By Ted Stetson
*****
Copyright © 2011 Ted Stetson
All rights reserved.
Published by Three Door Publishing
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Cover art by Roger Kirby
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This is dedicated to Gail.
*****
Chapter 1 - Fast Draw
Chapter 2 - Reward
Chapter 3 - My Pa
Chapter 4 - Wanted Posters
Chapter 5 - Sneaking Out
Chapter 6 - Bittercreek Kid
Chapter 7 - Spyglass
Chapter 8 - Soiled Doves
Chapter 9 - Two Against One
Chapter 10 - I Ride Alone
Chapter 11 - Before the Storm
Chapter 12 - Into the Sunset
Chapter 13 - Warning
Chapter 14 - Wild Man
Chapter 15 - Tiger, Tiger
Chapter 16 - Rainy Day
Chapter 17 - Eavesdropping
Chapter 18 - Busted hands
Chapter 19 - Secret Message
Chapter 20 - Tell Ma and Pa
Chapter 21 - Shot in the Back
Chapter 22 - Lumpy Lies
Chapter 23 - Break-in
Chapter 24 - Discovered
Chapter 25 - Sin Twister
Chapter 26 - Coyotin’ the Rim
Chapter 27 - Stagecoach
Chapter 28 - Dead Sheriff
Chapter 29 - Dust Devils
Chapter 30 - New Gun
Chapter 31 - A Ghost
Chapter 32 - Ma and Me
Chapter 33 - Recon
Chapter 34 - Toller Arrives
Chapter 35 - Spectators
Chapter 36 - Gunfight
Chapter 37 - Standoff
Chapter 38 - Contest
Chapter 39 - Come and Gone
Chapter 40 - Longview
Chapter 41 - Davy Crockett
Chapter 42 - Plans
Chapter 43 - Bell Tower
Chapter 44 - Tide of Battle
Chapter 45 - Bittercreek Massacre
Chapter 46 - Aftermath
Chapter 47 - Surprises
Chapter 48 - Mail Order
Chapter 49 - Bank Robbers
Chapter 50 - Throwing Lead
Chapter 51 - Will Gentry’s Death
Chapter 52 - Ambush
*****
The Pennsylvania landscape was quiet. The soldiers were gone. The war had been over for years.
An old barn riddled with bullet holes stood next to the ruins of a burned house, only the red brick chimney still upright. Wagons and soldiers had trampled the unplanted fields. Ruts cut the ground where crops once flourished. A battle had been fought near here and the land had not yet recovered.
A bearded man in tattered clothes limped down the dirt road.
“Hello,” he called.
“Go away,” a man inside the barn shouted and the barrel of gun was thrust out one of the holes.
“Uncle Will,” the man said. “It’s me, Bill Miller, come home from the war.”
There was a sound of wood moving inside the barn. The rickety door swung open and a gaunt white haired man, wearing torn, ragged clothes, hobbled out into the sunlight. The odor of sickness and death drifted out the door with him. Flies buzzed in the sunlight.
“Bill?” Uncle Will squinted at the bearded man.
“Looking for Marty. Went by her place; it’s burned down. ”
“Where you been? She heard you was dead. We all did. War Department said you died over a year ago.”
“Was wounded and put in a hell hole of a prison. When the war ended, I got out, but was too sick to make it home. Taken in by strangers, southerners nursed me back to health.”
“Martha re-married,” Will said with traces of a New England accent. “He’s a nice man; Jeremy Goodman.”
“Yeah, I heard.” He looked down at the ground, then over at the road.
“Headed west.” His watery eyes swept over the devastation that used to be his beautiful farm. “Too much destruction here. Too many bad memories.”
“Thought you might be able to point me in the right direction.”
“Said she’d write when she got to St. Louie. Ain’t never got a letter. Worried about her.”
“Me too.” Bill turned to leave.
“One thing.” Will coughed and spat blood on the ground. “She had a baby, your son.”
Bill Miller stared at him. “I didn’t know.”
“Had him after you left. Her new husband has been real good to her and your boy. If Jeremy hadn’t helped, she might’ve wound up in the poor house or with me, which would’ve been worse.”
“Much obliged.” Bill Miller’s blue eyes gazed into the distance as if trying to see his wife and son.
“Wait.” Uncle Will shuffled into the barn. Minutes later he returned with a young appaloosa. He’d saddled the horse and hung his old gun belt over the horn.
“Named her Abbey. Was going to give her to Marty. She’s yours to help you on your way.”
“I can’t take her from you.” He patted the horse’s side.
“My time’s run out.” He coughed, blood spattered his mouth. “She’s yours if you make sure Marty’s okay.”
“I’ll be beholding to you.”
“One thing,” Uncle Will said. “She’s got it set in her mind that you’re dead. Even visited your grave. If she hears Bill Miller is looking for her, she probably won’t think it’s you. Might figure it’s a carpetbagger or a scalawag up to some chicanery and try to avoid you.”
Bill climbed carefully into the saddle. The young horse looked back at him.
“Give her my love,” Uncle Will said.
Bill waved as he rode away.
*****
Chapter 1 – Fast Draw
The most important time in my life was the summer of '75. We had moved around after the Civil War, but for the last five years, we lived in Bittercreek, Texas. The town was just beginning to grow and not everyone still believed in the Legend, but I did. I still do.
After school, I usually helped in my father's store, Goodman's General Store. Ma said if I didn't put on weight, they were going to rent me out as a weathervane. The day it started, I was standing on the ladder putting O'Donalds canned peaches on the shelf when I heard a horse coming, someone riding hard.
It was a quiet spring afternoon when I heard this horse galloping from a long way off; clopping across the bridge over the North Bittercreek and then hooves thudding hard on Main Street. Then it got quiet again. I found out later the rider had stopped at Blackburn's Barn to ask directions.
A few minutes later a stranger walked into Pa's store, dusty pants and a dirty gray shirt, smelling like a sweaty horse. The stranger was covered with dust like he’d been riding hard for days. Only he wasn't a stranger. He was Clay Parsons. I recognized him from one of my wanted posters. Mean looking with a knife scar across his right eye, wearing a side mount holster on his belt. Parsons was wanted for murder and robbery. He wasn't wanted where we lived, but he was wanted just about every place else. The Dodge City Post said he was a hired gun.
My hobby was collecting wanted posters. Other kids collected stamps or colored marbles or like Lumpy, different bullets. Me, I had this fascination with wanted posters. I'd put them in a scrapbook and record what the desperado did, and when he was captured or killed, I’d put the date and details. I had Turkey Creek Jack Johnson, Indian Joe, Bob and Cole Younger, Bill Longley, Clay Allison and Jesse and Frank James. I even had a torn poster for John Wilkes Booth. And lots of newspaper clippings about Wild Bill Hickok mostly when he was the Marshall of Abilene.
Sheriff Moses Danberry would mail lawmen in other cities to get me new posters so I could put them in my scrapbook. That was when Danberry was still my friend, before I found out about him.
Parsons stopped in the doorway and his dark eyes swung around the store like a mean dog looking for someone to bite.
"Pa!" I said, trying to warn him.
"Later, Billy."
"But Pa."
"Not now." Pa was waiting on old Mrs. Adams, standing there in a black dress. She put on too much perfume water; Lumpy said you could smell her coming five minutes 'fore she got there. Pa always went out of his way to be nice to his customers even before Longview opened his store across the street.
Parsons was staring at Pa. The hired gun was a big man, over six feet tall and my Pa was short and wiry. Everyone said I was going to be a lot bigger.
Mrs. Adams paid for her coffee and marched out of the store like she always did, like she'd been overcharged.
"Pa,” I said dreading what was about to happen.
"Billy, NOT NOW."
I looked for a weapon, I was on the side of the L shaped counter, but the guns were in the glass topped counter and the rifles were on the racks on the wall and even if I could somehow unlock the chain and load one, I knew if what I'd read about the gunman was true, Parsons would draw and shoot me before I could fire. I tried to warn Pa, but my throat got dry. I gagged and coughed as I watched with fearful fascination, my heart beating faster and faster, my body trembling on the ladder. One thing I knew for sure, Parsons wasn't going to buy a pound of flour. I saw it in his cold-blooded killer's eyes.
Parsons strutted up to the counter, his spurs chinking as he walked.
"Can I help you?" Pa said without the slightest bit of fear in his voice.
Pa had to know for sure something was going to happen, because I could feel it in the air. But maybe not. Pa and violence didn't see eye to eye.
"Southern Gent plug,” Parsons said.
Pa turned and reached behind the counter. “I find Union Leader to be milder, but don't get me wrong; Southern Gent is my biggest seller." He picked up a small tin. “You know, just because it's called Union doesn't mean it's --" and came face to face with Parsons’ .41 caliber Colt Thunder. It had a nickel-plated barrel with a blue-black cylinder and a wooden grip with notches cut in it.
Pa dropped the package of plug on the counter and put his hands up. “Watch where you point that." Pa's hands were shaking, but the gun was perfectly still. Only a real gunman could hold a gun that still. “You might accidentally pull the trigger and shoot someone."
I shook so bad I'd like to fall off the ladder and had to grip it real tight just to hold on. Tears started to fill my eyes, I didn’t want my Pa to get killed.
"I only have,” Pa pulled the handle on the shiny brass cash register and the drawer opened, “a few dollars."
Parsons’ gravel voice said, “You Jeremy Goodman?"
Pa nodded up and down.
Parsons cocked his gun. Not another word. He just cocked that big mean gun, cold and deadly a sound as you'll ever hear. Parsons meant to kill Pa and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing. Just stand there and watch. I tried to call out, but I was so scared my throat got tight and I could barely breathe. My heart was racing, beating in my ears like a big loud drum. I felt like a horse run to ground.
Pa, his voice shaking nervous, said, “Take the money, it's all yours."
Parsons smiled a mouth of broken yellow teeth. I’d never seen a smile so cruel and savage. Parsons didn't want the money. He wanted Pa dead.
Suddenly the floorboard by the door creaked. Through the window, I’d caught a glimpse of another horse. I'd heard it coming, but paid it no mind. Now an appaloosa stood at the rail next to Parsons’ lathered roan.
Another stranger had come inside. With the afternoon sunlight streaming in the open door behind him, I couldn't see his face. All I could see was black pants, white shirt, and black vest. He was wearing a brown leather one-loop holster with a plain-looking Model 3 Smith & Wesson.
Parsons glanced behind him and whirled round to shoot, but before he could fire, the stranger drew his gun and blasted him.
Parsons was slammed back against the counter, almost knocking the shiny brass register to the floor. The big glass jar of jawbreakers cracked and the red, yellow and green candy rolled along the counter and dropped to the floor.
Parsons slid to the floor, blood pumping out of his chest. His eyes rose to the newcomer and he went to say something, but I couldn't hear it, my ears were still ringing from the gunshot.
It looked like he was trying to say, “You going to collect --"
You could see he was wounded bad, probably be dead before long, and was no threat now. Still the stranger shot him again. Parsons shuddered and his head dropped to his chest. Clay Parsons, one of the fastest guns in the west, wanted for murder and robbery, was dead.
Who could this stranger be to outshoot the likes of Clay Parsons? Parsons had his gun out, but this stranger drew and fired before he could shoot. So many pots and pans hung from the beam I couldn't see his face.
Then the stranger stepped forward and I nearly fell off the ladder. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was none other than Will Gentry.
Will Gentry, one of the most wanted gunfighters in the west. I had so many posters on him; I had to ask Ma for a new scrapbook just to put Gentry's wanted posters in it. For years he’d been the most wanted gunfighter in the whole world and here he was in Pa's store.
I wanted to shout at Pa to run and hide. Clay Parsons was a killer, but next to Will Gentry, he was nothing special. I couldn't speak. Fear had grabbed my throat again.
Pa came around the counter like he was greeting a friend. I reached out, but there was no stopping him. Right in front of my eyes Pa was grabbing Gentry's hand, shaking and shaking and shaking it.
Gentry put away his gun and looked at Pa. They were talking, but my ears were still ringing from the shooting. It looked like Pa was thanking him and Gentry was telling Pa it were nothing.
Then Ma came running in. I don’t know what I expected her to do. She'd seen men shot before, and Pa was held up last summer and all the time she was so strong she didn't blink an eye. That day she looked at Pa, then at the stranger, then at the dead man. Then back up at the stranger. Her eyes fixed like she recognized the face from my wanted posters. Her mouth opened like she was going to say something. Then she fainted.
My Ma, who helped Doc patch the wounded after the Indian raid, who'd seen broken bones, scalped men, and Lord knows what, fainted. She just fell out. I guess she must have been reading my scrapbook.
Pa always said girls are impossible to figure and he was right.
*****
Chapter 2 - Reward
Word spread like wildfire: Will Gentry had shot a man in Goodman's General Store. Every kid in town was asking me about it. I told it so many times I was hoarse from talking. But that wasn't the strangest part of it. Not by a long shot.
Some men carried Parsons to Flynn's barbershop and laid him on the wood sidewalk. Lumpy’s dad measured him and quickly hammered together a pine box. People stood around watching Mr. Flynn make the long box, a few offering advice. They helped Mr. Flynn place Parsons in it and propped it on display in the store window where everyone could see him.
Two of Colonel Longview's wranglers riding herd on Longview's general store strolled across the street to watch. They talked lowly. No telling what those low life pig rustlers were saying.
A few of the kids didn't believe it was Gentry. Didn't even believe Sheriff Danberry.
Lumpy said, “Billy, can you get me one of his bullets?"
"Whose bullets, Lumpy?" I said knowing what he wanted. Lumpy was busy telling it like he was the one who saw the whole thing; I was angry at him.
"You know who."
"You mean one of Will Gentry's bullets?"
"Aw, it ain't him,“ Bobby Blackburn said. “He's in Kansas."
"Nope,” Lumpy said. “He's inside Billy's Pa's store."
"If he was,” Bobby said, “Billy would be afraid to get a bullet."
"No, he ain't,” Lumpy said and gave me a push.
I sidled back into the store. Pa had mopped up the bloody trail from when Parsons was carried out and the floor was still wet. I jumped over the wet place, afraid it would give me bad luck if I touched it.
Pa and Sheriff Danberry and Gentry were talking.
"I tell you if he hadn’t shot him when he did, I'd be dead,” Pa said. “He'd probably’ve shot Billy too. What's a cold blooded killer like that doing in our little town?" Something Ma had asked the sheriff a bunch of times before she went back to our little house behind the store.
"There's a reward on Parsons,” Sheriff Danberry said like this was secret information only he knew. Just last week he was telling me he could be a rich if he dropped his sheriff job and just went out and collected the bounty on reward posters. But, he said, he’d be leaving the town unprotected and who knows what would happen without him around to be sheriff. “A tidy sum."
"Is there?" Gentry said kind of tight-lipped like he knew that and a lot more.
"Reckon 'bout five hundred dollars."
"Five hundred dollars?" Pa said. “The school committee should start rounding up gunmen so we can buy books. That's a lot of money for someone who was going to shoot me over chewing tobacco."
Gentry's blue eyes came to rest on me. His face was stern, but his eyes were smiling.
"You have to fill out the paperwork and have the body positively identified as Parsons and, well, you see ... it takes time"
I couldn't believe my ears. What paperwork? Danberry had told me many times how easy it was. Why'd he say that?
Gentry said, “How about you do that and you take,” he glanced at me again, “ten percent."
Sheriff Danberry chewed on his lower lip while he tried to figure how much that was. After school, I had to do his books, adding his numbers. “Might take a while."
Gentry grinned, a cold expression.
"Want me to put your share in the bank? Safest place in town."
Why'd the Sheriff say that when he was always telling me how unsafe banks were? When they weren't being robbed by desperadoes, they were pilfered by the bank employees.
"Give my share to the local school."
"What?" Sheriff Danberry said.
Even Pa stopped smoking his pipe to listen.
"Give four hundred and fifty dollars to the school."
"The school?" Sheriff Danberry asked like he didn't hear him right. “You sure about that?"
"Okay then, give it to Mr. Goodman here and he can make sure the school gets it."
Gentry’s cold blue eyes stared at him, not angry, just steady, like holding a rifle bead on a snake weaving through the grass.
Sheriff Danberry looked at my Pa and nodded. “Jeremy." Then feeling Gentry’s eyes on him he stiffened and was quick to leave.
"That's some gesture,” Pa said. “We’ll be able to buy new books for next year."
Gentry leaned against the counter. “Likely keep it all for himself."
I couldn't believe he'd say that about the Sheriff, but a minute ago I wouldn't've believed Danberry would make up a story about paperwork.
Pa said, “I'll see the school gets their share."
Gentry turned to me.
"What?" he said.
I saw those eyes looking at me and I got all nervous and choked up. "I was wondering ...” My throat was dry and closed up. I coughed, said, “Can I have one of your bullets?"
"Bullets?" Gentry said.
Pa shook his head. “You can give Lumpy one tomorrow. Right now, we're going to have dinner." Pa turned to Gentry. “Lumpy's got a hobby. Kids these days." Pa coughed like he did when he got nervous. “Collects bullets. You ever hear such a thing?" Pa walked to the front door and closed it.
"But, Pa."
"Come on, young man."
"Pa."
"Not another word." Pa locked the front door and pulled down the shades on the setting sun. Now the store was in deep shadows. It got cooler real fast.
I turned and Gentry was still in the store, his horse no longer out front. What was going on?
Pa led the way out the back of the store. Our house was behind the store. We used to live in the back of the store. Then business got good and Ma complained until Pa did something. Now we had our own little house at the back of the lot. Ma planted a garden on the side. In the yard between the house and the store were things that couldn't fit inside; plows, nail barrels, and a few other things.
The house didn't face Main Street. The front was on First Street, but we mostly used the back door by the kitchen. We walked along the rocky path to the porch.
As I followed Pa out back, I petted Gabriel, our watchdog, and then I realized Gentry was following me. I turned and he grinned at me.
I wanted to say something to Pa, but I didn't exactly know how to say it and be polite. Ma was always yelling at me to watch my manners.
That's when I smelled fried chicken. Ma made the best-fried chicken in Texas, but only on special occasions like a church social or having company. Who was coming to eat?
Then I smelled the apple pie. Ma must've gotten it from Lizabeth Milton’s mom; it had a cinnamon smell. Fried chicken and apple pie on a regular school night?
We were nearing the back porch when I noticed a worn saddle and dusty bedroll on the side.
"Whose is that?"
"Why, Mr. Gentry's. Who'd you think it was?"
"I can stay at the hotel,” Gentry said.
Up the street, across from Blackburn’s Barn was the Prairie Palace Saloon, alongside it was Jackson's old house, now converted into the only hotel in town.
"Won't hear of it,” Pa said. “You'll be staying with us."
My knees got weak. Will Gentry, the most dangerous gun west of the Mississippi was going to spend the night. Wait till everyone found out. Won't they be jealous.
A bucket of water sat outside for us to wash up. Pa let Mr. Gentry go first and he motioned me to go ahead of him.
"I got a week's worth of dust on me,” Gentry said. “You should let me wash up last."
"Time for that later,” Pa said. “First get something good to eat. Feed those tired bones."
"You've been riding for a week?" I said.
"Yep.”
"Chasing Parsons?"
"He had a fast horse.”
"You chased him all the way here?"
"You might want to buy that horse and when he recovers from this, resell him."
“Sam Blackburn’s probably already done that.”
"You knew he was going to rob my Pa and you were after him to stop him?"
"Something like that."
That didn't sit right with me so I had to ask, “How come?"
"Will?" Pa said, like he does when I get too nosy and ask embarrassing questions.
"No, it's all right,” Gentry said.
Pa turned to him.
"I was in the war--"
"The Civil War?"
"Yep."
"Billy."
"-- and got shot. Your father worked in a field hospital and saved my life."
"I don't remember you,” Pa said.
"I do,” Gentry said.
"You did?" I said to Pa. Pa shrugged like he wasn't so sure. He'd said he remembered everyone he ever worked on, but I always thought that couldn't be so. He had helped so many wounded men, how could he remember them all?
"A course I wasn't a gunfighter back then,” Gentry said.
I could see Pa helping this stranger, then this stranger turning out years later to be Will Gentry and when Parsons said he was riding to Texas to rob Goodman's General Store and kill Jeremy Goodman, all of a sudden Gentry remembered that Jeremy Goodman had saved his life in the war.
I could see it in my mind. Parsons riding fast on the big roan and Gentry chasing him on the appaloosa. Parsons riding for miles and miles to rob my Pa? But he didn't want the money. What did Parsons say to him? It had slipped away like I was trying to lasso smoke. I was about to remember when Pa opened the door and we went in and sat down to dinner.
I couldn't believe it. I was actually sitting across the table from Will Gentry. Boy, what a way to start the summer. The guys would ask me about this all summer. Even the bullies probably wouldn’t pick on me because I had sat down to dinner with Will Gentry.
There was a sound outside. I recognized it when I heard it. Some of the guys were hiding in the bushes watching. Through the open window I could see Lumpy and Bobby.
Pa said, “You boys go on home."
"Yes sir,” Lumpy said.
"Billy,” Ma said, and I bowed my head.
We joined hands and Mr. Gentry said grace just like us regular folks.
"Dear Lord, we thank you for this blessing--"
I opened my eyes and Will Gentry was talking to the Lord, but he was looking at Ma.
*****
Chapter 3 – My Pa
After we said grace we passed the food. My mouth was watering from the great smells; fried chicken, pie and corn bread. Mr. Gentry picked up a glass of water and Ma was quick to speak.
"You may want to flavor it with a bit of sugar,” Ma said. “The water comes from Bittercreek."
Pa said, “The first people through here thought the water was almost undrinkable. The Indians had a name for it." Pa garbled some strange words. “Excuse me, my Apache is not very good, but the short version is water so unpleasant no one stays long."
Gentry started to taste the water and I rushed to tell him. “That's because --"
"Billy,” Ma said. “Stop shouting at our guest."
"I just wanted to say--"
“Billy!” Pa said.
“But Pa.”
“Billy not now.”
“Yes sir.”
"When settlers passed through this part of Texas,” Pa said, “they drank the water and found it bitter and moved on. A few found it sweet and stayed and built ranches up and down the river. Longview is the last old timer. He calls it wild west water."
Gentry took another drink as if he couldn't make up his mind about the water.
"That's because of--"
"Billy,” Ma said. “Eat your dinner."
"Yes, Ma'am." I picked up a chicken leg and chewed on it. Ma gave me a look and I tried to chew quieter.
"Where you from?” Pa asked.
"Pennsylvania,” Gentry said.
"Why, Martha's from Pennsylvania."
"Jeremy, stop bothering Mr. Gentry,” Ma said. “He probably doesn't want to talk about his past."
"It's no bother, Ma’am,” Gentry said and Ma’s mouth hardened. She didn't like talk about war and violence, but she didn't say a word. She just sat there with her head lowered, nibbling at her food, like she did when she was upset. With Pa almost being shot, I could understand why she'd be put out.
Gentry took a bite of chicken leg. “This is real good, Ma'am. Haven't had home cooking since I left home. Nothing this fine since 'fore the war."
Ma lowered her eyes. Her fork shook a little. Guess she was nervous, having a notorious gunfighter in the house and him saving Pa's life and all.
"Whereabouts in Pennsylvania?" Pa asked quietly like he was afraid Ma would get upset if he asked too much.
My eyes bounced back and forth watching them, but mostly watching Will Gentry.
"Chambersburg,” he said.
Ma dropped her fork. She looked kind of funny, like she wasn't feeling too good. She chewed on her lower lip so I knew this was painful to her.
"Why, Martha's from Chambersburg."
"She is?" Gentry turned to her. Ma was staring at her plate. I was afraid she was going to cry. Sometimes when she talked about her home, she cried. She’d lost so much family and friends in the war.
"Whereabout in Chambersburg?" Pa said.
"Actually outside of town. West of Chambersburg."
"Ma was from south of town,” Pa said. “She was burned out by rebs."
"I left before that,” Gentry said. “I was with the Twelfth Pennsylvania Infantry, wounded at Gettysburg."
"Well, I'll be,” Pa said. “Martha's first husband, Bill Miller, was with the Ninth Pennsylvania. He was killed at Gettysburg."
That was my real Pa. I knew all about him. How he was killed and Ma was a struggling widow until she met Pa. She was working in a field hospital and Pa was wounded and they sort of fell in love when she was his nurse. Then he helped in the hospital and the doc said he had a real talent and should go to medical school. Ma wanted to help him go, but Pa said no.
Ma stared at her plate. I couldn't see her face, just the top of her brown hair, but I could tell she was listening real hard. Probably wondering if Gentry was going to say anything about my father. It could be she was going to cry; sometimes when people talked about the war she let out a gully washer.
"After you did such a good job healing me,” Gentry nodded at Pa, and Pa looked down like he didn't know what to say, “they sent me back into battle and I was wounded and taken prisoner.” Gentry took a deep drink of water. “Spent the rest of the war in a Confederate prison. After the war, I was too sick to come straight home. I tried, but I caught the fever and had to spend months recuperating. By the time I returned, everyone I knew had died or moved away. My family was killed in the burning and my relatives were scattered; it took some time to find them."
Pa said, “During the war I helped the doctors as best I could. I was going to school to be a doctor when the war broke out. After seeing so many wounded and dead, I didn't want to be a doctor anymore."
Pa reached out his hand and put it on Ma's. “Only good thing that came out of the war."
I expected Ma to start raining. But she sat there, her chest rising and falling like she was breathing deep trying to control it.
"We headed west and I tell you, it was a struggle what with little Billy--"
"Pa,” Ma said, her voice was a little high like it was hard for her to speak. “Mr. Gentry doesn't want to talk about the war."
Pa took a breath and agreed.
"It's alright, Ma'am,” Gentry said. “And you can call me Will, that's what people used to call me."
"Thank you . . . Will." Ma looked at Gentry like she was begging him not to say anymore about the war. “I've had enough shooting and talk about war for one day."
Gentry took a sip of well water.
"Say,” Pa said. “I just figured, that if you were a minute of two later chasing that outlaw Martha would be a widow again."
Ma’s neck and cheeks turned bright pink as she shook her head. “Jeremy, how can you even say such a thing?”
“Martha, I’m sorry. I was just thinking outloud.”
Ma got pinker, and then before you know it, she was crying. Wiping at her eyes.
“Martha,” Pa said, but it was too late.
"Excuse me." She rushed down the hall to her bedroom and I heard her splash water on her face.
"The war was a trying experience on her, “Pa said.
"On everyone,” Gentry said in such a tone that you knew he really meant it.
We continued eating quietly and in a little while, Ma returned. She seemed less nervous now, but her freckles were real red. She had brushed her long brown hair and it shined in the candle light. And there was a smile on her face like she had herself under control.
I started to speak, “Where were you--"
Ma shook her head like I'd done it again and had said the very worst thing. Pa gave me the look too.
"It's not fair." Everyone gets to say stuff but me. I was so angry.
We continued eating in silence.
Once when I raised my head I noticed the brown shade Gentry's hair was. Not dark brown like Ma's, more light brown, kinda like mine. Ma said in a few years my hair would darken like hers. I wondered if there was gray in his hair that made it so light, like Lumpy's grandpa. He took sick and went gray so fast you almost forgot he had light brown hair.
"After the war,” Gentry said, “I looked for friends of mine. I'd heard they went to Missouri and went there."
"That where I got my first wanted posters of you,” I said and Ma shook her head. “Were you always a gunfighter?"
He smiled. “I was a cowboy and worked on a wagon train and was a sheriff."
"You were a lawman?" I couldn't believe my ears.
"Don't believe everything those wanted posters say,” Pa said.
Ma said, “You were talking about Missouri?"
"I worked on a wagon train to get to Missouri,” Gentry said. “Then I became Sheriff in a small town so I could make some money while I looked for family."
"We were supposed to go to Missouri,” Pa said, “but some river rats stole our horses so we went south instead."
Gentry gazed at Pa like he was real interested. I had heard this story so many times I would have excused myself if Gentry weren’t there. I was hoping he'd talk of the places he'd been and the gunfighters he'd met.
Then Pa talked about some of his experiences working in the hospitals, stories I had heard a hundred times before. How he helped remove the wounded from the fields at Gettysburg. Carried them to the wagons and drove a wagon to the field hospital. How he was at Shiloh, then wounded at Chambersburg, where he met Ma. She was working as a nurse, doing her part, like a lot of people did.
After dinner, we settled in the parlor. We had a small gray stone fireplace. Pa started some logs. It was cool at night, but not so cool it required a big fire. Ma insisted it would take the edge off the night and the fire lit the small room with warm light.
Gentry sat in Ma's rocking chair and Pa sat in his straight back across from him. I sat on the floor between them. They lit their pipes, Gentry sharing some tobacco he'd bought in Abilene.
I asked him if he knew Wild Bill Hickok and he said, matter-of-factly, “Terrible card player."
"You played cards with Hickok?"
"Not often. He doesn’t like losing and I wasn't about to fold just because he got red in the face."
"Did you and Hickok ever--"
He shook his head 'fore I could finish.
"He was a friend,” Gentry said. “You don't put yourself in a position where you hurt a friend."
"You were friends with Wild Bill?"
"Sort of. He accidentally shot his two deputies and wanted me to be his deputy, but it wasn't worth the risk. With Hickok, too much lead was always flying."
"Wait till I tell Lumpy you were friends with Wild Bill."
Ma served them coffee and set a dining room chair next to Pa's. She moved her knitting basket close to the chair and sat down. Sometimes when Ma was nervous, she would knit. She said it helped her contend with difficulties.
"That killer?" Ma said.
"Parsons,” I said, excitedly, hoping the talk would get interesting.
"What was he after?" Ma asked.
"I don't know." Pa puffed his pipe. “Wasn't money."
"Did Longview send him?" I said.
"Billy! How could you even think something like that? He may be mean, but that would be ... murder."
"But he didn’t come to rob the store. He said he come for Pa. If he did ...." My voice faded away. I reckoned that Parsons would have shot Pa, and then me so I wouldn't be a witness.
"Who's this Longview?" Gentry said as he puffed his pipe.
"Local cattle rancher,” Pa said. “Last of the old timers. Owns half the valley, wants the rest of it. Ask me, he's getting too big for his own good."
"Not now,” Ma said. “I don't want to hear about him today. I have to live with it enough as it is."
Pa and Gentry sipped their coffees and stared at the burning log. They wanted to talk, but the room was quiet except for the crackling-burning log.
I was staring at the fire when Ma started talking. I was kind of hypnotized by the flames or I would have noticed how odd it was for her to talk about the war. She never talked about it unless close friends or family visited. Maybe it was the flames in the fireplace reminding her of her burning home or Gentry being from her state that rekindled those old memories.
"I remember it like it was yesterday. My family had a small farm south of town. The Confederate Army came up the road burning everything in its path. You could stand on a hill behind our house and watch the fires coming closer and closer.
"The Hancock place up the road, then the Johnson place next door went up. You could see the houses burning on the distant hills. Flames and black smoke curling up in the blue sky, the smell filled the air.
"In the distance we could see the Reb army coming across the fields like ants. The officers on their horses, the men in straggly groups. Didn't look like an army, more like a bunch of starving field hands carrying guns.
"We packed the wagon fast as we could. Papa told us to leave, but Mama wanted one last look at the apple orchard. I was so scared I nearly shivered myself faint.
"Then some Rebs rode up and Papa waited for them in front. He faced them as if there wasn't a war on. As if they were neighbors of his.
"It got so quiet; you could hear their voices clear as if we were hiding in the rose bushes by the front porch."
"I noticed the rose bushes outside,” Gentry said.
Pa said, “Martha has an affinity for them. She works and slaves to keep them watered, but the soil is too hard."
Ma continued, as if she didn't hear him, “Papa told them to leave. The Reb officer said they were paying the Yanks back for what they burned. Papa said if you want to pay them back why didn't you fight them instead of sneaking about burning ordinary people's houses.
"A Reb soldier didn't like it. He shot Pa. My father went down without firing a shot. Then they set fire to the house. I watched the house I was born in and my Papa before me, go up in flames. Then the Rebs burned the barn and started butchering the livestock.
"Mama was crying, I took the reins from her and beat the old mule until we were well on the road. The Rebs fired shots at us. Some chased us on foot but the Reb officer said something and they let us go.
"All our neighbors were fleeing and the road was jammed with wagons. We couldn't stay with anyone nearby. We finally wound up at my cousin's, the Baileys, on the north side of the city. By then, Chambersburg was burning."
"Bailey?" Gentry said.
"Did you know them?" Pa said.
"Not as I recall. Been a long time."
Ma kept on speaking, “Yankee soldiers came next, after the Rebs. What the Rebs left, the Yanks took. They ruined the land, slaughtered the milk cows and took most of the grain and chickens. They were starving and took what they wanted. We told them we needed some provisions to stay alive, but they were too hungry to listen. Wasn't enough to eat. The winter was hard and cold. Mama died. My little brother Kenny got the fever and we buried him that spring."
Gentry looked like there was a lump in his throat, like all this brought back memories of his own lost family and it pained him to remember.
Ma stared at the fire and I could see tears in her dark brown eyes. They welled up and rolled down her pretty face.
“I was with child and helped in a local hospital. We were low on food and I was having a difficult time.” Ma looked at me with tears in her brown eyes. “Jeremy helped me and gave me his rations, when he could. Then I heard my husband, William Miller had died, and I nearly died, almost lost the baby. Jeremy nursed me back to health and delivered my boy and stayed nearby to help us. Then I heard absolute proof that my husband had indeed died; his friend Lance had seen him charging a cannon when it was fired and he went down.”
“Takes a brave man to charge a cannon,” Pa said.
“Or a foolish man,” Gentry said. “Might as well charge a windmill.”
I was instantly angry that he’d said my father was foolish.
“People do strange things in time of war,” Pa said and Gentry agreed with him.
“Jeremy worked in a field hospital while I nursed Billy. Then when the war was over we married and decided to move west to raise our boy.”
"Yeah," Pa said. “That's wh--"
"No more, “Ma said.
Pa turned to her. “But Martha. . ."
"I've had my say, now let the past die." She looked at Gentry. It was almost a plea, “Let the past stay buried."
Gentry took a deep breath, his blue eyes sad. “I wish it would."
"It takes time." Pa puffed on his pipe, a cloud of blue-gray smoke rising in the air.
Now was my chance. Gentry would be gone in the morning and now was my chance.
"Were you after Parsons for the reward?"
Gentry looked at me, and then his eyes slid to Ma. Pa stopped smoking to listen.
"I owed Parsons for something he done to me,” Gentry said, like he always paid his debts.
"You followed him all the way from Kansas?"
He gazed at me. His expression didn't change, but his blue eyes hardened. “Didn't think he'd come all this way."
That sounded kind of not right, but I wasn't about to say that to Gentry. “What did he do?"
Gentry puffed on his pipe. “That's between him and me."
"Must of been something awful for you to follow him for a week,” I said, thinking of adding that God had created the world in six days, but even he rested on the seventh. Course, I couldn't say that.
"He tried to kill ... someone I knew."
"You paid him back, dealt out justice with your gun?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Billy,” Ma scolded. “Enough.”
Gentry grinned at me. At that instant, I had the strangest feeling. I did not see him as a notorious gunfighter, nor could I see him as a farmer or rancher who had come to dinner at a friend's house. Because I had seen him draw and shoot Parsons that afternoon, a gunman who already had his pistol out, I saw him as an avenging angel with a six-shooter.
"No more, young man,” Ma said. “It's past your bedtime and you have school in the morning."
"But Ma, Mr. Gentry will be leaving in the morning and I won't get a chance. . ." I stopped.
Ma shook her head. "Mr. Gentry is staying a few days.”
"He is?" I looked at him. Gentry was smiling at me. “Honest?"
"Have to rest up my horse, Abbey,” he said.
I got to thinking. All the kids would want to know about Gentry. And he was staying here for days. Maybe a week. Gosh, a whole week. My head went numb.
"Now to bed."
"But Ma."
"To bed."
"Wait a minute." Gentry stood up and walked outside.
Ma leaned toward Pa and whispered as Gentry was on the porch going through his gear.
"Promise me, you won't talk to him about the war."
"But Martha?"
"No more war talk. Let the past stay buried. Many people here are from the south, you know how it is. You say something, they say something, before you know it, harsh words are exchanged, threats made. No more fighting. No more war talk."
"But Ma,” I said. “He might know something about my Pa."
"Whatever he knows is over ten years old. He might not remember it correctly. It might be the wrong person."
"Okay dear, whatever you say,” Pa said and gave me a look to keep quiet.
Ma gave me such a fierce look I didn't say another word. Then real gentlelike she said, “We have to get on with our life. Tomorrow you can ask him about gunfighters and other things, but don't talk to him about the war. The war's over. A lot of good people on both sides died. This town is made up of people who were in the conflict or had family and friends in it. We don't want old stories to get in the way of our new friends."
I didn't like it, but I could see her point.
Pa puffed on his pipe, agreed grudgingly.
Gentry stepped back in with something in a long leather pouch.
"Do you mind?" he said to Ma.
"No,” Ma said.
"For you." He handed it to me.
I took out a short brass tube.
Gentry pulled it open and showed me how to look through it.
"Wow. A spyglass."
I gazed through the eyepiece and swung around finding Ma's face and her brown eye so big in the lens and then to Pa's smile and kind brown eyes. Then I swung to Gentry's cold blue eye. He was gazing at me kindly, but looking at him so close up sent chills down my back. I quickly turned it around and looked at him through the other end. Now he looked faraway. Gentry was easier to take when he seemed faraway.
"What do you say?" Ma said.
"Thank you, Mr. Gentry."
"You're very welcome."
"Thank you,” Ma said. “That's very nice."
"Would you like to stretch your legs?" Pa said.
"I'd like that just fine,” Gentry said.
"Don't run a tab,” Ma said.
Pa and Gentry walked out the door.
"We won't be long,” Pa said.
"And don't talk too much."
I couldn't believe it, Pa and Will Gentry the most famous gunfighter in the west were going to have a drink together like they were old friends. Wow, all the kids would envy me tomorrow.
"Come on,” Ma said.
I had to wash again. If Gentry stayed too long, I was going to wash all my skin off before I turned thirteen. I looked up at the little tin mirror. With the candle reflecting my face, I tried to make my blue eyes as cold looking as Gentry's. I almost had it, but it was gone 'fore I could get close. I raised my hand up like it was a gun and pointed my finger at the mirror. “You killed the woman I loved, Parsons. Now, it's your turn."
*****
Chapter 4 – Wanted Posters
When I went into my room, Ma was sitting on the bed with my scrapbook open. She was slowly turning the pages looking at the wanted posters of Gentry.
“He does looks like the posters, once you meet him."
"Didn't you recognize him in the store? Is that why you fell out?"
She gazed at me, her brown eyes rested on my face. “You knew it was him from the first?"
"Yes Ma'am."
She looked down at the scrapbook again. She flipped a page and looked at another wanted poster. Under the drawing of his face was a list of all the things he was wanted for: bank robbery, shooting an unarmed man, horse thief, arson, cattle rustling. “You really suppose he's done all these things?"
"No way. Some newspaper stories put him in different locations on the same day. Maybe they were looking for someone to blame and his name came up or some villain said he was Gentry so he wouldn't be arrested."
"How would you describe him?"
"Ma'am?"
"If you were a writer like ... Mr. Hawthorne, how would you describe Gentry?"
"I don't understand."
"Would you say he had a strong chin and forehead?"
"Yes'm, I guess."
"And his nose?"
I shook my head.
"Would you say it was big or small or what?"
"It's an okay nose,” I said.
"That description could fit just about anybody.” She turned another page.
"Yes Ma'am.
That picture could fit most of the kids in school.
"Don't forget that scar on his forehead,” I said. “That's a bullet wound he got in a gunfight."
"No, it isn't,” she said then looked at me and the smile left her face. “I bet you he got that when he was a kid. It looks like it’s been there a long, long time."
"You think so?"
"Yes." She smiled. Then her face grew serious and she asked, “Tell me what happened at the store?"
I'd never seen Ma so interested, but I was fearful recalling how she'd fainted. “You sure?"
"Tell me all of it. Don't leave out a detail."
So I told her. And you know what? She made me repeat it again. Asked me questions about Gentry shooting Parsons twice. And not once did she look like she was going to faint.
"You sure Parsons didn't come to rob the store?"
"He asked Pa for some chewing tobacco and when Pa got it off the shelf he pointed his gun at him. Pa opened the register and told Parsons to take it all. Parsons didn't reach for the money. He asked Pa if he was Jeremy Goodman. When Pa nodded, Parsons cocked his gun. He was going kill Pa. If Gentry hadn't walked in right then and shot him, Pa would be dead. No one else could've saved him. No one else could have drawn that fast. Only Will Gentry could do that."
Ma nodded, her brown eyes moist, but not crying.
"Something else, Parsons' roan was just about run into the ground. He would have had to steal another horse to make his getaway." Then I thought about Sheriff Danberry chasing after Parsons and I couldn't see that happening. Yesterday I would have told myself old Danberry would have chased him like a dog after a bone, but after seeing him in the store today, I think he would have ridden out of town, found a place to camp and come back the next day and say Parsons lost him.
"Do you think Parsons was racing Gentry here?"
I had to think about that. “No, I think Gentry was after him."
"Could be that Mr. Gentry knows how to take care of a horse and Parsons isn’t much of a horseman."
"Yeah, something like that,” I said.
"Then if Parsons wasn't racing Gentry,” Ma said, “who do you suppose he was racing?"
I thought about that for some time. I didn't rightly have an answer. A cricket was making a racket outside and I felt I had to say something or Ma would be upset.
"Maybe there were lawmen after Parsons.” That explanation didn’t sit good with me, but sometimes, as Pa said, a poor theory was better than no theory at all.
Ma stared out the window for a long time. Her eyes welled up and she wiped the tears away with her hand. “We were lucky Mr. Gentry showed up when he did."
"Best luck ever,” I said.
In the distance, we could hear Pa introducing Gentry to neighbors along First Street; they were taking their time going to the Prairie Palace. Pa must’ve taken him the long way up Main Street to show him the church, then down First past the school and had just crossed Jefferson behind the house. I saw the worried expression on Ma's face.
"Don't worry, Ma,” I said. “Gentry will protect Pa."
She started as if my saying that surprised her. “How can you say that?"
"I can see it. He's that kind of person."
"But he's a killer." She pointed at the wanted poster.
"I don't know how much of that is gospel,” I said. “I met him and know he's a good man. Maybe not a preacher type of good man, but he’s still good."
Ma smiled at me like she was going to start crying again. “Yes. I guess he is."
She got up and I climbed into bed. She tucked me in and stood looking down at me for a minute. Then she kissed my forehead. “Good night, William."
William! She knew I didn't like to be called William or Will. Everyone calls me Billy, Billy Goodman. A few times, she'd forget and call me William, but that was at special times like Christmas and my birthday.
She took the lantern and left the room and I laid there thinking about the lightning draw of Will Gentry. How would it feel to be so fast you could draw against someone pointing a gun at you and shoot before they pulled the trigger? Wow. That was fast.
Then I heard the rocking chair squeak in front of the fireplace. Ma was knitting. And I heard her sob. Pa was right. Women are the strangest people.
*****
Chapter 5 – Sneaking Out
I couldn't sleep. Too much had happened and too much was going on in my mind. I'd close my eyes and I'd see Parsons whirling around to shoot. Gentry's lightning fast draw. Parsons turning. Gentry firing. Parsons' mean face filled with fear. Gentry blasting. I could still smell the sulfur.
I got out of bed and snuck to the door. Down the hall, Ma sat in the parlor, reading my scrapbook by the fire. It was probably open to the Will Gentry posters. Her eyes were shining in the firelight. She was probably trying to understand how a wanted man could be so nice.
Carefully, I closed my door. For once the hinge didn’t squeak. I pulled on my pants and shirt. Took an extra blanket out from under my bed and bunched it under the covers to look like I was sleeping under the quilt. Opened the little window and threw out my boots and then climbed out and finished dressing outside. The night smelled cold and fresh. Footsteps came close and I froze till my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Lumpy huffed up the road, his red hair and round face shining with sweat. A shirt button over his belly had come open. He leaned against the fence, breathing so hard Ma would hear if we weren't careful.
"Sssh." I tugged on my button boots and hurried up the street, buttoning my shirt.
"He's at Blackburn's,” Lumpy said, “checking on his horse. Bobby just told me."
"Come on." I headed to First Street.
"But." Lumpy pointed back at Main Street.
"This way's safer,” I whispered. Going down Main with the lanterns lit we might be seen and get in trouble.
Pa's store was on the corner of Main Street and Thomas Jefferson Avenue. The streets ran east and west, the avenues north to south. My house was behind the store, on the corner of First Street and Thomas Jefferson Avenue.
"Where's he staying?" Lumpy said.
I pointed to the corner room next to mine. Pa had built it for a brother or sister. So far, I didn't have one.
I took a few steps and peeked in the dining room and caught a glimpse of Ma sitting by the fire, wiping her eyes, turning the pages of my scrapbook.
"What's a matter with your Ma?"
"Seeing Pa almost get shot upset her."
"Uh huh." Lumpy agreed like he did at everything. “Maybe having that gunfighter staying in your house is making her scared."