The Jessie James Archives

by Craig Gallant

  Frank and Cole had been trying to jolly him out of his dark depression, but even his brother’s efforts had slackened over the last day as Jesse’s mind refused to give ground. He was either thinking about Diablo Canyon and how he could euchre Billy the Kid, or he was obsessing upon those last moments in the little garret apartment above the Arcadia Saloon. He schooled his face to an impassive mask, smiled when the boys joked around during stops, and nodded as if he were listening whenever Frank or the Youngers had something to say. Yet, within the silence of his own mind there was only the whirlwind of images from Missouri City, The Arcadia, and the desperate hope that whatever was buried out in the badlands could somehow make it all better. He needed to believe that whatever it was, it was big enough to put the polish back on his name, heavy enough to convince himself that he was still on top.

  None of this was fully formed in his conscious mind. He knew only that he felt the terrible guilty weight over what happened with Misty, and a ravenous, driving hunger to be the man with his boot on the treasure chest when this latest adventure reached its conclusion. He knew there was no line he would not cross to see himself on top. A part of himself was obscenely happy it was Billy the Kid who would be left holding the bag when all was said and done.

  As Jesse’s mind had rumbled along these familiar tracks, the rest of the posse caught up to him. He was only aware of this as Frank waved a gloved hand towards his unresponsive face, shouting something that was drowned out by the Blackjack’s demonic roar. That was another thing Jesse liked about his new vehicle: it was nearly impossible for anyone to speak to him on the road, so they tended to leave him alone until it was time to stop.

  Jesse nodded to his brother and looked up ahead to the trail that stretched out before them. A small stream had been running parallel to the track for several hours now. A nice flat meadow ahead seemed as good a place as any to walk some of the stiffness out of their legs and replenish their water. He pointed to the meadow with two metal fingers and Frank nodded in turn, raising one hand in the air to get the attention of the men behind him. They thundered onto the field, the Iron Horses blasting dust and yellow grass into the air as the Blackjack rolled to a halt beside a couple of low trees that offered what meager shade there was to be had.

  As the others cut the power to their engines, allowing the Iron Horses to settle into the brittle grass of the field, Jesse pulled his goggles down under his chin and took a quick look around. There were clumps of low bushes and stunted trees dotting the entire region, but not much else that afforded any kind of cover. The shallow depression that channeled the stream would never hide a force large enough to challenge the outlaw gang with all of their overhauled firepower. The men were swinging down off their vehicles, many moving towards the stream or off to find a bush of convenience. Frank and Cole spoke together briefly, Frank nodded, and the two men approached Jesse. The outlaw chief braced himself. It was never good news when Frank and Cole came at him paired up this way.

  “Hey, Jesse, we been thinkin’.” Frank’s voice was casual, but Jesse rolled his eyes at the opening salvo.

  “Yeah? Must o’ missed the smell, on account of the vehicles.” Jesse stretched his arms out, noting the clicks and whirs as the machinery within slid smoothly from one position to another without a hitch. Whatever the Doc had done, it seemed to have worked.

  Frank smiled thinly at Jesse’s retort and then continued. “We been ridin’ for almost a day and a half now without much of a break. The boys are all dragged out, an’ we should be back on schedule, after the way you rode us all to get to Payson in the first place.” Cole stood off Frank’s shoulder, nodding. His mouth worked around a solid plug of chaw.

  Jesse looked at his brother for a moment and then flung his arms wide to indicate the barren landscape. “So, you wanna throw a roll down and take forty here in the scrub, Frank? You so tuckered out you wanna sleep on the ground for a bit?”

  Frank shot a sour look at Cole, who shrugged. “Jesse, you don’t have to come over the tartar with us. I’m just thinkin’, you want the boys ready for a shindig when we get to Diablo Canyon, you might wanna think about givin’ ‘em a chance to take a least a little rest afore we get there.”

  Jesse turned away from his brother and spat trail dust off to the side of his Blackjack. He looked back at Frank with an annoyed expression. “You might have missed it, when I said we needed to get to the Canyon as fast as we possibly can?”

  Frank shook his head, with Cole behind him echoing the motion. “No I did not, Jesse, an’ you know it. But if we pull into the Canyon half shagged and dull-minded, it ain’t gonna matter that we made it in time, is it? Now, Garland over yonder says there’s a small town, ‘bout a couple more hours ride from here. Place called Sacred Lake, even has a small lodge for travelers. We roll into town, get some shut eye, we’re up at the crack of dawn an’ gone faster’n a milkmaid’s virtue.”

  “Boys could really use some shut eye in a real bed, Jesse.” Cole’s voice was respectful, but his gaze was steady, almost challenging the outlaw boss to contradict him.

  Jesse thought about it for a second. “Sacred Lake, eh?” He made a show of looking all around them at the rolling fields as far as the eye could see. “You figure there’s a lake out here somewhere?”

  Cole said, “It ain’t always there, Jesse. It sometimes is and it sometimes ain’t, accordin’ to the seasons. Like a lot of things out here. But some religious folks, awhile back, came in and set themselves up some dairy farms.” He spat into the dirt. “There’s some as see it’s sometimes bein’ there sometimes not as a bit of a miracle. They been there a few years now. They got a nice little village an’ everythin’.”

  “Garland says it ain’t fancy, Jesse, but it don’t need to be. We don’t lose much time for stoppin’, and it would mean an awful lot to the boys. They’re ridin’ as hard as they can, brother, but you’ll be drivin’ ‘em into an early grave you keep this up. When you need ‘em the most, they ain’t gonna be worth a tinker’s fart.”

  Jesse scowled, but he considered what his brother and Cole had said. He still could not figure out Billy’s angle. It was unlike the younger outlaw to share in any major score like this. Billy was either scared of what he was apt to find out in the badlands, or he was working at something Jesse had not been able to figure yet. The last thing Jesse wanted was to get it in the neck from Billy, though. Knowing as little as he knew, the best way to get the bulge on the Kid would be to get to Diablo Canyon as early as possible and see what could be seen.

  But Frank made a good point, also, that no matter what Billy’s scheme was, he would need his boys in the best shape possible if he was going to have any chance of turning the cards on him.

  “This lake is a couple hours ahead?” He knew he sounded angry, and he did not much care.

  “We just take the Lake Mary trail, up ahead aways, an’ we should be there before full dark.” Frank looked to Cole for confirmation and the other man nodded.

  Jesse looked back over the men as they moved about, taking water from the stream or resting against their ‘Horses. They were clearly all exhausted beneath their forced bravado, but they were all also clearly watching the exchange between their boss and his brother as closely as they could without being obvious.

  Jesse nodded. “Okay, if you boys think we need it, we’ll take the time.” He scowled at his brother. “But I swear, Frank, if things get knocked into a cocked hat in Diablo Canyon because I didn’t have enough time to scope the lay of the land —“

  Frank held up a hand to stop his brother’s words. “Jesse, you push on through now and ain’t none of us, including you, who will be able to catch a case o’ scabies in a bawdy house at the end of the ride.”

  That brought Jesse up short and he could not keep a grin from twisting his lip. “Well, I don’t know about that, Frank. Cole ain’t never had a hard time catchin’ scabies.”

  Cole snorted and hooked his thumbs beneath his holster belt. “Just cuz you boys don’t
like to live on the edge o’ danger ain’t no reason I ever seen I should settle for the tame fillies.”

  Jesse shook his head, one hand raised in surrender. “Okay Frank, you win. “ He pitched his voice to be heard by the rest of the men. “Alright, you coffee boilers, listen up. Frank here has convinced me you rough’n ready algerines need your beauty sleep afore we ride down on Diablo Canyon. Appears some gospel sharps have set up shop on some magical lake just north of here, and they got themselves a lodge. You boys wanna sleep in some beds afore we brace whatever we find in Diablo Canyon?”

  There were many smiles and nods, most weary, and Jesse could not stop a pang of frustration. If even a few of the men had put on a brave front he could have faced down Frank’s suggestion and pushed the men through. Still, if every one of them was ready to settle down for a night, maybe it was for the best.

  “Alright, then. We’ll ride on up to Sacred Lake and see what’s there. But don’t you lot be thinkin’ of sleepin’ in, now!” He scowled at them and they grinned back, some raising their hands in mock surrender. “First yahoo among you don’t get up, we’ll be draggin’ him the rest of the way to Diablo Canyon, see if that don’t wake ‘im up!”

  As Jesse and his gang rode down the dusty trail, the grassy fields along the left hand side slowly gave way to the tall, dark Ponderosa pines of the Coconino forest. Majestic peaks reared up out of the west, blocking the last rays of the sun and providing dramatic silhouettes for the final shimmering colors of sunset. The muted rumble of their mounts bounced from the trees, and as they pulled into the township of Sacred Lake, lights were already appearing in many of the houses. Jesse noticed something strange about the nature of the lights without really thinking about it. It was soon clear, however, that something was very different about Sacred Lake.

  “There ain’t no RJ-1027.” Jim Younger, the second oldest of the four brothers, muttered as the posse pulled up on the edge of town. “No generators ‘r nothin’.”

  Jesse realized the lights lacked the reddish tinge of RJ-1027 lighting, and there were no winking tell-tales anywhere to be seen. Sacred Lake, in fact, looked exactly like a town out of his distant youth, without any of the technology or equipment Carpathian’s Red Renaissance had introduced to the western territories.

  A two story building, larger than any other in the town center, had a shingle-sign hanging from a post in front, and as the roaring machines came close, their road lights flaring, Jesse saw the name Sacred Lake Lodge emblazoned on it. There was a rough image of a lake in the middle of the sign, and floating above it a strange symbol he had never seen before.

  “No recharge stations, Jesse.” Frank pulled up beside his brother and leaned over to shout into his ear. “Some of the boys’ll be coastin’ into Diablo Canyon at his rate.”

  Jesse nodded to his brother and pulled the Blackjack nose first against the hitching post in front of the lodge. The others slotted themselves into position as well, and soon the last Iron Horse stuttered into silence. The silence was oppressive, and he realized it had been a very long time since he had been in a town with no generators at all.

  The tall door of the lodge opened, throwing a soft yellow fan of light onto the front lawn and its flagstone walkway. A man in an apron and a wide smile stepped out onto the stoop and waved to the group gathering at the gate.

  “Welcome to Sacred Lake, strangers!” He stumped down the steps and as he came closer Jesse saw that the man had the heavy, muscular build of a farmer. His hair was cut in a strange fashion that left the sides long, hanging down past his ears, but the top was a rough bristle. “You boys need some vittles? I’m afraid we don’t have any alcohol, but we’ve got good honest food, milk and clean, cool water, and clean beds a plenty for the lot of you.”

  The man stopped a couple paces from Jesse and a vague look of recognition came over his face before smoothing away. Jesse wondered if he had imagined it.

  Cole stepped up to the fence, one hand on the rough wood. “You ain’t got no generators or recharge stations hereabouts?”

  The man smiled warmly and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. We aspire to a simpler lifestyle here in Sacred Lake. We do not allow any of the newest technologies to come between us and the soil.”

  One of the younger men, Bryce, grunted. Jim Younger stepped up to his brother’s side. “You got a problem with what we’re packin’?”

  The man shook his head again. “Of course not. Travelers cannot be expected to adopt the deeper philosophies of every small town at which they sojourn. Might I entice you all to come in and lay down your loads, however? It is pleasant inside, and our prices are fair.”

  “Fair.” Another of the boys snorted. “Old man don’t know from fair yet.”

  Jesse stepped from the pack and put out his hand. “We’d be most obliged to you, Mr…. ?”

  The man’s hand came up automatically. “You can call me Elijah, son.” He raised a finger with another of his honest smiles. “And don’t feel you have to pass along your name. I’m no stranger to the wider world, and I can tell by your clothing and your transportation that you all are travelers on the verges of life. We of Sacred Lake will not pry.”

  Jesse tilted his head at this forward statement, but looked around at his men, reading nothing but hunger, thirst, and exhaustion there, and nodded. “Thank you, sir. We’d be much obliged, as I said.”

  Jesse followed the grey haired man up the steps, looking back to give his men a stern glance. If the folks of Sacred Lake were not going to give them any trouble, then it was best to play along. They could decide in the morning if they wanted to pay or not.

  A flicker of movement across the street caught the outlaw’s eye as he was about to turn to go into the lodge. A curtain or drape over a window had been dropped, muting the soft glow of a lamp within. The fabric still shifted slowly back and forth as he watched, settling into stillness. Jesse shrugged. Just a local, curious at the crowd of vehicles. It was surprising there were not more gawkers, really, considering this little burg did not have so much as an RJ-1027 warmed out house.

  Jesse shrugged and went into the lodge. His band tramped in after him, quickly filling the small common room inside.

  “Feel free to have a seat, gentlemen,” Elijah waved to the empty room, full of mismatched tables and chairs. “Let me speak to my wife, see what rooms would be best for ya’ll.” He disappeared through a small door, going deeper into the building.

  Frank looked around as the men settled down at tables all around. Some were rolling worn dice, others dealing tattered cards, but most were just sitting wearily, little more on their minds than the promised beds.

  “This is a pretty nifty joint, eh, Jesse?” Frank nodded to the fireplace across the room. “That’s quite a pigsticker for a bunch of doxologists, wouldn’t you say?”

  Jesse picked his way through the tables to get a better look at the weapon. The blade was a shining silver sweep of steel, nothing like the dark metals used by the Union in its charged blades. The handle of the thing continued the graceful curve, with supple black leather wrapped around two different sections, suggesting it was to be used two handed. All the metal work on the handle, including the butt end, the cross piece, and a fancy, fluted bit that divided the two areas of leather, were all done in gleaming silver. Jesse did not know much about swords, but he could see that the silver alone on that weapon would probably buy an Iron Horse if the owner was willing to part with it.

  Jesse grunted at Frank. “Mighty fancy.”

  The outlaw chief was reaching out to touch the soft leather of the handle when Elijah came back in through the heavy door. His voice stopped Jesse’s hand in mid-motion despite its casual tone.

  “Ah, you’ve noticed Isten, I see.” The man’s smile was still in place, still open and honest as it had been since he had opened his door to the outlaws.

  Jesse looked at the older man with a quirked eyebrow. “What now?”

  The innkeeper gestured to the sword. “The scimitar o
n the wall. A family heirloom my father called Isten Kardja. No idea what it means, I’m afraid. It’s been on one wall or another since before I was born.”

  Jesse turned back to look more closely at the sword. Frank was still staring and gave his younger brother a quick look before purposefully moving away from the wall. With a small shrug, Jesse did likewise.

  “It’s a lovely piece, and no mistake, Mr. Elijah.” Jesse moved back towards the innkeeper.

  “Please, just call me Elijah. My wife and sons have gone upstairs to get the rooms there ready. We’ve plenty, as we don’t often receive guests. There is only one man upstairs now, a victim of an unfortunate accident on the road, I’m afraid. We’ve been taking care of him since some friends of his left him behind yesterday.”

  Cole and Jim exchanged looks and then Cole shot a glance at Jesse, who nodded before turning back to the innkeeper. “Well, that’s great, Elijah, thank you kindly. My friend here,” he gestured to another of the Younger clan, John, giving the man a quick glare. “He’s a bit of a frontier sawbones, if you think it might help to get something of a professional opinion on the situation?”

  The man’s smile did not fluctuate at all. “Oh, I’m certain he’s in as good hands as will be possible, never fear. Nothing to worry about. His friends had dressed his wounds quite well, and left plenty of money for his care and lodgings.”

  The man’s smile did not shift. Jesse noticed, as did Frank and Cole, and their eyes grew suspicious. “They had plenty of money, these friends of his?” The outlaw chief’s voice was casual.

  “Well, I can’t speak to one man’s definition of plenty, son, but they had enough for me and mine to offer what help we can.” Elijah’s smile widened. “Now, would you boys like me to show you to those rooms before some of you peter out right here in the common room?”

  The stairway was narrow, the stairs steep. The upper level of the building was stifling, but cozy. A small chair on the upper landing held a well-made afghan that sported the same symbol as the sign out front, and the walls of the upper hallway were decorated with paintings of far-off exotic locations that featured many strange trees and animals. Jesse was a little startled to realize that the strangest things of all, however, were the mundane oil lamps hanging from the ceiling.