The Gentleman Outlaw and Me-Eli (13 page)

The only thing in that godforsaken place was a hotel. Since the wind was blowing fierce, we followed the other passengers inside. While the miners treated each other to whiskey and beer, Calvin bought strong black coffee and a roll for each of us. I shared my roll with Caesar, who was glad to get a bite.

When the driver had changed horses, he summoned us back to the coach and we were off again. Even though it was just the end of August, it commenced to snow. The air filled with whirling flakes as big as goose feathers, but it was downhill all the way to Ouray and nothing slowed the driver. How those miners stayed on top of the coach, I can't guess. Inside we were all flung about, jolted this way and that till there wasn't an unbruised place on my body.

In Ouray, we discovered we'd missed the daily train to Tinville. It was late afternoon and the snow had turned to cold rain, blowing so hard it stung my face and cut right through my suit jacket. It seemed our luck had definitely taken a bad turn.

I looked at Calvin. "What are we going to eat?" I asked. "Where are we going to sleep?"

Leading me into a dingy restaurant where roaches outnumbered paying customers, Calvin began searching his pockets, a process which yielded a few cents. "What did you do with all that candy money I gave you?" he asked.

For the first time I regretted spending every cent I'd had on long, chewy strings of licorice, fist-sized sour balls, and peppermint drops so sweet they made my jaws ache in memory. "What do you think I did with it?" I muttered.

Calvin sighed and looked at the coins on the table. It was enough for two plates of beans and a few chunks of stale bread.

I choked down a mouthful of beans and flattened a roach with my fist at the same time—a good trick, I thought, but Calvin didn't even notice.

At my feet, Caesar thumped the floor with his tail, raising dust and fleas, and I slipped him the rest of my beans. If I ate another one, I'd explode.

"Maybe you should see that man about a dog," I said, remembering the mysterious bag of silver Calvin had produced back in Alamosa.

"I'm afraid he has no more dogs for me," Calvin said.

"How about if I play my harmonica in the saloon across the street? If I get enough money, we could start up a game of three-card monte. Why, before you know it, we'll be rich again."

Calvin just sat there contemplating the roach
crawling across his empty plate. I'd never seen him so dejected.

"What if you sold that pistol?" I asked.

His hand went to the Colt's handle. "No," he said. "I think the time has come to use it."

'You mean rob a bank?" I drew in my breath and held it, too scared to let it go. Once I'd have been excited at the prospect of becoming a true outlaw, but by now I'd lost faith in Calvin. It seemed to me if he held up a bank we'd surely be caught. Shot maybe. Sent to jail. Hanged.

Calvin didn't answer. Just got to his feet and walked slowly toward the door. He had the look of a man going to his death.

I ran after him and grabbed his sleeve. "Listen here," I said, "I don't think bank robbery is a good idea, Calvin. Let's try begging first. Just look at that saloon. Why, it's bound to be full of miners who'd take pity on a poor orphan boy."

Calvin shrugged me off and stepped outside. It was dark now and raining hard. "I told you I was an outlaw," he said. "Don't you think I know how to rob a bank?"

"No," I said. "I don't think you know the least thing about such matters. Cheating and playing tricks is all you're good at. And talking like you swallowed a dictionary." I was thinking of Miss Nellie when I spoke, remembering the things she'd said and wishing I'd paid more heed to her words. It was clear
now she'd known Mr. Calvin'T. Featherbone a sight better than I had.

We stood there in the freezing rain glowering at each other. Caesar looked from me to Calvin and back again, wagging his tail in a puzzled way. Just up the street was the Beaumont Hotel, the equal of the Strater back in Durango. I suppose the poor dog was wondering why we weren't heading there. Like me, he'd grown accustomed to luxury beyond his lot in life.

Suddenly Calvin's face lit up. "Look, Eli," he said, pointing at the hitching rail in front of the Last Chance Saloon. "Do you see what I see?"

I stared at the three horses, trying to figure out what Calvin was getting at.

"They belong to Roscoe and his boys," Calvin said.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." Sounding more like himself, Calvin told me to follow him.

"Calvin," I whimpered, "you aren't fixing to steal them, are you? Horse theft's a hanging offense."

"Those rogues stole
my
horse," Calvin muttered, untying the best of the bunch, a swaybacked roan with a mean look in its eye. "He was a pure Arabian, worth three or four times as much as these three nags put together. The ruffians must have sold him!"

In no time at all, Calvin was on the roan's back, I
was on the Appaloosa, and we were leading the third, a cantankerous gray. With Caesar running beside us, we left Ouray in a cold rain and rode into the hills, heading for Tinville at last.

W
HEN WE'D PUT WHAT WE HOPED WAS A
safe distance between us and Ouray, Calvin and I found a little cave to hole up in. We hobbled the horses and carried Roscoe's and his friends' bedrolls inside. Calvin scraped together enough dry brush to start a fire. Except for the smell of Roscoe's blankets, the cave was right cozy.

It seemed neither Calvin nor I had a thing to say to the other. Our clothes were soaked through to our skins. We were cold, hungry, bone tired, and stiff from sitting in the saddle for hours. Without even looking at each other, we rolled up in the blankets and endeavored to fall asleep as soon as possible. If this was the outlaw life I'd once dreamed of leading, I wanted no more of it.

Sometime around dawn, I woke up. Calvin was still sleeping. He looked a sight worse for wear, and I suppose I did too. The rain had shrunk our nice
wool jackets and trousers. Their black dye had run onto our white shirts, turning them a limp, streaky gray. It would have taken a day's ironing to press the wrinkles out. On top of everything else, Calvin's face was stubbled with whiskers, one thing at least I'd never have to worry about.

Calvin must have sensed I was watching him, because he stirred and opened his eyes. The fire had burned to ashes, and the air was damp and cold. It was still raining. I could hear water dripping and gurgling outside. I had a feeling it wouldn't stop till the world was drowned and us with it.

"Well, Eli," Calvin said, "we seem to be back where we started. Sleeping on the cold, hard ground. And this time, not a dollar between us. As usual, I've made a miserable mess of things."

I nodded glumly. It made no sense to argue. For once, Calvin Thaddeus Featherbone, Junior, was telling the truth.

Since he seemed to be in the mood for honest answers, I leaned toward him, daring him to look me in the eye and lie. "Tell me something, Calvin. Are you known as the Gentleman Outlaw to anyone but yourself?"

Calvin poked the fire till he coaxed a little flame to spring up, then shook his head slowly. "Those miserable horses and a cheap pocket watch are the only items I've ever stolen," he whispered, keeping his head down as if he were ashamed to admit he'd
never committed a crime. "My entire knowledge of outlawing comes from Western novels and Father's letters."

He raised his head then and gave me a fierce look. "I am, however, a gentleman through and through. I've never lied about
that.
"

"But what about that hundred dollars you got in Alamosa?" I asked. "If you didn't steal it, where on earth did it come from?"

Calvin added some tinder to the fire and sighed. "I wired my grandfather for money. Although he complied, he told me not to expect any more financial assistance. If I planned to waste my life as my father did, he said, I'd have to do it without his support."

Raising his head, he gazed at me with eyes as sorrowful as Caesar's. "Before you wash your hands of me," he said, "I swear I intend to earn my sobriquet in Tinville. After I kill Sheriff Yates, people will truly speak of me as the Gentleman Outlaw."

"Oh, Calvin," I said, "please don't go shooting at that sheriff. Remember what Miss Pearl told you way back in Kansas?"

"When she accused me of being nothing but a greenhorn boy?" Calvin's face darkened with anger. "I'm not likely to forget an insult of that magnitude."

"But, Calvin, it's true, you just said so yourself." I grabbed his shoulders and peered into his eyes.
'You don't know anything about shooting and killing. You'll end up with a bullet through your heart."

Calvin pulled away from me and scrambled to his feet. Using the advantage of his height, he glowered down at me. "I promised Mother," he said. "I swore on her grave. Do you expect me to break a vow like that?"

"Is shooting Sheriff Yates going to bring your father back to life?"

'You know nothing about the southern code of honor," Calvin said, his voice going icy cold with contempt.

"I know more than you do about the foolishness of such vows," I said. "It's you who'll die in the dust like a dog, not the sheriff. That won't do anybody a speck of good, except the undertaker and the coffin maker. They'll make a tidy profit from your death."

Calvin smoothed his coat but it had shrunk to a point where nothing could help its appearance. "Just wait and see. Right is on my side, Eli, and right makes might."

I spit into the fire and made it sizzle. "If you're so hell-bent on dying, go right ahead. See if I cry at your funeral!" I almost screamed the words.

Without looking at Calvin again, I rolled up my blankets, grabbed my saddle, and staggered out of the cave, hoping to hide the tears running down my
face. It wasn't just my father I was crying for. It was Calvin too. I didn't want to see either of them get killed.

Calvin followed me and slung his saddle on the roan. "When we reach Tinville," he said, with a haughty little sniff, "we'll see whose funeral it will be."

Off we rode into the endless rain, with poor old Caesar trailing along behind, bellies empty and too mad to talk to each other.

***

Just before sunset, we reined in at the edge of a cliff. The rain had finally stopped, but the sky was still dark and clouds hid the mountaintops. Down below was a good-sized town. From where we sat, we saw a train pulling out of a depot, smoke as black as night pluming out behind it.

"That must be Ridgway," Calvin said, speaking for the first time. "If we only had money, we could ride the train from there to Tinville."

"We could sell the horses," I said, "and the gun too."

Calvin gave me a sharp look as if he suspected I was trying to trick him. 'You know I can't part with the Colt," he said crossly.

Without saying more, we made our way down a steep trail and entered Ridgway, yet another muddy
town full of stray dogs and saloons. After a short search, we found a run-down livery on a back street where nobody seemed to care about the legalities of horse selling as long as we were willing to accept a low price.

The money was enough for two third-class tickets to Tinville, as well as a big plate of beans apiece at the depot restaurant. I fought the flies for every morsel and then gave Caesar the plate to lick. He cleaned it up so well I doubt anyone bothered to wash it.

After that, there was nothing to do but sit on an old baggage cart and wait for the next train to Tinville.

I glanced at Calvin perched beside me, fingering that murderous Colt, his face pale and scared. I wanted to be as honest with him as he'd been with me, but the words stuck in my throat.

I ended up keeping my secrets, hoping things would work themselves out in some unforeseen way with nobody getting hurt.

C
ALVIN AND I FOUND A SEAT IN A CAR
crowded with folks from every nation on earth and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. Caesar lay down at my feet and sighed a weary sigh. Following the horses for so many miles had plumb worn him out, and he was glad for a rest.

Our luck took another turn for the worse somewhere between Buena Vista and Tinville. We'd been on the train for hours, rocking to and fro, too hungry to talk. Calvin fell asleep first, and I soon dozed off myself. It was Caesar's growl that woke me up.

I opened one eye, aiming to quiet Caesar with a nudge from my shoe, and who did I see coming down the aisle but Roscoe, Baldy, and Shovel Face. Swaying with the train, they were bumping and jostling folks and sometimes falling into ladies' laps, deliberately I was sure. They hadn't seen us yet, but unless one of their outraged victims shot them first, they soon would.

I dug my elbow into Calvin's side. He woke, swearing like a gentleman, which is to say his profanities didn't violate the rules of grammar.

"Hush up and look what's coming our way," I hissed.

Calvin and Roscoe saw each other at the same time. "There he is!" Roscoe hollered, pointing straight at Calvin. "Not only is that rogue a cheating tinhorn gambler, but he's a horse thief as well. I got the poster right here to prove it!"

Roscoe paused to pry a wadded piece of paper out of his pocket, no easy task when your pants fit as tight as his. Fearing the mood of the passengers might turn against us, Calvin and I took advantage of the situation. Without a word we ran down the aisle, dragging Caesar after us, and rushed into the next car, heading as fast as we could for the rear of the train.

Without meaning to, we bumped and banged folks right and left. A chorus of curses smoked the air around us, but we kept going, apologizing as we went.

On the back platform, Calvin started clambering up a ladder to the roof. I was about to follow when I remembered Caesar. I couldn't very well go off and leave him, not when he'd been so brave and loyal and true.

"Calvin," I yelled, to be heard over the noise of the train. "What about Caesar?"

The Gentleman Outlaw peered over the edge of the roof, white-faced and hanging on with all his strength. "Boost him up," he hollered. "I'll grab his paws and pull him the rest of the way."