Chapter 7
Posted: June 25, 2007 - 09:34:55 pm


I sat on the porch talking with Liz for another few minutes, then excused myself and took Melosa back to the stable. On the way, we rode up on a couple of women walking down the street. I smiled to myself, stopped Melosa and doffed my hat with a bow. Melosa caught the movement of my hat and did the curtsey thing again. She stayed in place until I swung my hat back onto my head. The women smiled at me and cooed over Melosa. Oh yea, there would definitely be a prize in my little chick magnet's feedbag tonight!

I was in my room at the hotel by nine that night. I grabbed volume five of my law books (Jurisprudence in the Great State of Texas) and sauntered down to the hotel's lobby to read. I wasn't doing a little light reading; I was researching the laws regarding property rights, and the transferring of them to another party. I was researching what I needed to do to make Pen's ownership of some land he'd won in a card game stand up in court.

By eleven, my eyes were blurry from the small print and my mind was mush from mentally translating flowery nineteenth century legalese into plain English. I trundled up to my room, stripped down to my skin and crawled into bed. It took a while for sleep to catch up with me, as my mind whirled around the convolutions of my new life.

The thing that I thought about the most was why I was here in this time now. Was I here for a purpose, or had some cosmically random event just hurled me backwards? The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. There were too many odd points about where I ended up, and what had happened to me since I'd been here, to make an argument for this all being a coincidence. I mean, even if I had known I was coming back to this time, I couldn't have prepared myself much better than I already was. I had a skill set that gave me a better chance of surviving here than most people, and I was attuned to both the Mexican and Anglo culture. Yet, even those skills came to me by and large by accident.

Becoming involved with the Lopezes was another of those events that was beyond being a coincidence. What reason was there for me to become involved in the lives of my distant ancestors? I lay there half-assed hoping for some omnipotent entity to fill me in on what I was supposed to do. When I finally fell asleep, I actually had more questions than I had when I lay down.

Monday, April 16, 1877, dawned cloudy and overcast, as the Senora winds brought in a rare spring rainstorm. I peeked out the window and stared at the sheets of falling water. The street in front of the hotel was already a quagmire of mud. I cleaned up in the basin and headed down to the restaurant. As I bounced down the stairs, I pulled my pocket watch out of my vest and thumbed it open. It was seven-thirty in the morning, the earliest I'd been up and about since I arrived in town. I carefully wound the watch and tucked it back into my vest, as I eased into the dining room.

The place was about three-quarters full, but I managed to find a table against the wall and sat down. The gloomy weather and all the heavy lifting my brain had been doing last night had me in a melancholy mood. I was full of thoughts about the realness of my situation this morning. I mean, was I really back in 1877, or just dreaming it while passed out on an airplane hurtling towards the ground? Juanita's arrival with a steaming cup of strong coffee broke my mood.

"Good morning Tyler, how did you sleep?" she asked sweetly.

I looked up at her and smiled. She looked entirely too gorgeous for this early in the morning.

"I didn't sleep well at all, Nita," I mock complained. "All night, for some reason, I dreamed of sweet-lipped señoritas forcing me to kiss them."

She laughed quietly and leaned her hip against my arm as she sat my coffee cup on the table. She bumped me gently to get me to look into her eyes.

"I think you will perhaps have that dream again this afternoon, Señor," she said, her voice soft and husky.

She spun lightly on her heels and swayed away from me before I could think of a rejoinder. Her eyes and voice made me hard enough to drive a railroad spike.

While I leisurely ate my breakfast, the rain stopped and the sky cleared. By the time I exited the hotel, only a few puddles and some mud remained from the shower. I picked my way across the street and down the block to Clem's. El Paso didn't have a newspaper back then, but with Clem in business, they didn't need one. I was in the chair, my face covered with lather and a hot towel as Clem talked.

"So I hear you have a new job working for English Penny," he said.

I gave a nod as he pulled off the towel with a flourish.

"That's good," he commented. "We need folks like you to move here. We get enough troublemakers from Ft. Bliss, the cattle trail and the railroad."

Then he segued into the happenings of the weekend. There were two shootings Saturday night, both gunfights at a saloon. One of the shootings involved George Howard and a soldier from Bliss. The soldier wasn't killed, but he'd be a while healing up.

"Of course, Little Georgie Boy was exonerated, his daddy saw to that," Clem said with a sneer in his voice. "One day that boy is going to pick the wrong person to mess with, it's only a matter of time."

I took the opportunity to ask Clem about the situation with the salt flats. I claimed that I heard something about the dispute at church the day before. Of course, Clem knew all the details.

The squabbling was over almost chemically pure salt deposits located in the Guadalupe Mountains, one hundred and ten miles east of El Paso. The vast salt flats supplied salt to West Texas, New Mexico and north-central Mexico. Settlers in the region depended on the salt for their livestock and personal use, while Mexican farmers harvested the salt for income when crops were bad.

About ten years ago, a group of prominent El Paso men, both Anglo and Mexican called the Salt Ring, tried to gain control of the salt flats so they could sell the salt. Their attempt was thwarted in court, and the groups split apart with lots of bad blood that led to a couple of them being killed.

Enter Charles Howard, a master manipulator from Missouri, who was motivated by greed and a yen for political power. Howard teamed up with one of the former members of the Salt Ring, a prominent Mexican named Louis Cardis, who controlled the Mexican-American vote in El Paso County. By 1872, Howard was the District Attorney, by '74, he was District Judge, and Cardis was elected to the State House of Representatives. Jealous of each other's political power, Howard and Cardis became bitter enemies in 1875. After splitting with Cardis, Howard pursued ownership of the salt flats on his own.

Howard was currently lining up political support for the take over, hoping that he could get state law authorities to enforce his claim to the salt. As a stand by, his son George had gathered a rough bunch of cowhands that were prepared to do the job. The involvement of the railroad man was further inflaming the situation, as he bought up lands between El Paso and the flats. Once the lands were purchased, the railroad man hired George Howard and his thugs to prevent trespassing on it.

My thoughts were gloomy again when I finished talking with Clem and headed back to the hotel. The more I learned about the Howards, the less inclined I felt to expend the effort to keep them alive.

Once I arrived in my room, I took out my new satchel and packed my clothes. I took the satchel, my books and my Winchester down to the lobby and checked out of the hotel. It might have been my imagination, but I think the deskman was sad to see me go. He thanked me profusely for staying with them and asked me to recommend them to my friends.

I lugged my possessions over to Molly's place and dropped them inside the door. Molly came up and welcomed me. She looked very good that day, even the long plain dress she wore couldn't hide that she was a well put together woman. She was smaller in the breast department than Liz or Juanita, but her backside didn't need a bustle to stick out invitingly. There were the beginnings of some chemistry between my landlady and I. She didn't overtly flirt with me, but she was much nicer to me than I rated as a mere tenant. I, on the other hand, made it obvious I thought she was a babe.

I was sitting in the winged back chair in the apartment's little sitting room, thinking about how women in this era compared to those in my own, when Juanita knocked on my door. I opened the door and ushered her in. Juanita was wearing the uniform she wore at work, a simple, loose, white cotton blouse buttoned to the throat, tucked into a long black skirt with a high waistline. She wasn't all dressed up, but she didn't need to be; with Juanita, the woman made the clothes; she would have looked good in anything.

She walked around the small apartment and complimented me on it. Then she walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. She put her hands flat on the bed behind her and leaned back on them. A hank of her long shiny hair hung across one eye as she looked at me intently through lowered lashes. I almost tripped over my tongue walking towards her.

There was no coyness in her, as she grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto the bed next to her. We were back to that insane kissing in seconds, Juanita once again on top of me. Juanita broke the kiss after a minute or so, and sat up astride me. Keeping me skewered with that look, she shucked off her blouse and constricting camisole. When she was naked to the waist, she zoomed down for more kissing. By now my passion had cleared my brain enough for me to get one of my hands on her firm grapefruit-sized breasts.

The next time we came up for air, it was to jump out of bed and shed our clothes. My boots are the only reason Juanita finished before me. I grabbed a rubber out of my suitcase and started fitting it on.

"You do not need that Ty, it is my safe time," Juanita said.

I shrugged and continued sheathing my rod.

"I guess you'll be doubly safe then," I said.

Juanita smiled at that and held her arms out to me. I clambered up onto the bed, but instead of crawling between her wonderfully muscular splayed thighs, I started kissing my way up from her ankle.

A little sidebar here folks, before I continue about Nita and me.

Even though I have always been aware of my Mexican heritage, I was as white bread as they come. It had been only in the last year or so of my old existence that people started touting their ethnicity. Alex Haley's novel 'Roots' had everyone suddenly prideful of their origins. Suddenly, every group had a new identity, Orientals became Asia-Americans, Blacks became African-Americans, and Indians became Native-Americans and so on. I had no problem with any of that because I was what I was, namely a Heinz fifty-seven. You know what I mean; I had some of about everything flowing through my veins. But over and above all that I was an eighth generation Texan with a firm knowledge of my ancestry thanks to my grandmother. In my family history every person was a Texan first and foremost. I thought no more about my Spanish blood than I did the Norwegian I inherited from my mother.

Because of where I was raised and who I hung out with growing up, I never had a Mexican girlfriend until wife number three, Carmen Ramos, the dancer. Carmen was the only daughter of Big Bill Ramos, the preowned car king of El Paso County. Although she had spectacular Spanish looks, Carmen was more Anglo than my blue-eyed ass would ever be. Carmen could barely speak Spanish, let alone act it.

So Carmen was the only Spanish girl I'd ever taken to bed. She was about average as a lover and she was somewhat selfish. You know what I mean, right? She loved getting oral, but wasn't into giving it, that sort of stuff.

I brought up Carmen, because I think from her, I drew the conclusion that Latinas were no different than any other women, as far as performance in bed goes. That still might be the case, but if it was, Juanita was seriously skewing the curve in the opposite direction. Juanita was equal to, if not better than crazy Cora Leigh. I never thought I'd say that, because Cora Leigh's libido was off the charts.

Anyway, Nita did not protest or push me away when I started lapping at her sweet tasting little quim. I was to find out when it came to sex, that if it felt good even just a little, Juanita was all for it. Juanita didn't have much experience with sex past straight intercourse, but she was an enthusiastic student and a fast learner. I kind of figured that young George Howard was probably a one trick pony, and only concerned with himself, so I gave Juanita the full treatment.

Juanita knew all about climaxing, she said that even the first time with George she'd had one. But she didn't know diddley about multiple orgasms, until I was down there yodeling in the canyon. From oral sex we moved to the main event. By then, Juanita was in the zone, cranking out an orgasm every few minutes, then launching herself towards her next.

Something else I liked about Nita was that she gave as good as she got, her coos, sighs, sexy moans and roller coaster hips sucked the sperm out of my fellows sooner than I'd have liked. When I fell off to the side, Juanita was just hitting her stride. When she asked what she could do to get me ready again, I weakly pointed to her mouth then my dick. She raised her eyebrows, but didn't protest, she just went to work. Her enthusiasm, determination and a little coaching had me hard again in only a few minutes.

Juanita went home at four in the afternoon. She looked as fresh as a daisy, while I felt as if I'd been dragged through a knothole. Nita told me she couldn't see me for a couple of days, but her grandmother was going to drop by to talk to me about something on Wednesday. I replied that was fine, and I'd see her Thursday. Her parting words almost scared me.

"Rest up until then, Tyler, so we won't have to quit so soon next time."

I took a little hour-long catnap and was down at the dining room at five minutes until six. Mrs. Dean served dinner at exactly six o'clock. She didn't let anyone sit at the table who arrived more than five minutes late. There were four of us staying at her boarding house. Two of the men were older gentlemen, both widowers. They worked for the railroad as conductors. One made the run from El Paso to Santa Fe; the other had the eastern route, El Paso to Fort Stockton. The two men had partners on the other side of their runs that they switched places with every other day. I'd meet the other two men tomorrow night.

The third man was a federal agent of some sort; my guess was that he was from the Secret Service, investigating forgery of the new US currency. The man was lean and fit and was probably in his early forties. He didn't say much about his business, but he asked a lot of questions about mine. He did reveal that he had a family back east and his posting to El Paso was for only six months.

Molly Dean put on a good spread. The food wasn't fancy, but it was tasty and filling. After dinner, I joined the other men in taking our plates into the kitchen and scraping them into a tightly lidded half-barrel. The scraps went to a pig farm in exchange for a ham every month.

When the other men went out onto the porch to smoke, I pitched in and helped Molly with the dishes. I could have bought her a ruby necklace and it wouldn't have impressed her nearly as much as me drying dishes and chatting with her. Molly had this delightful Irish lilt to her voice that I found incredibly appealing. She didn't wait long to mention my guest from that afternoon.

"I saw the young lady that came to visit you today, Ty," she said.

I looked at her to see if she was teasing. I thought I saw a little twinkle in her eye, but I played it straight nonetheless.

"That would have been Miss Lopez. She dropped by to help me move in. I attended Mass with her and her family yesterday."

Molly's eyebrows went up and down at that bit of news.

"Did you now? I hadn't figured you for a church going man, what with working in a saloon and all."

I shrugged before I replied. "I do nothing I'm ashamed of, Molly. I don't hit women, cheat at cards or bully children. I don't drink much, don't smoke at all and try not to swear. I reckon if I am doing all that, the Good Lord might forgive me a little gambling."

She gave me a soft smile and laid her hand on my cheek.

"I meant no slight to you, Ty. After all, you didn't see me sitting in church, so I've little right to say anything to anyone else. I would ask your friend to be more gentle when the pair of you are moving things, though, because you knocked two pictures off the wall in the room next to yours this afternoon."

This time I knew Molly was teasing because she gave me a wink.

"That must have happened when we moved the bed. Perhaps you should show me how to move it so it doesn't bump the wall."

Molly actually giggled as she swatted me on the arm.

"So young and such blarney from you. Now get yourself to work before I forget I'm an old lady."

I smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

"You are only as old as you feel, Molly Dean," I said, as I walked out the kitchen door.

I walked into the Bull at seven-thirty. Tonight, Pen was going to show me the stock room, his inventory system, and how he ordered whiskey, beer and wine. It was a slack night, so Pen also introduced me to the rest of his employees. Pen had ten women working in the saloon. Four of them only danced, but the other six turned tricks as well as danced. Pen also employed two burly bartenders, a floor man and one guard armed with a shotgun.

It was a long slow night without even a hand of poker to break the monotony. Pen closed up the place at midnight and showed me how he counted out the cashboxes from the bars and card games. I was a little surprised and pleased that Pen entrusted me with the combination to the safe that was chained to a huge steel ring bolted to the floor of his office.

Joe J & Wet Dream-Girl
El Paso 8