The Outlaw's Daughter

by Margaret Brownley

  Still, coming face-to-face with her husband’s past was unsettling. She’d thought Neal’s secret was safe with her. Now that Roberts was in town, she felt threatened on yet another front. It was bad enough that she was an outlaw’s daughter, but if it were known that Neal had killed someone—even accidentally—his reputation could suffer.

  Roberts continued. “I didn’t know he’d kicked the buck…eh…passed…till I saw the piece about his statue in the paper. Seeing that, I said to myself, Dave Roberts. You’ve got to find the missus and pay your respects.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you,” she said cautiously. She was still not sure that she could trust him. There was something too smooth, too slick, too polished about him.

  “Yes, well…” He cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but it looks like you have need for a handyman. I noticed your broken step and shutters. And your roof…” He shook his head and tutted. “If I may offer my services…”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t afford to hire anyone right now.”

  “Oh, but I wouldn’t think of taking your money!” The man looked positively appalled. “Oh, no, no, no. I offer my services in memory of your dear departed husband who, like I said, was like a brother to me.”

  Ellie-May didn’t know what to say. “That’s…very kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly accept.”

  “Oh, but I insist.” He twisted his hat in his hands. “You won’t even know I’m here. More than that, you’ll be doing me a favor. I can’t tell you how bad I feel for not making amends with your husband before he passed. Helping you is the only way I can think to appease my guilt.”

  “Well…” Ellie-May hesitated. The man seemed sincere, and God knew she needed the extra help. “I can’t offer you room and board,” she said. She could barely provide for the children, Anvil, and herself.

  “There’s no need. I work at one of the local ranches and can only work on your place during my off-hours.” He glanced down at the warped boards beneath his feet. “Shouldn’t take me more than a couple of weeks to do what has to be done around here.”

  Ellie-May shoved her hands in her apron pocket and weighed the pros and cons of accepting the stranger’s offer. She desperately needed the help but still wasn’t sure if she could trust him.

  “Mr. Roberts, as I’m sure you must know, Neal didn’t like to talk about what happened in Hannibal.”

  Roberts raised his right hand as if taking an oath. “I swear I won’t say a word to anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He looked and sounded as serious as a preacher delivering a sermon to a bunch of confessed sinners. “Like I said, all I want to do is make up for not making amends when he was alive.”

  Feeling bad for thinking ill of the man, Ellie-May felt herself cave. “In that case, I’d be much obliged for whatever help you can give me.”

  * * *

  Matt left the barbershop with a smooth chin but nothing in the way of information. No investigation was complete without at least one visit to the town barber. In years past, he’d gotten some of his most useful local news from sitting in a barber’s chair and listening to the other patrons talk.

  Lather a man’s face with shaving soap, and opinions tended to spout out of his mouth as easily as the whiskers left his chin. At least that had been Matt’s experience in the past.

  Today, he’d heard opinions aplenty, but none of any help. Though the Dawes Act had passed in February, the federal law turning Indians into farmers and landowners was still being loudly debated. Any attempt on Matt’s part to turn the conversation away from politics to local happenings was met with resistance.

  Mr. Haines, the owner of the barbershop, said anything that had to be said about Neal Blackwell had already been said. Matt felt the same way about the Dawes Act.

  That left him with nowhere else to go. No further clues to track. Nothing left to do but return to his company and hope his next assignment bore more fruit. If Neal Blackwell had indeed been responsible for the holdup, he sure in blazes hadn’t left a trail. A man didn’t steal that much money and not have something to show for it.

  Just as Matt reached his horse, he was stopped by a lad in a slouch hat. “Mister, are you the Texas Ranger?”

  Matt gazed over his saddle at the boy. Keen hazel eyes stared back from an angular face dotted with freckles. The studied expression contrasted sharply with the boy’s careless attire. His wrinkled shirt and frayed trousers hung from his thin body like moss from a tree. Uncombed ginger hair fell from beneath his cap to his shoulders in long, stringy strands.

  “Who wants to know?” Matt asked.

  “Name’s Jesse. Jesse James.”

  Matt quirked an eyebrow. Was the boy aware that he shared his name with an outlaw?

  “Yeah, I’m a Texas Ranger,” Matt said slowly. “You got a problem?”

  “I want you to hire me,” Jesse said. “I’m a hard worker, and you won’t be sorry.”

  Matt furrowed his brow. “You want to be a Ranger? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How old are you, son?”

  “I’ll be fourteen in December. But I act older than my age, and I can shoot as good as a twenty-year-old.”

  “A twenty-year-old, eh?”

  “Yeah.” Jesse ran a hand down Justice’s neck. “That’s a mighty fine horse you got there, Mister. I’ve been saving up to buy my own horse. I’ve already got $1.47 saved.”

  Matt stared at the boy. That was hardly enough to cover the cost of horseshoes. But since the boy looked and sounded so serious, Matt tried to think of a way to let him down gently.

  “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong man. I’m not the one who does the hiring.”

  Jesse scrunched up his nose. “But you could put in a good word for me.”

  Matt shook his head. “’Fraid that won’t do you much good. You’re not old enough to be a Ranger. Wait a few years.”

  Jesse frowned. “Boys younger than me fought in the war.”

  “Yeah, and most of them didn’t live long enough to tell about it.” The corners of Jesse’s mouth turned downward, but he looked no less determined. Feeling sorry for him, Matt asked, “How come you want to be a Ranger?”

  Jesse glanced around before answering. “I know things,” he said, his voice hushed.

  “Do you, now?”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “Any reason I should?” Matt asked.

  “I don’t lie. Only cowards lie, and I ain’t no coward.”

  Matt regarded the boy with keen interest. Something about the boy reminded him of himself at that age. “Okay. So what kind of things do you know?”

  Jesse lowered the volume of his voice, but the same intense look remained on his face. “I know that the bank manager, Mr. Coffman, sneaks away during the day to play poker.”

  “That’s not a crime,” Matt said.

  Unfazed, the boy continued. “I also know that Jeff Watkins stole money from Mr. Gordon’s till when he wasn’t looking.”

  “Okay, that is a crime. But it’s a job for the sheriff’s department, not the Texas Rangers.”

  “I also know who robbed that stagecoach a while back,” Jesse said, saving the most startling information for last.

  Matt pushed back his hat and stared at the boy. If Jesse James wanted to get his attention, he sure enough had succeeded. “Is that so?”

  Jesse’s dark eyes gleamed in triumph. “It was Mr. Blackwell,” he said in all seriousness. “He’s the one who done the robbing.”

  “You better not let anyone hear you say that,” Matt said. “The man you’re accusing of a serious crime happens to be the town hero. He also happens to be deceased.”

  “That don’t change nothing. He still robbed that stage.”

  Matt studied
the boy. Either the youth had a wild imagination, or he really did know something. Matt glanced around to make sure no eavesdroppers lurked nearby. The last thing he needed was for Blackwell’s widow to get wind of this conversation.

  “What makes you think Blackwell was responsible for that crime?”

  “Heard him talking.”

  “You heard him?” Matt’s sharp voice caused his horse to shake his head and a passerby to stare. Grimacing, he motioned the boy to follow him to the alley that ran along the side of the barbershop.

  Satisfied that they were out of earshot, he turned to face the boy. “You said you heard Blackwell talking. Where was this?”

  “On his farm. He’d hurt his back and hired me to help out. That’s when I heard him talking to another man. I heard him say that he would keep the stolen money for twenty-four hours.”

  “Why twenty-four hours?” Matt asked.

  Jesse James shrugged his shoulder. “Don’t know, but that’s what he said.”

  Matt weighed this new information against what he already knew, and something didn’t add up. If what the boy said was true, that meant that the stagecoach robber hadn’t acted alone. He had a partner. But neither the driver nor any of the three passengers had mentioned a second man.

  Matt narrowed his eyes. “You’re not making this up, are you?”

  Jesse looked affronted. “Why would I do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. To impress me?”

  “I’m telling you the God-honest truth.”

  Matt studied the boy at length. He certainly looked and sounded sincere. If he wasn’t speaking the truth, he sure in blazes was a good liar. “How come you didn’t tell anyone what you’d heard? The sheriff?”

  “I did, sir. The sheriff said he’d look into it. But before he had a chance, Mr. Blackwell died in that fire.”

  Matt ran his hand over his newly shaved chin. “The man you heard Blackwell talking to… Do you know his name?”

  Jesse shook his head. “Nope. Saw him once in my pa’s saloon. Haven’t seen him since.”

  “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jesse said without hesitation. “A Texas Ranger never forgets a face.”

  Matt wasn’t sure that was true, but he let the comment pass. “Anything else you can tell me about Blackwell and what you heard?”

  “No, sir. That’s all I heard him say. He would keep the loot.”

  Matt’s thoughts whirled in his head like autumn leaves on a windy day. If what the boy said was accurate, then the money could well be hidden somewhere on the Blackwell farm. Unless, of course, the man seen talking to Blackwell had absconded with it. But since none of the banknotes had been put back in circulation, that seemed unlikely. The only explanation that made sense was that Blackwell had died before spending the money, and his partner—if indeed there had been a partner—had no knowledge of its whereabouts.

  “If you think of anything else,” Matt said, “I’m staying at the hotel. Room 10.”

  Jesse’s face brightened. “Does that mean I’m now a Ranger?”

  “No, it means if you recall anything else about the man, you’re to tell me. No one else. Understood?”

  The boy gave a reluctant nod. “Yes, sir.”

  Satisfied that he had Jesse’s cooperation, Matt spun on his heel and left the alley. He still didn’t know whether to believe the boy. He wanted to, but there were too many unanswered questions.

  Jesse followed him to his horse. “What can I do?”

  Matt untethered his horse and mounted. “Do?”

  Squinting against the sun, Jesse looked as serious as an old cat. “You know. Till I’m old enough to join the Rangers?”

  Matt thought for a moment before answering. “You might think about changing your name, son.” With that, he tugged on the reins and rode away.

  6

  Ellie-May walked into Gordon’s General Store with Alicia and Lionel in tow. The pleasant scent of cinnamon and freshly ground coffee beans filled the air, along with a hint of tobacco.

  The smell of coffee reminded her of the breakfast she’d had with the Texas Ranger. Just thinking about her crass behavior made her cheeks flare. It wasn’t like her to be so confrontational or outspoken, but she couldn’t let the Texas Ranger say things about her husband that simply weren’t true.

  Standing behind the counter, Mr. Gordon looked up at the sound of jingling bells, his spectacles resting on the tip of his nose. “Mornin’, Mrs. Blackwell,” he drawled.

  “Morning, Mr. Gordon.” Since Neal died, the shop proprietor had been especially tolerant of her running account, but she tried not to take advantage. Today, as usual, she intended to pay him part of what she already owed him from her egg money.

  Adjusting her empty shopping basket over her arm, she started down the aisle. Lionel had already rushed ahead to check out the tin soldiers in the toy section.

  There was no room in her budget for toys or any other luxuries. For that reason, she quickly walked past the tempting display of feathers and lace. No sense lingering on things that only made her feel bad.

  She did, however, stop to check out a handsome straw hat that she would never be able to afford.

  Alicia called to her. “Oh, look, Mama. Look!” Her young daughter pointed to a small cylinder box that played music. The lacquered black box was engraved with green leaves outlined in gold.

  Eyes sparkling like sun-lit gems, Alicia carefully turned the little gold key at the back of the box, and a tinny tune began to play. Closing her eyes, she swayed back and forth, a look of pure joy on her face.

  Ellie-May took a quick glance at the price tag, and her jaw dropped. The music box cost as much as it did to run her household for several weeks.

  “All the way from Switzerland,” Mr. Gordon called from behind the counter as if to justify the cost.

  The music box fell silent, and Alicia immediately rewound it. Humming along with the tune, she lifted her head as if to catch every note.

  “Come along, children,” Ellie-May said. “We have shopping to do.” Anxious to complete her errands and return to the farm, she quickly moved along the aisle. She needed rice, flour, and candle wax. If she used fewer coffee beans for Anvil’s morning cup, she could make the current supply last for another month.

  Alicia followed without argument, but each time the music box stopped playing, she would run back to rewind it. Fearing Alicia would drop the box or otherwise break it, Ellie-May scolded her. Mr. Gordon had a strict policy that required customers to pay for any breakage.

  “Come on along, Alicia. You mustn’t dawdle.” She handed her daughter a block of candle wax. “Take that to the counter.”

  Mr. Gordon greeted Alicia with a look of sympathy. “You can come to the store anytime you want to listen to the music box,” he said, drawing out his words.

  Alicia responded with a happy squeal. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” She spun around, a wide smile on her face. “Mama, did you hear what Mr. Gordon said?”

  “Yes, yes, I did,” Ellie-May said. “Just be careful not to break it.” Gratified that her children were shown more kindness than she’d ever been shown as a child, Ellie-May thanked the store owner and scooped rice into a paper sack.

  After filling her basket, Ellie-May deposited a handful of coins on the counter to pay part of her prior bill. It cost every penny of that week’s egg profit.

  After adding her current purchases to the tab, Mr. Gordon adjusted his spectacles up his angular nose and handed each child a penny candy. Alicia ran back to rewind the music box one last time, and the tinny tune followed them out of the shop.

  * * *

  After leaving Jesse James, Matt went to his hotel room and read and reread the sheriff’s report on the Haywire robbery. Every word written on the one-page report had been committed to memory. Still,
it didn’t hurt to go over it again. There was always the chance that some small detail had been missed or that something that had originally seemed unimportant would take on new meaning in light of Jesse’s information.

  Three passengers had been on the stage, including Senator Miles. The other male passenger was a salesman who’d had nothing of value on him and had escaped being robbed. The third passenger, Mrs. Whittaker, had been relieved of her jewelry, but the contents of her purse had been left untouched.

  Matt suspected that the robbery of the senator was more of an embarrassment to the sheriff than the stealing of the strongbox. The politician had been robbed of his watch and heirloom diamond ring. Miles never failed to mention the holdup in his speeches and had promised to help Captain McDonald carve out a future political career upon return of his cherished jewelry.

  The passengers, driver, and guard all described a single bandit wearing a flour sack. Like Blackwell, he was of average height and build. The guard was positive that he’d shot the man as he was getting away, but none of the other victims could confirm it. Nor had there been any mention of a second bandit.

  I heard him say that the stolen money would stay with him for twenty-four hours.

  Now, as before, Matt puzzled over the time period. Why only twenty-four hours?

  Still, if what Jesse said was true, then the road agent hadn’t acted alone. If Blackwell did indeed have a partner, why had there been no other robberies after Neal’s death? What had his partner been doing all this time?

  Matt slid the report back into his portfolio. Something about this case didn’t sit right. Correction. Nothing about this case sat right.

  Having more questions than answers, he left the hotel and rode straight to the sheriff’s office. Today as usual, Sheriff Keeler looked none too pleased to see him.

  Keeler jabbed his pen into the penholder and sat back in his chair, the ends of his curling mustache twitching. “Thought you’d left town.”

  Matt seated himself upon the ladder-back chair in front of the sheriff’s desk and balanced his hat on his knee. “That was the plan. But something came up.”