by Tony Masero
He looked long and hard at Lomas and then returned to his digging.
‘You want to do this alone, partner, or you want some help?’
‘I’ll do it,’ Kirby answered, heaving another sod aside.
Now it was done and by the lantern light, Lomas could see his old friend’s face was drawn and pale. The skin stretched tight across the bones in his face and his eyes dark and troubled. Sweat ran from his brow after his efforts and Kirby shivered as a chill breeze blew in from the sea and struck them with icy fingers on the exposed cliff top.
‘Come on back to the house,’ he said to Lomas. ‘I’ll find some flowers for her come morning.’
When they were inside, Lomas set the lamp down on the kitchen table and Kirby took out a jug of home brew liquor and drew the cork with his teeth. He sat down at the table and set the jug before him.
‘I’m going to get drunk, Lomas. I may get maudlin and be unpleasant to listen to. If that distresses you then you’d best leave, I’ll not think the worse of you.’
‘Hell, Kirby,’ sighed Lomas. ‘I damned near feel as bad as you do. If I hadn’t brought this to your door, well….’
Kirby sloshed the liquor in the jar before taking a swig.
‘There’s no accounting,’ he said, wincing as the harsh liquor bit the back of his throat. ‘It weren’t you that pulled the trigger so don’t go blaming yourself.’
Kirby pushed the jug across the table to Lomas, who lifted it and swilled a mouthful.
‘By God!’ he gasped. ‘That’s powerful stuff.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Kirby, recapturing the jug.
‘We’ll make them pay, Kirby, rest assured.’
Kirby snorted a laugh, ‘Damn right we will. That scum don’t deserve a place in this earth nor anywhere’s else for that matter. I fully intend that they should make just payment.’ He drew another long pull, the fiery liquid seeming to have little effect on his sorrow. ‘She was a sweet child, Lomas. Better than I ever deserved. Nursed me through hell, gave me a home and then took my baby inside her.’
Lomas could see the tears rolling down his cheeks but Kirby’s tone never changed, he spoke in a flat level voice and left his tears untouched and they ran unheeded in a glittering chain from his chin.
‘I didn’t know her proper yet but she certainly appeared a fine lady,’ Lomas agreed softly.
‘We was happy here, you know? I never felt that before in my life and although I couldn’t remember nothing about my past it made no difference. I just knowed I was content.’
‘Sometimes it seems life will never let you be,’ sympathized Lomas. ‘It comes down in showers just when you feel you’re getting your feet on the ground.’
Kirby sighed and pushed the jug back across. ‘Now I feel the old ‘me’ coming on and I fear it,’ he said. ‘It’s like a damned coat I’m about to shrug back on my shoulders. All them things I had forgotten and left behind, now they come rushing back. All the hardness and hot blood. It’s like Lizbette kept it at bay in this place but now I feel it coming, like its riding in over the rise yonder.’
‘That’s good, Kirby. You will need to keep an edge here.’
‘But it always costs me so damned much. I’m tired. I’d like a rest.’
Kirby’s words were beginning to slur along with the wave of self-pity he was feeling. Lomas knew there was little he could do but sit tight and share his friend’s grief. Neither of them could replace the gaping pool of sorrow Kirby felt with any understanding of the vagaries of life that brought about such pain. They were not the philosophical sort. Their lives had been simple affairs of right and wrong without the complicating shades of compromise. They were men of action and it was in movement that they found justification.
Lomas took out his pistol and laid it on the table. He began to strip the weapon and clean it with a rag he took from his pocket. He laid out the shells in a line on the tabletop, the brass shinning in the lamplight.
It was a ploy to catch Kirby’s attention and draw him away from his self-absorption.
Kirby watched him, his head swaying drunkenly as he fixed his gaze on the line of glittering bullets standing like a row of shiny lead soldiers, his glazed eyes trying to focus on them.
‘They raped my sister,’ Lomas said. ‘The whole bunch of them, raped and beat her until she couldn’t walk.’ Lomas did not understand why he was bringing his own grief onto Kirby, in some way he supposed that if they shared the agony it would ease it for each of them. As if a double dose could weigh out and even up the distress. ‘I gutted one of them with a skinning knife.’
‘Guess he deserved all he had coming,’ slurred Kirby.
‘They didn’t kill her though and I don’t understand that. They took her captive and brought her here to serve that fool Paramount Bliss. Now she’s in his house and I intend to get her free.’
‘I’m with you in this,’ said Kirby. ‘And we’ll take some lives along the way.’
‘If needs be,’ agreed Lomas. ‘But first I want Ladybell safe.’
‘We’ll get her,’ Kirby affirmed. His eyes lit up at the prospect, at least here was some sign of hope in this, he considered. A life for the living and not a cold grave.
‘Then lets think on it,’ said Lomas.
‘I only want to rip and burn,’ growled Kirby.
‘I know that. But it won’t do no good that way. That’s what I fear, that we should lose Ladybell in the crossfire if we charge in with guns blazing.’
‘Then you’re talking stealth, partner.’
‘I reckon. We need some information here, a little reconnaissance. That way we can snatch her before the shooting starts.’
‘I guess, there’s no telling how she is after all her troubles,’ Kirby added this consideration, discretely avoiding the possibility that Ladybell was now incapable or even if she was still alive.
His drunkenness was subsiding with the prospect of action and he pushed the jug aside. Swaying he rose to his feet, lost his balance temporarily and grasped at the table to pull himself upright again.
‘I’ll go get the rifle and your other pistol.’
‘And anything else you can find,’ advised Lomas, smiling to himself at his friend’s willingness after his earlier despair.
‘I got me a wood axe.’
‘That’ll do fine.’
Kirby was unbridling the buckboard pony, intending to ride it bareback when he glanced over into the wagon bed. The dawn was coming amidst an overcast sky and on the horizon a long crack of brightness over the sea lit the belly of the clouds with a strange, almost electric blue light. It held an ominous feel to it and the sorrowful glow did not help Kirby any as he looked down sadly at the dark pool spread on the wooden planks were Lizbette had lain, it marked the wagon bed in a large circle and stained the scattered remains of the posy Lomas had given her at the wedding. The flowers were limp and dead and in that moment they touched Kirby deeply, he turned away and pressed his forehead into the neck of the pony. The beast blew through its nostrils and turned its head trying to catch sight of him. Kirby felt the warmth of the animal under his hand and he swallowed back the tears that sprung into his eyes. Then he led the pony free of the buckboard as Lomas came towards him, leading his own horse and carrying their weapons.
‘You ready, partner?’ Lomas asked.
Kirby strapped on the pistol and slid the hand axe into the back of the ammunition belt. He nodded at Lomas and leapt up onto the pony’s back, holding the animal by a rope halter he had fashioned in lieu of a bridle and reins.
‘Let’s ride,’ was all he said.
At a steady walking trot they set of in the direction of Brevet Landing, following a cliff edge path that kept the broad waters of the river on one side and windswept brush and stunted trees on the other. Kirby kept his head down, his face hidden under his hat brim and Lomas did not interrupt his thoughts. Both men were priming themselves for whatever was to come and each of them knew that whatever it was it would involve bloodletting.
Once they were clear of the shoreline they moved up through the enclosing woods and onto the main road into the town.
They had not travelled a mile when they heard the sound of a carriage coming up behind. Both men maneuvered their ponies on each side of the road to allow the carriage to pass. But it pulled up alongside and Lomas glanced over but the leather dust blinds were fastened down over the windows and he could not see inside. The driver leaned over towards Lomas.
‘Say, mister,’ he called down. ‘This the road for Brevet Landing? We sure is lost and hope we’re on the right trail.’
‘You’re right where you’re supposed to be,’ said Lomas, jerking his chin forward. ‘Straight ahead.’
‘Obliged,’ said the driver, urging the team on.
The carriage headed down the road and then pulled to a sudden halt again some hundred yards on.
A sleepy figure descended from the coach, her golden blond hair in disarray and blowing wildly about her face in the breeze from the sea.
‘Lomas!’ Belle called back to them. ‘Is that you? It sure sounded like you.’
‘Belle!’ answered Lomas in surprise as she ran towards them. ‘God Almighty! What the hell are you doing here?’
Belle stopped suddenly in mid-track, her gaze fixed on Lomas’s companion and as Kirby raised his head and she saw the face appearing from under the hat brim her legs went from under her and she sat down heavily on the ground.
‘Kirby!’ she mumbled in shock, her blue eyes fixed on the figure before her.
‘Howdy, Belle,’ said Kirby. ‘How’ve you been?’
Women were tumbling out of the coach behind and running up the road towards the stunned figure of Belle seated amongst the spread bloom of her skirts in the roadway.
‘Is it really you?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, it’s him alright. Large as life,’ said Lomas, dismounting. ‘He’s come back to us, Belle. Been and lost his mind for a spell, didn’t know who or what he was.’ He moved towards Belle and offered to help her up but she ignored the gesture and kept staring at Kirby, one hand pressed to her pounding heart.
The girls were gathered around Belle, at first chattering concernedly but as they noticed her eyes locked on the solemn figure seated bareback on the pony they all turned their attention towards him.
‘Who is it, Belle?’ asked a frowning Clara. ‘He mean you any harm?’
‘No, never that,’ murmured Belle, allowing them to bring her unsteadily to her feet. Slowly she moved across to Kirby and placed her hand over his where it rested on the pony’s mane.
‘We thought you were dead,’ she said as their fingers met, her eyes never leaving his.
‘I thought I was,’ Kirby agreed.
‘But what…. how….’ Belle mumbled, the shock of seeing him again complete.
‘You’re looking swell,’ Kirby said with a wry smile. ‘Good as ever.’
‘Kirby Langstrom!’ Belle burst out, suddenly full of tearful anger. ‘You son-of-a-bitch, I thought I’d lost you. Thought you were gone forever.’
‘No, girl, I’m still here to make your life a misery.’
‘Get on down here,’ she ordered and obligingly he slid from the pony’s back.
Belle held him at arm’s length, looking him up and down. ‘You were hurt? Was it bad?’
‘Bad enough.’
‘Oh, God!’ she said, pulling him to her and holding him tight.
Belle’s loose hair blew in his face, he smelt her perfume and felt the soft press of her body. It was a balm that flowed through him, a remembered treasure that had been locked away in his heart. Kirby could feel all the anguish draining from him and he savored the moment by taking her chin in hand and lifting her face.
‘I don’t know how you got here,’ he said. ‘But I sure am glad to see you again.’
‘I missed you, Kirby. More than you’ll ever know.’
He smiled and pushed her away, ‘Sure you did,’ there was a note of disbelief in his voice. ‘You still at it with the Pinks?’
She nodded but said nothing.
‘Why, bless my cotton socks! Look who we got here.’
It was Lomas, dragging a rotund figure from the carriage. ‘If it ain’t his honor the respected agent for Colfax County.’
‘Now, wait a minute,’ said Sweet Dean abrasively. ‘I’m here with full authority. Miss Belle, you tell them.’
Belle looked at him coldly ‘Once we heard what had happened we came with all haste, Lomas. This one here is working with the Circle; he’s been stealing away funds intended for the South’s Negroes. We have a mule train following with the appropriated cash aboard, hidden amongst our baggage. It appears the Circle has a ship hereabouts, The Phantom, and its going to carry the money and this one’s sorry ass down to Brazil.’
‘What! What!’ puffed the wriggling Sweet Dean but Lomas had him held firmly by the collar of his jacket. ‘You mean you are not one of us?’
‘You got that right,’ snapped Belle.
‘Pinkerton send you down here?’ asked Kirby.
‘Not directly,’ Belle answered. ‘He got wind of a train robbery planned and there was word of Sweet Dean’s misbehavior, I thought I should check it out. They intend to shift the gold from the railroad haul by ship along with Sweet Dean here. It’s a sizeable amount and its my thinking that Xavier Bond plans on running out and setting up afresh down south.’
‘Who’s Xavier Bond?’ asked Kirby.
‘A senator who also happens to be The Grand Knight, head of the Golden Circle.’
‘We know the ship, it’s down in the bay,’ said Lomas. ‘And her captain too. Kirby knows him right well.’
‘Well, now you’re all reacquainted,’ cut in Molly. ‘You mind if we get back in the coach, its damned freezing out here.’
‘Who are these women?’ asked Kirby, looking at the parade of beauties with concern.
‘These are my girls,’ Belle supplied. ‘The best damned team of agents Pinkerton ever had.’
‘You sure on that?’ asked Kirby. ‘They look like a gang of….’
‘You watch your tongue, mister,’ Clara cut him off sharply, and then she stood proudly jutting her impressive chest forward. ‘We do what we do for the glory and honor of these here United States.’
That brought a chorus of raucous laughter and catcalls from the other girls.
‘Sure,’ added a chuckling Molly. ‘We follow the flag in our own particular way.’
‘Lie under it more like,’ said the diminutive Kate.
‘Shoot!’ said Kirby. ‘What in the devil’s name is going on here, Belle?’
Belle smiled and tenderly placed her hand on his arm, ‘I’ll explain it all later but let’s find us a safe place where we can work this out first, shall we?’
Chapter Thirteen
Jesse Woodson James rubbed the underside of his jaw, feeling the scratch of his goatee-bearded chin as he watched the long ribbon of smoke from the New York, New Haven and Hartford train. He coughed once, hiding the spittle of blood from the rest of the men by use of the hand that rubbed his chin.
He had been wounded twice in the chest, once during the war and then afterwards when he tried to surrender under a white flag and been shot at by Union troops. That wound, the most recent had left its mark and not yet healed properly and it often brought about a coughing bout tainted with blood.
The eight members of the gang were sitting on horseback, stationed high on an overlooking hill and the railroad track below ran in a perfectly straight line through the valley floor with the trail of dense smoke from the funnel billowing in a black cloud behind. It stained the otherwise fresh green of the pine and juniper growing on the grassy slopes of the valley but Jesse barely noticed the impact of the dirty exhaust against the open countryside and bright blue sky.
He was nineteen years old, a thin-faced, slightly built character with eyes so pale that it appeared all color had been washed from them, his short hair was oiled was down and cut neat
under his wide-brimmed slouch hat. But the expressionless gaze spoke of the harsh year that a man so young had spent fighting as one of the Confederate ‘bushwhackers’ during the war. The bloody experiences had hardened the young man’s heart and yet his commitment to the Southern cause was still as strong as it had been when he had first watched with envy as his older brother by four years had gone off to fight.
He turned to Alexander Franklin, that same older brother who sat alongside him on the hilltop. ‘Where’s it stopping at, Frank?’
Jesse who did not to hold with the use of foul-mouthed talk would often make up his own expletives and such a one he had invented had been taken up and used as his nickname by his brother Frank.
‘Makes three stops, Dingus. This is a special, so it’s only three times to take on water and such. The first one is in Bridgeport.’
‘Then what?’
‘They got a guard, name of Bode Williams. He’s supposed to check the padlocks and the express car door at every stop, damned things built on an iron frame with sheet iron for walls. Them locks is great big things like to keep the Lord himself out. This old guard is a lazy fellow though, one of our boys noticed on previous runs that he ain’t too particular. He’ll look right well on them all at the first stop but after that he don’t give a good goddamn, just sits in his caboose sucking on sour mash liquor and smoking his pipe.’
Jesse nodded. ‘This is too good to miss. We have word from Little Archie that the Grand Knight says this train will be carrying nigh on seven hundred thousand dollars worth of cash, bonds and jewelry. We have to take her.’
‘What’s our cut when it’s done, Dingus?’ asked his brother.
Although Frank was nominally the boss, Jesse’s fame was growing outside the boundaries of Clay County thanks to the efforts of one, John Newman Edward who devoted his time by writing lionizing dime novels and articles about the young outlaw. As a result Frank often deferred to his younger brother. Frank knew only too well the younger man’s bold and sometimes reckless behavior but recognized his tactical abilities. Added to those practical qualities, the blood ties of a youthful sibling enabled Frank to hold implicit trust in Jesse and the decisions he made.
