Outlaw Train (2 page)

“I promise you, sir, I will not attempt to flee this place with that jar. I merely want to make you an offer, a cash offer, for its purchase. I wish to add this relic to my collection…a collection I show as a traveling display for the entertainment and education of the people of our great nation, and for my own living.
As for my ‘different’ manner and look…I am a showman. It is my profession, my livelihood. It is to my advantage to be ‘different.’ Difference is memorable. It catches the eye and rouses the interest.”

“Back to the point: the jar of bone dust ain’t for sale.”

“Be reasonable, sir.”

“This jar is my inheritance from my father, odd as it may be. I came all the way from Kansas to bid my farewells to him at his graveside, and now I’m taking this one last piece of his life back to Kansas with me.”

Something in Raintree’s face changed, darkened. He made a little snarling motion with his lip and concentrated on his eating, talking no further to Ben Keely.

Bug was still talkative. “Mister, if you’re wanting to show Big Harpe’s skull dust in a jar, hell, you could just throw some old cow bone in a jar of your own and tell folks that’s what it is! They’d never know.”

Raintree lifted one brow. “I admit that there have been times I have lowered myself to, er, slight deceptions for the sake of showmanship, but I am loath to fake a relic if the real thing is available and at hand, as is this one.”

Ben had no interest in this argument. He stood. “Good day, gentlemen.” He tucked the Harpe head jar under his right arm and left unceremoniously, having paid Mutton Smith for his meal in advance.

“If it was me, I’d have sold it to you,” Bug said to Raintree.

“Oh, Mr. Keely may sell it to me yet. He and I have
not finished our negotiations,” Raintree returned. “I believe our next conversation will put him in a much more accommodating frame of mind.”

“I don’t know. He’s a stubborn one, always has been.”

Raintree smiled. “And with the stubborn, sometimes the solution is to adjust the mode of persuasion. And I can be a persuasive man.”

“Well, don’t take too long. He’s planning to head back toward Kansas later today. Riding out on the afternoon train.”

Raintree rose, pulled money from his pocket and left it beside his plate, and was gone.

Bug pulled Raintree’s plate toward him and ate the remnants of his food. He slyly sneaked the money Raintree had left and slid it under the edge of his own bowl, putting Raintree’s now fully emptied trencher back where it had been.

As Bug rose, he looked back toward the rear, where the crude kitchen was, and hollered back at Mutton Smith, “That feller with the cloth ‘round his head, he left without paying you! ‘Ja hear me, Mutton?”

Then Bug vacated the place as quickly as he could.

The fat diner in the corner did not betray Bug’s trickery. He had fallen sound asleep and was snoring loudly, oblivious of all.

Ben Keely all but forgot about the odd encounter in Mutton Smith’s place before he’d ridden three miles. Just killing time now until it was time to go to the train station. The Harpe’s head crockery jar was safely ensconced in a bulging saddlebag and Keely’s
mind was drifting, pondering the situation in which he found himself these days.

Odd, he pondered, how a family as close as his own had been had managed to become estranged. It was sad, but he couldn’t see how things could have gone much differently. His parents had been so devoted to each other and to the life of the mind that they shared, a life utterly different than the great majority of lives lived around them, that they’d paid only limited attention to their children. Ben and Bess Keely had grown up guided and shaped mostly by their own inclinations and natures, going their individual ways. Ben’s path had been a westward journey and a quest for independence; Bess’s path had not led her away from Kentucky geographically, but she’d gained a reputation. She was a young woman who tended to draw attention, and there had been many whispers about her, crude and impolite rumors, things Ben did not want to believe, and tried to dismiss. When he’d left home and headed west, he’d simply chosen to try to forget about such things.

Then had come the recent news from Bess of the death of their father. Their mother had passed on years earlier, so Ben and Bess were now orphans, albeit grown ones. Ben had pondered the possibility of ignoring the message and not returning to Kentucky. His father was already dead and buried, after all, his mother was long gone, and there was nothing much to be gained by a homecoming.

But for the sake of improving his relationship with his sister and in hope of finding at least some tangible token of his past to take back to Kansas with him, he had come home. The matter of his
sister had not worked out as hoped. They were more estranged even than they had been before. But he had gained the token: this jar of crumbled, dusty bone that had been the skull of Micajah “Big” Harpe, the murderer who had been beheaded at the close of the previous century.

Ben wondered why that jar of bone mattered so much to him. Of all things a man could cling to as a memory of his father, could he have made a stranger choice?

He dismissed the question and told himself the choice made perfect sense. His father had been such a devotee of history and antiquities that he had considered the Harpe’s head jar a treasure of great significance. He’d more than once noted that a man rarely is privileged to hold history in his own hands, and should treasure that chance when it comes. Even if the piece of history being held is one most would as soon forget.

Of course, there were those odd types, such as that turbaned fellow in Mutton Smith’s place, who seemed to have an interest in such things that was vaguely different. Unhealthful. Ben disliked the notion of putting his father’s prized relic on public display for the price of admission to some traveling chamber of mysteries. In a legitimate and scholarly museum, maybe. A cheap crime carnival, no.

Ben halted his horse, dismounted, and went to the side of the road to relieve himself. He was heading back to mount up again when he heard movement in the woods nearby, and the faint but unmistakable click of a firearm hammer being thumbed back. A shotgun, if Ben had to guess.

Turning, Ben spoke to the woods behind him. “Bess, is that you out there?”

No answer.

“Bess, has it really gotten that ill between us? Has it actually come to
this
?”

Still no reply.

“Bess, is it you? Bess?”

“Is that who I am?” a voice returned.

“Good God!” Ben whispered.

He knew when he heard the voice what was about to happen.

Jimmy Wills was tired. He worked as night clerk at the Gable House Hotel, the only hotel in the town of Wiles, Kansas, and he’d been awake all night. And it wasn’t over yet, even though morning had come and the usual hour of his release was at hand. But Jimmy had agreed to fill in for the day clerk as well, that clerk being waylaid by sickness. It had been easy to agree to the extra duty when he considered the prospect of additional pay. Now, though, he longed for his bed and pillow. Oh well. He’d get there eventually. His volunteering for the upcoming day shift would free him from the next round of night duty. If Jimmy could make it through this day, come the next nightfall he’d have the rare privilege of sleeping when it was dark, just like normal folk who didn’t have to stay up nights staring at an empty hotel lobby and waiting for late-arriving customers.

Last night had been busy, in an odd way. Throughout the night, men had entered the lobby, four total, one at a time, each acting strangely, looking around as if the hotel were full of spying eyes. Then each had waited until Jimmy’s back was turned and slipped up the stairs to the third floor like a bad little boy sneaking into the pantry for the cookie jar.

Jimmy could easily figure out what was going on, and who and what was at the center of it. Mr. Gable would probably drop over dead from shame when he learned what use the top floor of his hotel apparently was being put to.

A loud thump startled Jimmy and drew his attention to the only other person in the lobby, a thin, worn-looking local fellow named Dewitt Stamps. Stamps had dropped the heavy book he’d been reading quietly in one of the plush chairs scattered around the lobby. He’d slipped in just as the sun was beginning to rise.

“Whatcha reading there, Dewitt?” Jimmy asked.

“Same thing I always read,” Stamps replied. “Only book worth reading.”

“You ain’t read that Bible through yet?” asked Jimmy. “As much time as you put to it, seems like you’d be through it two or three times by now.”

“It’s a mighty long book, Jimmy, and I read slow. And I take time to think about it. You read the Bible?”

“Can’t say I do,” Jimmy said. “Heard it read some, though. In church and Sunday school.”

“You ought to read it for yourself,” Stamps said. “Everybody should.”

“I ain’t much for reading. A few yaller novels from time to time is about it for me.”

“Well, you ought to read your Bible. It’ll change your life. Look at me, if you don’t believe it!”

Jimmy couldn’t argue with that. Dewitt Stamps indeed was a much-changed man since the religious conversion that had made him the talk of the town four years earlier. Dewitt had spent much of
his adult life as the town drunk of Wiles, Kansas. Shunned and scorned by the righteous church folk, he’d been much loved by his fellow residents of the town’s underbelly because of his innately generous nature. When he had liquor, he shared it. Now that he had religion, he was eager to share that as well, so his former drinking cohorts fled his presence like demons before an exorcist.

Jimmy left his place behind the front desk and walked over near Dewitt.

“I have to admit, Dewitt, you really aren’t the man you used to be. You remember when Mr. Gable was always throwing you out of this very lobby because you’d be in here drunk? Sometimes even this time of morning? And now you’re sober as a judge every day, and instead of staggering in here to pass out, you’re in here reading your Bible. Different world, huh, Dewitt?”

“Grace of God, Jimmy. Grace of God.”

Just then a woman in a pale red dress stepped onto the landing of the staircase overlooking the lobby, catching the eyes of the two males.

The woman’s name, at least according to the hotel register she had signed, was Katrina Haus. She was remarkably pretty and buxom, and Jimmy could not tear his eyes away from her bosom, the size of which was emphasized by its contrast with her slender waist.

Jimmy tried not to stare, not wanting to offend the woman, but when he remembered the men who had climbed the stairs to her floor during the night, he decided she was unlikely to take offense simply at being stared at. Her dress obviously was designed
to emphasize her feminine attributes. Katrina Haus was a woman who sought to attract stares, not turn them away.

But when Jimmy glanced back over at Dewitt, Dewitt wasn’t staring at her. His eyes were fixed downward, on the big, weather-beaten Bible that was his constant companion for the past few years. Stamps seemed tense, nervous. Only when Katrina Haus was out of the hotel and the door had closed behind her did he relax and let out a slow, long breath.

“Son, that there was a powerful temptation. Lust-of-the-eyes kind of temptation,” Dewitt said.

“Yes, sir, and I gave in to it something fierce,” Jimmy said, grinning. Dewitt was not amused. He looked seriously at the younger man.

“You ought not joke about that which can damn a man’s soul,” Stamps lectured. “Jesus hisself said that to look on a woman with lust is the same as committing adultery with her. I can show you right here in this Bible where he said that.”

“Don’t bother…I’ve heard it before. And that’s why I can’t ever be like you and get religion down to the bone, Dewitt. It’s just too hard. Too much to give up. And hell, it just don’t make good common sense to me that a man would be damned just for being a man. Just for seeing a pretty woman and enjoying it.”

“God’s law may not make sense to you, Jimmy, but it’s God’s law all the same. Break it and you die. But you can swap death for life. That’s the exchange I made.”

“Yeah…well, you were drinking yourself into the grave. Me, I got no big sins like that to repent
from. I’m just a regular, normal, little-sins kind of gent. And you can preach about lust and such all you want, Dewitt, but there ain’t no normal man alive who can see what come down those stairs just now and not think sinful thoughts. I mean…” He cupped his hands over his chest and moved them up and down. “Did you
see
them things? Each one of them hanging off her all big and bouncy…wouldn’t you like to just reach out to them and—”

Dewitt looked distressed and shook his head. “You shut up that kind of talk, Jimmy! You’re making me think about things I oughtn’t think about!”

Jimmy grinned wickedly and moved his cupped hands more vigorously out about a foot from his chest. “Bounce, bounce, bounce…”

“They warn’t
that
big, Jimmy!”

Jimmy had Dewitt where he wanted him. “Listen to you, Dewitt! Talking about women’s bosoms…you think the Lord would like you doing that?”

Dewitt shoved a pointing finger into Jimmy’s face and shook it. “You mock me like that and I’ll slap you down, boy! I’ll be on you like Jesus on a money changer!”

Jimmy laughed in scorn. “You’re a good Christian man. Right, Dewitt? That means you got to love and forgive me. None of this threatening and such!”

“But you’re trying to lead me into sin! Making me talk indecent, making me think about wrong things, making me get all mad and ready to fight…”

Jimmy chuckled. “You got to calm down, Dewitt. You’re way too wrought up over religion. Don’t take me wrong…I’m glad you gave up the liquor and got yourself forgave and heaven-bound and all that.
But a man has to keep his perspective, keep things in good order and balance. The way I figure it, if God made men to like the beauty of a fine woman, and then made a woman like the one who just passed through here, well, hell, he must have meant for a man to look at her and ‘preciate her.”

“Ain’t what the holy word says, Jimmy, much as you might like it to be. And you ought not be cussing when you talk about the Lord. Besides, I don’t think lusting and ‘preciating are the same thing.”

Jimmy sighed and spoke more softly. “Don’t you ever miss your old life, Dewitt? I mean, I know the liquor near done you in, cost you your wife and family, and made you a poor man…but don’t you ever wish you could have you some fun like you used to do before you gave it all up? I reckon religion is a fine thing, and it’s done you a world of good, but you ain’t as fun as you once was. You just ain’t. No drinking, no looking at women no matter how big their bosoms is, much less funning with them…don’t you ever miss none of that, Dewitt?”

Dewitt suddenly seemed to be having trouble with his voice. It was hard for him to get his words out. “Jimmy, I’m still a man. I’m tempted just like anybody. The book says Jesus hisself was tempted. It ain’t no sin to be tempted, Jimmy. Just when you give in to it…that’s where the sin comes in.”

“Clear your throat, Dewitt. You sound shaky.”

“Jimmy, I can’t listen to you no more. You want to see me go the wrong way. You want to turn me off the straight and narrow path.”

Jimmy frowned and seemed to be weighing something in his mind. He suddenly clapped Dewitt
on the shoulder and said, “Dewitt, come over here with me a minute.”

Looking doubtful, Dewitt followed Jimmy back to the front desk near the entrance. Jimmy went behind the desk, stooped and reached inside, and came back up with a bottle and glass in hand. A whiskey bottle, half-full.

Dewitt gaped. “Jimmy, why you getting
that
out? I don’t even want to see that stuff no more. And if you’re getting that out for yourself, you’re heading down a road you don’t want to be on. I can tell you that from the life I’ve lived.”

Jimmy took a slow breath, pulled the cork on the bottle, and poured a generous shot into the glass, which he picked up, examined against the light of the window, and held toward Dewitt.

Dewitt looked aghast. “What the hell are you…now, see? You’ve even got me to cussing again! And I ain’t cussed in three years!”

“Dewitt, I’m trying to help you, not hurt you. And I think you’d help yourself if you’d lighten your own burden a little. Since you got religion, you been trying to be a perfect man. And you can’t. Nobody can. You’d be better off if you’d shoot for a little lower target. You can give up being a drunk without giving up every drop of liquor. You can give up sinning with women without having to strike yourself blind and pretend a pretty woman ain’t a pretty woman.”

Dewitt shook his head firmly. “That might be true for you and a lot of others, but it ain’t true for me. For me, if I was to take that one glass of whiskey, I might as well jump into a pond full of the
stuff. It’s like a sickness with me, Jimmy. You ought to know that. You’re young, but not so young as to not understand what it is to be trapped in a bottle like I was for so long. Put that glass away, and that bottle. I don’t want them.”

“But you do. I can see that you do.”

“Same way a rat wants its poison.”

Jimmy cursed in frustration, put the bottle back under the desk, then marched with the shot glass to the door. Opening the door, he tossed the whiskey out onto the porch and came back inside.

“I just poured out good whiskey, Dewitt. Damned waste. If I shouldn’t have been offering that to you, then I’m sorry. But here’s the point I was trying to make: there’s more to life than following rules and living for some notion of religion that demands more of you than anybody can give. Relax a little, Dewitt. Don’t let yourself forget how to enjoy life in this world while you’re aiming for the next one.”

“Jimmy, I think you’re trying to tell me what you think is good for me to hear. But it ain’t the same for me as it is for most people. I drank too much of my life away. Too much of my soul. I can’t never touch a drop again in my life. Not a drop. That’s all it would take to drown me, Jimmy. Just one drop of whiskey. One little drop. As for pretty women, Jesus hisself said you was adulterizing yourself just to lust after one.”

It was Jimmy’s turn to shrug. “I’ll take your word for it, Dewitt. But if you can’t take my advice on everything, at least listen to this: don’t be so preachy at folks. It don’t draw them to you and your religion. It puts them off. Pushes them away.”

“I can’t hide my light under a bushel, Jimmy.” Dewitt put his Bible under his arm and headed for the door. “I’ll be seeing you around. I hope you see the light someday.” He headed out to the street.