What Would Pappy Do? by Buckskin

Word Count 1404

No beta

The words he read scrambled around in his head. He needed to think about this. Serious like. Pack up for the night, get out of town and sit around a fire, alone. ‘Get a pot of strong, hot coffee going or a bottle of good tequila, and he smiled. Then get ta thinkin’ an’ hash this thing out!’

He closed the door and locked it behind him after tacking a note to the board outside the office that read ‘Back soon’. Retrieving Smudge from the livery, Val Crawford left the small border town of Switchback and headed into the mountains.

Two hours of riding brought him to a place he’d found soon after he settled in the  dusty town ten miles north of the Mexico line. He used this place when he needed to think, to sort through issues that required a sound and fair decision. He needed a resolution tonight, the right answer to his dilemma. And he didn’t have much time for contemplation.

Val thought himself loco to take the offer the townsfolk presented him. They were desperate. “An’, hell, it was only to be temporary, one month at the longest. Yeah, a month, huh? What was it now? Eight, with no end in sight. Mierda, I ain’t a lawman! I’m a gunfighter, for pity sake!” But Val couldn’t hold back the small grin that tugged the corners of his mouth. Truth be told, Crawford was one helluva sheriff, and he knew it, but he had never been one to brag. Pappy had seen to that.

“Getting too old ta be fightin’ them range wars. Them new whippersnappers these days, only be a matter a time that one of ‘em plugs me good. Guess the sheriff’s job was providence.” And the smile stretched across the full mouth as his musings volleyed back and forth.

“But, damn, a coupla them that I’ve gone up against, well, I know ‘em from my time on the border, an’ I know, chances are as a sheriff this far south, it ain’t gonna stop. Could I shoot down a friend, even if he was outside the law? Don’t wanna hafta make that decision. How’d I live knowin’ I shot a friend?”

And he thought of the letter in his pocket. It came today, out of the blue, informing him of a job somewhere in the middle of California. Someplace called Green River. It had been described as a quiet, growing town in the middle of cattle country.

“Well, maybe I could try it out. If it don’t work, I’ll buy a small ranch, find me a good woman an’ settle down. Raise a few cows… Aww, damn, Crawford! What the hell’re ya talkin’ about? Raisin’ cattle? Ya hate stinkin’ cattle! Ya said yourself, the only thing cows are good for is eatin’! With any luck, I’ll take the sheriff’s job an’ go down in a blaze of glory; then I won’t hafta be thinkin’ about the what-ifs!” Val threw another log on the fire. He refilled the battered cup and leaned back against his saddle, then stared at the stars.

“What would you do, Pappy? Times are changin’ so fast, how long could I stay in the game anyway? Sheriffin’ is prob’ly just as risky, an’ that blaze of glory won’t be any more’n the flare of a match when my time comes. But at least maybe I can do some good while I’m there. Maybe make up for some of the bad from my earlier years, huh? Pappy? What’d ya say? This shouldn’t be so hard ta figure out, but… it is.”

When he was younger, the thought of his father set his teeth on edge. His old man had been strict and had not ‘spared the rod’, Val remembered the beatings like he’d received them yesterday. And, in truth, he’d done his best to aggravate the man.  He hated his father, but as he grew and learned to be honest with himself, Val realized ‘Pappy did the best he could with a kid like me. I was just too stupid ta know it!’

And now that Val was a grown man, he found himself talking to Pappy, asking for the paternal guidance that had long ago passed from this world. The advice that would have been gladly given, just as it had when Val was younger. When Val had not been in such a hurry to disregard and defy it. “Damn, stupid kid…”

“I still got some good years left in me. Ain’t ready for no rockin’ chair on the porch watchin’ the day go by. Yeah, like I’m gonna live that long! Ha, never figured ta live long anyways. Either way, it’s a crap-shoot. Just bidin’ my time is all I’m doin’. So, I guess what I need ta ask myself is, would I rather knock some heads in an’ burn down barns an’ the like or do I wanna see if I can do some good an’ keep law an’ order?

“Don’t move quite as fast as I usta. That ain’t too good if I got no time ta think things through. What’d ya thinkin’, Pappy?” And Val knew what his father would have said.

“Ya do the right thing. Just give it some thought before you go blunderin’ headlong inta somethin’ that ya ain’t gonna get outta!”

And it made Val chuckle. Yup, that’s what he woulda said, alright.

Val heard the words as if Pappy were sitting with him around this fire, listening to the pops of the burning wood and watching the sparks drift skyward like fireflies dancing in the dark.

The night sounds eased him into a more peaceful frame of mind. Or had it been the tequila he had just consumed?                  

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He had given the town a week’s notice. If they couldn’t find someone to take his place, well, that was their problem. It was more than they had given him when they cornered him about taking the job of sheriff. And with no regrets, Val Crawford mounted Smudge and turned him north, toward California. 

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He passed the miles in deep contemplation. Val wasn’t sure he made the right decision, but it was too late to change his mind now. He’d already answered the letter from the Cattlegrowers Association, and he would go to Green River. Val Crawford might be a lot of things, but he made good on his word.

He didn’t go straight down the main street; instead, he opted to check the area first. He took the long way around, making mental notes and investigating the lay of the land. Val now sat in the saddle, leg curled around the saddle horn, and watched the town from the ridge above. It wasn’t a big place; however, it was considerably larger than Switchback. There was the usual activity with folks out on the boardwalks, going about their errands and such, creating an atmosphere of peace and harmony.

“Things ain’t always what they seemed to be…” And he continued to watch with interest.

“Wonder if I’ll run inta anyone I know? Some of them boys, well, we got ta be friends, ‘specially…” Stop it, Crawford! He’s dead, killed by them bastard Rurales! He’s dead! Get a holda yourself; ya lost amigos before. Yes, but not one as close as he was…

He watched a few minutes longer. Val needed to find a Murdoch Lancer, president of the Cattlegrowers Association. “Well, let’s get this over with. Hope this Murdoch Lancer ain’t a pendejo…” he muttered to Smudge.

Val nudged the horse down off the ridge and into Green River. The new sheriff had arrived.

He had just entered the town and saw, coming toward him two men, one on a fine looking sorrel, the other on a flashy palomino. They pulled their horses to a stop and dismounted, tying up at the hitchrail. Then they stepped onto the boardwalk and into the saloon. Those clothes, that walk! Val’s heart began to hammer. No! It can’t be, he’s… But Val couldn’t ignore the bright shirt, not typical for most, but it was for him! His breath caught in his throat, and he spurred his horse into a trot, toward the saloon and a new beginning.

Pappy smiled as he watched his son from above, and he was a proud man.

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~ end ~
Written February 2020
Edited June 2020
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