Lone Jack Kid: The Return: A Western Adventure (Western Fiction, by Joe Corso Book 2) (The Lone Jack Kid)

by Joe Corso

  LONE JACK KID

  The Return

  Also by Joe Corso

  .

  The Adventures of the Lone Jack Kid Series

  The Old Man and The King

  The Starlight Club Series

  The Revenge of John W

  The Time Portal Series

  Lafitte’s Treasure

  Flames of Fury Series

  The Comeback

  LONE JACK KID

  THE RETURN

  By Joe Corso

  Lone Jack Kid : The Return

  Joe Corso

  PUBLISHED BY CORSO BOOKS

  www.blackhorsepublishing.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  All Rights Reserved

  Black Horse Publishing

  www.blackhorsepublishing.com

  © 2014 by Joe Corso

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

  All Rights Reserved

  Jimmy Ringo: How come I’ve got to run into a squirt like you nearly every place I go these days? What are you trying to do? Show off for your friends?

  1950 The Gunfighter

  Chapter 1

  1868, New York City

  “Excuse me, Miss Bernhardt, but there is a Western Union delivery for you.”

  “Sign for it and bring it in here please, Olga. Hmm. I wonder who it’s from.”

  Olga gave the small box and the accompanying letter to her mistress. Miss Bernhardt smiled. “Why it’s from that good looking cowboy, Charles Longstreet.”

  Olga leaned closer. “What does it say, Miss Bernhardt?”

  She opened the envelope and scanned the letter. Finding nothing personal in it, she read the letter out loud.

  “Dear Miss Bernhardt. I wanted to give you a little something to remember me by. Please think of me when you wear it. I’ll never forget the kindness you showed me when we first met, and how you helped me to overcome the stage jitters I was feeling, knowing that I was going to make a fool of myself when I had to get on that stage. I’d rather fight a whole tribe of renegade Indians than have to do that, but you took the time to offer me advice, and for that I’ll be forever in your debt. I wanted to give you this little gift before I left but I was too embarrassed, so I waited until I was on the train and safely out of New York before it was delivered to you. I hope you like it.”

  She stopped reading at that point, but the letter went on. “I must say that I enjoyed our night together. You sure know how to make a man feel like a man. Why, you showed me tricks that even I didn’t know.”

  She turned a bright shade of crimson and felt herself becoming aroused, thinking of the night they spent together. It was a rather special night because, even though she had been in the company of quality men from all walks of life, she had never been with a dangerous, real-life gunfighter, a man who considered the likes of Frank and Jesse James and the Younger brothers his friends. Charles Longstreet was a contradiction in terms because while he was a very dangerous man, he was also very shy and unpretentious—and gentlemanly, in a sweet way. She knew that when she was with him what she saw was what she got. He was a genuinely sincere young man who meant what he said and said what he meant. She read the end of the letter . . .

  “If ever you should need me, write to my brother Bob in Silver City and he’ll know how to get in touch with me. It was sure nice meeting you,

  Your friend,

  Charles Longstreet.”

  She knew with a certainty that she would never need his kind of help. She put the letter on her dresser and picked up the little box. While it was sweet that he thought of her, she wondered what a cowboy like Charles Longstreet, the Lone Jack Kid, would know about giving a gift to someone as worldly as Sarah Bernhardt. That all changed when she opened the blue velvet box and viewed the little gift he sent her. Her breath was taken away.

  “My God,” she gasped. “This diamond must be at least three, and maybe even five carats. And just look at the delicate setting. “I must wear this ring for my performance tonight.” She raised her hand so her secretary could see the ring.

  “My goodness, Miss Bernhardt, but that sure is one beautiful ring. You must have really impressed that boy.”

  Sarah thought about it for a moment then shook her head. “No. Even though I know he enjoyed being with a real lady for at least one night, I don’t believe that was the reason. But we did have fun, along with a few laughs, and we became friends. I’m sure we’ll be hearing more about him in the future.”

  She lifted her hand to appreciate the ring again, admiring the sparkle of the flawless gem as the candlelight from the chandelier reflected off the diamond and danced along the walls.

  “You know, Olga, some men have greatness thrust upon them and Charles Longstreet, even though he is not aware of it, is one of them.”

  She walked across her luxury apartment in the Broadway Central Hotel and onto her balcony high above New York City. As she stared at nothing in particular, she thought wistfully of the kid . . . wondering if she would ever see him again. Then she laughed silently to herself, thinking about this crazy world. She knew that she was beautiful and famous and could have any of the many men who clamored for her favors, and yet here she was thinking of that cowboy who wasn’t impressed with who she was, but was her friend.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  It was the second day on the train and Longstreet was dressed in his traveling clothes. He wore a long leather duster because it got cold traveling through open country in a train with no windows. He buttoned down the leather shade to block the cold air but it was a losing battle. He kept the fancy clothes and the ivory-handled guns that Ned had given him in the carpet bag on the seat beside him. His mind drifted to Sarah Bernhardt, the beautiful actress he had met in New York, and wondered if she had received his gift yet. If she had he hoped she liked it. He knew that many women liked diamonds and he hoped that Miss Bernhardt was one of them.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the conductor who stopped to hand him a letter. “I was told to give this to you today. It’s from Boss Tweed.”

  Charlie took the letter and held it for a minute, wondering what Tweed wanted. When he opened it he found it short and to the point.

  “Hi, Charlie. I just wanted to write a little note to tell you how much I enjoyed your visit to our great city. I know the rest of New York City feels the same as I do. You brought a lot of excitement to this town and for a little while we forgot about politics and business and just enjoyed the Lone Jack Kid. Your shooting exhibition was something I’ll never forget and the stage show you put on was unforgettable. What I guess I’m trying to say is this. Since you brought our city so much enjoyment I thought it was only fitting to give you something in return. I got a few of the boys together and we all chipped in to buy you the finest horse we could find. He’s on board the train in the horse car. I hope you like him. He’s a black thoroughbred with a great pedigree and because of his being all black we named him Sable.

  I hope we get to see you again soon. You take care now and drop us a line when you get a chance.

  Your friend

  Will
iam Magear (Boss) Tweed.”

  When Buntline informed Charlie that the show would run for the better part of a year he had shipped Comet back to his brother Bob. While he really didn’t want to part with the horse, he realized he wouldn’t get a chance to ride her. Besides, it just wasn’t fair to the horse. She was a good horse and she didn’t deserve to vegetate in some old stall for six months or a year. After she was gone he felt as if a part of him was gone too. But now, after reading Boss Tweed’s letter, he felt whole again. He had been riding and breaking horses since he was a kid, and just knowing that he had a fine horse waiting for him made his heart flutter. He decided to waste no time before introducing himself to his new horse. He hurried through the cars, racing to the horse car. He opened the door and looked around the dark car, steeped in shadows, in an attempt to see which stall his new horse was in. He could see four horses peering through the darkness from their stalls. As he approached, their ears stiffened at the presence of the stranger and they looked at him curiously—but Charlie was disappointed, because none of the horses was black.

  He walked a little further into the car when suddenly a head popped up in the last stall, munching hay—and there stood Sable. Charlie walked over to the stall, leaned over the railing and patted the horse’s neck. Then he rubbed his nose. Charlie figured the horse didn’t know he was his new master, but he leaned in closer to Charlie and seemed to like him. Charlie held him affectionately around his neck and gently rubbed his nose while talking soothingly.

  “You sure are a beauty, Sable, and I just know that you and me are gonna be pals. The next town we stop in I’m gonna buy you a nice apple; and if I can’t find an apple I’ll get you some sugar.”

  As Charlie turned to leave he noticed a fancy black saddle adorned with silver conches hanging on the side of the car. He picked up the tag hanging from the horn and read it. “THIS SADDLE IS THE PROPERTY OF CHARLES LONGSTREET.” Whew, he thought. Boss Tweed doesn’t do things half measure, that’s for sure, ’cause this horse and saddle didn’t come cheap and that’s for double sure.

  Chapter 2

  Charlie opened the bag of apples he had bought in the first town the train stopped in. “Hmm, twelve apples. I’ll give Sable one a day. That ought to make him look forward to seeing me,” Charlie mused. Then he thought about how far the train had traveled. At thirty miles an hour they were making good time, passing through Pennsylvania and Ohio. They were now approaching Springfield, Illinois, the hometown of Abraham Lincoln. Somewhere down the line he intended to get off and ride west across the country. It was no fun sitting in the car, mile after mile, watching the countryside flying past him. Besides, he resented the train taking him where he might not want to go. Charlie decided to get off in Kansas City, on the border of Kansas and Missouri. Maybe he could hook up with a wagon train heading west. Or maybe he would buy some supplies in Kansas City and take to the trail. While they rode west he’d get to know his new horse.

  Charlie had no money problems. He was part owner of two gold mines, and he had Parker’s diamonds plus the reward money he had collected for the wanted men he had killed in self-defense. But the money he collected from the show Ned Buntline produced in New York City, based on Ned’s dime novels about the Lone Jack Kid, assured that Charlie was a very rich man who would never have to worry about money again. But while the dime novels and the show generated an enormous influx of cash, they also placed a target on Charlie’s back. It seemed that in every town Charlie passed through, there were gunmen looking to make a reputation for themselves as the man who killed the famous Lone Jack Kid.

  Once they reached Kansas City, Charlie mounted Sable as soon as he was led down from the horse car. He was about to turn the horse when he heard the conductor call out to him.

  “Hey, wait a minute, cowboy. You’re forgetting something.”

  Charlie nudged Sable closer to the car. “What did I forget?”

  “You forgot this,” the conductor said as he handed Charlie what looked to be a brand new Winchester model 1866 repeater rifle, chambered for the 44 caliber bullet.

  “You sure this is mine?”

  “Yeah. It came with the saddle, but I didn’t want to leave it in the car out in the open. It’s such a nice weapon that someone might’ve been tempted to take it.”

  “I see what you mean. Well, thanks. I’m mighty grateful to you for keeping it safe.”

  The conductor smiled. “Don’t mention it. Pleased to help.”

  Charlie examined the rifle. He loved this Winchester rifle because it remedied the flaws in the Henry rifle by incorporating a loading gate on the side of the frame. The Henry had an open barrel, which was dangerous because the hammer rested on a cartridge which, if jarred, could unintentionally fire a round. Charlie thought of Tweed and smiled. That scoundrel thought of everything. He promised himself to write a note to thank him before he left Kansas City. The kid slid the Winchester into the sleeve on the side of his saddle and walked along the dirt road into town, searching for the post office.

  Charlie tied Sable to a post, slung his saddlebags over his shoulder and bounded up the wooden steps and through the post office door. The clerk, who was sorting letters, looked up at him.

  “Yes? What can I do for you?” He took a closer look at Charlie. “Excuse me, sir, but do I know you? You look familiar.”

  Charlie was afraid this would happen. “No! I’m new here. I’ve never been in this town before.”

  “Well, I could have sworn I’d seen you before. Guess I was wrong. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to send something to my brother in Silver City, and seein’ as how a railroad stops in this town, I thought you could handle that for me.”

  “We sure could, Mr . . . Mr?”

  Charlie ignored the clerk’s implied question. “Do you have a box I could put some of my duds in?”

  “We sure do. What size box you looking for?”

  “Well, I have some clothes and some guns to put in there. It don’t have to be a big box, but it does have to be strong. I wouldn’t want it to open up if it’s handled roughly by the men loading and off loading.”

  “No problem, sir. I’ll get a box from the back. Be right back.”

  Charlie reached into his saddlebags and pulled out his fancy white cowboy suit, along with the fancy leather cowboy boots that Buntline had bought for his appearance in New York. He handed them to the clerk, who placed them neatly in the box.

  “Anything else? You said something about some guns?”

  Well, here goes, Charlie thought as he reached into his saddle bags for his fancy nickel-plated guns with the ivory handles. “Here, take them and make sure you wrap them good.”

  “Wow, these sure are fancy colts. Are you sure you want to ship them?”

  “Yeah, I have my regular guns that I carry with me all the time.”

  The clerk noticed Charlie’s guns. One hung low, tied to his thigh and the other was a cross draw holster, which he wore lower than most men. Then recognition set in, but he wanted to be sure. “I’ll need the address.”

  “Send the box to Mr. Robert Longstreet, ℅ Longstreet’s Store, Main Street, Silver City, Northwest Territory.”

  The clerk gulped and took a long, hard look at the man on the other side of the counter. “Excuse me, sir, but this Mr. Robert Longstreet, you said he was your brother. Right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well,” the clerk continued, “if he’s your brother that would mean that you must be Charles Longstreet. Right?”

  Charlie couldn’t deny it, nor did he feel inclined to. “Yes, that’s right, I’m Charles Longstreet; but if I hear anyone tapping three times or calling me out, the first person I’m going to shoot will be you. So keep your mouth shut. I’m just passing through and I don’t want any trouble. Got that?”

  The clerk was sweating now. He knew he had overstepped his bounds, but he was so excited to meet the person he had just read about he couldn’t help it. He didn’t mean anyth
ing by it. He was just excited to meet a famous gunfighter. “Sure. Don’t worry about me saying anything. I won’t say a word to anyone. At least until you’re out of town. Is that all right with you?”

  “Just so long as you wait until I leave town, understand? Because I meant what I said.”

  Charlie paid the man and was about to leave, but the young clerk asked him to wait a minute while he got something from the back room. A minute later the clerk returned holding a copy of one of Buntline’s dime novels.

  “Please, Mr. Longstreet, I would appreciate it if you would sign this for me. This way I can prove it really was you.”

  Charlie frowned but he took the book. “Do you have something to write with?”

  The clerk smiled. “This is the United States Post Office! Of course I have something to write with.” He slid an ink bottle and pen toward Charlie.

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Seth. My name’s Seth Brown.”

  Charlie dipped the pen and signed the book. To Seth. Best Wishes, Charles Longstreet.

  “Where can a man get a good meal in this town?”

  “Right across the street in Cora’s Cookhouse, Mr. Longstreet. Everything is home cooked by Cora herself.”

  “Thanks.” He turned to leave but stopped. “Where can I buy some supplies for the trail?”

  Seth pointed down the street. “Keep on this side of the street almost to the end until you come to Ned’s Convenience Store. You’ll find what you need there.”

  “Thanks—and remember what I said.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  Charlie left his horse tied to the rail and ambled across the street towards Cora’s place.

  Cora had watched the stranger leave the post office. When he opened the door he remained there for a moment before entering. He seemed to be checking if it was safe to enter. He didn’t appear to be boisterous or loud like most strangers who passed through Kansas City. This one was cautious and wore an aura of danger like a garment.