Shot in the Back (5 page)

“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 Saint 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.

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.

 

 

S
HOT
D
EAD
W
HILE
H
ANGING A
P
ICTURE
.

 

 

“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.”

“What condition is that?”

“That you stay on for at least sixty days, until I'm sure I've got the hang of running this store. I'll be happy to pay you a salary to do so.”

Molly looked at him with a confused expression on her face. “Mister, I don't want to take advantage of you.”

“Take advantage of me? What do you mean?”

“I don't know if you can cipher or not, but if you give me two thousand dollars and the note, you will be giving me more money than I'm actually asking for.”

“Yes, I know.”

The confusion on Molly's face turned to a big smile, and she stuck her hand out.

“Mister . . . ?”

“Alexander. J. Frank Alexander.”

“Mr. Alexander, you have just bought yourself a gun store,” she said.

“And hired a store manager?”

The smile turned to a little laugh. “Yes. And hired a store manager.”

Jesse very much missed Zee and his children. But almost as much as he missed them, he missed the very act of having a family. He knew, also, that if he had a wife and a family, that it would be much less likely that anyone would ever be able to find out his true identity.

After three months of working with Molly, he decided that if he was going to take another wife, she was the one he wanted. Molly was a very pretty woman, prettier even than Zee, though he felt a little guilty about thinking that. Like such a thought would be a betrayal.

Jesse thought about it long and hard before he asked Molly to marry him. Technically, he knew that he couldn't marry her, because he was still married to Zee. On the other hand, he was legally dead, and though he wasn't actually dead, he told himself, in all probability, that meant his marriage with Zee had been dissolved as surely as if there had been a divorce.

He also wondered if he should tell Molly his real name. He decided not to, because he didn't want to burden her with that knowledge. Also, he wasn't sure how she would take being married to an outlaw, especially an outlaw with the reputation of Jesse James.

Molly accepted his proposal, and they decided to get married on the Fourth of July.

“Damn, Frank,” Sheriff Wallace said. “The Fourth of July is Independence Day. Why are you choosing that day to give up your independence?” He laughed at his own joke, and Jesse laughed with him.

Sheriff Wallace was a good customer of the gun store, and Jesse recognized the advantage of making friends with the law. He had even allowed himself to be sworn in as a deputy on a couple of occasions.

Wild Horse's newest businessman, J. Frank Alexander, married Molly Collins on July 4. The wedding was well attended by all the businessmen of the town.

It was widely thought that when Ken Collins died, the gun store he had begun would go out of business. But to the satisfaction of all who would prefer to do as much of their business in Wild Horse as is possible, Mr. Alexander arrived from his former home in Paducah, Kentucky, bought the store from Ken Collins's widow, and continues to operate it. His extensive knowledge of firearms has been of great benefit to all the citizens of the town.

He kept Mrs. Collins on to help him, and soon, nature took its course. Mr. and Mrs. Frank Alexander are now the newest married couple in our rapidly growing city.

Not long after Jesse and Molly were married, Jesse had a house built for them. In one room of the house, he had the carpenter build a setback in the corner, telling him it was for a piece of furniture he was going to buy. Then, claiming he had changed his mind, he had the carpenter take out the setback. The result was a double wall, and that was where he hid the remainder of the fifty thousand dollars he had stolen. Nobody, not even Molly, knew of that money, and over the next ten years he finally managed to get it all into his account at the local bank, making periodic deposits of the stolen money, along with the money his store earned. On a couple of occasions he made deposits that were clearly larger than his earnings from the store, but he convinced Molly, and the banker, that the money was the result of betting on horse races.

Molly had given him two children, twin sons, whom Jesse named William Anderson Alexander, and Frank James Alexander. Though they were twins, they had very different personalities. Billy was the more daring of the two and more apt to get into trouble. He was often a truant, and Jesse, half in jest, and half serious, posted an advertisement in the
Wild Horse Times
.

Frank, on the other hand, was always on the straight and narrow. He never disobeyed his parents or his teacher, he made very good grades in school, and he was well liked by everyone.

“Oh, why can't Billy be more like you?” Molly asked Frank Jr. one day after Billy had broken a neighbor's window by using a sling to throw a rock.

“Mom, you know that colt that Pa bought? He was hard to break but once he was broke, he was a real good horse.”

“Once he was broken,” Molly corrected.

“Yes, ma'am. Well, Billy is like that. Yeah, he does things that he ought not to do. But I think that's just because he is young.”

“You're twins, Frank. You're both the same age.”

“No, we aren't. I was the first one born, that's what you 'n Pa said. That means I'm older.”

Molly laughed. “I suppose that's true.”

 

 

Molly shared with Jesse the conversation she had had with Frank.

“Billy reminds me of myself when I was his age,” Jesse said. “I wouldn't worry about him; he's not even nine years old yet. He'll come around. Look at me, I'm a legitimate businessman now.”

“I can't help but worry about him. I do wish he would settle down and be more like his brother.”

“Give him some time.”

Molly sighed. “There's nothing else I can do but give him time, is there? All right, I'd better get to work. I have to get the order filled out for some more ammunition. You know where I'll be if you need me.”

Molly kissed him, then went into a small room at the back of the store. They used this room, which wasn't accessible to the customers, as the store office.

Shortly after Molly left the front of the store, the bell on the door tinkled as Sheriff Wallace stepped into the gun shop. Jesse was standing at the workbench in the back of the shop working on a rifle, the pieces of which were spread before him. He looked up as the sheriff came in.

“Hello, Larry. What can I do for you?”

“There was a bank that was robbed up in Mirage this morning,” Wallace said. “I just got a telegram that said the bank robbers are more 'n likely heading this way. I'm getting some men together, and I'd like to deputize you.”

“All right,” Jesse said. “Molly's in the back; let me yell at her so she can mind the store.”

 

 

Half an hour later Jesse joined the sheriff and five more men to go out in pursuit of the bank robbers. Jesse couldn't help but sense the irony. Here he was, part of a posse, when there were so many times in his past that he had been the pursued and a posse had been the pursuer.

“You got 'ny idea where to look for 'em, Sheriff?” Lindell, one of the members of the posse, asked.

“We got word from someone that they saw four men going into Twin Peaks Canyon.”

“Whoa, hold it,” one of the others said. “There's four of 'em goin' to be holed up at Twin Peaks, and we're goin' after 'em with just six men?”

“What's your problem, Sarno? There are six of us, only four of them.”

“But they'll be there, hidin' behind the rocks in the canyon. Don't you see? They'll have the advantage. We need more men.”

“How many more men?” Jesse asked.

“I'd say at least four more. I mean, without at least ten men, we don't have a chance against 'em.”

“A posse that large is hard to handle,” Sheriff Wallace said.

“And we may as well be ringing cowbells to tell them where we are,” Jesse said. “With a posse that large, all we would do is scare 'em off. We wouldn't have a chance in hell of actually capturing them.”

“How would you know?” Sarno asked.

“I've been around a few posses,” Jesse replied without being more specific. “Six people is all we'll need.”

“Yeah?” Sarno replied. “Well, six may be all you need, but five is all you're goin' to have. 'Cause I ain't goin' with you.”

The posse members had been inside the sheriff's office, and they looked on as Sarno walked out.

“Then we'll do it with five,” Wallace said. “Unless some more of you decide to leave.”

“I'll stay,” Lindell said.

One by one the others made the commitment to stay.

“All right, stop by Suzie's Café; I've already made arrangements for her to make lunches for us. Also, make certain that you have water and ammunition.” Sheriff Wallace looked over at Jesse. “I'd say twenty rounds each, at the county's expense. Can your store handle that?”

“We can handle it,” Jesse said.

Two hours later, Sheriff Wallace halted the men at the beginning of Twin Peaks Canyon.

“Damn,” he said.

“What is it?”

“I think Sarno may have had a point. If we start into this canyon, they'll have cover and position on us. If they start shooting at us, we won't have any maneuvering room. We'll just be hanging out there.”

“I've got a suggestion,” Jesse said.

“Any suggestion is welcome.”

“Suppose I go this way”—he pointed up—“around the mountain.”

“Over the top? That's a mile high.”

“Not over it, just around it. If I'm lucky, I can get down into the canyon behind them.”

“You want someone to come with you?”

“No, if there are two of us that just doubles the chances of being discovered. I'll go alone. Give me about half an hour, then start into the canyon. Make as much noise as you can going in.”

“Why would we want to do that?” Wallace asked.

“I know what he means,” Lindell said. “If we make enough noise, it will draw their attention toward us and give Frank a better chance of getting in behind them without being seen.”

“Exactly right,” Jesse said. “Larry, will you keep up with my horse? I'm going to have to do this on foot.”

“All right,” Sheriff Wallace agreed.

Jesse climbed up the side of the east mountain of Twin Peaks, figuring that the higher he went, the less distance he would have to cover in circumnavigating the mountain. He climbed about a thousand feet, then started working to his right, which he knew would eventually take him all the way around.

At first he could only move by going sideways, finding hand- and footholds wherever opportunity presented them. Then, as he was reaching for a handhold, a rock dislodged underneath and, losing his footing, he began sliding down. The mountain wasn't a perfect cone, and he knew that within another few feet he would go over the edge, then fall several hundred feet to the valley floor below.

At the last minute he managed to grab hold of the trunk of a small but sturdy juniper tree. He hung there for a second, looking down to the ground, far below.

“Damn, that would be something,” he said aloud. “All the times I've been shot at and hit, to wind up falling off the side of a mountain?”

Catching his breath, Jesse managed to pull himself up, then finding foot- and handholds he climbed until he found a narrow ledge. The ledge was still not big enough for him to walk on, but it did provide a solid and continuous path for him to work his way around. Then, halfway around the mountain he came upon a trail that would let him walk standing up.

After that he was able to move easily and quickly. He worked his way all the way around the mountain until he heard the exaggerated sound of the others coming in through the front of the canyon.

“Here them sons of bitches come!” someone said, and looking toward the sound of the voice he saw four men in position behind a rock ledge.

“Soon as we see 'em, we start blastin',” another voice said.

That voice caught Jesse by surprise. He could almost swear he had heard it before.

The sound of the posse coming in grew louder, and the waiting outlaws stared toward the point where they would first see the posse.

The distraction worked perfectly, because none of the outlaws saw Jesse walking up behind them. When he got to within fifty feet of them, he called out.

“Drop your guns, and throw up your hands!”

“What the hell!” one of the men shouted.

All four turned and started shooting. But Jesse was already set and aiming. He fired three quick shots, and three men went down. The fourth man threw down his gun and put his hands up.

“Don't shoot! Don't shoot!” he shouted in panic.

The expression of panic in his face turned to one of shock.

“Jesse? No! It can't be! You're dead!”

“Hello, Pete. I didn't expect to see you here. You're getting too old for this sort of thing, aren't you?”

Pete was Pete Arnold, who had ridden with Quantrill and, at one time, with the James-Younger gang.

“My God! It is you! But how is that possible? The whole world thinks you're dead. You was kilt by Bob Ford ten years ago!”

“As you can see, I wasn't.”

“But how—?”

“It's a long story. But now we have a problem. You are right, the whole world thinks I'm dead. But now you've seen me, and you know that I'm not. Bud, I can't have anyone know that I'm still alive. You are a danger to me.”

Jesse pointed his pistol at Arnold and cocked it.

“Jesse, for God's sake, you ain't goin' to shoot me, are you? I mean, me 'n you rode together with Quantrill, Anderson, even Little Archie. I ain't goin' to tell no one, I swear I won't.”

Jesse lowered his pistol and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“All right,” he said. “I'm just going to have to trust you. Go on, get out of here.”

“Thanks, Jesse. You won't regret this,” Arnold said. He reached for the money bag from the bank robbery.

“Leave that,” he said.

“The hell you say. I risked my life for this money. I ain't goin' to just leave it here.”

“You've got no choice, Pete. Leave it, and go now. Hurry up, before the rest of the posse gets here.”

“The rest of the posse? Wait a minute, are you telling me that you're ridin' with a posse?” He laughed. “Who would've ever thought that Jesse James would be ridin' with a posse?”

“We don't have time to gab, Pete. Hurry up, go, before they get here!”

Jesse looked back toward the curve in the canyon, and that was when Arnold made his move.

“I ain't leavin' the money!” Arnold said, shooting at Jesse. Arnold missed. Jesse returned fire and didn't miss.

Arnold slapped his hand over the wound in his chest, then went down.

“Pete! Why the hell did you do that?” Jesse asked, running to him. “I told you, you were free to go!”

“I had to try, Dingus,” Arnold said. “I had to try.” He gasped once more, then died, taking his last breath just as Sheriff Wallace and the rest of the posse came riding up.

“Damn!” Sheriff Wallace said. “You did all this?”

“I didn't have any choice,” Jesse said. “There's the bag from the bank.”

“All this for three hundred dollars,” Sheriff Wallace said.

“What?” Jesse asked, looking up in surprise.

“Three hundred dollars. That's all the bank said they got away with.”