“You see too many things that aren’t there.”
“She likes you, Pa. You know she does,” Kirby said with a broad smile.
Emmett sighed. “She might, but I’m not encouragin’ it. We’ll be leavin’ here, come spring. I don’t want to do anythin’ that might cause her some hurt. She’s a good and decent woman, and she don’t fit in with my plans. You do understand that, don’t you, boy?”
Kirby nodded. “Yeah Pa, I do.”
“Then please, don’t do or say anything to her that might give her the wrong idea.”
“I won’t, Pa.”
“I’ll see you at supper.”
Kirby nodded. “Try ’n stay warm out there on the water today.”
One of the advantages of working as a deputy was Kirby’s access to WANTED posters. He had mixed feelings about those he had seen on Angus Shardeen. On the one hand, he was glad that Shardeen was being regarded as a wanted outlaw . . . and not a hero as was James Henry Lane. On the other hand, because Shardeen was a wanted man with a price on his head, it was quite possible that someone else might find and kill him before Kirby had the satisfaction of doing so.
As he was looking through the WANTED posters, he was surprised to see his and his father’s name, not on a reward poster, but on a document that rescinded their wanted status.
Notice is hereby given that the Wanted status of Elmer Gleason, Emmett Jensen, and Kirby Jensen has been withdrawn. Reason for revocation: an appeal filed on their behalf by Keith Davenport has been granted, and Daniel Gilmore has been removed from the federal bench due to malfeasance.
Kirby smiled as he read the document, and he gave a silent thanks for the honesty and integrity of the lawyer who, even though he would probably never see his clients again, had done the right thing.
On an early spring day, Kirby was in the bank to deposit a county check for the sheriff’s office when his landlady came in with two men. “Hello, Mrs. Foley.”
As soon as he spoke to her, he saw that the expression on her face was one of terror. He also saw the reason for her terror. Both men who had come into the bank were armed, and one of them had his gun stuck into her back.
“This is a holdup!” shouted one of the two men.
“Here, what are you doing?” the bank teller called. “You let that woman go!”
“We will, soon as you fill this bag with money.” The second armed man stepped up to the teller’s cage, passing a cloth bag over the counter.
With shaking hands, the teller began taking money from his drawer, and sticking it into the cloth bag.
“Hurry up!” the robber urged.
“There’s no need for you to hurry, Mr. Montgomery,” Kirby said easily. “These two men are under arrest. I’m going to ask you to let Mrs. Foley go . . . now.”
“What did you say?”
“You may have noticed the star on my jacket. I’m the deputy marshal here, and I’m putting both of you under arrest.”
The outlaws laughed.
“Are you tryin’ to be funny, mister?” one asked.
“No, I’m quite serious.”
“You may have a deputy’s star, but you ain’t got no sense. Maybe you’re too dumb to notice, but you don’t have a gun in your hand, and we do.”
“That’s true,” Kirby agreed. “But you’re pointing your gun at Mrs. Foley, and your friend is pointing his gun at the bank teller. Neither one of you are pointing your guns toward me. And that’s where you have made your mistake.”
The one holding his gun to Mrs. Foley glanced at his partner. “Can you believe this guy?”
“I’m going to ask you one more time to let Mrs. Foley go,” Kirby said, his voice quiet and calm as it was the first time he’d addressed them.
“What the hell! Let’s just shoot him and get it over with!” The one holding Mrs. Foley seemed to be the leader.
Kirby was watching both men very carefully. The instant the man holding Mrs. Foley moved his pistol, Kirby drew and fired twice, one on top of the other. Both would-be bank robbers went down, each of them with a bullet in his forehead, dead before realizing they were in danger.
Shocked by the sudden and unexpected turn of events, the scream that Mrs. Foley tried to make died in her throat. By the time she looked toward Kirby, he had already returned his pistol to his holster. The bank teller, with an expression of utter shock on his face, was still holding the half-filled bag of money.
“You can put the money back in the drawer now, Mr. Montgomery,” Kirby said. “Oh, and the sheriff would like to deposit this county check.”
The two bank robbers were identified as Frank Morris and Seth Crandall, former Jayhawkers. Within a week, word of Kirby Jensen’s unbelievable performance had traveled up and down the Arkansas River and beyond.
Some declared the story fanciful since only two eyewitnesses could claim that they had seen it happen. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could have actually done what was being told.
“I’m proud of you, son,” Emmett said. “You are already getting a taste of what I told you was going to happen. You are beginning to build a name for yourself. I do believe there’s goin’ to come the time when ever’one in the West knows who you are.”
“I’m not sure that’s somethin’ I want, Pa,” Kirby said.
“I’m not goin’ to lie to you. It’s goin’ to be a burden. But as long as you use this skill and talent for the good, you’ll go to bed ever’ night with a clear conscience.”
Had Kirby known how close he was to Angus Shardeen, he would have turned in his badge and gone after him. The raiding Jayhawker was camped less than fifteen miles west of Delphi, just across the line in Colorado.
“Both of them?” Shardeen replied after being told about what had happened in the bank in Delphi. “Morris and Crandall were both killed?”
“Yes,” Bartell said. “By that same kid that shot Tim in the hand.”
“Why didn’t you do somethin’?” Shardeen asked.
“I was outside with the horses. When I heard the shootin’ ’n Frank ’n Seth didn’t come out, I figured it was best I not give myself away. I just went across the street into the saloon. That’s when I heard what happened.”
“He said he was comin’ for you, Angus,” Tim said.
“One man? And a kid at that?”
“Yeah, but he ain’t like any other kid I’ve ever heard of. Frank ’n Seth both had their guns already drawed when they went into the bank,” Bartell said. “Jensen shot ’em both.”
“A tiny bank in a one-horse town, ’n Morris and Crandall get themselves kilt. Next time I’ll send better men.”
Rebecca Jean Conyers was born on April 15, 1866. The date of her birth did not preclude Ben being her father, but neither did it absolutely establish that he was. She had red hair, and Ben was quick to point out that his mother’s sister had been redheaded.
Janey promised that she would marry him but asked for a little time to recover from the birth.
On the day that Becca was three months old, Janey was standing in the nursery holding her.
“Do you want me to give the baby a bath?” asked Juanita Gomez, the nanny Ben had hired to look after the baby.
“Not yet,” Janey said. “Juanita, I’m going to be gone for a while. I want you to look after Becca while I’m gone.”
“El bebé hermoso que yo velo,” Juanita said. Then she repeated it in English. “The beautiful baby, I will watch.”
“I know you will. Oh, would you have Mr. McNally to bring the surrey around? I’m ready to leave.”
“Sí, Señora.” Juanita knew that Janey and Ben weren’t married, but she called her Señora anyway.
Janey waited until Juanita was gone, then she kissed the baby again. Her eyes shining brightly, Becca smiled up at Janey.
“Good-bye, my sweet child. I know you don’t understand now, and you may never understand. But what I’m doing is best for you and for your father. I’ll never see you again, but I swear to you, I’ll never fo
rget you.”
Janey put the baby in her crib, then raised up with tears streaming down her cheeks.
When Ben returned later in the day, he went into Rebecca’s room, picked her up, and kissed her on the forehead. “If you aren’t the most beautiful baby in the entire state of Texas, I’ll eat my hat. Without salt,” he added with a laugh. He put her back in her crib and looked over toward the nanny. “Juanita, where is Janey?”
“She said she will be gone for unos pocos días.”
“She’s going to be gone for a few days? Where did she go? Did she say?”
“No, Señor.”
“That’s damn odd,” Ben said.
Puzzled by Janey’s strange and unexpected disappearance, Ben went into the parlor. On the fireplace mantel was an envelope that bore his name.
Even more puzzled and a little worried, he hurried over to retrieve the envelope, then tore it open to read it:
Dear Ben,
Please forgive me, but I cannot stay here. I am afraid that to do so can do nothing but cause you embarrassment and pain. I’m leaving Becca with you. You have enough love and means to give her a wonderful life. I have nothing to offer her but my love, and on the day she learns of my past, my love won’t be enough. Then, I will be an embarrassment to her, as well, and I don’t think I’d be able to bear that. Tell her that I died, for it would be much better if she grows up believing that.
I do love you, Ben, but it is a love that cannot be. If you love me, I beg of you, make no effort to find me. Instead, give all your love to our daughter.
Janey
Ben went back into the nursery and picked up the baby again. He took her into the library, locked the door behind him, and walked over to sit in the big leather chair. There, the six-foot-four, 330-pound man held his baby close to him and wept.
The days had grown warmer and it was time to move on. Emmett and Kirby said good-bye to the friends they had made in Delphi.
“I wish you would stay,” Pauline said. “You wouldn’t have to work on the ferry boat anymore. You could help me run the boardinghouse.”
Emmett took her hands in his, raised them to his lips, and kissed them. “Pauline, you are a very sweet woman. My son and I were lucky to have met you, and are very grateful for the way you made us feel so welcome. But we can’t stay here. We have to go on.”
“But why, Emmett?”
“I’m not sure I can answer that. At least, not in the way you could understand.”
“Is it because you are dying?”
“What?”
“I’ve heard that kind of cough before, Emmett. I don’t know how much longer you have, but I know I could make you happy in what time you do have left.”
“Pauline, you don’t know how much I want to do this. But I have sworn to do something, and I must do it. If I stayed here, I wouldn’t actually be with you, not really. The part of me that needs to do this thing would take over my heart and soul, and I would have nothing left. You are too good a woman to have to live with that.”
With tears in her eyes, Pauline nodded. “I’ll always remember you, Emmett. And I’ll keep you in my prayers.”
“I’m blessed to have met someone like you. It’s just too bad that we didn’t meet under different circumstances.”
“Pa, would you have stayed there?” Kirby asked as they rode out of town. “I mean if you wasn’t lookin’ for them men, and I wasn’t lookin’ for Shardeen. Would you have stayed with Mrs. Foley?”
“I don’t know, Kirby. I might have,” Emmett admitted. “She’s a very good woman, and a man can’t ask for more than to have a very good woman.” He was quiet for a while, then added, “Your ma was a very good woman, too, and I didn’t do right by her. I had no business goin’ off to war. I was old enough that I didn’t really have to go. If I had been home when the Jayhawkers came through—”
“You’d more ’n likely be dead now,” Kirby said, interrupting him in mid-sentence. “There were too many of ’em, Pa.”
“Maybe. But about Pauline. She deserves a man who will stay with her, and look after her. You ’n I both know that I can’t do that. Not with this lung fever I got.”
“Maybe when we get farther west and into dry country, it’ll get better like the doc said,” Kirby suggested.
“Maybe,” Emmett said, but there was very little conviction in his voice.
CHAPTER 14
They rode west and north for several days across seemingly endless plains of tall grass with no sign of human habitation, then they came across a pile of rocks that had not been arranged by nature.
“Pa, look,” Kirby said, pointing to the rocks.
They pulled up.
“Some of the mountain men I met told me about them,” Emmett said. “That’s what I been looking for.”
“What’s it here for?”
“It’s a sign telling travelers that this here is the Santa Fe Trail. North and west of here will be Fort Larned, and north of that will be Pawnee Rock.”
“Pawnee Rock? What’s that, Pa?”
“Pawnee Rock would be a landmark, Pilgrim.” The voice came from behind them.
Turning toward the one who had spoken, Kirby saw, without a doubt, the dirtiest man he had ever seen. The man was dressed entirely in buckskin, from the moccasins on his feet to his wide-brimmed leather hat. A white, tobacco-stained beard covered his face. His nose was red and his eyes twinkled with mischief. He was mounted on a spotted pony and had two pack animals with him.
“Ain’t no pilgrim, old-timer,” Emmett said, low menace in his tone.
“Reckon you’re right, at that.”
“Where did you come from?” Emmett asked.
“I been watching you two pilgrims from that ravine yonder,” he said with a jerk of his head. “You don’t know much about traveling in Injun country, do you? It’s best to stay off the ridges. You two been standin’ out like a third titty.” The old mountain man shifted his gaze to Kirby. “What are you staring at, boy?”
The boy leaned forward in his saddle. “Be darned if I rightly know.”
The old man laughed. “You got sand to your bottom, all right.” He looked at Emmett. “He your’n?”
“My son.”
“I’ll trade you for ’im,” he said, the old eyes sparkling. “Injuns will pay right smart for a strong boy like this ’n.”
“My son is not for trade, old-timer.”
“Tell you what. I won’t call you pilgrim, you don’t call me old-timer. Deal?”
Emmett smiled and nodded. “Deal.”
“You don’t know where you are, do you?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Do you now? And just where would that be?”
“We’re somewhere west of the state of Missouri, and east of the Pacific Ocean.”
The old man chuckled. “In other words, you’re lost as a lizard.”
“If you got no particular place to go, you ain’t never lost,” Emmett said.
Again, the old man laughed. “Well now, you do have a point there. You got names?”
“I’m Emmett. This is my son, Kirby.”
“Folks call me Preacher.”
“You’re a preacher?” Kirby asked, surprised at the response.
“Didn’t say I was a preacher. I said that’s my handle. That’s what folks call me.”
Kirby laughed out loud.
“What you laughin’ at, boy?”
“I’m laughin’ at your name.”
“Don’t scoff. It ain’t nice to scoff at a man’s name. If I wasn’t a gentle type man, I might let the hairs on my neck get stiff.”
“Preacher can’t be your real name.”
“Well, no, you right about that, but I been called Preacher for so long, that I’ve near ’bout forgot my Christian name. So, Preacher it’ll be. That or nothin’.”
“Well, it was nice talkin’ with you, but I reckon we’ll be goin’ on now, Preacher,” Emmett said. “Maybe we’ll see you again.”
Preacher’
s eyes shifted to the northwest, then narrowed, his lips tightening in a weird smile. “Yep. I reckon you will.”
Emmett turned his horse and pointed its nose west-northwest. Kirby reluctantly followed. He would have liked to stay and talk with the old man.
When they were out of earshot, Kirby said, “Pa, that old man was so dirty he smelled.”
“He’s a mountain man, some away from home base, I’m figuring. More ’n likely trying to get back. Cantankerous old boys, they are. Some of them mean as snakes. I think they get together once a year and bathe.”
“But you said you soldiered with some mountain men.”
“I did, but they didn’t stay that long. They had to get back to the high lonesome.”
“Where is the high lonesome?”
“It’s more of a condition, than a place. Men like Preacher stay up in the high country for years. Don’t do nothing but trap and such. They won’t see another human being for a year or more, and not a white man more ’n once ever’ two years or so. All they’ve got is their horses and guns and the whistling wind and the silence of the mountains. They’re all alone, and it does something to them. They get notional, funny acting.”
“You mean they go crazy?”
“In a way, I’m thinking. I don’t know much about them. Nobody does, I don’t reckon. But I think maybe that most of the folks who would go off ’n live like that, don’t like people all that much to begin with. They crave the lawlessness of open space.
“The mountain men I was with, now, they were some different. They told me about that old man’s kind. They’re very brave men, son, don’t ever doubt that. Probably the bravest in the world. They got to be to live like they do.”
Kirby looked behind them. “Pa? That old man is following us, and he’s shucked his rifle out of its boot.”
Preacher galloped up to the pair, his rifle in his hand. “Don’t get nervous. I ain’t the one you need to be afeared of, but I do believe we fixin’ to get ambushed.”
Smoke Jensen, the Beginning Page 18