Shot in the Back

by William W. Johnstone

  “Go ahead and sign in, sir. We have a room available.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty cents.”

  Jesse signed the register as William Clements, taking “Bloody” Bill Anderson’s first name and “Little” Archie Clements’s last name. These were two of the men he had ridden with, in addition to Quantrill.

  “Where is the friendliest saloon?” he asked as he received the key.

  “Why, just next door, sir, the Jayhawker,” the clerk said.

  Jesse felt a quick flash of anger. The Jayhawkers had been his bitter enemy during the war, and the idea of going into a saloon by that name didn’t sit well with him. On the other hand, if he intended to completely disguise his identity, this might be the perfect place to start. He smiled at the clerk.

  “Now, there’s a good name if I ever heard one.”

  “Indeed it is, sir,” the clerk replied.

  Leaving the hotel, Jesse went into the Jayhawker and stepped up to the bar to order a beer.

  “It come by telegram today,” someone said. “The Tribune put it in the paper this afternoon. Jesse James is dead, shot down by one of his own, the story says.”

  “Well, good riddance, I say,” one of the others replied. “It’s just too bad it took so long to kill the son of a bitch.”

  “I don’t know,” another said. “He never done any of his robbin’ or killin’ here in Kansas. And they say he was mostly ag’in the railroads. Well, I ain’t none too happy ’bout the railroads my own self. If they want your land, they just take it.”

  “What do you mean, he ain’t never done nothing here? Are you forgettin’ the time Quantrill come here? He left a hunnert and eighty dead, he did.”

  “That was Quantrill.”

  “Jesse James rode with Quantrill.”

  “Oh? I reckon I didn’t know that. Anyhow, if he was just one of Quantrill’s men, who would take notice of him?”

  “Ha! I’ll bet ole Marv Montgomery is glad Jesse James ain’t here now,” the first man said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Ain’t you heard? He’s got fifty thousand dollars in his bank right now.”

  “Lord all mighty, why’s he got so much money?”

  “The First Security Bank in Kansas City had a fire. Didn’t burn down the buildin’, but it did make a mess of things, and they’ve transferred all their money out to several different banks until they get ever’thing all cleaned up again. Marv says the money that he’s holdin’ will probably be here for near a month or so. The bank is makin’ five hunnert dollars for holdin’ it for ’em.”

  The next morning Jesse left the hotel before daybreak. He rode out of town, then made a wide circle and came back into town from a different direction. He tied his horse off in front of the building that was next door to the Lawrence Trust and Savings Bank, then crossed the street and stood in the gap between two other buildings, all the while keeping his eyes on the bank.

  Just before eight o’clock, he saw a man walk up to the front door and take a key from his pocket. Jesse crossed the street quickly, glancing both ways to see who might be out. He was happy to see that the street was deserted.

  “Mr. Montgomery?” Jesse said as he stepped up onto the porch of the bank. “I’m glad to see you are opening the bank early. I’ve some business to conduct.”

  “I’m not open yet,” he said. “The tellers won’t be here until eight o’clock.”

  “Oh, we don’t need any of the tellers for the business I have to conduct,” Jesse said. He shoved his gun into the banker’s side. “Let’s go on in, shall we?”

  With shaking hands, Montgomery opened the door, then stepped inside. He started to lift the shade.

  “Leave the shade down,” Jesse said.

  “I’m afraid you are going to be disappointed. We are a small town; our citizens aren’t wealthy people. We don’t have that much on deposit.”

  “I tell you what. Let’s not bother with any of your depositors’ money,” Jesse said. “I wouldn’t want to take anything from the poor people. I’ll just take the fifty thousand dollars you are holding for the First Trust in Kansas City.”

  Montgomery gasped. “How did you know about that money?”

  “Word gets around,” Jesse said. “Just give me that money, and I’ll be on my way. None of your depositors will be hurt.”

  “I can’t give you that money. I’ve been entrusted with it. I gave them my word that I would keep it safe for them.”

  “Did you give them your word that you would die before you let it go?”

  “What? No. Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Because if you don’t give me the money, I’ll kill you.” Jesse cocked his pistol, the hammer making a frightening clicking sound as it came back and the sear engaged the cylinder.

  “No! Please, I have a wife and children!”

  “Then you don’t want to make your wife a widow and your children orphans, do you?”

  “No.”

  “They are going to be if you don’t give me the fifty thousand dollars.”

  With his hands shaking so badly that he could barely turn the combination lock, Montgomery got the vault open.

  “There’s all the money I have, take it, please take it,” Montgomery said.

  “I don’t want all of it. I just want the fifty thousand.”

  Montgomery took out two cloth bags. “Here,” he said.

  Jesse smiled. “It’s been very nice doing business with you. Do you have a telephone in this bank?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It is over there, on the wall.” Montgomery pointed to the wall-mounted instrument.

  Jesse walked over to the phone, then, using his knife, pulled the box away and cut the line.

  “Now, I want you to lie down on the floor, facedown.”

  “Why? What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing, if you behave yourself.”

  The banker lay down as instructed.

  “Mr. Montgomery, I think you should know that my partner is on the roof, just across the street. He has a rifle and a very good view of this bank. The moment I leave, he is going to start counting. If he sees you come through that door before he gets to one hundred, he will shoot you dead. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes,” Montgomery replied in a small voice.

  “I suggest that as soon as you hear the door close, you start counting. I take it you do have an extra key, because I intend to lock the door behind me as I leave.”

  “Yes, I have another key.”

  “Good for you.”

  Jesse draped his coat over his arm, effectively covering the two bank bags. He stepped outside, locked the door behind him, then mounted his horse and rode off.

  The most money he had ever gotten in all his years as an outlaw was sixty thousand dollars from the Clay County Savings Association, back in 1876. All of that money wasn’t easily negotiable, and it had to be divided up among the entire gang.

  This fifty thousand dollars was all his. It was enough to start a new life.

  He thought about Zee and wondered if there was some way he could send some of the money back to her, but he knew it wouldn’t be possible. Anyway, she wouldn’t need it. Bob Ford was going to give her half of the reward money, and Zee was frugal enough that she would be able to make that money go a very long way.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The cabin on the Brazos—February 3, 1942

  “Did Bob Ford split the money with her?” Faust asked.

  “No, the son of a bitch didn’t give her one cent. Not only that, he went to New York and put on a play as to how he killed Jesse James. He became famous and made a lot of money, but still, he never gave Zee one cent.”

  “How do you know that? Did you get in touch with Zee?”

  “No, I never did get in touch with her. I didn’t find out that she didn’t get any of the money until after she had already died. She wound up being kicked out of the house in S
aint Joseph and had to go live with her sister in Kansas City. She sold a couple of old guns of mine and some of my clothes to folks who wanted them as souvenirs. But according to what I’ve read since then, when she was offered money to tell her story, she turned them down.”

  “She sounds like a good woman with a lot of pride.”

  “She was both, a good woman and she had a lot of pride. Like I said, I didn’t find out until much later that Bob Ford never gave her any of the money he promised. And by the time I found out, Ed O’Kelley had already killed the son of a bitch. And of course, Charley Ford killed himself.”

  “Well, shall we pick up the story where we left off last night?” Faust asked.

  “Where was that?”

  “You had just stolen fifty thousand dollars from the Lawrence Trust and Savings Bank.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Jesse smiled. “That was the easiest job I ever pulled, and it was for the most money.”

  Jesse continued on with his story.

  April 1882

  In Ellsworth, Jesse sold his horse and saddle, then bought clothes, a suitcase, and a valise. He put clothes in the suitcase and the money in the valise. He also bought “notions,” bits of material, sewing needles, thimbles, and scissors, which he put into the valise to cover the money. After that, he bought a train ticket to Denver.

  “We can check your luggage through for you, sir,” the ticket agent said. “It’ll be on the baggage car and you won’t have to deal with it. It’ll be there when you arrive.”

  “Oh,” Jesse said. “Yes, I would like to check my suitcase through. But I’ll hang on to my valise.”

  “It will be just as safe as your suitcase and there’s no extra charge.”

  Jesse opened the valise to show its contents. “But this has all the tools of my trade,” he said. “If I lose my clothes I can always buy more. But I’m a salesman, you see. And if I lose my notions, why, I may well be out of a job.”

  The ticket clerk chuckled. “I understand,” he said. “You salesmen are all alike. None of you want your valise to get out of your hands.”

  Jesse was glad that his insistence on keeping the valise didn’t come across as being odd. He wondered what the clerk would think if he knew there was fifty thousand dollars in the valise.

  Jesse had intended to go all the way to Denver, but when the train stopped at a small town called Wild Horse, he saw a For Sale sign on the front of a gun store, and that gave him an idea.

  “Conductor,” he called.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I bought a ticket all the way to Denver, but I want to get off here.”

  The conductor shook his head. “Well, of course you can get off here if you want to, but the railroad isn’t obligated to return any funds from the unused portion of the ticket.”

  “That’s all right; I’m not looking for that. But my suitcase is in the baggage car, and I would like to take it off here.”

  “Do you have your baggage claim?”

  “Yes, I have it right here,” Jesse said, showing it to him.

  “Very good, sir, I’ll hold the train long enough for you to get your suitcase. If, after you detrain, you’ll step up to the baggage car, it will be handed down to you.”

  “Thank you,” Jesse said.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jesse was standing on the depot platform with his suitcase in one hand and the valise in his other, watching as the train pulled away.

  Turning toward the town he saw a hotel, so he walked across the street to register. He started to write the name William Clements, then stopped. There was a possibility that name could be associated with the bank robbery back in Lawrence, so he registered under the name he would use for the next sixty years.

  J. Frank Alexander.

  “What does the J stand for?” the clerk asked, looking at the book.

  “I don’t know,” Jesse said. “My mama never told me.”

  The clerk laughed. “Very good, sir. How long do you plan to stay?”

  “It depends on whether or not the gun store owner and I can come to an arrangement.”

  “An arrangement?”

  “As the train came into town, I saw a sign that said the store is for sale. It is still for sale, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, indeed it is,” the clerk said. “And Miz Collins is most anxious to sell.”

  “Mrs. Collins? You mean the gun store is owned by a woman?”

  “Yes, sir. Well, it is now. She’s the widow of Ken Collins, you see. He died last month, he did. It was the damndest thing. I mean, he was just walkin’ down the street ’n fell dead. The doctor said it must’ve been his heart, but there didn’t anybody ever have any idea of him ailin’ or anything.”

  “The heart is a mysterious thing,” Jesse said.

  “Here is your key, sir. You are in room two oh two. It’s at the top of the stairs on the right, in the very front. You’ll have a nice view of the town.”

  “Thank you,” Jesse said. He saw a pile of newspapers on the counter, and he stepped over to look at it.

  “I see there’s a newspaper in this town.”

  “Yes, sir, the Wild Horse Times. It’s quite a nice paper, too, with not only local news, but news from all over.”

  “I can see that,” Jesse said.

  OUTLAW JESSE JAMES KILLED

  BY MEMBER OF HIS OWN GANG.

  SHOT DEAD WHILE HANGING A PICTURE.

  Widow Grieves.

  “I guess it is a good thing that outlaw is dead,” the hotel clerk said. “But you can’t help but feel sorry for his widow, finding him dead in their own living room.”

  “Yes,” Jesse said without further comment.

  Jesse took the key from the clerk, then went up to his room. There, he took five thousand dollars cash from the valise, then hid the valise behind the armoire. From the hotel he went straight to the bank, where he stood politely in line until it was his time at the teller window.

  “Yes, sir, how can I help you?”

  “I recently sold my business back in Kentucky and thought I would come west to buy another. I would like to deposit what I got from the sale of my property, which is five thousand dollars”—he took the money from his jacket pocket and put it in front of the teller—“and ask if you have any idea what the owner of the gun store is asking for that business.”

  “Oh, I have a very good idea, since we hold the mortgage,” the teller said. “She is asking three thousand dollars.”

  “How much is the mortgage?”

  “Well, normally I would say that I shouldn’t answer that question. But if you are serious about buying the business, I suppose you have every right to know. After all, it wouldn’t do for you to buy the business, only to find out that you still owed a great deal on it, would it?”

  “That’s why I have asked.”

  “She owes one thousand two hundred and seventy-five dollars. So the purchase price of three thousand dollars is fair.”

  “Thank you. I would like to buy the note.”

  “Oh, sir, I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “Sure you can; banks sell notes all the time.”

  “Come over to my desk, Mister, uh, I didn’t catch the name,” another man said. Jesse had seen this rather officious-looking man when he first came into the bank, and he had a feeling he would wind up talking with him.

  “Alexander,” Jesse said. “J. Frank Alexander.”

  “My name is Brown, Douglas Brown. I own this bank, Mr. Alexander, and I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. You want to buy the store from Mrs. Collins, do you?”

  “I will, if I can come to some sort of agreement with the owner. Mrs. Collins, you said?”

  “Yes, Molly Collins. And you think that if you hold the note, that she’ll be easier to convince?”

  “Yes. At least, I hope so.”

  “Mrs. Collins has been a very good and valued customer. I would not like to see anyone take advantage of her.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Brown, that I have
no intention of taking advantage of her. If I buy the store, I plan to make my home in this town. It wouldn’t be good business for me if people thought I had cheated a widow, now, would it?”

  “Indeed it wouldn’t,” Brown agreed. “I’m glad you are of that opinion.”

  “Since we are being honest with each other, I would like to ask about the store. Does it do a good business? Would I be smart to buy it?”

  “Mr. Alexander, she is asking three thousand dollars. I must tell you that I advised her to ask thirty-five hundred dollars because it is worth that, and more.”

  “Good,” Jesse said. “I thank you for your honesty, sir.”

  “I believe you said you would like to open an account with us?”

  “Yes, for five thousand dollars.”

  “I’ll be happy to open an account for you, Mr. Alexander. And I’ll also sell you Mrs. Collins’s note.”

  With the account opened, and the note in his hand, Jesse went down to the gun shop. The first thing he did was remove the For Sale sign, so that when he walked in, he was holding the sign in his hand.

  “What are you doing with my sign?” a woman asked.

  The woman had clear blue eyes, auburn hair, high cheekbones, a smooth, clear complexion, and full lips. This couldn’t be Collins’s widow, could it? Collins had dropped dead in the street. Jesse had assumed that meant he was a relatively old man. This woman was young, younger even than Zee.

  “Are you Mrs. Collins?”

  “I am Molly Collins, yes. And I’ll ask you again, what are you doing with my sign?”

  “The sign says this place is for sale. I want to buy it.”

  “Three thousand dollars,” Molly said.

  “I’ll give two thousand dollars for it.”

  “That’s not enough. I need three thousand.”

  Jesse smiled, then showed her the note. “I’ll give you two thousand dollars, and this note.”

  “You . . . you bought my note from the bank?”

  “I did.”

  “And you are willing to give me two thousand dollars and the note?”

  “Yes, I am. But on one condition.”