The Gentleman Outlaw and Me-Eli (3 page)

When I'd done all I could, Featherbone told me to go ahead and eat. Lying there on the ground, he looked pale but determined. The set of his jaw told me he didn't give up easy. He'd die when he was ready, I figured, and not one second before.

Taking care to give Caesar half, I gobbled the stew. The meat was tough and stringy, and the vegetables were mush, but I'd had fancy dinners at Aunt Mabel's table that I'd enjoyed far less.

When he'd eaten his share, Caesar gave a big
sigh of pure contentment and lay down by the fire. In no time he was sound asleep. But not me. I sat there, watching the flames flicker and thinking my own thoughts.

After a while, I glanced at Featherbone. He'd been so quiet I was afraid he might have upped and died on me after all. But he was wide awake, eyeing me with enough curiosity to kill a cat.

"A raggedy boy and a shaggy old dog," he said. "I don't know who you are or where you came from, but you most certainly saved my life."

"My name is Elijah." I drew out the syllables to savor the sound. "Elijah Yates."

"Elijah
what?
" Featherbone jerked upright and stared at me as if I'd just uttered the most terrible swear word ever invented.

"Elijah
Bates,
" I hollered, shocked to realize I'd said "Yates" instead of "Bates." "Bates, Bates, Bates. My name's Elijah
Bates.
"

Featherbone sighed and lay back. "Pardon me for startling you, but I could have sworn you said
Yates.
Thank the Lord you didn't. If there's one name in this world I despise, it's Yates."

I looked at him, alarmed by the hatred he was packing into my real name. "Did someone called Yates cause you grief?" I asked timidly.

"A dirty coward by that vile name shot my father in the back and left him to die in the street."

I drew in my breath so hard I almost choked. It
was a lucky thing I'd corrected myself and said my name was Bates. From the way Featherbone was carrying on, he might have killed me on the spot just because my name was Yates.

"I swore on my mother's grave I'd avenge my father's death," Featherbone went on, glaring at me as if I doubted his word. "I'm on my way to Tinville, Colorado, to confront the scoundrel."

"Why, that's just where I'm headed," I said, too surprised to keep my mouth shut as a more cautious person might have. Although I was sure Papa wasn't the kind to shoot a man in the back, it made me uneasy to know he and Featherbone's enemy not only were both named Yates but also lived in the same town. A coincidence no doubt, but worrisome all the same.

Featherbone stared at me, just as amazed as I was. "What in heaven's name takes an innocent child like you to a town as wicked as Tinville?" he asked.

"I hope to find my father there," I admitted.

Featherbone studied my face. "Aren't you rather young to be traveling by yourself?"

"I'm twelve years old," I said, drawing myself up to my full height. "Not that much younger than you, I reckon!"

"I'm almost eighteen," Featherbone said quickly. "Which makes me nearly a man and you a mere boy. Why, you should be at home with your mother, not roaming the countryside like a vagabond."

"My mama is dead," I whispered.

"So we're both motherless," Featherbone said, softening his haughty tone. "Orphan boys adrift in this cruel world with no place to call home."

When I turned my head to hide my tears, Featherbone touched my shoulder. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "I'm Calvin Thaddeus Featherbone, the Second." After pausing a moment, he added, "Perhaps you've heard of me."

"No," I apologized, "I'm afraid I haven't."

"In some parts," he said, watching me closely, "I'm known as the Gentleman Outlaw."

I stared at my companion, too awed to speak. Just a few days ago, I'd been an ordinary girl, doing chores and ducking whippings, and now here I was alone in the woods with a real, live outlaw. If he knew, my cousin Little Homer would be consumed with jealousy. He had a real hankering to become an outlaw himself, and if you ask me, he was already well on his way to achieving his goal.

"Are you telling me the honest-to-God truth?" I asked.

"Would I prevaricate, Elijah?"

Since I didn't know the meaning of the word, I ignored Calvin's question. "What did you do to become an outlaw?" I asked. "Rob a bank? Hold up a train?"

When Calvin didn't answer, I added, "I hope you didn't kill anybody. I don't approve of murder."

He stared into the fire, his face grim. Lord knows what he was thinking. "Never fear," he said at last. "I haven't taken anyone's life—yet."

Something in his voice made me shiver. Or maybe it was just the damp night air creeping up behind me. Swallowing hard, I said, "Are you aiming to kill the man who killed your daddy?"

Calvin clenched his jaw and nodded. "Yates showed no mercy to Father," he said. "I mean to show no mercy to him."

I moved a little closer to Caesar, taking comfort in his warm body and familiar smell. It seemed to me Calvin was studying my face with growing suspicion.

'Your father," he said slowly. "He wouldn't be the sheriff of Tinville, would he?"

"Sheriff?" I burst out laughing at the very idea of Papa being a sheriff. "Why, Aunt Mabel says Papa's about the worst man who ever lived. What makes you think he's a lawman?"

"The Yates I'm seeking is the sheriff of Tinville," Calvin said slowly, still staring into my eyes as if he hoped to read my mind like a carnival fortuneteller.

"I told you, Papa's name is
Bates,
" I reminded him. "Even if his name was Yates—which it's not—he isn't the sort to wear a tin star."

After engaging me in a brief eye-to-eye stare, Calvin seemed to believe what I had told him. Yawning a yawn as big as a house, he stretched out on the ground. "If you'll pardon me, Eli, I shall endeavor to sink into the arms of Morpheus till morning."

I guess that meant Calvin aimed to go to sleep, because a few seconds later he was snoring as nice and polite as a lady in church.

But not me. I was too worried to shut my eyes. Much as I hated to part company with a famous outlaw, the sensible thing seemed to be to sneak away while Calvin slept. Go on to Tinville with Caesar. Find my father. Tell him he might have an enemy.

While I lay there trying to decide what to do, an owl hooted. Animals moved around in the bushes, rustling and snapping twigs. The sounds brought to mind the stories Little Homer made up to scare Millicent and William and me. What if the bogeyman was out there in the dark woods, waiting for me to leave the fire and come closer? The yellow-bellied snallygaster might be perched in a tree right over my head. The fierce turkey chatch that gobbled up little children could be hiding anywhere. I felt their red eyes watching me, smelled their evil smell, heard their sharp claws scratching in the dirt.

The owl called again, raising goose bumps on my skin. A few feet away, a branch snapped like something big and heavy had stepped on it. Moving even closer to Caesar, I hugged him tight. He whimpered and twitched like he was chasing rabbits in his dreams, but he didn't wake up.

I guessed I'd stay with Calvin a while. At least till daylight. Perhaps even longer. After all, we had miles to go before we got to Tinville. If by some weird quirk of fate it turned out Calvin and I were looking for the same man, I had plenty of time to sneak off and warn Papa.

Besides, I've never been one to do the sensible thing.

I
F YOU'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO
spend a night sleeping on the cold ground without a blanket, you know how I felt when I woke up. I was so blamed stiff I could hardly move. My mouth tasted like I'd been chewing on Caesar's fur. Worst of all, I had to hobble off into the trees and relieve myself fast before Calvin noticed I wasn't exactly who or what he thought I was.

By the time I came back, Calvin had gotten the fire going, but nothing was cooking. It seemed the Gentleman Outlaw wasn't the sort to hunt or fish or carry supplies. He was accustomed to eating in hotel dining rooms, he told me.

Caesar sighed and lay down beside the young man. Calvin wrinkled his nose. "Pardon me for saying so," he said, "but this brute is badly in need of a bath, Elijah."

"So are you," I said, making a great show of sniffing the air in Calvin's vicinity. It was true. After a night in the woods, the Gentleman Outlaw smelled a mite stale. I reckon I did too.

Ignoring me, Calvin attempted to move upwind from Caesar, but my loyal companion wagged his tail and moved closer.

"Why, Calvin," I said. "I believe Caesar likes you."

"Is that meant to be a compliment?"

"I reckon it is," I said, not sure whether I was pleased or jealous. "Caesar hates most everyone except me."

Calvin heaved a sigh and patted the dog. "It's my fate to be befriended by the lowest types, both animal and human," he said glumly.

Hoping he wasn't including me among the lowest types, I asked Calvin what he aimed to do next.

He shook his head. "This is a sad state of affairs for the Gentleman Outlaw," he said. "Thanks to Roscoe Suggs and his cronies, I have no money, no gun, and no horse. Those scoundrels relieved me of everything, including my watch and my playing cards."

"I've got some money," I said, hoping to cheer him.

Calvin raised his eyebrows hopefully. "How much?"

"I have two gold eagles in my pocket," I boasted, patting my overalls. "Twenty dollars is surely enough to get us on our way to Tinville."

Calvin's eyebrows drooped and his face took on a glum expression. "That's most generous of you, Elijah, but I fear twenty dollars won't even buy our passage out of Kansas."

Wishing I'd lied and said I had more, I watched Calvin get to his feet and take a couple of weak little steps, wincing and biting his lip. I jumped up so's he could lean on me. Caesar ran on ahead, pretending he knew just where we were going but looking back every now and then to make sure he was right.

By the time we reached the railroad tracks, Calvin was breathing hard. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and he was leaning on me heavier and heavier. It must have been about eight in the morning, but the sun was already hot. Gnats added to our discomfort by humming around our heads and nibbling on tender parts such as earlobes and eyelids.

'You want to sit and rest a spell?" I asked.

Calvin sank down in the weeds and leaned against a tree. His wound was bleeding again. I could see fresh red spreading across the old brown stains on his shirt sleeve.

"I can't take another step," he admitted. "Leave me here and go on toward Elms Bluff. It's that way."

He gestured at a dirt road snaking off along the river and then continued in a voice so low I had to lean close to hear him. "When you come to a little yellow house at the top of a hill, ask for Nellie. Tell
her I'm in need of help. She'll know what to do."

With that, he closed his eyes as if he were too tired to say another word.

I fanned him with the hat Roscoe had left behind, but Calvin didn't move. 'You look mighty poorly," I whispered.

"That's odd," he mumbled. "I feel mighty poorly."

"You aren't fixing to die, are you?"

"Not if I can help it." Calvin opened those blue eyes of his for a second. "Go on, Elijah. Fetch Miss Nellie."

I hated to leave Calvin there all by his lonesome, so I persuaded Caesar to stay with him. "Keep him safe," I told my dog. "Don't let anyone come near him."

Caesar nodded like he understood, and I took off, fearing for Calvin's life.

By the time I spotted the tumbledown yellow house, I felt like I'd been running and walking, running and walking, for hours. I was glad to see two ladies sitting on the doorstep, fanning themselves. One had long blond hair, and the other had jet black hair done up on top of her head. Frankly, neither color looked natural. Nor did their pink cheeks. Their dresses seemed mighty small somehow, like they'd grown since they'd bought them and could scarcely get the buttons fastened.

Never having seen ladies like this, I stared so hard they smiled and waved at me.

"Hey, there," the blonde called. "What are you looking at, boy?"

The other laughed, showing a mouthful of gold teeth. "Take a picture, why don't you? It'll last a sight longer."

I was dying of mortification, but I walked up to them even though I knew full well they weren't proper churchgoing ladies. No, sir. They were the kind the preacher talked against on long, hot Sundays. Aunt Mabel wouldn't have gone anywhere near them—which gave me a certain amount of pleasure.

"Is one of you Miss Nellie?" I asked.

The blonde tossed her hair. "Who wants to know?"

"Calvin Featherbone sent me to fetch you," I said. "He's hurt bad."

Miss Nellie jumped up and pressed her hand to her heart, which you could almost see beating on account of her dress being cut so low. "Oh, I just knowed Calvin was going to get hisself in trouble," she cried. "I told him to stay clear of that low-down scum Roscoe. Didn't I, Pearl?"

"You surely did, honey." Miss Pearl heaved herself up beside Miss Nellie and laid a big soft white hand on my shoulder. "Where is the poor young man?"

"In a grove of trees beside the train tracks, about two miles from here. He can't walk all this way. Can you fetch him in a buggy?"

Miss Pearl nodded real solemn-like and turned to Miss Nellie. "Harness up Fancy. While you're gone, I'll heat some water."

I followed Miss Nellie around back to the stable. A sorry-looking old gray horse raised up its head and looked down its nose at me. I swear its teeth were worn down worse than Miss Pearl's.

"Give me a hand with the harness, boy," said Miss Nellie.

Between the two of us, we were on the road in just a few minutes, which was a good thing because that horse wasn't going to get us to Calvin any sooner than if we'd walked.

"How bad is Calvin hurt?" Miss Nellie asked.

"Mr. Roscoe Suggs shot him in the left arm. I reckon he was aiming for his heart but he was too drunk to shoot straight."

"I warned Calvin not to cheat Roscoe, I begged him, but would that boy listen to me? No, sir, he would not." Miss Nellie flicked the reins so hard they stung the horse's back. "Some folks think they know it all, but talking like you swallowed a dictionary don't mean a thing if you ain't got any common sense."