by Jim Cox
The man stepped back and said as he shook his heads, “No, sir. I ain’t able to read or write, but I’m a hard worker and I promise to give you a good day’s work. I need the work, sir. I’ve got six youngsters and a wife who needs more than I’ve been able to give ’em.”
“I’m sorry,” the railroad man said, “but we don’t hire anyone who can’t read or write.” The man nodded and headed for the saloon door. Buck followed.
“What’s wrong, Buck?” Grant asked at the supper table that evening. “You ain’t said a dozen words since I’ve been home.”
“I didn’t get the railroad job I was telling you about, Grant. Actually, I didn’t even stick around to be interviewed. I found out they wouldn’t hire anyone who couldn’t read or write, so I left.”
Grant glanced at his wife, then turned back to Buck, “Something else will come along, Buck. You’ll find something, just be patient.” Margie went after coffee and apple pie.
Buck was unable to sleep that night as he lay in bed with depressing thoughts. I’m not worth much. I can’t even qualify for a job. So far, my life has been a failure. I don’t have anything permanent to show for it. I feel like a stranger, like I don’t fit in to anything. Such thoughts raced through his mind before sleep finally came.
Buck was doing his normal chores at the livery the next morning when the railroad man who had conducted the interviews at the saloon the previous day came through the door. As he walked down the barn’s alleyway, he recognized Buck as he passed by and called to him. “Aren’t you the young man who stood in line for a considerable time at the saloon yesterday and left before we had a chance to talk?”
“Yes, sir. I stood in line ’til I heard you say a man had to be able to read and write before you’d hire him.”
“I take it, you can’t read or write.” Buck eyes answered the question. “May I ask your name?” the railroad man asked.
“My Christian name is Josiah Johnson, but folks call me Buck,” Buck said as he extended his hand.
“Glad to make your acquaintance, Buck. My name is Walter Stickley, but I’m known as Walt,” he said accepting Buck’s hand with a big smile.
“May I help you with something?” Buck asked.
“My team’s in the back stall and the wagon filled with supplies next to the back door belongs to me,” he said, pointing to the wagon.
“Are you here to get ’em?”
“No. I’m just checking on them, but I also wanted to ask if you knew of someone who might be interested in driving my rig back to Tucson. That’s the regional office for the Atlantic Pacific Railroad where I started from over two months ago. I made five stops before I got to Flagstaff. After I tend to some business I have here, I figure on taking the stagecoach back if I can hire someone to take my outfit back.”
“How far is it, Mr. Stickley? How many days would it take to get there?”
“A person would want to stay out of the desert as much as possible and keep to the high ground, so there’d be some zigzagging across the country, but it shouldn’t take over two weeks to get there. Of course, the driver would have to return home which would take another two weeks. All told, it’s a month.”
“How much would the job pay, Mr. Stickley, and when would you want him to get started?” Buck asked as thoughts started swirling through his head.
“He’d need to start out within the next few days, and I’d pay forty dollars to someone who’s known to be dependable. Do you have somebody in mind, Buck?”
Buck nodded. “Yes, sir. But I want to talk to him before I give you his name, if it’s all right with you.”
“I’ll be back in the morning to find out if he’s interested, Buck.” See you then.
Supper had been eaten, several games of checkers had been played, and Margie was serving their evening’s pie and coffee when Buck blurted out, “I’ll be leaving in two days. I’ve been offered a job of driving the railroad man’s wagon back to Tucson. He wants to take the stagecoach.”
Grant glanced at his wife and then turned back to Buck and asked, “How long will you be gone? You will you be coming back to Flagstaff, won’t you, Buck?”
“I ain’t sure,” he answered, “if I can find a good paying job down there, I might stay. If I can’t I’ll probably be coming back.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The two-week trip gave Buck plenty of time to think about an assortment of things, including his goodbyes to Grant and Margie. It had been a difficult departure, but one that had to take place if Buck was to get on with his life. Flagstaff was a good and upcoming town but seemed to have little to offer him.
He had crossed a couple of well-traveled western trails and on the fourth day came upon a wagon train that had stopped for the night. They waved him in and after serving him a plate of stew and cornbread along with steaming coffee, invited him to spend the night in their circle. The evening was passed by talking about the war and its effect on their part of the country. Buck didn’t mention he had fought for the Union. As it turned out, the six wagons belonged to young couples with children who were traveling from Virginia to their future home in California.
Buck woke before daylight the next morning to the rattle of pans. By the time he had stomped on his boots, splashed his face with water, and finger-combed his hair, coffee was being poured for him as he walked up to a nearby fire. Shortly afterward, sitting against a wagon wheel watching folks scurry about, he was handed a plate of pancakes and three thick strips of fried bacon. By the first sign of daylight, Buck had washed his eating utensils and was standing-by watching the travelers prepare to leave. The camp gear had been reloaded in wagons. Horses had been tended and hitched to their wagons, and the train was facing a west wind.
Three days later Buck stopped in Phoenix. He had heard a lot of good things about Phoenix and had planned to stay at least two nights, but was disappointed. The horse livery was okay, the hotel was satisfactory with good rooms, and the food was excellent, but it seemed the whole town was contentious about the war. He heard people saying the war was not over. That the South would rise again and this time they’d bring the Blue-Bellies to their knees. Buck listened to conversations to this effect at the barber-bath house, during dinner, and sitting in the lobby. After breakfast the following morning, he paid for his room and headed south. If Buck had figured right, he’d be in Tucson by noon the next day. He was anxious to get there. It had been a long, difficult trip, riding on a hard, bumpy wagon seat with no give to it, across desert-like landscape with a beaming hot sun sending down heat close to a hundred and twenty degrees. Buck kept his hat pulled low, stopped to rest the team every hour and gave them water every other stop. Black and Bell, who were tied to the back of the wagon, got water every third stop.
It was a little before noon when Buck rode down Tucson’s business district where storefronts stretched on for three blocks. Buggies lined the boardwalks in front of the businesses, especially near the two saloons and three cafes. Buck was at the far end of the business district when he saw the Atlantic Pacific Railroad Company sign. It was next to the territorial capital building. He tied the team and his two horses to the company’s hitching rail and looked up the street he’d just come down. “Tucson is the biggest town I’ve ever been in,” he mumbled to himself.
“May I help you, sir?” asked a young man at the reception desk. “I’m here to see Mr. Stickley,” Buck answered. “I have his wagon and supplies.” The young man nodded, invited Buck to be seated, and then walked to a back room. Within minutes Mr. Stickley came from the room wearing a big smile as he headed for Buck. He looked the same as he did during the interviews at Flagstaff, except his glasses were missing. His dark brown hair was still slicked-down and parted in the middle, and today, he wore a tailored navy-blue suit with a stiff collared white shirt, accented with a burgundy silk tie and tie stud.
“I thought it was about time for you to be pulling in, Buck. How was the trip? Long and hot I would imagine.”
“Yes, sir.
It was awful hot and uncomfortable. The only trail is the one the stagecoach uses and it’s full of holes and rocks. It was rough going and hard on my rear end. I can understand why you didn’t want to drive your wagon back, Mr. Stickley.”
“I got back three days ago, Buck. I imagine my trip was more relaxing than yours because I sat on cushioned seats inside the coach out of the sun, but it was still uncomfortable. This is the hottest time of the year. It’s a dry heat which helps a bit, but it’s still very uncomfortable, especially if you’re outside in the sun.”
Mr. Stickley paused, looked at his pocket watch and said, “It’s twelve o’clock and time to eat, Buck. I was ready to head for the café when you came in. If you haven’t eaten I’d be happy to buy your meal. We can talk about things while we’re eating.”
“My last meal was breakfast, Mr. Stickley, and that was before the sun came up.”
“Buck,” Mr. Stickley said with a slight smile, “let’s drop that Mr. Stickley. Call me Walt or Walter, whichever you prefer.” Buck nodded and returned the smile.
By the time Walt and Buck were taking their seats at a back table in the Tucson Cafe, a young waitress was bringing coffee. “Howdy, Kate,” Walt said as she poured their coffee, “what are we having today?”
“The same as we have every Thursday, Mr. Stickley. Boiled potatoes, green beans, and meatloaf. As you know, we always serve cornbread.”
“Bring us two orders, Kate, and bring a couple extra pieces of cornbread. It’s my favorite part of your meals.”
“Yes, sir,” the young waitress said, and as she was turning to leave, Walt called her back.
“Kate, I’d like for you to meet Buck. He just got here from Flagstaff and I mean to make him welcomed.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Stickley,” and turning to Buck with a big smile she said, “Welcome to Tucson, Buck. If I can be of any help while you’re here, please let me know.”
After Kate had left, Buck turned back to Walt who was grinning from ear-to-ear. “Pretty ain’t she, but I hear she’s not very sociable with young men around here.”
Kate had just brought their food when the sheriff walked in. Walt waved him over. “Have a seat, Sheriff, and eat with us. Kate just now brought our food.” The sheriff pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Sheriff, I’d like for you to meet Buck. I hired him to bring my wagon of supplies back to Tucson when I was in Flagstaff. He pulled in a short time ago.” Buck rose reaching for the sheriff’s hand as Walt said, “This is Sheriff Leonard.” The men acknowledged their acquaintance with a nod and a firm handshake.
Buck and Walt had barely started eating when the sheriff’s food arrived and like most westerners, their conversation ceased ’til the plates were empty and their cups were refilled. “I suppose Buck is something you go by and it ain’t your real name, not your Christian name,” the sheriff asked rather nonchalantly.
“That’s right, Sheriff. My Christian name is Josiah Johnson, and I’m originally from Alabama.” They talked for a few minutes when the sheriff brought up Buck’s identity again.
“Have we met before, Buck?” he asked with a puzzled look. “Something about your name seems to ring a bell, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“I ain’t ever been in this part of the country, Sheriff. For the past year I’ve been living at a boarding house in Flagstaff with a friend of mine. Before that we worked at the Lazy Horseshoe ranch in Colorado.”
All of a sudden, the sheriff slapped the table and with a big smile said with a resounding voice. “That’s where I heard of ya’, Buck! You’re the man who helped put Wade and Jude behind bars in Flagstaff. Ain’t you the one who caught ’em before they were extradited back to Tucson to stand trial for murder?”
“I helped,” Buck said. “Whatever happened to ’em, Sheriff?”
“After they were returned here, they were tried, and two days later were hung,” he answered.
“Serves ’em right,” Walt said rather unexpectedly, “they killed a good friend of mine.”
A lively conversation circled the table concerning the Wade-Jude trial and the hanging while the men drank the refills Kate brought. When the conversation finally lulled a bit, Walt said, “I’d better get back to the office, I have work to do. You can follow me there, Buck, so I can pay what’s coming to you.” Buck nodded.
After the men were seated in Walt’s office, he removed an envelope from his top desk drawer and handed it to Buck. “Here’s the forty dollars I owe you for bringing my rig to Tucson, Buck. Better count it. I might have made a mistake.”
“I trust you, sir, but you over paid me. I should only be paid twenty dollars,” Buck said handing the envelope back. “We both figured the job would take a full month because I’d be returning to Flagstaff, but I’ve changed my mind and won’t be going back. I’m planning on staying in Tucson.” Walt’s gaze stayed fixed on Buck for a few seconds as he held the envelope.
Then he opened it, removed twenty dollars, and said as he handed the envelope back to Buck, “Not many men would have done what you just did, young man. It’s a privilege to be associated with someone like you. I haven’t known you long or had much business experience with you, but I’ve already concluded you’re an honest fellow who treats folks with respect. I like those traits in a man.”
“Thank you, sir. Those are kind words.” Buck stood. “I’d best be going, Walt. I need to find somewhere to hang my hat.”
“You can leave my rig where it is, Buck. I’ll have my men take care of it.”
Buck headed for the front door with Walt following. Both men stepped outside, and Walt said, “Thanks again for driving my rig back here to Tucson for me. If you need anything while you’re in town, look me up.”
“There is one thing you might help me with, Walt. I’ll be looking for a job. If you hear of anything available, I’d appreciate knowing about it.” Walt nodded.
Walt had headed for his office door but turned back and called to Buck. “Learn to read and write, Buck, and then come back to see me. I’ll find you a good job.” Buck grinned and expressed his gratitude with a firm nod.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The boarding house where Buck settled was a few streets west and a little south of Tucson’s business district. He could tell Mrs. Brandon, the boarding house owner and caretaker, was a little taken back when she opened the door and heard his Southern drawl, but she quickly recovered and invited him in. She looked to be in her sixties, was short, rather plump, and had a round face with rosy cheeks. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun, like most western women of the time, and she wore a light green dress with a gray apron. Her smile never left.
After agreeing on three dollars and fifty cents a week for the room, including breakfast and supper along with barn facilities and feed for his two horses, she took him to his upstairs room. The house was not fixed up as nicely, nor, as Buck concluded later, were the meals as good as what he was accustomed to at Margie’s, but they were adequate.
He loafed around town for the next two days. He stopped at the sheriff’s office, went to both liveries to meet the smithies, and one morning moseyed around in the mercantile where he purchased a couple pairs of trousers, three shirts, a black leather vest, a pair of boots, and a black, flat crowned hat. He tried out the other two cafes but decided the Tucson Cafe where he and Walt had first eaten was the best. Besides, the other waitresses weren’t nearly as pretty as Kate.
At mid-morning on his third day, Buck entered the café and even though the tables were empty, he walked to a back one to be alone. It wasn’t long before Kate approached him with a cup of coffee. As she was setting it down she asked, “Would you like anything else, Buck? We have some freshly baked apple cobbler.”
“It sounds delicious, Kate. Maybe I’ll order some at noon. Right now, I’d like to talk with you. I need some advice.”
Kate looked a little sheepish. “I’m sorry, Buck, but I’m not allowed to talk with customers about personal matters during hours.”
“It may sound like I’m being forward, but I was about to say you could come by my house after I get off work this evening. We could discuss those questions you wanted to talk with me about.” Buck felt a ping in his stomach.
“Thanks Kate,” Buck said with a smile. “What time should I come by?”
She told him where she lived, and said, “I should be home by seven thirty, but Mamma and Dad will be there if I’m late.”
Kate returned to the kitchen and Buck finished his coffee. As he stood to leave, she stuck her head around the kitchen door and said in a loud whisper, “If we have any of the apple cobbler left, I’ll have a bowl waiting for you when you get to my house this evening.” He smiled and thanked her with a nod.
»»•««
Buck was anxious for the evening to arrive. He was nervous about spending time with this young woman and worried he’d say something stupid or make some kind of blunder that would turn her against him. He had taken a seat on a boardwalk bench with his mind on the evening when he saw a rider pass by on a high-stepping black horse that reminded him of Black. I haven’t ridden Black since I arrived in Tucson. A ride in the country would be good for both of us.
Buck stopped and got the lay-of-the-land from one of the smithies, and by the time the sun had reached its noon position he had traveled nearly seven miles through the Sonora Desert and was at the foothills of the Santa Catalina Mountains. The cloudless blue sky stretched on and on with only the blazing hot sun suspended overhead, sending down its blistering heat. The wind was dead, no breeze whatsoever. Buck removed his new black hat and wiped its sweaty headband several times, otherwise he kept it pulled low.
