by Joe Corso
Chapter 6
Charlie wanted to leave the two wagons to be on his own, but he couldn’t chance these people facing another Indian attack, so although the trip was long and slow, he remained with the two wagons. By now everyone suspected Charlie was the famous Lone Jack Kid but they had no way of knowing it for a fact. Obie decided to ask him when they were alone.
They passed no homesteads, no farms and no people traveling along the Mormon Trail, until they came to a river with a small shack abutting it. A man rode out to tell them that if they wanted to cross the river they would have to pay a toll of one dollar for each wagon and fifty cents for each rider.
Charlie looked angrily at the rider. “You go back and tell those money grubbers that we’re crossing the river and we ain’t paying you a dime. Now git.”
Obie and Micah looked at Charlie. “Is that wise, Charlie. You might have just angered them and we don’t know what we’ll be facing when we get to the river.”
“Don’t you worry none about that, ’cause I’ve been through this sort of thing before. You stop your worrying and leave everything to me.”
When they reached the river Charlie ordered the wagons to remain where they were until he gave the signal that it was safe to approach the toll booth. Then he rode ahead and confronted three men who identified themselves as toll collectors. A big man who wore his gun low like Charlie stood and waited by the steps for Charlie to reach him.
“Are you the big mouth who said he wasn’t going to pay our toll?”
“Yes, sir, that would be me.”
“You see, big mouth, the rules say that everyone pays the toll to cross this river.”
Charlie smiled and said, “You call this stream a river? Why hell, I don’t need to get on a raft to cross this piddly stream. I can cross it downstream without paying any toll.”
One of the other two men rose and stood beside the first man. “You would get mired down in the mud, mister. Your horse would get bogged down and you wouldn’t get her free.”
Charlie smiled. “Is that a fact now?”
“Yes, sir, it surely is a fact.”
The third man stood and adjusted his gun belt. He stood beside his two friends. “Now what’s it to be, big mouth,” the big man said as he adjusted his holster.
Charlie stepped down from his horse and faced the three men. “Well, it’s been about a week since I killed my last man. I guess I better face off with you men before I get a mite rusty.”
“Do you really think you can take all three of us in a fair fight?” asked one of the men.
“I’ve faced three men a few times now and they never got a shot off but, to be fair, I was shot once facing four men. But I still managed to kill all four of them before riding away with the thought that I better get the bullet taken out of me. Now, I’m willing to give it a try if you fellas are willing to die.”
“What did you say your name was, stranger?”
“I didn’t say, but I’ll say it now. It’s Charles Longstreet.”
“Wait a minute,” the man in the middle said. “I read something about a Charles Longstreet. It was in a dime novel. He called himself the Lone Jack Kid. That wouldn’t be you would it?”
“Well, to be truthful, I never called myself the Lone Jack Kid. That damned Ned Buntline hung that name on me and now every gunslinger in the west is looking to make a name for himself by killing me. But I digress. Shall we commence with the play?”
The big man suddenly lost his nerve and backed away. The other two men looked at one another, trying to figure a way not to go through with their threat. They looked at Charlie and could see he wasn’t the least bit nervous. In fact he looked eager to face them. “Look, Kid, we didn’t know who you were. Sure you can use our ferry and it won’t cost you a dime. How’s that sound?”
“Well now. I have to tell you that I can always recognize a gent when I see him and I’m looking at three of them right now. I thank you kindly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch the wagons while you get the ferry ready.”
Both families witnessed Charlie get off his horse and talk to the three men. The men looked rough and intimidating and the women couldn’t wait to get away from them.
Charlie pulled up alongside the wagons. “It’s okay, folks. These good men have agreed to allow you to put your wagons on the ferry and cross the river at no cost to you. I thought that was real generous of them, don’t you?”
The three toll collectors watched the ferry pull away. The big man asked his buddies, “Do you really think that was him?”
His friend replied, “He sure didn’t look nervous to me.”
The last of the three said, “Not only that. He looked like he was itching for a fight. Yeah, I’d say it was him.”
Once the wagons were safely on the other side of the river, Obie asked Charlie what the men had said.
“Nothing, really. One of the men mistook me for someone else, and rather than question me they agreed to allow us to cross. It’s as simple as that.”
“Look Charlie, me and Micah were talking and we think that you are, you are—”.
“Say it, Obie, say what’s on your mind. It’ll make you feel better.”
“All right I will. Don’t take this the wrong way, Charlie, but we think that you’re the famous Lone Jack Kid. If you tell me I’m wrong I won’t say another word.”
Charlie thought for a moment. “All right, I’ll tell you the truth. It happened during the civil war at the battle of Lone Jack in Missouri. I saved Ned Buntline’s life and he wrote a story about me which almost got me killed a dozen times. Yeah, I’m the Lone Jack Kid.”
“But what did you tell those men that they agreed to take us across at no cost?”
“They wanted gunplay and I told them I was ready to take all three of them on, any time they were ready. But one of the men asked me what my name was and I told him. He recognized it, but I could see doubt in their eyes, wondering if I was really him.”
Obie’s eyes were wide open, waiting for the rest of the story. “Well, go on. What happened then?”
“Nothing. I guess they thought better of it and didn’t want to take the chance.”
Chapter 7
Charlie was amazed at the number of people walking on the crowded wooden sidewalks and the amount of traffic in the wide-rutted thoroughfare. Oxen were struggling to pull their carts, and some were over on the side of the road, bogged down in mud left over from last week’s rains. Wagon trains parked in a line on the sides of the street. Cowboys on horses, buggies, cattle, horses, carriages and every imaginable means of conveyance crowded the road.
Charlie led the two wagons, maneuvering past Stover’s on his left and away from the busy street, around to Blake Street. People on balconies overlooking the street could see wagons parked in front of the meat market near Platte House on the corner of Blake and 15th Street loading up on provisions for the trip west. The two wagons guided by Charlie continued their slow trek down Blake Street, passing Nolan & Weary’s Bank. Charlie made a mental note to visit the Laramie City Saloon as he rode passed it. When he turned the corner on Front Street, which bordered the creek, he saw a wagon train circled in the street.
“Hey, there’s David Bruce’s wagon train. We caught up to it. We all want to thank you for the help you’ve given us, Charlie. We wouldn’t be here today if not for you. A trail’s been cut through the forest and it’s called the Lassen Branch of the Applegate-Lassen Trail, and that’s the trail we’ll follow to Los Angeles, in California. If you’re ever in California you’re most welcome to stay with us for as long as you wish.”
“That’s kind of you folks. If I’m ever out that way I may just take you up on your offer. Until then, vaya con Dios, my friends.”
“Goodbye, Charlie, and may God be with you.”
Charlie pulled up in front of the Laramie City Saloon, which was nothing more than two very large tents tied together to form a very large triangle that was bustling with activity. He tied Sable to a post, sauntered into the ba
r and asked the bartender for a cold beer. The bartender filled the large mug with a frothy beer which, to Charlie’s amazement and delight, was cold. He had drained half the beer when he heard someone at the bar say. “Did you hear the latest? The Lone Jack Kid is in town.”
Charlie froze, wondering who it was that had recognized him. He thought of Micah and Obie but had a good idea it wasn’t them who had talked. He waited for someone to challenge him, but no one did. What the hell is going on here? A couple of the rougher boys in the back stood and walked over to the bar. Charlie braced himself, figuring the two men were coming for him.
“Who told you this?” one of the men asked.
“I heard it from the Lone Jack Kid himself. Said he’d meet me here in ten minutes.” He looked up at the clock on the wall. “According to that clock he should be here any minute.”
Both men pulled their guns from their holsters in a smooth movement to make sure their guns were fully loaded , then they re-holstered them. While they waited they ordered drinks.
Charlie knew now that these men weren’t talking about him. They were talking about an impostor, using Charlie’s fame for his own nefarious purposes.
A few minutes later a young man wearing a tied-down gun sauntered over to the bar and ordered a drink. No sooner was the drink to his lips when a voice called out. “I’m calling you out, Kid.”
The two men stepped a few feet from the bar and motioned for the Kid to do the same. The bartender reached under the bar, pulled out a shotgun and waved it at the two men. “Not in here. Take your fight outside.”
Charlie had to make a quick decision. This cowpoke posing as him was about to get his head shot off. The impostor looked around with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He’d had his bluff called and now he didn’t know how to get himself out of this without being killed.
As the impostor was about to follow the two men out into the street Charlie grabbed his arm. “Stay here and don’t move. When this is over you and I are going to have a little talk. Understand?” Charlie looked right into the man’s eyes.
“Yes, but . . . but what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to face those two men in your place.” Then he turned and disappeared through the swinging doors.
When Charlie stepped down into the rutted, busy street, everyone on the street and in every wagon gave the men plenty of room.
“We don’t want you, stranger. We want the Lone Jack Kid.”
Charlie smiled easily and said, “You’re facing the real Lone Jack Kid.”
“Who . . . who is the other guy then?”
“He’s an impostor looking for some attention. I didn’t want to make myself known in these parts but you fellas sorta forced my hand. Now are you going to stand there talking like two school girls or are you going to open the ball?”
Everyone on both sides of the street watched with morbid fascination as the play unfolded slowly. The men walked in a circle while Charlie followed them with his eyes. Charlie positioned himself sideways to allow his hand to reach, draw and shoot his gun in the shortest possible movement.
“You don’t have to do this, fellas. You don’t have to get yourself killed today.”
The larger of the two men snickered. “You got that wrong, Kid. It’s you who’s gonna die today, not us.”
Charlie called out to the people watching. “Somebody get the sheriff. Now, you all heard me warn these two men not to try me. And you heard them refuse to back down.”
The next ten seconds were a blur. When the smoke cleared, the two men lay dead in front of the Laramie City Saloon. Charlie couldn’t hide his identity any longer. Now everyone in Denver knew that the Lone Jack Kid was in town.
Charlie walked back into the bar and straight to the impostor. He punched the stranger hard on his chin, knocking him to the floor. “Get up you, dirty cur.” The man got slowly to his feet, rubbing his chin. “Now what the hell are you doing impersonating me?”
“I saw you in New York on stage in that play they wrote about you and I watched the way you handled your guns. You’re about my age and size and I thought it would be fun to be you for a little while. After all, I wouldn’t be hurting anyone and I loved the adulation I got when everyone thought I was you. I bought a Colt and I even practiced shooting with it. I practiced the fast draw too, but I wasn’t very good at it.”
Charlie ground his teeth until he thought he’d wear the enamel off, then he grimaced. “You fool. Those two men would have eaten you for breakfast. You can thank your lucky stars that I just happened to be in town today or you wouldn’t have seen another tomorrow. Now that you’ve done a great job blowing my cover I’ll have to leave town in a hurry.”
The impostor looked confused. “Why must you leave town in a hurry?”
“Because every would-be gunslinger in Denver will be looking to make a reputation by killing the Lone Jack Kid.”
“Look, I’m sorry about this.” The impostor put out his hand in a show of friendship. Charlie wouldn’t accept it and left the stranger’s hand hanging there. “My name is Percy Williams out of Pennsylvania. I came to Denver to see my sister but she and her husband left for California to mine gold. Since we’re both traveling west, can I ride along with you? If you don’t mind the company.”
Charlie was so aggravated that he just sneered at the suggestion. “Sorry, but I travel alone. But I’ll leave you with a word of warning. If I ever hear that you’re pretending to be me, I’ll find you no matter where you are and I’ll drill ya.”
“Don’t worry, Kid. I’ve learned my lesson and those two guys you killed taught it to me.”
Charlie turned his back on Percy, leaned closer to the bar and motioned to the bartender for another cold beer. The bartender placed the beer in front of Charlie. “This one’s on the house, Kid. Didn’t realize we had a celebrity in town until I seen the show you put on out in the street with those two troublemakers.” The bartender looked at Percy with disgust. “How can you drink with this phony standing so close to you?” Percy shrank a little.
“He was just leaving,” Charlie said with his back to Percy.
The bartender nodded in agreement. He put his hand out. “Ike’s the name and it was a pleasure to meet you. I guess everything written in the book was true.”
Charlie leaned closer to Ike and asked him in a low voice, so no one else could hear, “I need to know where I might find a store that sells supplies to travelers riding west.”
The bartender pointed down the street. “What you want is Merker’s. His store is down the street and he sells everything you’d need. Tell him Ike sent you and he’ll give you a discount.”
Charlie mounted his horse and rode the short distance down the street to Merker’s General Store. He bought all the provisions he needed for his trip west. When he went to pay Merker he noticed three rough-looking men behind him, waiting to pay for their provisions, because they too were heading west. He wondered if they were following him. . . Too soon to tell, he thought, as he walked out of Merker’s store. But he’d be sure to look over his shoulder when he was on the trail.
Chapter 8
Charlie gave a lot of thought to where he wanted to go. He decided he would follow the old Butterfield Overland Mail route from Denver. It had been closed down a few years ago, replaced by the trains that were beginning to crisscross the United States.
Three days on the road found him camped off the main road in a small clearing in the midst of dense woods. After eating his dinner and cleaning his dish and pot in a small spring, he laid his head back and fell fast asleep, wondering how close to the next town he was. He had a map in his saddlebags and he’d study it in the morning.
Something woke Charlie. A twig snapped and his packhorse became nervous and Sable neighed and snorted. Charlie reached for his gun but his gun belt wasn’t where he had laid it beside himself, which he always did before he went to sleep. His instinct for survival aroused him and he twisted to his side just as a knife
came slashing down where he had been a moment before. He rolled once, twice to his left and tried to get to his feet, but two strong men grabbed him from behind.
“Look at what he had in his saddlebags. Now where in tarnation did a young pup like him get all this money, Luke?”
Luke snorted. “Well, he ain’t gonna need it where he’s going.”
Jeb laughed. “You boys can take what you want because I’m taking his fine looking horse.”
“No you’re not,” Clem, the man holding the gun on Charlie, said. “We’re gonna split the money and we’ll draw cards for the horse. High card wins.”
Charlie figured his days were drawing to an end and tonight would be his last night on God’s good earth. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate. If he survived this night he would spend the rest of his days searching for his would-be killers. But survival seemed less likely with each passing moment.
“Stand aside, boys. I don’t want to shoot you by accident.” Charlie looked into Clem’s eyes, showing no fear. He had worn the gray when he fought in the great Civil War and witnessed death on a grand scale. These three were no more frightening to him than his horse. He was ready to meet his maker.
Clem was surprised when Charlie smiled. “What’s so funny, cowboy? You think dyin’ is a joke?”
Charlie looked at him. “Just make it quick.”
Luke snickered. “Boy’s got guts, I’ll say that for him. He knows how to die and he ain’t afeared of what’s comin’.”
Clem nodded in agreement. “He’s got guts all right, but business is business and we can’t let sentiment get in the way. So let go of his arms and stand aside while I get this nastiness over with.” Clem pulled back the hammer on his Remington New Model Army Revolver and pulled the trigger. Charlie instinctively raised his left hand to his face just as Clem fired. The bullet tore through his hand and skinned a channel along the right side of his forehead. The gunshot ended any chance the bandits had of getting Sable. Clem was so close to Sable that when his gun discharged he panicked, ran and disappeared into the night. Blood from Charlie’s hand splattered across his face and he collapsed to the floor beside his campfire, giving the appearance that the bullet blasted through his skull killing him instantly.