The Diary of Jerrod Bently by J.W. Osborn (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

a glimpse into his passed on one of those rare occasions when he felt like talking about his life and adventures. I felt like I had known his wife Alice from the stories he told me about her and his son Joseph, the man who had been Sam’s father. Since the accident and Sam being taken back to Portersville to recover, the old man had done his job but often kept to himself. But tonight, he seemed reflective as we sat by the wagon. “What is the worst thing you have ever seen , Jerrod?”, he asked.
Growing up in New York City on the wrong side of town, I’d seen more than my share of unsavory sights and spilled blood. Why was he asking about it?
“Well, “ I began, “There are gangs in New York. They have been there for years, Irish, Spanish, Italian, just to mention a few of them and they fought bloody wars between the factions. A friend of mine was killed by a mob of them and everyone was afraid to go outside at night because of the violence and the murders.”
I did not know how much Scrub Pot understood about the size of New York City in those days, or the people who lived there, but he listened intently as I spoke. When I was done telling him of all the bloody murders and fighting mobs of people, Scrub Pot pondered what I had told him.
“It is always the same,” the old man said “Bloodshed, death, murder as two factions or more struggle for supremacy. Some fight for foolish reasons, others for glory and power. Legends are born that way, Jerrod Bently.”
“What is the worst battle you have ever seen?”, I asked as I stared into the camp fire.
“The desolation and relocation of my tribe and all the tribes,” he said quietly “But the worst bloodshed I ever saw was not any battle between my people and yours. It was in a small town in South Texas. San Antonio., near Bexar.”
“The Alamo?,” I asked in amazement “You saw that?”
“Yes,” Scrub Pot replied “I was very young and traveling with my father and brother. Through all of my life, I have never forgotten what I saw as we passed through after the battle was over.”
“1836 was a long time ago,” I commented “It is all written down in the history books. I read about it and was schooled about the heroism of the men who died there. I was always intrigued by it. “
”Over time legends become more and more embellished,” Scrub Pot replied “”Heroism, patriotism as the white men saw it, and my life for the most part has been lived in the State of Texas in harmony with my white neighbors, but what I saw in my tenth year was the worst butchery I would ever see.” His dark eyes grew misty. “We heard of all the fighting between the Mexicans and the people who wanted freedom from them. We had our own ways, the ways of the Blackfoot, but no tribe was blind to what was going on. The white men wanted Texas. In the end of it all, it would effect us and our way of life as well. “
I was amazed and just looked back at him in awe. “What was it like?”, I asked.
“Not unlike what I imagine Hell to be,” the old man replied “Dead men lay everywhere. We passed through silently and unseen by the Mexican troops , or we would have been killed too. There were bodies floating in the river, poisoning the water so our horses could not drink until we were many miles down stream. We saw clouds of black smoke rising above what was left of the city. They were burning the bodies of the dead. The stench of death was everywhere. For many years after, the nightmares plagued me. My father was a very strong and brave man, yet this massacre effected him and gave him horrors at night when he tried to sleep. It was with him until he died.”
A chill swept down my spine. May be remembering the battle of the Alamo was better read in history books. Not as it had been seen through the eyes on a young Blackfoot boy who many years ago, witnessed the aftermath. Scrub Pot looked up at me, and smiled “The past is an ugly place sometimes, Jerrod Bently. The future is where we all must go. And, if we expect to make Portersville in the next few days, I need to sleep.”
“Yes,” I agreed as I lay back on my blankets, and rested my head on my saddle, but after all the old man had told me, I knew I would not sleep much.


RETURN TO PORTERSVILLE


The clock in the tower on top of the court house was just striking two o’clock in the afternoon when we rode into town. Ely and Floyd headed for the hotel and then the saloon across town. It seemed those two boys were always looking for trouble, yet some how seemed to evade it most of the time. Scrub Pot went to the black smith shop to see Kane Wolf and I was going to do what I knew I had to do before I could see Sam. I walked into the sherif’s office. It was killing me to not just turn around, get on my horse and ride back up the street to Doc and Victoria’s house, but I had given my word that I would turn myself in as soon as I got to Portersville.
Doc was in the back, talking with Ned Travis and Jake Titus. They’d heard the door open and Doc, wearing his worn dungarees, white shirt and black leather vest greeted me. “Jerrod Bently,” he declared as we shook hands “It’s good to see you again? Did you stop by the house on the way in?”
“No,” I replied as I unbuckled my gun belt, removed it and offered it to him. “I came here first, like I said I would, Doc. To turn myself in.”
Doc looked at me with that same look on his face that I remembered from the day he arrived at the cattle camp after Sam got hurt. “Ain’t necessary.,’ he said flatly “And I won’t be taking your gun. Not while Jeb Vickers is still out there waiting for the right moment to kill you.”
“But the law says,.” I began. Doc cut me off.
“There’s very little of that out here, Jerrod,” he said “And I won’t be locking you up in there with Ned either. You just hang around here till the judge gets in. I am sure that Sam and Victoria will keep you busy so you won’t be too bored.”
I had not expected this. I shot a man in defense of Sam any myself. The law back east would have had me in jail and tried long ago. Doc handed me back my gun belt. “Judge Douglass will be here in a few days,” he said “Jake here has some good information about Dalton and we will get this matter resolved. Now you go on over to the house, and see Sam. She’s been missing you.”
“Did she get my letters?”, I asked hopefully.
Doc grinned, “She sure did, son,” he replied “Some tinker brought them to Hap over at the livery.”
“How is she?,” I asked..
“She is fine, Jerrod,” Doc replied “The doctor said that break in her arm has healed up real well. Other than that she’s been missing you and wanting to ride red devil of hers.”
“Thank God,” I said as I buckled my gun belt back around my hips. Now I felt that I was fully dressed.
“Well, “ Doc prompted “Don’t be hanging around this jail, son. Go make my niece a happy woman.”
I guess I was a little stunned . I had half expected to be incarcerated in the Portersville jail, but I was a free man. “I sure will, Doc,” I promised and left hurriedly. It had been too long since I had seen her and I could not wait any longer.

From the window of his room on the top floor of the Portersville Hotel, Jeb Vickers watched. His latest girl friend, Jenny, one of the soiled doves from the Wreck an Ruin Saloon across town had been able to convince him to pursue what he believed to be his cousin’s murder in a court of law. But he had found it hard to keep his promise to her now that he had just seen Jerrod Bently stroll out of the Sherif’s Office and ride off on his grey. There was going to be trouble in the streets of this small town, and it wouldn’t be long before it broke loose.


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Sam was gathering eggs from the nests in a small chicken coop near the barn. Though she still had to keep her left arm in a sling most of the time, she was now able to use both hands. Her headaches had gone away and the injury to her ankle and knee had healed long ago. She was wearing Victoria’s black gauchos and a white linen shirt. Her long auburn hair was pulled back in a long braid that nearly touched her slender waist. Gone were the cuts and bruises from the dreadful fall that she’d taken. There would always be a small scar at the edge of her hair line on the right side of her forehead, but in time that be the only mark left on her from the accident. Earlier, she’d noticed that Desert Rose was most likely coming into season and she’d turned her out in with