The Gentleman Outlaw and Me-Eli (16 page)

I noticed he winked at Miss Jenny when he said this, and she blushed a pretty shade of pink.

"Calvin's not a bad man, Papa, just a mite confused about things." I tried the girly trick of batting my eyelashes. It always worked for Millicent. Maybe it would for me, too. "If you were to let Calvin out of jail, I bet he'd never trouble you again."

"Well, now, Eliza, I'm afraid I can't do that. I've notified the sheriff in Ouray already. He's sending a man to fetch Calvin. He should arrive on the train tomorrow evening."

I gasped. "Is he coming for me too?"

Papa shook his head and smiled. "Why, how can
he, Eliza? Elijah Bates has mysteriously vanished from the face of the earth. Nobody knows where that boy went."

Glad as I was to know I was safe, I couldn't let the subject drop. I tried to persuade Papa to free Calvin, but even though I argued till I was near speechless, Papa was just as determined to keep the Gentleman Outlaw in jail as I was determined to get him out.

Finally Papa said if I mentioned Calvin's name one more time, he'd string him up himself. That shut my mouth. But it didn't stop me from thinking. There had to be some way to get Calvin out of jail.

T
HE NEXT MORNING, MISS JENNY TIED A BON
net under my chin to hide my short hair and took me to a dressmaker. She ordered me a whole set of ruffled girls' clothes that weighed me down with so much gingham and calico I could hardly walk, let alone run.

If that wasn't bad enough, Papa tied up Caesar, something my old pal hadn't experienced since we'd run off from Uncle Homer's place. Papa said it was for his own good. Caesar was weak from the hardships he'd suffered. If he wandered away, he might meet up with a pack of stray dogs and fare poorly.

Maybe Papa was right, but it just about broke my heart to see poor Caesar lying in the hot sun, looking so pitiful. He couldn't understand what he'd done to be punished so.

Worst of all, Calvin stayed locked up. Papa wouldn't
even let me visit him. The jailhouse was no place for a girl, he said.

It seemed Calvin, Caesar, and I had come all this way only to end up no happier than we'd been in Kansas. It was a mighty disappointing turn of events.

***

Just as I was getting as sorrowful as sorrowful can be, things improved unexpectedly. Papa had come by for dinner, and we were still sitting at the table when a visitor came to the front door—Mr. Roscoe Suggs himself. Before Miss Jenny let him in, I scurried out of sight behind some drapes. But not out of earshot.

"Your deputy told me I'd find you here, Sheriff Yates," Roscoe said as bold as you please. "I came to see about my fifty-dollar reward."

Papa reached into his pocket and took out five gold eagles. "The money came this morning," he said, handing the coins to Roscoe.

Through an opening in the drapes, I watched Roscoe drop the money into
his
pocket. "Thank you, sir," he said, making the words sound more like an insult than an expression of gratitude. "I'm glad to see you still have that plug-ugly in the lockup. The world will be safer for us honest folks when the rascal's hanged, but I can't help wondering where
the boy is. Your deputy clammed up tight as a fresh oyster when I asked."

"It appears the boy has a relative in town," Papa said. "Believe me, he's the sort who'll make sure the little rascal behaves himself."

It seemed to me Papa raised his voice while delivering this bit of information. Perhaps he intended it for my ears as well as Roscoe's.

"Well, now, I'm mighty pleased to hear that," said Roscoe. "As the Bible says, spare the rod and spoil the child. Whippings and beatings aplenty—that's the way the good Lord wants us to bring up our progeny."

Flashing his gold tooth at Miss Jenny in what he no doubt fancied was a charming way, Roscoe bade Papa good-bye and swaggered off toward Harrison Avenue and the saloons that lined it.

Before Papa or Miss Jenny noticed me, I grabbed my bonnet and scampered out the back door. It didn't take long to catch up with Roscoe. I skipped past him, acting as girly-girly as I could, and pretended to trip over his foot. Even though I fell on purpose, I knocked the wind right out of myself.

Just as I'd hoped, Roscoe leaned down and helped me up. "Why, bless your little heart, darling, did I hurt you?"

He wouldn't have spoken so kindly if two ladies hadn't been standing a few feet away, twirling their parasols and watching him closely. It was clear they
were prepared to attack at the first sign of rudeness or indifference on his part. Make no mistake, they seemed to say, men who trip little girls are not looked upon favorably in Tinville.

Playing the part of a helpless creature, I pressed my hand to my heart. "I feel faint, sir," I whispered. "Could you please help me home?"

With those ladies watching, there was nothing for Roscoe to do but take my arm. "I'm sure I never meant to trip you," he murmured, trying to hide his true villainy.

"I believe you, sir," I said, smiling as sweetly as the sweetest of girls.

He peered at me. "What's your name, honey? You look strangely familiar."

"Eliza Yates," I said. "Perhaps you know my papa, Sheriff Alfred Yates? Folks say I resemble him most remarkably."

"The sheriffs little daughter," Roscoe said. "My, my, it's a pleasure to meet you, darling. I paid your papa a visit just a few minutes ago."

He stopped to give my hand a little squeeze. "I hope you won't tell your Papa I tripped you, Miss Eliza. I sure wouldn't want him thinking ill of me."

"Oh no, sir," I assured him, smiling so hard my whole face ached with the terrible effort. "It's plain to see you're a perfect gentleman, not at all the sort to cause harm to an innocent creature—child or animal."

Roscoe flashed that gold tooth again, and we walked on. Still feigning weakness, I leaned against his side, forcing him to support me. Before we reached Miss Jenny's front gate, I managed to slip my fingers into Roscoe's pocket. Remembering everything I'd learned from watching Calvin, I pulled out the five eagles he'd wrapped in his handkerchief. Slowly and carefully, I transferred them to my pocket. The Gentleman Outlaw would have been proud to see how deftly I did it. The coins didn't even clink.

Just as Roscoe opened the gate, Papa came out the front door. "Eliza," he cried, "what's the trouble? Are you hurt?"

"I tripped and fell, Papa," I murmured. "This kind gentleman brought me home."

Papa looked perplexed, but before he could ask me any questions, I slipped through the gate and darted up the porch steps. Miss Jenny opened the door, and I ran inside, followed by Papa.

"What happened, Eliza?" Miss Jenny asked, sounding every bit as puzzled as Papa. "Did you hurt yourself? Do you feel ill?"

Without answering, I peeked out the window. Roscoe was meandering along, just as pleased with himself as he could be. Now that I'd gotten what I wanted from my enemy, I turned to Papa.

"That man is an outlaw," I announced. "It's him who should be in jail, not Calvin. If you let him
leave town free as a bird, he'll have made a monkey of you and the law, Papa."

Papa studied me a minute. "Are you telling the truth, Eliza? Or just seeking revenge?"

I felt my face heat up with anger. Papa still doubted me. Speaking fast, I told him of my first encounter with Roscoe and everything that had happened since. "He tried to kill Calvin more than once," I finished up, "and me too. Lord, Papa, a man who'd kick a poor dog off a moving train has got to be a low-down, worthless good-for-nothing!"

"Now that I think about it, Eliza, Mr. Suggs did look familiar," Papa said, buckling on his holster as he spoke. "I believe I've seen him in Tinville before. Perhaps I'll invite him to drop by the jailhouse for a friendly little chat."

***

When Papa showed up for supper that night, he thanked me for telling him about Roscoe. "It seems Mr. Suggs is wanted in every state and territory west of the Mississippi," he said. "We'll be collecting a nice reward for his capture, Eliza. To think I almost let that skunk walk out of Tinville scot-free!"

"Papa, you didn't put Roscoe in the same cell as Calvin, did you?" If he had, there was no telling what Roscoe might do to my poor friend.

"Of course not," Papa said, speaking as if I'd
insulted him. "Tinville's a prosperous city. One cell couldn't hold all oar criminals." He laughed. "Why, Tinville is so full of crooks poor old Roscoe had his pocket picked in broad daylight. Lost every cent of his reward money before he could gamble it away at the faro table."

Miss Jenny chuckled and said it served him right. I joined in the hilarity, hoping nobody suspected I had anything to do with Roscoe's misfortune.

To change the subject, I asked Papa if he'd told Calvin the truth about his father.

'Yes, I did, but I had the devil of a time convincing him. That young man threw so many long words my way he almost knocked me out with the weight of them."

Papa paused to light his pipe before going on. "If it hadn't been for Elliot, I don't believe Calvin would have accepted my version of his daddy's death, but fortunately Elliot saves wanted posters. He found three featuring Calvin Thaddeus Featherbone, Senior, as well as a newspaper account written the day after the shooting, laying out the facts as I told them."

"Poor boy," Miss Jenny said. "It must have been a terrible disappointment to learn his father was a no-good scoundrel."

"He was mighty glum," Papa admitted, "but he perked up a sight when he saw we'd arrested Roscoe. I left the two of them hurling insults back and forth.
Calvin was definitely getting the better of Roscoe, who tends to be a bit slow-witted to say the least."

It looked like Papa was finished talking, but there was one more thing I was curious about. "Did Calvin show you the letter his mother got?" I asked.

Papa nodded. "Elliot and I figured it was written by one of Mr. Featherbone's lady friends. Probably Miss Flora. She kicked up a terrible ruckus after the shooting. Went from saloon to saloon, seeking vengeance. When nobody offered to shoot me, I reckon she wrote to Mrs. Featherbone, hoping Calvin Junior would ride into town on a white horse and do the job."

When Papa paused again to fidget with his pipe, Miss Jenny said, "At least Flora had the decency not to sign her name to that letter. No sense hurting a widow's feelings."

"Where's Miss Flora now?" I asked Papa.

"Oh, she left Tinville a month or two ago. I reckon she grew weary of waiting for your friend to appear."

Miss Jenny excused herself to fix a pot of tea. When she came back, she and Papa began talking of the new minister who was preaching against saloons, gambling houses, and dance halls. Seemed like a number of townspeople agreed with his views. Wouldn't be long before they cleaned up Harrison Avenue, Papa said. Times were changing. Civilization was taking over everywhere.

Left to my own thoughts, I contemplated Papa's
jacket hanging over the back of a chair. In its pocket were the keys to the jail. If I could get my hands on them, I could free Calvin.

A
FTER SUPPER, MISS JENNY SUGGESTED A
game of dominos. I said I was too tired to play, but I hung around watching for a few minutes. When I was sure Papa and Miss Jenny were paying more attention to the dominos than to me, I slipped my hand into the pocket of Papa's jacket and pulled out his keys without his noticing a thing. It scared me to discover how easy thievery is. I hoped I wasn't heading for a life of crime after all, but I supposed I could always reform after Calvin was safely out of jail.

I yawned real wide and said I was going to bed. Papa gave me a kiss and wished me sweet dreams, which made me feel powerful bad. But not bad enough to stop myself from climbing out the bedroom window, which wasn't easy in a dress, and untying Caesar's rope. I'd have given anything for my boy clothes, but Miss Jenny had burned them to get rid of the vermin breeding in every seam.

Slowed by skirts and petticoats, I ran down the street with Caesar at my heels. Somewhere on Harrison Avenue, I bumped right into a tall, skinny man. He'd just stepped out of a saloon doorway, and he spun around to face me. I must have startled him, for he was pointing a gun right at me.

"Lord, don't shoot," I cried.

The man smiled and dropped his gun into his holster. "I'm not in the habit of killing ladies, big or small," said he.

The moon was shining full on his face, and I recognized the mysterious gentleman who'd given me those gold eagles way back in Pueblo. He looked a sight the worse for wear. Thinner, paler. At death's door, Aunt Mabel would have said.

"You don't remember me, sir," I said, "but you did me a favor once."

"Why, I'm mighty pleased to hear it," he said. "These days, I rarely meet a person who doesn't hold a grudge against me for one thing or another."

"I was traveling with a fellow by the name of Calvin Featherbone. He's in jail now," I went rushing on as. if I were telling my life history, but the man seemed right kindly and in no hurry to leave. "My papa put him there," I said. "Maybe you know him. He's Alfred Yates, the sheriff."

The man smiled. 'Yes, indeed, I know your father well." He looked at me curiously. "But I must admit I don't recall meeting a young girl on my travels."

"It was a while back, in Pueblo," I said, "but I wasn't a girl then. I was a boy."

"Indeed?" The gentleman scrutinized my face and laughed till he brought on a coughing fit. When he recovered, he said, "I've encountered many a peculiarity since I left Georgia, but this may be the oddest tale yet. Tell me, dear, how did you accomplish this amazing transformation?"

"Just by wearing boys' clothes and giving myself a boy's name," I said. "It's amazing how easy it was to fool everybody, even Calvin."

The man smiled as if he wanted to laugh but was afraid of bringing on another coughing fit. "Is Calvin by any chance the young rogue who was so adept at three-card monte and so inept at the faro table?"

'Yes, sir, that's him," I said, "but he improved considerably at gambling."

'Yet he's in jail."

"For horse theft," I admitted. "It seems he wasn't very good at that."