Autumn of the Gun (53 page)

“I'm willing to do that,” said Nathan, “but before I do, I want to ask a favor of you. Not for now, but later.”

“If it's within my power,” Silver said, “you know I'll do it.”

“It's within your power,” said Nathan. “All it will involve is three telegrams. Just remember that you're
Omega
Four, and you'll be contacting
Omega One, Two,
and
Three.”

He then told Silver what he had told Harley Stafford and Foster Hagerman.

“Omega One, Two,
and
Three
is McQueen in New Orleans, Molly Horrell in El Paso, and Harley Stafford or Foster Hagerman in Dodge.”

“Right,” said Nathan, “and each of them will be told to telegraph you. The
Omega
code will tell you where I am. Or was.”

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“Never more serious in my life,” Nathan said. “Every man is born with the seeds of death within him. All that's lacking is the time and place.”

“When this Jesse James thing is behind us,” said Silver, “why don't we travel down to the McQueens' place in New Orleans and spend some time there?”

“I have a good reason for not going there,” Nathan said. “Her name's Vivian Stafford. She's Harley's sister and she traveled with me for a while. I don't want to kick any sleeping dogs, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” said Silver, “but I think they deserve to hear it from you on this
Omega
code. Wouldn't you like to see them again?”

“I reckon I would,” Nathan said, “but I had such a hell of a time escaping from Vivian last time, I don't like the thought of goin' through it again.”

Silver laughed. “You've been on the frontier a dozen years,‘ shootin' and being shot at, and you expect me to believe you're scared of one helpless female?”

“Helpless, hell,” said Nathan. “Give her a little encouragement and she'll follow you back to Washington.”

“Maybe I will,” Silver said. “Are we going or not?” “I reckon we'll go,” said Nathan. “I need to talk to Barnabas instead of writing him a letter.”

“Telegraph me from St. Louis when you're ready,” Silver said. “I'll meet you there.”

Almost immediately following the ambush, Dallas Stoudenmire began looking with suspicion on men who seemed to have no means of support. Eventually, while Wes was having coffee in the Globe Restaurant, Stoudenmire stopped at his table.

“I've been seein' you around for a while, pilgrim. You lookin' for work or just passing through?”

“Neither,” Wes said. “While I really don't consider it any of your business, I gamble for a living. Any objection to that?”

“No,” said Stoudenmire, “as long as you keep it honest. Frankly, I ain't seen many that could make a livin' without slick dealing. Maybe you're the exception.”

“Maybe I am,” Wes said. “Until you get some complaints, why don't you just accept that?”

Stoudenmire's face reddened and he walked away without another word, but wherever he found Wes, Stoudenmire continued to eye him with suspicion. So Wes began playing an occasional hand of poker, winning more than he lost. It was in the Rio Grande Saloon that he first saw Frank Wooten and his daughter, Renita. Wooten had lost steadily, and Wes took the pot that cleaned him out.

“Deal me in,” said Wooten desperately. “I can cover it.”

It was then that Wes became aware of the girl. She sat in a chair against the wall, and when Wooten spoke to her, it was loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Gimme the ring, girl.”

“No,” the girl cried, “it's my mama's.”

“Damn it,” Wooten shouted, “gimme the ring.”

Wooten hit her then, so hard the chair tipped over sideways. Before Frank Wooten could make another move, half a dozen men were on him. Bruised and bloody, he was thrown through the batwing doors and out into the dusty street. Weeping, the girl got to her feet. She was starvation thin, with auburn hair and big brown eyes. She fixed them on Wes; her nose dripping blood, she approached the table.

“Please,” she said, “will you help me?”

Nathan spent three days with Silver and, when his friend departed, he rode to Liberty, the seat of Clay County, where Jesse James had been born. He expected hostility and ran headlong into it immediately and from a most unexpected source. He opened the door to the sheriffs office, and the tall, thin man who greeted him there wore a deputy's badge.

“The sheriff's laid up sick. I'm Deputy Tobe Willis. What can I do for you?”

“I'm Nathan Stone, and I'm thinking of writing a book on Frank and Jesse James.”

“You don't look like no book writer to me,” said Willis. “You look like one of them damn bounty hunters. Git out.”

“I'm no bounty hunter,” Nathan said, as calmly as he could.

“They all say that,” said Willis, “an' I'm tellin' you what I told the others. Git out.”

Nathan left, and word spread quickly. When Nathan and Empty stopped at a cafe, the cook was openly hostile.

“The dog's welcome,” he said, “but you ain't.”

They were turned away at every hotel and boardinghouse in the county; with only few supplies on hand, Nathan rode back to Kansas City.

“Damn it,” he said aloud, “Silver's fixed us good this time.”

He rode to Eppie Bolivar's boardinghouse, where he had often stayed before, and was welcomed. Empty remembered Eppie and went immediately to the back porch, positioning himself just outside the door.

“I've never seen another dog like him,” said Eppie, greeting Nathan, “so it had to be you.”

“I'm glad to see a friendly face,” Nathan said. “I've been to Liberty, trying to gather some information on Jesse James, but nobody will talk. We were unwelcome at every cafe, hotel, and boardinghouse.”

“My God,” said Eppie, “you're more fortunate than most. Two bounty hunters have been shot and killed. Shot in the back.”

“I'm not bounty hunting,” Nathan said.

“No matter,” said Eppie. “Anybody asking about Frank and Jesse gets the same treatment. Two newspaper fellows were here from Chicago and were beaten within an inch of their lives. Pistol-whipped, they spent a week in the hospital before they could leave.”

“For a pair of outlaws and killers, the James boys stand mighty tall,” Nathan said.

“I agree,” said Eppie, “but I have to keep my mouth shut. I'm too old and frail for a pistol-whipping.”

“I haven't read the Kansas City papers for a while,” Nathan said. “What position are they taking toward the James gang?”

“They haven't taken a position,” said Eppie. “They mostly just report what happens, like the reporters from Chicago being beaten. Old wounds go deep, Nathan, and there are too many who remember that Frank and Jesse fought for the Confederacy.”

“So did I,” Nathan said, “and I can understand why such feeling still runs high here in Missouri. But even if stealing and killing can be justified during the war, there's no logical and sensible way it can continue, when the war's over.”

“That's how I see it,” said Eppie, “but I dare not say it too loud, and neither should you. Why must you pursue Frank and Jesse? There's already an enormous reward, and if that's not enough, what can you do?”

“I don't know,” Nathan said. “I promised a friend for reasons that I can't tell you. I doh't know that I can do anything, but I must try.”

The girl took Wes by surprise. While she was older than he, she seemed to have placed her confidence in him, perhaps because he was nearer her own age. He took her hand and, without a word, led her out the back door of the saloon. Nobody came after them, and in the alley, Wes spoke to her.

“Tell me where you live, and I'll take you there.”

“No,” she said. “He'll beat me.”

“He's your father?”

“My stepfather,” she told him. “My mama's dead. His name is Frank Wooten.”

“What's your name?”

“Renita.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Wes asked.

“Take me with you,” said Renita. “I can cook, clean, and wash.”

“I don't doubt you can,” Wes said, “but if you have a father—even a stepfather—I may find myself in big trouble. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Not old enough,” said Wes. “He'll have the law after us.”

“I'm not going back to him. If you don't want me, I'll ... I'll run away.”

“I'll take you to my boardinghouse and get you a room,” Wes said. “I don't see anything wrong with that. Wait here until I get my horse.”

“Can't I go with you?”

“No,” said Wes. “My horse is tied in front of the saloon. I'll get him, and we'll ride down this alley a ways.”

Wes went back through the saloon, where the poker game had resumed without any sign of the girl's stepfather. Nobody gave Wes a second look, and he left the saloon, and stepped out on the boardwalk. Wooten still sat in the street, rubbing his head. Dallas Stoudenmire came down the boardwalk, pausing to look at Wooten.

“Why are you settin' there in the street?” Stoudenmire asked.

“Because they throwed me out of the damn saloon,” said Wooten. “Do you reckon I'm settin' here because I like the view?”

“Don't you smart-mouth me,” Stoudenmire said. “I'll haul your carcass to jail if you don't get up from there and be on your way.”

“Them slick-dealin' bastards in there cleaned me out,” said Wooten. “I ain't even got the price of a room for the night.”

“Then I'll fix you up with one,” Stoudenmire said. “Get up.”

Wooten struggled to his feet and stood there weaving back and forth. He staggered toward Stoudenmire and would have fallen if the town marshal hadn't caught him.

“Hell,” said Stoudenmire, “you're drunk as a coot. You can sleep it off in jail.”

“Ain't goin' nowhere,” Wooten said, his speech slurred. “Not without my girl.”

“I don't see anybody but you,” said Stoudenmire, “and you're drunk. Let's go.”

He hustled Wooten off in the direction of the jail. Wes untied his horse and led him around the building to the alley. Renita was hunched up as close to the building as she was able to get.

“Did you see him?” she asked fearfully.

“Yes,” said Wes, “and he's being taken to jail. He told the town marshal he had no place to stay tonight, and he's drunk.”

“He's always drunk,” Renita said. “We slept in an old store building last night, and it had big rats.”

“I'll see that you do better than that,” said Wes. “Here, I'll boost you up on my horse.”

Wes lifted her up, amazed at how little she weighed. Mounting behind her, he trotted his horse down the alley to the next cross street. From there, he took back streets until he reached Granny Boudleaux's boardinghouse. It was near suppertime, and Granny was in the kitchen. Molly Horrell met them in the front parlor.

“Molly,” said Wes, “this is Renita, and she needs a room for a while. I'll pay for it.”

“She can have the room next to yours,” Molly said. “That should be convenient for the both of you.”

For a moment she studied Renita, and the girl blushed, for she understood the implication of what Molly had said. Wes glared at Molly, took the key she offered, and, without a word, led Renita down the hall.

“Here's your key,” said Wes. “Go in, lie down, and rest. I'll knock on your door at suppertime, and we'll go to the dining room together.”

“No,” Renita said. “I ... I'm not fit. This is the only dress I have, and there's nothing under it except me.”

“Your breakfast and supper is included in the price of the room,” said Wes, “and you have to eat. You don't look like you've had a decent meal in a week.”

“Longer than that,” Renita said. “Frank drinks and gambles his money away, when he has any. He sold two horses, and now he's broke again.”

“Where would the likes of him get horses to sell?” Wes asked.

“He stole them at a ranch north of here,” said Renita.

“Go on in there and lock your door,” Wes said. “Don't open it until I come for you. My name is Wes.”

Her eyes met his, and she swallowed hard, unable to speak. Wes waited until she had locked the door before going to his room. Wes sat down on the bed, wondering what he was going to do with her, but he had already decided he wasn't going to allow the drunken Frank Wooten to reclaim her. He waited an hour before knocking on her door, and found she had used the wash basin and pitcher of water to good advantage. Her hair somehow looked better, and she had washed her face and hands. They reached the dining room a bit early and encountered Granny Boudleaux.

“Granny,” said Wes, “this is Renita. I found her in town, and she had no place to go, so I paid Molly a month's room and board.”

“You good boy, Wes,” Granny said, and she then placed her arm around the thin shoulders of Renita. “Welcome,
pequeno muchacha.
You starved. You eat.”

Wes could have kissed the old Cajun woman, for the warm welcome brought a smile to Renita's face as she took her place beside Wes at the table. The girl was indeed starved, and after she had been introduced to the other boarders, she ate like she hadn't seen food in weeks. Granny beamed, urging her to eat. Molly Horrell continually brought food to the table, but the cold eyes of Wes Tremayne met hers, and she said nothing. Wes took his time, wanting Renita to eat her fill. When he was sure she had, he excused himself, and so did Renita. She followed him down the hall and paused before her door.