Jessie and Paul travel to Dawson, Arizona, so Jessie can sing at her friend, Hanna Tyler's, wedding. But the cameo that Jessie gave Hanna as an engagement present makes Jessie prime suspect in a murder investigation. On the run, they encounter Apache, venomous scorpions, road agents, and the U.S. Cavalry.
Street and Smith’s New York Weekly is proud to present the latest addition to the amazing legend of Eerie, Arizona.
Jessie Hanks Outlaw Queen: The Cameo Murder
By Nicholas Varrick
As Told by Ellie Dauber and Christopher Leeson © 2016
Part 1: On the Trail to Trouble
Chapter 1 -- “Prolog: September 1871”
Tuesday, September 12, 1871
A chunky, sandy-haired man walked into the Prescott, Arizona Wells Fargo depot and looked around for the clerk. In his mid-thirties, Eugene Barlow was dressed in a brown woolen suit, with a budge in one of his pockets. He stepped over to the counter at the far end of the room and called out, “Hello, anybody here?”
“Just me.” A slender man in jeans and a starched white shirt came out of the back room. He was wiping his hands on a napkin that he quickly stuffed in his pants pocket. “I’m Gully Finch. I was in the back, having some supper. What can I do for you?”
Barlow pulled a package about the size of a man’s clenched fist from his jacket. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a bluish-green string. “I want to send this back east to my wife in Atlanta. It’s a birthday present for her.” He set the parcel on the counter.
“It’ll take about ten days to get there. Will that be enough time?”
“I think so. How much?”
Finch put the package on a small brass scale. “Twenty-one ounces; that’ll be a dollar and a half.” He handed the other man a label, a white paper rectangle with a narrow yellow and black striped border. “Just fill this out, so we know who gets it and where you want it to go.”
Barlow tossed Finch a five dollar half-eagle. While the Wells Fargo man made change, Barlow wrote the information on the label. He finished just as the other man put his change down on the counter.
“Okay,” Finch said, taking the tag. He licked the gummed back of the label and pressed it down hard onto the top of the package. “This’ll go out on the 8:35 stage to Tucson tomorrow morning. That should help get it t’your wife in time.”
The other man nodded and gathered up his change. “Thanks; I’ll let you get back to your meal.” He checked his pocket watch. “Hmmm; almost 6 PM.” He said. “I’d better head back to the boarding house before Mrs. Rossini stops serving supper.”
He paused a beat before adding, “Good night, Mr. Finch.” With that, he returned the watch to his pocket and walked briskly out of the depot.
* * * * *
Wednesday, September 13, 1871
The Prescott offices of Hall and Hall Investment Bankers took up most of the second floor of the Gurley Street office building. The clerks and bookkeepers worked at three rows of desks in a large open room, next to the Hall Brothers’ private office. Gray steel file cabinets lined three walls broken up by large wall maps of portions of the Arizona, New Mexico, and Nevada Territories. A second, locked door in the north wall of the room led to the steel-lined room where the firm kept its most confidential financial and legal documents and records.
Eugene Barlow set down his pen in the crease of the ledger he was working on. He leaned back and checked the large clock ticking away atop a row of file cabinets. ‘10:50,’ he thought, ‘time to go.’ He stood up and began to put on his suit jacket.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” Supervising clerk Jonas Lee asked. Lee was a short, heavy-set man whose desk faced the dozen men he supervised.
Aquilla “Quill” Jenson’s desk was next to Barlow’s. “Maybe Gene’s off to meet with some young lady, to try to trade her virtue for that cameo he was showing everybody a couple of days ago.”
“What I do – or don’t do – with the cameo is my concern, Quill,” Barlow answered. “But I wouldn’t say ‘No’, not right off, anyway, if some pretty young gal suggested such a trade.” He chuckled, and then added, “Perhaps your sister might be…”
“Hey, now.” Quill jumped up, his hands curled into fists. “You can’t say that about my sister.”
Lee glared at the pair. “We’ll have no fighting here. You teased him, Jenson, and he got you back. You’re even, so let it go.” He paused for a moment. “And shake hands.”
“I will if he will.” Gene Barlow offered his hand.
The other man shook his head. “I want an apology first.”
“So do I,” Lee replied. “The two of you have been going back and forth for days, and it’s disrupting the whole damned office.”
Barlow pointed at Jenson. “He started it!”
“And I’m finishing it,” Lee told them both. “Now shake hands.” He waited, and when neither man moved, he added, “Now!” in an angry voice.
Barlow grimaced, but he offered his hand. Jenson gave a low growl, but he took the hand and shook it. “Satisfied?”
“I am,” the supervisor answered. “Barely… and I hope that this is the end of it.” He turned to Barlow. “You can go now, Eugene, but you never did say where you were off to.”
“Just some personal business; I’ll be back by the end of lunch.”
Lee glanced up at the clock. “Fine; I’ll see you at 12:30 then.”
“Thanks, boss.” Barlow nodded at Lee and walked away.
* * * * *
Ignatz “Iggy” Kent ran down Prescott’s Cortez Street, his feet pumping as fast as he could. After all, there was a whole two bits hanging on whether he or his kid brother, Silas, was the faster.
So far, the eleven-year old Iggy was in the lead, but he could hear Silas catching up, his footsteps on the wooden sidewalk getting louder. The older boy made a quick turn and hurried down Union Street, a narrow alley in the business district. As he ran, he saw a man lying on the ground, blocking his way. “Dang,” he spat. “By the time I go around this drunk, Silas’ll – Ho-oly shit!”
He stopped in his track and stared at the man. Specifically, he stared at the red stains being made by the two bullet holes in his chest.
* * * * *
Jessie Hanks saw a stagecoach, coming out of a cloud of its own dust as the road curved sharply about a half-mile away. She scrambled down the hill, crouching low to keep hidden. All the time she was studying the coach as it came closer.
There was a driver and a guard up front. The guard wasn’t holding his rifle. Sloppy. There was almost no luggage on top, just a few boxes. When the road curved again, she could see that there wasn’t any sort of a bulge in the rear boot either, where luggage and mail might be stored at the back of the coach. There wasn’t likely to be much on that coach, but there was something on it. She was going to find out just what that something was, and, if it was valuable, she was going to use it to pay her way in Mexico.
By the time she reached the side of the road, the coach only about a hundred yards off. She stepped out and began waving her arms. “Stop the coach,” she yelled, lowering her voice to a more masculine range. Her hat was pushed down over her head, partly covering her face.
The driver pulled at the reins. The horses slowed, stopping a few feet from Jessie, kicking up a cloud of dust around her. “What you want, boy?” the driver called down. He was an older man, brown from years in the sun and wearing what looked like an old cavalry jacket. The guard, a chunky-looking man in a brown work shirt and a gray, fringed vest, just sat there, his arms crossed in amusement.
“Whatever you got up there that’s valuable.” She pulled the pistol from her pocket and pointed it at the pair. They didn’t move.
The guard began to chuckle. “You think you gonna scare is with that there popgun, sonny?”
Jessie tried to fire, but her arm shifted as she did, so that she shot into the air. “Now!” she shouted, recovering quickly. But the damage was done. The pistol’s recoil had made her head jerk. Her hat flew off, and her long, blonde hair tumbled down about her shoulders. While the jacket she wore concealed her figure, her face was feminine, heart-shaped, with cornflower blue eyes and full, inviting lips.
“A girl!” The guard sat up. “Well, I sure as hell ain’t gonna give up no mail sack to no pretty little slip like you. “ He reached forward, under the seat, probably for his rifle.
Desperate, Jessie aimed for his chest and fired again. And again her hand shifted of its own will. The bullet hit the seat just inches from his hand. He pulled it back quickly. The driver raised his hands into the air. The guard scowled and did the same.
Jessie silently cursed Shamus O’Toole. When he’d used his potion to transform her into a woman, he’d ordered that she couldn’t hurt anyone, an order the potion was still enforcing.
Aloud she said, “Next time I won’t aim for nuthin’ you weren’t born with. Now, real slow, you take out that rifle you was going for, and hold it up so I can see it.” Her teeth were set, as she fought to keep her hand from shaking. This was turning into the worst stage robbery she had ever committed.
The guard muttered something under his breath, as he carefully lifted the rifle, a Winchester, out from under the seat.
“Toss it...” She pointed with her pistol towards the other side of the road. “...over there.” The guard muttered again and threw the rifle to the ground.
Jessie pointed her pistol back at the driver. “He got anything else on him?”
“Don’t say a word,” the guard growled.
Jessie fired into the air, deliberately this time. “Tell me.”
“He-he’s got a derringer in a vest pocket -- please don’t shoot me -- and... and a b-bowie knife in his right boot.”
The man’s yellow streak was showing, and that gave Jessie confidence. “Take ‘em, mister, out and toss ‘em by the rifle,” she told the guard, pointing her Colt right at his head. The guard glared at her, but he did as she said.
She turned her attention to the other man. “Now you, driver, what’re you carrying?”
The driver stood up slowly, his hands raised. “Just this, ma’am.” He was wearing a gun belt. He reached down with his left arm and loosened it. Then he grabbed one end and tossed it in the same direction as the guard’s weapons.
“Thank you, gentlemen. Now if you’d be so kind to show me that mail sack you mentioned. You... driver, you do it. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for making your friend here lose his job for giving up a mail sack to ‘no pretty little slip’ like me.” After a rough start, she was definitely enjoying this. “Not a big, brave man like him.”
The driver reached back on the roof of the stage. He fiddled with something Jessie couldn’t see. When he turned back, he was holding a pale gray bag about the size of a sack of flour. The words “U.S. Mail” were printed on it in big black letters. It looked full, and he needed both hands to hold the thing.
“Fine,” Jessie said. “You just toss that thing over here by me.” She pointed to the ground in front of her with the pistol.
The man twisted his body and, with a loud grunt, tossed the sack into the air. It landed with a sizeable thud in the grass at the edge of the road about five feet from where Jessie was standing.
“All right,” Jessie said firmly, stepping off the road. “Now get outta here.”
“Y-yes, ma’am,” the driver said. He jerked at the reins and the team started off at nearly a full gallop. Jessie stood for a moment, laughing at the fright she’d put into the two men.
She picked up her hat and tucked her hair back up under it. Then she hurried over to examine her prize. The sack was heavy burlap interwoven with some sort of a metal mesh with a lock sewn into the top, as well.
She didn’t try to lift the thing after she’d seen how the driver had struggled with it. Much as she hated to admit it, she knew how much weaker her woman’s body was. From the look of the mesh, she likely couldn’t cut it open.
“The hell with it!” She held her pistol next to the lock and fired. The bullet tore through the mechanism, and the sack popped open. She lifted it as best she could and dumped the contents on the ground.
“Letters!” She cursed thoroughly – in English and Spanish. “What the hell am I supposed to do with letters? I’m can’t very well carry ‘em all away, and I sure as hell can’t sit here going through ‘em looking for cash.”
And there had been nothing in the sack but letters. No, that wasn’t quite true. She recognized a few things as legal documents, a will and a couple deeds that fell out of some envelop full of papers with the name of a lawyer printed on the side. There were a few newspapers and a bound stack of flyers advertising a new settlement up in the Oregon Territory, all of it just worthless so far as she was concerned.
Finally, down near the bottom of the pile, she found a small package all tied up with string. It was only about the size of a man’s fist, but it was something that, at least, looked like it might be valuable.
“Well, that was pretty much of a waste,” she said in disgust, holding up the package. “First, I can’t shoot straight, then, all I get for my trouble is this, whatever the hell it is.” She thought about just leaving it there, but there was a principle involved. When you robbed somebody, you took some of their stuff with you. It was the principle of the thing. She shoved the box down into the empty left pocket of her jacket. The pistol was in the right pocket.
She was about to go hunting for the weapons that the driver and guard had left behind, when she heard a noise, way, way off in the distance. Jessie turned and looked down the road in that direction. “Riders,” she spat. Had the men on the stage sent them? No, they were coming from the north. The stage was headed south. Still, she didn’t need to be seen. There might be questions, questions that she’d just as soon not have to answer. “No time t’look for anything, dammit!” She ran into the brush and up the hill towards where her horse was hidden.
* * * * *
Jonas Lee dabbed at his forehead with a red polka-dot kerchief, as the deputy sheriff led him into the back room of the town mortuary. “I’m not sure about this. I-I really don’t think I’ll know this man – whoever he is.”
“That may be,” the deputy said. “But he had a Hall and Hall business card in his pocket. In fact, that was all he had; no wallet, no engraved watch, or any other identification. No jewelry or other valuables neither, not even change in his pockets. We’re pretty sure it was a robbery, but it’ll help to know who the man was. Mr. Hall… Primo Hall, that is, said you knew the staff and clients best.”
Lee sighed. “I suppose I do. Where’d you find this body, anyway?”
“A couple of boys found him on Union Street, between Cortez and Marina, that’s only about three blocks from your office.”
“Maybe he is a client – or somebody from the office. Most of our people are at lunch now. I was about to leave myself when you…”
“I know, sir, and I’m sorry. I hope the sight of him won’t ruin your appetite.”
The chief clerk shook his head and made a sour face. “I’ll be all right. I saw enough death up close during the War to last me a lifetime.”
“Amen t’that,” the deputy replied. He glanced over to Phileas Moss, the mortician, who was standing next to the table where the corpse lay. It was covered with a dingy, graying sheet. “Ok, Phil, show the man what we got here.”
Moss carefully lifted the sheet, revealing from the dead man’s head. “Oh, my good Lord,” Lee gasped. “That’s Gene Barlow.”
“You sure, Mr. Lee?”
The chief clerk nodded grimly. “The man’s desk faces mine. I’ve looked straight at him every day since he started working for us a couple o’months ago. I’m… I’m sure.” He took a breath and wiped his forehead again as the mortician replaced the sheet.
“Do you have any idea who might want to kill him?”
The man shook his head. “No, it was probably a robbery like you said.” He had a sudden thought. “In fact, that might help you. Gene bought a necklace, a blue cameo, a couple days ago – a birthday gift for his wife, I think. He was showing it to everybody in the office – and probably anybody else he knew. As far as I know, he had it with him this morning. You look for that cameo. Whoever has it, he had to take it from Gene, and he’s probably your murderer.”
* * * * *
Jessie Hanks took another sip of coffee and gathered Toby Hess’s jacket around her. The tiny blonde had taken the jacket when she’d fled his cabin. Toby was dead; killed by accident when she’d fought his attempt to rape her. It was self-defense, but Jessie feared that she’d hang for it anyway.
She’d been a notorious male outlaw -- “Mad Dog” Jesse Hanks, they’d called him -- before Shamus O’Toole’s potion had transformed her into her current form. All she’d done was kill a few good-for-nothings and brag about killing even more of them than she really had – and that she’d enjoyed doing it. It was usually a good idea for an outlaw to have a deadly rep.
“Even so, I never did time for anything I had done,” she told herself, “and I sure as hell don’t wanna die for something I didn’t do. I had every right in the world t’keep that bastard from raping me, but folks’re likely t’hang me anyways ‘cause of who I was.”
The wind had shifted just after sunset, and, as the flames of her campfire danced in the cooling breeze, she was glad that she’d taken the jacket when she’d bolted. In the setting sun, she could see storm clouds beginning to gather to the south, and she gathered the jacket around her. “Oh, yeah,” she muttered, feeling a weight in one pocket. “I almost forgot about that package, whatever it is.”
She took the parcel from her pocket. It was the sole piece of loot from her not very successful attempt at robbing a stage that very afternoon. Her knife quickly cut through the string and she threw both the string and the torn wrapper into the fire. ‘Don’t need to see who the thing’s going to,’ she told herself, ‘cause they ain’t never gonna get it.’ She opened the box. There was a folded piece of paper inside, above a mass of cotton padding. Out of curiosity, she set it down beside her. Then she pushed away the fluffed cotton that had been under it.
“A damned cameo and necklace!” The necklace itself was silver wire worked into a slender chain. The small cameo dangling from the chain looked like a ten dollar silver eagle coin. The disk was blue with the silhouette of a woman’s head wearing a coronet and the year, 1868, done in ivory or mother of pearl. “Might be worth a few bucks,” she said unhappily, “but I’d have a helluva time explaining how I got ahold of it.” Still she might find a use for it, and, with that chance in mind, she put the box and all back in her pocket.
She was about to toss the paper into the fire, but, on a whim, she decided to read it.
‘ September 12, 1871
‘ “Dearest, Sweet Martha,”
‘ “I hope that this reached you in time for your birthday.
‘ I only wish that I could be there to give it to you myself.”
‘ “Words can’t express how much I miss you, my beloved wife,
‘ and you are always in my thoughts. The moment my work
‘ out here for Mr. Hall is done, I will be on the first stage-
‘ coach back to you.”
‘ “Until then, know that I will always be
‘ Your Loving Husband,
‘ Eugene”
“Now ain’t that sweet,” Jessie said, sarcastically. “It’s almost a shame that she ain’t never gonna get that necklace... or the letter.” She crumbled up the paper and tossed it into the fire. “Some men are just downright fools about their wives. Like ole Shamus. He don’t show it very much, but I’ll bet that he’d do just about anything for his wife, Molly.”
Jessie stopped as a wicked smile curled her pretty lips. “…for his wife, Molly.” She suddenly brightened with an idea, a way to force Shamus O’Toole to change her back into a man. She had a couple of other ideas, notions of what she’d do to Shamus after she was a man again; nasty ideas all of them, and, to her, those were the best kind.
* * * * *
Saturday, September 16, 1871
The door to the stage depot opened, ringing a small brass bell on a wire just above it. There were about a half dozen men inside, waiting out the “monsoon” rains that had blown up from the Baja. A few turned toward the door to see a tall man no one recognized, wearing a brown hat and rain slicker. “Do I smell coffee,” he said by way of a greeting.
“You do.” A short balding man sat behind a counter with a sign above it saying “Station Master.” “Have some n’warm up yer insides,” the man added. He pointed to a large coffeepot resting on a stove in the corner of the room. There were cups and a bowl of sugar on a shelf next to it.
“Thanks.” The newcomer headed straight for the pot. He filled a cup, drank, and sighed. “Damn, that feels good.”
“‘Spect it would in this rain,” the man behind the counter said. “I’m Coleman Hoyle; m’friends call me Cole. I run this place for Wells Fargo.”
“Paul... Paul Grant,” the new man said. He was a tall, wiry-looking man with chestnut-colored hair. He took another sip of coffee, pausing to feel its warmth in his stomach. “I’m deputy sheriff over in Eerie, Arizona.” He pulled back his slicker on one side just long enough to show Hoyle the badge on his light brown leather vest.
Cole scratched his head. “Don’t think I ever heard of it.”
“You’re not likely to have,” Paul said. “It’s a little place a few hours east of Phoenix. The stage only comes through twice a week, almost never stops.”
“Then what brings you over t’these parts?”
“I’m looking for somebody.” He raised his voice, knowing that the men in the room were listening, even if they pretended that they weren’t. “Her trail led on this direction -- at least it did before that damned rain...”
“Her trail,” somebody said, a chunky man in a brown work shirt. He sounded angry. “That wouldn’t be a pretty, little gal with long, blonde hair and a big mouth, would it?”
“Sounds like her,” Paul said with a wry smile. “Especially the part about the mouth. You see her?”
Another man laughed. “See her. She almost cost Devon there his job.”
“Shut up, Sol,” the chunky man -- Devon -- said. “Why you looking for her anyway, Mister?”
Paul sensed more than normal curiosity here. “A man died, and she’s the only witness.”
“She probably did it,” Devon said. “I had a bad run-in with her three days back.” He gave Paul a nasty grin. “Say, is there a reward for her?”
“Sure is. The thanks of the good citizens of Eerie and the satisfaction of seeing justice done.” Paul wanted directions, if he could get them, but he didn’t need a trigger-happy mob trailing after him.
Sol made a face. “Yeah, sure; that ‘n’ two bits’ll get me a beer.”
“I don’t care,” Devon said. “I might just ride along with the man. Be nice to see a little justice fall on her head.”
“The hell you will.” Cole slammed his fist on the counter. “The company hired you t’ride guard on their stages. They’ll be another one along soon as this rain stops, and the roads ain’t flooded no more. You was begging me not t’report you after what happened. You better by G-d be here when that stage comes through, or you can just keep on riding, ‘cause you won’t be working for us no more.”
Paul poured himself another cup of coffee and took a seat at the table Devon was sitting at. “What exactly did happen to put that burr under your saddle?”
“Story like that, a man needs something stronger than coffee t’tell it right.” Devon looked expectantly at Cole.
“Fifty cents a shot, same as always,” Cole told him.
Paul tossed Cole a silver dollar. “Give the man his drink. I’ll just take mine later.”
Cole leaned forward. There was the sound behind the counter of a key in a lock. A moment later, Cole brought out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. He poured one drink before putting the bottle back. “Here, y’go, Devon.”
Devon took the glass and downed it in one quick gulp. He closed his eyes and shuddered for a moment. “Ah, that there’s the real stuff.” He sat down opposite Paul and started talking.
“Three days ago, me’n Noah Ward was bringing the stage down from Prescott t’ Tucson. He was driving, and I was the guard…”
Paul listened closely as the man related his version of the robbery. ‘Sounds like something Jessie’d pull,’ he thought. ‘She’s probably wearing Toby’s old clothes. He tore her stuff up pretty good.’
The station agent – Hoyle – was totally put out at the way Jessie had caught Devon and the driver off guard. To hear him tell it, Devon wasn’t too happy about it, either.
He was even less happy about the other men in the room were teasing him about what had happened.
“Damn all you bastards t’hell!” Devon stood up and spun around, his pistol in his hand.
“Put that away,” Paul said quietly. His own pistol was drawn and pointed directly at Devon. “I mean it.”
Devon looked at Paul. He looked into Paul’s eyes and trembled with rage. “They... they called me a coward -- n’worse. You heard them.”
Paul looked at the others in the room. “I heard them. Some men talk real big when it’s somebody else in danger and not them. But you can’t shoot a man for talking stupid.” He glared at them and shook his head. “No matter how much he might deserve it.”
“We... we was just funning you, Devon,” a man at another table said. He was an older man, bald but for a few tufts of gray hair at each ear. There were murmurs of agreement from every other man in the room, followed by a round of very hasty apologies.
Devon brightened. “Then you all will help me go find that gal after this rain stops?” He sounded hopeful.
“No they won’t, Devon,” Hoyle answered in a stern voice. “First off, I already told you that you’re staying here t’wait for the next stage. Second, I won’t stand for no lynch mob pretending t’act in the company’s name.”
“Lynch mob?” Devon pointed at Paul. “We... we was gonna bring her in so this here man can... arrest her for robbing the stage.”
“He can arrest her for whatever he come to arrest her for,” Cole said, “but there’s no point bringing her in for robbing the stage. The company ain’t pressing charges.”
“What are you saying, Cole?”
“If she got anything, we’d press charges,” Cole looked uncomfortable with what he was saying. “We can’t have people thinking that they can just take valuables that Wells Fargo has promised t’protect and t’deliver to their rightful destinations. “
“She took nothing at all?” Paul asked.
Cole shook his head. “They found that mail sack right where Noah tossed it, and, as far as anybody could tell, nothing got taken. We press charges, we got to tell people how some little bit of a gal scared two Wells Fargo men into giving her that sack. You think the company wants t’say something like that, you’re crazy as that gal must be.”
Devon gritted his teeth. “So she gets off scot free?”
“No she doesn’t,” Paul said. “I’d lost her trail in this rain. Thanks t’you, I found it again. I just have to figure out which way she went after she... umm, ran into you and Noah.”
“That’s easy,” the angry man said. “She went t’Mexico.” Most of the other men in the room made noises like they agreed.
“Why do you say that?” Paul asked.
“I been giving it some thought in case I could get this company man t’let me go after her.” He looked at Cole, who just shrugged. To him, it was a compliment.
“Anyways,” Devon continued. “She tried to rob the stage -- I’ll be damned if I know why she didn’t take that sack -- so she must figger that there’s a posse chasing her.”
Paul put on his best poker face. ‘Jessie’s not the strongest of gals,’ he reminded himself. ‘Most likely, she couldn’t lift that heavy bag, and I bet that really pissed her off.’
“You don’t have t’be too smart to know that the easiest way t’shake a posse is t’head south,” the other man continued. “Once you get across that border, ain’t nobody gonna help them bring you back. Law don’t say they has to. There’s nothing that a posse can do short of kidnapping you -- and then they’s the criminals.”
“Give him my drink,” Paul said to Cole. He’d wait here till the rain stopped and head south after her. No need to get wet now that he was pretty sure he knew where Jessie was headed -- out of the frying pan and into the fire. The border was a bad place, with the meanest kind of owl hoots scuttling back and forth across it. It would be especially bad for any gal as pretty as Jessie Hanks.
* * * * *
Monday, September 25, 1871
Deputy Sheriff Paul Grant and his prisoner, Jessie Hanks, were ready to ride back to Eerie to stand trial for the murder of Toby Hess. Paul knew how Toby Hess had died, that it had probably been an accident, as she tried to defend herself, but a jury still had to settle the matter, to set her free on the grounds of self-defense.
Their horses were saddled, and Paul was going over a map with Ephrem Tyler one last time. Jessie and Ephrem’s daughter, Hanna, stood near the horses, saying their goodbyes. Jessie had saved Hanna and her mother from Commancheros, Mexican raiders, and she and the girl had become close friends.
Hanna was tall for a girl of fifteen. Her butternut-colored cotton dress modestly displayed her slender, blossoming figure. Her brown hair hung down over her shoulder. “I wish you didn’t have to go, Jessie,” she said, her voice full of regret. “I’ll miss you.”
“You’re gonna be too busy to miss anybody, getting ready for that wedding of yours, Hanna,” Jessie told her, with just a bit of a smile. “June’s a lot closer than it looks by the calendar. “
“And you’ll be back for it, won’t you? It wouldn’t be... I… Gil and I -- we really want you to be here. Please… oh, please say you will.” Gil Parker was the girl’s fiancé. They were to be married in the spring, a few weeks after her sixteenth birthday.
“I don’t know, Hanna.” Jessie hesitated. She thought – wrongly, she would later discover -- that she knew how to be restored to her male self. ‘You wouldn’t like ole male Jesse Hanks at your wedding, Hanna, flirting with the ladies and scaring the men half t’death.’ The thought bothered her. ‘Damn, why do I keep badmouthing myself like that? I liked being Jesse Hanks… didn’t I?’
Hanna wouldn’t give up. “Please, please say you’ll be here. I heard the way you sang to Gil’s little sister. You have such a beautiful voice... like an angel’s, and I... I’d love for you sing at my wedding.”
“I can’t promise you anything, Hanna,” Jessie admitted reluctantly. She was standing next to Useless, the horse she’d taken from Toby Hess’s barn. She reached deep into one of her saddlebags. “Just in case I can’t be there -- and I ain’t saying I won’t -- let me just give you a present now.”
The girl’s eyes glistened. “You aren’t going to come, are you?” She sounded almost ready to cry.
“No, no, Hanna. It’s just that I don’t know how my trial will come out. Call this...” She dug out the box with the blue cameo necklace, her sole gain from the stage robbery, from her saddlebag. “…Call it an engagement present.” She pressed it into Hanna’s hand.
The girl opened the box and examined the gift, carefully running her finger across the cream colored silhouette. “Oh, it’s... it’s lovely. I couldn’t.”
“Sure, you could, Hanna. I got it from... well, you never mind where I got it from. I just want you t’have it. Besides, ain’t there something about old and blue that a bride’s supposed t’have for luck?” She curled Hanna’s fingers around the cameo.
Hanna refused to take the hint. “There is, and the rest of it says, ‘something borrowed.’ That’s what this is, as far as I’m concerned. And you’re gonna have to come to my wedding, so I can give it back.” She threw her arms around Jessie, hugging her fiercely.
In spite of herself, Jessie hugged her back. It felt like she was saying goodbye to kinfolk, not to somebody she’d met less than a week before. “We’ll see,” she said, reluctantly letting go of Hanna. She turned and quickly mounted Useless.
Paul already sat in the saddle of his cow pony, Ash, and he had to smile as he watched the two females say their farewells. Jessie was acting just as “girlie” as Hanna. If she stayed that way, the long ride back to Eerie might be a lot more… interesting. When Jessie was finally in the saddle, he nodded to her, and the pair rode off.
“You better be here for my wedding, Jessie Hanks,” Hanna yelled, waving after them until they were out of sight. “You’d just better be here.”
* * * * *
Chapter 2 -- “Heading to the Wedding”
Monday, May 27, 1872
Paul Grant yanked at the leather cord, tightening the strap holding his bedroll tightly behind his saddle. “Done,” he said, satisfied that it was secure.
He glanced over at his lady love, Jessie Hanks, who was fixing her own rig on her horse, Useless. She seemed to be as far along in her preparations as he was. There was plenty to pack. It was a four- or five-day ride to the Tyler farm.
Jessie was going to keep the promise that she’d made all those months ago to Hanna Tyler. She was going to sing at the girl’s wedding. Paul was going… well, he was going because Jessie was going, and, no matter how good she was with a gun or a knife, a woman as beautiful as she was shouldn’t be riding alone through open country.
Or sleeping alone those four or five nights.
He spent a minute – time definitely not wasted – looking at her strawberry blonde hair and full red lips before his eyes trailed down to her delightful curves so well displayed in a forest green dress that hugged her breasts and emphasized her narrow waist and wide hips. No, she certainly would not be sleeping alone.
“Glad t’see you two ain’t gone yet,” a cheery voice said, coming up behind them, scrambling his lecherous thoughts.
Jessie turned to greet her older sister. “Hey, Wilma, you come over t’see me and Paul head out?”
“I did,” Wilma replied. She was taller than Jessie, a voluptuously curved, dark- haired product of O’Toole’s potion. “In fact, I even brought you – you ‘n’ Paul – a going-away present.” She tossed Jessie a small drawstring bag.
Jessie caught the bag one-handed. “Thanks.” She loosened the cord that held it closed and looked inside. “Wilma!” she hissed indignantly, as a blush spread across her face.
“What’s the matter?” Wilma asked innocently, stepping in close to her sister. “I figured that you’d pack yourself some riding coats” she replied in a soft voice, almost a whisper. “I just wanted t’make sure that you had enough.” The transformed woman worked in a local brothel, and sex was both a business and a hobby for her. Teasing her younger sibling was a longtime habit that went all the way back to when they were boys growing up in Texas.
Jessie quickly stashed the condoms in a saddlebag. “More’n enough, I’d say, but thanks.”
“Just trying t’take care of my little sister; Lord knows I want you to enjoy your… trip.” The demimonde chuckled. “I’m sure you ‘n’ Paul’ll put ‘em to good use.”
“We will.” Jessie gave her sister a nervous giggle. “And thanks again.”
Before Wilma could reply, Shamus and Molly O’Toole walked over. “Hello t’ye, Wilma,” Shamus said cheerfully. “Jessie, I brought ye that bottle I promised, some fine Kentucky sipping whiskey t’be toasting the bride ‘n’ groom with.”
“Thanks, Shamus.” Jessie took the brown glass bottle from him and stuffed it carefully in the same saddlebag that she’d just placed the condoms in. She arranged a pocket for it in the folded clothes already in the bag.
“I just come out t’be saying goodbye,” Molly told her. “The two of ye have a good trip and come back to us as soon as ye can.” She leaned over and kissed Jessie on the cheek.
Paul put his foot in a stirrup and rose up into the saddle of Ash, his cowpony. “You ready, Jess?”
“Just about.” She closed her saddlebag, putting the strap through the metal hitch that held it tight. She’d been practicing riding in a skirt, and she scrambled quickly onto Useless. “See y’all real soon,” she called, as the pair started off.
Molly waved. “Good bye, and… be careful.”
“Don’t worry,” Paul answered. “I’ll take care of her.”
Wilma smiled. “Mmm, I’ll just bet you will. Have fun, little sister.”
“We will.” Jessie turned Useless to face west and rode down the street. Paul rode a short distance back, enjoying the view of her rump bouncing from her horse’s movement for a time before he caught up with her.
* * * * *
Ivar “Chip” Woods glanced up at the jangle of the bell above the door of his general store. “And how can I help you today, Miss Tyler?”
“Good morning, sir,” Hanna Tyler said. “That sigh in your window says that you repair watches. Can you repair jewelry as well?”
He shrugged and ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair. “That depends on what sort of repairs are needed.”
“The clasp.” She set her purse down on the counter and carefully took out a silver chain. A small, blue cameo dangled from the chain. “I can’t get it opened, and it’s too small to just slip over my head.”
He held out his hand. “May I see it?”
“Of course.” She handed it to him, and stood quietly, a nervous smile curling her lips, as she watched him examine the item.
“I think I can fix it. How soon do you need it?”
“As soon as possible.” Her face reddened. “I want to wear it on Sunday. I-I’m getting married.”
“So I’ve heard, and congratulations.” He thought for a moment. “Tell you what; I’ll get right to it. You come back here, and it’ll be done – polished, too, my wedding present to you.”
“Oh, thank you… thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.” He set the necklace down and watched her walk – skip almost – out of his shop. Then he opened the drawer where he kept his watch and jewelry repair kit. A folded up sheet of paper had been placed in there, next to the kit. He remembered what the paper was about, and he took it from the drawer and began to read. He frowned as his eyes moved from the paper to the necklace lying on his counter.
* * * * *
Paul Grant poured himself a cup of coffee, while he checked on the campfire. It was safe within the crude circle of rocks, and it was well on its way to becoming a mass of glowing coals that would last until morning. He turned to where Jessie Hanks was sitting, her back against a boulder. “You want some more coffee, Jess?”
“Yeah... please.” She smiled at him for a moment, and then returned to plucking at the strings of her guitar.
Paul came over to where she sat. He carefully placed two steaming cups on the ground before sitting down beside her. “What’re you working on?”
“A new song for my act; I gotta add songs every now ‘n’ then – especially now that the folks got the Cactus Blossom’s dancing t’distract ‘em.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that, not as pretty as you… sing.” He leaned over and gently kissed her cheek.
She smiled. “Speaking of distractions, I think you’re trying one on me.”
“Who… me?” He asked in an innocent tone that was spoiled by the leer on his face.
“Ain’t nobody else around here; not that I really mind a little… distraction now ‘n’ again.” She chuckled. “Things is sure a lot different than the last time we was on the trail.”
“Yeah, this time, I don’t have t’put you over my knee to get you to behave how I want.”
Jessie put down her guitar. “And just how d’you want me t’behave?” She shifted slightly and kissed him gently on his lips. “Something like that?”
“More like this.” He took her head in his hands and leaned in until their lips met again. Jessie sighed and pressed herself against him. Her arm rose to encircle him.
Finally, they broke the kiss. “One other thing that’ll be different,” she said, smiling shyly. “You ain’t gonna have no problem getting me outta these clothes.” As she spoke, she began unbuttoning her blouse.
“Getting you out of your clothes isn’t a problem,” he replied, working on his own shirt. “It will be my pleasure.”
* * * * *
Tuesday, May 28, 1872
The bell over the door to Woods’ General Store jangled as Hanna Tyler walked in, followed closely by her mother. “Morning, Mr. Woods,” Hanna greeted him. “Is my necklace ready?” She asked eagerly, almost running to the counter.
“Well… umm, that is.” Chip Woods glanced over to a young boy who was arranging cans on a shelf. “Marcus, would you run and tell the Sheriff that Hanna Tyler is here?”
The boy nodded. “Sure, Dad; I’ll be right back.” He ran for the door.
“May I ask why the Sheriff needs to know about my daughter’s presence?” Piety asked stiffly.
Woods looked nervous. “It ain’t her; so much as that cameo she brought in. The... Uhh, the Sheriff can explain it better’n me.”
“Explain what? “ Hanna said. “Why does he have to explain anything? Je --.” She cut off her words as her mother gave her a stern look and shook her head. “We’ll wait,” she added with a sigh.
Woods cocked a curious eyebrow, wondering what she’d been about to say. “In the meantime, why don’t you ladies look around?” he suggested, trying to distract them. “See if there’s anything you need… for your wedding or… whatever.”
* * * * *
The two women were still looking at blouses, considering a last minute addition to Hanna’s trousseau when Sheriff Whyte arrived. Elijah Whyte was a burly man in his forties, with curly, dark brown hair and a bushy mustache. “There they are, Sheriff.” Marcus Woods pointed eagerly at the pair. “You gonna arrest ‘em now?”
“No, Marcus.” Whyte tousled the boy’s hair with his hand. “I just want to talk to them – for now, anyway.” He walked over to the pair, while the boy hurried behind the counter and settled in to watch. “I can talk to you, ladies, can’t I?”
“Yes, Sheriff,” Piety replied. “What is all this about?”
“That cameo your daughter has, Miz Tyler. It matches the description of one I got in this flyer from Prescott last fall.” He took a folded paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Piety. “I gave a copy to Mr. Woods ‘cause he’s the only one in town who deals with jewelry.”
She opened the paper and read, holding it low enough so that Hanna could read it as well. “Murder!” the girl gasped. “You don’t think I did it – do you?”
“I don’t think you – or your mama – had much of anything to do with this Barlow fellah’s death, but that cameo of yours – or one just like it – belonged to Barlow.”
Piety glanced back down at the paper. “This says that Mr. Barlow was killed last fall. Surely they’ve found the one who did it by now.”
“Shirley’s my wife, ma’am.” The man smiled at his own joke, hoping to put the two women at ease. “And, no, they haven’t found the killer yet. I got another telegram about a month ago. They’ve still got no leads, and they wanted folks to keep watching for that cameo.”
He took a breath, fixing his gaze at the girl. “Now… speaking of cameos, where did you get yours, Miss Hanna?”
“Do–Do I have to tell?” The girl asked nervously.
Piety put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I’m afraid that you do, dear.”
“I-I found – No! It was part of the loot that the Comman –”
“Stop that, Hanna,” Piety interrupted angrily. “It does you no good to be lying to Mr. Whyte; no good to you -- or to Jessie.”
“Jesse? “ The Sheriff raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Who exactly is this Jesse, and what does he have to do with the cameo?”
“He’s a she,” Hanna said, her face reddening with embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry about lying to you like that, Sheriff, but Jessie… uhh, she protected us when Mama and me was taken by those Commancheros. She kept ‘em from… from doing… things to us, and… and then… when Gil and those others came to rescue us, Mama got caught in a cross fire. She might’ve been shot if Jessie hadn’t knocked her down – and Jessie did get wounded while she done it.”
The man frowned. “I can see why you’d want to protect her, Hanna, but you know it was wrong to say those other things.”
“I-I do, and I’m sorry. I just had to try.” She looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze. “She gave me the cameo. She said it was a sorta wedding present.”
“Do you know where she got it?”
Piety spoke first. “Neither of us know anything about that, Sheriff. She gave it to Hanna just before she and her friend, Mr. Grant, left our farm last fall.”
“Do you know where she might be now?”
The older woman nodded. “She – and Mr. Grant, I believe – live in a town called ‘Eerie’, somewhere east of Phoenix, but I do understand that they are both coming back to Dawson for Hanna’s wedding this weekend.” She didn’t seem happy to be giving the Sheriff this information, but after the way she had scolded Hanna for lying, she felt that she had to tell him the truth.
“Any idea when they’ll be getting here?”
Hanna shook her head. “Jessie just said they was coming. I think they figured to get here on Friday or Saturday.”
“You tell her that I want to talk to her. If she isn’t in to see me before the wedding, I’ll ride out with Brother Douglas when he heads out to marry you and Gil Parker and talk to her then. You understand?”
Piety answered for both herself and Hanna. “Y-Yes, Sheriff,”
“In the meantime, though, I’ll be holding onto the cameo.” He picked up the piece of jewelry and jammed it into his pocket.
Hanna’s eyes went wide. “That’s mine. Please… it’s for my wedding.”
“And I’ll make sure that you have it. I’ll give it to your friend, Hanks, when she comes to see me.” He frowned. “And if she doesn’t come in, I’ll bring it back to you myself.” Then, to himself, he added, ‘unless I need it for evidence.’
Before Hanna could say anything else, Piety put her hand on her daughter’s arm. “Very well, Sheriff. Whatever happens, we will expect to get the cameo back. I’m certain, though, that Jessie won’t have anything useful to you.”
“Perhaps, but I won’t know that until I talk to her. Till then, I’ll let you ladies get on with your errands.” He nodded and touched the rim of his hat with his index finger, as if saluting. “Good day.” Without waiting for any response, Sheriff Whyte left the store.
* * * * *
Chip Woods positioned the rolled up rental tent in the back of the Tyler farm wagon. He moved his hands carefully. The canvas was heavy enough and the wooden poles wrapped inside it just added to the problem. “You sure you can manage this?” He asked. “It’s heavy and awkward.”
“My husband and sons should be able to unload and set up the tent by themselves well before the wedding,” Piety answered. “If not, there will be others there to help.”
He stepped back onto the wooden sidewalk in front of his store. “In that case, you’re ready to go. And again, congratulations and good luck, Hanna.”
“Thank you, Mr. Woods,” the girl answered. She didn’t sound nearly as happy as a bride should be just a few days before her wedding.
Her mother flicked the reins, and the wagon moved out onto the street. “You seem upset, dear,” Piety said.
“Mama, did you have to make me tell Sheriff Whyte so much about Jessie? You know that she couldn’t have murdered anyone.”
“I know nothing of the sort. I saw Jessie win a knife fight against a man half-again her size, and I saw how well she could shoot a pistol. She’s perfectly capable of killing a man if she had to.”
“Mother, how can you say that about Jessie?”
“I said that Jessie could kill someone, but I don’t think that she did. A killer wouldn’t have put herself between us and those evil men. She certainly wouldn’t have risked her own life to save mine.”
“Then why did you say all those things?”
“Because I feel that it’s better to tell the truth than to have to worry about getting caught in whatever lie I could have said. And I’m sure that Jessie can explain where she got that cameo.”
“What if she can’t? What if the Sheriff doesn’t believe her? What… What if her puts her in… in jail? It would be all my fault. I-I wish I hadn’t insisted she come to my wedding. If she gets arrested, I-I’ll just die.” Hanna sniffled, her eyes stinging as she held back her tears.
Piety stopped the wagon. “Well, we can’t have that.” She put her arm around her daughter, trying to comfort the girl. “But I don’t believe that Gil would want a tearful bride, either.”
“Can’t we do anything?”
“Perhaps we can warn her not to come – if she hasn’t already left.” Piety flicked the reins again. “Mr. Lawler’s telegraphy office is just around the corner.”
* * * * *
Tommy Carson stepped nervously through the swinging doors and into the Eerie Saloon. Eleven year old boys usually didn’t go into such places. “T-Telegram for Miss Jessie Hanks,” he called out. “Telegram f-for Miss J-Jessie Hanks.”
“She’s outta town for a few days,” Molly O’Toole said, walking over to the boy. “I’ll just be taking it for her.”
The boy looked uncertain. “I-I don’t know ma’am…” His voice trailed off.
“It’s all right, Tommy,” Nancy Osbourne told the boy, joining Molly.
“M-Miz Osbourne?” he asked. Tommy knew that his former teacher was working in the Saloon. His father, the town’s chief telegrapher, had warned him not to speak to the so-called “fallen woman.”
Nancy nodded, trying to make her former student feel more comfortable. “One and the same. How are you doing with your spelling words?”
“I’m getting better, I guess. Mrs. Stone, she’s been quizzing me on the words, just like you done.”
“Like I did,” she corrected him. “How are your other grades?”
“I… Miz Osbourne, my PA told me that I ain’t supposed t’talk to you.” He sounded embarrassed as he said it.
Nancy frowned; she had heard things like that too many times already. “I-I’m sorry, Tommy. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Why don’t ye be giving me that thuir telegram?” Molly asked the boy sourly. “And ye can be getting the he – getting outta here?”
The boy all but shoved the telegram into Molly’s hands and hurried towards the door. At the last moment, he stopped and yelled back. “Goodbye, Miz Osbourne. I’m sorry, but please don’t tell nobody that we talked.”
Then he was gone.
“G-Goodbye, Tommy.” Nancy whispered, her face furrowed in anger – and disappointment.
Molly placed a reassuring hand on the younger woman’s arm. “Are ye all right, Nancy? Do ye want t’be sitting down for a wee bit?”
“No, I-I’m -- no, I’m not fine, but I will be. Right now, I think some hard work’ll do me more good than anything else I might do.”
Molly gave what she devoutly prayed was her best reassuring smile. “Hard work, is it? Well, that we got plenty of.”
“Don’t I know it? By the way, what’s in that telegram for Jessie?” Nancy asked, hoping to change the subject. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“T’be telling the truth, I’m a wee bit curious about that meself. Well…” She tore open the envelope. “…thuir’s only one way t’be finding out.” She took out the folded paper, unfolded it, and began to read.
‘ “Miss Jessie Hanks
‘ ℅ Eerie Saloon
‘ Eerie, Arizona”
‘ “Jessie. Urgent reasons you not – repeat – not come to Hanna’s
‘ wedding. Will explain later.”
‘ “Love, Piety and Hanna Tyler.”
Molly’s eyebrows furrowed. “Something’s wrong; very, very wrong.”
“You think Jessie’s in trouble?” Nancy asked.
The older woman nodded. “I do, and thuir’s no earthly way t’be warning her about it. They’re traveling cross-country, and I can’t be asking a man t’ride hard after ‘em, just ‘cause I don’t like the wording of this here telegram.” She sadly shook her head. “Paul ‘n’ her are riding into an unholy mess of trouble, I’m thinking, and all we can be doing about it is t’be praying that it ain’t half as bad as it sounds.”
* * * * *
Thursday, May 30, 1872
“Shit!” Jessie spat.
Paul glanced in the direction of her voice. He saw her reach for a large piece of wood, but then, in the same smooth motion, toss the branch some distance away from her. “What’s the matter, Jess?” he asked. He’d been arranging rocks for a fire pit, while she gathered the wood for that fire.
“Scorpion; there was a damned bark scorpion on that thing. I didn’t see it till I was picking up the stick.”
“It didn’t sting you, did it?”
“Nope, I saw it in time and threw it away as quick as I could.”
He stood and walked over to where their horses were tethered and began searching through his saddlebags. “I guess we’d better both start wearing work gloves when we’re setting up camp.” There could easily have been a scorpion or three hiding the rocks he was arranging. “Those things have enough venom to kill.”
“I didn’t know as they’d kill a grown man.” She joined him and began rooting through her own saddlebags for gloves. “But their sting’d hurt like hell and make him awful sick, b’sides.”
He found his gloves and began pulling them on. “And we certainly don’t want anything like that to happen. It’d ruin the whole trip.”
* * * * *
Friday, May 31, 1872
“Mmm, that was good ,” Jessie said, snuggling even close to Paul under the blanket. They were both relaxed, enjoying the afterglow of early morning sex.
Paul shifted so he could take in the beauty of her profile. “It surely was.”
“I gotta admit,” Jessie said, rubbing her hand across his bare chest. “I do like these sleeping arrangements a whole lot more than anything I had the last time I was out in these parts.”
The Deputy shook his head. “Maybe you were being too selective back then.”
The girl grinned. “Yeah, I’ve lowered my standards considerably since those days.”
Paul smiled and gently stroked her cheek with a finger. He glanced up at the sun, now well above the horizon. “But we’d best get dressed and on our way. With a little luck we can make the Tyler farm by early afternoon.”
“Be really good t’see Hanna again – and Piety, too, I guess.” Her lips curled in a mischievous smile. “Be nice t’sleep – or not sleep -- with you in a real… soft… bed.”
“That it would, but I’m afraid it ain’t gonna happen. The ‘with me’ part, I mean.” When she looked puzzled, he continued. “The Tylers’re respectable people; they’re not about to let an unmarried man and woman share the same bed.”
“Dang it; you’re right. It’ll probably be like they done it last time. I’ll wind up sleeping with Hanna, and you’ll bunk in with one of her brothers.”
“Maybe not. Didn’t Piety Tyler tell you in one of her letters that her father was coming west for the wedding? He’d be the one to get a bed in the boy’s room. I’ll most likely be out in their barn. Or what was left of their barn after that Commanchero raid.”
“I’ll have t’sneak out ‘n’ visit you, to… see how you’re doing now and again.”
“You know, if we were… married, you wouldn’t have to sneak. We could even have a double ceremony with Hanna and Gil.” He grinned. “You know Hanna’d love that.”
Jessie looked away, a frown on her face. “Marriage is too danged important t’be joking about, Paul.”
“Who says I was joking?” The grin came back, but then he saw the expression on her face. “Okay… I was joking, but let’s just say that the offer’s there, if you ever want to take me up on it.”
She gave him a wan smile and put her hand on his. “Maybe. Like I was saying, I’ve lowered my standards.”
* * * * *
Jessie and Paul rode down the low hill towards the Tyler farmhouse. “Looks like they got the barn rebuilt,” Paul said. “I forgot how bad the Commancheros burned it.”
“Looks like that Brother Douglas made good on that barn building he was gonna get organized. I guess you’ll have a place t’sleep, after all,” Jessie teased.
The same outdoor cooking area that had been set up for the people helping with last fall’s harvest was now set up for the wedding guests. Not too far away, Paul and Jessie could see men putting up the poles for a large tent. When they were close enough, they recognized them as Hanna’s father, Ephram Tyler, and her brothers, Amos and Malachai. Gil Parker, her fiancé, was also working on the tent. Hanna stood nearby with her mother, Piety, watching the men’s efforts.
“Mother, look!” Hanna pointed at the two riders. “It’s Jessie… Jessie and her Mr. Grant.” She ran towards the pair. Piety followed, moving slower, an odd expression on her face.
Jessie quickly dismounted. “Hey, Hanna… Piety; how’re you two doing.?”
“All right… I guess,” Hanna said nervously. “I… We was just hoping you wouldn’t come.”
“Now why wouldn’t you want Jessie and me to come, Hanna?” Paul asked, climbing off his cow pony, Ash. “You were the one who invited us in the first place.”
Piety reached the spot where the others were standing. “It would seem that you didn’t get out telegram warning you not to come.”
“What telegram? There wasn’t nothing when Paul ‘n’ I left on Monday.”
Hanna sighed. “We didn’t send it till Tuesday. That’s when we found out.”
“Found out what?” Jessie asked cautiously.
Piety sighed and looked down towards the ground where Jessie and Paul were standing. “Found out that the Sheriff wants to talk to you about a murder.”
“I think he thinks you done it, Jessie,” Hanna added grimly.
* * * * *
Chapter 3 – “Sheriff Trouble”
Saturday, June 1, 1872
Ephrem Tyler cut another piece from his short stack of pancakes. “So, Jessie, when are you leaving for town?”
“Right after breakfast,” Paul answered for her. “I’m going along to keep her company… and maybe I can help her straighten things out with Sheriff Whyte.”
Hanna sighed and shook her head. “Oh, Jessie, I’m so sorry I got you in so much trouble.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Hanna. I got outta a lot worse spots – and don’t you go asking me what they was.” She winked at the girl. “I can get outta this one; especially with Paul t’help, him being a lawman himself.”
“Oh, I hope so,”
“And are you coming right back?” Piety asked.
Jessie shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know as there’s much t’do in – what was it? – Dawson.” A thought struck her. “You need me t’pick up anything?”
“No, I just thought… there’re some lovely stretches between here and town. Rather than you having to hurry back here for lunch, I thought I might fix you a picnic basket. You could find a nice place to stop – Ephrem has a good map of the area, if you’d like – and you could have a quiet, relaxed… meal off the trail somewhere.” Piety’s face flushed just a bit. “Somewhere… private.”
Jessie and Paul glanced at each other and smiled. “A… picnic sounds like a fine idea – if it’s not too much trouble,” Paul said. “Thanks, Mrs. Tyler.”
“I told you yesterday to please call me Piety, and it’ll be no trouble at all. Why don’t you go pack an extra blanket -- to sit on… or whatever?”
* * * * *
Paul maneuvered his mount, so that he was riding close – very, very close – to Jessie. “We’re getting near to town, Jess; time to change clothes.”
“I suppose so,” she replied reluctantly. They both dismounted and led their horses off the trail and over a low hill, tying their reins to the branches of an ironwood tree. “This is silly,” Jessie said, as she took her green dress and her petticoat from a saddlebag. “Even Piety don’t mind – not too much, anyway – if I go ‘round some of the time in pants.”
“It’s not Piety Tyler we’re worried about,” Paul reminded her, “it’s that sheriff. He’s a lot more likely to give the benefit of the doubt to a lady in a dress than a female saddle tramp in a pair of jeans.”
“What d’you mean ‘saddle tramp’, Paul?” she asked indignantly, but then she sighed and added, “I suppose you’re right, but that don’t mean I gotta like it.”
Paul waited, keeping watch, until Jessie was in her petticoat. “We need to talk, Jess,” he finally said.
“Can’t it wait till we get to town?” she asked. Her arms were in the dress, and she was letting it slide down onto her body.
“I think it’d be better to talk out here, where there’s nobody else around to listen.” He took a breath. “Jess… where did you get that cameo, anyway? I didn’t want to ask at the Tylers’, but I… I really need to know the truth before we get to town – and go see that sheriff.”
She was silent for a short bit, gathering her thoughts, while she smoothed out the frock over the petticoat. When she finally spoke, her voice low and hesitant. “You… You remember how I-I… robbed that stage coach, back when I was… on the run?”
“I do. That Wells Fargo agent told me that he wasn’t going to do anything about it because…” His voice trailed off, as he realized what she was saying. “Jessie, you did get something from that robbery, didn’t you?”
“Yep; I did.” She sighed, fastening the buttons on her garment. “They didn’t have no cargo, just a mailbag, ‘n’ when I managed t’get the damned thing open, it was pretty much all just letters.”
“And one package,” he added.
“And one package,” she repeated in a voice that was little more than a whisper. “I grabbed it and ran off ‘cause I saw some riders coming.”
“And is that all you took?”
She raised her right hand, palm forward, and used her left index finger to make an “X” over her heart. “That’s all, I swear it is. I opened it that night and found the cameo and necklace. I burnt the wrapping in my campfire. There was a note in the box, ‘n’ it went into the fire, too.”
“It’s a good thing that it wasn’t reported missing, or they would’ve come after you.”
“Yeah, only now Sheriff Whyte is after me. I don’t know if the cameo I stole – I gave t’Hanna -- is the one they’re looking for, but if it is…” Jessie’s expression changed. “But they’re looking for a murderer, not a stage robber. I just don’t see how them two things work together.” She sighed again.
Paul gazed off into the distance. “I don’t know either, but something tells me we’ve got big trouble.”
The blonde beside him was quiet for a moment. “Well,” she finally said, “in my experience, the best way to head off trouble is to have a good lie ready.”
“Let’s hope we can figure one out before we get to town.”
* * * * *
Jessie and Paul rode up to the hitching post in front of a brown adobe building in the center of town. A wooden sign hung on the wall well above the door read, “Sheriff.”
A strongly built, curly haired man was leaning back in a chair on the wooden sidewalk in front of the office. He was carefully whittling a block of wood. “You folks looking for the Sheriff?” he asked.
“We are,” Paul answered.
The man stood up. “Well, you just found him. I’m Sheriff Whyte. What can I do for you?”
Paul glanced over at Jessie, who shook her head nervously. “Can we talk inside?”
“In… In private,” she added.
The Sheriff shrugged, his mustache twitching slightly. “Don’t see why not.” He stood, waiting while the pair dismounted, tying the reins of their horses to the post. “Follow me.” He turned and entered the building.
Jessie stood as if she’d sprouted roots into the wooden sidewalk staring at the jailhouse door. “Don’t be afraid, Jess,” Paul told her. “I’m right here with you.”
“I sure hope you’re right about this.” She took a breath and walked in, with Paul following her. Once he was inside, he shut the door behind him.
“Now, like I said, how can I help you?” Sheriff Elijah Whyte asked. As he spoke, took a seat behind his desk. A rifle and cleaning rag were on the desk right in front of him, but he pushed them aside. Hanna’s cameo rested atop a pile of papers in a corner of his desk
Jessie almost managed a smile. “T’tell the truth, I’m here t’help you, Sheriff. I’m Jessie Hanks, and the Tylers said you wanted t’talk to me.”
“And I’m Paul Grant, sir. I’m a… a friend of Jessie’s.”
The Sheriff looked at the pair, his eyes drawn to the deputy’s badge pinned to Paul’s shirt. “And a lawman, too, I see. Are you here as her friend, or is it… official?”
“What do you mean, ‘official’, Sheriff?” Paul asked cautiously.
“Official… helping me make the arrest.” Whyte rose, pulling out his pistol. “Jessie Hanks, you’re under arrest for the murder of Eugene Barlow.”
Jessie’s jaw dropped. “A-A-Arrest… murder? But I didn’t kill nobody.”
“That cameo says you did.” He pointed towards the cameo. “It’s a dead ringer for the one Barlow had, and the only way you coulda got it was to take it when you shot him.”
“I never ran into the varmint. Where was I supposed to have murdered him?”
“Prescott,” replied the Sheriff.
“That’s daft!” said Jessie. “I ain’t never been there!”
“Tell it to the judge. I’ve got to return you to Prescott to sort this thing out.”
Paul frowned. “You’re putting an awful lot of weight on some pretty flimsy evidence, Sheriff.” “There’s a perfectly logical reason that Jessie had the cameo...” He started to tell the story they had worked out.
“Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t,” the Sheriff interrupted, “but you and me can talk about it after I get this pretty little lady into a cell.”
Jessie shook her head. “N-No, I ain’t going t’jail for something I didn’t do.” She took a step back, moving towards the door.
“Hold it right there, or I’ll shoot.” Whyte’s finger moved, pulling back the hammer of the weapon.
Paul stepped in his line of fire. “You scare the hell out of Jessie, threatening her with jail, and then you want to shoot her for being scared. What kind of a man are you?”
“A man who knows his duty. Now, get out of my way.” He motioned with the firearm for Paul to move.
“Like hell.” Paul swung suddenly, hitting the older man square in the stomach. When Whyte staggered back in surprise, Paul connected again, this time with a right cross to the jaw. The Sheriff groaned once and collapsed, unconscious in his chair.
Jessie let out a low whistle. “He has got to be the most unreasonable man I ever crossed paths with, and he won’t be any more ready to listen to what we have to say, once he wakes up. What’ll we do?”
“First things first.” Paul put his arms under the Sheriff’s shoulders, lifting him, and pulled the unconscious man over to an empty cell. He settled the unconscious man on the floor and walked out. The key, one of four on a small steel keyring, was in the cell door’s heavy steel lock. Paul carefully took the key out and shut the door, listening for the lock to click. He tugged at the door once – just to be certain on the lock. Then he knelt and positioned the keyring about a foot and a half away from the bars. “That should keep him for a while. Now we can go.”
“Lemme get a couple souvenirs,” Jessie said. She scooped up both the rifle and the pistol. There was a box of shells near the rifle, and she grabbed those as well.
Paul pocketed the cameo necklace. The top sheet of the papers beneath it showed a picture of the cameo. “And a little light reading, too.”
“Too bad he didn’t let you finish talking, before you had to start throwing punches,” Jessie suggested, wryly. “It’s a shame when a good lie goes to waste.”
“Too late to cry over spilled milk. When he threatened to shoot you, I just went crazy.”
They hurried for the door. There was a small window in the door, with a sign hanging down from a nail so that it could be read through the window. Paul turned the sign so that the words “Sheriff on Patrol” faced towards the street. “That’ll give us some more time before they come after us.”
“Then we’d best make the most of it,” Jessie replied, smiling, as she untied the reins and scrambled up onto her horse.
Paul nodded in agreement, as he stuffed the papers and the cameo into his jacket pocket. He climbed up onto his own mount, the reins in his hands. A moment later, they were both galloping out of Dawson.
* * * * *
They stopped about a mile out of town, turning their horses to see if anyone was following them. There was no cloud of dust, no sight of horsemen. “Nothing yet,” Paul said, “but they’ll be coming soon enough.”
“Which way do we go?” Jessie asked.
Paul pointed. “That way; northeast, towards the river.”
“Back to the Tylers? That’s the first place they’ll look.”
“That’s why we’ll let them think that’s where we’re going.”
Jessie grinned. “Only we ain’t; are we?”
“Nope,” Paul grinned back. “Once we get to the river, we’ll use a little trick a… friend of mine showed me a few months back.” He glanced back towards the town again. “Now, let’s put some more miles between us and whoever the sheriff sends after us.”
Jessie frowned. “Can I change outta this damned dress before we go into the river.”
“No time… unless you want to risk a posse catching you in your unmentionables.”
She gave him a wry smile. “The only one I want t’catch me in just my drawers is you, and we surely ain’t got time for that right now.”
“Maybe later -- definitely later, but right now, we’d better ride.”
* * * * *
“Oooh…” Elijah Whyte groaned and slowly opened his eyes. He was laid down on a cot in one of his own jail cells. He shifted his feet and stood up.
Too quickly; he sat back down while the cell stopped spinning around him.
After a minute or so, it wasn’t moving any more. He rubbed the ache in his jaw and very slowly rose to his feet. Still moving slowly, he walked over and tried the cell door. “Locked… dammit!” he swore, angry at letting himself get sucker-punched by Paul. “And him a lawman,” he muttered. He sat back down and looked around, expecting to be in the cell for some time. But then he spotted the keys on the floor not too far away.
He positioned himself on the floor, his body pressed against the cell walls. He reached for the keys, but his arm was painful inches too short. “G-d dammit to all Hell!”
He pulled his arm back and sat up. He took off his left boot and lay back down. Using the boot as a hook of sorts, he was able to snag the keys and bring them within reach. He paused only long enough to slip the footwear back on before he let himself out of the cell.
Whyte cursed again when he saw that his rifle, pistol, and a box of shot were gone, but these were not the only firearms. He unlocked the case on the wall, holding two other rifles – both loaded – a pistol and another box of shells. The weapons were fastened by a chain that he also needed to unlock. He replaced the pistols in the holsters on his belt and gathered up the rifle and ammunition. A moment later, he was out the front door.
A black iron ring hung by a rope from a hook on the underside of the roof above the wooden sidewalk; a large steel hammer was attached to it by a second rope. The Sheriff took down the ring and began to strike it loudly with the hammer. Within minutes, a crowd of men had rushed to gather in front of him.
“I just had two suspects escape,” he shouted, “a tall man on a gray cow-pony and a short, blonde gal in a green dress, riding a brown nag. Anybody see which way they went?”
A short man in dark brown overalls pointed down the street. “They headed that way, Sheriff, riding like the Devil hisself was chasing him.”
“You’re all deputies, boys, all them that want to help, anyway,” Whyte said. “Mount up. And if we catch up to them, watch yourself; they both might be partners in murder.”
Almost a dozen men ran for their own horses. In less than five minutes, the Sheriff was leading them out of town heading after Paul and Jessie.
* * * * *
The Gila River was almost one hundred feet wide where it cut across the trail. Paul and Jessie rode into the slow-moving river at an angle, as if still headed east, towards the Tyler farm. By the time they reached the halfway point, the water was just reaching the underside of their horses. “Damned dress,” Jessie muttered, watching the hem of her garment floating about her.
“It’ll dry quick enough,” Paul reassured her. They stayed in place. He looked down and was unable to see the river bottom in the muddy water. “Let’s head west now.”
They turned their horses and started at a different angle for the far bank. They stopped a few feet from shore and rode on for several miles. Every so often, one or the other glanced back, but there was no sign of any pursuers behind them.
* * * * *
Sheriff Whyte reined his horse, as the posse reached the Gila River. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath.
“What’s the matter?” Cal Bucher asked. Cal was a farmer, in town for supplies, when he’d joined the posse.
“The damned river,” the Sheriff replied. “There ain’t much in the way of tracks. They could’ve just crossed, or they could’ve stayed in the river… gone east or west.”
“So what do we do?”
Duke Moran, another member of the posse, glanced down at the ground. “The trail’s rocky, no real sign of tracks to follow.”
“And the river’s muddy,” Bucher added. “Same problem.”
The Sheriff made a sour face. “We guess. Mizz Tyler told me that Grant and Hanks said they’d never been to anywhere ‘round here. Most likely, they’d head back to someplace they did know, the Tylers’ farm.”
“Sounds right t’me,” Bucher said. Moran and the rest of the posse agreed.
Whyte pointed towards the far side of the river. “Let’s get wet, then.” He flicked his reins and started across.
* * * * *
Paul pulled back on his reins with one hand, even as he raised the other. “Hold up, Jess. I think it’s safe to leave the river now. That’s a wide piece of stony ground, and anyone looking for tracks might not spot them as they go by.”
“Bout time,” she said, reining up her own horse. “We must’ve gone a good five miles downstream by now.”
“At least. Let’s get out and see if anybody’s still following us.”
He rode over to the shore and out onto the brush and rocks alongside the river. Jessie followed. Once they were both on dry land, they rode up and around a low ridge that overlooked the Gila River. Near the top, they dismounted, tying their mounts to a nearby tree.
Paul bent low as he walked to the top of the ridge. “Let me take a look.” He stayed down, looking down through the brush. From this height, he could see at least a mile back along the river. “No sign of anybody coming,” he called to Jessie.
“There’s also the danger is that some local saw us riding in the water. He’d remember that.”
Jessie frowned. “Yeah, but would he still be there t’tell the Sheriff?” She glanced down at her damp clothing. “Can we stay here for a few minutes?”
“I suppose. Why?”
“So I can get outta this dress. It’s dry enough – so’s the petticoat – that I can put ‘em away and get into a pair of pants.”
“You do that. I’ll keep watch – just in case.” He gave her a comic leer. “Be less distracting that way, too, for me to watch the river instead of watching you taking off your clothes.” He turned back towards the river.
She chuckled. “Distracting… why, Mr. Grant, you’ve seen me get undressed lotsa times.”
“Yeah, but right now, I can’t do anything about it.” He shrugged. “Maybe later.”
Jessie was back by the horses, wriggling out of her dress. “Count on it.” She draped the dress over her saddle. “Just now, I got a question ‘bout something else. How come you put them keys where that sheriff could get hold of ‘em?”
“Because I didn’t want to embarrass the man. Catching him by surprise with a lucky punch, that’s one thing. Leaving him stuckin a cell, so he needed to call for help to get out; that’s something else. We’re gonna have to talk to him sometime about that cameo, and I’d just as soon that he ain’t too angry to be willing to listen to what we have to say.”
“He tried to shoot me, Paul. How much worse could he get?”
“I don’t know, but I’d just as soon not find out. A really angry sheriff might just shoot first and ask questions later – if at all.”
“I suppose you’re right, but you’re the only lawman I ever was willing t’trust.”
“And why do you suppose that is?” He took one last look down at the river. There was still no sign of any pursuers. With a smile, he turned to face Jessie.
She was just buttoning her blouse. “You just got a winning way about you, I guess.” She gave him a smile that was hardly shy.
“And we can talk about that later, too.” He walked over, giving her a quick kiss before he untangled his reins from the tree. “For now, let’s put some distance between us and the river.”
Jessie winked. “For now.” She untied her own mount, and the pair of them began riding towards the mountains some miles to the north.
* * * * *
Piety and Hanna were hanging clothes on a line near the farmhouse when they saw the sheriff and his posse riding towards them. Piety draped the tablecloth she’d been hanging over the line and ran towards the men, waving her arms furiously.
“What’s the matter, Miz Tyler?” Sheriff Whyte reined his horse with one hand, while he quickly signaled the others to stop.
Piety gave him an exasperated look. “We’ve just hung up a basket of just washed tablecloths and clothes over there.” She pointed. “And you and your men come riding in, raising a cloud of dust. How am I supposed to keep them clean?”
“Can’t be helped. We’re chasing that gal you told me about, Jessie Hanks; her and her man, Paul Grant.”
“Chase? They went looking for you this morning.”
“They found me, all right, but when I started t’talk to them about that murder, they spooked. They grabbed for their guns and ran off.” He looked around. “I figured that they might’ve come back here.”
“I can’t imagine why they would have run. I’m quite sure that Jessie isn’t involved in anything as sordid as what you suggested.”
“I can’t say as I agree. Innocent folk don’t run when you ask them questions. Anyway, you seen any sign of ‘em since this morning?”
By now, Hanna had pinned up the tablecloth and come over to join her mother. “No, but they’re gonna come back here, I think.” She glanced quickly at her mother, giving the woman a wink that the Sheriff couldn’t see. “Their clothes and all are here.” She paused a half beat before going on. “Besides, she promised to sing at my wedding tomorrow.”
“Perhaps, they decided to circle around to the farm,” Piety added. “In case anyone was following them.”
The sheriff dismounted, as did his men. “Maybe we’ll just wait for ‘em then; kinda give them a surprise.” He turned to the posse. “You men put your horses in the corral over there by the barn. Leave ‘em saddled though. Then take cover so you can watch for anybody riding in.”
He watched with satisfaction as the posse members obeyed. ‘I’ll be ready for them this time,’ he thought.
* * * * *
“Hey, Paul,” Jessie yelled, “can we stop for a minute.”
Paul slowed the pace of his cowpony, Ash, down to a gentle walk. “What’s up, Jess?”
“We been riding for an hour at least since we got outta the river. There ain’t no sign of a posse behind us, and I’m getting hungry. How ‘bout we find someplace t’eat?”
He turned Ash so that he was facing back along the way they had come. It was clear, open range. “No sign of any posse.”
“Or even the dust they’d raise.” Jessie rode her own horse, Useless, over to a stand of brush and dismounted.
He rode over and joined her on foot. “True enough. Let me get that; it’s a pretty big basket.” He was almost a foot taller than Jessie and more easily reached the large wicker basket tied fast behind her saddle. When it was free, it carefully set it down. “Let’s see what sort of lunch Piety Tyler packed for us.”
Jessie thought for a moment. “Better not eat it all, though. We really don’t know where our next meal’s coming from.”
Jessie opened the latch and lifted the basket lid. “There’s a note.” She unfolded the paper and began to read. “‘Dear, Jessie, it says’ – it’s from Hanna. ‘I don’t trust Mr. Whyte, so I’m packing some extra stuff I hope you don’t need. Please take care of yourself – and Paul – and come back for my wedding if you can. Love, Hanna.’” Jessie put the note down next to the basket.
“What all did she pack?” Paul asked.
She held up two folded sheets of paper. “Looks like a couple of maps – can’t eat them, but here’s something wrapped in waxed paper – fried chicken and biscuits.” She handed the food to him and continued unpacking.
“There’s two tins of canned beef… and a can opener in here; a couple of cans o’beans, too. And she packed us a bag of ground coffee… and a pot ‘n’ a couple o’cups; and matches in a glass bottle.” Jessie put the items on the grass as she spoke. “Hmm, she really don’t trust the man.” She took out two boxes of… “Bullets.”
Paul had worn his gun belt into town. Jessie had hers, as well, but she’d hidden her weapons in her saddlebag when she’d changed clothes. They both had knives – again, hers was in a saddlebag – and a flint and steel fire starter kit.
Finally, at the bottom of the basket, Jessie found… “Hanna tossed in a couple o’shirts, too, flannel ones.” She glanced up towards the mountains that loomed miles ahead of them. “I hope they’re enough.”
“They’ll have to be.” Paul told her. “Let’s re-pack the rest, and see what we can do with that chicken.”
* * * * *
Sheriff Whyte glanced off to the west. “Still no sign of ‘em,” he told Ephrem Tyler, “and it’s an hour or so till sundown. Do you mind if we camp out here tonight; in your barn, maybe?”
“I suppose not, since you and your men are going to stay anyway.”
“Thanks… say, didn’t your daughter say that Hanks and Grant left a lot of their stuff here with you?”
“She did; why?”
“Where’d they stay – in the barn? Maybe we can go through their things; see if there’s anything that might give us a clue to where they are?”
Piety had come outside to join her husband. “Mr. Grant slept in the barn. Jessie shared my daughter’s room. You and your men can examine his belongings. In fact, I’ll have… Malachi!” She shouted the name of her older son. When he ran over to her, she continued. “You go with the Sheriff. After he and his men go through Mr. Grant’s clothes, please pack them in his carpetbag. Then, you bring that and anything else of his into the house.” She took a breath, and then added, “Solely to make more room for you and your men, Sheriff.”
“Fine,” Whyte said, trying not to sound upset at her apparent attitude. “After we’ve looked at Grant’s stuff, we’ll see what we can find in Jessie Hank’s gear.”
Piety scowled. “No, sir, you will not.”
“And why not?”
“Because I will not have you – or any man pawing through Jessie’s clothing as if she were some kind of low criminal – which she is not.”
He gave her his best smile. “Ma’am, we are looking for her, and there may be something in her garments or other possessions. What do you suggest we do?”
“Well…” she thought for a moment. “How about this; my daughter and I will pack away Jessie’s belongings? You may watch. If you see anything that you need to examine more closely, we shall do that for you, at your direction, of course.”
Now Ephrem smiled. “I’d advise you to go along with her. My Piety can be a very stubborn woman, and she feels very protective about Jessie Hanks.”
“I guess I don’t really have a choice in the matter, do I?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Alright, Miz Tyler, we’ll do it your way.”
* * * * *
“Hey, Jess,” Paul said, “you want another cup of coffee?”
Jessie was on a blanket spread out on the grass. She was leaning back against the saddle from her horse, carefully reading the papers she had taken from the sheriff’s desk. The sun was setting, but she still had more than enough light. “Huhn… what’d you say, Paul?”
“I asked if you wanted some coffee. Do you?”
She sighed and set down the sheet she’d been reading. “N-No, thanks,” she answered in an uncertain voice.
“You okay?”
“Yeah… no… no, I’m not okay.” She sighed. “It just… it’s ain’t fair. This is the second time I’m being chased for… for killing somebody that I didn’t kill.”
Paul set the coffee pot down on the ground just outside the ring of rocks that surrounded their campfire. “You seem to have a define talent for that happening.” He gave her a smile of encouragement.
“That… That ain’t funny.” She shook her head and then looked down at the papers. “It ain’t funny at all.”
He could see a glistening, tear forming in her eyes, and he hurried over and sat down next to her. “Jess...” He took her hand in his, while his other arm reached around her waist.
“I-I thought I was done with riding the owlhoot trail, done with always looking over my back for somebody sneaking up on me, always…” She sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “…with always being ready for the… the bullet that’d take me outta my misery.”
She turned abruptly to stare at him. “I thought I – me, me and you – we m-might’ve had some kinda… life together.”
“We still can.” It was the first time Jessie had ever spoken of a future with him. He shifted slightly and kissed her forehead.
She clutched his vest. “I started t’think that I might have some time ahead of me. Now I ain’t so sure. Nobody can be sure. So what’s a man gonna do? Does he give up, or does he try to grab as much of life as he can, as fast as he can?”
“I don’t have advice for any sort of man, but I’d sure hope that a pretty gal who happens to be around here would take the second choice.” He gently kissed her cheek.
She sobbed and buried her face in his chest. “How… How can I, when they’re hunting me for a murder I-I didn’t do?”
“It’ll be all right, Jess. I-I promise it will.” He let go of her hand and began to stroke her head, trying to comfort her. She didn’t speak. He could hear her weeping; feel her tears wetting his shirt. He just held her, letting her give rein to her fears, until the girl’s breathing became more even and she fell asleep in his arms.
He lay back, still holding her. ‘I wanted you in my arms tonight, Jess,’ he thought wryly, ‘but sure as hell not like this.’ He freed one arm just long enough to pull the blanket over them both and drifted into sleep.
* * * * *
It was already dark outside, when the Sheriff and Piety came downstairs from Hanna’s room.
“Thank you for your… cooperation, Miz Tyler,” he grumbled as he started for the barn.
Ephrem waited until he was sure that Whyte was out of earshot. “How’d it go, and where’s Hanna?”
“She stayed in her room to pack her trousseau – for the fifth time.” She sighed. “It won’t be a very fancy honeymoon; spending two days in that old shack on the Parker farm.”
“Two people in love don’t need much.” He took his wife’s hand. “We didn’t.”
“That was so many, many years ago. Now, look at me. I’m an old woman… old enough to have a daughter about to get married.”
“All I see is that pretty, young girl I was lucky enough to marry.”
She sat down next to him and kissed his cheek. “You, sir, are a liar of the first water – and I love you for it.”
“Every word’s the honest truth, Pie, every word.” He paused a beat. “So tell me, did he – did you – find anything in Jessie’s stuff?”
“Hanna found the words to that song she so wanted Jessie to perform at her wedding. I hope that works out for her.”
“We can certainly hope. Anything else?”
“Yes, there was a small, drawstring bag in the drawer where Jessie put her underthings.” She giggled. “It was full of British riding coats. I don’t know who was the more embarrassed, Hanna or the Sheriff.”
“But not you.” He chuckled. “Not my sweet, sweet Pie.”
“Well… I pretended to be.”
He frowned. “I’m kind of sorry that Hanna had to see them.”
“She knows about such things – in a way. But knowing about them and seeing one for the first time are two entirely different experiences.”
“And the experiences she’ll be having tomorrow night won’t involve such a thing, I’m sure.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “In the meantime, let’s us go to bed.”
“But it’s early,” she protested, “and I’m not really tired.”
He kissed her again. “Good, because neither am I.”
* * * * *
Chapter 4 – “Into the Mountains”
Sunday, June 2, 1872
The morning sun, just rising over the crest of a hill, shone in Jessie’s face, waking her up. She shifted her body and slowly opened her eyes, shading them from the bright light. As she did, she found Paul awake and looking at her.
“Morning, Jess,” he greeted her. “You sleep well?”
They were both under a blanket, fully dressed but snuggled close together. He could feel his arm around her waist. “I-I guess. How ‘bout you?”
“Not bad. I dozed off not too long after you did.”
His words reminded her of how she’d acted the night before, and she could feel her face flush with embarrassment. “Sorry about last night; I-I don’t know why I acted the way I done.”
“Don’t worry about it. You had every right to be upset after that sheriff pulled a pistol and tried to arrest you for a murder you didn’t commit.”
“The old Jesse Hanks wouldn’t’ve gone all soft and cried like that. He’d have laughed at what happened – or tried to kill that sheriff for doing what he done.”
“Yes, but you aren’t him. You’re… you.”
“Yeah, a no-account crybaby of a gal.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He spoke softly, choosing his words so as not to rile her. “You’ve had almost a year of not being a hunted outlaw. You’ve settled down. You’ve got a good job, one you enjoy doing, and you’ve got friends who care about you.” He gently ran a finger down her cheek. “And you’ve got me.”
“I ain’t gonna complain about my life now, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna complain about having you around t’help me live it. But I still feel dumb, crying like that.”
“You gonna cry some more, now?”
“Nope.” She gave him a wry smile. “I think I’m cried out for now.”
“You see; that was just something you needed to do. You’re done now, and I’ll bet you feel a whole lot better for it.”
She thought for a moment. “Yeah, I… guess I do. Thanks, Paul.”
“Speaking of things to make you feel better.” His other hand slowly moved across her stomach.
She put her hand on his. “It surely would, but I think we got a problem in that department.”
“What’s that?” Then his eyes widened as he realized their situation. “Protection; we left all those condoms back at the Tylers’ place. Didn’t we?”
She shook her head. “Nope, I brought one… for that picnic Piety suggested. But that’s all we got, and, much as I hate t’say it, we better save that one for a special occasion.”
“We could do without.”
“Much as I want to, Paul, I’m scared. I keep thinking of Laura, belly the size of a watermelon and stuck in bed ‘cause she’s too weak t’get around.” She shook her head. “No, I-I just ain’t… ain’t gonna risk it. I’m sorry, so, very, very, very sorry, but I-I just couldn’t.”
He kissed her cheek. “Jess, if you’re that scared, I certainly won’t force you, but I reserve the right…” He kissed her again. “…to hope that you change your mind.”
“You know,” Jess said, sitting up and trying to smile. “This kinda reminds me of the last time me and you was on the trail.”
He nodded and sat up, too. “Last fall, you mean; on our way back to Eerie from the Tylers’ place.”
“Uh huhn; that was the first time you ‘n’ me… kissed.” She managed the smile at the happy memory.
“We did more than just kiss.”
“Yeah, but not as much as you – or me, t’tell the honest truth of it -- wanted.” She blushed as she spoke.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to settle for what we did back then.” He leaned over and kissed her.
Jessie sighed as her arm reached up to encircle his neck. She felt a tingle run through her body as her breasts were pressed against him. The fear and mortification she’d felt was replaced by feelings of being cherished and protected. Her lips parted to let his tongue invade her mouth to tangle with her own.
“That was so nice,” she whispered, almost breathless, when they finally parted.
He leaned in and began to unbutton her shirt. “Let’s make things even nicer.” When he had finished, he slide it down off her shoulders. She shrugged, and the sleeves dropped down to her wrists. She had it completely off a moment later.
“Now you.” She grinned mischievously and started working on his shirt. “Dang… you don’t never wear undershirts, do you?” She rubbed the palm of her hand across his thick chest hairs. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
He grinned back at her. “I’m not complaining either.” His fingers went to the hooks of her corset, undoing them one by one in quick, practiced order. Once it was undone, it fell of its own accord onto their blanket. He could see her nipples, erect and pushing out the soft muslin of her camisole, her breasts eager to be touched.
“Better stop right there,” she told him, the regret clear in her voice. “I figure I’ve taken off as much as I should… dang it!”
“I’m afraid I have to agree. You know, undressing you is like eating peanuts.” When she stared at him, confused by his words, he continued. “I like it so much, it’s damned hard to stop.”
Her hand snaked down to cup the bulge in his crotch. “That ain’t all that’s hard. It’s too bad we --”
He cut her words off by pulling her to him and kissing her again; a kiss full of passion and longing.
She moaned as the feelings he was stirring flowed through her. Her breasts warmed, her nipples tight and eager to be touched. There was a warmth down between her legs and an eagerness to be touched there, as well.
Paul took advantage of that moan. His tongue slipped in between her parted lips to play with hers. His hands roamed her delicious curves, finally settling on her breasts. These he gently fondled. Her own arms encircled him drawing him closer.
“Oh, that was so dammed good,” she said when they finally broke the kiss. Even lovers need to breath once in a while. “I wish…” her voice trailed off.
He smiled. “So do I, but we don’t have any more condoms than we had a few minutes again.”
“It ain’t that – well, it is that, too. But look at the sun; it’s getting awful high in the sky.”
“You’re right.” He glanced over to check. The sun was almost half way towards zenith. “Much as I hate to say it, we’d better get mov – ah, riding.”
* * * * *
Ephrem Tyler walked towards his barn. The sheriff and his posse had camped there overnight, and, now, he saw that almost all of the men were packing their gear back onto their horses.
“Aren’t you and your men staying for the wedding?” he asked, trying not to let the sarcasm into his voice.
Sheriff Whyte shook his head. “Most of them are leaving – I am, too, as a matter of fact. Cal Bucher and Lafe Olmsted were invited, so they’re staying. Mick Walsh went home t’get Katie and that baby girl of theirs, but he’ll be back here, too. The three o’them’ll be keeping watch for the Hanks gal, but I don’t really expect her and that Grant fellah to show up for your daughter’s wedding.”
“Where do you think them two will show up?”
“To tell the truth, I think they may’ve rode on past your place, heading back to… umm, Eerie.” He paused a beat. “I just may do something about that when I get back to town.”
“But before I do,” he continued, “I want to check the river again. I’m gonna send some men to ride along the banks – going east and west for a few miles – just to see if they find any signs of where the pair of ‘em might’ve gone. It ain’t likely, but if you run into anybody, ask him if he saw Grant and Hanks pass by, yesterday. A pretty gal in a green dress, that’s something a man would remember.”
Ephrem frowned. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t wish you good luck. Jessie’s a good friend of my daughter, and she saved my wife’s life. I find it very hard to believe that she did anything wrong.”
“Then why’d she run?”
“From what you told me, I think you scared her. As soon as she has a chance to calm down, she’ll be back – and with a good explanation about that cameo.”
“And I think she ran ‘cause she was guilty, and she knew that she was caught, but I’ll give her a chance to tell her story if she shows up again.”
The other man gave him a wry smile. “What more could anyone ask?”
* * * * *
The posse slowed as it reached the Gila River from the north. There was no need to gallop back across it, and a slower fording meant that the men would stay dry. They were about ten yards into the water, when Sheriff Whyte suddenly stopped. “Hold up, men,” he yelled.
“What’s the matter, Elijah?” Tom Finney asked. Finney was a beefy man in green overalls and a plaid shirt.
The Sheriff frowned. “I’m having me some second thoughts, Tom.”
“You wanna ride back to the Tyler place?”
“No, I ain’t sure that they headed there or rode on towards that town they come from.” He looked left and right. “I think, maybe, I was wrong about them riding straight on through this river.”
Hugh Jones was close enough to hear the two men. “You think they mighta stayed in the river for a while to make it harder for us to be tracking ‘em?”
“I do – maybe.” Whyte said. “Tom, why don’t you and Beau ride a few miles downstream? One of you take the north bank, and the other, the south. See if you can’t find somewhere they might’ve come out of the river. If you do, the one who found it’ll stay there t’mark it, and the other’ll come back here t’us.” He turned his head. “Ollie, you and Rich do the same thing heading upstream.”
“How far should we go?” Finney asked.
Whyte shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know… five miles or so, that oughta be enough. Either of you see anything, come back t’town ‘n’tell me.”
“Okay, Sheriff,” Beau van Zandt nodded. He started back towards the riverbank. He stopped a yard or so from the land and turned left, downstream. Tom Finney did the same, but he headed to the opposite bank. Ollie Croft and Rich Potter copied them, but riding upstream.
The Sheriff and the rest of the posse stayed in the water, watching the others for a short time. Then they continued on across. ‘That takes care o’one possibility,’ Whyte thought, as they reached the southern bank. ‘In case they did head back home, I think I’ll send something there, so the Sheriff in… Eerie – yeah, that’s where Ephrem Tyler said they were from – send a telegram t’whoever the sheriff is there, so he can be on the lookout for them.’
Whyte usually carried a pencil and a small notebook in his vest pocket. He took them out and began to write. He was a “belt and suspenders” man. Whatever happened he’d make sure that telegram got sent. Come hell or high water, he was gonna catch them two. ‘Nobody’, he thought, as he began to write, ‘makes a fool out of Sheriff Elijah Whyte.’
* * * * *
“Sheriff... Sheriff, we found something!”
Whyte turned downriver at the sound of his name. Beau van Zandt was galloping toward him, shouting and waving his arm.
“What’d you find, Beau?”
Van Zandt took a moment to catch his breath. “Tom found it, t’tell the truth. About four miles down, it looks like somebody came outta the river ‘n’ headed north. Tom stayed where he found it, and I rode back here t’get you ‘n’ the others. “
The Sheriff grinned, glad that his hunch had paid off. He clambered onto his horse. “Hugh, you head upstream for Ollie and Rich. Duke and me’ll be downstream t’ see just what Tom found. “
* * * * *
“What d’you think. Lige?” Tom Finney asked. Like most of the posse, he was on horseback.
Elijah Whyte was crouched down, examining some scrub brush on the bank of the Gila River. “I think you found ‘em.” He stood up. “There’s enough broken brush that it was more’n one horse that came outta the river. And the breaks in the wood are fresh enough that it couldn’t have been more’n a day since they happened.”
“So what happens now?” Ollie Croft asked.
The Sheriff mounted up. “We go after ‘em, of course.” He thought for a moment. “We might wanna send somebody into town for supplies. This may take a day or three.”
“Not for me,” Croft shook his head. “I got a job I gotta be at tomorrow.”
The other men agreed. They had jobs to get to, businesses or a farm to run. A few had families, a wife, kids maybe, that they couldn’t just up and leave for who knew how long.
“You’re gonna let them two get away?” the Sheriff said with disgust. “Hell, then; I’ll just go after them by myself.”
“No, you don’t,” Beau van Zandt said. “You’re hired on to be the town sheriff. You can’t just go off on some damned squirrel hunt.”
Whyte thought quickly. “How’s about if I… if I leave a deputy to stay in town while I chase down Grant and Hanks? ‘Cept for them, Dawson’s been pretty quiet lately.”
“Who?”
It had to be one of them, the men with him now, but who was qualified? “Hugh… Hugh Jones. Didn’t you tell me you used to be a sergeant in the English Army?”
“I was,” Jones answered, speaking in a thick Welsh accent. He was a tall, muscular man with steel-gray hair. “The Coldstream Guards, it was, afore Gwenlyn and I come to America. Now, I’ve got me a saddle and harness shop to be running.”
The Sheriff shrugged. “So run it. Put a sign on the jailhouse door telling folks t’come to your shop if they need the sheriff. Besides that, once or twice a day, say in late afternoon and about 8 at night you walk around town checking up on things. There shouldn’t be no trouble. Like I said, it’s been kinda quiet lately.”
“I suppose – just don’t you be gone too long.” A thought came to him. “Say, if things are so quiet, can I be taking me son, Henry, with me when I go on them walks?”
Ollie Craft raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Why; does he wanna be a sheriff some day?”
“No…” Hugh’s expression soured. “He wants to be a knight; always reading books about somebody named Charlemagne and King Arthur and such he is; talking about going on quests, looking for magic treasure and rescuing princesses.”
Tom Finney chuckled. “Don’t worry, Hugh. Your boy’s what… nine or ten? It ain’t like he’s gonna be thinking about crazy stuff like that his whole life. You just wait till he’s grown and has a job and a wife ‘n’ kids of his own. He’ll settle down quick enough.”
“Lord, I hope so.” He looked over at Whyte. “I’ll do it, but I ain’t gonna do it forever. You got… two weeks, a week to find them two and a week, at most, to bring ‘em back, or I’m done.”
The Sheriff extended his hand. “Fair enough.” He shook Jones’ hand, and then reached into his vest pocket. “Here’s a telegram. Do me a favor and send it to the sheriff in Eerie – whoever he is – in case they do head back there.”
“Done and done.” Hugh put the paper into his shirt pocket. “And happy hunting.”
The men watched Sheriff Whyte head out of the river and up a low hill to the north before they turned their own horses and started back for town.
* * * * *
Dan Talbot, Sheriff of Eerie, Arizona, read the telegram for a second time.
‘ Wanted for Resisting Arrest, for Flight to Avoid Prosecution,
‘ Jessie Hanks and Paul Grant and a Possible Murder Suspect (Hanks).
Talbot shook his head. “Oh, Jessie, what did you get yourself – and Paul – into now?” He continued reading.
‘ Hanks is female, about 20 year old; five feet tall; slender; blonde
‘ hair, blue eyes. She is riding a swayback brown gelding.
‘ Grant is male, in late 20s; just under six feet tall; slender; dark
‘ brown hair, brown eyes. He is riding a light gray cow pony.
‘ Both are armed and dangerous. If seen, contact Sheriff Elijah Whyte,
‘ Dawson, Arizona.
“I’ll just have to trust Paul to get them both out of it.” Talbot folded the telegram and set it in the top drawer of his office desk. “And the last thing I need to do is to let Molly O’Toole find out. There’s nothing she can do about it except fret – and, probably, make my life – and Shamus’ -- absolute misery.”
As he closed the drawer, he had another thought. “This telegram sounds awfully formal. I wonder who else that Sheriff Whyte might’ve sent it to.”
* * * * *
Paul looked up from the papers he’d been studying, the ones he’d grabbed from that sheriff’s office. “Say, Jess, do you remember what day you, ah… stopped that stage?”
“Robbed, you mean.” Jessie gave him a sly wink. “The twelfth, I think – no….” She began mumbling to herself as she counted days off on her fingers. “The thirteenth – yeah, I’m pretty sure it was September 13.” She thought for a moment. “Why?”
“Because – according to these papers – Barlow was killed on the thirteenth and… here, come look at this map.” He unfolded the map Ephrem Tyler had given them and set it carefully on the ground. A few small rocks set in the corners held it down.
While he was positioning the rocks, Jessie moved in close -- very close -- to him. “What d’you got?”
“Now here’s… here’s Prescott.” He cleared his throat, a distraction as much as anything else, and pointed to the representation of the town on the map. “And over here…” He shifted his body and pointed to a place on the map that was some distance away from Prescott. “…just north of Black Canyon is where you robbed the stage.”
“How d’you know that?”
“When I was… tracking you, I stopped at the Wells Fargo depot in Black Canyon to get my bearings and – I’ll admit it – to get out of that rain for a while. One of the men there – still pissed as all hell – was talking about how somebody, somebody who sounded a lot like you had robbed the stage he’d been the guard on. He said it happened a couple days before and just a few miles north of where we were.”
“Yeah,” she admitted, “it was me. I didn’t get much, though.”
“You got enough to get accused of murder, Jessie, but the good news is that what you did get – that cameo – might just say that you didn’t kill Barlow.” He took a breath. “That is, if we can just get people to listen to what it does have to say.”
“What the hell are you going on about; how does that cameo prove I’m innocent?”
“About how long do you think it’d take a stage to go from here – Prescott – to here – where you robbed it?”
She studied the map for a few minutes, running her finger along the route. “I dunno, six hours, maybe a bit more… seven on the outside.”
“You think that you could catch up with stage – if it had a head start, I mean.”
Jessie raised a suspicious eyebrow. “How much of a head start?”
“Let’s say… a half hour; could you catch up with it?”
“Maybe… if I had a real good horse.”
“How about an hour head start?”
“Mmm, that’s be harder; maybe.”
“How about an hour and a half… or two hours?”
“There’s an outside chance – if they took their time at the stops, changing horses and folks getting on and off, I might get past an hour ‘n’ a half lead, and that’s saying a lot, and it’d take a damn sight better horse than Useless. Two hours, though.” She shook her head. “There’s no way in hell, I could catch up with it by the time it got to Black Canyon.”
“That’s what I figured.” He held up sheet of paper. “According to these notes, Barlow was killed sometime after 11 AM. “
“So…”
“You robbed that stage about mid-afternoon, right?”
“Yeah, I waited a couple hours for something worth robbing t’come along. If that stage hadn’t shown up, I’d left before too long. I wanted time t’find a place t’camp before it got dark.”
“That’s what I thought. Let’s say you robbed the stage at 3 o’clock.”
“Okay. That’s as good a guess as any. I didn’t have no watch with me.”
“Figure six hours drive time, it would’ve left Prescott about 9 AM, maybe even before 9.”
“So the stage left at 9. What does that prove?”
“Everything; Barlow was killed around 11 AM, maybe later. There’s no way that you could have been in Prescott and killed him at 11 and caught up with the stage and robbed it at 3, like you did. It would’ve had too much of a lead.”
She moved even closer. “You’re right; I couln’t’ve done ‘em both.” She threw her arms around him and leaned in for a kiss. For a time – much too short a time – their worries about the murder charge were lost in their shared passion.
“We still have to get a copy of the schedule to prove when the stage left Prescott,” he said, a little breathless, when they finally separated. “And we have to get Wells Fargo to admit that they were robbed.”
Jessie gave him a sly smile. “We can do that easy. You’re smart, and I’m… sneaky. We just put our heads together and –”
“Like this?” Paul moved in, putting his head – his lips, at any rate – together with hers. Talk of murder and alibi was over for the evening. They kept their drawers on, still concerned about the lack of protection, but they certainly enjoyed themselves – and each other – before they both drifted off to sleep.
* * * * *
Monday, June 3, 1872
“I don’t know ‘bout this,” Jessie whispered. “Them’s awful big sheep.”
Paul tried to reassure her. “They call them ‘big horn’ sheep… for obvious reasons, but they shouldn’t bother us if we don’t bother them.”
“You got that right. The horns on somma them rams must weigh twenty-five… thirty pounds.”
The pair was walking slowly towards the pond where the sheep were drinking. Their horses were tied to a tree some twenty yards away. They made no sudden moves that might startle flock, especially the large rams which were watching them very closely, ready to attack any threat.
“I still don’t like the look of them sheep,” she repeated.
“Maybe not, but we need water.” He held up the canteen he was carrying. “These things’re half empty, and who knows when we’ll see another watering hole.”
“We got enough t’get back t’the Tyler farm…” She let her voice trail off.
Paul gave her a look of surprise. “You know we can’t go back, Jess, not for a while anyway. That sheriff probably still has men waiting there for us.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh. “It’s just that… hell, the only reason we come out here was for Hanna’s wedding.” She glanced up at the afternoon sun. “A wedding that’s probably going on right now, and one that I – hell – I promised t’be there for it.”
“I know, but it can’t be helped. Once we get this business with the cameo settled we’ll --” He was interrupted by a loud bleat.
They glanced over at the herd of bighorns. One of the rams that had been watching them collapsed to the ground, two arrows in its side. The other sheep were hurrying away from where he stood.
Paul and Jessie turned towards where the arrows had probably come from. Five Indians – Apaches! – were walking slowly down the rise. Two, with bows in their hands and satisfied expressions on their faces, headed for the game they had just killed. The others, one with a bow and two with rifles, and all three looking grim, came straight for Paul and Jessie.
* * * * *
Chapter 5 – “Among the Apaches"
Tuesday, June 4, 1872
A train of five Apache warriors slowly headed east along a narrow mountain trail.
Paul and Jessie, hands tied behind their backs, were on Jessie’s horse, Useless, who was being led by a line from the second Apache. A travois, a triangular sled, was attached by ropes to either side of Useless’s saddle. The carcass of a bighorn ram was carefully placed on the sled and held in place by leather straps.
The fifth Apache was leading Paul’s horse, Ash. A second travois, this one also bearing a dead sheep, was attached to the cowpony.
“Paul,” Jessie whispered, “what d’you thinks gonna happen to us?”
“I don’t know, Jesse,” he answered in an equally low voice. “The Apache aren’t too happy with white folk right about now.”
“When was they ever happy with white folk?”
“When we left them alone.” Paul’s expression soured. “After what happened at Camp Grant – all those Apache women and kids killed for no good reason – a lot of them scattered to the hills. And some of them – like Cochise – are out for blood.”
“They come in to the reservation when General Crook told ‘em to.”
“That came in because it was easier to spend winter in a camp, getting food and blankets, than it was to stay in the mountains. A lot of them ran for it when spring came.” He looked around at their captors. “I think that’s who these men are, Apaches who didn’t want to stay where General Crook or General Howard wanted them.” He add that some of those warriors who had escaped had taken to killing whites.
He didn’t need to. “You think they’s gonna kill us,” she asked nervously.
“I hope not.” He thought for a moment. “They could’ve killed us outright when they found us. It’d be nice if we could ask them what they do have in mind. You don’t happen to speak Apache, do you?”
“Not a word; how ‘bout you?”
“The same, I’m sorry to say.” Very sorry; it would be hard to try to reason with men who couldn’t understand what he was saying to them.
Just then, one if the warriors rode over to them. “Cerrar sus bocas malditos [Shut your damned mouths],” he ordered in surprisingly good Spanish.
‘Well,’ Paul thought wryly, ‘that’s one problem solved.’
* * * * *
The Apache warriors – still leading Useless and Ash – rode into a small encampment, a semi-circle of seven wickiups. These were shelters about twelve feet across and about nine feet high, formed by poles tied together to form a cone. It was summer, and the poles were covered with an array of rushes and leafy branches.
Several women were working by a communal cook pot surrounded by the huts. Others were seated in front of huts sewing or doing some other sort of close-up work. Children of various ages ran through the camp, playing some sort of chase game. A few older children were laboring in what looked like a small field of crops beyond the camp itself.
Everyone stopped when the horsemen came into the camp. A woman cupped her hand, turned towards one of the wickiups, and shouted something in Apache.
The riders halted near the crowd of women. Two of the men climbed off their horses and walked over to Useless. The first grabbed Paul by the waist and yanked him off the horse, letting him fall to the ground. Paul grunted when he landed. He scrambled, his hands still tied behind his back, and tried to get to his feet.
The second Apache grasped Jessie by her waist and lifted her more slowly off the horse. Grinning, he pulled her close, as he lowered her to the ground. She felt her body move against his, as she moved down.
“Hey!” she shouted in protest. He continued holding her close once she was on the ground, laughing and making what she suspected were rude comments in his native tongue. Some of the other riders laughed at whatever he was saying. “Leggo o’me, you son of a bitch!” she ordered and kicked him as hard as she could in his left shin.
The man grunted and released her. The men were still laughing, but now they were laughing at him, not with him. He scowled and pulled his knife, pointing it at Jessie.
“Uhh-ohh,” Jessie whispered.
Paul was on his feet now, and he quickly moved to position himself between Jessie and the man with the knife. “Ahora seamos razonables, amigo, [Now let’s be reasonable, friend,]” he said in Spanish, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. “I don’t think it helps our case to get them mad, Jess,” he added in English.
“He should be happy it was his shin I kicked.” As she spoke, she struggled, shifting her arms inside the ropes, trying to get free.
“Kree-gah!” A deep voice called out.
Everyone, Apache and white, turned in the direction of the speaker. An elderly man clad in a white buckskin tunic decorated with red, blue, and green beads was walking towards the group. A young girl, perhaps fifteen, held his arm, leading him. She wore a longer tunic, also white buckskin, which was decorated in much the same pattern as the man.
The old man walked slowly, shuffling his feet as he walked. When he reached Jessie, he stopped and looked angrily at the younger man. The brave mumbled something and replaced the knife in a sheath hanging from his belt. He stepped back, yielding his place to the elder.
The man stared into Jessie’s eyes. ‘Feels like he’s trying t’read my mind,’ she thought. Then he stepped back, and his gaze ran slowly down the length of her body. Her lush figure was well-displayed in a pea-green blouse with Kelly green trim and a pair of men’s dark blue work pants that was tied tight at her waist and clung to her wide hips and buttocks. He suddenly put his hands on her hips and looked down at her stomach. His hands gripped her firmly, so that her body shifted, as he moved them forward and backward. After a few moments of this, his eyes moved upwards, stopping at Jessie’s ample bosom.
“What goes on here?” she demanded in Spanish, as the man’s fingers moved towards the buttons of her blouse. The old man startled and took a quick step back.
The young woman spoke a few words in Apache before she answered Jessie in Spanish. “I am Ih-tedda. I speak to you for my grandfather, Taklishim, His eyes have grown dim, but, as his sight left him, Usen, the Life Giver, gave him the power to see Magic.” The old man spoke again, and the woman translated. “Grandfather says that you have been touched, your life altered by the great Magic of Esdzanadehe, the Changing Woman.”
“You got that right,” Paul said with a laugh.
Jessie gave him a sharp look and turned back to the young Apache. “Who’s this ‘Changing Woman’ and what sorta ‘magic’ does she have?”
“The Changing Woman is a being of the Spirit, born at the Creation of the World; she is a Spirit of Life and Healing, the mother and the guide to all Tindé… all Apache women. She hears our songs, lends us her power of healing, and strengthens us against death.”
The old man spoke again, this time in a low, hesitant voice. As he spoke he tilted his head back and forth, still seeming to be examining Jessie.
“Grandfather says that the Magic of the Changing Woman is mixed together with another Magic.” The girl translated. “It is just as strong, but it is of a sort that he has never seen before.”
Jessie and Paul looked at each other in surprise. ‘How the hell does he know that?’ they both thought.
“The man who done this to me comes from a land far t’the east – towards the rising sun,” she began slowly. “And they got their own kinda ‘magic.’ When he come here, to this place, he lived with some other Injuns, the Cheyenne, and they taught him the ‘magic’ they knew. When he mixed ‘em together, he got the ‘magic’ that he used on me.”
The girl translated Jessie’s words for her grandfather. They spoke back and forth for a time. “Grandfather says that both Magics are strong,” she finally said in Spanish, “wherever they come from. In two days, at the coming of the New Moon, we will hold the celebration for Bimisi, his grandson, taking his first steps. Is this white man under your protection, Magic One?”
“Uh, he surely is.”
The girl nodded. “That is good. I – we – ask you to stay and be a part of the fiesta, to join your Magic to ours as we sing to the Spirits, asking for them to grant good luck, a good life, to the child.
Paul raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Ask us to stay; does that mean that we have a choice?”
“No,” the Apache maiden said with a wry smile. “But grandfather thinks that the Spirits will look on us with more favor if we do ask.”
Jessie chuckled, glad that no one was talking about Indian torture. “In that case – since you asked so nice – we’ll be glad to stay.”
* * * * *
Wednesday, June 5, 1872
Jessie sat on a low rock covered with a tanned hide. She was watching Paul who was playing some sort of game with a few of the older boys.
A boy stood on one foot next to a line scratched in the dirt. He balanced a stick on the toes of the raised foot, while the other boys counted…. “gots’idi… tsebíí… ngóst’áí… goneznán.” When they reached goneznán [ten], the boy kicked, tossing the stick high into the air. All the boys noted how high the stick went. When it landed, they used a twig to mark how close to the line it came. A couple of them clapped the boy, who had tossed the stick, on his shoulder.
Jessie smiled, remembering back to when she had played similar games with her brother, Will, back when they were boys growing up in west Texas. The Apache camp was a few yards away from a small pond, and she wondered if the boys knew how to skip stones. “Maybe I’ll teach ‘em,” she mused softly.
“Sunset Woman.” Jessie turned and saw Ih-tedda, the young girl who acted as her grandfather’s guide and translator, coming over to where she was sitting. The Apache had given Jessie the name “Sunset Woman” because of her strawberry blonde hair, “the color of the sky when the sun goes down.” She was still trying to learn to pronounce it in Apache.
“Yes, Ih-tedda,” Jessie answered with a friendly smile. “What can I do for you?”
“My grandfather needs to speak to you. You must come… please.”
Jessie rose to her feet. “Hey, Paul,” she called out, “the old man wants t’talk to us.”
“No… No,” the girl said nervously. “It is just Sunset Woman that he must see.”
Paul was close enough to hear. “Maybe so, but I think I’d better come along, too.” He smiled, but his tone made it clear that Jessie wasn’t going anywhere without him.
“It was…” The girl looked at Paul and Jessie, who here now holding hands. “So be it… come with me.”
* * * * *
Taklishim, the tribal elder, was sitting on a raised stool in front of his wickiup, a warrior standing on each side. A few feet away, a woman sat on a log covered with a gray wolf skin. A large woven basket was leaning against the rock. A baby wrapped in a brown fur was inside the basket, held in place by strips of buckskin. The baby made a sort of a gurgling noise, and the woman reached down and pushed a dried-up piece of what looked like leather that hung from the top of the basket. The thing began to swing back and forth, and the baby smiled and watched it move.
Ih-tedda ran over and took a seat at her grandfather’s feet. The man closest to the seated woman pointed at Paul and said something in Apache. He was the one who had tried to fondle Jessie when he took her down from her horse, the one she had kicked. He sounded angry as he continued to speak.
“I don’t know what that guy just said,” Paul said to Jessie, “but I don’t think he likes me.”
The Apache scowled, and then he replied in an excellent Spanish. “I said that you have no reason to be here, white man, and you should leave – or be made to leave.”
“Listen here; you got something important t’say to me,” Jessie said, returning the scowl, “you say it t’him, too. You got that?”
“You are… together?” the man asked. “Married?”
Jessie took Paul’s hand in hers own. “Yes, t’your first question, but no t’your second one.” She cocked a curious eyebrow. “Why’re you asking?”
“I am Dasodaha. When the sun goes away behind those hills, tomorrow,” he pointed to the west, “we hold the moccasin ceremony for my son, Bimisi. You…” Now he pointed at Jessie. “You promised that you would lend your Magic to our ceremony.”
Jessie frowned. “I said I would, didn’t I? You think I’m gonna go back on my word?”
“No,” the man told her, “but you are a stranger to us. The Magic that Taklishim sees within you may not bind with the Magic of the Tindé, the People.”
“You may be right,” Paul said, “but what can she – what can anyone do about it?”
“To bind the Magic, you must bind with us.” Dasodaha’s lips curled into a nasty smirk. “You must become my isdzán – my woman.”
Jessie’s jaw dropped. “What? The hell I will!”
“Seems to me you already got a wife,” Paul added, gesturing towards the woman.
Ih-tedda had been translating the conversation for her grandfather. The old man spoke a few words, which she repeated in Spanish. “Grandfather says that our laws say that a man can have more than one wife. It is also our custom for warriors to take captive women for their own.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” Jessie asked, anger beginning to creep into her voice.
The girl shook her head. “No, it is decided. You are to be Dasodaha’s woman.”
“I say it isn’t decided,” Paul said suddenly. “I challenge for the right to marry Jessie.”
“You are a captive,” the warrior sneered, “the same as Sunset Woman. You cannot challenge me.”
Taklishim had followed the argument, and now he said a few words in Apache to Ih-tedda. She answered, and the pair spoke quickly to each other. The old man chuckled and pointed first to Dasodaha and then to Paul.
“Dasodaha,” the girl said in Spanish, “grandfather has taken the white man’s challenge for you. You will grapple with him, and the winner will take Sunset Woman as his wife.”
“What!” the warrior exclaimed. “Why should this be?”
“Grandfather says that forced Magic will not work as we wish it to. It may even anger the Spirits and work against us. The Spirits will guide the two of you, and will give strength to the one who should win, the one who will best guide Sunset Woman so that her Magic can be strong in his grandson, Bimisi.”
The warrior shouted at Taklishim in Apache. The old man answered, calmly but very firmly. Dasodaha scowled. He spat out one last word and stormed off.
“What just happened?” Paul asked.
Ih-tedda smiled. “Dasodaha did not want to grapple with you. Grandfather told him that if he refused, Grandfather would tell everyone that Dasodaha could not be troubled to help with his own son’s moccasin ceremony. He would be shamed. Dasodaha would not have that said about him. He will meet you when the sun has tracked halfway to the hills in the west.”
“Terrific,” Paul answered. He turned to Jessie. “Now what so we do?”
Jessie shrugged. “I guess you’ll fight him… and I’ll cheer for you.” She paused, but then added, with a laugh, “and you’d better win -- for both our sakes.”
* * * * *
Jessie and Paul stood at the edge of the common area in front of the Apache camp. Taklishim was making some sort of announcement to those gathered around him. “What’s he saying?” Jessie asked Ih-tedda.
“Grandfather is telling everyone that Dasodaha claimed you for himself, but your… Paul, is it?” Paul nodded, and she continued. “Your Paul has challenged him. The two men will grapple, and you, Sunset Woman, you will be the prize,”
Jessie looked at some of the men who were standing, listening to Taklishim. “They ain’t gonna fight with knives or anything, are they?”
“No, a killing would sour the Magic you will bring to the Moccasin Ceremony. They will grapple with no weapon, only their bare hands. “
Paul smiled. “Sounds good to me.”
“And bare chests,” Ih-tedda added. She giggled, hiding her mouth with her left hand.
Paul shrugged and began unbuttoning his shirt. When he finished, he slipped it off and handed it to Jessie. She smiled at the sight of his broad, muscular chest, remembering nights together. ‘Mmm,’ she thought, but then she realized that he was smiling back at her, and that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “Ooops,” she said, turning away as she felt a blush run across her face.
Dasodaha picked that moment to come out of his hut. He wore only his brown loincloth and a pair of knee-length moccasins. Jessie studied the warrior as he stood, waiting. He was a good six inches shorter than Paul’s six foot one, but he was stocky and, while not muscle-bound by any means, he looked very strong.
“Be careful now, Paul,” she said, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. “He looks pretty tough.”
Paul took her hand in his. “I can take him – I think.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “But, just to make sure, how about a kiss for luck?”
“For luck.” She threw her arms around him, feeling the hard muscles of his body. Her breasts were pushed up against his chest. She looked up at Paul’s broad smile, and she felt her whole body tingling from the warmth of that smile. Whatever fears she had seemed so unimportant, as their lips met.
As they kissed, Jessie heard angry shouting. When she and Paul finally broke the kiss, they saw Dasodaha gesturing furiously towards her. “What’s he going on about?”
“He says that, to be fair, you must kiss him as well,” Ih-tedda explained, a wry smile curling her lips.
Jessie chuckled. “The hell I will.” She pointed at the man. “You tell him that.”
Ih-tedda translated Jessie’s refusal, and Dasodaha’s expression grew even madder.
“Let’s get this thing over with before he starts foaming at the mouth,” Paul said. He walked forward, his arm out in an offered handshake. “Tell him I just want this to be a fair fight.”
But the warrior just snarled and crouched down, his arms out, ready to fight. “Well, I tried,” Paul said with a shrug before he assumed the same position. “Whenever you’re ready, Taklishim.”
The old man grunted and raised his right arm. Then he shouted something, a quick guttural word, and quickly lowered his arm. The match had begun.
The two men circled, backs bent, arms extended, and finger arched out like claws. They were each ready to attack – or to defend against the other’s attack. Dasodaha suddenly grabbed for Paul’s right arm. Paul dodged and made a grab for Dasodaha’s arm, but the man pulled it back. They continued to circle, each trying to take the measure of the other, to judge what the other’s strategy might be.
Dasodaha stopped in place and began motioning with his arms, inviting Paul to come for him. Paul grinned and shook his head. “No, thank you.”
The Apache lowered his head and charged Paul, who tried to dodge. Dasodaha grabbed him around the waist and lifted him into the air. Then he shifted and threw Paul to the ground. As soon as Paul landed, the warrior tried to jump onto him.
Paul rolled quickly out of the way and leaped to his feet. His opponent sprang to his knees and then stood erect. The two men began circling again, each looking for an opening. Paul suddenly grabbed Dasodaha’s wrist and yanked. As the Apache stumbled forward, Paul tripped him. He fell to the ground, but he rolled quickly onto his back, as Paul jumped atop him. The two men grappled.
Dasodaha rolled, and, now, he was atop Paul. Paul rolled and managed to tuck his legs up, under him. He used hands and feet to push the warrior off him. The man jumped up, but before he could attack again, Paul was standing, too, braced and ready.
The Apache grabbed Paul again. This time he pulled the man off-balance. His arms encircled Paul’s waist, and he lifted him up and into a bear hug. Paul squirmed, trying to escape, but his opponent just squeezed him tighter. Paul reached out and clapped the man hard on both ears with his open palms. Dasodaha shook his head from the pain. His ears were ringing, and he was having trouble keeping his balance. He staggered back a step and dropped Paul.
Paul grabbed his forearm and yanked. The man lurched forward, past Paul, who threw his left arm around Dasodaha’s neck. He balled his left hand into a fist and grabbed it with his right. The Apache fell back against Paul, tugging at his arm. Paul tightened his hold. Dasodaha’s grasping grew weaker, less organized. He gave a final gasp and his arms fell to his sides.
“I think you got him,” Jessie yelled.
Paul held on for a few moments longer. Then he released his hold. The man fell to the ground. He was still breathing, but he didn’t move. Paul stood over him, a bit unsteady on his feet. “I hope so,” he whispered and wiped his brow with his bare arm.
“Ye-yahoo!” Jessie yelled. She ran over and took Paul’s arm, lifting it up over her head. “The winner and still – and my champion – Paul Grant!” She put her arm around his waist and kissed his cheek.
Paul took her hand in his and turned to Ih-tedda. “Okay, I beat your man. Now what happens?”
“There must be a joining,” she replied, “for Sunset Woman’s Magic to be at its most strong.”
Jessie gave her a curious look. “What kind of a ‘joining’, and when’s it gonna happen?”
“The best kind,” the Apache maiden said, “and we will have it now.” She said something, and her grandfather walked over to where they were standing.
Taklishim took Jessie’s left hand in his right hand. Then he stared down at Paul’s hand. Paul nodded and allowed the old man to take his left hand in his own left hand. Ih-tedda hurried to stand next to her grandfather. “You are to become Taklishim’s daughter,” she explained.
“Daughter?” Jessie said, the doubt clear in her voice.
Ih-tedda nodded. “This is the gotah... the camp of Taklishim, his daughters, and their husbands and children.”
“All the men in the camp are married to his daughters?” Jessie said incredulously.
“Yes, all but old… Uncle Juh, his brother, and the two youngest men, Chalipun and Nitis. They are Taklishim’s unmarried sons. When they are old enough, they will take wives and then they will go to live in the camps of their wives’ fathers.”
Jessie shrugged. “I guess that makes sense. Okay, let’s do it.”
“Very well.” Ih-tedda nodded to her grandfather. He moved his hands so that Jessie and Paul’s hands, the ones he was holding, touched. Then he began to speak, more to recite some ancient prayer. He spoke each line and waited for his granddaughter to translate before continuing.
“Now you will feel no rain; for each of you will be shelter to the other.”
“Now you will feel no cold; for each of you will be warmth to the other.”
“Now there is no more loneliness; for each of you will be companion to the other.”
Jessie suddenly interrupted. “Wait a minute. This doesn’t sound something t’bind my so-called magic. It sounds like –”
“Let him finish, Jess,” Paul said, cutting her off. “We can’t be sure till he finishes.”
Jessie frowned. “But…”
“Please,” Ih-tedda said, “let grandfather finish.” Taklishim had stopped when Jessie had spoken. Now he continued, with Ih-tedda translating. “Now you are two bodies, but there is only one life before you.”
“Go now to your dwelling place; to enter into the days of your togetherness,”
“And may your days be good and long upon the earth.”
As Ih-tedda spoke the last line, Taklishim moved his hands together. He had been holding Jessie and Paul’s hands in his own. When his two hands touched, he jerked them away, so that Jessie and Paul were now holding each other’s hands. The old man smiled and put his hands atop theirs. He said a last few words and gave them a very definite nod.
“Now you are bound together as one.” Ih-tedda translated.
Jessie pulled her hand free of Paul’s. “What!” Then she saw the smug look on his face. “You dirty son of a bitch, you knew this was gonna happen didn’t you?”
“Not till the old man started the ceremony. Then I figured, why the hell not?” He reached for her hand again. “Can I kiss the bride now?”
Jessie’s entire body tensed. “Kiss,” she hissed. “I’ll give you a kiss, Mr. Grant.” She cocked her arm and punched him in the stomach as hard as she could. Then she turned and stormed off.
Paul staggered backwards and, tripped over his own feet. As he fell to the ground, he could hear the entire Apache camp laughing at him.
“That’s what I get for rescuing her,” he said as he climbed back onto his feet. He chuckled and added, “Ain’t love grand?”
* * * * *
Jessie sat on a low, fur-covered stool, staring into the fire. She’d been there since she’d gut-punched Paul, and she had no interest in speaking to anyone. Especially Paul.
“Sunset Woman.”
Jessie glanced up to see Ih-tedda standing before her.
“What d’you want now, gal?”
The young maiden offered her hand to Jessie. “You must come with me now.” When Jessie grumbled and turned back to the fire, she added, “Please… Jessie.”
“Well… since you asked so nice.” Jessie raised an eyebrow, bemused at being called by her “White” name. She rose to her feet and made a gesture with her arm. “Lead on, Ih-tedda.”
Ih-tedda took Jessie’s hand and walked with her to the edge of the encampment. A new wickiup had just been erected. She could see one of her saddlebags was lying on the low mound of earth that encircled the structure. Apaches dug out a few inches of earth from the inside of a wickiup and then used that material to brace the outside of the hut. The saddlebag was by the break in the mound that was made for the entrance flap.
“This is home for you and your… man.” The girl giggled, covering her fingers with her hand.
“Is somebody out there?” The flap was pushed aside, and Paul looked out. “Hi, Jess. They… uh, they gave us this place for our, um… honeymoon.” He gave her a wan smile and tried to sound cheerful. “I got most of our stuff inside already.”
She frowned. “Well, you can just haul it all back to where it was. I’ll sleep with Ih-tedda and her sisters, and you can camp out under the stars, the way we been doing.”
“Jess, before you say anything more, you need to come in here and talk to me in private.” He glanced over at Ih-tedda.
“I don’t think so. Whatever you got t’say, you can say out here to the both of us.”
He came over to stand next to her. Very close. “Inside, Jessie. Now.”
“Make me!”
“All right, then.” He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat.
“Put me down, you bastard!” She squirmed, but he held her tightly with his one arm around her waist.
He shook his head. “When we’re inside.”
“Like hell!” She started to kick, and he grabbed her legs and held them in place with his other arm.
“Ih-tedda,” he ordered, “open the flap.”
The girl did as she was told. Paul walked in, still carrying Jessie. Once they were inside, he yelled, “Shut the flap and go.” Paul waited until he heard the sound of the flap close behind him. He lifted Jessie off his shoulder and set her, so that she was sitting on a pile of blankets.
“Now sit there and listen to me, Jessie,” he ordered, and when she began to get up, he pushed her back down. “If you tried to get out of our… out of what Taklishim did, I’d’ve probably wound up sleeping back by the fire like I was, but you wouldn’t be back with the girls.”
“And where would I be, Mr. Grant?”
“You’d be sleeping with Dasodaha, only I don’t think he’d let you get much sleep; not till he was done with you, anyway.”
“The hell I would.”
“Jess, he claimed you. You said, ‘No’, and I fought for you. When I won, that made you my… prize. If you refused me, the Apache would think that you changed your mind, that you wanted Dasodaha.”
“I don’t want him,” she said. “I don’t want t’be anybody’s... prize.” She looked up at Paul. They’d been lovers for so long. She wanted more – she thought – but she hated the idea of being tied down to a man, to any man, the way Laura and Maggie were.
“And you’re not my prize,” he answered. “Or my wife. I just let them think you were.”
“What about all that rigmarole Taklishim said? We’ll keep each other warm and share each others’ problems. That sure sounds like a damned marriage ceremony t’me.”
“Well, I’ve been keeping you warm since the night I fished you out of that flood, and we’ve had more’n our share of problems, but nobody ever said we were married.”
“But the chief…”
“Did you say, ‘I do,’ to him?”
“No, but --”
“Neither did I. Nobody said, ‘I do’, so we didn’t. We’ll just act like we are; okay?”
Jessie sighed, and her whole body seemed to relax. “Okay, but not too much like we are. Remember, we only got that one riding coat.”
* * * * *
Thursday, June 6, 1872
“Hey, Jess,” Paul called from outside the wickiup, “we’ve got company.”
Jessie came out of the hut, buttoning the top button of her blouse. “Company... who?”
“Well, not exactly a friend; take a look.” He pointed to a group of five Apache horsemen riding into the camp. Dasodaha was leading a sixth horse. On that mount, his hands tied to the saddle horn was…
“Oh, shit,” Jessie spat. “That’s Sheriff Whyte, ain’t it?”
“I’m afraid it is. I guess we didn’t lose him, we just slowed him down.”
One of the other braves, Laziyah, untied the rope binding the prisoner’s hands. With a single, strong yank, he pulled the man off the horse.
Whyte scrambled to his feet. He reached for his pistol, but then remembered that his captors had taken it. He did still have a knife, hidden in his boot. He crouched low and drew it quickly. He stayed crouched, in fighter’s stance, ready and waiting for anyone to start something.
“All right, you Apache bastards,” he said, his voice an angry growl. “I’m ready for you now.”
Jessie chuckled. “Maybe you are, mister, but I don’t think these Apache’re ready for you.”
“Hanks…” He turned to face her. “So they got you, too.” Then he saw how comfortable she – and that man of hers – how comfortable they both seemed. “Or are you friends with these savages.”
“Friends,” Paul said. “But you won’t be, Sheriff; not if you keep calling them names.”
Jessie shook her head. “Put that knife away, you danged fool. It’s five to one against you; you ain’t got a chance in hell of beating ‘em.” She chuckled. “And if you’re thinking about rescuing Paul ‘n’ me, forget it. We don’t need rescuing.”
“These Apache are treating us more like guests than prisoners,” Paul added. “And if you stop acting like such a damned fool and give them half a chance, they’ll probably treat you the same way.”
The Sheriff snorted. “In a pig’s eye; if you’re guests, then why don’t you up and leave?”
“‘Cause they asked us – asked me t’stay,” Jessie told him. “Stay and help with some ceremony they’re gonna do t’night.”
“Yeah, right. What’re they gonna do; bless a war party?”
Jessie had to laugh at that. “Not hardly.”
“And why should I trust you, either you or Grant?” He made a motion with his head, as if to point at Paul.
“Because we’ve no reason to lie,” Paul replied. “Look, if these people meant you any harm, why would they keep you alive and bring you back to their camp? They could’ve killed you where they caught you.”
“Maybe… Maybe not. How do I know that they don’t need my blood for some heathen sacrifice in this ‘ceremony’ you keep talking about?”
“You speak any Spanish, Sheriff?” She asked.
“In a town as close to the border as Dawson, with all the Mex living nearby; o’course, I do. Why?”
Jessie looked around. Ih-tedda was standing not too far away, with some of the other women. “Hey, Ih-tedda,” She yelled in Spanish. “What’s this ceremony you got planned for tonight?”
“Don’t you remember, Sunset Woman; the moccasin ceremony.”
Whyte chuckled. “Sunset Woman; why do they call you that?”
“On account of my red hair,” Jessie replied, running a hand through her strawberry blonde locks. Then she prompted Ih-tedda. “What’s this ‘moccasin ceremony’ for, anyway?”
“My… cousin, Bimisi, is taking his first steps. The ceremony asks the Spirits to keep him healthy and help him to grow strong.” She pointed to a woman holding a carrier in her arms. The baby inside was clearly visible. “There is Bimisi… with his mother, Nascha.” The baby looked up at the sound of his name. He smiled and waved his arms at Ih-tedda.
Jessie smiled at the baby. “Sure is a bloodthirsty-looking fellow, ain’t he?”
In spite of himself, Sheriff Whyte smiled and waved back at the infant. “Yeah, ‘bout as bloodthirsty as my own grandson.” The Sheriff shrugged. He lowered his arms and relaxed. “I may be wrong – and Heaven help me if I am – but I’ll believe you.” He slipped his knife back into its sheath in his boot. “For now.”
* * * * *
“What’s this?” Jessie asked, looking down at the steaming bowl that had just been set down before her.
Ih-tedda was sitting a few places to the right. “Boiled meat,” she replied, “served in its own broth.”
“What kinda meat? It ain’t… dog, is it?”
“Sheep; the animal that was shot today.”
Jessie used her wooden spoon to take a sip. “Not bad.” She could taste pepper and chunks of onion in the soup.
“Try it with some chigustei.” The girl held up a round flatbread that was a bit thicker than one of the tortillas that Maggie served sometimes with her spicy Mexican stew. She tore the bread into pieces and tossed them into her own bowl.
Jessie did the same. So did Paul who was sitting on Jessie’s left. “Not bad at all,” he said, after taking a sip with a bit of the bread in it. “First that roast rabbit, then the meat broth; this is a real feast.”
“Feasting is a part of the celebration,” Ih-tedda said, “as is the exchange of gifts.” She held up her arm to display the flannel shirt she wore, one of the two that Hanna had packed. “Thank you.”
Jessie shrugged slightly. “I guess. I ain’t sure o’this outfit you gave me.” She wore a light brown blouse, a brown belt, and a long, pale yellow skirt, all soft buckskin and all decorated with matching patterns of beads. The bottom of her skirt was fringed. Her hair had been forced into a bun. An hourglass-shaped metal ornament atop the bun held it in place.
“It looks nice,” Paul said. “Besides, if you’re going to be a part of the moccasin ceremony, you might as well dress the part.”
She gave a wry laugh. “Oh, I’m dressed for it, all right.” Her voice dropped down to a whisper. “Dressed from the skin out; Ih-tedda and the other women said that I’d spoil the magic if I wore my corset and drawers. All I got on under this skirt and blouse is a loincloth and some kinda wrap ‘round my tits.”
“Must be a lovely sight,” he said with a chuckle. “And I’ll be glad to help you out of all that later.”
She shook her head. “Forget it, Paul. I still ain’t over how you tricked me with that so-called wedding. I’ll sleep in the same hut as you ‘cause Taklishim expects me to, but that’s as far as it goes. Understand?”
“I understand,” he said, the regret obvious in his voice.
* * * * *
Taklishim carefully poured yellowish powder – cattail pollen – onto the grass. He shook the woven basket holding the pollen to the rhythm of a wordless chant he was singing, and as he poured, he moved backwards, so that the pollen formed a narrow trail, perhaps ten feet long, facing east from the Apache camp.
“Now we are ready,” Ih-tedda told Jessie.
The baby -- Bimisi’s – mother, Nascha, set down the carrier he was in at the closer end of the path. She unstrapped the carrier and lifted the baby out. Dasodaha, Bimisi’s father, brought over a pair of moccasins, and the two of them slipped the knee-high moccasins onto the infant’s feet.
Nascha sat on the ground, holding her child on her lap. Dasodaha walked to the far end of the trail of pollen. He squatted down, his arms outstretched.
“You must stand behind Dasodaha,” Ih-tedda instructed Jessie. “Put your hands on his shoulders to channel the magic within you.”
Jessie took her place by the man. She could hear the other members of the Apache band begin to chant. Drums and rattles picked up the beat of the chant. Jessie heard a high-pitched sound drift over the drumming. She glanced over to see that one of the warriors, a man named Eknath, running a bow across a string attached to a long wooden tube. Ih-tedda had called it a tsii’ edo’a’tl, "singing wood."
Taklishim, Dasodaha, and Nascha began a chant. The woman put Bimisi down on the path and gave a slight push. Dasodaha waved his hands and called the baby by name, encouraging him to walk forward. The words of the chant changed with each step the child took.
Ih-tedda had taught Jessie what the chant meant.
‘ “May the sun bring you new energy by day.
‘ May the moon softly restore you by night.
‘ May the rain wash away your worries,
‘ And the breeze blow new strength into your being.
‘ All the days of your life, may you walk
‘ Gently through the world and know its beauty.”
Bimisi reached his father’s arms just as the chanters finished. Dasodaha scooped his son up in his arms and stood erect. As he stood, he let loose a whoop that startled Jessie, and she stepped back. Nascha and Taklishim took up the whoop, and it spread from them to the others.
Eventually, even Jessie, Paul, and the Sheriff joined in.
* * * * *
Elijah Whyte glanced at his pocket watch. “Don’t these folks ever go to bed?” he muttered. “It’s been more than two hours since that baby walked and his mama took him to bed, and they’re still drumming and chanting.”
“I asked Ih-tedda before she went to bed,” Jessie said. “She told me that they stay up all night, sometimes, celebrating and singing.”
Paul held up a bag made of tightly sewed hide. “And drinking, too. One of the men, Norroso, gave me this. He called it… tiswin.” He took a sip. “Tastes like corn squeezings; I wonder where they got hold of it.” He handed Jessie the container. She took a drink and handed it to the Sheriff.
“They may’ve made it themselves,” Whyte said. “The Apache probably learned how to get alcohol out of corn before us white men came to Arizona. A friend of mine over at Fort Yuma, a sergeant, told me that the reservation agents give them mostly corn flour or corn meal ‘cause they’d make liquor from kernel corn.”
They finished the first “jug” and started on a second one. “I’m turning in,” the Sheriff said, shaking his head to try to clear it. He handed Paul the bag and walked very carefully to his bedroll on the far side of the campfire.
“Now ‘bout you, Jess?” Paul asked. He was sitting on the ground, his back braced against a hide-covered bench. “You done for the night?”
She shook her head. “Nope, I think I wanna stay up for just a mite longer.” She shifted over, so that she was lying next to him. His arm went around her waist, and she smiled and snuggled in a bit closer. Neither spoke. They were just enjoying being in physical contact with each other.
Juh, an older brave, limped over carrying another bag. Juh was Taklishim’s brother, a cripple who used a crude crutch to get about. He handed the container to Paul and gestured as if taking a drink.
“Why not?” Paul took a sip. “Different; here, Jess, you try it.”
She took the thing from him and took a drink. “Not bad; it tastes different from the other stuff, sharp, like whiskey.” She held up the bag and looked at Juh. “Tiswin?”
“Mezcal,” the brave replied and motioned for her to have another drink.
Paul cocked an eyebrow. “Better be careful, Jess. That stuff can really mess you up.”
“I ain’t Bridget,” she replied, taking another swallow. “I can hold my liquor.”
“This isn’t liquor, Jess; it’s mescal, and it’s dangerous.”
She took one last, quick sip. “All right, here.” She pouted and handed him the bag.
“That’s my girl,” Paul said, kissing her cheek, then he added to himself, ‘But just in case,’ Paul thought. Jessie was on his right. He reached out with his left arm and set the container down as far from her as he could. A moment later, his right arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer.
This time the kiss, a longer one, was on her lips. She sighed and quickly returned it. After that, they sat quietly, snuggling together and staring into the fire.
After a few minutes, though, she began to squirm in his arms. At the same time, she was giggling softly. “Jess, are you okay?” Paul turned to face her. She was smiling, but her eyes seemed glazed.
“It’s that danged loincloth Ih-tedda made me wear.” She bent her knees and yanked at her skirt, pulling it as far up her shapely thighs as she could Then she grabbed his hand and shoved it under the skirt, so that his fingers could feel the soft hide that was touching her crotch.
“Jess!” He wrenched his hand free. “What do you think you’re doing – acting like that in public?”
She slowly stood up, using his shoulders as support. “You’re r-right. We gotta… do this in our wi-wicki-hic-up.” She giggled again at her mispronunciation and stated walking – stumbling, rather – towards their wickiup.
He carefully got to his feet, feeling the effects of what he’d consumed. He took a breath while he steadied himself, then he made his way to the hut.
“Wap!” Something hit him in the face as he entered. Jessie’s blouse. “What the hell?” he spat.
Jessie was standing by the fire. Her belt and skirt lay near her on the floor. As Paul watched, she unfastened the loincloth, letting it fall about her feet. “There,” she said in a dazed voice, “now you don’t gotta worry ‘bout that thing tickling my pussy. You can tickle it yourself.” She posed for him, naked except for her moccasins.
“That’s not you talking,” Paul said, “it’s the mescal, and I’m not go-gonna…” He was beginning to feel the liquor in him. “…gonna take advantage.”
“You’re right. It ain’t just me talking. It’s me, Jessie Hanks, and Giselle…” She spoke that name in the terrible accent that she used when she and Paul played the sex game where she was a “Fronch” whore. “…and Sunset Woman…” She spoke the name in carefully learned Apache. “We all want you, but, lucky me, I get to have you first.” She took a step forward, pressing her body against him, as her arms wrapped around him.
He tried to break free. “Jessie,” he said firmly, as his resolve stiffened.
But his voice wasn’t all that was firm, and his resolve wasn’t all that was stiffening. A half-drunken man, his mind also numbed by mescal, is easy prey for a sexually aroused woman – the woman he loves – when she rubs her naked body against his, groping down into his pants for his member, and begging to be taken.
In a matter of minutes, those pants – and his drawers – were off. He was lying on a carpet of sleeping furs, pumping into that incredible female body, and Jessie, Giselle, and Sunset Woman were all three groaning in carnal delight.
* * * * *
To Be Continued
Jessie and Paul leave the Apache with the Sheriff not far behind. Can they escape him and the risk of the venomous scorpion? WIll Jessie prove her innocence? And what of the mystery of Dandy Jim? For this and more, read the stirring adventure of JESSIE HANKS OUTLAW QUEEN!
Street and Smith’s New York Weekly is proud to present the latest addition to the amazing legend of Eerie, Arizona.
Jessie Hanks Outlaw Queen: The Cameo Murder
By Nicholas Varrick
As Told by Ellie Dauber and Christopher Leeson © 2016
Part 2: Finding Their Way
Chapter 6 – “Crossing Arizona”
Friday, June 7, 1872
Jessie slowly – regretfully – opened her eyes. “Uhh,” she moaned, putting her hand to her head. “Why the hell is it so damn bright in here?” She thought about sitting up, but decided against doing so. In her condition, her head just might fall off, and she wasn’t sure that she’d be able to get it back on. She managed to raise her arm, and then let it drape down over her face to shield her eyes.
As she lay there, she felt her sleeping furs against her skin and realized something. “I’m… I’m nekkid!“ She raised her head – a serious tactical error – and, groaning from the pain, looked down at her body.
Her left breast was uncovered, her nipple erect. At the same time, most of her left leg poked out from the tangle of furs. “Shi-it,” she said in a voice that was much too loud. “Where’s my clothes?” Her voice quickly lowered to a bearable near-whisper.
“Good morning, Jess,” Paul said softly, entering the wickiup. “I heard you yell just now, so I figured you were finally awake.”
She turned her head… slowly, to squint at him. “Finally; what time is it?”
“Almost noon. After all you drank last night, I thought it’d be better to let you sleep in. How’re you feeling?”
“Like I got a hive of bees – big ones -- buzzing ‘round in my head.”
“Here.” He handed her a cup of what smelled like a meat broth. “This’ll help.”
She took a deep gulp. It was meat, sheep probably, but there was a slight medicinal aftertaste. Her head seemed to be throbbing a bit less, and she could bear the light easier. “What is this?” She held the cup close to her face. Even breathing in the fumes seemed to help.
“Hair of the dog…” He saw her expression sour. They both knew what some Indians used the packs of dogs in their camps for. “Bad choice of words; it is mutton, I swear, with some special herbs that Ih-tedda put in to help your, umm… hangover.” He gingerly touched his own forehead. “It worked for me; give it a little time.”
She took another swallow. “Lordy, I hope so.” She paused a moment, feeling the warmth in her belly. “In the meantime, lemme ask you a question.” She gestured down at her body. “How come I woke up like this, with no clothes, I mean.”
“You shucked them off as soon as we got inside the wickiup. You said they were… bothering you.”
“Bothering me; what the hell does that mean?”
He sighed, knowing that trouble was ahead no matter how he answered. “Okay… tickling you. And you said that I was – Jess, between that tiswin and the mescal you went on one hell of a spree last night.”
“And from the look of things,” she gestured at her nude body. “You did pretty good last night, yourself. You told me more‘n once that you had ‘rules’ against taking advantage of a gal who was too drunk t’know what she was doing. You don’t seem to’ve held on to ‘em much last night.”
“I tried to, Jess, but when the gal is bare-ass naked, shouting about how much she wants me, while she’s got her hand in my pants, it, well, it gets hard --”
She giggled in spite of herself, but then glared at him. “I bet it does.”
“Dammit, Jess, I was – to tell the truth – kind of drunk myself, and those rule sort of got… lost in the shuffle.” He took a breath and gave her the saddest look he could manage. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be, but… I guess some of it was my fault. I think it was, anyway. T’tell the truth I don’t remember a whole lot about last night.”
“Probably just as well.” There had been some very memorable goings-on the night before, but Paul knew better than to mention them in any detail. Instead, he decided to change the subject. “How’s your head now?”
She took a long, slow sip of the liquid, savoring the warm, settling sensation in her belly. “Tolerable; it don’t hurt near as much, and I think I can move around some, without worrying about it coming loose.”
“In that case, Jess, it’s time you got up and got dressed. We’ve got things to do if we’re gonna leave today.” Now that the moccasin ceremony was over, they had no reason to stay – or for the Apache to keep them.
“Okay.” She started to throw back the sleeping furs, but stopped. She’d almost forgotten what she wasn’t wearing. “Why don’t you go wait outside?” She managed a smile. “Wouldn’t want t’temp you t’break any of them rules of yours again.”
* * * * *
Paul finished tying the Tylers’ picnic basket, now filled with foods supplied by the Apache, to the back of his horse, Ash’s, saddle, while Jessie said her farewells. “Where’s the Sheriff?” Jessie asked Ih-tedda in Spanish. “I might as well say goodbye t’him, too.”
“The man left not long after the sunrise,” she replied.
Paul finished and walked over to stand next to Jessie. “Do you know which way he went?”
“That way,” Laziyah, one of the warriors, pointed south. “Back the way he came.” He had been the one to capture Sheriff Whyte.
Jessie smiled, feeling relieved. “Guess he gave up on me.”
“I hope so,” Paul said. “It still might be a good idea to be watchful.”
Just then, Dasodaha walked over and stood up in front of Paul. His face was grim, and he muttered something in Apache.
“He said that he still doesn’t understand how he lost the fight,” Ih-tedda translated, “but it was a worthy battle.”
The man smiled and stuck out his hand. Paul did the same. Each man grasped the other’s forearm, and they shook hands in the Apache manner. Dasodaha said something else and looked over at Jessie, his gaze going from head to toe, but lingering at her breasts and her wide hips.
“And for a worthy prize,” the maiden translated again. “He asked about a rematch.”
Jessie shook her head and grabbed for Paul’s arm. “Tell him thanks, but no thanks.”
The brave chuckled deep in his throat and motioned with one arm. Nascha came over. She walked slowly, leading Bimisi, who walked beside her. She picked up her infant son and held him up for Jessie to see.
“And goodbye to you, little one.” Jessie gently shook hands with the boy. “And to your Momma.”
Ih-tedda translated and the mother smiled. Then Ih-tedda led Taklishim over for a formal goodbye.
“May the Spirits smile on you,” he said, with his granddaughter translating. “And may your lives together be times of joy.”
Paul glanced over at Jessie, who glared back at him. “Tell him thanks, but we’d better be going.” He took Jessie’s hand. She continued to glare, but she walked with him over to their horses. “We’ll talk about that later,” she whispered, as they mounted their horses.
Then, with a final wave, they rode east, out of the Apache camp.
* * * * *
After some two hours of riding, Paul signaled for Jessie to stop. “There’s a creek up ahead. Let’s stop and water the horses.”
“Sounds good,” she replied. “I could use a drink m’self.” She paused a beat. “Gimme a chance to see if our shadow’s still there.”
“Shadow – then you see him, too.”
“Yep, he found us about an hour ago. He ain’t always there, but when he is, he’s always riding steady, ‘bout a half mile behind us, too far back t’see who he is, but I’m pretty sure it’s always the same man.”
“Apache, do you think?”
She shook her head. “Nope, that ain’t their kinda trick. But, whoever it is, we’re gonna find out real soon.”
“I think so, too. Let’s just see if we can’t make sure that we meet up with him on our terms. “ They tugged at their reins, guiding their horses away from the stream.
They had been riding past a long grove of pinyon trees. The path curved, so that they would occasionally be out of sight of their “shadow” for a short time. Paul suddenly turned his horse and dashed in between two trunks.
“Come on,” he ordered Jessie. “Quick, before he sees us.”
“What the hell?” Jessie said, but she followed.
Paul rode a few yards into the wood, and then quickly dismounted. “I figure that it’s time to see just who’s been trailing us.” He led his horse farther back from the path they’d been on. Jessie got off her own horse and walked just behind him.
“We’ll leave the horses here.” Paul tied his reins around a pinyon tree. Jessie glanced back. She could barely see the light beyond the woods. She tied her own horse, pulling once at the reins to make sure that the knot held.
The pair of them walked slowly back towards the road. There was some low brush near the trail. They hid behind it, crouching low, making them even harder to sight.
After about five minutes, someone did ride by. “Sheriff Whyte!” Jessie hissed in surprise. “What the hell is he doing here?” Her voice was barely a whisper, and the Sheriff gave no sign that he had heard, as he passed by them.
“Probably looking for us,” Paul guessed. “And I think we’d better find out why.”
“Are you crazy?” Jessie said. “Weren’t we trying to get away from him?”
“Jess, we’re a day – maybe less – away from the Prescott to Phoenix road. That’s where the Wells Fargo depot is, the one with the men we need to help us. I’d rather have things settled with the Sheriff now, than have him pop up while we’re talking to those men. Wouldn’t you?”
Her expression soured. “I’d rather not meet up with him at all. He tried t’shoot me.”
“I remember. And if he showed up at that stage depot and pulled a gun on you there, he’d likely ruin any chance we have of those Wells Fargo men backing up your story.”
She sighed in resignation. “You’re right about that. I’m gonna have a hard enough time getting them to admit what I done.”
“True enough, but let’s deal with the immediate problem, Sheriff Whyte.”
Jessie hesitated for a moment before she nodded in agreement. They retrieved their horses and led them back through the trees and back onto the trail.
* * * * *
It turned out that they didn’t have a choice.
The sun was hanging low in the sky, when Paul and Jessie came around a turn in the trail and found Sheriff Whyte facing them. He was astride his horse, his pistols drawn, and facing them. “Hello, Miss Hanks…. Mr. Grant,” he greeted them in a not quite friendly manner.
“Sheriff,” Paul said with a nod of his head. “What can we do for you?”
“You two got something I want back, them weapons you took from my jail.” He shook his head. “I can’t very well go home without ‘em; can I?”
Jessie tensed. “Is that all you want?”
“Well,” the lawman replied, his lips curling in a grin, “There is the little matter of you and that cameo… and Barlow’s murder.” He holstered his revolvers and glanced up at the western sun. “But it’s getting late. Why don’t I ride along with the two of you, and we can talk about that when we hunker down for the night.”
Paul looked over at Jessie, who gave him a nervous smile. “I suppose we can do that,” he said.
* * * * *
Jessie sat near the fire, drinking the last of her coffee, while Paul and Sheriff Whyte stashed the rifle he and Jessie had taken from the jailhouse, alongside of the Sheriff’s saddlebag. The pistol and shells that they’d also “borrowed” were inside the saddlebag.
They were camped in a clearing about one hundred feet back from the trail. It was close enough to get moving easily the next morning, but far enough not to be bothered by any nighttime travelers.
“That’s it then, Sheriff,” Paul said walked over to sit next to Jessie. “You can head back to Dawson in the morning, and Jessie and I --”
“Are coming with me,” Whyte interrupted. “I’m sorry, but that’s how it’s gonna be.” He had a pistol in each hand, the pair of them pointed at Jessie and Paul.
Jessie glared up at him and reached for her own weapon, still in its holster on her gun belt. “You dirty --”
“Don’t even think about it.” The lawman fired once. The bullet kicked up dirt just a few inches from her hand, and she quickly pulled it back.
Whyte smiled. “Good. Stand up… slow; the both of you.” He gestured with his Colt, and Paul and Jessie clambered to their feet, watching the lawman as they did.
“Now, just as slow, toss your weapons over to me. Use your left hands.” He took a step back and used the weapon in his own left hand to point to the ground at his feet. “Do it.”
Paul reached across his body to use the middle two fingers of his left hand to pull his pistol from its holster. ““Don’t do this, Whyte,” he said, tossing the weapon to the ground.
“You’re a lawman, Grant, or you claim t’be. You’d know this was right if you weren’t thinking with your Johnson.” At that moment, Jessie tossed her own gun, so that it landed at the Sheriff’s feet.
Whyte knelt carefully, never taking his eyes off Paul and Jessie, and picked up their six-shooters. “Grant, you go stand by that tree.” He pointed to a pine tree growing a few feet away from the Deputy. “Stand with your back to it and put your arms out.” When Paul did as he had been ordered, Whyte fished a pair of handcuffs from a pocket in his jacket and tossed them to Jessie.
“Cuff his wrists,” he ordered Jessie. “Behind him, so his arms’re stuck ‘round that tree.” He followed her over to the tree, watching from a distance, as she did as he had directed. When he heard the click of the handcuffs closing on Paul’s wrists, he smiled. “Good girl.”
Jessie glared at him. “Thanks. Which tree to I get stand next to?”
“None; I wouldn’t make a woman stand up all night, handcuffed to a tree.” He paused a beat. “No matter how much she might deserve it. I’ll just tie your hands and feet and leave you on a blanket t’think about what’s gonna happen to you.”
Still keeping his eyes on her, the man slowly knelt down. “Lemme just get my knife, so I can cut a couple lengths of -- Ye-ow!.” He stood up at once, clutching his right hand in his left. “G-d damned bug!”
“What happened,” Jessie asked.
He rubbed his hand. “Damn scorpion stung me. It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.” He shook his hand briskly, trying to shake off the pain. “Damned bug,” he muttered again as he used the knife to slice off a length of rope.
“Put your hands behind your back.” He shoved his knife back into it belt sheath and drew his pistol. “Do it… now.” He hurried over to where she stood. Jessie did as he ordered, and he came behind her and wound the cord around her wrists, binding them together. It seemed to Jessie that he was taking a very long time tying the knot. The ropes felt lose, but she wasn’t about to test them while he was standing there.
Finally, the Sheriff finished and came around to face her. “Now, sit d-d-down.” He pointed at the blanket with his pistol, as if to rush her. He seemed to be having trouble speaking. Drool was leaking from one side of his mouth, and he looked like he was in pain.
“Are you all right, Sheriff?” she asked, surprising herself with the question.
“I’m… uh… I’m f-uh-fine. Don’t you be… be getting any -- Sit d-down!” He pointed the pistol at her. His hand was shaking, but he looked serious, and Jessie quickly settled herself on the blanket.
Whyte grabbed up the canteens and shambled a distance away. He took a final step forward, stumbled, and fell to the ground. He lay there, trembling and rubbing his right arm. While he rubbed, he moaned, as if in great pain.
It seemed to Jessie that he was dazed, uncertain where he was. She tugged at the ropes binding her, twisting her arms as best she could, watching for any reaction from him. There was none. She felt them loosen, and in a few moments, her right hand was free. She pulled the coil from her left wrist and hurried over to Sheriff Whyte. “My arm,” he groaned. “My arm’s on fire.” He kept rubbing it, both hand shaking, as he spoke.
“Jess,” Paul said, “check the ground real careful for scorpions. Then see if you can find the key to these handcuffs of his.”
“Scorpions?” She took time to look closely, but saw no signs of any. “Never seen a little scorpion sting to all this to a grown person.” She shifted her head to indicate the injured man.
“It’s like bee-stings. Most people get stung, they say, ‘Ow!’ and go on with their business, but with a few folks, a couple of bee stings can kill them. It’s the same with scorpions.”
“The hell you say.”
“Nope. Blackie Easton, out at the Triple A, is like that. He got stung once, about a year ago. He was laid up in bed, out of his head for a day or so. Doc Upshaw couldn’t do much for him, kept him still in bed; put a cold, wet cloth on his forehead and another where he was stung; and gave him lots of water to drink. The aches and pains were gone in a day, but it was another whole day before he could get back to work.”
“How come you know ‘bout all this?”
“Mr. Slocum had three or four of us hands watching Blackie, changing those cloths and such. And he made sure we all knew what to do in case it happened again while we were on the trail.” He took a breath, “You never know when somebody else might get sick from a scorpion’s sting the way Blackie – or the Sheriff here – did.”
“Found it!” Jessie had been searching Whyte’s pockets while they talked. He did nothing to stop her. She held up the key for Paul to see, and then walked over and opened his handcuffs.
Paul stepped away from the tree. “Thanks, Jess.” He smiled. “And now that I can use my arms again…” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to him. His arms circled her waist, and their lips met in a kiss.
“That was nice,” she said, when they separated. She gave him a mischievous smile and added, “You gonna kiss the Sheriff now?”
“I don’t want to kiss him, but I don’t want to kill him, either.” He scowled. “And that’s what we’d be doing if we left him here like that.”
She sighed, her expression changing to a frown. “Much as I hate t’say it, you’re right, Paul. He’s one damned stubborn cuss, t’think he coulda held us in the shape he was in, but there’s no telling what – or who might find him out here, and him not able t’defend himself.” She thought for a bit. “Maybe he’ll be better in the morning.”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t bet good money on it.”
* * * * *
Saturday, June 8, 1872
“Riders coming,” Jessie yelled, looking down the trail.
Paul was kneeling next to Sheriff Whyte. He was holding the man’s head up, helping him take small sips of water from a canteen. “Any idea how many and who they are?”
“Soldiers… I think; it looks like one of ‘em’s carrying one of them military pennants.” Jessie shielded her eyes from the midday sun. “About ten men, I’d say.”
“See if you can stop them. Maybe they’ve got something that can help Whyte.”
“Okay.” Jessie ran down the gentle slope to the trail. ‘Wish I had time t’change into a dress,’ she thought, unbuttoning the top button of her blouse. “But if they can’t tell I’m a female…” She tucked her blouse in tightly and stood just off the roadway. When the riders were close, she began waving her arms, and yelling.
The lead man, now clearly a cavalry officer, raised his arm, signaling for the unit to stop. They maintained formation, while he rode over to where Jessie stood. “Can I help you ma’am?” He was a tall, husky man with dark brown hair. “I’m Lieutenant Orville Heffler, and my men and I are out of Fort Whipple.” His eyes roamed up and down her form, lingering for a time on her pillowy breasts and narrow waist.
“I hope so, lieutenant, sir.” She recognized his interest and gave him her best “damsel in distress” smile. “I’m Jessie Hanks, and that’s…” She pointed towards Paul. “…my, uh, friend, Paul Grant. We’ve got another man with us. He got stung by a scorpion, and he’s in a real bad way. You think you can help him?”
“I’m afraid not. There’s not much that can be done for a bad scorpion sting except to keep the victim still, clean the site where he was stung, and give him all the water he can drink.”
“May you could… take him back to your fort,” she asked hopefully. “I’m sure you could take care of him better than us.”
The officer shook his head. “I regret not, Miss Hanks.”
“Please… call me Jessie.” She pouted prettily. “And why can’t you take him?”
Heffler tried to smile. “Miss Hanks… Jessie, my men and I are on patrol. A band of Apache, led by a renegade named Delsay, stole – believe it or not -- over a thousand sheep from a range just a couple miles from the fort.”
“They-They ain’t headed this way, are they?” Jessie asked nervously.
Heffler shook his head. “No, Miss Jessie. They drove that herd off to the northwest, but they killed more than a dozen men. My Colonel was fit to be tied. He sent most of the company after them, but he sent us – and a couple other patrols out to warn ranchers and travelers and – I don’t mean to alarm you, Jessie, but I also have orders to hunt down any other Apache savages that might be lurking about.”
“Oh… oh, my goodness,” she said, putting a bit of a tremble into her voice. “We-We saw some Indians a few days ago – we were too far away, and they didn’t see us, thank the Lord.”
“Where were they – and which way were they heading?”
“Uh… It was south… yes, south of here, and they were heading east -- I think. We came this far north to avoid meeting up with them.”
“That was very wise of you.” He gave her a broad smile. “You are a lady of brains as well as beauty.”
“Why… Orville, how sweet if you to say that.” She looked away for a moment, and, when she looked back, she gave him a shy smile.
“I wish that I could offer you an escort back to the fort, but --”
“I’m sure that Paul and I can manage our way to the Prescott to Phoenix road, but Elijah, the man who was stung, couldn’t you take him back to your fort?”
“Much as I’d like to, there’s no way I can detail men to transport your friend back to Fort Whipple.”
“Then what can we do?”
“How long ago was your friend stung?”
“Last night.”
“Then he’ll probably heal faster here than if we were to move him. My advice is to be careful. Keep a watch for trouble, and be ready to run at the first sign of it.” He glanced at the road. “This trail joins up with the Prescott to Phoenix road in about ten miles. When you get to it, head for a Wells Fargo station and hole up there for a while.”
“Thanks, I guess, Orville.” She sighed dramatically.
The soldier smiled as he watched her bosom rise and fall. “I wish I could do more, Miss Jessie, I truly do.” The tone of his voice made it clear that he meant more than helping Elijah Whyte. “But I’m afraid that my hands are tied.” He tapped the brim of his hat, as if in salute. “Please… be careful.” He turned his horse and rode over to rejoin his men.
“Let’s move,” he shouted, pointing his arm forward. He gave her one last, regretful look as he rode past. So did his men. A couple of them gave her low whistles of appreciation.
Jessie sighed, and then chuckled. “Men!” she whispered in amusement, as she walked back to where Paul was still holding his canteen for the Sheriff.
“How’d it go?” Paul asked.
“Not too good,” she replied. “There was a big Apache raid near their fort – Fort Whipple – a couple days ago, and they’re out warning people… and looking for more ‘savage’ Apache.”
“You didn’t tell them about Taklishim and his people, did you?”
Jessie gave Paul an angry look. “What kind of a… Of course not; I sent them off in another direction. But first, I asked if they could help us with the Sheriff here. They didn’t have no medicine that could help, and they was too damn busy hunting Injuns t’take him back t’their fort.”
“That could’ve been dangerous. He’ll be up and about in a day or so, and he could’ve sent them after us.”
“I know, but it was worth asking… for his sake.” She looked down at Whyte, who seemed to be sleeping.
Paul sighed. “You’re probably right, but it was risky.”
“Life’s a risk, Paul.” She shrugged then smiled. “At least I got you t’share the risk with.”
* * * * *
Sunday, June 9, 1872
“You up t’some stew, Sheriff?” Jessie asked, as she doled some onto Paul’s plate.
Elijah Whyte shook his head. “I don’t think my stomach can handle it.” He paused a beat. “Some broth, maybe?”
“Done.” She carefully filled a cup with broth from the stew, stopping twice to fish out an errant bit of meat or vegetable. When she finished, she walked over to where the man was sitting, his back propped up by a bedroll. She knelt down and held the cup while he took a cautious sip.
He sighed softly, as he felt the warm broth settle in his belly. They both waited a bit – just in case. Finally, he smiled. “I think I’d like some more.”
“Think you can hold this cup by yourself?”
He held up both hands. They were still a bit shaky, but he managed to take the cup from her. “Now that hit the spot,” he said, after finishing the drink. “Thanks.” He handed her the cup.
“You want some more?”
He shook his head. “Maybe later; I want to make sure that can keep down what I already had.”
“In that case, can we talk for a little bit?”
“I suppose. What do you want to talk to me about?”
* * * * *
Elijah Whyte snickered. “That has got to be the dumbest excuse for an alibi I ever heard.” He gave a quick laugh. “You’re telling me that Jessie here couldn’t have killed Eugene Barlow ‘cause she was off someplace robbing a stagecoach at the time.”
“It’s the truth,” Jessie argued, “every last word of it.”
Paul glanced at Ephrem Tyler’s map, now laid out on the ground, with rocks piled at each corner to hold it down. “Here,” he said, pointing to a spot along the Prescott to Phoenix Road. “Jessie stopped the stage here… near the Black Rock Canyon stage depot around mid-afternoon on the day Barlow was shot. Now…” He looked squarely at Whyte. “…about how long do you think it’d take a stage to get here from Prescott?”
“Mmm… six hours,” the man answered after studying the map, “more or less.”
Jessie nodded. “You think I could leave Prescott after 11 o’clock, and get to there by, say… three?”
“There ain’t a horse in the world fast enough to do that,” Whyte told her. “O’course, considering this here ‘fairy story’ you’re trying to sell, maybe you had one of them flying horses.”
Jessie smiled. “Nope; just a regular ole horse, the same one I’m riding now, in fact. Them papers Paul took from your office said Barlow got killed after 11 in the morning. By your own words, I couldn’t have been there t’kill him.”
“Yeah, but that’s if you robbed that stage where and when you said you did. You still gotta prove it, to me, at least.”
“Are you going to give her the chance to prove it?” Paul asked.
Whyte looked like he’d swallowed something bitter. “To tell the truth, I shouldn’t. A day ago, I was more than ready to haul your both your asses right back to Dawson and let you tell your crazy story to some judge. But now… Hell, you could’ve left me out here to die, and you didn’t. I figure that I owe you – and then some.” He had another thought. “And I’ll give you a couple points more for steering those troopers away from little Bimisi and his folks. Give me one more day t’get over that damned scorpion sting, and I’ll go with you to find your alibi. “
“Th-Thank you.” Jessie impulsively hugged the still-ailing man. “We can leave in the morning. If you’re up to it, that is.”
He laughed. “I should be. And you better be right, ‘cause I will arrest the two of you if you ain’t.”
“Speaking of arrest,” Jessie said, “I hope you ain’t gonna say anything about that cameo. They don’t know I took anything, and they wouldn’t be happy t’find out they was wrong.”
“Tell you what; I won’t mention it if they don’t.”
* * * * *
Chapter 7 – “Black Canyon Station”
Monday, June 10, 1872
“How you coming, Jess?” Paul asked.
A rope was stretched between two trees, with a blanket hanging down from it. Jessie stood behind the blanket, changing her clothes. “Well enough, I suppose. Having t’put on a petticoat ‘n’ dress for a ten mile ride is a royal pain.”
“So you’ve said,” Paul teased.
“And more than once,” the Sheriff added. The two men were packing up the last of the camp, while Jessie changed. Whyte had mostly recovered from the scorpion sting, but he was still moving a little gingerly.
Paul smiled. “I could always come back there and help.”
“No, thanks; we both know that you’re a lot better at getting me outta my clothes than getting me into ‘em.”
The older man chuckled. “I’m heading over to finish packing my horse. I’ll leave the two of you to work this out between you.” He picked up his saddlebag and started to walk away. “Just don’t take too long.”
“I think you’re stalling, Jess,” Paul told her. “And you’re embarrassing Elijah.”
“Does that mean you ain’t coming back here behind this blanket?”
“I’d like to; you know that, but I’m not about to put on a show for Sheriff Whyte. And you know that, too.”
She lowered the blanket enough so that he could see her face and pouted prettily. “I know, but it’s still a pain t’have t’get dressed up so fancy.”
“Yeah, but it’ll help our chances to get a straight answer out of the men at that stage depot if they get asked by a beautiful woman in a pretty dress.”
She beamed. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“Always have, always will.” He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now get that beautiful ass of yours dressed and get out here.” He took a breath. “We both know that I’m also willing to spank it if you keep on stalling.”
She winked back, but warned, “You try, and it’ll be the only way you get to touch it.”
* * * * *
The bell hanging above the door to the stage depot jangled as Jessie walked in. Paul and Whyte followed just behind her. Both men wore their badges… just in case.
Coleman Hoyle, the station manage stood behind the counter about ten feet inside. “Howdy, folks; what can I do you for?” He was the only one in the room.
“I’m Paul Grant. I was in here last September looking for somebody.”
Hoyle scratched his balding head for a moment. “Oh, yeah; I remember. You was looking for a lady.” He gave Jessie an appreciative glance. “And from the look o’things you found her.” He smiled at Jessie. “Don’t blame you for looking, neither. She’s a pretty little thing.”
“Thank you, Mr. …” Jessie gave him a quick, flirtatious wink.
“Hoyle, Missie, Coleman Hoyle, but you can call me Cole.”
“And I’m Jessie... Jessie Hanks.” She smiled back at the man. “Paul found me all right, but now we’re – him, ‘n’ me, and Sheriff Whyte here – we’re looking for somebody else. The men that I… ah, I met the last time I was in these parts, the driver ‘n’ guard of that stage.”
Hoyle chuckled. “The one you tried t’rob, you mean. Too bad you didn’t get nothing for your trouble.” He took a breath. “I don’t suppose you come back t’apologize, did you?”
“Let’s say I did. Are them two men around here anywhere?”
“I couldn’t tell you where Noah Ward – he was the driver – headed off to. Word got out how he caved when you pointed that gun o’yours at him. Nobody wanted t’ride with him. He quit about six weeks after you stopped his stage. He’s homesteading up in Oregon State, I hear.”
Paul gave the depot man a sour look. “What about the guard… Devon, I think his name was.”
“Yeah, Devon Fisher is who you want. He’s still working for us. In fact, he’s on a run right now. He should be back this way…” Hoyle glanced at a paper, a printed Wells Fargo schedule posted on the wall next to him. “…about two, tomorrow afternoon.”
“If you don’t mind asking,” Hoyle continued, “what d’you need that pair for? You come t’rub some salt in their wounds?”
Whyte stepped forward. “It’s kind of complicated. I’m working on a case, and I need to know ‘bout this robbery you mentioned, when and where it happened.”
“It wasn’t really a robbery – nothing got taken. I got a log book, Dev and Noah wrote up what happened that day.” He paused a beat. “You’re welcome to look, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do.”
“Why do you say that?”
“‘Cause Dev Fisher wrote the entry himself, and he ain’t the most wordy of men.” He pulled a thick leather bound book out from under the counter. “Here, look for yourselves.” He set the book down on the counter and opened it. “Do you remember the date?”
Sheriff Whyte and Jessie answered at the same time. “September 13, 1871.”
“Well, that settles that,” Hoyle said with a laugh. He turned pages, lined paper like a ledger book filled with writing – dates and facts – in several different hands, until… “Here we is, September 13.” He turned the book around so that Paul, Jessie, and the Sheriff could read it.
“September 13, 1871, about 2:45 PM.” The writing was in a crimped, angry hand. “Stage stopped; driver – Noah Ward – gave in too easy to gun threat. Dropped weapons and mailbag and rode on.” And it was signed by both Devon Fisher and Noah Ward at 3:27 on the same date.
Paul gave a sour sort of chuckle. “Well that doesn’t give us much.”
“I didn’t ‘spect it would,” Hoyle told him. “Dev’s a proud man. He wouldn’t want to put it in writing that this pretty lady…” He gave a quick nod to Jessie. “…was the one who stopped that stage, ‘specially when she got him to give up his gun.”
Jessie looked down at the page again. “There’s another note here, dated about an hour after the first one.” She read the text. “Mailbag and weapons recovered, nothing missing. No need to report what happened.”
“I wrote that,” Hoyle said. “I think that just got Dev madder. It was bad enough that the stage was stopped. The notion that I wasn’t gonna call down all the avenging angels of Heaven to punish the gal who done it was something he couldn’t swallow.” He took a breath. “I don’t think he got over it yet. You can ask him yourself if you stay here till tomorrow.”
Jessie shrugged. “What choice do I – do we have? We’ll wait.”
* * * * *
“What sorta sleeping rooms do you have here?” Jessie asked Coleman Hoyle. “After three days on the trail, I’d kind of like to spend a night in a real bed.”
He shook his head. “Ain’t much chance of that, Miss Hanks. The only bed in the place is mine, back behind that curtain there.” He pointed to a doorway off to his right. An old wool blanket, mostly a faded brown in color, hung across the doorway. “I’d offer t’share it with you,” he said with a wink, “but I don’t think your Mr. Grant there would appreciate the offer.”
“Right in one,” Paul answered. “Where do other folks sleep?”
“Sol, he’s my hostler, he sleeps on some hay in the stable. Passengers, when any stay overnight, sleep on the floor; I rent out two blankets and a pillow for a dollar.”
“How much t’rent that bed,” Paul asked. “Seems to me a lady should have some privacy.”
Hoyle thought for a moment. “Seeing as I’d have t’sleep on the floor out here m’self… ten dollars.”
“Ten dollars?! That's robbery!” exclaimed Jessie.
“Look whose calling other people robbers,” the station master replied with a grin.
“That’s about all the money I’ve got,” Paul said regretfully. “How about you, Jess?”
“Not even half that, but…” Her lips curled in a smile. “How ‘bout I do something t’earn that bed, Mr. Hoyle, something I think you’ll like; you and them other fellows, too.”
Hoyle glanced around the room. Since he sold drinks here at the depot, it doubled as a gathering place in the evenings. Four other men, two prospectors, a farmer, and Sol, the man Hoyle hired to care for the depots horses, were in the chairs set about the room. “What exactly do you got in mind?” His smile was more of a hopeful leer, and his eyes never looked higher than her breasts while he spoke.
“Singing; I’m a singer back in Eerie – where me ‘n’ Paul live – and a pretty good one. How ‘bout I trade some songs for the use of that room?”
Sol Carlin, Hoyle’s stableman, a lanky man of forty or so, heard the offer. “Give ‘er a chance, boss. She’s got t’be better’n you or me wailing.”
“Thanks.” Jessie looked at the man. He was wearing a faded butternut brown shirt with two inverted black chevrons on his sleeve, part of the uniform of a corporal in the Confederate army. “And here’s a song, I think you may know.”
She made herself as comfortable as she could on one of the wooden chairs. “This’d work better if I had my guitar, but here goes.”
` “The years creep slowly by, my darling,
` The snow is on the grass again.”
“That’s a Reb song – ‘Lorena’, ain’t it?,” Hoyle whispered.
Sol raised a finger to his lips. “It is. Now shut up, boss, and lemme hear it.”
Jessie smiled and kept singing.
` “The sun's low down the sky, my darling,
` The frost gleams where the flow'rs have been.
` But the heart throbs on as warmly now,
` As when the summer days were nigh.
` Oh, the sun can never dip so low
` A-down affection's cloudless sky.”
The song continued on, telling how the singer, usually a man, but not here, lamented over separation from his – in this case, her -- lost love. At the end, he -- or she – takes a sort of consolation in the knowledge that they will be reunited after death. It was a popular song during the Civil War, first heard in the Confederate ranks, but learned quickly enough by Union soldiers who missed their homes and their loved ones just as much.
The men in the room all applauded loudly when Jessie sang the last lines.
` “It matters little now, my darling,
` The past is in the eternal past;
` Our heads will soon lie low, my darling,
` Life's tide is ebbing out so fast.
` There is a Future! O, thank God!
` Of life this is so small a part!
` 'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod;
` But there, up there, 'tis heart to heart.”
As she finished, she raised her left arm, as if in supplication, and looked sadly up to heaven. Then, as the applause erupted, she shifted her head to gaze at Hoyle. “Well?” she asked.
“You know any happier tunes?” he replied sourly.
“You want happy; you gotta make me happy.” She waited a beat. “What about that room o’yours?”
“You sing a couple more songs -- happy ones, mind you, and the room’s yours – the bed, too – even trade.”
“Deal,” she said and began singing “Camptown Races”, an old favorite of hers.
It turned out that the bed wasn’t as comfortable as she’d expected, and she missed sharing it with Paul, but it surely beat bedding down on a bit of open floor with him. And the Sheriff and Sol.
* * * * *
Tuesday, June 11, 1872
A Prescott-Tucson Line stagecoach pulled up in front of the adobe depot building.
“Black Canyon, folks,” the driver, Rolf Messinger, yelled in a thick German accent. “Dhere’ll be a ten minute stop here for changing the horses.” He saw Sol Carlin coming towards the coach, leading a team of six fresh horses, and he jumped down to help. Devon Fisher, the shotgun rider, leaned back in his seat to watch.
“Cole wants t’see you, Dev,” Sol called up to him.
“Any idea what he wants?”
“Yeah, but it’ll take me too long t’tell it.” The hostler began unfastening the lines that connected the current team of horses to the coach. “Best you just go inside ‘n’ talk t’him.”
Devon took a quick, cautious look around – just in case of trouble – and climbed down from the vehicle and started for the building.
“Excuse me…sir,” an older man in a derby hat stuck his head out the window of the coach. “Is it possible to buy something to eat while we’re stopped here?”
Devon shrugged. “Sorry, mister; this is a switch station, not a home station. They may have some food for sale inside, but I wouldn’t count on more’n a cup of coffee – or a shot of whiskey – ‘n’ maybe… -- maybe a sandwich.”
“Thank you, but no thank you.” The man frowned and sat back down inside the stage.
“Suit yourself, mister, but it’s a good five hours t’the next home station in Phoenix.”
The man muttered a curse under his breath and stepped down from the stage. He squinted at the sunlight -- it was dark in the stage with the curtain drawn to keep out the dust of the trail – and followed the shotgun rider into the station.
* * * * *
“Okay, Cole,” Devon said, as he walked through the door, “what’d you wanna see me…” His voice trailed off when he saw Jessie standing next to Cole Hoyle. “What the living hell…” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “…is she doing here?”
Paul stepped in next to Jessie. “She’s with me,” he said in a firm voice.
“And they’re both with me,” Sheriff Whyte added, just as firmly.
Fisher saw the badges both men wore and gave Jessie an evil smile. “So, you finally caught her.” His eyes roamed up and down her body. “And now that I get a good look at her, I can see why you chased after her for so long.”
“We ain’t arresting Jessie,” the Sheriff said, “at least, not right now, we ain’t. She’s… a part of another case I’m working on.”
“Another case; what else d’you think she done?”
“That’ll take some time t’explain,” Jessie said.
Hoyle looked at his pocket watch. “More time than I think you got, Miss Jessie. The stage’s supposed t’leave in six minutes.”
* * * * *
At that moment, the passenger from the stage interrupted. “I don’t know what you gentlemen – and lady -- are all talking about, but could one of you please¬ sell me something to eat?”
“That’d be me,” Hoyle replied. “Let’s us go over here and talk about it.” He gave Whyte, Fisher, and the others a quick nod. “‘Scuse me folks.” And led the man away from the others. “They did tell you that this ain’t a home station; we ain’t set up t’feed passengers.”
“They did, but they also told me that it’s a very long ride to the next station that does serve meals.”
“It is. It’s five… six hours to Phoenix. That’s the next home station on this route.”
“Can you help me then? Sell me some food?”
“Lemme see what I’ve got.” Hoyle walked over to a door with the words “Store Room” crudely painted on it. He opened the door and went inside for a moment. When he came out, he was carrying a crusty brown roll and something wrapped in a white cloth. “I got this.”
He set the two items down on the counter and pulled back the corners of the cloth to reveal a lump of yellow cheese. There was green mold growing on it in one or two spots. “A dime for the bread and twenty-five cents for half the cheese; you interested?”
“That’s all you have?” the man asked in a resigned voice. When Hoyle nodded, he reached into his pocket and took out a paisley change purse. “Very well; just the cheese, though.” He opened the purse and handed the station man an Indian head gold dollar.
Hoyle fished out a cashbox from under the counter. He dropped in the coin and shifted through the box until he found what he needed. “Here you go, sir; six bits change.” He replaced the cashbox and used a knife to slice the cheese in half. “And here’s your food.”
“Umm… thank you.” the passenger spent a moment scraping off the mold before he bit into the cheese. “Not quite as bad as I expected,” he muttered to himself and started back to the stagecoach.
* * * * *
“Settle anything?” Cole asked as he rejoined the others.
Dev shook his head. “I still want her arrested for stopping my stage.” He chuckled. “That’d sort of be what you want, Missy. It’d prove you couldn’t’ve killed that other guy.”
“Can’t arrest her if nobody’s gonna bring charges,” Sheriff Whyte replied. “Your company willing t’press charges, Mr. Hoyle?”
The depot master shook his head. “Nope; don’t wanna make the company look bad.”
“I’ll press charges, then,” Fisher said stubbornly.
He looked past the man to see his driver standing in the doorway, anxious to leave and nodding in agreement.
“Not till this is settled. Rolf can go on without me.”
“The hell he can – and you know it. Company rules; no coach goes out without a shotgun. ‘Specially with all them angry Apache on the loose.”
Paul had a thought. “How about if I take his place as shotgun? He can stay here and work this out with Jess.”
“That might just work.” Hoyle considered the notion. He glanced over at Jessie.
Whyte grinned. “Go ahead. I think it’s a safe bet that you’ll come back for her.”
“Lemme just make it official.” Cole said. He went behind the counter and began to write in a pad, reading aloud as he did.
“I, Coleman Hoyle, station master of the Black Canyon Depot, am letting Deputy Sheriff – What’s your name again, deputy?”
“Grant… Paul Grant.”
“Deputy Sheriff Paul Grant ride shotgun on today’s southbound run of the Prescott to Tucson Stage Line. The regular shotgun rider, Devon, Fisher, is stuck here at Black Canyon on some personal business. Grant can sleep at the Phoenix station tonight and deadhead back here on tomorrow’s run. That okay with you?”
When Paul nodded in agreement, the agent added, “Lemme sign it then… Coleman… Hoyle, June 11, 1872.” He tore off the paper and handed it to Paul. “There y’go; now get moving. Don’t want t’make that stage late, do you?”
Jessie came over to where the two men were standing. “Just a minute here. I wanna make sure he comes back.” She wrapped her arms around Paul and pulled herself close to him. They smiled at each other for a moment before their lips met.
Then the world just sort of went away for a time while they enjoyed one another's touch.
Paul was grinning when he finally – out of a need to breathe – broke the kiss. “You promise me another kiss like that, Jessie Hanks, and I’ll run all the way back here from Phoenix if I have to.”
“I’ll promise that ‘n’ more.” Jessie’s lips curled in a sly smile. “If you promise t’bring me… something when you come back from Phoenix.”
“Something…” Paul looked puzzled for a moment, but then he smiled in realization. “I will; something we’ll both like.” He winked and headed out the door.
Devon Fish chuckled. “You kiss me like that, Missy,’ he said as they heard the stage drive off, “and I might just admit t’what you done.”
“Sorry,” Jessie answered, “but no.” In her mind, she added. ‘I’d almost rather rot in jail, you stubborn, horny son-of-a-bitch.’
* * * * *
“So vhere ist you and der sheriff from, dep’ty?” Rolf Messinger asked Paul. Rolf was a hefty man with short, red hair turning to gray. These were the first words the driver had spoken since their stage had left Black Canyon station about a half hour before.
Paul shrugged. “I’m from Eerie, about two hours ride east of Phoenix --”
“Ja, I know der town. Ve go dere… tvice a veek.”
“Well, I’m from Eerie. Elijah Whyte… the Sheriff, he’s from a town called Dawson, down along the Gila River, over near Yuma.”
“Dem ist a long vay apart. Vhat is you doing together?”
Paul thought for a moment. It might be better not to admit the truth. “I was tracking an escaped prisoner from Eerie. I followed h-him up into the mountains north of town, then across the territory and down towards the border near Dawson.”
“You catch him?”
“Ahh… no. He made it across the border, and Mexican law says I couldn’t go after him.” That last was a lie, but Rolf wouldn’t know. “I met Sheriff Whyte,” he continued. “He… um, he was working on another case and asked me to help track down the man he was after.”
“Gott, you must be one damned gut tracker.”
“I manage.”
“Did you git dat one?”
“Ah, not yet. He came up along this way. That's why the sheriff and me are hereabouts.”
Rolf frowned, apparently unimpressed.
Paul felt irked. “I helped track down that gang that took the strongbox at Stagecoach Gap last December.”
Rolf only shrugged.
Paul leaned back in his seat, letting the driver think what he wanted to think.
* * * * *
“Dang it, Dev Fisher,” Jessie said, glaring at the man, “why’re you being so damned stubborn? Why don’t you just sign the Sheriff’s paper?”
Dev shook his head. “And admit that I let the stage I was guarding get stopped by a little bit of fluff like you? There’s ain’t no way… unless I know you’re gonna go t’jail for it.”
“She ain’t going t’jail,” Cole Hoyle said, “because the company ain’t gonna press charges.” He looked at Fisher for a moment and added – again, “but the company will fire your ass if you try t’press charges.”
Jessie sighed, half in anger, half in disgust. “We’ve been back ‘n’ forth over this a dozen times. What do I gotta do t’get you to admit that I stopped that coach?”
“You tried to rob that coach, Missy, even if you didn’t get nothing for your efforts. And Cole, here…” He pointed with a nod of his head towards the Station Master. “…he’s gonna let you get away with it. Why should I help you?”
Sheriff Whyte raised an eyebrow. “You’d rather let her stand trial for something you know she couldn’t have done. What kind of a man are you?”
“A pissed off man, an angry man, a man who got shown up by some little slip of a gal, and a man who ain’t gonna help her.” He stopped his rant as his eyes roamed up and down the length of Jessie’s body. “Not unless she… she makes it worth my while.” His lips curled in a leer.
Jessie stormed to her feet. “Why you dirty son-of-a—”
“Just as well she objects,” Hoyle interrupted. Jessie and Dev both turned quickly to look at him. “Word got out that she… went along, people might say that you two was in cahoots; that the reason you let her stop that coach was ‘cause you ‘n’ her was… together.” He chuckled wryly and shook his head. “A driver… working with a lady road agent, now that is something the company might press charges about. I bet it’d be in all the papers, too, once people find out how pretty she is. Are you ready t’have everybody and his cousin reading all about ‘Outlaw Dev Fisher’?”
The guard glowered at Hoyle. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Don’t be too sure what I would or wouldn’t do, Dev. I been listening to you two go at it all day, and now you talk like the only reason you ain’t given in was so you could get into the lady’s drawers.”
“That… I was just… dammit, Cole Hoyle, you got no cause to say something like that.”
Jessie scowled. “And you got no cause t’say what you done about me.”
“It’s getting late,” Elijah Whyte said, cutting in. “Why don’t we all bed down for the night, and Dev can think about what his motives really are.”
Jessie nodded. “That sounds like a plan.” She walked over to the curtain that covered the doorway to the Station Master’s quarters. “I’ll be in here thinking ‘bout… whatever.” She walked through the doorway and slid the curtain back to fully block the view from the other room. “And all you gentlemen can do your thinking out there.”
* * * * *
Chapter 8 – “On the Trail of Dandy Jim”
Wednesday, July 12, 1872
Paul Grant was having breakfast with the staff of the Phoenix Station, when a skinny, brown-haired boy walked into the alcove of the station that served as a dining room. He stood there a moment looking around before he crossed over to Aubrey Jenner, the station master. “Telegram for you, Mr. Jenner. From Prescott.”
He handed Jenner an envelope. The man set it down on the table and fished in his pocket for change. “Here y’go, Joey,” he said, handing the boy a silver half-dime. The lad mumbled a quick “Thanks” and ran out the station’s front door.
“Let’s see what this is about,” Aubrey said, tearing open the envelope and removing the sheet inside. His eyes quickly scanned the message. “Shit!” he muttered, crumpling the telegram. “Dandy Jim just got another stage.”
Paul raised a curious eyebrow. “Who’s Dandy Jim?”
“A road agent; him and his men have robbed four – make it five now -- stages up ‘round Spring Valley.”
“Is he really a dandy?”
Aubrey shrugged. “People say he wears a black frock coat, a boiled white shirt, and a bowler hat, with a flour sack with eye holes t’hide his face. He never cusses and he has this courtly way with women passengers, like something right out of the penny dreadfuls.”
“Now that you mention it, I did see a wanted circular for him back in Eerie,” said Paul.
“They lie in wait for a coach. Dandy Jim jumps out, waving his hands for the coach to stop. When it does, he points to his men, hidden, three on each side of the road. Nobody sees ‘em, just their rifles pointed at you, and…” the station master gave a shrug, “…who’s gonna fight that?”
“Not me; those six rifles are one hell of an edge. But… hasn’t anybody been able to chase after them? Seven men on horseback should leave an easy trail to follow.”
“That’s the problem. The sheriff from Prescott and his men’ve never been able to find a trail. They’re gonna be at the robbery site in a few hours – it’s that long a ride from Prescott, but it’s a waste of time.”
Rolf had been sitting with the others. “Maybe Mr. Grant here can find somet’ing. He vas telling me on der vay here vhat a good tracker he is.”
“Is that true?” Jenner asked hopefully.
“Well, for almost three years, I rode line for Mr. Charles Goodnight, tracking down strays from his herds up in Colorado.”
“That’s a start, but cows are dumb. How good are you tracking somebody who don’t want to be caught?”
“This Dandy Jim guy may be smarter than a lost steer, but the principles of following tracks are the same for the both of them.”
Rolf tried to help. “He told me he tracked a man halfvay across der Arizona Territory.”
“You catch him?” Jenner sounded skeptical. Rolf was making the deputy sound too good.
Paul shook his head. “I’m afraid not. She -- He hooked up with some Commancheros and made it across the border. I couldn’t follow him there.”
“Damn shame, but a little humility is a good thing. You sound like you’re just the man we need.” He waited a moment and then added. “Will you help us?”
“I… umm, I’m working on another case right now.”
“You ain’t working too hard on it, not if you could take a day to ride shotgun down here to Phoenix.”
“That was just one day.”
“So just take one more day. I ain’t asking you to sign on long term with the company. Give us one day. You’re gonna be deadheading up to Black Canyon. You can get your horse and follow the stage up to Cordes Lakes, where the robbery happened.”
“Ja,” Rolf added. “Maybe dat sheriff, der vun dat vas mit you, he vill come, too. “
Paul sighed and gave in to the inevitable. “All right, and I’ll ask Sheriff Whyte if he wants to tag along as well.” He just hoped Jessie would understand. ‘Hell,’ he thought, ‘she might want to come along, too.’ And that thought had its good side and its bad side.
* * * * *
Jessie was sitting outside on a bench when the northbound stage came to a halt in the yard of Black Canyon Station. She started to rise, to greet the returning Paul Grant, but she froze when she saw that it was Vince Glidden, a man who sometimes rode as shotgun on the stage in Eerie, rather than Paul, who was seated next to the driver.
“Hey, there Jess,” Paul suddenly called, as he climbed out of the stage and ran over to where she was standing. He had just time enough to ask, “Miss me?” before she answered by pulling his head down to hers. She moaned softly as their lips met.
He felt her body pressed against him, felt himself harden in anticipation, and he was glad that he’d had time to buy that package of condoms, British riding coats, while he’d been in Phoenix.
“So how was your trip?” Jessie asked when they finally, but much too soon, broke the kiss.
“Not bad; it would’ve been better if you were with me, though.” He sighed. “And I’m afraid that the trip’s not over. Some guy named Dandy Jim robbed the stage up north of here, and they asked me for help. Seems they haven’t been able to track the man and his gang after the robberies.”
“Well, you’re certainly one for tracking folks. I know that better than --” She grinned. “Maybe I should come along with you. I may not know much about tracking anybody, but I got a lot of experience being tracked.”
Sheriff Whyte had come out of the building in time to hear her. “I’m not letting the two of you outta my sight. If she goes, I do, too. Besides, I managed to follow the both of you pretty good. It just may be that I can help.”
“I’m sure you can,” Paul told him. “In fact, I was planning to ask you to come along.”
“The more eyes the better,” Vince Glidden added. “Jack ‘n’ me…” He pointed to the driver who was helping Sol switch the teams of horses. “…We know where the robbery was. You folks just hitch your horses behind the stage. You can ride inside, and we’ll stop ‘n’ let you three off when we get there.”
Jessie nodded and ran off. “I’ll go get the horses,” she called back to the others. Paul and Elijah Whyte followed. Paul gave the pocket of his jacket that held the condoms a pat, as if to say, “Soon.” It was a happy thought that pushed back against his concerns about Dev Fisher… and Dandy Jim.
* * * * *
Jessie hurried into the station. She ran through the doorway into the station agent’s room. “I’m going with Paul,” she called out, as she closed the curtain. “Tell ‘em t’wait while I change outta this danged dress.”
“Is Sheriff Whyte going, too?” Cole Hoyle asked.
“Yep,” Jessie yelled from the other room.
Cole Hoyle came out from behind the counter. “I’ll tell them to wait for you.” He stopped at the table where Devon Fisher was sitting. “And you’re going with ‘em, Dev,” he said, as he started for the door again. “I’ll tell Sol t’get you a horse, while I help change teams.”
Dev’s features soured. “Why the hell do I have to go up to Cordes Lakes? I wasn’t shotgun on that coach that got held up?”
“Look, Dev, I ain’t got time to argue. They’re going to investigate the robbery of a company stage coach. There oughta be somebody company there with ‘em.” The station agent took a breath. “And you’re it. You got that?”
“All right, all right, I’ll go, but I sure as hell, don’t see as I’m gonna be any help.”
* * * * *
A stagecoach pulled to a stop near a stand of trees. “We’re here,” Vince Glidden yelled, as he knocked on the roof of the coach.
“You sure?” came a voice from inside the vehicle. A moment later, Sheriff Whyte climbed out of the curtained coach, blinking his eyes in the bright afternoon sun.
Jessie, Paul, and Dev Fisher followed the Sheriff out onto the shoulder of the road. “Yeah,” Jessie added, shielding her eyes with her hand against the sunlight. “How d’you know this is where Dandy Jim and his gang hit that coach?”
“’Cause of this.” Glidden took a folded sheet of paper from his vest pocket. “Prescott sent us this telegram.” He opened it and read. “Dandy Jim and men struck about 100 yards north of ‘the Elephant.’ See what your friend – that’s you, Grant, can find out.”
Paul gave the guard an odd look. “What the hell is the elephant?”
“There.” Glidden pointed to a nearby hill. A rock formation on the side of the hill did look like an elephant’s body, with a narrow, variegated vein of rocks hinting at the beast’s upraised trunk. “There’s your elephant.”
Paul shrugged. “I suppose it is.” He walked over to the back of the stage. “Okay, let’s get our horses, so these folks can leave.” The reins of Ash, his cowpony, Jessie’s nag, Useless, the Sheriff’s horse and a mount for Dev Fisher were all affixed to the bottom of the boot, the storage space at the back of the stage.
“You can go,” Jessie told the driver a few minutes later. He waved and gave a whip of his reins. The coach, complete with its shotgun rider and three other passengers, headed off for Prescott, disappearing over the crest of a hill several hundred yards from where she stood.
Fisher turned to face Paul. “Now what do we do, Mr. Master Tracker?”
“First,” Paul said, sloughing off the insult, “we need to find out exactly where Dandy Jim stopped that stage.”
“And how’re we gonna do that? A stage coach leaves the same tracks whether it stopped along the way or drove on through.”
“There is one difference, Mr. Fisher. When Dandy Jim robs a stage, he has the passengers get out and stand by the side of the road. It’s only been a day; there should be some signs in the grass by the road of where those people stood.”
Sheriff Whyte nodded in agreement. “Let’s split up into two teams, one goes north along the road and the other goes south. Look for that patch o’trampled grass by the road, and whoever finds it, give a shout. “
“Who goes with who?” Jessie asked, sneaking a glance at Paul. “And who goes where?”
The Sheriff noticed. “If it’s all the same t’the rest o’you, I’ll go north with you, Miss Jessie, and Paul and Dev Fisher can go south.”
“Still don’t trust Paul ‘n’ me, do you, Sheriff?” Jessie said sarcastically.
“Just being cautious,” Whyte told her. “Your man’s supposed t’be the best tracker here. I’m pretty good at tracking folks, too, and you know all about being tracked; so why not split the difference?”
Jessie had to laugh. “You know; that almost makes sense.” She took the Sheriff’s arm. “Let’s get going.”
“Be better if we each took one side of the road. Stages have two doors on ‘em; you know.” He slid his arm free of her and walked to the opposite side of the narrow road. He smiled at her for a moment before he started walking. “C’mon, we’ve got some foot-trampled grass to find.”
* * * * *
In the end, it was Sheriff Whyte who found the robbery site, on the right side of the road and about sixty paces from where they started.
“Got something,” he yelled cheerfully.
Jessie hurried across the road to look at what he’d found, while Paul and Dev raced towards them. “Stand away,” Paul yelled, as he ran. “Don’t foul the tracks.’
“Why,” Dev asked. “What’s the matter?”
“For one thing, we have to be sure that it’s the right spot.” Paul stopped a couple feet from where the Sheriff was standing. “For another, we need to see what those tracks can tell us.”
Whyte looked down. “I see three… no, four separate sets of footprints. That last one heads off into the brush.”
“That’d be Dandy Jim,” Dev said. “The others are passengers. They milled around while he took their money, and then they got back on the stage and ran like rabbits.”
Paul turned to Jessie. “Jess, if you were going to stop a stage right here, where would you station men to cover your play?”
“Paul,” Jessie said indignantly, “you know I don’t do stuff like that.”
He smiled. “Not anymore, you don’t, but you have…” His voice trailed off.
“Yeah, but that was before I gave up my wicked, wicked ways.” She gave him a seductive smile. “Some of ‘em anyway.” She spoke the last in a low, breathy voice.
“Yeah, too bad, teasing me was one of the habits you kept.” He winked when she stuck out her tongue at him. “For now, how about answering my question? Where would you hide your men?”
Jessie studied their surroundings, a very serious expression on her face, while she considered Paul’s question. “I’d split ‘em up,” she finally said, “Just like Dandy Jim did. Put half of ‘em up on that ridge where them tracks…” She pointed at the one set of footprints that moved away from the road. “…lead to. And I’d put the other half over there.” She pointed again, this time to a high spot on the opposite side of the trail.
“Let’s follow those tracks,” Sheriff Whyte said, starting up the hill, “but watch where you walk. Like Paul says, we don’t want nobody messing up the trail Dandy Jim left for us.”
The others followed behind him. They moved slowly. “Yes, we want to take a good look at the man’s tracks, as we walk,” Paul explained. “He may’ve left some clue or something.”
“What?” Dev’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You figure he left his calling card for us t’find?”
“Probably not, but sometimes a man’s footprints’ll tell you a lot more than which way he was walking.”
They continued to the top of the low ridge. “This oughta be the spot,” Jessie said.
“What d’you mean ‘oughta be’?” Whyte asked. “Is it or ain’t it?”
“I’m not sure. It’s a good spot for a hold up, especially with that rise just across the road from here. The trouble is, there’s no sign of anybody being here.”
“What d’you mean, Jessie? Those tracks we followed led right --”
“Them tracks just show that one man walked up here. What about them three men that was supposed t’be here, backing up Dandy Jim’s play?” She pointed at the grass atop the ridge. “There oughta be a whole mess of crushed down grass where them three men was hiding.”
“There’s some grass that’s been pushed down,” Paul said, “but it looks like just one man walking around; just one set of footprints, and they go back down towards the road.”
“Then where the hell did those three guys go?” Dev asked angrily. “That telegram from Prescott said there was three men on this ridge.”
Jessie thought for a minute. “Did anybody – the driver or shotgun or the passengers – did any of ‘em see them three men standing here up on this ridge… or did they just see three rifles pointed down at ‘em?”
“What’re you saying, Jess?” Paul asked.
“Maybe there wasn’t three other men here. Maybe there wasn’t nobody here, ‘cept Dandy Jim himself.”
Dev shook his head. “That’s crazy; of course there was men up here.”
“Then where the hell is any sign – anything – t’show it?”
The Sheriff shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s look around up here some more before we follow those other tracks back down to the road.” Then he added, “But watch out for scorpions.” He rubbed his hand where he’d been stung. “I had some trouble with one not too long ago.”
“Okay,” Paul directed. “Everybody take a different position and walk out about ten paces along the ridge here. Shout out if you see anything.”
They turned their backs to the road and began to move forward, slowly, into the low brush. “I think I found something,” Jessie called out a short while later.
“What is it?” Paul asked, as the others gathered about her.
“That branch.” She pointed to a straight piece of green-gray wood about four feet long sticking out from the thick tangle of branches of rounded budsage bush that was, maybe, two feet high. “Looks like somebody shoved that thing in there in a hurry.”
The Sheriff examined the brush. “Maybe so, but what does that prove?”
“Maybe nothing… or maybe...” She yanked the branch loose. She held one end and pointed the other at the man. “It's been smoothed, like with a whittling knife. If you saw the front two feet ‘this thing, sticking outta some tall grass, and pointing at you from, say, twenty feet away, what’d you figure it was?”
Whyte thought for a minute, following her logic, until a wicked smile began to curl his lips. “I think I’d think it was a rifle, with a man there in the tall grass ready t’shoot me.”
“Yeah, one of Dandy Jim’s men – if they was there. Only they wasn’t there. Dandy Jim tossed them branches into the brush so folks wouldn’t see ‘em sticking out in ambush and guess the truth. This one must’ve got stuck in that bush. The five others’re probably laying on the ground somewhere ‘round here. A robber probably would scatter them, but not trouble himself to carry away six long sticks on horseback.”
“You wanna go look for the rest of ‘em?”
She reached over and yanked the stick free. “This one’ll do. Let’s follow them footprints back to the road and go up to the rise on the other side – just t’see what’s over there.” She began striding down from the ridge, using the branch as a walking stick.
* * * * *
“Same as on the other side,” Dev Fisher said, when they reached the top of the hill directly across the stage road from the ridge. “Only one set of footprints, no difference.” Then he added, “‘Cept for that.” A few feet from where they all stood, an opened strongbox, dark wood and reinforced metal, lay overturned on the ground. The busted padlock was next to it. “Dang, them road agents is smart,” he added in an almost admiring tone.
Paul shook his head. “Not all of them. I know of one time where bandits took the box, but hadn't thought to bring any tools to open it with. They ended up hiding it near the robbery site, hoping to come back for it later. Only things didn't work out quite the way they wanted.”
“Looks t’me like Dandy Jim got whatever was in this box,” Jessie said, bringing the talk back to the present. “Easier t’take the stuff than carry that box; nobody’s gonna wonder ‘bout why you was carrying a strongbox, neither.” She glanced around. “His horse was probably tied up t’that tree over there. It’s far enough back t’be outta sight of the road.”
Dev looked down at the trampled ground by the tree. “Any chance you could follow that horse, Deputy?”
“Hard to say.” Paul studied the hoof prints in the dry soil. “There’s nothing special about those hoof prints.”
“What could be ‘special’ about hoof prints?”
“A shoe could be loose, or not put on right, anything to make that horse’s tracks stand out from any other tracks on the road.”
Jessie chuckled, remembering something. “The smith in Eerie – where Paul ‘n’ me is from -- his first ‘n’ last names both got seven letters in ‘em, so he uses seven nails t’shoe a horse instead six or eight nails like most smiths do. That’s how Paul tracked me down last year.”
“Why was he tracking you?” Sheriff Whyte asked, his eyebrow raised in interest – no, maybe, suspicion.
Paul gave him a wry smile. “That, Elijah, is a story for another day. Right now, we’re hunting Dandy Jim. Let’s see where his horse’s trail goes.”
“ ‘Back to the road from the look of it,” Jessie said. “Clever; there ain’t no way to follow one set of tracks with all the traffic on that road.”
The Sheriff frowned. “And who’d stop one man, when everybody thought it was a gang of seven men that pulled off that robbery?”
“That man would probably have had tools in his saddlebags good for breaking a heavy lock, a sign that he'd been up to something,” Paul speculated.
“Yes, but if it’s only one lone rider, a posse wouldn’t likely stop him in the first place, let alone go through his gear.” He paused a beat. “And if they did, what wrong with a man carrying some tools in his pack?”
Paul shrugged. “When the truth gets out, someone might remember running into a man with all those tools and say something.”
“So what happens now?” Jessie asked.
Dev gave a shrug. “Now we get my horse back to Cole Hoyle and spend the night at his station. Tomorrow, we all deadhead t’Prescott t’tell the head office what we figured out.”
“Do we have to?” Jess asked. “Prescott's a long way off. Ain’t we spent enough time chasing after Dandy Jim?”
Whyte nodded and looked at her and Paul. “I got my own case to settle, and I’d just as soon start back to Dawson.”
* * * * *
Paul moved the blankets and opened the stall door. A lantern set against the far wall lit the stall. The hay they’d found there was now spread out in a low mound that was covered with a large, green and gray horse blanket. Jessie was next to it, sitting back on her heels and wearing…
“What’s all that you’ve got on, Jess?”
“There is no one here called ‘Jess.’ I am Sunset Woman, adopted daughter of Taklishim, Apache war chief, and the, uh… prize…” She stumbled, just a little over the word. “…of you, the warrior Raging Lion, who won me by right of combat.” She raised her hand towards him. “Come, Raging Lion, come and take your prize.”
He took her hand. “Very well,” he said firmly, trying to get into whatever this game of hers was. “Let me see what I have ‘won.’ Stand up.” He helped her to her feet and began to walk around her, as if conducting an inspection of something. The game seemed to be that she was some sort of slave, to be treated however he wanted. It was hardly the independent, spirited Jessie that he knew so well, but he was willing to go along. For a while, at least.
She bowed her head, seeming to be shy and held her hands at her sides. She was dressed in the clothes she’d worn the night of the moccasin ceremony back in the Apache village, a light brown blouse, a brown belt, and a long, pale yellow skirt. All were soft buckskin and all decorated with matching patterns of beads. The collar of the blouse was closed by a brown thong interlaced with the garment, and the bottom of her skirt was fringed.
“You seem like a worthy enough prize.” He saw that she’d forced her long, strawberry blonde hair into a bun with an hourglass-shaped metal ornament holding it in place. “A maiden’s hair is bound, as it should be.” He pulled the thing loose. “But the hair of a prize should not be bound.” He watched, smiling, as her hair fell free about her shoulders.
He grabbed her suddenly, moved in close and brushed his lips against hers. But as she started to respond, he stepped back, the stern master, not the gentle lover. “That was good – for start. Let me see more of my prize. Remove your blouse.”
“But…” Her voice was uncertain.
He gave her a way out. “Do not argue. You are only a prize, are you not? Something won in fair combat, not a woman to be wooed.” All she had to do was say, “No”, and the game was over. And they both knew it. Instead, she said…
“I am only a prize, Raging Lion; your prize.” Her voice sounded sad, resigned to an unhappy fate, but she gave him a quick wink and a smile before she began to unlace the cord that held the two halves of her collar so tightly. As soon as it was undone, she reached down to yank her blouse loose from the belt at her waist. In one quick motion, she pulled the blouse up, over her head and tossed it to the floor behind her.
Paul took a surprised, delighted breath. She’d dressed “Injun” from the skin out. All she wore above her waist was a band of yellow doeskin that supported – and concealed – her breasts. Only the very tops of them could be seen above the material.
“But a most worthy prize, indeed.” He kissed her again, harder. As he did, his hands reached down to cup her breasts through the doeskin halter. His fingers caressed her breasts, rubbing the soft leather against her sensitive nipples.
She gasped, and he felt her body tremble. Her eyes were slits, her mouth opened, as she arched her back to press her breasts against his hands. Her arms moved up to embrace him.
“Hands at your sides,” he ordered. “No, remove your skirt first.”
She looked surprised, but she obeyed. Her hands trembled as she loosened the brown leather belt. She let it go and gave a quick jerk to her hips. The skirt slid down of its own weight to pool at her feet. A thin cord tied around her waist held a long, thin strip of doeskin – the same yellow as the wrap around her breasts. The doeskin was draped over the front of the cord. It ran back, between her legs at her crotch, and was draped again over the cord at her back; a loincloth. And, except for the breast wrap and her calf-high moccasins, it was all she now wore.
“Hands at your sides,” he ordered, “and you will keep them there until I say that you can move them.”
Jessie did as he had told her. She looked down, unwilling – unable? – to meet his gaze. “Paul --”
“I am your master, the warrior Raging Lion. Do not speak.” His voice was firm, almost angry.
He stepped in close to her. His hand reached down and ran a finger against the doeskin, pressing it against her sensitive flesh.
“O-ooh!” Jessie’s breath caught in her throat. She shivered, overwhelmed by what he was doing to her.
Paul balled his hand into a fist, the middle finger bowed out. He pressed it against the doeskin directly covering her nether lips. Pressed and twisted his finger, so that the soft material forced those lips apart and caressed the velvety flesh within.
“O-ooh… uh… uh… oooh.” Jessie couldn’t speak. A wave of carnal delight crashed through her. She felt lightheaded. Her fingers twitched eager to grasp hold of him, and her knees… she could hardly stand.
Then the hand went away, taking all of that sexual joy with it. “Now – before we go any further, Jessie Hanks – how about you tell me what the hell sort of a game you’re playing?”
“Game… what d’you mean?”
“I mean, what’re you doing playing like you’re some kind of slave that has to do whatever I tell her?”
“I, uh… I got curious. I was wondering – kinda – what woulda happened if Dasodaha had won that wrestling match, if I had to go with him. I wouldn’t be his wife. He had one already. I woulda just been a prize, and he coulda done whatever he wanted with me -- to me. “ She took a breath. “That scared me, scared me a whole lot. But a part o’me got to wondering what it woulda been like. He coulda hurt me, probably woulda hurt me; he was a big, rough man. But you, I…I knew that you… you wouldn’t hurt me.”
He smiled, the smile of a cat about to play with a mouse it had caught. “Even if I did something like this?” He finger rubbed a furrow across the doeskin covering her nether lips. They parted and his fur-covered finger slipped inside her again, wriggling against her.
“Y-Yessss.” She hissed the word as a tremor of ecstasy ran through her. “Ooh, ooh, yesss.”
He managed a smirk. “Undress me, then, woman, so I can enjoy you.”
She nodded, uncertain of what to say. Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned his shirt. When that was done, she moved close to push it back off his shoulders. His arm shot behind her, forcing her against him. As was his custom, he hadn’t worn an undershirt, and his curly chest hair tickled her extended, oh, so sensitive nipples. He kissed her. Very hard. She moaned, rubbing her body against him.
He ignored her, releasing her and stepping back. “Keep going.”
Her fingers fumbled as she worked at his belt buckle. It opened – finally – and she popped open the top of the buttons on the front of his pants; then the next and the next. His pants were tight in front from his erection, and she felt her body warm as that erection came into view inside his drawers. His pants were loose, and they began to slide down his hips. He spread his legs slightly and let them fall.
“What did you stop for?” he demanded.
She reached down and yanked at the knotted the cord which held his drawers tight at his waist. The knot came free, but the drawers only slipped down a few inches
“Well?” His voice was more of an order than a question.
Jessie felt another flush run across her face. She knelt down, grabbed at his garment, and gave a slight tug. It dropped down almost to his knees. She released it, and it fell atop his pants. His erection sprang up, pointing up at her, and she shivered in anticipation of what might come next.
“If you were just my prize, kneeling there, I’d probably order you to use your mouth on me.” He cupped her chin in his hand, raising her head, so that their eyes met. He was grinning mischievously, as he spoke. “Do you want me to do that?”
Jessie startled. She’d pleasure him that way before, but always on her terms, because she wanted to. Even in a game, the thought of being forced to do it was… unthinkable. “I, uhh… I want…” She shrugged, admitting her reluctance to Paul – and to herself. “I guess that game’s over.” She gave him a wan smile.
“That’s okay.” He smiled back at her, this time, a gentle smile. “I know a better one.” He helped her to her feet and kissed her softly on the lips. She moaned again, and his tongue moved into her mouth to play with hers. Her right arm rose up slowly to encircle his neck. At the same time, his own right arm reached behind her and yanked at the knot that held her doeskin halter in place. He tossed the fur over her shoulder and broke the kiss.
She sighed. “Mmm, that is better.” She pressed her bared breasts against him. “You got any other ideas?”
“A few.” He leaned down to take her engorged nipple into his mouth.
She shivered at the feel of his lips on her breast, of his rough tongue brushing against her tight, inflamed nipple. “Ooh… ooh, yes… yesss!” Her hands twitched as they moved down to fumble at the knotted cord that held her loincloth in place.
“Let me get that, Jess.”
“O-Okay, but… hurry!”
The doeskin was damp to his touch, and the air filled with the sweet fragrance of her arousal. He undid the knot, and the cord came free. The strip of doeskin fell to the floor. He used a finger to tease her nether lips, sending sparks of sexual lightning racing through her.
“You better have them riding coats,” she said breathlessly.
Paul had stepped out of his pants. He picked up the garment and retrieved one of the condoms from a pocket. “Right here,” he told her, holding it up for her to see. “I bought a bunch of them when I was down in Phoenix.”
“Then lie down, and lemme put it on you.”
Without another word, he stretched out on the blanket that she’d spread over the loose pile of hay. His member sprang to attention, pointing straight at her. It was red and ready and – to Jessie – it seemed to be at least five times its normal size.
She took a breath to steady herself and quickly -- carefully but quickly – slid it onto him, using the attached green ribbons to fix it in place.
“Okay, Jess.” He patted a spot on the blanket next to him. “Time to get yourself down here.”
Jessie leered at him. “Don’t wanna.” She straddled him before he could react, and bent her knees, lowering herself down atop him. Her left hand grasped his manhood and guided it into herself. “Oh… oh, yeah!” She leaned in towards him and began to move her body forward and back, grinding herself against his body. “Uhh… o-ooh… oh… yesss!”
Paul braced himself on the blanket. She was tight inside, like a third hand stroking his maleness. He raised his head and kissed her. She kept moving her body, but her lips stayed with his, their tongues dancing together to the rhythm she was setting. His hands found her breasts and began to massage them. At the same time, his hips matched her own movements.
Slowly, those movements became more ragged. “Yeah!... Yeah!... YEAH!“ Jessie screamed as the exquisite joy of an orgasm exploded within her. Paul’s arm pulled her head down to his own and silenced her with a torrid kiss. And through it all, the motions of her body against his never stopped.
After a time, she collapsed, spent for the moment, onto his chest. She lay still, catching her breath. He was still hard, and he gave a quick thrust of his hips. “Oh, Lord!” she exclaimed and resumed her own rhythms.
Again her fervor grew. And grew. She delighted in the carnal fire blazing within her. His hands were at her breasts. The light touch of his fingertips, as they traced inward spirals towards her nipples excited her even more. She reached a peak and then crashed over it in another rapturous blast.
As she began to scream her joy, he grunted and shot forth what felt like a gallon of his essence. She collapsed, sprawling onto the blanket beside him, totally exhausted. They stared with sated smiles at each other. Fatigue overtook them, and they fell asleep, still smiling blissfully.
* * * * *
Chapter 9 – “It’s Tyler Time”
Thursday, June 13, 1872
Coleman Hoyle took a sip of his coffee. “How soon do you folks figure on heading out?”
“We’re pretty much packed,” Jessie answered. “Right after breakfast, I think.” She glanced across the table at Paul, who nodded in agreement while he chewed on a strip of bacon. “Yeah, me ‘n’ Paul’ll be leaving right after we eat.”
Sheriff Whyte looked up from his own meal. “The three of us’ll be leaving.” He turned to face the pair. “Unless you have some objection, that is. We’re all going to the same place, more or less, so I thought I’d ride with you.”
“You gonna try ‘n’ arrest me again?” she asked suspiciously.
Paul chuckled. “You know that hasn’t exactly worked out for you the last couple times you tried, don’t you?”
“Only too well.” He gave Paul a rueful smile and self-consciously rubbed the spot on his hand where the scorpion had stung him. “Only too well. That’s why we’re out here in the first place.”
Dev Fisher gave the Sheriff an odd look. “What’d you wanna arrest her for, Sheriff? It didn’t have anything t’do with the stage she rob – she stopped did it?”
“To tell the truth…“ Whyte’s voice trailed off, and he glanced over at Jessie. She gave a quick, nervous shake of her head and silently mouthed the word, “Please.“
“No,” he continued, “it doesn’t have anything to do with your stagecoach and, beyond that…“ He gave her a reassuring wink. “…I don’t see where it’s any of your business.“
Fisher frowned. “You don’t need t’get up on your high horse, Sheriff. I owe Jessie for helping me figure out what Dandy Jim was doing, even more so for letting me take all of the credit for it. I was just trying t’watch out for her.”
“You been watching out for her since the day she ‘stopped‘ your stage,” Hoyle said with a laugh. “Only now you’re on her side while you’re doing the watching.”
The other man gave a quick laugh. “Maybe so, but you got no reason t’arrest her now, do you, Sheriff?”
Whyte shook his head. “No… and I’m not planning to try.”
“Well,” Paul said, “if you’ll shake Jessie’s hand on that, we’ll be glad for your company.”
The older man offered his hand. “Seems fair to me.”
“Me, too.” Jessie shook his hand. She held it for a minute, looking at the man.
Paul put his hand on top of the other two. “In that case, let’s ride.”
* * * * *
By mid-afternoon, they were climbing up into the highlands that marked the transition from the mountains of central Arizona to the Sonora desert. The road, more of a trail for game, was steep. Their pace was kept slow, so as not to overtire the horses. That let them move close enough to each other to talk.
“I been wondering, Lige,” Jessie began, “what’re you gonna do about that cameo necklace when we get back t’Dawson?”
Sheriff Whyte pursed his chin. “Strictly speaking, it belongs to Eugene Barlow – his family, now. One of the papers they sent me from Prescott said he had a wife somewhere back east.” He frowned. “If she wants it.”
“Why wouldn’t she want it?” Paul asked.
Whyte smirked. “Why; ‘cause it’s all tied up with her husband being killed. It’d be a reminder of that every time she looked at it.”
“Give it t’me then,” Jessie said. “Or t’Hanna Tyler direct, ‘cause I’d give it t’her, anyway.”
“Don’t you think it’d remind her about Barlow’s death, too?” Paul asked.
Jessie shook her head. “No, if anything, it’d remind her that it made trouble for me. I give it back t’her, that says it won’t be a problem, no more.”
Paul frowned. “What’re you gonna tell Hanna? For that matter, Lige, what – if anything – are you gonna tell the authorities up in Prescott? The cameo ain’t a lead no more, it’s a red herring.”
The Sheriff looked thoughtful. “You’re right. It’s a waste of time, but how do I tell them without… implicating Jessie while I’m at it?”
“Tell ‘em the truth – sorta,” Jessie answered. “The lady…” She gave them a mincing smile. “…who had the cameo was over near Black Canyon Station ‘bout the time Barlow was killed. Oh, and tell ‘em she bought the cameo from him the night before… on her way outta town.”
“Bought it from who? The lie can be made simpler. I think I will tell them that I found the cameo out by Black Canyon Station, but I’ll also say that the ‘lady’ who had it had an alibi. If I'm pressed, I'll say that she won it in a poker game.”
“What are you gonna tell the Tylers?”
“That I’m sorry that I bothered them – and you, and that when I finally talked to you, you proved that you hadn’t done anything worth worrying about.”
“Sounds good t’me,” Jessie said. “Thanks, Lige.”
Paul held out his hand. “Now that it’s settled, can we have the cameo?”
“Okay, but you’ll have to wait till we stop someplace. I’ll have to dig down into my saddle bag to get it.”
Jessie laughed. “For something like that, I don’t mind waiting.”
* * * * *
Friday, June 14, 1872
This time, it was Sheriff Whyte who was the first to see… “Soldiers!”
“You think they’re the same ones we ran into before?” Jessie asked, riding up alongside him.
Paul joined them in time to hear her question. “Probably not; we’re a lot farther south and farther west than where we met up with Heffler and his men.”
“Only one way t’find out.” Jessie gave a shrug and started riding towards the troopers; Sheriff Whyte and Paul hurried after her.
The leader of the troop raised a hand, signaling for his men to stop. They stayed in place, some watching Jessie and the others approaching. The remaining men scanned the horizon, looking for any sign of trouble.
“Hello, there… lieutenant.” Jessie gave the man her best friendly smile. “I’m Jessie Hanks, and the men with me’re Sheriff Elijah Whyte and my friend, Paul Grant. What’re you ‘n’ your men doing out this way?”
The officer looked nonplussed for a moment, hardly expecting such a greeting. He was on his late thirties, a tall, almost painfully thin man, whose graying hair was in mid-retreat from his forehead. “Miss Hanks, I’m Lionel… Lieutenant Lionel Staub. I don’t wish to alarm you, but my men and I are out from Camp Verde, on patrol for renegade Apaches.”
“Apaches?” Paul asked, pulling his cowpony up next to Jessie.
“Yes, sir; we have scattered sightings from across the Territory, reports of war parties stealing cattle, setting fires…” He waited a beat. “…killing settlers. My orders are to deal – and deal harshly -- with any of these savages that my men and I encounter.”
Paul, Jessie, and Whyte exchanged quick, concerned glances. “You got any notion of where they might be?” the Sheriff asked.
“If I knew where any of those devils were, I’d be there, myself, fighting them. For now, my orders are to patrol this area.” He hesitated a moment. “May I ask where you folks are headed?”
“Dawson; it’s along the Gila River, about seventy miles east of Yuma.”
“I’ve been down there, down to the Quartermaster Depot in Yuma a time or two, that is – don’t know Dawson, I’m afraid, and I’m not likely to any time soon.” He took a breath. “But I can offer you an escort to the Gila Bend Mountains, that’s about as far south as my orders allow.”
Jessie hesitated. “I don’t know…”
“I’d really feel much better if you accepted my offer, ma’am. I’ve seen what Apaches do to white men – and women – they get their hands on them, and it’s, well, it’s not at all pretty.”
Jessie shivered. It was hard to think of Taklishim or Ih-tedda or even Dasodaha doing what the Lieutenant was describing, but she knew that not all the Apache nation were friendly. “I-I think we’ll take you up on that offer, Lieutenant Staub.” She glanced over, first at Paul and then at Elijah Whyte, only to see both men nod in agreement. “And thanks.”
* * * * *
Jessie and Paul picked up a couple of tin plates from the stack and fell in at the end of the line for the soldier’s evening meal. The man in front of her turned to see who had stepped up behind him. “Hallo, Miss Chessie,” he said in a voice with a thick German accent. His eyes roamed quickly from Jessie’s smile, down past her lush bosom to her narrow waist before he spoke again. “Vhy you don’t get in der line aheadt of me?” He gestured broadly with his right arm.
“Und me.” The next man made the same gesture. Soon most of the squad was inviting her to move to the front of the line.
She took their invitation and walked slowly to the mess table, smiling at each man, as she passed by them. But then she spoiled it for them by yelling, “Hey, Paul, you get here in front o’me.”
“Sorry, gentlemen,” Paul said, as he moved up to stand next to her. “Fortunes of war, as they say.”
A tall, mustachioed sergeant stood behind the table. On the table was a tray with slices of hardtack bread and a steaming pot of beef and bean stew. A large coffee pot at the end of the table was balanced on a brass trivet and surrounded by a ring of empty mugs. “Here ye go, ma’am,” the cook said in a brogue as thick as Shamus O’Toole’s. He ladled a serving of the stew onto each of their plates, tossing a piece of the bread into the midst of each portion. “The only way t’be eating that hardtack,” he explained, “is t’ soak it in the stew t’soften it.”
“Thanks… I guess.” Jessie glanced down at her plate. The beef – she hoped it was beef -- looked to be as much fat as meat, and there was an oily look to the gravy. She poured herself some coffee – which smelled too much of chickory – and walked over to sit on a log a few yards away from where most of the men were eating.
Paul joined her as soon as he’d gotten his own supper. He took a forkful of the stew, and made a face. “Too much salt; I pity the men who had to eat army food during four years of war.”
“I know,” she replied. “Drink a little coffee. It helps.”
He did as she suggested. “Helps some, but Lord I miss Maggie’s cooking. I'm thinking that if that lady were cooking for them, the soldiers would have been glad to go on fighting for ten years.”
“I don’t think even she could do much with this stuff.” She dipped her bread in the stew for a short time before she took a bite. “No, not much at all.”
Jessie took another forkful. “At least it’s filling; for soldiers, that’s all they really need.”
“Ah, the glamorous life in the cavalry; risk your life fighting Indians and all for thirteen dollars a month, and all the slop you can eat.”
“You never say much about the war,” Jessie remarked. “You were too young to join up, I suppose.”
Paul winced, as if someone had just stepped on his toe. It was a moment before he could force out an answer. “I didn't go to war, but the war came along anyway.”
He didn't say anything more, didn't want to say anything more, and Jessie knew better than to push.
Paul finished the last of the stew and used his bread to soak up what gravy remained on his plate. He popped the bread into his mouth and chewed, taking some coffee to soften it a bit more.
Jessie did the same. She put down her cup after a final sip and set it down. “Don’t look like there’s much going on tonight.”
Two of the men were cleaning up for the mess sergeant. A few more were playing cards, a cutthroat game of poker from the sound of it. Another was using what was left of the daylight to write a letter. Lieutenant Staub was talking to a second sergeant, a tall lanky man with a shock of curly black hair. ‘Prob’ly setting up the watch for tonight,’ she thought. The rest of the squad was spreading their bedrolls.
“Staub’s going to be getting his men up at dawn; that’s pretty early this time of year. If they want a good night’s sleep, they pretty much have to go to bed right away.”
She stood up. “In that case, let’s us go find a place t’bed down.” She grinned – practically leered -- at him. “Someplace… private, so’s we can put another of them riding coats to good use.”
“I’m afraid not, Jess,” Paul said, a regretful tone in his voice. “Staub’s hardly going to let the two of us get out of sight of the rest of the camp.” He sighed. “And I don’t think either of us wants to put on a show for him and his men.”
Jessie considered what he’d said. “Dammit!” she replied after a while. “I hate it when you’re right ‘bout stuff like that.” She playfully kissed him on the cheek and went to get her own bedroll.
* * * * *
Saturday, June 15, 1872
It was still early in the day when Lieutenant Staub raised his arm, signaling his men to halt their horses and rest for a few minutes. “Miss Hanks,” he called out. “Would you and your friends come over here, please?”
“What’s the problem?” Paul asked when they had ridden over to him.
“No problem,” the officer answered. “Not really, anyway. Do you see those peaks up yonder?” He pointed to a range of mountains a few miles ahead. When they nodded, he continued. “The tallest one, off to the southeast of our line of march, is Woolsey Peak. By my map, we're at the southernmost point of the area I’ve been ordered to patrol, so I’m afraid you’re on your own again.”
The Sheriff glanced at the mountains. “Any idea how far we have to go?”
“The day is young, yet. Based on what you showed me on your map, I’d guess that Miss Hanks and Mr. Grant can reach the Tyler farm around supper-time. It’ll be a bit farther for you, of course, Sheriff, but it is mid-June. You should be able to reach Dawson with time to spare before dark.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m going to the Tyler ranch, too.”
Jessie startled. “How come?”
“I scared Mrs. Tyler and that daughter of hers the way I chased after you, Jessie, and I figure that I owe them both an in-person apology.”
“Seems like a good idea.” Paul said. He turned back to Staub. “Thank you for all your help, sir, and good luck to you and your men.”
‘Or not good luck if you go chasing after Taklishim and his family,’ Jessie thought to herself. Aloud she said, “Yeah, thanks a lot.”
Staub offered a salute which all three returned. Then, smiling, they started south once again.
* * * * *
Malachi Tyler came running into his mother’s kitchen. “Ma, Ma, we got company.”
“Who is it, Malachi?” Piety Tyler wiped her hands on her apron.
“Jessie Hanks and Mr. Grant and… and the Sheriff; they just rode up.”
“My Heavens.” She pushed the stewpot she’d just put on the stove onto a back burner and hurried toward the front of the house.
Paul and Jessie were tying the reins of their horses to the hitching post when Piety and her son came out onto the porch. Sheriff Whyte was still on his mount. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Tyler,” he greeted her.
“Sheriff… what’s going on? Have you come here to gloat about finally capturing Jessie?”
“No, Ma’am, and I’m sorry that you think that of me. It turns out she wasn’t anywhere near Prescott when that man was killed. She proved it, and Paul and her are free to go wherever they want. I just… well, I figured I owed you a face-to-face apology for the high-handed way I acted when I was trying to arrest her.” He took a breath. “You and your daughter, both; is she around?”
Piety shook her head. “Hanna is with her new husband at their farm.”
“I can ride out t’get ‘em,” Malachi offered. “If it’s okay with you, Ma?”
Jessie’s eyes moved from Whyte to Piety. “He’s a good man, Piety. He coulda rode straight home, but he wanted t’make it right with you and Hanna. Seems t’me if a man does that, he deserves t’be heard.”
“I-I don’t know,” Piety said. She stood still for a moment considering Jessie’s word. “Still… I… Do you vouch for him, Jessie?”
Jessie nodded. “I do.” She glanced over at her companion, who mumbled some words of agreement. “Me and Paul both.”
“In that case, Malachi, go get your sister.”
* * * * *
A farm wagon sped into the yard in front of the Tyler house. As it came to a quick halt only a few feet away from her, Jessie heard a familiar voice calling her name.
“Jessie… Jessie!” Hanna Tyler – Hanna Parker now, Jessie reminded herself -- leapt from her seat almost before the wagon stopped and ran to her friend. She threw her arms around Jessie and began hugging her fiercely.
She was still hugging Jessie while her new husband, Gil Parker, tied his two-horse team to the hitching post and walked over to join her. “Welcome back, Miss Jessie… Mr. Grant,” he greeted them and shook Paul’s hand. Then he saw who else was present. “Uh… you, too, Sheriff.”
“Hello… Gil.” Whyte replied. “Hanna.” She glowered back at him, her arms crossed in front of her.
Just then, Malachi rode up. “I told ‘em you was here, Sheriff.”
“You tell them why I was here?” Elijah Whyte was off his horse now, sitting on the porch next to Jessie.
“N-No, sir.”
“Then let’s go inside, so I can apologize to everybody at once.” He started to dismount.
As if on cue, Piety and Ephraim Tyler walked out onto the front porch. “That won’t be necessary, Sheriff,” Ephraim said. “You can say your piece right here ‘n’ now. And if the womenfolk forgive you…” He glanced quickly at his wife and daughter. “…I reckon that you’re welcome t’stay for supper.”
“That’s a big if,” Piety said, frowning. “Even if Jessie did say that it was all right.”
Jessie chuckled. “For the record, Paul and I do forgive Elijah here for what he done. We’ve spent enough time together since then, and, like I said, he’s a good man, even if he can be a damned sight too hard to convince sometimes. He deserves another chance.” She nodded to Whyte. “Showtime, ‘Lige. Give it your best shot.”
“I will.” He took a breath. “It ain’t easy t‘say, Hanna… Miz Tyler, but I was wrong.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “Wrong?”
“I’m afraid so. Jessie and Paul proved that she couldn’t have killed Gene Barlow ‘cause she wasn’t nowhere near Prescott when he was murdered. I was too busy thinking how I’d solved a big case, one that had everybody stumped, t’listen to her story. I scared her off – her and Paul. And when me and my posse came after ‘em, I, well, I came down on the two of you a lot harder than I had any right to.”
Piety gave an emphatic nod. “You most certainly did,”
“I know, ma’am, and like I said, I’m real sorry for it.” He took his hat in his hands and began to nervously crimp the brim. “I’m just hoping that you’ll have the Christian charity to forgive me for my mistake.”
Hanna had let go of Jessie. She stood next to her, holding Gil’s hand. “What d’you say, Jessie?”
“I say, forgive him. The man made a mistake – a big one – but I figure he made up for it.” She shrugged. “I was the one he was chasing – and, well, Paul and me – ‘n’ we forgive him.”
The girl smiled. “Then I guess I will, too.”
“As will I, Sheriff.” Piety put out her hand.
Whyte gave her hand a gentle shake. “Thanks, ladies, all three of you.” He released her hand walked over and mounted his horse.
“Won’t you be staying for supper, Sheriff?” Piety asked.
The Sheriff shook his head. “No, ma’am, but thank you for the offer. There’s another lady I got to apologize to, and I only hope that my Thelma is as forgiving as you and Emma and Jessie for my being away from her for so long a time.”
“I’m sure that she will be.”
He nodded and tapped his hat with a finger, as if in salute. “From your mouth t’G-d’s ear.” He flicked the reins. “G’bye, Jessie and Paul… and all the rest of you.”
Then he stopped. “Almost forgot this.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out something that he tossed to Hanna. “It’s yours now, Hanna.”
“The cameo!” she said in an excited voice, as she caught it one handed. “Oh, I missed this at my wedding.”
Gil stepped in next to her. “You have it now.” He gently took it from her. “Let’s put it where it belongs.”
“O-Okay.” Hanna leaned her head forward. Her hair was done up in a bun, so there was no need to lift it out of the way.
Gil took one end of the chain in each hand and brought it up around her neck, fastening it behind her. “Done.” Then he leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. She trembled slightly in surprise, but then her arms slowly rose up, like ribbons, to drape around his own neck.
“Well, that certainly settles the matter,” Sheriff Whyte said with a hearty laugh. “G’bye again.” He waved once and rode towards the road to Dawson.
Piety waited until the newlyweds broke their kiss. “Supper should be ready shortly,” she told them – and everyone else. “Will you two be staying?”
Hanna nodded. “Yes, Momma; I was fixing our own dinner when Malachi showed up. I brought it with me in the back of the wagon; chicken and dumplings.”
“That doesn’t exactly fit with the pork stew I’m making,” her mother answered, “but… beggers and choosers; bring it in.”
Hanna hesitated. “I hope you don’t mind, Momma, but Gil…”
“I knew how much Hanna’d want to stay and talk to Miss Jessie,” her husband continued. “So I packed up some bedclothes, while she was making supper.” He grinned shyly. “I hope you don’t mind, Mother Tyler, but, well, Hanna and I thought we’d spend the night.” He smiled, and Hanna blushed slightly and buried her face in his chest.
Piety chuckled. “I suppose I should’ve expected that you’d want to stay. Very well, you two can sleep in Hanna’s old room.” She gave her daughter a sly smile. “I’m sure that we can find a spot in the barn for Jessie… and Paul.”
* * * * *
“Back in the straw again,” Jessie said wryly. She and Paul were in the rafters of the Tyler barn, positioning a horse blanket over the bedding. “Just like at Black Canyon.”
Paul smiled. “I remember Black Canyon – and that bed – rather fondly, thank you.”
“Mmm, so do I.” She leered at him as they settled the blanket down onto the straw. “Maybe it’ll happen again.”
He leered back at her. “I certainly hope so.” Piety had loaned them two pillows. He tossed them to Jessie, who set them down at her end of the coverlet. “To tell the truth,” he continued, “I’m a little surprised that the Tylers didn’t seem to have any objection to our sleeping together out here.”
“They couldn’t’ve said much, seeing as they were putting us both in the barn tonight.”
“I don’t know. They could have had you and Hanna in her bed, and Gil and me sleeping here.”
Jessie laughed. “Are you loco? Hanna woulda pitched a fit. She’s still busy finding out how nice it is t’sleep – or t’not sleep with Gil. Besides…” She paused a beat. “Piety and Ephrem knows what me ‘n’ you’ve been up to. After supper, she got me alone for a minute and told me how Hanna and the Sheriff searched through my stuff when he came here chasing after me – after us.”
“Hanna?”
“Piety wouldn’t let him go rooting through my clothes, ‘specially my unmentionables. She had Hanna go through ‘em while he watched.” She giggled. “And tried not t’blush.”
“He’s a married man. I’m sure he’s seen such things before.”
“Maybe… and maybe not; Hanna found that bag o’riding coats that Wilma gave me. Piety gave ‘em back t’me.” Jessie held up the small drawstring canvas bag. “She told me she figured I… we might be wanting ‘em tonight.”
Paul walked over to where she was standing. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” He took a delighted Jessie in his arms and kissed her tenderly. Her arm rose up over his shoulder. She pressed her body against him and returned the kiss with all the passion she could muster.
“No,” he said when they finally broke the kiss. “Not surprised at all.”
* * * * *
Sunday, June 16, 1872
“Can you help me with this dress?” Jessie asked. “It buttons up the back.” She turned her back to Paul. The dress was only buttoned about halfway up her back.
Paul began to work the buttons. “I’ll help, but it won’t be as much fun as unbuttoning one of your dresses.” He finished and leaned in to kiss the side of her neck.
“You’ll be undoing this one soon enough.” She turned to face him, her arms raised slightly away from her sides. “Right now, how do I look in it?”
He smiled at what he saw. The dress was sky blue. It was cut tight enough to flatter her figure, with a pattern of dark blue lace that drew attention to her breasts. But the collar was higher than most of the dresses she wore when she performed in the Saloon, and the lace-trimmed sleeves came down almost to her wrists. “Nice, very nice; but it’s kind of… modest for you, though.”
“Well, it sure ain’t one of them scanty outfits Wilma wears. You can call it my ‘going t’church’ dress. I bought it special t’wear at the wedding.”
“It won’t be much of a wedding, I’d guess; just Ephrem walking Hanna across the yard, while you sing that song for her.”
“Maybe not; I heard Ephrem tell his boy, Amos, t’ride into Dawson and ask that preacher, Brother Douglas, t’ride out here after church ‘n’ say the words for real to Hanna and Gil.”
“He’ll probably do it if he can. He’s a good man, and he’ll know that it would make Hanna happy. She was telling me – told everybody at the wedding, too, I expect -- how much she missed having you there to sing for her.” His face went serious. “I know something else that would make her happy.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
Paul took her hand in his. “You and me standing up there next to her and Gil, while Brother Douglas says those words over us.” He took a breath to brace himself. “Jessie Hanks, will you marry me? Please.”
“Paul!” Jessie’s eyes were wide as dinner plates in surprise. “Much as I do love you, I told you that I ain’t ready t’settle down yet.”
“But when we were on the trail running – hiding – from Lige Whyte and his posse, you talked more than once about wanting to have a future with me.”
“I do, but… I ain’t ready t’start in on that part of our future, yet.” She gently kissed his cheek. “So lemme tell you two things, Paul Grant. No, I won’t marry you – not today, anyway.”
He sighed. “All right, you won’t marry me today, but what’s the second thing?”
She beamed at him. “You keep on asking me, ‘cause, one o’these days…” She gave him a quick kiss on the tip of his nose. “…you’re gonna wear me down t’where I give you a different answer.”
* * * * *
Paul sat on the edge of the Tyler’s back porch, watching Jessie slowly pacing between the barn and the house. “What’re you doing, Jess?” he asked when she came near him.
“Measuring the yard; I’m gonna be singing ‘Here Comes the Bride’, while Hanna walks over t’where Brother Douglas’ll be marrying her and Gil. “ She pointed to a spot near the barn, where Brother Douglas, a tall, skinny man in a frock coat with the turned collar of a preacher was talking to Hanna’s husband, Gil Parker, and her father, Ephrem Tyler. “I wanna know where t’start, so I finish just as she gets t’where they’ll be standing.”
Paul considered her words. “That makes sense, I guess. Any idea how soon it’ll all be starting?”
“Soon as Hanna comes downstairs; Piety and Mrs. Parker are upstairs helping her get ready.” She chuckled. “She’s so nervous, you’d think this was her real wedding, instead of a do-over.”
“I guess it’s that important to her that you sing for at her wedding. You should be flattered.”
“I am. Hanna’s a sweet girl, and I’m glad I met her.”
“Lucky thing, too.” He said. ‘We were both lucky,’ he added to himself. Getting captured along with Hanna and her mother had slowed Jessie’s escape, so that he’d caught her before she disappeared across the Mexican border. Even more important, by befriending Jessie, they’d helped her accept her life as a woman and, in a way, to accept Paul’s affection for her.
He thought about proposing again. ‘Nothing like a wedding to put a woman in a marrying frame of mind,’ he told himself. But she might think that it was too soon after his proposal that morning, so he decided to wait.
“You know, it’s kinda funny,” Jessie said with a chuckle. “We rode all this way, got chased by a posse, lived with Injuns, ‘n’ solved the Dandy Jim mystery, just so’s I could sing a song for about half a minute.”
Paul shook his head. “Not when you did it all for a girl that you think of as your little sister.”
“I never said I think of Hanna that way.”
“You don’t have to. I can see it every time the two of you get together, and I think that Hanna feels the same about you. For family, somebody you love, you’ll do all that we went through and more.”
“You make me sound like some sorta homebody.”
“No, you’re still my wild… beautiful mustang.” He took her hand in his. “You’ve just found some people that you can care for.” He rose and put his other arm around her waist. “And who care for you.”
She raised a bemused eyebrow. “You wouldn’t happen t’be one of those people, would you?”
Paul kissed her cheek. “Maybe…” He kissed her again, this time on the mouth. “Definitely.”
“Mmm, very definitely; we can talk about this later. In the barn.”
Before Paul could say anything else, Amos called, “Here she comes,” from inside the house. He rushed to the door, holding it while his sister, Hanna, her mother, and her mother-in-law came through. The three women waited on the porch while Ephrem ran over to join them.
Hanna wore the simple white cotton dress she’d worn at her first wedding. It was cut to accent her figure, slender waist but broader hips – Jessie noted -- than the girl had last fall, when they had first met. She was taller, too, almost her mother’s height. She wore a crown covered with white orange blossoms that had just begun to brown at the edges. A gauzy veil hung down from the crown, covering most of her face. And the cameo was where it should be, on its chain around her neck.
“You sure you want to go through with this again?” Ephrem asked, looking serious. “You can always say ‘No’ this time.”
Hanna giggled. “Daddy! Of course, I want to be married to Gil, now and forever.”
“Just checking.” Her father winked and offered her his arm. “You ladies better all get in place. ‘Cause here we go again.”
Piety and Elsie, Gil’s mother, ran over to take seats on the bench that had been set up near the barn. Since they were only re-enacting the wedding, no guests were invited. In fact, the only reason that Brother Douglas had been available was that he routinely rode out to minister to congregants who weren’t able to attend the morning service he held in the field next to his small cabin on the outskirts of Dawson.
“Remember what I told you,” Jessie told Hanna. “Walk to the beat of the music.” Hanna nodded, and Jessie hurried over to the bench, where she’d left her guitar. Hanna and Ephrem descended the porch steps. He took her arm and nodded for the music to start. Jessie began to play, singing along to her music, as father and daughter began a slow march towards Brother Douglas and Gil.
` “Here comes the bride dressed all in white,
` Radiant and lovely she shines in his sight.
` Gently she glides, sweet as a dove,
` Meeting her bridegroom, her eyes full of love.”
` “Long have they waited; long have they planned.
` Life goes before them opening her hand.
` Asking G-d's blessing, as they begin
` A life with new meaning, a life shared as one.
` Entering God's union, bowed before His throne,
` Promising each other to have and to hold.”
` “Gently she glides, sweet as a dove,
` Meeting her bridegroom, her eyes full of love.
` Here comes the bride dressed all in white,
` Radiant and lovely in her true love’s sight.”
Hanna and Ephrem stumbled once or twice, trying to match their steps to the music. Still, they reached Gil and Brother Douglas just as Jessie sang the last line. “Hello, fair lady,” Gil said, lifting her veil.
“Hello, my shining knight.” Hanna gave him a radiant smile, her eyes glistening with tears. She turned her head to Jessie for a mome nt and added, “Thanks.”
Jessie nodded and moved closer to the girl, still holding the guitar, to act as maid of honor. “You’re welcome,” she said smiling, and then added in a whisper. “Little sister.”
* * * * *
“I now – again – pronounce you man and wife,” Brother Douglas said, with a smile of satisfaction. “You may kiss --” He stopped as Gil took Hanna’s head in his hands and pulled her to him. Their lips met, as her arms rose slowly to drape about his shoulders. The preacher took a step back, as the couple were pelted with grains of rice from the small packets that Piety Tyler and Elsie Parker, mothers of the bride and groom, had handed out earlier. The couple broke their kiss and scurried towards the porch to escape the rice that everyone, even Brother Douglas, was throwing at them.
* * * * *
Jessie leaned back on a wide bench set against the back wall of the house and looked at the scene around her.
Cyrus Parker was sitting with Ephrem Tyler on a pair of overstuffed chairs that had been brought out onto the porch. Gil was perched on a stool next to his father. A bottle of rum and three shot glasses rested on a low table between them. The men were talking about what farmers always talked about: their crops and the weather.
Hanna sat with her mother and her mother-in-law on benches around a trestle table, boards set across a pair of saw horses. Jessie couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but the older two women were giggling. So was Hanna, though her face was flushed, as if she had been blushing at something one of the women had said.
“Jethie.” Two year-old Phoebe toddled over to Jessie, her arms outstretched. Her older sister, Lettie, was close behind her. “Up?” the toddler asked. Jessie smiled and lifted her up, setting her on her lap. Lettie clambered up on the bench beside her. She smiled up at Jessie and snuggled against her.
Paul pulled over a chair and settled in a foot or so away. “You certainly look cozy there… natural.” It was hard to believe that this sweet young woman, happily surrounded by children was his own “Wild Mustang.” It was a side of Jessie that she almost never showed.
“I… I-I told you what it was like, growing up with Pa and Will.” Her eyes glistened. “We wasn’t much of a family. I didn’t even understand – back then -- how much Pa really… loved me. This…” She gently brushed Phoebe’s hair with her hand. “…This – all this…” She gestured with her arm to include all those on the porch. “…is so nice.”
“I’ve got a feeling… If I were to ask you that question – you know the one – I might get a better answer than I got the last time.”
Jessie gave him a bemused smile. “Ask. T’tell the truth I ain’t sure how I’ll answer.”
“In that case…” He took her hand in his. “Jessie Hanks, will you --”
The shrill blast on a bugle caused everyone to turn. Amos and Malachi Tyler rode out of the barn at a healthy cantor. Amos was the one blasting away on his father’s old bugle. They circled their horses around and around in the yard, shouting and blowing the bugle.
By the time, the pair finished their circling and rode over to the porch, everyone was standing at the porch railing, watching them. Lettie was holding her mother’s hand, while Jessie cradled Phoebe with her left arm.
Malachi had a pouch tied to his saddle. He reached in and pulled out a featureless cloth doll wearing a cowboy hat. He tossed it to Gil, who caught it one handed. Amos blew the bugle again, and Malachi tossed a second doll, this one in a bonnet, to his sister. Hanna jumped back, startled, and the doll landed at her feet.
“I think that we had enough of a shivaree at the first wedding,” Ephrem said. “More than enough.”
Malachi tried to look remorseful. “We was just having some fun, Pa; wishing lots of healthy babies on Hanna and Gil.” He grinned mischievously. “Or whoever.” He tossed a boy doll at Jessie.
“Gyaah!” she yelped and batted it away with her free hand. It landed in the yard, a few feet away. Jessie frowned and stared down at it. Then she turned to face Paul. “About that question you was asking.” She gave him a small, tight-lipped smile and shook her head.
He sighed, knowing that the mood was spoiled. “Another time, maybe.”
“Maybe.” She sounded as unhappy about it as he was, and both of them were contemplating horrible fates for the two boys who couldn't keep their damned dolls to themselves.
* * * * *
Chapter 10 – “The Long Road Home”
Monday, June 17, 1872
Piety Tyler came out of her house. She was carrying something wrapped in a red and white checkered napkin. “This is for you, Jessie,” she said, handing her the package.
“Thanks, Piety.” Jessie looked down at the thing in her hands. She hefted it. “What is it?” It was very light.
“It’s a piece of Hanna’s wedding cake. It’s supposed to bring you sweet dreams if you sleep with it under your pillow, dreams of your future husband.” She couldn’t help but glance over at Paul who was busy packing his saddlebags.
Jessie saw where she was looking. “Yep; he’s already good at giving me sweet dreams, but every little bit helps, I guess.” She carefully added the cake to one of her own saddlebags. The bags were already loaded with her gear and tied to her horse’s saddle.
“We’re almost packed,” Hanna said, walking over from her own farm wagon. “Gil is just tying down last of the boxes. So I guess we can go as…” Her voice broke. “…as soon as you do, Jessie.”
Jessie gave her a sad smile. “I know, Hanna. I’m gonna miss you, too, but you got that handsome new husband to take your mind offa things. I’ll write you when I can, and you do the same, okay?”
“Okay… I guess.” She threw her arms around Jessie and gave her a tight hug. “And I will miss you.”
“Me, too.”
Paul walked over, along with Ephrem Tyler. “Looks like we’re ready,” Paul said.
“You sure that you’ve got enough ammo packed?” Ephrem asked. “We’ve been hearing stories – bad stories -- of Apaches on the loose.”
Piety shook her head. “Bloodthirsty savages; they should all be killed, every last one, before they can kill us poor Christian people.”
“Some of them just wanna to live in peace,” Jessie said. “I’ve…” She stopped. It might not be a good idea to tell the Tylers about Taklishim and his band, not after what Piety had just said. “I just don’t think that all of them are as bad as some folks say.”
“Then you are sadly wrong,” Ephrem said, “And I hope that you never learn otherwise.”
“Me, too.” Hanna hugged Jessie again. “Oh, Jessie, please, please be careful.”
Jessie tousled Hanna’s hair. “I will, Hanna, and thank you for the warning, Ephrem.”
“Send us a line when you get home,” Ephrem said. “These womenfolk will be spending all their time worrying about you, till they hear that you got home safely.” He winked. “So will I, truth to tell.”
Jessie had to smile. “I’ll do that, Ephrem.”
“It’s time to go.” Paul said, pointing to his pocket watch. “And we will be careful, Ephrem… and Hanna. And you, too, Piety.”
Jessie sighed. “All right then.” She gave Hanna one last hug. She shook hands with Piety and Ephrem, and then mounted Useless. “You all be careful, too, okay,” she asked by way of a farewell. By this time, Paul was on his cowpony, Ash. They both waved goodbye and flicked their reins. The horses and their riders were out the yard and onto the road almost at once.
Gil and Hanna said goodbye to her parents and headed out for their own farm within the next few minutes.
* * * * *
Tuesday, June 19, 1872
Sheriff Dan Talbot walked into the Saloon, heading straight for where Shamus was standing behind the bar. “Welcome, Sheriff; what can I be doing for ye this fine day?”
“You can tell me if you or Molly have heard anything from Paul or Jessie.”
The barman frowned. “I’m truly sorry t’be saying it, but we ain’t had word one from either of them.”
“And I, for one, am starting t’be worried about ‘em.” Molly had come over to join the two men.
Shamus put an arm around his wife’s waist. “I told ye, Molly love. They’re just enjoying a bit o’time together. There ain’t nothing t’be scared about.”
“I hope that’s the case,” Talbot said. “I really do.”
“What ain’t ye telling us, Dan?” Shamus asked cautiously.
The man looked like he had drunk something sour. “There’s a lot of things that a man and a woman – especially that man and that woman – could find to occupy themselves out on the trail, but… well, I hate to worry you two, but I’ve also been getting reports. The Apaches… something ticked them off.”
“The order that they all go to the reservations,” Shamus muttered. “Getting told t’go living in a pen ain’t something I’d be happy about neither.”
“I suppose not, but you probably wouldn’t go out on a killing spree, murdering settlers, stealing livestock, burning farms. That, I’m very sorry t’say, is what the Apaches have been doing since the order came down from Washington.”
Molly’s face paled. “Ye don’t think they…” Her voice faded, and Shamus took her hand to try to comfort her.
“That’s the problem, Molly,” Dan replied. “I don’t know what to think. I know that they both can take care of themselves pretty well, but, well, they should have been back a week or more ago.” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you, Molly. I’m sure that they’re okay, but I surely would like to hear – to see – it for myself.”
“You ‘n’ me both,” Shamus said. “You ‘n’ me both.”
* * * * *
Wednesday, June 19, 1872
“Smoke!” Jessie said, pointing. “You see it… off to the north up ahead?”
Paul nodded. “I see it; a mile or two away, maybe more.” He studied the plume of smoke, using his left hand to shield his eyes from the early afternoon sun.
“Smoke ain’t moving; must be a building or something, not a grass fire. Let’s go see if they need help.”
“They may be beyond help, Jess,” he said gently. “It may be that Apaches started that fire.”
“Are you saying we shouldn’t help; that we should turn tail and run?”
“No, I’m saying that we ride in carefully; keeping an eye out for… folks that might not be too happy to see us… except, maybe as targets.”
“I get your point.” Jessie took a moment to check her pistol. It was loaded and ready for action in the holster on her gun belt. Her rifle was in a saddle holster, and she checked that as well. She left the strap on it undone, so she could grab it in a hurry, if need be.
Paul used the same time to make sure of his own weapons. Satisfied, he said, “Okay, Jess, let’s go looking for trouble.” The irony in his voice was clear.
* * * * *
Paul and Jessie followed the plume of smoke for almost half an hour. The fire was very much out by the time they reached the smoldering ruin, a building that might have been a farmhouse or a barn – or both – about half-finished, the wood a charred black.
A man was sprawled out in the front yard, with two yard-long Apache arrows in his body. He was still holding the shovel he must have been digging with – a well, it looked like, two or three feet deep -- when the Apaches had attacked.
“Jess,” Paul ordered, his pistol drawn, “stay put and keep watch.” She nodded and drew her own pistol. He jumped down from his horse and ran, crouching low, over to the man with the shovel. He put three fingers on the man’s throat. “Dead,” he told her, shaking his head. “Dead… and cold.”
“I’m going in the house,” Paul told her. He moved quickly towards the house, still staying low, in case anyone unfriendly was waiting inside.
“Be careful,” Jessie called out him, just as he was about to walk through the opened door. He stopped for a moment to quickly turn and smile at her.
The house was empty, a burnt-out shell. He walked slowly, not certain how strong the walls still were. “Anybody here?” he called out, in case anyone was hiding inside, but too scared to reveal themselves. No one answered. Then in the center of the room, he saw a body, a man’s body dead on the floor and badly burned by the fire. He searched the rest of the house, finding no sign of anyone else, living or dead.
He and Jessie were alone.
“I see you found somebody else,” Jessie said when she saw Paul carrying the body out of the house. He set it down as carefully as he could next to the first body.
The corral was knocked apart. There was no sign of any livestock. “If the horses in the corral had any life in them, the Apaches took ‘em as mounts,” Jessie said.
“If not, or if it were mules in the corral, they’re headed for the stewpot,” Paul replied. “Apache actually prefer mule to beef.” He smiled. “Lucky for us, Taklishim and his band liked sheep even more.”
Paul had taken up the dead man’s shovel. He looked down at the ground where the man had been working. “We can’t very well leave them out for the buzzards.” He tossed a load of dirt from the hole.
“While you dig, I’ll see ‘bout a cross for ‘em.”
* * * * *
Paul used the iron blade of the shovel as a hammer to pound the crude wooden cross Jessie had nailed together into the ground at the head of the double grave. He’d piled some rocks atop the mound to keep the predators away from the men’s remains. Once it was in place, he took a step back and lay the shovel across the grave. He took his hat in his hands and nodded for her to start.
“Lord,” Jessie bowed her head and began. “We don’t know who these fellas was, but we figure that You sure as he --… that You do. I couldn’t tell You what sorta men they was, but I guess You know that, too. All they wanted was a chance t’make a home out here. Give ‘em the benefit of the doubt, please, and let ‘em find a home up there with You in Heaven.” She took a breath and added, “And, if you would, help Paul ‘n’ me find our own way home, too, back t’Eerie. Amen.”
“Amen.” Paul put his hat back on and looked down at the grave, examining Jessie’s handiwork.
After she’d nailed the boards together to form the cross, she’d used her hunting knife to carve on it.
` ? and ?
` RIP
“Let’s get moving,” he said, walking over to where his cowpony was tied to a nearby tree. “I know there’re probably no Apache around, but I’d just as soon put some distance between here and us. But before we get started…” He reached into a saddlebag and took out a box of cartridges. “Jess, take one of these and put it in your shirt pocket.”
“Why?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He put a bullet in his own pocket and returned the box to his saddlebag. “These Apaches are mean, Jess. they like to ‘play’ with their victims before they kill them, and what they’d do to a woman like you…” His face was grim. “I don’t want to even think about it.”
“You really think…”
He nodded, still very serious. “That second man we buried, I’m not sure he was dead when the fire reached him. If we get caught by those Apaches, and it comes down to that last bullet…” He hesitated for a moment. “Use it… use it on… yourself. You’ll save yourself a whole lot of pain.” He climbed up onto his cowpony.
Jessie shivered, and then she joined him, mounting her own horse. She glanced up at the sun. “How far you figure t’ride before we stop for the night?”
“To tell the truth... I’m not sure that stopping anywhere tonight would be a good idea. I’d rather use the time to get more miles under us. We can hold up somewhere and rest some tomorrow.”
* * * * *
Thursday, June 20
They rode slowly past a stand of saguaro cacti, some of them almost fifty feet tall, with multiple arms. Jessie lagged a bit behind Paul, staring at the two to three inch long, bright red fruit growing on most of the plants. “I wonder if you can eat those things,” she said, thoughtfully.
“I think so,” Paul answered, “but I don’t know how we’d get them down off the trees.”
“We could try shooting some of ‘em loose.”
Paul shook his head. “We really don’t have the ammo to spare. Besides, the sound of gun shots can travel pretty far in open country like this, and there may be people around that we don’t want to tell we’re here.”
“I see your point. They do look good, though.”
“We can stop in a while and get some food from Hanna’s basket.”
Suddenly Paul reined back his horse. “Get back, Jess,” he ordered, pulling for the horse to move backwards towards the cacti.
“What’s the matter?”
He pointed across the valley. “Look over there; maybe 100 feet down from the top of that hill.” A band of men on horseback was visible – barely – against the rocks and tall grass.
“Injuns,” she said in a half-whisper. “Apaches.”
“I think so, too. And the way they’re riding, well below the crest of the hill means that they’re trying hard not to be seen.”
She gave him a wry smile. “That sounds like a real good idea. Maybe we should try it.”
“It also might be a good idea not to stop long enough to get found. We’re close enough to Eerie, I think, to ride straight on through. No camping, just staying in one place long enough to rest the horses and get something to eat.”
“It ain’t gonna be easy, but it sounds a whole lot better than winding up like them folks back at the cabin.”
* * * * *
Saturday, June 22, 1872
“At last.” Jessie muttered, sounding a little breathless, as she and Paul approached the crude wooden sign that read “Eerie Arizona – Welcome, Friend.”
Paul nodded. “We’re not quite there yet, Jess. C’mon.”
The trail into town widened into a street with buildings on both sides. The street itself was wide enough for a loaded wagon to turn around. It was mid-afternoon on a busy Saturday, and the street was full of people. A man stepped out of Lyman’s tobacco shop. He leaned against the building and lit up one of the cigars he must just have purchased. People, men and women, were going in and coming of the Wells Fargo bank. Blackie Easton waved as he left O’Hanlan’s Feed and Grain, a bag of something thrown over his shoulder.
Jessie raised her hand in a vague sort of greeting. After the long ride she and Paul were just finishing, it was about all that she had the strength for.
“Home, sweet home,” Jessie sighed, when they reached the Saloon. They climbed down from their horses slowly, bracing themselves when their feet touched the ground.
Paul took the reins from Jessie’s hands. “You go on in. I’ll tie up the horses.”
“Okay.” She stepped up onto the wooden sidewalk and pushed her way through the Saloon’s batwing doors. “Anybody home?” she called out.
Molly ran out from behind the bar and hurried over to the doors where the young woman was standing. “Jessie! What happened to ye? I’ve – Shamus ‘n’ I -- have been worried sick.”
“Sorry if we worried you, Molly,” Paul said, coming into the Saloon and walking over to Jessie. He, put his arm around the singer's waist, pulled her close, and kissed her cheek. “We were kinda busy.”
Jessie giggled at the kiss. They’d been far too hurried the last few days for any such displays of affection. “We surely was that.” Then, not wanting to give Molly the wrong idea, she added, “And it wasn’t all fun ‘n’ games, neither.” Her voice grew serious. “Some of was more like… life ‘n’ death.”
“Well, ye’re back here, safe ‘n’sound,” Molly said, trying to sound reassuring. “And ye’ve plenty o’time t’be telling us all about what happened to ye.”
A small crowd, the curious patrons of the Saloon, was gathering around Paul and Jessie. They all wanted to hear where the pair of them had been. Jessie shook her head. “Right now…” She tried – and failed -- to stifle a yawn. “Right now, all I want t’do is t’crawl into a real bed and sleep for about twenty years.”
“Don’t ye want t’be eating something first?” Shamus asked, pushing his way through the crowd. “Maggie ‘n’ Jane’re just about ready to open the restaurant, but I’m sure they can be getting something ready for ye quick enough.”
Paul shook his head. “Shamus, we’ve been riding for days and days, and we are bone tired. All we want now is bed – and sleep.” He yawned. “We’ll eat and tell everybody what happened later. Okay?”
“Ye’d better.” Molly could see how close to exhaustion they both were. “Yuir room’s waiting, all clean and ready. Here’s yuir key.” She held out a large brass key, one that she’d been carrying for several days, hoping for Jessie and Paul’s return.
Jessie took the key and put it – temporarily -- into the pocket of her jeans. “Thanks, Molly.” She draped her arm around Paul’s shoulders. “Let’s go.”
“One last thing,” Paul said. “Shamus, our horses are out front, as tired as we are. Can you get somebody to take them over to Ritter’s Livery? Ask them to brush the horses down and give them something – something good – to eat.”
Shamus nodded. “Consider it done.” He paused. “Now ye’d best be getting upstairs whilst ye’ve the strength t’do it.”
“See you later.” The two of them moved towards the steps. “See you all later,” Paul called out to no one in particular, as they started up to the second floor.
Molly watched them climb the steps. They seemed to be leaning on each other as they went, going one step at a time. “Oh. Lordy, I been worried sick about them two, imagining all sorts o’terrible things happening, and now I’m thinking that whatever did happen may’ve been even worse than what I was imagining.”
“We’ll be finding out soon enough, Molly, me Love,” Shamus said.
He walked over to where Carl Osbourne was sitting, holding hands with his new wife, Flora. “I hate t’be interrupting ye two, but Paul asked me t’be taking care o’their horses. Carl, ye know more about such things than I do, and Paul’s horse probably knows ye from yuir working with Paul out at Slocum’s ranch. Would ye mind doing that for me?”
“I suppose.” He kissed Flora, a short kiss but a meaningful one. “You gonna be here when I come back?” he asked in a teasing voice.
She smiled. “I will if you kiss me like that when you do come back.”
“I think I can manage that.” He gave her a peck on the cheek and started for the door.
* * * * *
The End