, John Martin rode into the yard. “Howdy, Brad. Made it back to Salado I see. I hope you brought the Salado Kid with you. Lots of trouble brewing. I just come from town. Seems there is a new man in town, trying to buy up everything in sight.”

“John, I got fresh coffee and blackberry pie made. Ya’ll come on inside and talk.”

Brad spent the afternoon with his old friends, visiting and eating blackberry pie. John filled him in on what was happening in Salado.

It was late afternoon when Brad left for the cavern to tend to Storm and spend another night of rest. Tomorrow, he would ride into town and see for himself what was going on. Shadows were falling as he neared the Chisholm Trail and he saw a slight movement on the edge of the creek bank in the brush.

At first, he could not tell if it were man or animal, but as he drew closer, he saw that it was a man spread out and hanging his head into the cold waters of the creek. Brad dismounted and knelt at the side of the bloody body. Whoever it was, had been shot and severely beaten. It appeared someone had attempted to take his scalp.

He was still breathing, so Brad lifted him and hoisted him onto the back of the paint. He was not far from the cave he used for a hideout, so he walked and led the paint into the night air. It was pitch black, but Brad knew where the entrance was. Even blindfolded, he would find it. He led the paint under the hanging tree limbs and back into the depths of the cavern where he had hid the wagon.

Gently lifting the wounded man, he slid him into the bed he had prepared for himself in the wagon. As he began to cover the unconscious man, a talisman dropped from around his neck and fell to the floor of the wagon.

Brad reached down and picked it up. Even in the darkness of the cave, he recognized the medal. The last time he had seen it, it was around the neck of his best friend and the man who had saved his life. The talisman belonged to Charro, his Jumano friend. The young farmer found a lantern and with shaking hands managed to get it lit and held it high above the man’s head. It was not until this moment that he realized that it was indeed, his friend Charro.

How had he gotten there? What had happened to him? What had happened to the rest of the Jumano?

For three days, Charro was in and out of consciousness, talking in his own tongue through delirium and high fever. Brad never left his side. Charro had saved his life and he must return the favor. Finally, the fever began to break and Charro spoke more clearly, although he still did not recognize the man who was at his side.

Th young farmer had managed to trap a couple of prairie chickens and made a broth to help his friend grow his strength. After another week, the Jumano chieftain was able to move around inside the cave. Not until he saw Brad in a stream of filtered sunlight, did he know that his friend had saved him. He had started out to find him, but did not know that he had accomplished his journey.

The two men clasped hands and embraced each other. Both owed the other his life. Charro finally was able to tell Brad what had happened to his small band of Jumano. A large Comanche war party had swooped down on the village at daylight, killing all the inhabitants except Charro, whom they thought they had left for dead. It was not normal for a red man to show pain and hurt, but this man had lost his entire family, as had his friend. He was not a true red man, but raised as one, from the time of his birth by a red woman who was his mother. His father was an escaped slave from Alabama who had died in a battle with Apaches.

In a cave in central Texas, two men vowed to fight together against crime and violence wherever they found it. The Salado Kid in all black and riding the black stallion Storm. Charro would become his partner, riding the bareback paint and would don a half mask of eagle feathers that would cover the partial loss of scalp, and hide his eyes.

The first venture into the world of fighting against the element of outlaws that plagued the west was in the town of Killeen. Four masked men had robbed a bank on a moonless dark night. They were last seen riding out of town, headed east toward Salado.

Charro was back on his feet, in a new set of buckskins, and ready to join the Salado Kid on his quest for truth and lawfulness. It was time for the duo to try out their roles as protector to the downtrodden.

It was near dusk as two magnificent animals eased slowly out of a cavern, both rearing to their hind feet in a greeting to the world. The Salado Kid and his new partner in the war on crime, Charro, galloped away in search of those who would rob and steal from their fellow Texans. Only the chrome of forty-fives and the silver Conchos on the saddle of Storm glistened in the darkness as they rode.

Salado was a quiet town with a group of new settlers who were intent on building a center of higher learning for their children. Salado College was in the process of near completion as the two riders rode past in a slow walk, being aware of their surroundings.

“What you think. Salado? We find bank robbers in your town?”

“Don’t know, Charro. We will start here. There is no saloon in Salado, so they must find another place to hide.”

“Them must hide in Stagecoach Inn. No other place to count their money.”

“We’ll go there first and see.” The Salado Kid touched Storm on the side and galloped onward.

They rode to the Stagecoach Inn on the backside, and tying their mounts, walked up the steep back stairs. Peeping through a window, they saw very little activity in the large room that served as a lobby and dining hall. An elderly couple sat at one table and the only other table occupied had four men seated there. None of them seemed to be involved in illicit activities. A lone waitress sat talking to the night clerk at the check in counter.

Slowly tuning the doorknob, the Salado Kid stepped quietly into the room, followed closely by his sidekick, Charro. The older woman was the first to spot them, and she put her hand to her mouth and gasped.

“Indians! We’ll all be massacred!”

“No ma’am. I am the Salado Kid and this is my partner, Charro. We are looking for four men who robbed a bank over in Killeen. We mean you no harm.”

Her husband turned in his seat.

“The Salado Kid? I’ve heard of you! Nobody said anything about a partner.”

“Charro has joined me in the fight against crime and injustice. From now on, we ride together. Tell your friends we are here for their protection”

“I’ll do that Salado.” The old man stated with pride at being the first to know of Charro.

“How about you men? You know anything about a bank robbery?”

“No sir. We’re cowhands on our way to Abilene with a herd. Just stopped at the creek to water the cattle and get a sit down meal. Been a long hard drive.”

“Well then, you relax and enjoy your meal. Charro and I will bother you no more.” The Kid backed out the door. Although the Kid had an uneasy feeling about the four men, he took them at their word.

When they had saddled, Charro was the first to speak

“Cowboys wear no chaps. Hands not dirty, like cowboys.”

“I know, Charro, but we couldn’t take a chance with innocent people in the room. We’ll wait and follow to see where they lead us.”

“Uhm!”

They did not have to wait long. The four riders made their way out the same back door the two masked men had exited. They stopped and looked around before they mounted. They could not see the duo who watched from near the cold-water creek.

Following the creek bank east, they rode for nearly an hour, and came upon yellow smelly rocks. One of the four stepped down and after looking on their back trail, removed a saddlebag from between two of the yellow rocks.

“Hands up! Drop the bag!” A voice yelled out of the darkness from across the creek. A shiny chrome six-gun was visible in the shadows. One of the saddled outlaws reached for his weapon and fire belched from the chrome barrel across the water. It was his last move.

Two others raised their hands into the air, while the one on the ground dropped the bags and tried for his six-gun. Charro fired once and the crook fell across one of the yellow rocks. The battle was over and the masked duo had won their first encounter with the lawless.

__________ ….. __________

The Salado Kid and Charro rode into Killeen behind the two bank robbers who had surrendered to them. Following behind them down the main street, the duo drew a crowd of onlookers who walked along beside them whispering and pointing.

Dismounting in front of the sheriff’s office, the Kid retrieved the bank bags full of cash and threw them over his shoulder. Waving to the gathered crowd, he entered the lawman’s office. Charro followed behind the two outlaws.

“Sheriff, I think you have wanted to talk to these two.” The Kid dropped the moneybags onto his desk.

“You must be the Salado Kid. Heard tell of you. Who is your friend?”

“This is my partner, Charro. We fight against crime where we find it.”

“Must be nice to have a partner! Sure could use one myself.”

“I know of a young man who wants to be a lawman. If you are serious, I will send him to talk to you.” The Kid was thinking of Johhny Martin, who wanted to be a deputy. It would be good to have a friend in the sheriff’s office he could depend on for information.

“Send him by. Can’t find anybody around here. I do need a good man.”

“Uhm, Salado send you good man.” Charro spoke for the first time. He had not yet met the Martin boy, but trusted the judgments of his friend.

Both masked men mounted, reared their steed, and waved to the people of Killeen and rode off into the sunrise.

On the way back to their hideaway, in the cavern near Salado, they stopped to visit with the Martin family. Johnny and Jimmie were sitting on the front porch drinking one last cup of coffee before going to the fields for another day of toiling the land.

The duo rode slowly to the farmhouse and was greeted by the brothers.

“Howdy, Brad. Who’s your new friend?”

“This is Charro. He’s my partner in the war on crime. Charro, this is Johnny and Jimmie Martin. Old friends of mine. Johnny is the one who wants to be a lawman.

Sarah Martin stepped out onto the porch.

“Good morning, Brad, out kind of early.”

“Yes’m. Came by to see if Johnny still wants to be a lawman?”

Johnny Martin jumped up from where he sat. “I’m ready, Brad! When do we leave?”

“You go to Killeen and see the sheriff. He needs a deputy.”

“Better talk to your pa first. Plenty work around here.” Sarah was afraid for her oldest son to leave.

“I will ma.”

John Martin came out of the barn. “What’s all the commotion? Good morning Brad.”

“Pa, Brad says I can be a deputy. Can I go Pa?”

“Do what you gotta do, boy. Help your brother plow that south forty, first. You can leave in the morning.”

John looked at his wife who disagreed with his decision. She turned and walked into the house, turning at the doorway.

“Would you and Charro like a cup of coffee, Brad?”

“Yes ma’am I would. Charro does not drink coffee. Folks, I would appreciate it, if you don’t call me Brad, when I am dressed as the Salado Kid. I would like to keep my identity a secret.”

“Okay Brad, from now on you are the Salado Kid. I will get your coffee. Charro, would you like a cup of milk?”

“Uhm! Milk good.”

The sun was in their faces as they rode through the hidden opening and once more entered the cavern that was their home.

__________ ….. __________

Johnny Martin was up earlier than usual and dressed in his Sunday go to meeting clothes, and wearing his best boots. He brushed the dirt from the rim of his hat and ran fingers around the brim as he looked into a small shaving mirror hanging on a nail over the sink.

“Don’t forget who you are and where you come from.”

“I won’t, Ma. I’m just going to Killeen. I’ll come home on my days off.” He stepped up into the saddle of the best horse on the farm.

“Just be a man son, remember, Brad is counting on you to be a good lawman. You do your best.”

“Thanks Pa.” He rode through the gate and turned in the saddle for a last look at his home. He would miss his mother’s cooking.

The warm summer sun beat down on his back as he rode into Killeen and pulled rein in front of the sheriff’s office. He stepped down and tentatively walked across the boardwalk, slowly turning the knob and walking through a squeaking door.

“You that Martin boy?” The sheriff did not look up from the wanted posters on his desk.

“Yessir, Brad… I mean the Salado Kid said you need a deputy.”

“Ever deputized afore?”

“No sir, but I been wanting to.”

“Can you shoot? Ever shot a man afore?”

“Yessir, I can, and no sir, I ain’t never killed no man.”

“Good lawman might have to!”

“I’ll be ready when the time comes. I can draw fast. I shoot straight.”

“Room out back behind the cells. Throw your things in there. Spect you to have coffee made when I get here in the morning. Your job is to keep this place swept out and them cells clean. We’ll see how bad you want to be a lawman.”

While Johnny Martin was being indoctrinated into becoming a deputy, over near Copperas Cove Colonel Amos T. Wilson was having a late evening conversation with his twelve-year old grandson.

“Time to hit the sack, boy. Got lots of chores to do tomorrow.”

“Aw, grandpa, cain’t I stay up a little longer. I was reading about gold mining.”

“Ain’t got time for no gold mining? Got work to do.”

“But grandpa, I know there’s gold in that cave I found.”

“Best stay out of them caves, boy. You‘ll get lost in there. Sergeant Jones! I think you’re going to have to hogtie this young private and haul him off to the sack!”

“Yessir, Colonel! Come on boy! Time to turn in before you get extra duty from the Colonel. Tomorrow is going to be a long day. Got plowing to do.”

Colonel Amos T. Wilson had been a warrior in the Great War that separated the north from the south. He had come to Texas, with what remained of his family. His grandson Luke Wilson and his faithful aide from the war, Sergeant Caleb Jones.

He had homesteaded one hundred and sixty acres of prime farmland in the Brazos valley between Copperas Cove and the Chisholm Trail.

It had been nearly four years now and in one more year, the land would be theirs.

__________ ….. __________

Early, on a bright sunny morning, a wagon pulled out of a cavern and made its way west from Salado to Killeen. Brad Dawson was at the reins while Charro sat on the seat beside him. They were going to the general store in Killeen for supplies. Pulling the wagon was a paint pony and, a black horse with a straw hat pulled down over his ears. No one would recognize him as the proud stallion, Storm.

Neither of the men would be recognized either. They were typical farm hands on their way to town. Both were dressed in jeans and plaid shirts and covered their heads with straw hats similar to the one on the black.

An hour after sunrise they were riding slowly down the main street of Killeen and past the sheriff’s office, where the deputy was putting on a pot of coffee.

He looked out the window as they passed, and grabbed his new hat and followed along the boardwalk.

“Whoa, boy!” Brad pulled back on the reins.

“Howdy Mister Dawson. Howdy Charro!”

The new deputy greeted them.

“Howdy, deputy. How you doing today?”

“Just fine. Brad, meet me at the café. I got news for the Kid.” Johnny spoke in a low voice under his breath.

“Charro, get the supplies. I’ll be back in time to help you load them.” Brad passed a list to Charro, and turned down the boardwalk. It was not customary to treat blacks or Indians as equals and Charro understood what his friend was doing. The young farmer made his way down the street to Delmonico’s café.

“Coffee ma’am, and a piece of that apple pie. How about you deputy?”

“Just coffee. Got to get back to work.”

“What do ya hear, Johhny?”

The deputy looked around to make sure no one was listening.

“I overheard two men talking about raiding the Wilson homestead tonight. One of them is the president of the bank! Sheriff don’t believe he would be part of the outlaws.”

“Where is the Wilson place?”

“Down close to Copperas Cove. Him his old army sergeant and a grandson live there. Rumor is, there may be gold in the area. Don’t know that for sure. Thought you oughta know.”

“Thanks, Johnny, We’ll be there. Keep an eye out. Watch out for that sheriff. He may be part of the problem.”

“I don’t think so, but I will keep listening.”

Brad got up and left the deputy sitting, so not to make anyone suspicious.

By the time, he returned to the store, Charro was loading the last bag of flour into the wagon.

“Ready to go, Charro?”

“Uhm!”

They rode silently out of Killeen and east toward the caverns of Salado. When they came close to the Martin place, Brad turned the wagon into the lane leading to the farmhouse. Sarah Martin was seated on the porch staring down the lane at their visitors.

“Howdy, Mrs. Martin. How are things going?”

“Just fine Brad. Have you seen Johhny lately?”

“Yes ma’am. Had coffee with him this morning. He’s doing fine ma’am. Going to make a good law man.”

“I worry about that. You boys want milk and blackberry pie. Fresh baked!”

“Uhm!” It did not take long for Charro to respond.

__________ ….. __________

The sun was going down over the western horizon of the Brazos valley as two silhouettes moved out of a cavern and turned toward a homestead near Copperas Cove.

A young boy was walking back to the farmhouse from an afternoon of scratching on the walls of a small cave on the Wilson homestead. In his hand, he carried a chunk of bright shiny rock to show to his grandfather.

Four riders approached silently from behind him on the dark path.

“What you got there boy?”

Surprised and frightened, Luke turned and stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.

“Nothing! Just an old rock!”

“Looks kinda shiny! You shore that’s all it is?”

“What are you doing on our land? Grandpa know you’re here?” Luke did not know what else to say.

One of the men pulled a revolver from his holster.

“I think you better give me that rock!”

“I think you better put that gun away and get off this land!” A stern voice came from among a group of cedar trees close by.

“Who was that?” The leader holding the weapon looked around. He saw the moon glowing on a chrome forty-five.

“Ain’t none of your business, Mister!”

Luke’s eyes got bigger.

“Yes it is his business! Don’t you know who rides the black stallion? That is the Salado Kid! I bet you get off our land now!”

“He’s right, boss. I seen him up in the Panhandle.” One of the other raiders spoke up.

“Let’s go. We’ll do this another time!” He pulled his horses head around and galloped away.

When they had gone, the Kid dismounted and spoke to the boy.

“What did you find, son?”

“It’s gold, I think. My grandpa does not believe me, but I know it is. Ain’t it Salado?”

“Let’s go show him. Maybe he will believe you now.”

“Gee, you think so?”

The Kid lifted Luke into the saddle on Storm’s back and led the black stallion along the path to the house.

“Hold it right there, masked man!” Caleb Jones was standing on the porch straining through the dark to see.

“Don’t shoot, Caleb! It’s the Salado Kid!” Luke yelled at the sergeant from the stallion’s back and slid to the ground.

“Grandpa! Come see! It’s the Salado Kid!”

Colonel Amos T. Wilson stepped through an open doorway.

“What’s that boy?”

“It’s the Salado Kid, grandpa, and look! I found gold!”

I told you to stay out of that cave, boy!” It’s dangerous in them things.”

“Colonel, if you’ll pardon me sir, the caves around the Brazos valley are not deep or dangerous. I think you should look at what Luke found. Looks like gold to me. I suggest you take it to the assayer, and file a claim before anyone else hears about it.”

“Let me see that boy!” He took the rock from Luke and looked at it closely in the light of a lantern. “By George! I think you may be right. I’ll take it in tomorrow.”

When the Colonel looked up, two riders were moving out into the moonlight. Both horses reared and neighed adios, then galloped away.

__________ ….. __________

For months, raiders were attacking settlers along Salado creek and across the Brazos valley. Sometimes, Johhny Martin managed to learn about them and inform the young farmer, Brad Martin. On those occasions, the Salado Kid showed up to foil the murderous intentions of the outlaws.

Amos T. Wilson took an ore sample to the assayer in Copperas Cove and found that the boy had struck a rich vein of the precious metal. Keeping it quiet was becoming a chore. The temptation to spend money on major improvements was becoming hard to do.

After all, the Colonel wanted to leave his grandson a place to make him proud. He ordered a large load of lumber and began, with the help of the sergeant, building a house to match the plantation he had lost in the war. It was obvious that the farmer from Alabama had come into some sort of landfall.

__________ …..  __________

While the Colonel was building his new home, there were clandestine meetings going on in the back room of the bank of Killeen.

“What we gonna do boss. It seems like that Salado Kid always knows where we gonna be.” Kid Rawlings, the leader of the raiders asked.

“I know that! Somebody in this town is hearing us make our plans and is passing them to the Kid.

You just keep hitting those homesteaders! I’ll take care of that Salado Kid.”

“How you gonna do it, boss. Nobody knows where he comes from and where he goes when he leaves.”

“We are going to let out our plans for a raid and make sure he knows about it. When he shows up, we will spring a trap. Meantime, while we are taking care of him, another bunch of your men will be raiding the Wilson place to find where they are getting that gold.”

Sheriff Roscoe Starnes and his deputy were having lunch in Delmonico’s when the banker, Fred M. Bagley sat at a table next to them.

“Sheriff, what you gonna do about all these raids going on and killing our citizens? They are getting out of hand!”

“We’re doing what we can, Mister Bagley. My deputy, Johnny Martin here, is a friend of a friend of the Salado Kid. He’ll root them all out soon and send them on their way or send them to prison.”

“Where’s Colonel Wilson getting the money to build a big home like that? He has’nt asked me for a loan.”

“I heard he got it from the bank in Copperas Cove.”

Fred M. Bagley nodded his head to a man seated at another table. He and the two men sitting with him got up and left the café. That night there was a bank robbery in Copperas Cove.

__________ ….. __________

Colonel Amos T. Wilson had put all his money from gold into the bank of Copperas Cove, along with many of the citizens. Most of them would lose their life savings, and many could lose their homesteads.

Over near Salado, The Salado Kid heard the news of the robbery from a passerby. When it was dark, the Kid and Charro saddled up and rode west to Killeen. Slipping into town under cover of darkness, they dismounted and walked down the back alleys, leading their horses. When they found the back door to the sheriff’s office, the Kid knocked lightly. After a minute, Johnny opened the door enough to peer out.

“Salado! What are you doing here?”

“Need to talk, Johnny. You have any information about the bank robbery over in Copperas Cove?”

“Hadn’t heard anything, except the sheriff from over there stopped by here today. He thinks whoever robbed the bank came to Killeen. Sheriff Starnes don’t seem too interested.”

“Does the sheriff spend much time talking to Fred Bagley?”

“Well, they speak when they pass. I have seen the sheriff and Mister Bagley coming out of the ally beside the bank. Come out together and looked to make sure nobody seen them, then went to separate ways.”

“What does the sheriff do at night?”

“Walks the town checking stores mostly. Hadn’t let me go with him yet. Always tells me to stay here and watch the jail. Don’t know why? Ain’t never anybody in here, cept a couple of drunks on Saturday night.”

“Well, keep an eye out Johhny. Let me know if anyone makes a big deposit in the bank.”

“Okay, Kid.”

The Salado Kid and Charro saddled up and rode the back alley till they were behind the bank building. There was a faint glow of lantern light in the back room. The Kid stepped down and silently crept to the window and put his ear against a glass pane.

The muffled conversation he heard was hard to distinguish, but one voice he had heard before. It was the voice of sheriff, Roscoe Starnes. The Kid remounted Storm and he and Charro rode into a side alley and waited.

It wasn’t long before three men exited the back door. One was Fred Bagley, one was sheriff Starnes, and the third, they had seen on a raid at the Wilson homestead.

The Salado Kid and Charro watched as the three crept up an alley to the street and in went three different directions. The duo followed shortly and rode out of Killeen headed back to Salado and their cavern home. They had three suspects, but no proof of a crime.

__________ ….. __________

Johnny Martin watched as two men joined in quiet conversation in an alley behind the jail. No one could see him as he stood on a steel cot in one of the back cells. Fred M. Bagley and sheriff Roscoe Starnes did not know anyone could hear.

“I’m gonna send my men out to Copperas Cove tomorrow night. I don’t want any interference. I hear tell that Colonel Wilson been putting a lot of money in that bank. We gonna find out. You keep that nosy deputy out of the way. I don’t trust him.”

“Don’t you worry bout that deputy. He’ll be busy cleaning that jail. You just make sure I get my share.”

“You’ll get yours Roscoe. Now, let’s get out of here before somebody sees us.”

One at a time, they left the alley and made their way to the street. Fred Bagley to meet with his outlaw friends and Roscoe to check on his deputy.

Johnny stepped down from the bunk and walked back to the front of the jail. He began sweeping the floor with a worn out straw broom. In between swipes with the broom, he practiced his draw.

The door opened and Roscoe Starnes stepped in just in time to see the speed of his young deputy. He had seen few men who could draw like that.

“I thought you was a farmer?”

“I was. Now I’m a lawman. Going to be a sheriff one day. Coffee pots fixed for tomorrow. I’m going to Delmonico’s to eat.”

Johnny returned the steely-eyed stare of the sheriff. He would have to find some way to get word to the Salado Kid.

__________ ….. __________

Brad and Charro had heard of the bank robbery from a passerby in Salado. They had spent several nights patrolling the valley without being able to catch up with the raiding outlaws who were attacking homesteaders. They knew it was time to go out into the daylight and seek to find a clue.

The first day, Charro went to Copperas Cove, while Brad stayed around Salado. Both would look like inconspicuous dirt farmers. On day two, Charro drove the wagon to Killeen, while Brad went to Jarrell.

Charro left the wagon on the outskirts of town and walked the short distance to the saloon. He took up a spot on the boardwalk and listened for some kind of clue to what the outlaws were up to. Cowboys, who saw him, stepped over him as just another drunk Indian.

Late in the day, he moved into an alley adjacent to the saloon and found a hiding place among barrels and boxes. It wasn’t long before two shadowy figures found their way into the dark alley.

“I’m sending the boys out to the Wilson place late tonight. That old man is getting money from somewhere and I intend to find out where. I know there ‘s got to be gold on that place.”

Charro had found what they were looking for so he drove the wagon back to the caverns where Brad waited.

“I didn’t find out anything in Jarrell. How about you.”

“Outlaws raid Wilson home tonight.”

“Well, we will be there to greet them. Let’s eat and get a good night’s sleep. Did you talk to Johnny?”

“No see deputy. Hear sheriff and bank man plan to get gold from Wilson man.”

__________ ….. __________

Johnny Martin did not have time to get a message to the Salado Kid, so after the sheriff had gone from the jail, he strapped on his six-gun, tied it down to his leg, and rode out toward the Wilson homestead. He knew what the banker was up to and could not allow the raiders to kill innocent people.

At dusk, the Salado Kid and Charro exited the cavern and chrome six-guns gleaming in the moonlight, set out to disrupt a crime against Colonel Wilson and his young grandson

Seven riders approached the Wilson homestead from the west. The leader, a man named Rawlings, rode in front of the pack. All of them wore masks.As they crossed onto the Wilson property; a single mounted rider waiting in the trees met them.

“That’s far enough gentlemen. Either drop your weapons on the ground and leave this place or, if you go any farther, you will be placed under arrest.”

In the darkness of the shadows, a hand in the rear of the pack pulled a six-gun and fired one shot. Johnny Martin pitched forward and fell from his saddle. Rolling to one side, he managed to get off two shots as the band of outlaws galloped away, dropping one of them from his saddle.

Johnny staggered to his feet and stumbled along behind the thundering hooves.

“What’s that grandpa? Sounded like gunshots.” The young boy Luke heard the shots.

“Sergeant, get my rifle. Better close them window boards. Sounds like them raiders are paying us another visit.”

“Yessir! Looks like another battle, Colonel.” Sergeant Caleb Jones was ready to get back into action.

“They are probably after the gold!”

“We can’t let them get our gold grandpa!”

“Don’t worry son, Caleb and me know how to handle them kind. You ready sergeant?”

“Ready, Colonel!”

The sound of horses told them someone was approaching the new plantation home they were building. Suddenly, two torches lit up the night. A muffled voice called out to them.

“Okay old man. Time to go! Bring that boy and the sergeant out here before we burn it down around you.”

“Come and get us, you dad burn bunch of outlaws. We ain’t coming out!”

He nodded to the sergeant who touched a torch to a short fuse on a cannon pointed out one of the windows. It lurched back and belched out a stream of fire. An explosion near the riders sent them scrambling to get out of the way. Torch’s fell to the ground as they turned to run.

In the glow of the cannon fire, two bright, shiny barrels spat flames and dropped two more of the raiders to the ground. Once again, a raid had been foiled. This time the Salado Kid and Charro had help.

Johnny Martin staggered out of the dark and fell bleeding in front of the great house. The three occupants of the fortress came out to greet their visitors. Colonel Wilson knelt at the side of the deputy.

“Sergeant, get some bandages. This man is wounded.”

The Kid and Charro stepped down and watched over the shoulder of the war veteran as he extracted a bullet from the young deputy’s side.

“We can’t let him go back to town, Colonel. Can you keep him here until he heals?”

“Yessir, Salado! He is a hero of this campaign. We will take care of him.

The raiders had all gone back to wherever they came from and the Wilson’s were still standing. Colonel Amos T. Wilson was proud of his men once again. They had entered into a battle and come out victorious.

The Kid and Charro helped carry the young deputy into the house and up the stairs and deposited him onto a bed.

“We’ll take good care of him, Kid. Thanks for your help.”

“Thank you, Colonel. We will be going now, but if you hear of any other activity by those outlaws, you tell Johnny and he will get word to us.

The Salado Kid and his sidekick Charro rode off into the moonlit night and made their way back to the cavern. It was nearing daylight as they rode through the trees hiding their home.

“Charro, I could use a big breakfast after that long night of fighting the outlaws. What do you say we have some fatback and biscuits?”

“Uhm.”

After a hearty meal, the two crime fighters slept the day out so they could ride out after dark and patrol the Brazos valley in search of outlaws and raiders. They still had to find the culprits who robbed the bank of Copperas Cove. The Kid suspected who had done the dastardly deed, but still they would have to catch them with the money.

Brad Dawson and Charro, the two farm hands, began going to Killeen on a daily basis, looking for clues to the crime.

They helped the Colonel and the sergeant work on the building of their plantation when they were not checking out the banker and sheriff. Some days, they even helped Luke work his claim in the caves on the Wilson property. There was a large vein of gold that had been hidden for years on the back wall deep in the dark cavern. Water trickled down into a clear, cold pool exposing the bright shiny ore.

Johnny Martin was up and around and able to pitch in and help the construction.

__________ ….. __________

On one of their ventures into Killeen, Brad Dawson and Charro were sitting in Delmonico’s having a lunch of steak and potatoes, when the banker Fred M. Bagley came in and seated himself at the table next to theirs. Three other men followed him in and sat at another table. Shortly afterward, sheriff Roscoe Starnes joined the banker at his table. The duo ate very slowly, always keeping an eye on the men they suspected of a bank robbery.

When the waitress had poured them another cup of coffee, Brad saw Fred Bagley lean over and speak softly to the sheriff.

“We’ll meet in my office at midnight while the town is sleeping. We’ll split the take then.”

The sheriff got up, left the café, and headed back to the office. Satisfied that his share was would be in his hands at midnight, he walked briskly down the

Boardwalk, whistling as he went.

It was time for him to leave Killeen and seek a job as sheriff in another town. Tonight he would leave his badge on the desk and be on his way.

Back in the café, Charro watched as Bagley stood and deftly stepped next to the table with the three men. He dropped an envelope onto the floor and pretended he had’nt noticed. One of the men reached down and retrieved it with no one but Charro seeing him. He watched as the man wadded the paper and threw it onto the floor, after reading it with a smile.

The three did not order food, but instead left the café. Charro reached down, picked up the wadded paper, and passed it to Brad. Brad opened it and read. Be at the same place at midnight. The outlaws would know where that place was, but so would Brad.

Brad and Charro left the café and proceeded to the general store where the proprietor was a friend. He was also a member of the town council.

“Mister Brown, may we talk for a minute in private?”

“Sure Brad. Come into my office. Samantha, watch the store for a minute.” He called to his wife who was stocking a shelf with canned peaches.

“What can I do for you boys?”

“Mister Brown you do know who the Salado Kid is?”

“Yes, I do. Saw him in town one time. What’s this all about, Brad?”

“Well sir. The Salado Kid will be in Killeen tonight at midnight to catch up with the raiders and the men who robbed the bank over at Copperas Cove. He would like for the town council to be there when he does.”

“Midnight, you say. I think we can do that. Where does he want us to be?”

“In front of the bank, Mister Brown. Oh, one thing. You must not tell anyone. Be there at twelve sharp.”

“We will be there.”

__________ ….. __________

At eleven p.m. six riders left the Wilson homestead and headed for Killeen. The Colonel, the sergeant, and Luke, rode alongside a masked man in black and his trusty partner who had an Eagle mask covering his eyes. One other rider was with them. He wore the badge of a deputy sheriff.

It was twelve forty-five as the group entered the streets of Killeen and rode six wide down the main street. Three members of the town council watched from the front of the general store, then began walking to the bank.

The Salado Kid and Charro turned and rode down an alley to the back of the bank. Johnny Martin pulled rein at the sheriff’s office and along with the boy Luke, dismounted, and went into the jail.

Colonel Wilson and Sergeant Jones pulled rein in front of the bank-hitching rail. They sat waiting until the glow of the lantern inside had died. Five men slinked out of the back door and were met by the two masked men.

“That’s far enough gentlemen! Raise your hands and give up now!”

Kid Rawlins reached for his gun and Charro shot it out of his hand. All the rest reached for the stars.

“You can’t arrest us! You have no authority as a lawman!” It was sheriff Starnes who yelled at them.

“I do!” A voice came from the shadows and Johnny Martin stepped out.

“All of you walk down that alley to the front of the bank.”

The deputy stepped in behind them and followed close behind them.

The Salado Kid and Charro rode along behind them to the street. The three council members joined Colonel Wilson and Sergeant Jones.

The Kid spoke up. “Gentlemen, if you would look closely you will find the money from the Copperas Cove bank spread among all these outlaws.”

Mister Brown was the first to speak up.

“You mean the sheriff was in on the bank robbery? What are we going to do for a lawman in this town?”

“You have a good lawman, gentlemen. He already wears a badge.”

Johnny Martin stepped up.

“I’ll meet you gentlemen at the jail. I’ve got to take these outlaws and lock them up.” He pointed down the boardwalk and the five criminals led the way.

“Gentlemen, our job here is done. We will continue to fight for law and order, wherever we are needed. Your new sheriff knows where we can be found.”

With that comment, the masked duo pulled back on their reins, reared Storm, and the paint onto their hind legs.

They waved their hands into the air and galloped away into the night.