“Well, the grave has already been opened, and I see that the coffin is loaded onto the hearse, so if you’re ready, we can get on with it. I brought a brougham as well, so we can all ride to the cemetery.”
As the carriage rolled through the main street of Wild Horse, Jesse looked at all the boarded-up buildings.
“Look, Pa,” Frank said, pointing to one of the buildings. “There’s our old store.”
The building, which had been built of brick, was more substantial than most of the others. It had a diamond formed of stone on the false front, just above the porch roof.
Dunnigan’s Grocery was still open, Glen Dunnigan being able to remain in business because of the forty or so people who still lived in town, and an equal number who lived in the country around Wild Horse.
Dunnigan, and at least twenty more people, were at the cemetery when the hearse and brougham arrived.
“I didn’t think there would be anyone here,” Jesse said, surprised by the turnout.
“It’s only been seven years since you left,” Welch said. “You and Molly haven’t been forgotten. And Molly was just real well thought of, even before the two of you got married. I hope you don’t mind that they showed up.”
“No, I don’t mind. I’m glad there are folks who still remember her.”
Dunnigan and his wife, Louella, came over to greet Jesse as he stepped down from the carriage.
“Hello, Frank. It’s good to see you again, though I sure wish it could be under better circumstances.”
“Hello, Glen, thanks for coming out. I see your store is still here.”
“I’ll hang on as long as any part of the town remains. The people who are still here will need some way to get their groceries. I don’t know how much longer that will be, though. The Union Pacific taking us off their regular stop has just about insured that the town won’t last much longer.”
“Hello, Frank,” another man said, stepping up to extend his hand.
“Sheriff Wallace,” Jesse said.
Wallace shook his head. “I’m not a sheriff any longer. Wild Horse doesn’t need a lawman, and I’m too old to get on anywhere else.”
“Nonsense, you aren’t that much older than I am.”
“Let’s just say that I’m old enough not to want to go chasing outlaws anymore, or even lock up drunks. I’m a night watchman at the mill in Mirage. It’s a real easy job just perfect for me.”
“Thank you for coming, Larry. I appreciate that.”
The mourners moved over to the open grave, and the coffin was lowered into the ground.
“Pa, wait,” Frank Jr. said. “Don’t you think somebody ought to say something?”
“Like what?” Jesse asked.
“I don’t know, but it seems to me like somebody ought to say something.”
“Would you like to?”
Frank swallowed, then nodded his head.
“All right, son. Go right ahead.”
Jesse took his hat off, and all the other men present followed suit. Billy didn’t at first, though he did after a stern glance from Jesse.
“We’re buryin’ my mom today,” Frank began. “When I think of her, from now on, and for the rest of my life, I’ll always see her workin’. The earliest thing I can remember is her bringin’ me ’n my brother into the shop and puttin’ us down somewhere, while she did whatever work there was that needed doin’ whether it was waitin’ on folks, or workin’ on the books, or just sweepin’ and cleanin’ the place. Same thing ever we left here and went to farmin’ down in Oklahoma. I don’t reckon I ever knew that farmin’ was as hard for the women as it is for the men. But Ma was always cookin’, bakin’, mendin’, washin’ clothes, and keepin’ the house and the yard cleaned and took care of. It’s hard for me to imagine her dyin’, because to be honest, I didn’t think she’d ever take the time it needed to die. She always had somethin’ to do.
“And yet, for all the work she did, she was always there for Billy ’n me. If we tore a hole in our clothes, she patched ’em up. If we got a cut, she’d clean it ’n bandage it.” Frank smiled. “And when we was both young, she’d kiss whatever was hurtin’ on us and make it feel better.
“We’ve been down in Oklahoma for seven years now, but I want you good folks here to know that Ma never forgot you. She used to talk about this town, and the people that lived here, as if we were just visitin’ down in Oklahoma and would be comin’ back home soon.”
Frank looked down toward the coffin, shining black in the bottom of the open grave.
“Well, Ma, you’re home now. You’re home in Wild Horse, and you’re home with the angels. And don’t you worry none about havin’ to learn to be an angel. The Lord won’t have to be trainin’ you, none at all. Ever’one that has ever known you, knows that you’re already an angel. You were an angel for your entire life.”
Frank looked over at Jesse.
“That’s all I got to say, Pa.”
“That’s all that needs to be said,” Jesse replied. “You did a real good job.”
“Yes, you did, son,” Welch, the undertaker, said. “I’ve heard a lot of people say a few words at the grave, but I swear to you that I’ve never heard anyone do a better job.”
Jesse looked over at Billy and was pleased to see that even he was moved by Frank’s words, so moved that he had to wipe away a tear.
All the others who had come to the cemetery came by to extend their condolences, and wish Jesse, Billy, and Frank well.
As the others left, Billy went over to look at the tombstone for Ken Collins.
KENNETH R. COLLINS
BORN AUGUST 15, 1835
DIED FEBRUARY 10, 1882
A Union Soldier in
Our Time of Peril
“This was Ma’s first husband?”
“Yes.”
“But you never met him, did you?”
“No.”
“Says here he was a Union soldier. I don’t recall Ma ever sayin’ anything about that.”
“Maybe it was because she knew I fought for the Confederacy.”
“What did you do for the South?”
“Nothing much. I was just a soldier. Come, we need to get back to the depot in time to catch the train.”
Glen and Louella Dunnigan, as well as a few of the other people of the town, came down to the depot to wait for the train with Jesse and his two sons.
“You didn’t have to come down here, Glen,” Jesse said.
“It’s no problem seeing you off. Besides, I like the idea of the train stopping here for any reason. It reminds me of a time when this town was alive and we actually thought it was goin’ someplace.”
“Oh, you poor, motherless children,” Louella Dunnigan said, approaching both Frank and Billy to give them a hug. Frank accepted it graciously, but Billy turned away from her.
Seeing that, Jesse frowned at him.
“Oh, you’re not too old for a hug,” Louella said, and, under Jesse’s admonishing glance, Billy allowed the woman to pull him into her oversized breasts.
“Here comes the train,” Dunnigan said.
The train was approaching at its top speed, and for a moment or two Jesse was afraid that the word had not reached the engineer and that the train wasn’t going to stop.
But as it drew closer, he saw steam being vented through the drive cylinders, and he knew the throttle had been closed. Then he heard the squeal of the brake pads being applied to all the wheels, and the train rumbled into the defunct station, then came to a stop. The conductor stepped down.
“We have a special pickup here?” he called.
“Yes, sir,” Jesse said. “That would be my boys and me.”
A porter also detrained and picked up their luggage. Jesse shook hands with Dunnigan, then he, Billy, and Frank boarded the train.
They found a seat on the depot side of the car, and they waved again at the people who had come to see them off.
“You didn’t want to be hugged?” Frank Jr. teased Billy as the train
pulled away.
“No.”
“Why not? She has big boobs, and I thought all men like big boobs on a woman,” Frank asked with a laugh.
“Those aren’t boobs, they’re pillows,” Billy replied.
“Boys, you ought not to talk about that nice lady like that,” Jesse said, but he could scarcely contain his own laugh.
CHAPTER NINE
With the stops, and changing trains, the trip back home would be almost thirty hours. They left Wild Horse at six o’clock that evening. Jesse bought seats in the sleeper car so that, between Wild Horse and Salina, Kansas, they would have berths. They were scheduled to arrive in Salina just after seven the next morning, and reach Chandler by six on the second night out.
It was at lunch in the dining car the next day that Jesse dropped a fork onto the floor, and he reached for it just as someone was walking by. The man tripped over Jesse’s foot and nearly fell.
“Watch where you’re putting your foot, you clumsy son of a bitch!” the passenger said loudly, and angrily.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” Jesse said meekly.
“You damn sure are sorry. You are about as sorry a bastard as I’ve ever seen. I ought to knock you on your ass.”
“You speak to my pa like that one more time and you’ll be the one who is going to get knocked on his ass!” Billy said. Standing up, he took a step toward the man.
“Billy, sit down,” Jesse said.
“Pa, he ain’t got no right talkin’ to you like that,” Billy said.
“Please, Billy, sit down,” Jesse said again.
“You need to get a halter on that boy,” the man said angrily.
Jesse smiled at him. “Again, let me apologize for my own clumsiness and my son’s action.”
“Mister,” one of the other passengers said to the loudmouth, “sure ’n if the lad doesn’t knock you down, I will. Now, this gentleman has very graciously apologized to you, so would you be for doing us all a favor now and close that mouth of yours, and sit down.”
“Yeah? And who the hell are you to tell me to sit down?” the belligerent passenger demanded.
The other passenger removed the napkin from his neck, set the fork down, and stood. He was a big man.
“The name, lad, would be Jim Corbett. And who might you be?”
Realizing that he was talking to the former heavyweight boxing champion of the world, the belligerent passenger turned and left the dining car without another word. The other diners laughed.
“I hope you didn’t mind my butting in, sir,” Corbett said to Jesse. “And may I congratulate you for the gracious way you dealt with that unpleasant gentleman.”
“I didn’t mind at all,” Jesse said. “I thank you for taking a hand in this.”
Corbett nodded and returned to his table.
“Wow,” Frank said a moment later. “Pa, that’s Gentleman Jim Corbett!”
“We didn’t need him,” Billy said. “I could have handled him.”
“I’m sure you could,” Jesse said. “But it is always best to avoid a fight when you can.”
“I bet you have avoided a lot of ’em, huh, Pa?” Billy said with contempt.
“Billy!” Frank said. “You got no right to talk to Pa like that.”
“I’m not hungry,” Billy said. “I think I’ll go back to the car.”
The Alexander Farm near Chandler, Oklahoma—October 1902
Jesse should have realized something was up when Frank started volunteering more and more often to go into town to pick up seed and animal feed at McGill’s Feed and Seed Store. In fact, it became more than merely volunteering; Frank began suggesting that they needed more feed, or seed, even when Jesse knew full well that they didn’t.
“They’ve got this new feed now for cows,” Frank said. “It’s alfalfa that’s been coated with molasses. Maybe I ought to go pick up a bag.”
“For heaven’s sake, Frank. Cows will eat grass, and you want to feed them alfalfa with molasses?” Jesse asked.
“Well, it might make the milk taste better,” Frank suggested.
“The milk tastes good enough as it is.”
Billy laughed. “Pa, I can’t believe you haven’t seen it. Or at least figured it out.”
“Seen what? Figured what out?”
“Well now, you remember the harvest dance last month? The one that was held in the Dunn Hotel?”
“Yes, I remember. What about it?”
“Didn’t you notice who that girl was that Frank danced with just about ever’ dance? And didn’t you see the way they were making eyes at each other? Like this?” Billy stuck his head forward and opened his eyes wide.
“You mean the little . . .” Jesse started, then he stopped. “It was Horace McGill’s daughter, wasn’t it? What’s her name?”
“Ethel Marie,” Frank said. “Pa, don’t you think that is just the prettiest name you ever heard?”
Jesse chuckled. “Alfalfa with molasses, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, we don’t need any of that. But I reckon you could go into town tomorrow and get a couple of blocks of salt lick.”
Frank smiled broadly.
“Yes, sir, I surely will.”
Chandler—March 1903
“Do you want another biscuit, Frank?” Ethel Marie asked. She and Frank had been married for three months.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Me too,” Billy said.
Smiling, Ethel Marie put another biscuit on both their plates.
“Pa, I was thinking, we can put all cotton north of the creek and wheat south,” Frank said.
“I don’t know why you put wheat in at all,” Billy said. “You get three times more from cotton than you do wheat. Why not just put in all cotton?”
“Because cotton wears out the soil,” young Frank said. “You have to rotate the crops or pretty soon you won’t be able to grow anything at all.”
“That don’t make no sense to me at all. Dirt is dirt, no matter what you grow in it.”
“Frank’s right,” Jesse said. “I’m not sure I understand why, but if you don’t rotate the crops around some, the dirt seems to wear out, somehow.”
“Well, it don’t make me no never-mind anyway, ’cause I’m not farmin’ anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m leavin’, Pa. This farm isn’t big enough to support all of us, especially now that Frank has got married. More ’n likely they’ll be havin’ kids, then the farm will have even more to support. Besides which, he’s a lot better farmer than me anyhow, so, I’m goin’ to give him my part of the farm.”
“You don’t have to do that, Billy,” Frank said.
“Yeah, I do. Me ’n you are different, Frank. You like all this farmin’, and I don’t think I can stand one more day of it.” He stood and looked over at Jesse. “I’m leavin’, Pa.”
Jesse nodded. “All right,” he said. “I want you to write out that you’re leaving your part of the farm to Frank. I don’t want you comin’ back on him later, if things don’t work out for you.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Billy, I’ll buy your part, you don’t have to give it to me.”
Billy shook his head. “I ain’t done nothin’ to earn it. You don’t have to buy it.”
“All right, then, at least let me give two hundred and fifty dollars; that’s all the cash on hand I have now.”
“I’ll give you another two hundred fifty,” Jesse said. “That’ll give you a little traveling money. Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll write.”
“Billy, take Dancer,” Jesse said.
“That’s your horse, Pa. I don’t want to take your horse.”
“Dancer is a good horse, and if you’re going out on your own, I’d feel a lot better if you were well mounted.”
“Are you sure?”
“Do you not want Dancer?”
“Are you kidding? I’d love to have Dancer. He’s a great horse.”
>
“Then I want you to have him.”
“Pa, Frank, I don’t know what to say. I mean, here you both are, being so good to me ’n all, ’n I thought when I told you what I was wantin’ to do that you’d both try and talk me out of it.”
“Would it do us any good to try and talk you out of it?” Jesse asked.
Billy smiled self-consciously. “No, sir, it wouldn’t have done you no good at all, ’cause what I would have done is, I would have just left in the middle of the night.”
“With no money and a lame horse,” Jesse said.
“Yeah,” Billy said, his smile turning into a self-conscious laugh. “I would have done just that.”
“Wait until morning. You may as well leave with a good breakfast in your stomach.”
“I’ll make pancakes,” Ethel Marie promised.
The next morning, Jesse, Frank, and Ethel Marie stood on the front porch as Billy led an already saddled Dancer around from the barn.
“Billy, you be careful,” Ethel Marie said. “I never had any brothers or sisters until I married Frank. Now that I’ve got a brother, I sure wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”
“I’ll be careful,” Billy promised. He swung into the saddle. “Uhm, uhm, I ate so many pancakes, I’m just about goin’ to make poor old Dancer swayback.”
“It’ll be a long time before you have another breakfast that good,” Frank said.
“You’re right about that,” Billy said. Then, with a wave, he turned Dancer and rode at a trot down the lane, not looking back once.
“You think he’ll be all right?” Ethel Marie asked, her voice reflecting her worry.
“He’ll be fine, Ethel Marie,” Jesse said. “I’ve known lots of men like Billy. They have a way of taking care of themselves.”
Chandler—March 1904
It was the middle of the night when Jesse was awakened. “Pa! Pa, wake up!”
“What? Who is it?” Jesse asked groggily.
“It’s me, Billy.”
Jesse sat up and lit the bedside lamp.
Shot in the Back Page 7
