The Gentleman Outlaw and Me--Eli

by Mary Downing Hahn

  "Calvin," I yelled, to be heard over the noise of the train. "What about Caesar?"

  The Gentleman Outlaw peered over the edge of the roof, white-faced and hanging on with all his strength. "Boost him up," he hollered. "I'll grab his paws and pull him the rest of the way."

  I grabbed the dog and tried to hoist him up the ladder toward Calvin's outstretched hands, but at that moment the door flew open. Out came Roscoe, belly first, a pistol in his hand. I closed my eyes, sure he meant to shoot all three of us, but he shoved me aside and climbed up the ladder after Calvin.

  "Featherbone!" he bellowed. "Stop or I'll shoot you dead! There's reward money on your miserable head, and I aim to collect it!"

  I heard Calvin yell, "No obese ignoramus is going to hand me over to the authorities!"

  Then there was shooting and more yelling and cursing. Next thing I knew, Roscoe was wrestling Calvin down the ladder. The Gentleman Outlaw was still swearing and struggling, but he wasn't bleeding. It appeared Roscoe had missed him altogether.

  When Roscoe was almost down, he made the mistake of sticking his big old rear end right in Caesar's face. It's no wonder my dog sank his teeth into it. From the way he hung on, it seemed Caesar wanted a piece of Roscoe's trousers to replace the one he'd left behind in Durango.

  Roscoe let out a bellow of pure rage, and Shovel Face aimed his gun at Caesar. He would have killed my dog right then and there, but I threw myself in front of Caesar and begged Shovel Face not to shoot.

  Baldy sniggered and said, "Go ahead, pard', plug 'em both. They ain't nothing but no-count little old varmints anyways. The world would be well shut of the pair of 'em."

  Shovel Face squinted down the barrel of his gun as if he was trying to decide which of us to aim at first. Before he made up his mind, the train conductor stepped out on the platform. He had a couple of hard-looking men with him, Pinkerton thugs, I guessed, hired to protect the railroad against the likes of Calvin and me.

  "What's going on here?" the conductor asked.

  We all started talking at once. Accusations flew back and forth so fast the poor man told us to be quiet. "You first," he said to Roscoe.

  The ugly outlaw drew himself up tall, but he kept a good grip on Calvin. "I'm Mr. Roscoe Suggs," he said, as if the conductor had no doubt heard of him and had always hoped to have the honor of meeting him. Giving Calvin a shake, he added, "This here man and that there boy are wanted for horse theft in Ouray. I got the poster to prove it."

  I took a good look at the paper Roscoe showed the conductor. Sure enough, it described a curly-haired youth and a redheaded boy who'd stolen three horses belonging to Mister Roscoe Suggs, Esquire. There was a reward of fifty dollars for our capture. I was a mite disappointed it wasn't a bigger amount, but Roscoe said he was claiming every cent.

  "Me and my boys caught these plug-uglies," he boasted. "We know them from way back, and they are surely the most cussed scalawags ever to take a breath of Colorado air. I'll have you know the horses they stole belong to me. Which is why me and my friends here are a-riding on this here train."

  The conductor perused the poster, looking from me to Calvin and back again, taking in Caesar, too. I was sorry we didn't look the dandies anymore. If we hadn't been so shabby, things might have gone better with us, as it's a well-known fact that wealth is respected no matter how it's acquired.

  "They match the description all right," said the conductor. The Pinkerton thugs nodded. I doubt they were men of many words. "But I ain't sure I trust their safety in your hands, sir."

  Roscoe opened his mouth to bellow a protest, but the conductor hushed him. "We'll tie them up nice and secure in the baggage car, sir. Mr. Whipps and Mr. Chaney will keep an eye on them. They are most particular about the care of wanted men, sir."

  Here the Pinkerton thugs nodded again, exchanging sharp-toothed grins as they did so.

  "When we get to Tinville," the conductor said, "you can take full responsibility for their miserable lives, Mr. Suggs."

  "What time will that be?" asked Roscoe, pulling out his watch.

  The conductor made a show of looking at his schedule and checking his watch. "In one hour and thirty-seven minutes."

  Roscoe grumbled and mumbled and confabbed with his cronies, but it was plain the conductor's mind was made up. It was off to the baggage car for Calvin and me.

  "What about the mutt?" Shovel Face gazed at Caesar as if he was just itching to kill him.

  Before I had a chance to speak up, Roscoe booted Caesar off the platform. I heard my dog yelp, and then he was gone. Using the cuss words I'd learned from frequenting saloons, I hurled myself at Roscoe, but he stopped me with a punch in the side of the head.

  The next thing I knew Mr. Whipps was shoving me through the door and into the passenger car. We must have made quite an entrance. Folks stared at us and murmured to one another and asked questions that went unanswered. I kept my head down to hide my tears. My dog was most likely dead and I was going to jail, possibly to be hanged. It seemed my short career as an outlaw was over and my life as well. If Papa was still in Tinville, he'd disown me for shaming him so.

  After Mr. Whipps and Mr. Chaney tied us up, the two men gave their attention to a noisy game of cards. Calvin tried to interest them in dealing him a hand, but they said they didn't want no truck with a cheating rascal.

  Calvin turned to me and started making excuses for our predicament, but I didn't feel like talking. Or listening. If one of us had to be thrown off the train, I swear I wished it had been the counterfeit outlaw instead of Caesar.

  21

  WHEN THE TRAIN STOPPED IN TINVTLLE, Roscoe entered the car and gave Calvin a kick in the ribs to rouse him. The poor boy got to his feet, looking much the worse for wear. I hadn't noticed his black eye and cut lip, nor had I realized his suit jacket was ripped up the back. He seemed so pitiful I moved a little closer so's he'd know I wasn't mad anymore. Now that we were surrounded by enemies, I figured we'd better take care of each other the best we could.

  Calvin caught my eye and smiled, but his eyes stayed just as sad as Caesar's when he was feeling low.

  That's when I remembered what Roscoe had done to my dog. I turned on him, hoping to bite him as Caesar would have, but for a fat man Roscoe was fast on his feet. Grabbing my ear, he twisted it hard.

  "Behave yourself, boy," he hissed. 'You ain't about to pull none of your fancy tricks, nor Featherbone neither. Nobody's got pity for horse thieves in these parts—no matter how young or pretty they are. Why, folks will come from miles away to watch you two dance on air."

  "I hate you," I hollered at Roscoe. 'You're nothing but a dog-killing no-count drunken skunk!"

  Although that earned me a stinging box on the ears, I felt somewhat the better for saying it.

  I saw Mr. Whipps grin when I told Roscoe what I thought of him, but he didn't make a move to stop him from hitting me. It was clear he and Mr. Chaney didn't give a hoot about Calvin and me. They just smoked their smelly cigars and drank their coffee. Didn't even wave, much less say good-bye, when Roscoe and his partners dragged Calvin and me off the train.

  By the time our little group reached the jailhouse, half of Tinville must have been following us. Most had no idea who Calvin and I were or what we'd done, but they had plenty of opinions. Some thought we were cold-blooded killers. Others believed we'd robbed a string of banks to the south. A few were convinced we'd derailed a train in the New Mexico Territory. I heard more than one claim I wasn't a boy at all but a midget dedicated to a life of crime.

  The sheriff and his deputy met us at the jailhouse door as if they'd been expecting us. I suppose the conductor had wired ahead to warn them a pair of dangerous outlaws were coming their way. When I finally raised my eyes from the sheriffs dusty boots to his face, I saw a tall redheaded man with a gap between his front teeth just like mine.

  My heart fell to the bottom of my empty belly and lay there fluttering like a wounded bird. Sheriff Yates was definitely my father. There was no doubt of
it. I didn't dare look at him or Calvin. I just stood there wishing I'd never left Kansas.

  The deputy was the first to speak. "Why, this boy's the spitting image of you, Alf, right down to his red hair and the gap between his teeth," he said. "He ain't kin to you, is he?"

  I felt Calvin staring at me, but I kept my head down. My stomach churned and my mouth filled with hot spit like it does when you're about to throw up. My worst fear had come true. The man Calvin was aiming to kill was my father.

  "Elliot, you know I never had a son," Papa said to his deputy. "But if I had, you can bet your life he wouldn't be a common thief like this filthy little guttersnipe."

  Turning his attention to Calvin, he continued. "Calvin Featherbone, I arrest you as a horse thief, a liar, a cheat, and a vagabond. Is there anything you want to say in your defense?"

  "Only this." Calvin looked Papa in the eye, just as bold as you please. "Would you kindly tell me whom I have the honor of addressing?"

  Papa mulled the words over as if he were translating them from a foreign tongue. "If it's my name you want," he said at last, "I'm Sheriff Alfred Yates, duly elected by the citizens of this town to keep law and order."

  "Then you, sir, are my sworn enemy." Calvin spoke softly but his voice just sung with hatred.

  While Calvin and Papa eyeballed each other, I stood staring from one to the other, my heart near torn in two. I'd been with Calvin so long, he truly seemed like my brother. I was used to his silly, highfalutin ways. Knew him almost as well as I knew myself. Yet here was Papa, my true blood kin, but a total stranger who'd abandoned me when I was a little child and left me in the hands of hard-hearted relatives who sorely misused me. Who was I supposed to be loyal to?

  "I assume this outburst of animosity is related to something of a personal nature," Papa said to Calvin, showing he knew a few good words himself, "and not simply a hatred of the law in general?"

  "That is correct, sir." Calvin drew himself up straight. Except for his dirty clothes and unshaven face, he looked a perfect gentleman. "Does not my name sound familiar to you? I am the son of Calvin Thaddeus Featherbone, Senior. A man you cheated and then most vilely shot and killed. A man whose death I have come here to avenge even as Hamlet avenged his father's death!"

  Calvin's voice shook and his face was dead white, but he looked Papa in the eye while he made his fancy speech. If Mr. Whipps hadn't taken Calvin's pistol when he arrested him on the train, I was sure my old sidekick would have shot my father, even if it meant his own death.

  "I remember your father well," Papa said. "I'm saddened but not surprised to see you have followed his footsteps into a life of crime."

  Ignoring a string of poetic curses from Calvin, Roscoe spoke up. He'd been standing beside the Gentleman Outlaw as patient as a groom waiting to exchange wedding vows. "What about my reward, Mr. Sheriff, sir?" he asked, showing off his best manners. "I done brought in two fugitives from justice. How long do I have to wait for my fifty dollars?"

  Papa sighed. "The truth of it is I have to wire the sheriffs office in Ouray. I expect they'll have the money here in a day or two."

  "A day or two?" Roscoe snorted in disbelief. "I'm a busy man, I got things to do, places to go. That's a 'tarnal long time to keep me waiting for what's due me."

  Papa shrugged as if it were of no importance to him what Mr. Roscoe Suggs did. "I suggest you find some business in Tinville to attend to," he said coldly, "but make certain it's legal. I run a tight town. I don't tolerate troublemakers."

  "You'll see me tomorrow," Roscoe said, making it sound like a threat. "My reward money better be here and them two crooks better be waiting to do some fancy dancing on the end of a rope."

  After Roscoe left, Calvin started to speak, but Papa silenced him. "You can say your piece later, young man. I haven't yet dealt with your accomplice."

  "The boy's as innocent as a newborn baby," Calvin said. "Believe me, he—"

  "I'll determine his innocence or guilt," Papa said, eyeing me sternly. "State your full name, son."

  Gulping hard, I peered into his steely gray eyes, the very ones Mama had once gazed into. What had she seen in their cold depths? I was tempted to say "Elijah Bates" and go to jail with Calvin. Hanging might be better than telling this haughty fellow I was his daughter.

  "What's the trouble, boy?" Papa asked with more than a trace of irritation. "Has the cat made off with your tongue?"

  Instead of answering him, I turned to Calvin, who was staring at me in a most perplexed way. "It seems I've lied to you," I said. "I apologize for not telling you sooner, but—"

  Calvin interrupted me, scowling something fierce. "I knew it all along! Your last name's Yates, isn't it? You're this infamous coward's son!"

  I tried to sidle closer to Calvin to soften the blow, but Papa yanked me away so hard he just about dis located my arm. "What in tarnation is that thieving, no-good rascal talking about?" he hollered at me.

  My hand flew to the locket. "Calvin's right about my last name," I said. "It's Yates, though at the moment I wish it wasn't."

  Too shamefaced to look at Calvin, I added, "He's wrong about me being your son, though. I'm your daughter, Eliza."

  For a moment there wasn't a sound. It was as if everybody in the room had turned to stone. Papa was the first to speak. Stepping toward me, he took hold of my shoulders in a grip so firm and hard I felt it clear down to my bones.

  "What sort of low-down tomfoolery is this, boy?" he asked.

  For an answer, I dangled the locket in front of him. "Open it. You'll see Mama's face as well as your own."

  Papa stared at the miniature portraits. "Where did you steal this, you imp of perdition?"

  By now I was crying. "Mama gave it to me before she died," I sobbed. "She told me you were a good man, she said you'd send for me, she said you'd take care of me, but I grew weary of waiting, Papa. I came all this way to find you, and look at the way you're treating me."

  All the while I was blubbering to Papa, I could hear Calvin carrying on. He just couldn't believe I'd fooled him so completely. 'You should have told me, Eli," he kept saying. 'You've made a damned fool out of me!"

  Finally Papa told Calvin to be quiet. And the deputy too, for he was running his mouth as well, going on and on about how he knew it the minute he saw me.

  "Tarnation, Elliot," Papa said. "I know the child looks like me, but I left a daughter in Kansas, not a son. How can I be sure this isn't some elaborate hoax dreamed up by Featherbone?"

  "Don't lay the blame on me for that perfidious child!" Calvin said, as hot under the collar as an Independence Day firecracker. "I came here to avenge my father, not to engage in asinine games."

  Calvin kept on yelling, but neither Papa nor the deputy paid the slightest attention to him.

  'You know what I'd do, Alf?" said Elliot.

  "Not having been blessed with mind-reading skills, I have no idea what you'd do, Elliot," Papa snapped.

  Elliot reached into his pocket for his tobacco. Stuffing a big wad into his cheek, he said, "I'd take the child to Miss Jenny for a bath, which it could surely use as it's contaminating the air."

  Papa nodded and took my arm. Turning to the deputy, he said, "Lock up Featherbone, Elliot. I'll leave it to Miss Jenny to be the judge of who or what this child is."

  "No, Papa," I cried. "Don't put Calvin in jail. If it hadn't been for him, I'd never have gotten here."

  I tried to run to Calvin, but Elliot swatted me aside as if I were no more than an irksome mosquito. As Papa dragged me away, I heard the cell door clang shut. "Traitor!" Calvin yelled after me.

  "Step lively," Papa said, pulling me behind him like I was a stubborn donkey. "I have important business to attend to."

  I looked back at the jailhouse, but it was all blurry through my tears. First Caesar, now Calvin—I'd lost everybody I cared about just to find a mean-hearted man who still didn't believe I was his daughter. My one wish had been to find my father. It was a mighty cruel world if I had to pay such a terr
ible price for getting it.

  22

  OUTSIDE THE JAILHOUSE, THE CROWD HAD vanished except for a few layabouts sitting here and there on railings or loitering by saloons, spitting tobacco and watching Papa quick-march me past. I suppose they wondered what a child my age had done to deserve such treatment. I must confess I wondered myself.

  Despite its big hotels and fancy opera house, Tinville seemed no different from every other mining town Calvin and I had gone through on our long journey from Kansas. A little bigger than some, a little smaller than others, but the same old dogs slept in the shade, the same old chickens pecked in the dust, and the same old saloons and stores and livery stables lined the streets. I swear I'd never felt so glum and dispirited in my whole twelve years. It was all I could do not to throw myself down on the ground and cry.

  By the time we reached the depot, I was stumbling along, half-blind with tears. Papa hadn't said one word since we'd left the jailhouse. Nor had he let go of my wrist.

  Suddenly something caught my eye. I came to a stop and stared down the railroad tracks. Head hanging low, sniffing here and there like he was trying to catch a scent, a dog was limping slowly toward me—a shaggy brown dog I'd thought never to see again.

  "Caesar," I hollered, "Caesar!" Breaking away from Papa, I ran to meet my dog, so happy I couldn't do a thing but hug him tight and slobber all over him. "Praise be, you're not dead after all!"

  When I finally straightened up, I caught Papa looking at me. It seemed his eyes had gotten a bit softer, but he didn't smile. "I reckon this miserable fleahound is your dog," he said sort of grufflike.

  "Yes, sir, he most certainly is. A better dog you'll never find."

  Caesar held out his paw to Papa. I reckon he would have showed off every trick he knew if I'd asked him to, but it was pleasing enough to see my father solemnly shake Caesar's paw.

  "That villain Roscoe kicked him off the train," I said. "I thought he was dead for sure."

  Papa touched my shoulder for just a second. "Come along, you and the dog both. I want you to meet Miss Jenny."