The Right Side of Wrong by Reavis Wortham Page B

others up here on this river?”
    Ned immediately understood the question. “It stays quiet here in Center Springs. They have trouble from time to time in Chisum, between the coloreds and the whites. Usually they stay to themselves and we do the same. I believe most of the trouble comes from that fool Griffin, who was elected sheriff a while back. Before him, it was Sheriff Delbert Poole who kept things stirred before and after the War.” He thought for a minute. “You ain’t kin to either one of them, are you?”
    â€œNo. I am not.”
    â€œWell, there’s good and bad folks on both sides of the fence. Across the river, the Indians pretty much stay to themselves.” Ned elected not to mention that Miss Becky was full-blood Choctaw. “Mostly Choctaws, but there’s a good mix of Cherokee and a few Comanches. Every now and then you’ll hear about trouble between one tribe or another, but it stays up there. About the only trouble we have from Oklahoma are the beer joints across the river bridge. Down here it’s mostly bootleggers.”
    â€œI’d like to stay away from trouble, and entanglements, if I can.”
    â€œYou aren’t expecting any trouble, are you Tom?”
    Shaded by his hat, the man’s eyes flickered. “No. There’s a certain amount of trouble around every man, it’s the nature of things, but I’m too old to entertain such foolishness now.”
    â€œYou ain’t wanted for anything, are you? No warrants from way back?”
    Ned never took anything for granted. He almost learned the hard way, back in 1932. He’d gotten a call of a machine gun firing down in the bottoms on the Texas side of the river. Green and full of himself, Ned drove down through the fields until he heard the unmistakable chatter of an automatic weapon.
    He parked his car on the dirt road and forgetting his revolver on the seat, slipped down the steep river bank to find a Model A parked on a sandstone ledge. Ned never did figure out how the man got the car down there, but sure enough, he was blasting away with a drum-fed Thompson. At the time, it was still legal for a citizen to own a machine gun.
    He was already down the steep bank when he realized he was unarmed at the same moment the well-dressed man noticed him. Ned did the only thing he could think of. He held up his hand in greeting, and walked slowly across the pitted riverbed. He introduced himself as the local and very new constable and politely asked the man to put away the Thompson and leave.
    After visiting a few minutes, the round-faced man loosened his tie and studied Ned for a long moment. The tension broke when he pitched the machine gun into the back seat.
    Ned relaxed as he watched the man get behind the wheel and close the door. He flashed a quick smile and thanked Ned for his courtesy. “I’ll go now, but you’re probably the first and only law that’ll ever run me off, and that’s ’cause you treated me with respect. I like you, Ned. You can tell everyone that you met Machine Gun Kelly. Good luck in your new job.”
    Without another word, he drove off. Ned never forgot that lesson.
    Tom Bell chuckled. “No, I don’t have any warrants. I retired to live out my last days up here. How’s your Mexican situation in these parts? I thought about hiring a hand to help me out for a while.”
    â€œA few come through, following the crops, but mostly its local people we hire. I haven’t heard anyone speak Mexican in years. Do you speak it?”
    â€œHad to, growing up in the Valley. They’re mostly hard working people, like the rest of us, and I know I can trust them to see a good job well done.”
    â€œWell, there’s a good man I know named Ivory Shaver who lives in the bottoms. He picks cotton for me in season and he’ll give you a full day’s work for your money. I’ll let him know you’re looking when I see him up