Gabacho in DallasI wiped down the bar and wondered if it wasn’t time to consider moving on. I’d been in Dallas at the Galloping Mustang for a month and a half, which is the longest I’d stayed in one place since I began my long horseback trek back to Huntsville. That journey started on the Rancho Salvador across the Rio Grande south of the New Mexico Boot Heel country. Slick and I—Slick was my flea-bitten gray gelding—took our time, stopping when we wanted to stop and traveling when we wanted to travel. I’m a cowboy by trade, but a bartender by convenience, since ranch jobs were becoming harder to find.
I’d run into the Galloping Mustang by accident when I engaged a fellow in casual conversation at a diner and learned the joint was looking for a bartender. Since my sock was getting low on
