Butch Cassidy the Lost Years

by William W. Johnstone

We didn’t stop in Largo but headed straight on to town. When we got there we went to the Porter house, where Vince’s ma seemed surprised to see him. She gave him a hug, though, and nodded to me and Enoch.

  “Mr. Strickland,” she said. “Mr. Cole. What brings all of you to town?”

  “I’ve got something for you, Ma,” Vince said. We had fixed up a money belt for him out of a piece of blanket so he could wear it under his shirt. He pulled it out now and set it on the dining room table.

  “What in the world is that?” Mrs. Porter asked.

  “What the railroad owes us,” Vince said.

  His mother’s eyes got big. She said, “All everybody in town is talking about this morning is that train robbery. Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with that, Vincent. Please.”

  Vince didn’t say anything. After thirty seconds or so, Mrs. Porter groaned and put her hands to her cheeks. She sank down in a wing chair with a lace doily on the back.

  “Vince, no,” she said. She looked like she could barely comprehend the situation. “You shouldn’t have done such a thing.”

  “It was the only way for us to get what’s rightfully coming to us, Ma,” he told her.

  “Only way for the railroad to get what it had comin’, too,” Enoch added in his dry drawl.

  “What they’re doing is wrong, but this . . . this isn’t right, either,” Mrs. Porter insisted.

  I said, “Maybe not in the eyes of the law, ma’am, but I’ll tell you . . . it’s justice. None of that money came from the passengers, or from the mail sacks. No innocent person will suffer from losing it. The railroad will have to make it good, and it’s the railroad’s greed that cost you your husband. I’d say they could pay for a long time to come without squarin’ that debt.”

  She looked at me and asked, “Mr. Strickland, was this your idea?”

  I wasn’t going to lie to someone who’d suffered like she had. I said, “Yes, ma’am, it was. So don’t blame your boy. We pretty much forced him to go along with us, didn’t we, Enoch?”

  “That’s not true,” Vince said before Enoch could answer. “Well, the part about Mr. Strickland coming up with the idea is, but nobody forced me to do anything. I wanted to go along. I want Kennedy and Milton to have to answer to their bosses and try to explain how that payroll was lost on their watch.”

  Mrs. Porter clasped her hands together in her lap, looked down, and shook her head. I thought she was going to be stubborn about the whole thing, but then she looked up and I saw a hint of a smile on her lips.

  “I imagine that was pretty awkward for them, all right,” she said.

  That made me grin. I said, “Yes, ma’am, I bet it was.”

  She looked at the makeshift money belt on the table.

  “I don’t feel right about this,” she said. “But to tell the truth, Bob’s death really left us in a bind.” She thought about it some more. “I suppose I could take just enough to get by for a little while . . .”

  “You need to take all of it,” Vince said. “My part, too. I don’t need it.”

  He went on to explain to her what I’d told him about not depositing the money in the bank just yet. She seemed to grasp the idea. She protested a little more about taking the loot, but I could tell she really wanted to and knew that in the end she would. It wasn’t really a matter of the money. She just wanted to get back at Kennedy and Milton, as well she should have.

  Finally, after it was all settled, she said, “You have to promise me, Vince, that you’ll never do anything this foolish again. You could have been hurt, or even killed!”

  He glanced at me, then said, “I promise, Ma. I’ll never again do what I did yesterday.”

  That seemed to satisfy her. She asked, “Can you spend the night?”

  Vince shook his head.

  “We have to get back to the ranch,” he told her. “But I’ll come to town for a visit again just as soon as I can.”

  I could tell she was disappointed that he wasn’t staying, but she didn’t try to talk him into it. Instead she hugged him, shook hands with Enoch and me, and said, “Any time you gentlemen are in town, I’ll be expecting you to stop by.”

  “I reckon there’s a good possibility of that, ma’am,” Enoch told her.

  “I’m going to make sure of it,” she said. “I baked some sugar cookies this morning. I’m going to wrap them up and let you take them with you.”

  Vince practically licked his lips at that, so I knew the cookies would be good. I said, “We sure won’t turn down that offer, ma’am.”

  We had to go by the train station on our way out of town, and as we did I saw Sheriff Lester standing in front of the door talking to three men I recognized as Rutledge, Kennedy, and Milton. All of them looked upset, and I felt a real satisfaction from seeing that. Lester didn’t seem to notice us, and we didn’t linger in the neighborhood of the depot. I didn’t see any point in reminding Lester of our existence if we didn’t have to.

  We had gone a few miles along the dirt road that led to Largo when I spotted something up ahead. An automobile had pulled off to the side and stopped, and one of the flaps that opened on the front of it was lifted. Somebody wearing a long duster was bent over looking under the flap. Obviously, something had gone wrong with the contraption and it wouldn’t run.

  I reckon the smile on my face must’ve been pretty smug when we rode up. I was thinking that this was just one more example of why a man was a lot better off with a horse. Of course, a horse could go lame or throw its rider, leaving a man afoot just like this poor gent was. But I didn’t think about that at the time.

  “Looks like you’ve got some trouble there, partner,” I said in a mocking tone. “Need some help?”

  The stranded hombre straightened up, turned around, and glared at me, and he was no hombre at all. He was a she, a fact that the long, shapeless duster had concealed. Her red hair was tucked up under a straw boater that was tied on her head with a scarf, so I hadn’t had that clue, either.

  “No, I don’t need any help,” Daisy Hatfield said with a defiant jut of her chin. “In fact, I’m just fine, Mr. Strickland!”

  CHAPTER 32

  There haven’t been very many times in my life when I was rendered speechless, as they say, but that was one of ’em.

  Of course that flustered condition didn’t last but a second or two, and then I said, “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss Hatfield, but if that automobile won’t go and you’re afoot out here miles from town, you ain’t fine.”

  “Nonsense,” she said without missing a beat. “I’ll simply walk back to town and find someone to assist me.”

  “You got three someones right here.”

  “You mean you know how to repair an automobile?”

  Well, she had me there. I looked at Enoch and Vince, and when they both shook their heads, I said, “As a matter of fact, we don’t.” Bravado prompted me to add, “But I’d be glad to take a look at it and see if I can figure it out.”

  She stepped back and waved a slender hand at the workings underneath the flap.

  “Be my guest,” she said.

  I swung down from the saddle, but it took me only a moment to realize I had gnawed off a lot bigger hunk than I could chew. I looked at all the wires and hoses and metal rods and knew it was hopeless. None of it made sense to me.

  Admitting defeat went against the grain, though, so I asked, “What does it do?”

  “Nothing. That’s the problem.”

  “No, I mean, it was runnin’, wasn’t it? You got this far, so it must have been.”

  “Yes, it was running,” Daisy said. “But then it just sputtered a couple of times and the engine stopped running. It rolled a few more feet and I was able to get it over here on the side of the road, but that’s all.”

  From horseback, Enoch rubbed his jaw and said, “Does it have any of that foul-smellin’ stuff it runs on in it?”

  Daisy’s eyes widened. She put a hand to her mouth and said, “Oh, my word. I forgot to put gasoline in
it, and I’ll bet Father must have, too.”

  “Preachers’ daughters shouldn’t gamble,” I said.

  “That’s not what I meant.” She sounded pretty upset as she went on, “What am I going to do now?”

  I had already started thinking about that. I said, “We could tie our ropes to it and pull it, I suppose. Three horses ought to be enough to get it rollin’.”

  “Could you take me back to town?”

  I didn’t particularly want to go back to the county seat. That would take the rest of the day and force us to spend the night in town. I said, “Why don’t we just take you on to Largo? That’s where you were headed, wasn’t it?”

  “Well . . . yes. But it would be closer to go back, wouldn’t it?”

  “Never go back when you can go ahead,” I said.

  Enoch added, “Davy Crockett said, ‘Be sure you’re right, then go ahead.’ ”

  “Oh, all right, you’ve talked me into it,” Daisy said with a sigh. “Once we get there I can put gasoline in the tank with the new pump at Mr. Farnum’s store.”

  That was what I had thought, too.

  Like all self-respecting cowboys, we never went anywhere without our lassos. We tied them securely to the front of the automobile, then dallied them around our saddle horns.

  “Where am I going to ride?” Daisy asked.

  “You can ride in the automobile,” I said, pointing to it. “It’ll go almost as fast with us pullin’ it as it does under its own power, I expect.”

  “Why don’t I ride with you?” She opened the duster to reveal that she was wearing trousers. “I’m dressed for it, after all.”

  “I’m surprised your pa would stand for a female relative bein’ dressed in such scandalous fashion.”

  She had to smile at that. She said, “I told him it was necessary in order to operate the machine properly. He’s still frightened of it, so he didn’t question me.”

  It would have been more apt for her to ride with Vince, since he was closer to her own age, but once I was in the saddle, I held my hand down to her and took my left foot out of the stirrup. We clasped wrists, and she stepped up and swung a leg over the horse’s back like she’d been doing it all her life.

  “I used to ride when I was a little girl,” she said, almost like she had heard my thoughts. “I always loved it, but I haven’t been on a horse in quite a while.”

  “Come out to the ranch sometime,” I told her. “We’ll go ridin’.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” she said as she slipped her arms around my waist to hang on and settled herself against me.

  I told Vince to get in the car and steer. Enoch could lead his mount. Side by side, we urged the horses forward. The ropes tightened, and the car started to move, its wheels turning fairly easily on the hard-packed dirt.

  “If your pa doesn’t like automobiles, why’d he get one?” I asked once we were moving along at a steady walk.

  “He thought it would allow him to cover more ground in his missionary work,” she said. “He says we have to spread the word about the church in Largo.”

  “Is that what you were doin’ in town? Spreadin’ the word?”

  “No, I went in to pick up some boxes of Bibles and hymnals that were delivered on the train yesterday. They’re in the back of the car.” She paused. “Thank goodness those terrible men who held up the train didn’t take them, too.”

  “Yeah, you know how owlhoots are about stealin’ hymnals,” Enoch drawled.

  I couldn’t see her, but I suspected Daisy either glared at him . . . or stuck her tongue out at him. From Enoch’s chuckle, I couldn’t tell which.

  “Seriously, it’s the talk of the town,” she went on. “Imagine, an old-fashioned train robbery in this day and age. I suppose some things never change. It’s just human nature for some men to be greedy.”

  That made me stiffen. I said, “It’s just human nature for some men to want to see justice done, too.”

  “How could there be any justice in robbing a train?”

  “If you’d ever had very many dealin’s with the railroad, you might know the answer to that question.”

  I was getting mighty close to saying too much, but I felt compelled to defend what we’d done. With most folks, I wouldn’t give a hang what they thought, but Daisy’s opinion mattered to me, for whatever reason.

  Despite that, I thought it might be a good idea to change the subject, so I asked, “How’s the church-buildin’ comin’ along?”

  She sighed and said, “Not very well, I’m afraid. Father says that raising funds is always a challenge. But if it was easy, it wouldn’t really be worth doing, would it?”

  “He can afford to buy an automobile and a shipment of Bibles and hymnals, but he can’t finish buildin’ the church?”

  That was sort of a rude thing to say, and I knew it as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Daisy didn’t seem offended, though.

  “He’s always had trouble managing money,” she said. “Numbers don’t mean as much to him as words do. To be fair, though, he had ordered the car and the books before he knew he would run into difficulty raising the funds to finish the church.”

  That might be true, I thought, but Reverend Hatfield should have anticipated that not everything would go smoothly. I really wasn’t in a position to sit in judgment on anybody, though, so I didn’t say anything else.

  The conversation put an idea in my head. I filed it away to think about later.

  Towing the car like that meant it was pretty slow going for us, but we made it to Largo by late afternoon. As far as I was concerned, we got there too soon, because I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care for the way Daisy’s body kept rubbing against my back as we rode. Her arms were tight around my waist and she rode pretty snug against me. It felt mighty good.

  Nothing lasts forever, though. I’d proven that quite a few times in my life. When we reached Largo we hauled the automobile to the gas pump that stood to the side of Clyde Farnum’s store. I saw the shell of the church at the edge of town, just the skeleton of a building at the present time.

  Farnum must have seen or heard us coming. He walked out onto the store’s porch and said, “Well, I’ll swan. You run out of gas, Miss Hatfield?”

  “It appears so,” she said as she slid down from my horse. “The car wouldn’t go anymore.”

  Farnum picked up a long, skinny stick that was leaning against the wall and came down from the porch. He went over to the automobile and unscrewed something on it. He slid the stick down into a hole, rattled it around, and pulled it out.

  “Yep, dry as a bone,” he said. “I’ll fill ’er up.”

  “Thank you. And you’ll put the cost on my father’s tab?”

  Farnum didn’t look that happy about the idea, but he nodded and said, “Yes’m, I sure will.”

  He stuck a hose with a nozzle on it into the hole on the automobile, turned some sort of crank on the pump, and the sharp tang of gasoline filled the air as it ran into the tank. Vince got out of the car and untied our lassos from the contraption. I coiled mine and hung it on the saddle.

  Daisy looked up at me and said, “Thank you for your help, Mr. Strickland. I don’t know what I would have done if you gentlemen hadn’t come along.”

  “You’d have figured out something,” I told her. “I’ve got a hunch you’re pretty resourceful.”

  “I’ve had to be,” she said, and I knew she was talking about having to deal with real life while her pa spent most of his time with his head in the clouds of Heaven.

  Vince mounted up again. I looked over at him and Enoch and said, “Why don’t you boys head on out to the ranch? I’ll catch up to you later.”

  “What are you plannin’ on doin’?” Enoch asked.

  “I thought I’d help Miss Hatfield unload those boxes of Bibles and hymnals.”

  She said, “Oh, you don’t need to do that. I can handle it, and you’ve already helped plenty today. There’s no need for you to bother.”

  “
It’s no bother,” I told her with a shake of my head. “And it shouldn’t take long. I don’t mind.”

  “Well . . . all right,” she said. “If you’re sure.”

  Vince said, “It’d take even less time if we all helped—”

  “The boss said get back to the ranch,” Enoch interrupted him. “So we’d best get back to the ranch.” He reached up and tugged on his hat brim as he nodded to Daisy. “Good afternoon to you, Miss Hatfield.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Cole,” she said. “And to you, too, Mr. Porter.”

  Vince looked a mite confused, but he didn’t argue. He just said, “Ma’am,” and rode off with Enoch. I appreciated what the old gun-wolf had done, giving me some time alone with Daisy like that, whether he agreed with me taking an interest in her or not.

  Farnum finished putting gasoline in the car. He took a pad of paper and a stub of pencil from his pocket and made a note of some numbers he got from the pump. I knew he was going to add the total to Reverend Hatfield’s bill as Daisy had told him to.

  “Want me to crank her for you?” he asked her.

  “Yes, please,” she said as she got behind the wheel.

  Farnum turned the crank, bending over and putting some elbow grease into it, and after a minute or so the thing started with a sputtering blast of combustion. My horse shied away from it.

  Daisy drove into the road and turned toward the boardinghouse. I followed her, wrinkling my nose at the smell coming from the automobile. I knew better than to think that the things were ever going away, but I hoped that they never got to where they were more common than horses.

  When we reached the boardinghouse, the old woman who ran it was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch. In the silence that followed Daisy shutting off the engine, she said, “Land’s sake, child, that thing is noisy!”

  “I’m sorry if it disturbs you, Mrs. Higgins,” Daisy said as she climbed out and went to the back. She lifted a lid there and reached in to pick up a box. By the time she did, I had dismounted and looped my reins around the automobile’s front bumper. I took the box from her and said, “I’ve got that.”

  “Then I’ll take another,” she said. “I’m not going to let anyone do all my work for me.”