A Tale Out of Luck (32 page)
“Skeeter,” the captain said. “It’s not in the blood, son. He just had a tough life. Don’t judge him too harshly.”
“Skeeter, we’re all the family you’ll ever need,” Jay Blue added.
But Skeeter was a step ahead of the Tomlinsons again. He had already forgiven everything. And now a beautiful new view of days to come was lifting years of weight from his heart. He remembered his father’s last words, finishing them for him:
Her name was Luz.
Jubal Hayes approached the gathering of men at the rock wall, the Steel Dust Gray dancing sidewise under him a little, but altogether behaving pretty well. Skeeter looked at him, crouching a little to see his eyes under the low curve of his hat brim.
“Mr. Hayes,” he said, “how would you feel about being my stepdaddy?”
Jubal must have suspected from the first moment he saw Skeeter and Luz standing side by side. He just sighed, and smiled a little with one side of his mouth. “Well . . . I’m a little white for you . . . but I guess I’ll have to do.”
H
IS FINGERS KNEW
their way up and down the frets of his banjo like an old saddle horse knew the way to the feed trough. He didn’t even have to think about the well-rehearsed tune. His attention was directed more toward the throngs of people who crowded Main Street—people who had come to celebrate Texas Independence Day, March 2. It felt like Saturday in the middle of the week at Luck. The town had never seen such a crowd for the annual Texas Independence Day picnic and social and, of course, the horse race.
He sat in his place with the normal trio—his father on guitar and Jubal Hayes on fiddle—the three of them all crowded into the narrow shade of the awning of Flora’s Saloon. The spring weather was perfect for a celebration—blue skies overhead, the thermometer at Sam’s store reading seventy-two degrees.
Jubal Hayes had become a familiar sight around town by this time. Right now he was all buttoned up from head to toe, save his beaming face and flashing, fiddle-playing hands. He had hung around enough in company with the Tomlinsons that folks had stopped staring.
Now Jane burst out of the saloon, carrying a beer for her favorite banjo player. Folks hadn’t stopped staring at Jane. She was just too beautiful not to notice, especially since she had taken to smiling. Everybody knew she was going to marry Jay Blue Tomlinson. He smiled at her as she came to stand beside him, leaving his brew on the table that the band had dragged outside.
In the bright sunlight that Jubal avoided by habit, Luz kicked up dirt with the son she had thought she had lost long ago, the two of them doing Jubal’s dancing in the sun for him. Jubal glanced at both his sidemen and made the flourish that brought the song to an end. A wave of applause greeted Jay Blue’s ears as he sipped at the beer and winked at Jane.
“Attention!” Sam Collins shouted. “Attention, everyone!” He stepped up on the boardwalk. “Almost time for the horse race now. The course is the same as every year. Four miles, starting at my store, then across the river at the ford, around the old trading post, and back up Main Street to the finish line, right here in front of Flora’s Saloon. We’ll start as soon as the riders can line up at the starting line!”
Jay Blue’s father leaned close to him. “Put my guitar up, son. I’ll go see how the mare looks.” Jay Blue nodded. His daddy was pretty excited about this race—the Thoroughbred’s first. At this moment, he had Long Tom Merrick walking her in the alley behind Flora’s to keep her loose and warm.
He latched the instruments in their cases and grabbed his beer.
“You don’t look nervous,” Jane said. “This is an important race for the Broken Arrow.”
He shrugged. “Darlin’, I’ve been shot at too many times to get nervous over a horse race.”
“Oh,
well
. . .” She rolled her eyes in that fetching way of hers.
“You’re the only thing that still makes me nervous.”
“I plan to keep it that way.”
Jubal was latching his fiddle case. “You best be nervous about ol’ Steel Dust.”
“I’ll bet you five dollars our mare comes in ahead of your stud.”
“I’ll take that bet!” Jubal said, shaking his hand.
Within ten minutes, the horses had gathered on Main Street. Jay Blue’s father came to him with last-minute instructions. “Hold her back the first three miles,” he insisted.
“I know, Daddy.”
“She won’t like it, but that’s good. Let her warm up gradually, then give her her head when you come back across the river.”
“Got it,” Jay Blue said. He had lined up at the far right of the field. He looked left to judge the attitudes of the other runners. Next to him was First Sergeant July Polk on the now-famous claybank that had once belonged to Wes James. A good cow horse, but too stout for a course of this length, especially carrying a man the size of Polk.
Polk looked at him and smiled. “My money’s on you, Tomlinson, so you better watch that killer gray.”
Next to First Sergeant Polk, a couple of cowhands from nearby outfits had entered some pretty good-looking cow ponies, but they had no chance of beating the Thoroughbred or the Steel Dust Gray.
Beyond them, Jay Blue caught the eye of Matt Kenyon, who had ridden to Luck to report that he had put in his resignation with the State Police and was thinking of running for brand inspector in Travis County—unless the legislature reinstated the Texas Rangers between now and election day. He was riding that bald-faced, flaxen-maned, sorrel with four white socks and one glass eye. Jay Blue had to admit that the horse had proven to be highly serviceable, but didn’t have a chance in this race.
And finally, at the far end of the line, the notorious, legendary Steel Dust Gray pranced sideways and bit at Kenyon’s bald-faced sorrel, causing just enough trouble to delay the start. Jubal was wearing his dark glasses, but Jay Blue knew the old mustanger was eye-balling him. Well, if Steel Dust
were
to win, he mused, at least he and Skeeter still shared the distinction of having helped Jubal catch the wild thing so he could ride it in the first place.
“My
dinero’s
on you,
hermano
!”
Jay Blue looked to his right and saw Skeeter standing there with Luz on the boardwalk. “Thanks, brother,” he said.
“But my mama’s bettin’ on El Grullo.”
Luz only smiled and shrugged.
Now Jubal, himself a legend for having trained the untrainable gray stud, mumbled something hoarse to El Grullo, and suddenly the racers all had their noses on the starting line. Captain Tomlinson always started the annual Luck, Texas, Independence Day Horse Race. He saw the moment and instantly shouted, “Go, boys!”
The crowd roared, and the mare took off like a cannonball under Jay Blue. He had to pull hard on the reins to keep her from running away from the field right off the line. But he made her slow down and tried to relax in the saddle so she would start slow and finish strong. He even took the time to tip his hat to the spectators and blow a kiss to Jane as he let the entire field of racers stretch the lead in front of him.
Once the runners passed out of sight around the bend in the road at the edge of town, the mare lost interest in the competition and started to feel smooth under him, as if she were just out for a casual lope. Down the slope he cantered, enjoying the feel of the tall, graceful mount.
He crossed the river and gave her some rein to let her build steam up the other side of the gentle slope that led from the ford. As he neared the old trading post that marked the halfway point of the race, and the turnaround, he saw the leaders coming back toward him.
Matt Kenyon rumbled by him first, but Jubal was close behind and Jay Blue knew he would have to do some real catching up after he rounded the ruins of the trading post. His heart finally started to pound at the excitement of the contest, and danged if the mare didn’t seem to feel his very pulse. He gave her a little more rein as the rest of the field flew at him, and past him.
Rounding the trading post, he felt the mare dig in, but still held her back. Oh, she knew this game well! It was in her blood. In her very fiber. She wanted to win! He was just getting ready to disobey his father’s instructions and let the mare all out early, when something caught his eye among the live oaks to his right.
The entire field had gone by. He had passed every horse that started. Thus his confusion when he looked right and saw a rider closing in on him. His first thought was that he was riding unarmed, to reduce weight. The mare felt his anxiety and craned her neck to see where his eyes looked. Then she caught sight of the rider, and bolted sideways.
The rider had a feather in his hair that fluttered. The pony was a fine paint who was just as excited as any of the racers who had already passed. Jay Blue’s eyes looked into the warrior’s face and recognized a friend who couldn’t be a friend, and yet was. Relief flooded his insides as he realized that the Wolf was alone and unarmed.
The Thoroughbred sensed this calm and settled down a bit, but the jolt had made her really want to run now. Still, Jay Blue held her back and let the Wolf and his horse catch up to them. For several long strides, they paced each other, each admiring the other’s fine mount. Now the Wolf looked at Jay Blue, then up the road toward town. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged ever so slightly as if to say, “What are you waiting for? You’re losing.”
Jay Blue nodded, smiled, touched his hat brim, and let the mare have her head. The Wolf dropped his reins, raised his hands to the spirits, and gave a single yelp that made both horses—pinto and Thoroughbred—burst into yet another realm of speed. The Wolf veered away, putting some timber between himself and his friend, finally galloping among trees that seemed to have grown crowded together there for the sole purpose of whisking him to haunts unknown.
Suddenly, Jay Blue Tomlinson didn’t care if he never won another horse race as long as he lived. The Thoroughbred mare who had seen green Kentucky pastures and wild mustang ranges would run the rest of this race as she, herself, saw fit. This wasn’t his horse, and it wasn’t his race. He was just a fool who owned a saddle.
W
ILLIE HUGH NELSON
is the creative genius behind historic recordings like “Crazy,” “Hello Walls,” “Red Headed Stranger,” and “Stardust.” His career has spanned six decades and his catalog boasts more than 200 albums. In addition to his innumerable awards and honors as a musician, he has amassed reputable credentials as an author, actor, and activist.
Nelson continues to tour tirelessly, climbing aboard Honeysuckle Rose III (he rode his first two buses into the ground), taking his music and fans on a seemingly endless journey to places that were well worth the ride. He has even produced his own blend of biodiesel fuel.
Born April 29, 1933, in Abbott, Texas, Nelson and his sister were raised by their paternal grandparents who encouraged both children to play music. He began writing songs in elementary school and played in bands as a teenager. After high school, Nelson served a short stint in the Air Force; however, music was a constant pull.
His songwriting career in Nashville took off in 1961 with Faron Young’s recording of “Hello Walls” and Patsy Cline’s version of “Crazy.” In 1962, he scored his first two Top 10 hits as a recording artist for Liberty Records but struggled for a breakthrough the remainder of the decade.
In 1972, he moved back to Texas where the rock and folk music that had become popular in Austin emboldened him. Following his first two albums with Atlantic Records,
Shotgun Willie
(1973) and
Phases and Stages
(1974), his acoustic concept album
Red Headed Stranger
with Columbia Records became one of country’s most unlikely hits.
Nelson’s convention-busting stardom, combined with the concurrent popularity of maverick Waylon Jennings, prompted journalist Hazel Smith to dub the trend “Outlaw Music.” As a result, RCA Records released the multi-artist compilation of previously recorded material
Wanted: The Outlaws
, which spawned the Nelson/Jennings duet “Good Hearted Woman” and quickly became the best selling album country had ever seen.
A fixture on the singles charts over the next several years, Nelson’s star rose even further with the 1978 releases
Waylon & Willie
, which included “Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys,” and
Stardust
. Nelson’s stardom soon translated to another medium with roles in feature films, including
The Electric Horseman
,
Honeysuckle Rose
, and
Stagecoach
. The hit songs kept coming with “On the Road Again” (1981), “Always on My Mind” (1982), and a duet with Julio Iglesias, “To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before” (1984).
In 1985, Nelson enlisted Kris Kristofferson and Johnny Cash for
Highwaymen
. That same year he founded Farm Aid, an organization dedicated to championing the cause of family farmers. Farm Aid’s annual televised concert special raises funds and—along with Willie’s annual Fourth of July Picnic—has become a cornerstone of his live touring schedule. He also is currently lobbying against the slaughter of horses for human consumption abroad.
In the 1990s, a $16.7 million bill from the IRS forced Nelson to sell many of his assets, including several homes, and resulted in the release of
The IRS Tapes: Who’ll Buy My Memories
. Nelson cleared the debt by 1993, and was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame that same year. As the millennium drew to a close, Nelson embarked on another fertile period, releasing
Spirit
,
Teatro
, and an instrumental-focused album titled
Night and Day
.
In 2003, he released
Run That By Me One More Time
, a collaboration with Ray Price featuring new recordings from their combined fifty years of catalog;
The Essential Willie Nelson
, which spans his earliest recordings as well as the celebrated Island/Def Jam Records material; and
Willie Live & Kickin’
featuring guest vocalists ranging from Norah Jones to Toby Keith, with whom Nelson performed his No. 1 single, “Beer for My Horses.”
Countryman
(2005), his first ever reggae set, was followed by 2006’s
Songbird
, and
You Don’t Know Me: The Songs of Cindy Walker
, which earned Nelson a Grammy nomination for Best Country Album. The new millennium also saw the release of Willie’s books
The Facts of Life: and Other Dirty Jokes
(Random House, 2002) and
The Tao of Willie
(Gotham, 2006) written with Turk Pipkin.