Shot in the Back (17 page)

After repeating his brother's last line, Jesse got up from the table and walked over to the porch railing to look out over the river.

Faust gave him a long beat of silence before he spoke.

“Did you ever see Frank again, Jesse?” Faust asked.

“After the Fair closed Frank went back to his farm in Excelsior Springs, Missouri, where he charged fifty cents apiece for people to come tour the farm, and he sold pistols with his and my initials carved in the handle, claiming that they were the very pistols we had carried during our life of crime.”

The tone of Jesse's voice was bitter. “The son of a bitch said that his old life grew more detestable the further he got away from it. But that didn't keep him from showing himself off like some fool at the fair, or from charging people to tour his farm.

“He died in 1915. Ma died in 1911. And to answer your question, I never saw either one of them again. Ma never even learned that I was still alive.”

“When you learned that your brother had surrendered himself, was tried, and found not guilty, weren't you just a little envious of him?”

“Was I envious of him? No, why would you ask such a thing?”

“Well, after all, he was able to start a new life for himself, just as you did. The only difference is, he lived out the rest of his life with his wife and son, and with your mother. You had to give everything up to accomplish that same thing. He kept his family; you lost yours.”

“I lost one family, that's true,” Jesse said. “But I had another family, a wonderful family.”

“Now comes the big question. Once Billy learned that you were Jesse James, how did he take it?”

Billy had not said one word during the drive back to the hotel. Not until they were in the hotel room did he speak about it.

“Pa, it's true? You really are Jesse James?”

“Yes, Billy. It's true. I'm sorry I never told you, or Frank, or Molly about it. But I thought it would be better if none of you knew. By the way, if it will make you feel better, I never told Jesse Junior or Mary who I was. Jesse Junior didn't even know what his real name was. He thought his name was Timmy Howard.”

“But your wife knew who you were. Your real wife.”

“Billy, do you think your ma wasn't my real wife?”

“How could she be, if you were already married?”

“Technically, I wasn't married. The state of Missouri thought I was dead, so my marriage to Zee was no longer valid. It was the same as if we had gotten a divorce.”

Billy was quiet for a moment, then he smiled. “Yeah, I guess that's true, isn't it? Ma really was your wife. And that's good, because that means I'm not a bastard.”

Jesse chuckled. “Oh, now, hold on there. Your ma and I might have been married, but that doesn't mean you aren't a bastard. In fact, I do believe I've heard your brother call you that more than once.”

Billy laughed, too.

“How do you feel about this, Billy? I mean, knowing that I'm Jesse James.”

“Damn,” Billy said, but the smile on his face showed that it wasn't an angry ‘damn.' “Damn, you're Jesse James. And that means that I'm the son of Jesse James. Ha! I think that's great!”

“So, you aren't upset by it.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Are you kiddin', Pa? I'm not upset at all. Like I told you, I think it's great! Wait until Frank finds out.”

“No!” Jesse said sharply, holding up his finger in admonishment.

“What?”

“Billy, you must never tell Frank. He's not like you, you know that. He's got Ethel Marie and young James to look after. I'm afraid that knowing who I really am would only cause him trouble.”

“All right, Pa, if you say so. I won't say anything to him.”

“We probably won't be seeing much of him from now on, anyway. Not on the path we'll be taking. I hope you understand that. It's one of the costs of riding the outlaw trail.”

“Hot damn, that means we're going to do more jobs, doesn't it?” Billy asked excitedly.

“We have no choice. We've started down this trail; that means we are going to have to ride it to wherever it takes us. We have to make a living, don't we?”

Jesse and Billy left St. Louis shortly after the meeting with Frank. They drove south along
El Camino Real
, a road that ran from St. Louis to the Missouri Arkansas state line at the bottom of the boot heel. They didn't go all the way to the state line but rented a house in Commerce, a small town in southeast Missouri on the Mississippi River. There, Jesse got a job as a bartender, and Billy worked down on the river landing, loading and unloading the boats that called at Commerce.

“Pa, why are we doing this?” Billy asked one night after a particularly hard day. “We've got enough money that we don't really need to work.”

“This is a small town, Billy. If we didn't have some visible source of income, it would cause a lot of questions. People are already curious as to how we can afford an automobile. There are only five in the entire town; three are owned by riverboat owners, one is owned by the bank president, and one is owned by the grain elevator operator.”

“I know, but we've got to find something else to do. This job is killing me. And this isn't what I meant when I said I wanted us to do some more jobs.”

“Stay with it a little longer,” Jesse said. “It's not going to last forever.”

“That's good, because I'm not going to last forever. Hell, at this rate, I'm not going to last much longer,” Billy complained.

 

 

The name of the tavern where Jesse worked was the Boatman's Bar. He didn't have to worry about serving mixed drinks, because there was no market for them. The customers were either farmers or boatmen, and their drink of choice was either beer or whiskey. There was very little wine served.

“. . . Jesse James,” someone said.

At the moment, Jesse was pouring whiskey into a glass, and hearing his name he turned around quickly to see who was addressing him.

Jesse needn't have been worried, because no one was addressing him. His name had come up in conversation among two of the customers who were standing at the bar. They were regulars, both of them boatmen, and Jesse knew them.

“The hell you say,” Gib Crabtree said.

“Well, that's what they're saying,” Dago Wyatt replied. “I haven't heard it from the fella his own self, but folks are sayin' that he used to ride with Jesse James.”

“What's his name?” Crabtree asked.

“Cummings, or Cummins, somethin' like that. His first name is Jim.”

“I thought ever'one that ever rode with Jesse James was either dead or in jail,” Crabtree said.

“Apparently not. That is, if this feller really did ride with Jesse James like folks is sayin' he did. I heard 'em talkin' about it last time we put in at Osceola.”

“This fella you're talkin' about,” Jesse said, “he lives in Osceola, does he?”

“No, from what they was talkin' there, he actually lives in Blytheville. Leastwise they say he has a farm just north of Blytheville.”

“You wouldn't know where that farm is, would you?” Jesse asked.

Crabtree laughed. “What are you wantin' to know for, Frank? Are you thinkin' maybe he's still wanted 'n you can go down there like a bounty hunter 'n get a reward?”

Jesse laughed as well. “Is he?” he asked. “I hadn't thought about that.”

“I can see Frank doin' that. I can see him takin' that hog leg he has under the bar here and goin' down to Blytheville to take that Cummings fella in,” Wyatt said.

“You still got that hog leg, ain't you, Frank?” Crabtree asked.

Jesse reached under the bar and pulled out a Colt .44. “Right here,” he said. “Just in case someone wants to come in and rob the place.”

“Hell, Frank, ever'one on the river knows you've got that piece, and there's enough folks who have seen you shoot that it ain't likely anyone's goin' to try you.”

The reason they knew that Jesse could shoot well was because shortly after Jesse and Billy arrived in Commerce there was a shooting contest, and Jesse won the first prize of one hundred dollars.

“I'm not a bounty hunter,” Jesse said. “But I've read a lot about Jesse and Frank James, so I'm just curious is all. I saw Frank James up at the World's Fair in Saint Louis last fall.”

“Yeah, I heard he was up there, showing himself at the fair, along with the fat lady, the man who swallowed swords, and those little Igorots from the Philippines who ate all the dogs that fella from over in Dexter rounded up for 'em,” Crabtree said.

“I tell you what, if that son of a bitch had rounded up my dog, I would have shot his ass,” Wyatt said.

“What dog? Hell, Dago, you ain't got no damn dog.”

“Well, if I had one I would'a shot him if he took it. Frank, are you really wonderin' about this Cummings feller?”

“I was just curious about him, is all.”

“Well they say he's got him a farm just off the road about halfway between the state line and Blytheville. I'm told there's a red and green barn that's right next to each other, and those two barns are just before you get to his farm.”

“If I bring him in and I get a reward for him, I'll split it with you,” Jesse teased.

 

 

Jesse had a supper of chicken and dumplings when Billy got home from work that night.

“Wow,” Billy said. “You haven't made this in a long time.”

“This is sort of a celebration,” Jesse said.

“What are we celebratin'?”

“I told my boss today that I quit,” Jesse said. “You can tell your boss tomorrow.”

“You've got something in mind, haven't you?” Billy asked excitedly.

“Yes, but it's going to take more than just the two of us.”

“Oh? Where are we going to get someone else?”

“In Blytheville.”

“Blytheville? Where's that?”

“It's in Arkansas, just across the state line, about eighty miles south of here. And, I'm told that Kings Highway is a good, smooth road all the way there. We can drive it in half a day.”

“Do you know someone in Blytheville?”

“It turns out that I do,” Jesse replied without being specific.

Jesse was correct in his assessment of the time it would take to make the drive down. Four hours after leaving Commerce, they stopped on the side of the road, just south of the Missouri state line, and just beyond two barns, one of which was red, and the other green. A ditch ran parallel with the road, and on the other side of the ditch was a fence. On the other side of the fence was a field, half plowed. In the middle of the field, and coming toward them, was a man, sitting on a riding plow that was being pulled by a team of mules. Jesse and Billy stood at the fence until the plow reached their end of the field.

“Jim!” Jesse called.

“Whoa, there,” the man riding on the plow called to the mules.

“Jim, I'd like to talk to you for a moment.”

The farmer looped the reins around the plow-lift handle, then climbed down and walked back to the fence.

“Do you know me?” he asked, his face registering curiosity.

“Yeah, I know you,” Jesse said with a smile. “You are James Robert Cummins; you rode with Quantrill during the war. And you took part in a train robbery at Blue Cut, Missouri.”
⁷

“Mister, I don't know who you are, but you got the wrong man. I never done none o' them things.”

“Yes you did, Windy Jim.”

“Who are you? Do I know you?”

Jesse smiled. “Yeah, you know me. Look close, Jim. I know I've changed, but then we all have. After all, it's been more than twenty years since we last saw each other.”

Cummins studied Jesse, then he gasped, took a step back, and held out his hand.

“You're a ghost!” he said. “Get away! Get away!”

Jesse chuckled. “That's funny, that's exactly what Frank said when he saw me. Tell me, Jim, have you ever seen a ghost drive an automobile?”

“You . . . you
have
to be a ghost!”

“Come over here and shake hands with me,” Jesse said. “You've never heard of a ghost who could shake hands, have you? If I'm a ghost, you won't be able to feel me.”

Cummins, with his anxiety showing, approached the fence slowly and cautiously. He held out his hand but waited for a long moment.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Jim, grab my hand,” Jesse said.

With one last surge of courage, Cummins reached out his hand. When he felt that the flesh was real, he smiled.

“Jesse James,” he said. “It's good to see you aga—” He paused in the middle of the word and cocked his head. “Wait a minute. How is this possible? You're supposed to be dead!”

“Let's just say it was a case of mistaken identity,” Jesse said. “And I took advantage of it. I'm calling myself Frank Alexander these days.”

“Yeah, well, who can blame you? Does anyone else know you're still alive?”

“Just you, and my boy here. And now, Frank. Billy, meet Jim Cummins. Jim and I rode together with Quantrill, and afterwards he was part of my outfit.”

Cummins chuckled. “That's how you knew I took part in the Blue Cut train robbery. Tell me, Jesse, what brings you to Arkansas?”

“You.”

“You mean you came here just to look me up?”

“Yes.”

Cummins, with an anxious look on his face, took a step back. “Why for are you looking me up? Bob Ford was my brother-in-law that's true. But it was him that kilt you. I didn't have nothin' to do with it, I swear!”

Jesse laughed. “I know you didn't, Jim, and as you can see, Bob Ford didn't kill me. By the way, my name isn't Jesse anymore. Now my name is Frank. J. Frank Alexander. I swear, you're actin' as skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. All I want to do is ask you a question. And whatever you answer will be up to you. Do you like being a farmer, working an entire year for . . . well, how much do you make in a year?”

“About five hundred dollars,” Cummins answered.

“How would you like to make ten times that in one day?”

“You're puttin' your gang together again?”

“Yes. Are you in?”

Cummins smiled. “You're damn right, I am.”