Red Lands Outlaw: the Ballad of Henry Starr

by Phil Truman

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s right.”

  “My husband, Ellis, and your father were cousins.”

  “First cousins?” Henry asked.

  The woman shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m not sure of the distance of the relation between them.” Looking at Henry looking at her daughter, she scowled. “Nor between you and Hulda,” she added.

  Henry glanced back at the woman, then to Hulda, looking her straight in her beautiful brown eyes for several long seconds. She held her look back at him, too, giving him perhaps a faint smile. “Well, it’s pretty easy to see she came from the good looking side of the family,” he said.

  Hulda looked down and giggled. Her mother uttered an unimpressed “Hmmph.”

  “I made a moving picture,” he said, hoping that would impress Hulda… and her mother. “Have you seen it?”

  “No,” Hulda’s mother firmly stated for the both of them. The girl looked at Henry again and gave him an apologetic smile. Yes, that time she definitely smiled at him.

  After a bit, Henry removed his hat. “Miss Hulda, I wonder if you’d do me the honor of partnering up with me at the Friendship Dance this evening?”

  Hulda looked at her mother, who frowned and shook her head emphatically “No.”

  “Yes,” she said, looking back at Henry. “I believe I’d be delighted.”

  * * *

  It surprised Henry to learn Hulda’s age. She’d just turned twenty-three; he thought she was more like eighteen. But it didn’t matter to him, as long as it didn’t matter to her. However, it did matter to her mother, Martha; she considered him a scoundrel, and as much as told him so. But Henry didn’t care about that either.

  Hulda’s father Ellis, on the other hand, seemed quite pleased his daughter chose to step out with such a man, or any man for that matter. Her mother kept such a tight rein on her, he was beginning to think she would never leave home. In fact, he thought his wife was probably the main reason young men shied away from Hulda. But having Hulda interested in such an important man as Henry Starr made him very proud. Plus, Henry didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the girl’s mother. That pleased Ellis, too, and impressed him. He’d cowed from Martha’s lashing tongue for over thirty years. The fact that Henry didn’t seem to fear his wife helped Ellis overlook the fact that Henry was almost his own age, and an outlaw and ex-con.

  The couple courted for about six months before she agreed to marry him. He took her off to live in Tulsa, which pleased Ellis and made Martha cry.

  Henry still had trouble finding honest work. With the ending of the war the economy had soured, and all those boys flooding back into an already tough job market made slim pickin’s for an old ex-con, even one with his notoriety. He ventured back into real estate some, but without much success. Nobody was buying much at the time. Hulda had gone to work at a downtown department store selling women’s foundation garments, but her income didn’t make enough to hardly keep body and soul together.

  Henry had hoped to be living off his movie royalties by then, but that wasn’t happening, either. From all indications the film was doing quite well, but he’d not received a penny from DuMer and company. He tried to call the little twit a time or two, but never got through to him. He’d talked to Miss Sweeney once, who just gave him some hateful and condescending double-talk about expenses versus profits or some such. Henry threatened to come out to California and kick some bull-ridin’ girl and French weasel butt until he got his money, but Miss Sweeney mentioned that the State of Arkansas still had an outstanding warrant for his arrest and extradition, and should he leave the protection of Oklahoma, she’d let the authorities know. Even a call to Tilghman didn’t do any good.

  “Did you sign a contract with DuMer?” Tilghman had asked.

  “I didn’t want to sign nothing with that little weasel,” Henry said. “It was a gentleman’s agreement, but I should’ve known better. DuMer ain’t no gentleman.”

  Tilghman sighed. “I’ll give ’em a call, Henry. But without nothing in writing, I doubt I can talk them into anything.”

  So Henry was trapped, and jobless, and cheated out of his promised money. The hard times put a strain on the newly wedded couple’s relationship.

  “Mother told me I was making a mistake,” Hulda said tearfully. “You are worthless!” They’d just gone fifteen angry shouting minutes over Henry’s late night return from a poker game where he’d lost their rent and a week’s grocery money.

  “Yeah, no surprise your mother would say something like that,” he said. “She had her way, you’d be under a glass jar for everybody to look at, but not touch. You want to go on back to your momma, you go on. I ain’t gonna stop ya.”

  That brought an “Oh, I hate you!” from Hulda followed by her running off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her, and flinging herself on the bed to cry for a spell.

  Disgusted, Henry left the house to wander the early morning streets trying to walk off his anger and frustration. He found himself back at the saloon where he’d played poker earlier, but it was closed down. Standing there looking around, he wasn’t sure where else to go. He sure as hell wasn’t going back to that house with that whimpering child. He pulled out his watch and looked at it. Maybe his friend E.D. Standingfox would take him in at this hour. He figured E.D. owed him; after all, had it not been for E.D. he’d likely never have met up with Hulda.

  After Henry’s third door pounding, which started two neighbor dogs barking, E.D., his hair sleep-tangled and his eyelids heavy, opened the door. He looked confused… and annoyed. “What the hell do you want, Henry?” He looked around at his wall clock. “Good God, man. It’s three in the morning.”

  “Me and Hulda had a fight,” Henry answered. “Didn’t want to hang around there listening to her cry and moan and groan about leaving her momma. Figured I’d come here.”

  E.D. rubbed his face and stood back from the door entry. “Well, come on in,” he said none too happily.

  “I don’t know, E.D., it ain’t really Hulda’s fault,” Henry said. Standingfox had made a pot of coffee, and they sat at the kitchen table drinking some, discussing Henry’s situation. He continued. “Poor kid, she really didn’t know what to expect when she took up with me. I think she thought I’d be rich and famous. Guess I did, too. Anyway, that’s probably what I led her to believe.”

  E.D. didn’t say anything, just sat drinking his coffee and nodding groggily.

  “I’m starting to think she and her momma are right,” Henry continued. “I’m starting to feel pretty worthless, that’s for sure.”

  E.D. took his cue to speak up. “Aw hell, Henry, you ain’t worthless. You’re just going through some bad times right now. Lotta guys in your shoes nowadays. Times’re tough. I’m damn lucky to have my own job. Don’t know how much longer that’s gonna last, though. Me and the foreman don’t see eye to eye on most things.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to do. Things is getting kind of desperate,” Henry said.

  E.D. reached back and grabbed the coffee pot off the stove, refilling their cups. “Man once told me we should do the things we’re best at, do the things we like, and success was sure to follow.”

  Henry nodded, took a sip of the fresh coffee, then looked at the kitchen wall. A half-minute passed before he said anything. “You know, E.D., I believe that man was right.” He fell silent again staring off into space, sipping his coffee every now and then. “Yes sir,” he said after a full two minutes. “What you just said makes a whole lot of sense.”

  * * *

  They patched things up… to a certain degree. He told Hulda he was sorry for the way he’d been acting, and that she was right, he had been worthless. But he was going to change that. He told her he had a lead on a job in Arkansas, and needed to go over there to see about it. He’d be back in a few days.

  “But aren’t you afraid you’ll get arrested?” she asked. “I thought the law was still after you in Arkansas.”

  “Well,
it’s been a long time. Don’t figure anybody over there will recognize me. Besides, I ain’t going to use my real name.”

  Henry went to the closet and reached up to the shelf above the rod of clothes. He felt towards the back corner for something he’d put there months back, a small box. Finding it, he pulled it down and removed the top, being careful not to let Hulda see it. Inside was a roll of bills, a hundred dollars; money he’d carefully rat-holed for when the day came. And the day had come. It could’ve been used to pay the rent and buy groceries, maybe even save his marriage. But the smoldering coals had burst into flame. The recovering drunk had opened the bottle and downed a shot. There was no turning back. He slipped the bills into his pants pocket and put the box back on the closet shelf.

  “Well, how will you get the job if you don’t use your real name?” Hulda asked.

  Henry fiddled with his bag, trying to decide what to put in it, and how to deflect his young wife’s questions. “It’s a cash-only job, a temporary thing. They won’t need my real name.”

  Hulda watched him, looking at him dubiously. “Henry, what is this job? What are you doing?”

  He buttoned up the valise and turned to her. “Hulda, you don’t need to know any more than what I’ve already told you. Now I’ll be back in a couple days, and all our money problems will be solved.”

  She sat on the bed and folded her hands in her lap. “Oh, Henry,” she said sadly. He continued gathering his things, not looking at her, not saying any more. She watched him.

  “If you do this, Henry, I won’t be here when you get back. I’m going back home.”

  “This is your home, Hulda,” he said.

  “No it’s not, Henry. Not anymore.”

  “Well, I reckon I expected as much.” He moved close to her, put his fingers under her chin, lifting her face until their eyes met. “It’s probably best.” He kissed her gently on the lips. “You take care of yourself, darlin’. I expect we’ll see each other at a better time and place.”

  “Henry, don’t,” she cried softly.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When E.D. rolled up in a big green Buick touring car, Henry stepped off the curb and opened the backseat door, throwing his bag onto the seat. He slid into the front passenger side, and rubbed his hand across the smooth supple surface of the front seat, looking around at the interior. The seat was rolled brown leather and smelled brand new.

  “Nice car,” he said. “Did you steal it?”

  “Sorta,” E.D said. He mashed the car into gear and rolled off down the street.

  E.D. looked over at Henry and grinned. “Told the guy selling it I needed take it to show my business partner, that you lived out of town and it’d take a couple days. Told him we was in the oil business, and we needed a good car to travel around to our well sites. Said I wanted something fast, too.”

  “He let you take it without checking on you?”

  “Well, he was pretty eager to sell this car, and I convinced him I was a high roller. Told him I’d bring him the cash in a couple days. Left my Model T with him as a deposit. He shook my hand and told me I looked like an honest man.”

  Henry rolled his head back and laughed heartily, as did E.D.

  “So where’s this guy you wanted me to meet?” Henry asked. “The one with this big job in Arkansas.”

  “Taking you to him right now,” E.D. said. He glanced back at Henry’s suitcase. “Movin’ out?” he asked.

  “Maybe, I guess. If this thing checks out with your guy, figured we’d head on over there, get the show on the road. Don’t expect Hulda’ll be here when we get back.”

  E.D. nodded. “Figured as much, on both counts. That’s why I picked up this car.”

  Lars Soderholm, and a boy who looked to be about eighteen or nineteen, sat at a table in the back corner of Gundersen’s Bar and Grill. A rare steak, half eaten, sat on the plate before Soderholm. He raised a tankard of beer to his lips as the two men walked toward him, eyeing their approach. He was wide and thick with a flat face and blond hair in a high-sided cut. His arms had the size of small tree trunks, thick reddish-blonde hair curled atop the massive forearms. His close-set and deep blue eyes, gave him a piercing and ominous stare. The boy was skinny, had dark hair, dark eyes, and an acne-pocked face which wore a dark scowl. He had his hand curled through the handle of a mug of beer on the table.

  “Howdy, Lars,” E.D. said. He gestured toward his companion. “This here’s Henry Starr.”

  Soderholm set the stein on the table, wiping the beer foam off his upper lip. “Yah, I haf hert of you,” he said looking at Henry without smiling. “Sit down. I vill haf Astrid bring you a steak and some beer.”

  “Who’s the kid?” Henry asked.

  Soderholm belched. “Dis is Yimmy. He’s my cousin. He vurks vit me.”

  Henry looked at the boy, but said nothing. “It’s Jim, not Yimmy,” the boy said with hostility. “Lars still talks like a stupid Swede. And I ain’t no kid.”

  Henry raised his eyebrows, and looked at Lars. E.D. whistled and scratched the back of his neck. Lars looked at Jim and grinned, shaking his head. “Yimmy iss always pissed about sumtin,” he said to the two men. He motioned to the empty chairs. “Haf a sit down.”

  The two men sat. E.D. looked around to make sure they were out of earshot of the others in the place. He leaned toward Lars and spoke in a low voice. “Tell Henry what you told me about that bank in Arkansas.”

  Lars sawed off another bloody chunk of steak and shoved it into his mouth. He looked at E.D., then Henry, as he chewed. “Dis bank is in a town called Harrison. It is ripe fer da pickin’.”

  Henry was skeptical. “Any money in this here bank?” he asked Soderholm.

  “Yah. Day got a shoe factory in dat town vhat does all dare business in dat bank. I used to vurk dare in dat factory. It’s da only bank in dat area. Lotsa people from all around use dat bank.

  Henry drummed his fingers on the tabletop, thinking. “What about its location in the town. Is there a lot of traffic?”

  “No, it’s off da main street. Near to da road outta town. Ve could be in and out uh dare quick, across da state line to Missouri in a couple hours.” Lars looked at E.D. “Dat is, if you got dat fast car I told you to.”

  E.D. grinned back at him. “Oh, I got a fast car,” he said.

  “It sounds good to me,” Henry said. “I think we ought to drive over there and take a look, see if it’s as promising as you say.”

  Soderholm nodded and smiled crookedly back at the two men. “Let’s finish our steak first before ve go. Yah? It’s a long drive to over dare. I tink ve could get hungry before ve get dare.”

  “You boys go ahead and eat your steaks,” Henry said, rising from his chair. “I saw a haberdasher down the street. I want to get outfitted with a new suit for this job; if I’m getting back in the bidness, want to look my best. I’ll be back directly.”

  * * *

  The four story brick building was called a department store. It was nothing like the single-story frame buildings called “mercantiles” Henry had known as a boy, the kind he’d robbed when he needed guns or food or clothes. The kind of place you could ride up to, take what you wanted, empty the till, and be out the door and riding away in less than five minutes. No, it was a modern thing, a city store, and always full of people, scads of people. It sat on the corner of First and Main Streets; a twenty-foot-tall sign, extending from the corner of the building, displayed “Moore’s Department Store” vertically in bold black letters. At night the sign was lit by dozens of electric lights. The floors held an abundance of retail merchandise, each different, departmentalized. The first floor displayed and sold clothing for men, women, and children. A sign by the contraption called an elevator informed the shoppers the second floor held sheets and towels and dishes and such; the third, furniture. The fourth floor wasn’t accessible to the public, maybe a warehouse and offices, Henry guessed. Another sign invited customers to visit The Tea Room for refreshment and lunch. An arrow
on the sign pointed down a wide aisle toward the café’s entrance thirty yards away.

  “That suit looks like it was made for you, sir,” the sales clerk said. He was a round, balding man in a tweed vest and bow tie. He had a pin cushion strapped to his forearm sleeve and a cloth tape measure draped around his neck. As Henry faced the mirror, admiring himself, the man fussed around him, brushing his shoulders and back. “I don’t see that we’ll need to make any alterations at all.”

  The suit was soft wool, navy in color with light blue pinstripes. “Does seem to fit well,” Henry said. He turned sideways to the mirror.

  The clerk stood back. “Very handsome, sir. Very handsome.”

  “How much?” Henry asked.

  “That is from one of our finest suit makers in Chicago,” the clerk said. “Normally, it retails for eighty dollars, but we have it on sale right now for fifty-nine, ninety-five.”

  “What’s your name, partner? Henry asked.

  “It’s Ernest. But I go by Ernie,” the clerk said.

  “Well, Ernie, how about I give you forty dollars for this suit,” Henry said.

  “No, no, I couldn’t do that, sir. It’s against store policy to—”

  “Be a damn shame not to sell me this suit, Ernie. You said yourself it wouldn’t take no extra work.”

  “Well, I…” the clerk said. “I’ll have to check with my supervisor.”

  “You do that,” Henry said, returning his gaze to his reflection.

  Ernie came bustling back five minutes later. Henry waited for him, wallet in hand. “Well, sir,” Ernie said. “My boss said we could sell you that suit for no less than forty-five dollars.”

  Henry opened his billfold and took out some bills. “Tell you what, Ernie. Here’s fifty. Why don’t you tell your boss you got the forty-five and you keep the other five.”

  The clerk hesitated slightly, then took the money. “Why thank you, sir, that’s most generous. If you’ll remove the suit, I’ll put it in a box for you.”

  “Ain’t necessary, Ernie. Believe I’ll wear it outta here. You could get me a box for my old clothes, though.”