Search for the Shadowman (11 page)

Andy slunk into his seat and wished the play would begin so that this evening could soon be over. He was so close to an answer about Coley Joe. Too close to end the search. But the last thing he wanted to do was disobey his grandparents.

If he kept the rest of his search secret from anyone … If he …

Again Andy heard Elton’s voice in his mind. “Find out what the Bonners have got to tell you.”

Which Bonners? Who?
Andy thought.

The warning gong sounded, people began hurrying to their seats, and the houselights dimmed.

There was no room for an answer.

A
ndy couldn’t concentrate on the musical. Over and over he thought of the information he had found and the questions that, so far, had no answers.

Coley Joe’s friend had urged him to go to San Elizario.

In 1877 they didn’t have TV or radio newscasts. And in fifth grade we learned, when we did that journalism study, that newspapers at that time were often weeklies, not dailies. Maybe the friend didn’t know about the disturbance that was going on.

Then again, maybe he did.

Who was Coley Joe’s El Paso friend?

Elton said he’d heard there was some kind of proof that had convinced Malcolm John that Coley Joe had stolen the money. And Grandma and Miz Minna talked about proof. What
was this so-called proof? If no one knew what it was, how were they sure it was right? If
—

His mother’s voice broke into Andy’s thoughts. “It’s intermission time. Don’t you want to get up and stretch?”

Andy saw J.J. signaling him from the side aisle, so he jumped up. “Sure,” he said, and cut across an empty row of seats to reach J.J.

“I’m sorry about Miz Minna,” J.J. said. “I didn’t know she’d double-cross you like that.”

“Why’d she do it?” Andy asked.

“I think she’s jealous that you got into the genealogy bulletin boards,” J.J. said. “She thinks that’s her own private property, since she did so much research on her family through the boards.”

“But she told me about the boards.”

“I know.” J.J. glanced toward his family. “If it helps you feel any better, Miz Minna gives my mom a bad time, too. The older she gets, the crankier she gets.”

“I’m scared that after Mom and Dad talk to Grandma and find out what happened tonight, they’ll tell me I can’t keep on with my search for Coley Joe.”

J.J. nodded sympathetically. “Are you sure you really want to?” he asked. “You haven’t found any real proof that he
wasn’t
a thief.”

“But I’m getting closer, J.J.,” Andy said. “I can’t stop now.”

The houselights dimmed and rose again, the signal
to the members of the audience to return to their seats.

“Remember, I told you I’d share with you whatever information I got from Miz Minna,” J.J. said. “I’ll bring it over tomorrow if you like.”

Andy shook his head. “Thanks, but I don’t need it. Miss Winnie and Grandpa and Grandma told me all sorts of stuff about what life was like when they were young. It’s plenty for my history report.”

“Okay,” J.J. said, “but this goes back to January of 1878, when the first James Jonathan Gasper came from El Paso to Hermosa.”

“Thanks, anyway,” Andy said, “but the only person I’m interested in around that time is Coley Joe Bonner.”

“Whatever,” J.J. said. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

A
fter church the next morning, Andy’s parents sat with him in the den, and his mom recounted what Grandma Dorothy had told her about Miz Minna’s conversation with Miss Winnie at the theater.

“Miz Minna said all that stuff to be mean,” Andy grumbled.

“That’s beside the point. I understand Miss Winnie had asked you to forget about Coley Joe,” Mrs. Thomas said.

Andy leaned forward. “That’s right, Mom. She said I shouldn’t ask her questions because she wouldn’t answer them. But she didn’t actually tell me I couldn’t investigate.”

Mr. Thomas looked serious. “Well, now it’s time to lay down a rule. In the future …”

“Dad! Wait!” Andy begged. “Let me tell you what I’m doing.” His mind raced frantically through the adolescent psychology book until he reached the words that would get the right reaction from his parents. “I need to know that you respect what I have to say and that you trust me.”

His mother threw a look at his father. “Well, of course we do, Andy. We’re here to listen. We certainly want to hear what you have to say.”

“Okay,” Andy said. He took a deep breath and began. “All these years later Miss Winnie’s upset about some ancestor she didn’t even know who was supposed to have stolen money from his family—”

Mr. Thomas interrupted. “It’s true she’s taken the theft to heart, but think about it. Because the money was stolen, the family suffered great hardships. Because the money was stolen, Miss Winnie’s had to live with the fact that one of her relatives was a particularly nasty crook, robbing his own parents.”

“And be reminded of it now and again by Miz Minna,” Mrs. Thomas added. “Unfortunately, your
family search has brought the story to life again. Last night was humiliating for Miss Winnie.”

“I’m sorry,” Andy said. “I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“So therefore—” his father began.

“I haven’t finished!” Andy was desperate. “You said you’d listen to me.”

Mr. Thomas looked at his watch. “Make it quick,” he said.

“I don’t believe Coley Joe took the money,” Andy told them. He told them all he had learned about Coley Joe, then added, “And tomorrow Mrs. Alonzo may find out if there’s any record that Coley Joe was killed at San Elizario.”

Mrs. Thomas’s eyes sparkled. “Andy, that’s a wonderful piece of research. And Mr. Hammergren thinks you can enter a contest and maybe win a scholarship for it? How exciting!”

Mr. Thomas rubbed his chin. “If Andy can prove his case, think what that will mean to Miss Winnie.”

“Does that mean you’ll let me keep on searching?” Andy asked.

“Well …” Mrs. Thomas glanced toward the house next door. “Both Miss Winnie and Grandma Dorothy asked us to forbid you to even mention Coley Joe again.”

“Suppose we reach a compromise,” Mr. Thomas
said. “You said you might find out tomorrow if Coley Joe was listed among those who were killed at San Elizario?”

Andy nodded.

“We’ll give you a few more days,” Mr. Thomas told Andy. “You should know by then if you’re making any progress or if you’ve come to a dead end.”

“What about the scholarship contest?”

“You can’t very well write an essay about your search if you haven’t turned up anything conclusive, can you?”

“I know what you mean.”

“I see a couple of real problems, unless you’ve found information you haven’t mentioned to us,” Mr. Thomas said. “Elton told you that the Bonners had proof that Coley Joe was the thief. Miz Minna and even Grandma said something about proof. What is this proof?”

“I don’t know yet,” Andy said. “I don’t think they do either.”

“You have to face the fact that this
proof
, if you find it, may make all your work come to nothing.”

His mother put a hand on Andy’s shoulder and smiled. “Don’t look so discouraged, Andy. We’re proud of what you’ve done. You gave yourself a goal, and you’re doing your best to reach it. That’s what’s important, not whether Coley Joe Bonner is guilty or innocent.”

But Andy didn’t agree. Proving Coley Joe innocent
was what he had started out to do, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d accomplished it.

T
hat afternoon, when J.J. came over, he brought a sheaf of papers. “You said you didn’t need these, but I thought you might change your mind,” he said. He pointed to the top sheet. “It all starts in January 1878, with the first James Jonathan Gasper, when he came to Hermosa and invested in a mercantile company and a bank. That’s where he made his big start.”

Andy glanced at the papers, then tossed them onto the table. At the moment, the last thing he was interested in was the history of the Gasper family. “Thanks,” he said to J.J. “Want to ride down to the park and see if anyone’s got a basketball game going?”

“Sure,” J.J. answered. “Anything but homework.”

O
n Monday, Andy couldn’t keep his mind on his class-work. All he could think about was what Mrs. Alonzo might find out about Coley Joe.

History class ended, with Mr. Hammergren’s reminder that the family reports were due on Friday. But as Andy followed J.J., heading toward the door, Mr. Hammergren stopped him.

“What’s up, Andy?” he asked. “You’ve been jumpy as a pup with chiggers.”

“Mrs. Alonzo, down at the library, said she’d contact the Texas State Archives in Austin. She said there were probably official reports about the Salt Wars, and they might contain the names of the four men who were killed there.”

“And you’re hoping that one of them was Coley Joe Bonner.”

“It’s worth a try.”

Mr. Hammergren smiled and held up a sheet of paper. “Here are the rules for entering that state history contest I told you about. I asked the head of the committee to fax them to me.”

“I told my mom and dad about the contest,” Andy said. “My mom got kind of excited.”

Mr. Hammergren grinned. “I’m excited, too. Let me know what you find out today. Okay?”

“You bet I will,” Andy said. He ran to catch up with J.J.

A
fter school Andy pedaled to the library as fast as he could, grumbling at stoplights and slow-moving pickup trucks. He leaped from his bike, shoved it into the parking rack, and raced up the steps of the James Jonathan Gasper Memorial Library.

As Andy skidded to a stop at the check-in desk, Mrs. Alonzo looked up and smiled.

“Come with me,” she said. “I’ve got some information for you.”

“About Coley Joe?” Andy asked. His stomach knotted, and it was hard to breathe.

Mrs. Alonzo didn’t answer. She sat with Andy at a table in the far corner and spread out two sheets of paper. “Here’s the name of the woman I talked to in the Texas State Archives office. She said they are allowed to spend up to forty minutes on each telephoned question, and no more, but she was able to give me the information I asked for.”

“About Coley Joe?” Andy repeated.

Mrs. Alonzo couldn’t be hurried. “There are two reports in the archives,” she said. “One is ‘The Adjutant General’s Report for the Fiscal Year,’ published on August 1, 1878. The other is Executive Document number 93, from the Forty-fifth Congress, second session, Texas House of Representatives, titled, ‘El Paso Troubles in Texas.’ The first is the U.S. Army’s official report, which includes the Salt Wars. The second contains the report of the Texas Rangers.”

Andy couldn’t stand the suspense. “Do they say anything about Coley Joe?”

Mrs. Alonzo sighed. “Not exactly,” she said.

“Not exactly? What does that mean?”

“It means that those four men who were killed—the men mentioned in
The Handbook of Texas
—are identified
and named in the reports. None of them was Coley Joe Bonner.”

Andy slid down in his chair and scowled at his toes. “I was hoping so hard I’d find him,” he mumbled.

“Don’t give up,” Mrs. Alonzo told him. “These were men known in the community. The Texas Rangers’ report goes on to mention numerous murders and robberies.”

“Murders?”

“There’s a description of the mob action in looting and various shootings. Some looters were killed, and some ran off into Mexico to escape the law.”

“Coley Joe wasn’t part of a mob. He wouldn’t loot.”

“Of course he wouldn’t. But if his body was found in the area of the riots and he had no identification, he could have been mistaken for someone in the mob of rioters.”

“Hey! Yeah!” Andy said. He slid back up in his chair, hope rising again until he realized that more than a hundred years later there’d be no way of identifying Coley Joe.

“Did Coley Joe Bonner have any unusual identifying marks that might have attracted notice?” Mrs. Alonzo asked.

Andy shrugged. “You mean like a birthmark or …” He sat upright. “A nail!” he said. “Each of the men in the Bonner family wore a nail, hammered into a circle, on a leather thong around his neck.
Like …” He reached for the one he had worn briefly, suddenly remembering that it was still lying on top of Grace Elizabeth’s poetry book in his bedroom.

“The reports didn’t go into details like that,” Mrs. Alonzo said. “But there are other places we can try.”

Andy was puzzled. “Like what?”

“Think about it. Where do you get detailed information when local crimes are committed?”

“TV news!”

“In 1877?”

Andy laughed. “Okay, in newspapers.”

“Surely El Paso was large enough to have a newspaper in 1877. Let’s find out.”

“How?” Andy asked.

Mrs. Alonzo shoved back her chair and beckoned to Andy. “We’ll call the Texas History Department at the El Paso Public Library.”

Andy waited by the counter near her desk while Mrs. Alonzo made the telephone call. At one point she covered the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand and said, “There was a semiweekly newspaper called
The Lone Star
, published from 1876 through 1888. They have only scattered copies—among them very few in the seventies—but she’s going to see what might turn up.”

Mrs. Alonzo suddenly turned back to the phone. “No description of the bodies? I see. Who?” She picked up a pen and began writing. Finally she thanked
whomever she was talking to and hung up the phone. She handed Andy a slip of paper.

“There’s a history professor at the University of Texas at El Paso who’s a collector. He owns a few early copies of
The Lone Star
that might have the information you need.”

Andy read the name: Dr. Palius Rundle.

Could Dr. Palius Rundle be DrPR? The person he’d met through e-mail? All this time, had DrPR held the answer?

A
s he pedaled for home, Andy realized with embarrassment that he had never thanked DrPR for his earlier information. Well, now he’d thank him and ask him for new information—all at the same time.