Shot in the Back (9 page)

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Authors: William W. Johnstone

BOOK: Shot in the Back
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CHAPTER TWELVE
The cabin on the Brazos—February 24, 1942
“Did he ever find out that you had been keeping an eye on him?” Faust asked.
“No, I thought it best not to let him know that,” Jesse replied. “At least not then. There was a time, some later, when I let him know what I had done.”
“How did he take it?”
Jesse chuckled. “It was long enough later that he laughed about it.”
The two men had been sitting at a table in a kitchen that was filled with the aroma of Jesse's cooking. “I'd say it smells like it's about done.”
Jesse walked over to the stove and stirred something in the pot. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “It's done.”
“I'm just here to do your story,” Faust said. “You don't have to feed me.”
“I learned how to make chicken and dumplin's from my ma,” Jesse said as he began spooning them onto Faust's plate. “Zee could make them, too, but Molly never got the hang of it.”
Not until both plates were piled high did Jesse take his seat across the table from Faust. He put so much pepper on the dumplings that they were covered with little black specks.
“You told your son you were going to take him to school, and I see now what you meant by that,” Faust said. “You were conducting the school yourself. Did you say you were teaching him how to be an outlaw?”
“Yeah, that's what I was doing, all right,” Jesse replied. “Want some pepper?”
“No, thanks. You're serious, aren't you? You really were teaching him how to be an outlaw.”
“Remember, the boy had already robbed a grocery store. Who robs a grocery store, anyway? You take a chance on somebody shooting you, all for thirty-six dollars? That made absolutely no sense at all.”
“Jesse, excuse me for bringing this up. But didn't you get your men all shot up in Northfield for ten dollars less than your son got from robbing the grocery store?”
“I reckon you got me on that one, Fred,” Jesse replied. “But the difference is, thirty-six dollars is all there was in that grocery store. The bank in Northfield had a lot more money than that; we just didn't get it is all.”
“Yes, I can see the difference. I suppose you do have a point there.”
“Anyway, I decided to teach Billy everything that I knew, from shooting, to how to live out in the woods when you're on the run, to how to plan a holdup. And, when you do plan one, plan one that is going to be worthwhile. I mean, why steal thirty-six dollars, when for the same amount of risk, you could steal thirty-six thousand dollars?”
“That makes sense. In a rather bizarre way,” Faust agreed.
“You've been listening to all this. Don't you think I could teach the army something?”
“Yes, I could see that,” Faust said. “Maybe you could design a course of escape and survival for soldiers who have been captured, or perhaps for airmen who have been shot down behind enemy lines.”
3
“Yes! Exactly!” Jesse replied enthusiastically. “That's exactly what I could do. You're a famous writer and all, Fred. Why don't you talk to the army and tell them what I could do. I think they would listen to you.”
Fred chuckled. “I'll speak with them, but I think you are assigning far more effectiveness to my words than they are likely to have.”
“You will at least try, won't you?”
“I'll try,” Faust said. “Jesse, earlier you alluded to the idea that it made no sense to steal thirty-six dollars when, for the same risk, you could steal thirty-six thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
“Did you explain that to your son? What I mean is, did you actually pick out a target for him?”
“Not for him,” Jesse replied. “For us.”
Cattleman's Hotel, Dallas, Texas—June 1904
Jesse spread out two pieces of paper on the bed in his room. One was a broad sheet and the other was a small pamphlet.
“All right,” Jesse said. “You've been a pretty good student; it's time we put it to a test.”
“You're goin' to give me a test?” Billy complained. “I never was very good at tests when I was in school.”
“I'm not talking about that kind of a test,” Jesse said. “This is a real test. We're going to put to real use what you've been learning.”
The frown left Billy's face to be replaced by a smile.
“All right!” he said. “What have you got in mind?”
“A train robbery.”
“Pa, I don't know. Robbin' a train? I mean, I've read about people robbin' trains, only it was people like Jesse James that done it. But that was a long time ago, and we sure ain't Jesse James. I mean, people don't actually rob trains anymore, do they?”
“I don't know,” Jesse replied. “Maybe not. But if they don't, that just means they probably won't be expecting it.”
“All right, if you say so. What are these things?” He took in the items on the bed with a wave of his hand.
“One is a map, and one is railroad timetable.”
Jesse spread out the map.
“Now, the best place for us to do this thing is as far from a town as you can get. That way, by the time the train gets into town where they can send telegrams out, or make telephone calls to tell that they have been robbed, we'll have a good lead on them.”
“So, that's what the map is for?”
“Yes. Also, the locomotives have to go take on water every forty miles. So what we are looking for is a place that is about forty miles from its last stop, and some distance before the next stop,” Jesse said, studying the sheet that was spread out before him. After a few minutes of rather intense scrutiny, he pointed to a place on the map.
“Here,” he said. “This is on the Texas and Pacific. It's about forty miles west of San Angelo, which means there will be a water tank here, or very close by. And it is at least another twenty miles before they reach San Martin, so that means it'll give us almost two hours to get away after we hold up the train.”
“Pa, it's not goin' to take that train two hours to go twenty miles. It can do that in an hour, easy.”
Jesse smiled. “I know. But it is going to take the fireman at least an hour to get the pressure back up after we have the fireman put out the fire in the firebox, then bleed off all his steam.”
“Ha! I hadn't thought of that. That's a good idea, Pa. I'll bet not even Jesse James ever thought of doin' something like that.”
Jesse examined the schedule for several minutes.
“What are you lookin' for, Pa?” Billy asked.
“I just want to see how many trains come through, and what times they'll come by the water tank. Here's one, for example. It's a westbound, due to arrive at San Martin at eleven in the morning. That means it would be at the tank at about ten in the morning.”
“Wow,” Billy said. “I can't believe you know how to figure all this out. I mean, I've never known you as anything but a gunsmith and a farmer. But here, you've got this all planned out like as if it is a battle or something.”
“In a way it is a battle, us against the people we are going to rob, and us against the law. Only, in this battle, if we do everything right, nobody gets killed. Especially us,” he added with a little chuckle.
Billy looked up quickly.
“Yeah, I reckon that is possible, isn't it? I mean, us getting killed.”
“It's always possible,” Jesse said. “Do you want to back out?”
“No.”
“All right, once we decide which train we want to hit, we'll also figure out what time we need to be there.”
Billy examined the distance on the map between Dallas and the spot pointed out by his father.
“That's going to be a long ride,” he said.
“We'll make arrangements for our horses and go as far as San Angelo by train,” Jesse said. “I want to get to San Angelo a couple of days early because we need to decide which train we are going to hit.”
“How much money do you think we'll get?”
“That depends on how much money there is in the express car.”
“Pa, we're doin' all this, what if—”
“What if what?”
“What if we hold up a train and it's not carrying any money?”
“Then we won't get anything.”
“If that's the case, then I think we should rob the passengers.”
“There are only two of us. Too many things can go wrong when you start through the cars, and we probably wouldn't get that much money anyway. It isn't worth the risk.”
“How is that more of a risk?”
“The engineer and the fireman aren't carrying guns. The express agent probably has one, but there's just one of him, and we can handle him. On a passenger car, any one of half a dozen men could be armed, maybe even more. And if one of them tries to be a hero, we may have to kill him.”
“Would you?” Billy asked.
“Would I what?”
“Kill him. Would you kill him?”
Jesse sighed, then put his hand on Billy's shoulder. “Son, you've got to get something straight, right now. Understand this, and understand it good. Anytime you pull your pistol from its holster, and you point that gun at someone, you have to be one hundred percent committed to killing that person if it comes to it. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“There is no ‘guess so' about it. Listen to me. When you pull a gun, you have to have it in your mind that you are ready to kill someone. You can't shoot someone just to wound them, and you can't stop and think about it. If it comes to that point, and believe me, we are going down a road now where it may very well come to that point, you have to be willing to kill. Are you ready for that?”
Billy hesitated.
“Don't hesitate, boy. It's yes or no, there is no in between. And if it is no, we need to stop this, right now, before we go any further. Now, what will it be?”
“Pa, do you remember during the land rush, when that man tried to run me off the blanket where I was waitin' for you?”
“Yes.”
“I pointed my gun at him and made him leave.”
“I remember that.”
“When I told Ma about it, I said I wouldn't have really killed him. But I would have, Pa. I would have killed him sure, if I had to. So yes, if it comes right down to it, I am ready to kill.”
Jesse nodded. “Good. I know that sounds harsh, boy, but life is harsh. And your being ready to kill, if you have to, could very well save your life someday. Or mine,” he added with a smile.
“You can depend on me, Pa. I promise, you can depend on me.”
“I will depend on you.”
Two days later, with their horses in the attached stock car, Jesse and Billy were on a train bound for San Angelo. Both were wearing suits, though Jesse had to buy a suit for Billy since he didn't have one.
“Remember, if anyone asks, we are cattle buyers, and we are going to San Angelo to look at stock,” Jesse said.
“Yes, sir.”
They had boarded the train at nine o'clock that night and were due to arrive in San Angelo at eleven o'clock the next day. Because they would only be on the train for one night, and to save money, Jesse had bought tickets in the day car.
At about eleven o'clock that night, the train came to a sudden and unscheduled stop. Several in the car made comments about it, many complaining that the stop had been so rapid that they were nearly thrown from their seats.
“What do you think this is?” Billy asked.
“I don't have any idea,” Jesse said. He tried to look through the window. “It's too dark to see anything outside.”
“Ha!” Billy said. “Hey, Pa, wouldn't it be funny if someone was holdin' up
this
train?”
Jesse glared at him.
“I didn't mean nothin',” Billy said. “I was just makin' a joke is all.”
“Jokes like that can be dangerous,” Jesse said under his breath. “Billy, from now on, you have to think about everything you say. Do you understand that? You have to be on guard at all times.”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” a chastised Billy replied. “I'll be more careful from now on, I promise.”
“See that you are.”
“Folks!” the conductor said, coming through the car then and holding his hands up. “I'm sorry about the sudden stop, but there were some cows crossin' the track, 'n the engineer had to stop to keep from hitting them.”
“He shoulda hit one of them,” a man in the car said, “if the cows don't have any more sense than to wander out onto the right of way. We coulda had us steak for breakfast.”
There were a few weak laughs at the man's joke.
“Soon as the last one is gone, we'll . . .” the conductor said, but even as he was explaining the condition, the train started up again, “. . . get under way,” he said, completing the sentence.
“Here's another lesson for you,” Jesse said as he folded his arms across his chest, then leaned back in his seat. “Anytime you have an opportunity to get some sleep, you'd better take it.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy said, following his father's lead as he, too, crossed his arms, leaned back in the seat, and lowered his head.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When they reached San Angelo the next day, Jesse bought a newspaper and took it with him as they had dinner at one of the local restaurants. He began reading it during the meal.
“That's a funny way of reading the paper,” Billy said. “You haven't even looked at the front page.”
“That's because I'm not interested in the front page,” Jesse said. “This is what I'm interested in.”
Jesse turned the paper around, then tapped one of the stories, inside.
Business News
First Trust Bank of San Angelo will be transferring sufficient funds to the San Francisco Bank and Savings to cover checks drawn against it when Emerson Williams arranged for the shipping of his beef to Japan. The money transfer will go out on Friday next, so that it will be there for deposit on Monday morning. The amount, to be handled by Texas Pacific Express, is said to be in excess of five thousand dollars.
“You asked how much money?” Jesse said. “How does this sound to you?”
“How did you know to look for this in the paper?” Billy asked.
“I've seen such announcements before,” Jesse said.
“When are we going?”
“Tomorrow is Thursday. I want to be there in plenty of time. For now, after we eat, I want to go over to the depot and time the trains for a while.”
“Pa, after that, could we find us a saloon and maybe have a couple of beers?”
“Yeah, we can do that. But don't get drunk. When people get drunk they start talking. And sometimes when they start talking, they say things they shouldn't. We have to be very careful.”
 
 
“I'll have a beer,” Billy said, stepping up to the bar of the Brown Dirt Cowboy Saloon a few hours later.
“Honey, if you'll buy me a drink, I'll sit and talk with you for a while,” a pretty, heavily painted, and scantily dressed young woman said, stepping up to him.
Billy smiled. “And a drink for the lady,” he added.
With drinks in hand, the two started toward a table that was near the vacant piano.
“My name is Rose,” the woman said as they sat at the table. “What's yours?”
“Bil—” Billy started, then paused. “Billings,” he said. “Seth Billings.”
“Well, Seth, you are a handsome man in that suit. You aren't dressed like most of the cowboys who come in here.”
“That's because I'm not a cowboy,” Billy said. “I'm a cattle buyer. My pa and I are here to look at cattle.”
Rose laughed. “What's there to look at? They all look the same to me.”
Billy laughed, too.
“Tomorrow,” someone said from the next table over. “They're goin' to hang both of 'em tomorrow.”
“I hate to see that. Both of 'em have been in here several times. They both seemed to be good ole' boys, as far as I was concerned.”
“Yeah, but when they robbed the stage, they kilt Emmett Drew. He was the shotgun guard, 'n don't forget, Emmett had hisself a wife 'n two kids.”
“I'm not sayin' that Lou 'n Harry don't deserve to get hung. I'm just sayin' I hate that it come to this.”
“You goin' to watch?”
“I don't know. I reckon I prob'ly will watch.”
“There's goin' to be a hangin' here, tomorrow?” Billy asked Rose.
The smile left Rose's face. “Yes,” she said.
“Do you know the two they're talkin' about?”
“Like the man said, they used to come in here. Yes, I know both of them. I never thought they'd do anything like holdin' up a stage and killin' Mr. Drew, though.” Rose forced a smile. “Let's not talk about them anymore. Let's talk about you. Where are you from?”
“Colorado. Denver, Colorado.”
“I've heard there are mountains in Colorado,” Rose said. “It must be very pretty there.”
“It is.”
The next morning, there were at least three hundred people gathered at the corner of North Main and Pulliam streets. The scaffold stood at the junction of the two streets, with two nooses dangling from the crossbeam. A few minutes earlier, filled sandbags had been placed on the two trapdoors, and the handle pulled to test the operation. Billy had jumped at the sound.
“Pa, why are we here?” Billy asked. “I don't think I'm goin' to like watchin' a couple of men get their necks stretched.”
“Let's just say it's part of your education,” Jesse replied.
“But what kind of lesson is this?” Billy asked.
“Let's just say that it will make you aware of what could happen if you aren't careful.” Jesse saw someone close by and realized that his comment might have sounded a little suspect.
“You need to always walk the straight and narrow,” he added.
Apparently, his added comment satisfied the curiosity of the man because the man turned his attention back to the empty gallows.
“When are you goin' to do it?” someone shouted. “We're gettin' tired 'a standin' out here all mornin'.”
As they waited, Jesse, subconsciously, put his fingers to his neck where he could feel the slight puffy welt of the scar.
 
 
“
Where's your brother Frank at?” Union soldiers asked the sixteen-year-old Jesse James.
“I don't know. He's gone.”
“He's with the Bushwhackers, ain't he?”
“He didn't tell me where he was goin'.”
“String the little whelp up,” a sergeant said. “If he ain't goin' to talk, he ain't no good to us. We may as well hang 'im.”
A rope was looped around Jesse's neck, then the end tossed over the limb of a big oak tree. Two soldiers pulled on the rope, hoisting Jesse, by his neck, from the ground. He began to choke.
“Sergeant! What are you doing?” a lieutenant called.
“The little bastard ain't tellin' us nothin', so I figured to hang 'im,” the sergeant replied.
“Let him down! We aren't here to hang kids.”
The soldiers let go of the rope, and Jesse fell, collapsing to the ground. His neck was on fire from the rope burn.
“Let's go. Frank James isn't here, and we're just wasting time.”
Jesse heard the soldiers riding off and as he lay there, recovering his breath, he made the decision to find Frank. He was going to join him, and the group he was riding with, which he knew, but didn't tell the soldiers, was Todd's Guerillas. He would show the Yankees who was a kid.
 
 
A shout from someone in the crowd jerked Jesse back from his reverie. “Here they come!”
Looking back toward the jail, Jesse could see the two condemned men being led to the gallows. Their legs weren't hobbled, but their hands were handcuffed behind their backs. Apparently, one of them had been given a chew of tobacco earlier, because just as he reached the foot of the gallows he stopped to squirt out a stream.
“Go on up there now, Lou,” the sheriff said. “You don't want to keep these folks standin' out in the hot sun any longer than they already have, do you?”
“Sheriff, I'm just all broke out with pity for 'em,” Lou answered. There was a smattering of nervous laughter in the crowd at his remark.
“Come on, boys, the longer you wait, the more time you have to worry about it. If it was me, I'd be wantin' to just get it over with.”
“I'd be happy to trade places with you,” the other prisoner said.
Again, there was a scattering of nervous laughter.
“You boys are both just full of laughs,” the sheriff said.
The two men moved onto the scaffold, then both were positioned on the trapdoors, under the noose. A clergyman, who had been standing silently in one corner of the gallows, moved over to them.
“Lou Clayton and Harry Foster, since you both are soon to pass into an endless and unchangeable state, and your future happiness or misery depends upon the few moments which are left you, I require you strictly to examine yourselves, and your estate, both toward God and towards man, and let no worldly consideration hinder you from making a true and full confession of your sins, and giving all the satisfaction which is in your power to everyone whom you have wronged or injured, that you may find mercy at your heavenly Father's hand and not be condemned in the dreadful day of judgment.”
“How 'm I s'posed to do that?” Lou asked. “Hell, Parson, folks I've wronged is spread out all over the place.”
“Make contrition in your soul,” the parson said. “And, as the soul of the good thief saved by our Lord, so, too, can your soul be saved.”
“Ha! This is workin' out real good then,” Lou said. “I've done near 'bout ever' sin can be done, 'n you're tellin' me all I got to do now is say I'm sorry, 'n I won't be goin' to hell?”
“That is exactly what I'm saying. I beg of you, sir. Repent. Repent now, before it is too late.”
“I don't repent of nothin'.”
“I do, Parson,” Harry said. “I repent of ever'thing. I'm just real sorry for all the things I've done.”
“Then you, sir, like the Good Thief, are saved,” the parson said with a beneficent smile.
“When I get to heaven, I'm goin' to tell Emmett that I'm just real sorry we kilt him,” Harry said.
“And when I get to hell, I'm goin' to kick the devil right in the ass 'n take the place over,” Lou said with a loud cackle.
Now the crowd gasped.
“All right, Parson, step aside, please,” the sheriff said. He slipped masks over the heads of each of the prisoners, then stepped to the edge of the gallows. The sheriff glanced down toward the hangman, who had his hands on the lever that would open the trapdoors.
The crowed grew silent, and neither of the prisoners said a word.
The sheriff nodded his hand, and the hangman pulled on the lever. The trapdoors opened with a bang, and the two men fell through them, waist-deep into the opening. Both were perfectly still.
“Pa, watchin' that hangin',” Billy said an hour later as the two men started west on their forty-mile ride, “I didn't like that.”
“I didn't figure you would.”
“Why did you say it was a lesson?”
“For two reasons. One reason is, there is a very real possibility that, given the business we're about to go into, that one or both of us could wind up in the same place. I thought you might need to know that.”
“What was the other reason?”
“To show you how awful it is, so that we're careful enough to keep either of us from winding up in the same place.”
“Well, if you wanted to get my attention, you sure as hell did,” Billy said. “Because I really don't want to wind up bein' hung. I think if it came right down to it, I'd rather be shot.”
“Gettin' shot isn't all that good, either.”
“I'll tell you what really got my attention,” Billy said. “And that's the way that fella, Lou, acted.”
Jesse chuckled quietly. “He was a feisty bastard, wasn't he? All full of piss and vinegar.”
“Yeah,” Billy said, and he managed a chuckle as well. “You reckon he really done it?”
“What? Hold up the stagecoach and shoot the guard? I reckon so, seeing as the other fella much as admitted it just before the hangin' took place.”
“No. I mean do you reckon he really did kick the devil in the ass when he got to hell?”
Jesse laughed out loud.

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