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    Joe Lopez: A Leon Payne Novel
    Joe Lopez: A Leon Payne Novel
    Joe Lopez: A Leon Payne Novel
    Ebook145 pages1 hour

    Joe Lopez: A Leon Payne Novel

    By Leon R. Payne

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    About this ebook

    Joe Lopez is the story of an old Mexicano named José Villalobo Alfredo Tomaso Vicente Lopez who loses his three sons to the civil war: Thomaso at the Battle of Bull Run, Alfredo in Vicksburg, and Vicente in Gettysburg. To honor them, Joe carries each of their names.

    But Joe’s sorrow doesn’t end there. When he returns home, he finds that his home has been burned to the ground and his wife and grandson are missing. As the story continues, Joe avenges the misdeeds done to his wife and grandson and captures the deputy who, with the sheriff, has come to bring him to justice.

    Author Leon Payne takes the song “Joe Lopez” written and performed by his late father, Leon Payne, Sr., and brings it to life by drawing on personalities from his past and setting the story in historic Texas locations and civil war battlegrounds. A Western that is sure to delight civil war buffs and cowboy aficionados alike.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGreenleaf Book Group
    Release dateJul 28, 2015
    ISBN9781632990372
    Joe Lopez: A Leon Payne Novel

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      Book preview

      Joe Lopez - Leon R. Payne

      completion.

      CHAPTER 1

      A Quiet Town

      Oh, his name was

      José Villalobo Alfredo Thomaso Vincente Lopez.

      It was a calm, cool summer evening in 1865 as Wallace Head rode into Castell, Texas. It seemed like a quiet enough town, untouched by the bitterness of the war.

      A jackrabbit suddenly perked her ears, revealing herself, as she listened for danger. She moved from the openness of the riverbank closer to a prickly pear cactus that Wallace suspected hid her burrow. She became still. Overhead, a red-tailed hawk circled in search of his next meal. He spotted her but soared on, knowing somehow his prey would reach the protection of her natural fortress before his deadly talons would reach her. The pretty flowers did not deceive the wise old hunter, having met this formidable foe once before when chasing pack rats to their den beneath its spiny cover.

      In town, noise from a saloon erupted, but relaxed to a murmur once a piano began playing. The instrument’s melodic rhythm drowned any further outbursts. On down the road, a saw whirled and water splashed, spilling buckets over a waterwheel and back into the slow-moving river. The river, being shallow in most places, trickled eastward with a soothing cadence.

      As Wallace dismounted his gray at the livery, he turned to observe an unseemly commotion in front of the general store. A crowd was gathering. Some patrons were leaving the saloon up the street to follow a young man who was ranting and raving as he walked.

      The young man jumped on the porch in front of the general store, wildly pumping his fist in the air. A number of men followed him. They looked to be farmers, wearing coveralls and carrying wide-brimmed hats. Other folks in the mix were a family—two small children, a wife, and a husband—who were all leaving the mercantile with bolts of fabric and other articles packed neatly in boxes.

      The husband lingered to listen to the harsh talk and watch the wild display of drama as his wife tugged at him in disgust at his old friends’ drunken conduct. She tightly held her children’s hands while they watched papa’s used-to-be pals laughing and shoving each other, jabbing fun at their old friend, now a henpecked family man.

      All the while, the young man continued to fuel the crowd with his words, riling some participants more so than others. He managed to stir up more dust than action, making a mess for the proprietor of the mercantile.

      Turning back to his horse, Wallace found a rather shaky double-barreled shotgun pointed in his face.

      I’m not here for any trouble, just need to rest a spell, Wallace said. Then I’ll be movin’ on.

      The shotgun lowered a bit to reveal an old man, a Mexican, with a steely blue stare who grinned wryly as he spoke. Está bien, señor.

      The shotgun seemed to be taller than the man holding it, the man standing just midway up the horse’s neck. He placed the scattergun inside the door and calmly said in English, Half dime, please.

      Wallace tossed him a nickel. He then placed one stirrup on the saddle horn, unbuckled the cinch, pulled off the gear, and threw it over his shoulder before following the old man into the stable with the mare. Setting his gear on a rail that divided her stall from the others, he watched the old man tend to his loyal companion.

      He worried about her—Charity was her name. But his concerns were quickly dismissed after seeing the good condition of the stall and the care the old man took to accommodate her.

      Wallace and Charity had been through a lot of rough terrain lately, just south of this town. The place was called Fredericksburg, on the other side of the rock some said was enchanted. The war had just ended, and a new era was beginning. Wallace had headed north toward the plains, leaving San Antonio in search of fertile ground, good water, and more pleasant temperatures. He was looking for a place where he could settle down and work the land. Having seen the rock from a distance, Wallace made his way to this granite wonder.

      Circling the pink dome, Wallace thought of the tales he’d been told about its mystery. One story involved a Texas Ranger who held off an Indian raiding party, some said for as long as a month. He killed at least twenty, it was told.

      The rock itself was intimidating, and the night sounds were ghostly. Indians believed it to be haunted. But the water there was pure and crisp and came from springs they call artesian. It tasted like no other, like God had placed it there for those who had dared to tame their way into this country.

      Wallace climbed to the rock’s summit to get an eagle’s view of the surrounding terrain. There, from its highest point, he saw a church steeple in the distant landscape, protruding above the trees.

      He and his gray had headed in that direction.

      Although Charity was tired, Wallace thought she seemed to like it in her stall. The old man had given her plenty of hay and was gently brushing her coat while humming a tune Wallace had never heard before.

      Adios, he told the old man, as he threw his saddlebag over his shoulder and picked up his Henry.

      Buenas noches, the old man said.

      The crowd was already gone when Wallace walked from the livery to the store. The owner came out and started to sweep the dirt off the walk. He was a tall, lanky sort with a big smile.

      Howdy, friend. ’Bout to close, but if you need something quick, I guess I can help you, he said.

      What’s the ruckus about? Wallace asked.

      Oh, an old Mexican killed some carpetbaggers.

      Wallace had an inkling he had just encountered this old Mexican, looking back at the livery. But he quickly rejected the notion when he heard him, through the open livery door, whistling that same tune he had heard earlier.

      They’ll be hangin’ him, I reckon, if they get their way, the store owner continued. The sheriff’s gone out to get him. You needin’ anything? The missus don’t like me home too late for supper.

      Wallace paid little or no attention to the proprietor’s small talk. He was only concerned with his own dealings.

      Where can a man get a bed, bath, and maybe a meal? he asked.

      Yes sir, down at the widow Puhl’s, the store owner replied while pointing to the other end of town. She boards and is a pretty handy cook.

      Much obliged. I’ll be back for some supplies before I leave.

      Appreciate the business, the owner said as he gathered the last of his goods and walked in the store, closing the door behind him.

      A row of different businesses lined the main street, starting with the general store, then the dress shop, the doctor’s office, and the saloon. Directly across from the saloon was the sheriff’s office and jail. From the sheriff’s office back toward the livery, was the hardware store. It sat on one corner of a second road that ran north across the Llano River, and the livery sat on the other corner. Off the second road was the carpenter shop and, closer to the river, a mill. Lots of oaks, willows, and pecan trees lined the river that snaked through valleys surrounded by bluffs and rolling hills skirted with cedars and oaks.

      The chapel, which also served as the schoolhouse, was at the far end of the main road. It donned the steeple that Wallace had witnessed from Enchanted Rock, and it was situated among the many homes with picket fences, beautiful flower and vegetable gardens, clucking chickens, inviting porches, and good-sized windows. As Wallace continued to walk, he thought that for such a quiet little town, there was an uneasy air about it. But he decided it was better to leave the questions not asked and not answered.

      Up the street, Wallace saw a wooden sign that read ROOMS, nailed to the post of a gate. It reminded him he was too tired and too hungry to bother with anything else. All he could think of was a bed, and a bath, and a hot meal.

      He opened the gate and walked up the steps to the porch. On a swing sat a little girl playing with a doll. She smiled and said, Mommy’s got some fresh apple cobbler, and I’m gonna get the first bite as soon as it cools enough.

      Really, Wallace said, probably smiling wider than he had for days at the thought of how good that cobbler sounded.

      He opened the door to smells that would take a man back to his mom’s cookin’ and to simpler days of not wondering what the next pot of beans might taste like. A lady leaned back a bit down the hallway. She had lovely green eyes and soft red hair loosely tied on her head. Wisps of it framed a youthful, heart-shaped face, with eyes that were stunning and lips that were full. Her cheeks were prominent and her nose pert. A light-blue gingham dress with puff-sleeves and a lace-trimmed collar, which was buttoned up to the neckline and protected by a cooking apron, covered her slender body.

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