The Truth About Soapy Joe - A Western Short Story

Updated on March 23, 2018
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Now Soapy Joe was a liar, if you’ve ever met him you know exactly what I mean. If you ain’t seen him then take my word for it or ask some of the others if I’m wrong. We all knew it but he told a decent story most times and he was good company.

To hear him talk you’d have thought he won the goddamn Mexican war single handed and killed more gunmen than all of them Texas Rangers put together. He reckoned he could out shoot, out ride and lick most any man in the county.

That was years ago now, according to him, when he was hell-raising down south somewhere.

He was maybe 40, a small man with dark curly hair, he had a full moustache that he was right proud of and he kept running his finger and thumb down it while he talked. He was a thin feller but had a pot belly like a knot in a piece of string. He usually sat with a plug of Browns Mule chewing tobacco packed in his jaw so his teeth were black looking a lot of the time. He could spit like a grasshopper, he’d gather up a mouthful and send it flying, a gob of that foul juice caused many an argument in the bar let me tell you.

Did I mention that we used to meet in the Horse at the End of the Street saloon in Muddy Creek, Baker County? Maybe I forgot, anyways that’s where nearly all of us found our way most nights. When I say we I mean me of course, Lim, Quincy, Prentice and Fred, and obviously Soapy. I have no idea why folk called him Soapy, it wasn’t because he was clean that’s for sure.

Well one night, I think it was a Tuesday, no maybe it was the Wednesday because they served the special on Wednesdays, it don’t really matter none - anyways Soapy starts in telling about the time he nearly killed Burdette Fogg down in Clarksville, Red River County

Now it was hard to keep a straight face most times when he started on one but Burdette Fogg was well-known even this far north, well-known in a bad way of course. He must have killed more men than Millie Murdock’s lodging house stew.

Soapy said he’d been passing through Clarksville, played cards and won some good money but he was accused of cheating. Lim said that bit would be true and we all laughed, even Soapy.

Anyway, Soapy said he got out right quick. He sneaked off to the livery to collect his horse. He wasn’t looking for trouble although it usually found him anyway. One of the fellers who said he cheated was a big man built like the log stockade at Fort Astoria. He didn’t want that sort putting a knot in his head, or worse.

So Soapy’s in the livery saddling up when it suddenly got dark and when he turned this big feller is stood in the double doorway blocking out all of the light. Soapy said he had a voice like thunder that rumbled deep in his barrel chest. This feller says he had a notion that Soapy was a cheat. He wanted his money back and said he was going to stick Soapy’s head up his horse’s backside. Well he didn’t say backside but I aim to tell this without cussing so you figure it.

He said he was Burdette Fogg.

Soapy says he damn well wasn’t no cheat and didn’t believe this feller was Burdette Fogg neither. So to prove it Fogg picked up a horse shoe and bent it like it was a piece of liquorice, next he swung a fist like a lump of rock and punched a hole in the livery wall.

Soapy backed away into the shadows and Fogg; he was sure it was him now, turned to put a hand against the livery door and started to push it closed. Soapy reckoned his acorns were well and truly in the fire.

Soapy stumbled over a pile of tools and he picked up a pitchfork and ran at Fogg with it like a spear. He said this was when it really went belly up. He intended get the prongs either side of Fogg’s arm and pin him to the door but he mistimed things and one of the prongs went clean through Fogg’s right forearm and stuck it tight against the door casing, like it was nailed to the frame.

Course we was all laughing away by this time.

‘What did you do then,’ says Prentice, ‘kick the hell out of him?’

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‘No Sir,’ says Soapy ‘I reckoned I was trapped like a gopher in a rattlesnake burrow. I was on my horse and out of the other door and got to hell and gone down the road. The scariest thing was that this Fogg never made a sound even when I’d pinned him to the livery door post. As I rode past he pulled the pitchfork out and broke it across his knee and he looked at me like I was a lump of two cent cheese and not worth bothering with. He never cried out, shouted or cussed. I didn’t get a good look at him in all that time but I just knew he hadn’t felt nothing.’ He looked around us and said ‘That was years ago but I’ve never gone back.’

Now I’d been in the bar upwards of an hour and never taken any notice of who else was about but I heard someone get up in the corner by the bar and as they stepped out of the shadows into the yellowy glare of the lamp I saw the biggest feller I have ever seen in my life. He must have been 6 foot 5 inches of weathered oak. He wore a red plaid shirt that looked like was filled with rocks. This feller padded over real slow like a big grizzly, confident you know like he’d seen it all and there wasn’t no-one to touch him. I’m guessing you’ve figured out who it was already, I know I did.

‘I’m Burdette Fogg.’

He laughed, he was the only one who did and that made it all the more menacing, it sound like a pile of rocks rolling down a hill. The lot of us was struck dumb and we sat like hogs in a hog lot waiting to be slaughtered. You could tell we was all wracking our brains trying to remember if we’d said anything bad about him and hoping to god we hadn’t.

Next we’re all looking around like we’re searching for the quickest way out. Well I was anyway and if he hadn’t of been stood right next to me I’d have taken my chances getting to the door and out onto the street.

I’ll tell you a damn queer thing, not two minutes ago we was all sat close to Soapy round the table but by the time Burdette Fogg got over, well, there was a clear space round Soapy like we didn’t know him. But I hadn’t seen anyone move, it just sort of happened.

Old Soapy sat there pale enough to have had his face whitewashed. He looked like the ghost of a chipmunk with that plug of tobacco in his cheek. He was so low in his chair it seemed like he was trying to push himself down through the seat and out of sight under the table.

I was scared but at the same time excited, like a run of bluetick coonhounds relishing the earthy spectacle of a kill, you know. I was ashamed as well though because I didn’t want no harm to come to Soapy. I’ll be honest all the same I wasn’t getting in Fogg’s way, that wasn’t going to happen boy no matter what he had in mind for Soapy.

Of course I figured Soapy for a liar and cursed him for using Fogg’s name when he could have picked any other name but that one.

Fogg stood and rolled the sleeve up on his big sunburned right arm that was matted with dark hair like fur. Just above the wrist he had a puckered pink scar that could easily have been made by the prong of a pitchfork.

Fogg had a high ridged forehead and hollowed eyes and a big square chin that looked as rough as sand. He looked hard at Soapy, his mouth a thin line with his lips pressed close together, he said

‘I’ve been looking for you for years, you’re the card cheat who stuck my arm,’ he leaned forward with both hands on the table and stared down at Soapy.

Now I have to say my guess is that this feller would not be studying to be a doctor or a teacher or anything like that if you get my drift. If his brains were dynamite there wasn’t enough to blow his nose.

I’ll tell you what though he whipped a Colt Peacemaker out of his rig with his left hand in the time it takes to blink. He thumbed the hammer back and you could see he was thinking of plugging Soapy, it was there in his eyes and we all saw it. But then he laughed again at something only he knew was funny and he did something fancy with the Colt, you know, it was spinning on his finger, moving through the air and generally flying about then it was holstered before your eyes caught up with it.

I’ve got to hand it to Soapy here he showed he had some sand alright, he picked up his glass and had a good drink.

‘You know what Mister,’ Fogg says to Soapy who sat with his mouth hanging open ‘I’m going to do something I should have done years ago.’ I swear we all held our breathe then he says ‘I’m going to buy you a drink.’ Boy I didn’t see that one coming.

Fogg said

‘You see you did me a favour all those years ago. I had to learn to handle a gun with my left while my right was messed up. Now I reckon I’m as good with both. Mind you it took me a year or so to realize that, up ‘til then I meant to pull you apart and fry you up in batter.’ He raised his big bushy eyebrows ‘What are you drinking?’

Soapy he’s got some alright; he was tougher than I thought. See he always drinks that local mash that’s cut with burnt sugar and tobacco but he says

‘I’ll have a bourbon please Burdette maybe a Browns Mule.’ Can you believe that boy? He went and called him Burdette like they spent time in church together.

Fogg brought him the drink over and headed for the door. He stopped suddenly

‘You taught me a lesson I won’t ever forget as well,’ we all waited ‘never turn your back on a man with a pitchfork.’ He backed out of the saloon with a stupid grin on his face.

That boy was plumb crazy.

Soapy sat with his chest puffed up like a fighting rooster and a grin on his mug like a jack o’ lantern.

So Soapy told the truth, well I’ll be damned.

We heard that the following week Burdette Fogg killed three men in a bar in for talking too loud. Soapy always checks who’s in now before he starts on one.

© 2018 John M McNally

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      John M McNally 4 weeks ago from West Yorkshire, England

      Hello Eric

      I've never read any Louis L'Amour but I've just reserved two at my local library - thank you. I'm new to Hubpages please bear with me while I get into the swing of it, I've done five now and apparently just got out of boot camp. Thank you for getting in touch.

      John

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      Eric Boyd 4 weeks ago

      Frank caught this one on your writing blog and you were right, it was just like reading a Louis L'amour remember that author? Yes this story fits the bill anymore like this? John is a western writer

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      John McNally 4 weeks ago

      Thank you Frank - that's a very clever comment, you had me thinking for a while there. I'm glad you enjoyed it and it's kind of you to take the time to comment. John

    • Frank Atanacio profile image

      Frank Atanacio 4 weeks ago from Shelton

      This short tale was in character and you did it justice.. Soapy.. believe it or not fits right in that time frame.. the story-line was enjoyable,, and the descriptions were spot on.. yeah awesome my friend

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