The Ballad of Johnny Santana, James G. Carter [the beginning after the end read novel .txt] 📗

THE BALLAD OF JOHNNY SANTANA

It was nearly midnight. The sky was crystal clear. A full moon painted the town with an eerie silvery sheen.

The jail was empty except for two men. A sheriff sat alone at his desk. He had a cup of coffee in his hand. In a nearby cell a lean young man lie resting on a filthy cot. His prized Stetson was pulled down in an effort to shield his eyes from the glare of a naked light bulb.

“I want to thank you, Johnny Santana,” said the sheriff. “You have made me the most important lawman north of the Rio Grande. Who would have thought that the famous desperado, Johnny Santana, would come to my little one horse town and get himself locked up in my little run down jail? The whole town is abuzz. All the young girls are dying just to get a look at you. Even my nine year old grandson has started saying you’re some kind of a folk hero.”

“I’m glad I've made somebody happy,” came the reply.

The sheriff rose and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Tell me, Johnny, how did you come to be the dirty low down, horse thieving, cattle rustling, good for nothing vermin that you are?”

Johnny remained silent. At long last he spoke, “I owe it all to my Pa. He taught me how to ride, rope, cuss and fight. He even told me how to stop a man with one finger.”

After an unbelieving chuckle the sheriff said, “I’m listening, Johnny. Go ahead and tell me. How can you stop a man with one finger?”

Johnny removed his hat and sat up on the edge of the bed. His hair was blacker than the blackest coal. His teeth were whiter than the pearl handle on the sheriff’s six-shooter. His eyes matched the cold blue steel bars that surrounded him. He was indeed a handsome outlaw.

Johnny answered, “My Pa told me, ‘Just pull the trigger.’”

Johnny rose to his feet. He smiled and gave the sheriff a mischievous wink. He then added, “Excuse me, sheriff, but I certainly would appreciate a cup of your good smelling coffee if you don’t mind?”

The sheriff grunted. He poked around in his desk drawer and finally found a rusty old tin cup. He dutifully wiped out the cup with a rag that looked to be the same one he used for cleaning his boots. The sheriff filled the cup with black steaming coffee. He then passed his precious gift cautiously through the bars into the hands of his waiting prisoner.

“So are you’re telling me that’s it, Johnny," said the sheriff? "That’s your whole story.”

Johnny took a sip. A look of deep satisfaction appeared upon his face. “Thanks, sheriff. I can’t ever remember having coffee that tasted this good.”

Johnny then spoke with a reminiscent tone in his voice, “Well, sheriff, I’ll never forget the day I left home. My Pa took me aside. He said, ‘Son, I don’t have any money to give you and as you know I am not an educated man. However, I do have three simple words for you to live by. If you remember the words and use them often you will never want for anything.’”

Johnny continued, “I was so happy just to hear him say something to me I gave him a big hug for the first time in my life. And from that very day until now I have tried to live by the words my Pa told me." Again, Johnny paused.

The sheriff let out with an impatient burst, "Get on with it, Johnny. What in blazes did you your old man say?"

“My Pa said, ‘The three words are, Stick ‘um up.’"

The sheriff shook his head. “That was bad advice, Johnny. In the morning you’ll be hauled out of here by the U.S. Marshall and you’ll be put on trial. You make a show of toughness but I know for a fact you ain’t never killed nobody. However, folks around here think a horse thief or a cattle rustler is just as bad as a murderer. The ranchers think a cattle rustler is worse than a murder. I’m afraid the best you can hope for is a life sentence in the Three Rivers Federal Prison. To be honest I don’t think that’s going to happen. Most likely your neck will find itself at the end of a rope. In these parts they call it Texas Justice.”

“You’re probably right,” agreed Johnny. “If I must die then die I must. It’s times like these that make we wish I had listened to my Ma.”

“What did your Ma say, Johnny?” asked the sheriff.

Johnny put down his cup. A somber distant look came over him as he pondered the question. Finally he spoke. “I don’t know, sheriff. I never listened to my Ma.”

The old crusty sheriff seemed to soften just a little when he asked his next question, “How old are you, Johnny?”

Johnny responded with a broad smile, “Next month I’ll be one and twenty. Of course, there’s a good chance I may not see next month. Isn’t that right, sheriff?”

“Well, Johnny,” said the sheriff, “Before we go everybody has to face up to that all important question, How did I get to be me?”

Johnny’s smile disappeared. He nodded in agreement. “That’s a hard question, sheriff, and a harder answer. You have no reason to believe me but I really do feel sorry for the bad I’ve done and the hurt I’ve caused. I surely wish I had chosen a different road to go down but this is where I am and I’ve got nobody to blame but myself.”

The sheriff tolerated another pause to let Johnny continue speaking, “I’ve gotten to know you just a little over the past couple of days, sheriff, and I’d like to tell you something. It looks to me like you could be a pretty good grandpa and I’m pretty sure you and I can agree on at least one thing.”

“What’s that, Johnny,” came the sheriff’s reply.

“We both hope your grandson doesn’t grow up to be like me. Who needs another folk hero? Right, sheriff?”

The sheriff reached up and turned out the light over Johnny’s cell. A shaft of pale moonlight settled down as a mantle on the shoulders of the town’s newfound celebrity. “Good night,” said the sheriff. “Try to get some rest. We’ll just have to wait and see what the morning brings.”

*********************************************

A soft whisper was heard, “Grandpa, wake up. I’m back.”

The sheriff had dozed off while he sat on his front porch waiting for his grandson to return. It was well after midnight. “How did it go?” asked the sheriff. “Did you do just like I told you?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy replied with an ear to ear smile. “I slipped into the jail and I didn’t get too close to the cell just like you said. I whispered, ‘Hey, Johnny Santana’ but he was already awake. When I told him who I was and that I wanted to hear some of his exciting stories before he got taken away he became very angry and told me to get back home. Then I pretended to get angry at him. I took the keys to the cell out of your desk drawer and I threw them at him like you said. Then I beat it out of there as fast as I could.”

“Did you see him leave the jail?” asked the sheriff.

“Yes, sir, I did. The street was empty. I crouched down and hid in the shadows. Johnny ran into the stable and as quick as anything he came riding out. But he rode straight to the very spot where I was hiding. He ordered me to step out into the light. I really wasn’t all that scared.”

“Then what happened?” said the sheriff urging his grandson to continue.

“Johnny told me, ‘Listen to your grandpa and you might grow up to be a man worth something someday.’ Then he said, ‘Tell your grandpa thanks and tell him I will try never to give him a reason to see me again.’ He then rode off real fast into the night.”

“Why did you want to let him go, grandpa? Some people say he’s a bad man.” Even as the boy asked his question it was easy to see he was happy Johnny had escaped.

The sheriff placed both hands on his grandson’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Johnny Santana was a thief and it’s never good to take what doesn’t belong to you. He carried a gun and that can be a very bad thing. But he never used his gun to hurt anybody. I grew to like that young man and I came to believe there was some good in him. So I decided to do something I have never done before. Instead of Texas Justice I thought I would give Texas Mercy a try.”

“I’m glad you did it, grandpa, and I’m glad you let me help,” said the boy.

The sheriff lowered his voice and spoke sternly to his grandson. He emphasized each word individually, “You never say anything to anybody about this, ever. Tomorrow when the town is in an uproar your answer to every question that anybody may ask is, ‘I don’t know.’ Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“Yes, sir, I understand.” The boy spoke while nodded his head to make sure his grandpa knew that he understood.

As they tiptoed into the house the sheriff muttered to himself, “I better come up with a real good story before dawn. The ranchers will be in a killing mood. I can only hope my neck doesn’t find itself at the end of a rope.”

Publication Date: 01-05-2010

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