Slow John

by Petit, C. J.

  Handy studied Jack Flynn for a second and asked, “You got a brother called Slow John? What was he stupid or something?”

  Everyone started laughing again, and this time Jack laughed the loudest before answering, “You bet he was. He was so stupid, he probable shot himself at Shiloh by mistake.”

  Handy wasn’t quite sure which way to go with this idiot. He hadn’t seen anyone show up in town recently, so he may be right about some fake show, as stupid as it sounded. He needed to see if he was right about the money first.

  “Okay, Mr. Flynn, if we were to help, I want to know where the money is. If it sounds right, we’ll cut you in.”

  Jack knew if he told them about both locations, he’d be dead ten seconds after he finished talking, so he said, “I’ll tell you were the Walshes keep their money, but I’ll show you where they keep it in my house.”

  “Alright, Flynn, go ahead.”

  “The Welshes keep their stash in their bedroom, under a loose floorboard hidden by a rug.”

  “How much is in there?”

  “I’m not sure about how much they have, but it’s probably about what my parents have in their hidden spot and that’s $650 or so.”

  Handy smiled inside, but kept his poker face. This job suddenly got a lot more interesting.

  “Okay, Flynn, you got your deal. We’re waiting on the train tomorrow for some more ammunition. You can help us out there, too. How many guns do they have and how many rounds of ammunition?”

  Handy already had a good handle on the guns, but was unsure of the number of shells they had or even what type, so he wanted it to sound convincing.

  “All they have is four shotguns and two boxes of shells altogether, and the shells are birdshot.”

  Now that was some good information to know. All those Irish had was birdshot. They may as well have had slingshots.

  “One more thing,” Jack said, “I want my sister-in-law, and I want to be left alone with her.”

  Handy smiled and tilted his head slightly when he looked at Jack.

  “That’s fine, as long as me and the boys get a shot at her and the other women after you’re done with her.”

  “My wife’s pregnant, but I don’t care what happens to her. I just want Maggie.”

  “You are one sick bastard, Flynn.” Handy said with wicked smile. “You’ll fit right in.”

  Jack grinned as he glanced at each of the other smiling faces. He was doing all right.

  _____

  The chatter at the Flynn home went well into the night, long after the two young Flynns were put to bed. When the question of sleeping arrangements arrived, John said that he would sleep in the barn, so he wouldn’t disrupt anything and that they were better accommodations than he had found in a while. Mary and Michael both tried to get him to change his mind, but not very persuasively. With Patrick and Maggie at the Walshes with their little Catherine, and Dennis, Martha, little John, and Eliza staying with the Flynns, it was a welcome offer. Kate would sleep at her parents’ house in the only free room.

  The housing situation wouldn’t last long. Dennis and Patrick had each filed for a homestead to the north of the Walsh farm and had already built small sod houses on the properties and were in the process of building proper houses and working the land to meet the homestead requirements, but still spent most of their time on the Flynn and Walsh farms.

  John didn’t say the other reason for his decision; he wanted to watch over both houses from the barn loft for a sudden appearance by Jack. With the barn’s loft doors facing north and shifted slightly west of the Flynn house, he would have a good view of both houses, and with his field glasses he felt that he was in an excellent position to provide any defense necessary. After the warning from Pappy Jones, he thought it was best to be prepared for that other problem as well.

  It was almost midnight when Kate and her family, along with Patrick, Maggie and tiny Catherine walked back to the Walsh home.

  Slow John walked out to the barn with his saddlebags and his clothes pannier to set up his bedroll in the loft, anxious to get some sleep. He passed the sleeping black gelding and said, “I’ve got to give you a name, big boy, because it looks like we’ll be spending a lot of time together now. Kate named her horse Bow, to go with arrow, so if we go off of that, we don’t have many options. There’s Rainbow.”

  John paused and looked at the horse and shook his head.

  “Nope, you’re about as far from a rainbow as possible. We could go the other direction and go with Beau Brummel, but you don’t seem to have an eye for fashion, so we’ll skip that. The only other thing I can think about his Crossbow. You’re not a very angry guy, but you can probably cross a lot of ground when we need to, so we’ll go with that. You can be Cross, but even I’ll admit it’s a poor choice, but it’s the best I can do.”

  John patted the big gelding on his shoulder and climbed up into the loft with his Spencer in his hand and his field glasses around his neck. He climbed back down, took his bedroll, his Winchester, and the four filled extra tubes of Spencer ammunition up on his second trip. Once he laid out his bedroll, all he did was toss his Stetson aside, kick off his boots and crawl into the bedroll. He was out in just four minutes.

  CHAPTER 7

  Jack had stayed in North Platte overnight, a guest of one of the three ladies that still worked the second floor. When the workers were in town, there had been sixteen women working almost non-stop. The three that remained didn’t feel like moving on because they were tired and needed some rest. It had cost Jack an extra two dollars to stay, but he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

  When Jack finally made his way out of the saloon, he had breakfast at the café before walking over to Washington’s Dry Goods. He was the only one of the men last night that wasn’t packing a pistol, and he wanted to fit in. Besides, it might be a better threat when he got to Maggie than the knife. He didn’t want to ask any of his new partners how to use it, so he thought he’d ask Fred Alexander.

  When Jack arrived at the counter, Fred had to trot to the front of the store from the back where he had been rearranging his dwindling supplies in anticipation of the big shipment he had coming on the afternoon train.

  “What can I do for you, Jack?” he asked as he made it behind the counter.

  “What kind of pistols do you have, Fred?”

  “Not too many right now. The only one that I have ammunition for is this Manhattan Navy. It’s one of the six-cylinder versions. I can let you have it for $15, including the balls, ammunition packets and percussion caps. If you want a holster, that’ll be another $5.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that. Is it already loaded?” Jack asked, having no idea what balls, ammunition packets or percussion caps were. He had only ever used a shotgun, and it was easy.

  “No, of course not. It would be crazy to leave a loaded pistol out in the open.”

  “I’m not familiar with that model, can you show me how to load it?”

  “Sure.”

  Fred showed Jack how to insert the packet of powder, push the ball into the cylinder with the press rod and then affix a percussion cap on the back. Jack then proceeded to load all six cylinders as Fred watched.

  “Expecting to do some serious shootin’, Fred.”

  Jack was surprised. How did Fred know?

  “What do you mean, Fred? I’m not going to shoot anybody.” he replied defensively.

  “I’m just sayin’ that most of the time, you only load five out of six chambers, so you don’t shoot yourself accidentally. You loaded all six.”

  Jack quickly improvised and said, “I did? I must have lost count.”

  “Oh. Then you’re all right. Just be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Fred gave him the holster, which Fred snugged around his waist and then slipped in the revolver, not noticing or understanding the hammer loop. Fred didn’t say anything, fully expecting Jack to shoot his own foot off twenty feet past his door.

  Jack handed him two ten-dollar
bills and left the store feeling like he was important now. He had a lot more persuasive power now. Power that he would use when he had Maggie alone in the house. But even as he thought of Maggie, he still pictured Kate in his mind. Kate was special. It was too bad that she wasn’t really back, then he’d forget about Maggie.

  He walked back to the saloon to wait for Handy and the boys. He might as well have a beer or two while he was there.

  _____

  John had been awake since before sunrise, which surprised him as tired as he’d been the night before. After he’d washed and shaved in the outside trough, he went into the house, had breakfast with everyone and was a bit surprised when his father or brothers didn’t ask if he was going to help in the fields. Maybe they already realized he wasn’t a farmer anymore.

  Before they all left for the fields, he thought he should take a few minutes to get them acquainted with the rifles, so he walked over to the corner where the Henrys leaned against the wall next to a bag with four pistols and belts, and picked up one of the Henrys. He stopped in the middle of the floor and looked at his brothers, father, and Peter Walsh.

  “I need to show everyone how to use these Henrys.”

  “How hard is it to learn?” asked Patrick.

  “If you’ve used the shotgun, all you need to know is how to cycle the lever to bring a new cartridge into the chamber and how to load it. First, I’m going to empty the rifle, so you can see it and then do it yourselves. Patrick, stand here and catch the cartridges as they are ejected. Each out and back cycle of the lever ejects a cartridge from the breech, pulls a new one in from the loading tube into the chamber, and then cocks the hammer, making it ready to shoot. Each tube holds fifteen cartridges.”

  Patrick was grinning as he stood from the table and waited with his hands cupped together.

  John quickly began cycling the lever, ejecting one new cartridge after another until Patrick’s hands were full of .44 cartridge. He had only missed one, and Dennis had picked it up as it rolled across the floor.

  John showed them the empty breech, so they knew it was empty, then had Patrick put the cartridges into a nearby bowl, and with the muzzle pointed out the open door, pulled the trigger, then handed him the rifle.

  “Okay, Patrick, go ahead and pretend you’re shooting at a target outside the door. If you know that the chamber is already loaded, just cock the hammer. But if you’re unsure, lever in a new round. It’ll cock the hammer and you’re ready to fire. Don’t be gentle with the lever. It has a lot of things to do and it’s made to be man-handled.”

  Patrick was still smiling as he cycled the lever, but his hand slipped out of the grip and the lever only moved a few degrees. He shook his head and then got a better grip and snapped the lever fully open and then yanked it closed, pulled it to his eye, squeezed the trigger and was rewarded with the solid click of the hammer striking metal.

  “You’re right, Slow John. It doesn’t want to go peacefully, but it’s not bad once you know what to expect.”

  Patrick handed the rifle to Dennis, who had learned from Patrick’s experience and when he finished, he handed it to their father and then to Peter Walsh.

  When Peter was done, he gave it back to John.

  “Now, I’ll show you how to load the rifle. The Henry is more awkward to load than the Winchester because you have to extract a tube from the stock and fill it with cartridges. The Winchester, you just shove the cartridges into the loading gate on the side. Here’s how you load the Henry.”

  John unlocked the loading tube and slid it from the stock, then began filling it with the .44 cartridges from the bowl. Dennis handed him the last cartridge.

  “This rifle is ready to go. Now, all of you know that there isn’t a cartridge in the firing chamber, so you have to lever in the first cartridge. I have plenty of .44 cartridges, so if you want to practice with live rounds, go ahead. Just let me know, and I’ll show you how to clean the rifle when I get back.”

  “What about the pistols, John?” asked Dennis.

  “The pistols are totally different. All of them use ball and powder, so they’re slower to reload, and pistols shoot differently than rifles, so I’ll have to spend some time with you on those.”

  “Can Kate shoot?” asked Peter Walsh with a smile.

  “She’s shot the Winchester and one of the Colts, but hasn’t shot the Cooper Pocket pistol she carries.”

  Peter shook his head in disbelief. His little girl had fired a rifle and pistol more than he had.

  “Okay. One word of warning about the Henry. It’s a great gun, but when you’re shooting it, you need to hold the barrel itself, so after a few shots, it gets hot. The Winchester has a wooden barrel guard to hold onto. If you’re planning on doing a lot of shooting with a Henry, it’s wise to use a glove on your left hand.”

  “I don’t think we’ll be doing anything that dramatic, Slow John.” replied his father.

  “I hope not, Pop.” John said with a smile.

  Each of the men stood, his father gave Mary a kiss on the cheek, and Peter did the same to Catherine as they each walked across the floor, grabbed a Henry and left the house.

  John took a mug and filled it with coffee and took a seat with Eliza and the two mothers.

  “What will you be doing this morning, Slow John?” his mother asked.

  “I think I’ll ride into North Platte for a little while. I should be back before noon.”

  “Are you going after Jack?” she asked quietly.

  “Not specifically. I just need to get a feel for the town. Pappy Jones told me yesterday about some troublemakers, the ones that seem to be giving the families problems, and I want to see how many good folks there are versus the bad ones. Is there anything you or Eliza need while I’m in town?”

  “No, Slow John, I’m fine.” she replied smiling across the table at John, still thrilled with having him back.

  He took a long drink of the not-so-hot coffee, turned to Eliza and smiled. “How about you, Eliza? Do you need anything?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Thank you, John.”

  “Are you sure? Don’t you need anything for your baby?”

  Eliza smiled, shook her head, and replied, “No, but thank you, John.”

  John finished the coffee, washed the mug and stepped back outside, closing the door behind him.

  _____

  Kate had slept in, and no one begrudged her that extra time. When she finally opened her eyes, it was almost ten o’clock and she heard bustling in the house. It must be Martha chasing after Johnnie. She closed her eyes briefly and pictured the sight of the toddler. She laid there for a few minutes, luxuriating in the soft mattress and warm blankets and quilt, when her eyes snapped open and she realized to her horror that it was the 26th of April. Her self-imposed deadline had arrived.

  She was more than a week late. For the past week, she had hoped and prayed that her monthly would begin. She had been able to push aside the dread because she was with John and he had filled her with hope and given her a reason to live. But now she knew.

  Kate quickly sat up and threw back the covers and slid out the bed, then trotted out of room and the house to use the privy.

  _____

  John left both the Winchester and Spencer in the loft. He didn’t want to go into town and leave either weapon in his scabbard, not because he was worried about theft, he wanted no one to know he had the guns, especially those troublemakers that Pappy had warned him about. He had one of his Remingtons in his holster if he needed it in case he encountered Jack. It should be enough.

  He stepped up on the gelding and trotted diagonally across the front of the farm and picked up the wagon ruts heading into North Platte. It wasn’t a very long ride, and he arrived on the edge of the town in ten minutes.

  He figured he had already met Pappy Jones, so he stopped outside of the blacksmith and stepped down, tying off the gelding before walking inside.

  Pappy was putting the finishing touches on the church’s door handle
s when he spotted John.

  “Good morning, young feller. No uniform today?”

  “No, Sir. I mustered out last year, and just wore it to honor a request before I saw my family again. They had received a telegram from the war department five years ago saying I was dead. Then, they went off homesteading, so when I returned, I had no idea where they were. I didn’t find them until yesterday, and my sudden appearance was quite a shock for them.”

  Pappy laughed. “I guess so. What can I do for you today, Slow John?”

  “Just thought I’d check out the town. You wouldn’t happen to know where my brother Jack is, do you?”

  “I don’t know where he’s stayin’, but when I had to run down to Washington’s to get some salt this mornin’, Fred told me he was in there buyin’ a pistol, and didn’t even know how to load it.”

  “Now, that’s interesting, because he didn’t care about guns when he was a kid. If you see him, Pappy, just to let you know, he’s probably scared that I’m back. He assaulted a woman a couple of years ago and threw her in the Platte hoping she’d drown. I found her in Plum Creek when I was riding here from Omaha and she told me the story. He’s got to pay for what he did, Pappy. No man can do a thing like that and get away with it.”

  “I’m with you, Slow John. Are you any good with that pistol?”

  “I am. I used the Remington during the war and then against the Indians. This one and another just like it, I bought new and I had them modified in Omaha to shoot .46 Short cartridges and had them converted to double action. The trigger pull is harder, but I’m used to them now. I’ll probably need to have to order some of the cartridges, too.”