There were three things you could count on after payday at Judge Roy Bean’s on Friday evening: the beer would flow, a fight would start, and somebody would get shot.
I’d been the saloon-keeper at Judge Roy Bean’s place since 1870 and it was my job to wet the whistle of the cowpokes who came to town and to keep the scalawags from fightin’ and bustin’ up the place when they had too much to drink.
Most Fridays the shootin’ part included beer bottles, prairie dogs and street signs. But the Friday after Judge Roy Bean’s horse went missing, the shootin’ included a man.
Judge Roy was an ornery cuss and had a reputation for not putting up with any law-breakin’ in the town where he was Justice of the Peace and the unofficial lawman. Most of the ranch hands who worked the cattle drives knew to steer clear of the Judge if they’d been drinkin’ too much. Any brouhaha that started in the saloon would be quickly moved to the street and most consisted of fistfights and an occasional beer bottle upside the head. But the day Judge Roy’s horse went missing, the local cowboys got scarce. There were three guys in particular who were suspicious:
Carl Jenkins, who we called “Jenks,” had been trying to buy that horse off Judge Roy for months. He kept uppin’ his offer ever so often, but the Judge kept refusing. “That there horse took me from San Antonio to Pecos Valley and brought me home when I got snake bit and was out of my head for three days. No sir, Ole’ Harry’s not for sale.”
Danny Longstreet, who we called “Dancin’ Dan” because he would cut a rug in the saloon whenever Jack tickled the ivories of the player piano, also had his eye on that horse, but for another reason. Judge Roy’s horse was the fastest in the county and Dancin’ Dan had already been nabbed and jailed for a month when he was seen leaving the bedroom window of the Judge’s sister, Marlene, who was still married to Jingo at the time. Jingo left town right after that and Marlene joined the Baptist Church, so the Judge let Dan out with a promise to stay out of trouble. It was rumored Dancin’ Dan was in cahoots with a gang of thieves from East Texas and the last thing Dan needed was the Judge on the fastest horse in the county on his tail.
The third man was Injun Joe. Never knew his last name, if he even had one. Injun Joe was the quiet type, kept to himself, didn’t have no friends to speak of. He didn’t live in the ranch house with the other cowboys, but pitched a big teepee outside town. He’d collect his pay on Friday and disappear until Monday morning. Injun Joe knew that he was paid less than the other ranch hands and one time when I heard him complain to Judge Roy, the judge snapped back, “You’re lucky to get any pay being an Injun and not a real citizen of this country.” No one had the gumption to point out that Injun Joe’s people were here before the judge’s people. I saw the way Injun Joe looked at that horse whenever it was tied up out front of the saloon, like he was sizing up how much it was worth and if it made up the difference in Injun Joe’s pay and what the other cowpokes were paid.
So there they all were on payday when the judge came stompin’ and stormin’ up on the porch, yelling that his horse was missin’ and that somebody had stole ole’ Harry.
The cowhands were lollygagging’ around on the front porch, waiting for the judge to give them their pay, but afraid to approach him while he was having such a kerfuffle, accusing everybody and shouting, “Do you know what low-down varmint took my horse? I don’t cotton to horse thieves and when I find out who took ole’ Harry, he’ll be hangin’ by sundown!”
Looking at the situation, I thought it best to offer a round of drinks on the house and corral everybody inside until Judge Roy could settle down a bit. That’s when the damndist thing happened. A whole bunch of Injuns came ridin’ up with one of them leading ole Harry and that horse kickin’ up his heels like he’d been eatin’ crazy weed.
The judge jumped off the porch and hugged that horse like he was welcoming home the prodigal son.
The Injun raised his hand to the Judge and just said two words: “Horse crazy.”
The Judge was so excited that he thought the Injun was introducing himself, so he replied, “Thanks Crazy Horse.” The name musta stuck ‘cause every so often I’d hear stories about some Injun named Crazy Horse.
Oh, and the man that got shot? That was ole’ Jingo who had come back to town and Marlene heard he was seeing another woman. When she caught him sneakin’ out of Widow Jones’ bedroom window, Marlene filled his backside with buckshot and that was the last time we ever saw Jingo.
I heard that Crazy Horse died sometime around 1877, and then Judge Roy died in 1903. I figured that it was time for me to settle down and do some fishing’ with the years I had left.
I have a lot of good memories of the old days and Judge Roy Bean, but I’ll never forget the day his horse went missing and the Injun who brought him back.
I am an associate editor of a local weekly community newspaper. My childhood hero was Roy Rogers and I loved wearing my cowgirl outfit and pretending my tricycle was a horse. As a grownup, I enjoy a great cup of coffee and stimulating conversation.