by Joe Corso
Charlie whispered to Cole, “I’ll take the one on the left. He looks like he can handle a gun. You take the one on the right and we’ll do our best with the one in the middle.”
Unexpectedly, the man Sturman threatened stepped forward. “Now that I no longer have a gun pointed at my belly, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to join you boys in the fun. After all, one good turn deserves another - don’t you agree?”
Longstreet smiled. Whoever this stranger was, his stock just went up with both the boys. “Sure partner,” Charlie said grimly. “We can use all the help we can get.” Charlie pointed to the man’s gun. “Can you use that hogleg you’re wearing?”
The stranger nodded, looked down at his gun, and then smiled. “I’ve been known to hit what I aim at.”
Sturman’s three friends spread out in a semi-circle, but now that the odds were even, signs of doubt and nervousness showed on their faces. “Come on you lily-livered coyotes, if you’re gonna pull those smoke wagons, let’s get to doin’ it,” Cole yelled out to them. One of the cowboys heard the challenge and went for his gun, but Longstreet pulled his Colt sidearm quicker than a rattlesnake could sink his fangs into a prairie dog and pulled the trigger and let one fly. Then, before the dead man hit the floor, he plugged the man in the middle with a second shot, hitting him in the heart, killing him instantly - while at the same moment Cole Younger dropped the third man.
The stranger looked incredulously at Charlie. “Christ! You dropped both men before I cleared my holster. If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. What’s your name, son?”
Charlie put his hand out and the stranger took it. “Longstreet, sir. Charles Longstreet and I want to thank you for throwing in with us in settling this little dispute. It was a right manly thing for you to do. It took a lot of courage on your part and you have my respect, sir.”
The stranger’s face lit up upon hearing Longstreet’s compliment. Cole Younger grabbed the man’s hand. “I’m Cole Younger and you have my thanks too. Now who might you be?”
The stranger, a bear of a man, had a large ruddy round face with wiry eyebrows sitting above intelligent blue eyes. He sported a large distinctive walrus mustache and he wore an outfit resembling a buffalo hunter’s. “Call me ‘Ned,’ boys. Ned Buntline is my name and I’m right proud to meet two brave men like you. It’s been a distinct honor to have participated in this little disagreement with you.”
Longstreet put his arm around Buntline’s shoulder. “I’m happy to have met you, Mr. Buntline; maybe we’ll meet again someday.”
Buntline smiled a mischievous little smile. “Oh, you’ll see me again, Mr. Longstreet. Don’t you worry about that. You’ll see me again. Now, how about allowing me to buy you boys a few drinks to celebrate our victory?” Charlie tried to figure out what the charismatic Buntline meant by his enigmatic remark, but he couldn’t - so he let it pass and he took Buntline up on his offer.
CHAPTER 2
March 15, 1865
Jackson County
Longstreet stepped out of the paymaster’s gloomy tent and into the bright noonday sun with his discharge papers in his hand.
It didn’t seem possible that after four years of hard fighting, he was still alive. Charlie was a civilian now and he should have felt happy, but his brother Bob’s letter that the paymaster had handed him with his discharge papers tempered his feelings.
His brother understood Charlie would be discharged soon and wrote him to tell him of some trouble he was having. He said it was important that he come to Virginia City. Charlie re-read that part again.
“Charlie, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I have a problem. A man by the name of Parker is pressuring me to sell him my business. He hired some ex-Yankee soldiers and he uses them to threaten claim owners, ranchers, farmers, and store owners like myself to sell to him. His goal is to own most of Virginia City and he has the money with which to do it.
I would feel much better if you were here with me. It might make Parker think twice about pressuring me to sell him my business. I’ll explain everything when you get here. Parker hasn’t made a move on my business or me yet, but I suspect that soon he’ll turn his sights on me.
Your loving brother,
Robert Longstreet.”
Charlie put the letter aside and then read his discharge papers. As he read them, he felt a pulse of excitement coursing through him, knowing that he was now free to do what he wanted. He read his discharge a second time.
“I certify that the within named Charles Longstreet, a Sergeant of Captain A Green company ( G ) of the twenty-fifth regiment of Missouri Volunteers, born in Jackson County in the State of Missouri, aged 24 years, five feet ten inches high, dark complexion, blue eyes, dark hair, and by profession a Farmer, was enlisted by J. M. McHalley, at Jackson, on the thirtieth day of March eighteen hundred and sixty-one, to serve for four years, and is now entitled to a discharge by reason of having completed his enlistment.
The said Charles Longstreet was last paid by Paymaster JL Delong to include the twenty-eighth day of January, eighteen hundred and sixty-five; and had pay due from that time to the present date:
There is due to him 25 dollars retained pay. There is due to him five 31/100 dollars on account of clothing not drawn in kind.
He is indebted to the Confederate States 0.00 dollars, on account of extra clothing, $c.
He is indebted to ___ , laundress at ___ dollars.
The contract price of the ration at Jackson, MO is twenty-five cents.
Given in duplicate at Jackson, MO this fifteenth day of March, 1865
Henry Green, Capt.
Commanding Company
Note. — When a soldier transfers his certificates, the transfers must be made on them, witnessed by a commissioned officer, when practicable, or by some other reputable person known to the Paymaster.”
Charlie folded his discharge papers and put them and the letter in his saddlebags. He checked his trouser pocket and after making sure it had no holes in it like the rest of his uniform, put the $30.31 he was paid by the quartermaster in it. Charlie felt the warm glow of a smile spread across his face as he rode out of camp, He was thinking of Ike Flannery. It was because of him - and Jesse - that he had money in his saddlebags and not the few paltry dollars he was just paid. Poor Flannery. His father left him a great deal of money when he died. Ike didn’t want to carry that much money on him, so he waited for nightfall and buried it not far from the Lone Jack tree in the field outside of town. He wasn’t aware that Jesse had followed him and saw where he buried his money.
Jim Anderson, Bloody Bill’s brother, knew of Ike’s inheritance and he was hell bent on stealing it from him. Jim did his best to get friendly with Ike in an attempt to get him to talk about the money, but Ike refused to say a word about it, so Jim tried another ploy. Without Ike being aware, Jim followed Ike for weeks, hoping he’d lead him to his money - and after weeks of following him, he was convinced he knew where Ike buried his money. Now that he was sure he knew where the money was, at the first opportunity, he shot Ike in the back of the head, killing him instantly. Jim didn’t waste a moment; he headed to where he was sure Ike buried his money, thinking of how he’d spend it. But Ike had outsmarted him because the money wasn’t there.
Jesse was a gorilla fighter and he was like a cat when following someone. He kept in the shadows and remained unseen as he followed Anderson, just as Anderson had followed Ike. When the money wasn’t where Anderson was sure it would be, he couldn’t hide his disappointment and it showed on his face. Jesse smiled. Now all he had to do was to bide his time and wait. He waited patiently until Anderson finally gave up trying to find the money, and left. Jim had no way of knowing that he made it easier for Jesse when he killed Ike, because if he hadn’t killed him, Jesse would’ve killed him for the money himself.
Frank and Charlie had their small army shovels with them as they followed Jesse to where Flannery buried his money. Jesse pointed to the tree and shrugged
his shoulders. “It was dark when Ike buried the money - but there’s only one Lone Jack tree in this town, and this is where he buried it. It’s just that I can’t be sure of the exact spot. So let’s spread out and start digging.” The boys dug a number of dry holes at first, but that didn’t dampen their spirits because when money was on the line, they didn’t know the meaning of the word quit - and they kept right on digging.
After digging a few more dry holes, Frank’s shovel struck something soft. He tried to keep the excitement from showing in his voice as he called quietly to his brother. “Hey Jesse, I hit something soft and it ain’t dirt.”
Jesse smiled, certain Frank had found Ike’s poke. “That’s gotta be it.”
Jesse reached in the hole and pulled out Ike’s leather packet. “I knew it. I knew it was here. What did I tell you boys?” After brushing the dirt off, he saw rawhide strips wrapped tightly around the packet. No problem. He reached down for his boot knife and cut the leather ties. His eyes widened when he saw all the cash that was stuffed in the packet. Jesse stacked the money on the grass beside the hole it was buried in, and he counted out over seven thousand dollars. He pocketed three thousand and told Frank to split the rest with Charlie.
The night before Charlie was to leave, the boys went through a couple of bottles at the saloon before saying goodbye to their friend. Charlie promised that he would see them in Clay County, Missouri sometime after the war ended. He couldn’t be specific because he didn’t know how long he would be with his brother. Charlie explained that his brother Bob was having trouble with some Yanks.
Cole ground his teeth. “Why don’t you wait a few months, and me and the boys will go to Virginia City with you and we’ll kick some Yankee ass.”
Charlie held back a smile. “Thanks, Cole, but I can’t wait. I’m gonna head there as soon as I settle my affairs back home. My brother asked me to come as soon as I could and that’s what I’m gonna do. I feel bad for him because he’s alone and that sombitch Parker is trying to take his business from him.” Charlie turned to Cole. “Look, I’ll keep in touch with your ma, or Jesse’s, so you boys will know where I’ll be. You never can tell - I may need you fellas to come to Virginia City to back up my play.”
Jesse looked at him with those dead blue eyes of his. “Charlie, if those Yankees give you trouble, you telegraph us and we’ll come out there and kill the lot of them.”
Frank added, “Jesse’s right. If those blue bellies give you trouble, you let us know, and we’ll take care of those Yanks just like we did in Lone Jack.” Charlie knew they meant it. Jesse was a stone cold killer and a hard man to figure out, but he was the man you wanted beside you in a fight.
Jesse patted Charlie on his arm. “You go out there to Virginia City, Charlie, and help your brother. He’s kin and kin’s got to stick together when there’s trouble - but if you can’t handle it, you wire us. You hear!”
Charlie felt a lump forming in his throat with all the sentimental talk and he didn’t want to look like a sissy and drop a tear in front of his friends, so he turned his face. Men didn’t do that; they didn’t cry. But he still felt the lump in his throat, knowing that he was leaving them. He looked at his friends, and he was reminded that they were just boys - young boys grown old before their time. They survived the war together, and the blood they spilled in countless engagements was the glue that bonded them together. And even though Charlie wasn’t related to them by blood, he was related to them by blood spilled for the Confederate cause. These boys knew that nothing bonds men together like combat. In combat, you know who you can depend on and who would die beside you - and that was something a civilian who was never in combat would never understand.
Charlie rode away from the military post, knowing that money was no longer a problem, at least in the short term. Alone on the road with plenty of time to think, his mind drifted to Jesse. He never believed that Jesse would have shared a dollar of Ike’s money. Jesse was a firm believer in what was his, was his. He found the money, so by rights it was his. So it came as a surprise when Jesse offered to split the money with them. Charlie thought it might have been because he wasn’t expecting a share that Jesse decided to give him one. If Jesse thought you were, then not only would you not get it, but there was a good chance he would shoot you dead. He was funny that way. He had no qualms about killing someone, although he preferred not to kill a relative or a friend.
Charlie rode along the Shawnee Trail. He looked forward to getting to St. Louis because the first thing he’d do would be to buy some new clothes and then he’d take a good long hot bath. After the bath, he’d put on his new clothes, get a haircut and a shave, then get back on the trail again. Maybe he’d buy some store bought Sunday going-to-meeting clothes too. One thing was certain, he had to get his worn, tattered clothes off of him before they fell off.
For days, Charlie rode the hot dusty trail without seeing another soul. Then, on the thirtieth day in the saddle, he saw two riders way off in the distance and it appeared they were heading his way. He watched as the men drew nearer and when they were within shouting distance, he got off of his horse and began setting up his camp. The men were closer now, so he waved to them. They saw him and waved back, then he started a camp fire and waited until they approached him.
“Sure glad to see someone out here other than rabbits and coyotes. I was about to make coffee. Care to join me in a cup? I haven’t had time to shoot any game - but I have some hard tack you boys can chew on if you’d like.”
The two men looked at each other and they both nodded. “Thanks, stranger. We’ve been riding for two days now and a cup of hot coffee and something to eat sounds real good. Where are you headed, mister?”
Charlie had tethered his horse to a tree in the clearing and was busy setting up the coffee pot over the fire. “Heading to Virginia City to visit my brother - but first I’m going to stop in St. Louis and buy me some traveling clothes. I can’t wait to get out of this uniform and take a good hot bath. I smell worse than a skunk.”
The two men laughed. “Yeah, I guess a bath would do you some good.” The three men chuckled for a moment. Charlie gabbed amiably with the men, but beneath his smile and friendly talk, he studied them. One was an older man of about fifty years of age, give or take a few, and the other was about Charlie’s age. They didn’t look threatening, but old habits died hard, so out of force of habit, he kept his guard up, just in case. There were a lot of jayhawkers and bandits lurking about in these parts and he didn’t survive the war only to be killed because he wasn’t paying attention.
“Where you fellas heading?” Charlie asked.
“My name is Tom Weed and I’m a cattle man. I have a cattle ranch in Dallas. This is my foreman, Sam Witherspoon. We drove five hundred head of cattle up from Texas and I sold them in St. Louis. These days it don’t pay to walk around with that much cash on you, so I deposited the money in the Welles Fargo bank in St. Louie, and now we’re heading back to Texas. Care to join us? It’ll be a lot safer with three of us riding together, instead of just us two.”
Charlie rubbed his chin, thinking of what Sam Weed had said. “Well, I planned on going to St. Louis, then take the stage or maybe a train south into Kansas territory and then join up with a wagon train heading up into the Northwest Territory. Your offer sounds good, Mr. Weed, but I’m afraid I’ll have to say ‘no.’”
Weed nodded with a tight-lipped look of understanding mixed with disappointment. “Too bad. Would have liked to have you with us. I’m kinda disappointed that you’re not coming, but I understand why you’d want to go St. Louis. A word of caution, though. Be careful of the blue bellies in that town. The union forces control it and at this stage of the war, they’re a dangerous lot. Always looking for trouble, especially with Rebs. My advice is to buy some civilian clothes and get out of that uniform as soon as possible. When you get to St. Louis, make getting new clothes your first chore. Well, we better be going while there’s still a little daylight left. Thanks for the coffee and h
ard tack, mister...? I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name son.”
“It’s Longstreet, sir, Charles Longstreet.” The two men stiffened and backed up a step when they heard the name, which didn’t go unnoticed by Charlie. Weed looked him up and down and then confirmation set in when he saw his two guns - one in a holster on his hip and the other in a shoulder holster lying low across the side of his chest.
Sam Witherspoon spoke for the first time. “Where did you serve, Mr. Longstreet?”
“Call me ‘Charlie,’ Sam. Mr. Longstreet is a bit too formal. But to answer your question, I served with Bloody Bill Anderson and Quantrell. Does that answer your question?”
“Man you must have seen a lot of action,” Witherspoon said, trying to goad Longstreet into telling them the engagements he fought in.
“Yeah, I been in a few fights, which I don’t care to talk about.”
“Well, the reason I’m asking is I met a guy who was in a big fight in a little out-of-the-way town in Missouri that hardly anybody knows about and I thought you might have heard of it - or maybe even participated in that fight. The town was called Lone Jack. Did you ever hear of it, or was this fellow bullshitting me?”
Charlie was alert now, but he played along to see where this talk was going. “Yeah, I know of that town and I know of the battle that took place there. Why do you want to know? And who was this fella that told you about it?”
Witherspoon became nervous. He could handle a gun, but he wasn’t a gunfighter. He was just a cowpoke, so he chose his words carefully, now that he knew who this man truly was. “Just curious is all. I never heard of a town with that name before, but a Yank told me about it when I was in St Louis. That’s why you should be careful while you’re in that town.”
Charlie relaxed a little after hearing Witherspoon’s explanation, but he kept his guard up. The men shook hands and were preparing to mount their horses when Weed turned to Charlie. “If you’re ever in Dallas and need work, look me up. I could always use a good man with a gun, especially with all the Mexicans coming over the border and robbing our stock.” He wrote his name on a piece of paper and handed it to Charlie. “You never know when you’ll need a friend, son - and in Dallas you’ll find one in me.” He looked at Charlie and then at Witherspoon. “Well … maybe you’ll find you have two friends in Dallas.”
