Behold the Sun

By Donald J. Richardson

The Western has become an archetype for the founding of a great portion of the United States. The behavior of the men and women who pioneered the great, vast prairies of the land west of the Mississippi set standards which continue today. Living on the outskirts of formal settlements, they governed their lives and their childrens lives with a code that lives on today, irrespective of formal laws and which serves as an underpinning of a life lived morally and consciously, aware of ones environment, ones neighbors, and oneself. Of course it recognized personal and communal responsibility. One could do much worse than subscribe to such a code in the twenty-first century.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504961516

Donald J. Richardson

Although he has long been eligible to retire, Donald J. Richardson continues to (try to) teach English Composition at Phoenix College in Arizona. He defines his life through his teaching, his singing, his volunteering, and his grandchildren.

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Chapter One

I was riding west out of San Antonio, three days late on the trail of Black Jack Higgins, a killer through and through. I had the wanted poster folded up in my pocket. It showed a drawing of Black Jack. It wasn’t a true likeness, but I didn’t need one. I knew Black Jack on sight. The only need I had for that poster might be if a sheriff or Texas Ranger or lawman wanted to know what I was about. I was prepared to show that poster and share all the bloody details about Black Jack’s history—colorful as they were.

Black Jack and I went back several years to our home town in Plattsville, Missouri. Actually, I don’t know whether it was Black Jack’s home town or not, but it was mine. The first I knew of him, he was just one of the Higginses, generally no good. Maybe their unsocial behavior was a carryover from the Civil War except that the War had been over more than twenty years. Maybe, like Frank and Jesse James, they just felt they had been wronged somehow and somebody ought to be made to pay. Pay they did whenever they had business with a Higgins. My folks tried to steer clear of such outliers of society, but it wasn’t always easy. What was my Pa to do when he came upon one of those Higginses who was trying his level best to swindle some poor farmer out of a crop or an animal he needed to put in his crop or to harvest it? Couldn’t stay out of it, could he? I suppose it was only natural that those Higginses turned against us Coopers. There we were, respectable members of society, trying our best to live according to the Golden Rule, helping others when they needed help and even accepting help if we needed it and it was offered.

Not from those Higginses, of course. They were natural-born takers. So he stepped in and by doing so earned the hatred and vitriol of all of the Higginses from the old man, Blaine, down to the youngest girl, Mary Belle. I don’t recall exactly, but I seem to remember there were eight or nine of the offspring. Then the old man had his brother living there with him and the brother had a wife and a couple of young ones, too. So it was the whole tribe, actually.

Words were spoken as could be expected, but when he was right my Pa didn’t back down, not from a Higgins or from anybody else. So there were threats offered, but then Pa didn’t take them to heart. Maybe he should have. Maybe he ought to have remembered that not everybody in this world operated according to his same code of right conduct. Those Higginses never went to church, and I don’t imagine they knew anything about the Good Book as we did in our family.

So things started happening. Little accidents began to occur which could just be the result of time’s depredations, but also could have been caused by some person with a hate on. When the harness was cut, it was clear that it was a person and not time. Then when old Rip, our dog, was found dead, that caused an escalation in our emotions. Rip hadn’t died a natural death; he had been shot with buckshot.

Now we had no way of proving who had done it, but there wasn’t anybody else we knew of who had a motive for shooting our dog, so we began to suspect those Higginses. Where it would have ended, I can’t say—well, I’d rather not say as I know my Pa and my brothers, and they weren’t the kind to just stand back and let some social outcast ruin their lives or kill their dog. But fortunately, one of the Higgins boys had gone off to Texas and came back with word to the rest of the tribe that Texas was calling them, and they had ought to answer that call.

First thing we knew the Higginses were all gone. Left their shack of a house and falling-down out buildings for somebody else to claim and try to restore to some measure of utility.

One result of their move was that we in our family breathed easier. Life in Missouri in those days was satisfying and pleasurable. Oh, we sometimes were short of rations, but what with the crops and Nature’s bounty, we didn’t often go hungry. Our family was centered also. Pa and Ma weren’t demonstrative with their love, but it was obvious to all of us that they loved us, and their daily actions demonstrated that love. So we were happy and lived a peaceful life.

As for me, I had begun to wonder about the outside world. I had heard of Texas myself, and it pulled me like a voice of attraction in the night, calling, Come, come.

After the Alamo, Texas had been taken over by settlers from the United States, and it wasn’t long before Texas was through being a territory and became a state. Even at twenty and as willing to believe every traveling handyman’s tall tales as the next uninitiated youth, I was moderately skeptical. This was after the California Gold Rush, you understand, so there were no tales about gold just lying there waiting to be picked up, but there were other stories: stories about long-horned cattle running wild in the brakes and swamps and prairie just waiting for someone to round them up and drive them to market in Kansas. I had had enough of being a dirt farmer, what with its never-ending chores and eternal work requiring one’s time and energy. I wanted something different. I suppose I could have considered California, but I had heard that the Gold Rush was long over, and then California was a whole world away. Texas, on the other, was just south of us. All I had to do was saddle up and ride.

And I had dreams, dreams that couldn’t be put into words: dreams of a land of good hard work followed by a satisfying meal and maybe sometime in the future a woman who would love me and accept my love. These dreams were like the sunset, golden and purple and orange, just calling to me, yelling at times and whispering at others, saying, Come to me; here I am. Take me; I’m yours. How could I resist? I was young and headstrong, nothing was holding me down, and I wanted to go. Like the far-off sound of a train whistle, it called to me with a seductive voice. I couldn’t have resisted even if I had wanted to. I didn’t want to.

Pa and Ma didn’t want me to go, naturally. As the next oldest, I had a responsibility to the family, and they had impressed that on me. Yet, Matthew, my oldest brother was twenty-two, and he took naturally to farming. So it wasn’t hard for me to believe that I wasn’t needed on the farm. They’d get along without me, and then there’d be one less mouth to feed, too. So I was set to ride to Texas. I wanted to see San Antonio and that Alamo I’d been hearing about for most of my life. It must be something to see, greater than a trip to town, I reckoned, and with more to offer than the general store in Plattsville.

The day I left I was up early and saddled and packed. I had planned what to take along, my rifle which was a straight-shooter, a Bowie knife, sleeping blankets, and a bite of food. The family was up and watching as I rode away. I turned to wave good-bye with as little concern as my horse. We were both on our way.

I slept beside running water that night. My evening meal had been a few slices of bacon and some left-over biscuits Ma had packed into my bag. After a day of riding easily, my horse was content to eat the grass beside the stream where I had picketed him. He was a mixture of black and brown, not a horse that would stand out in a crowd, but one I had trained and knew to be loyal and true. Whether anybody else could ride him or not, I didn’t know as I had never let anyone try. I knew he could go all day and not be worn down.

The next morning I kept riding south, answering that call from Texas, eager to see the Alamo.

Chapter Two

Riding south I passed through many small towns along the way, but there were none I wanted to stay at. Occasionally I found a general store to buy flour, coffee, and bacon, but otherwise I just kept going.

One place I decided to stay the night, so I put my horse up at the stable and found out I could eat at a local boarding house. When I got there, I saw several men and a woman or two waiting, evidently for the meal. However, not knowing the rules of behavior, I waited to see what everyone else would do. This turned out to be a mistake as when the food was brought in, it was in one big bowl or platter, and at the sight of it everyone made a rush for it. When I got to the table, nothing was left. A man who had grabbed a piece of meat pulled off a corner to share with me and said, You gotta be quick when she brings in the food, stranger.

I thanked him for the food and told myself