Politics Meets The Gun 712w6l

Politics Meets the Gun

R.L. Lovejoy

Copyright © 2020 R. L. Lovejoy All rights reserved First Edition NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING 320 Broad Street Red Bank, NJ 07701 First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2020 ISBN 978-1-64801-552-6 (Paperback) ISBN 978-1-64801-553-3 (Digital) Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18

Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22

To those that believed in the dream

Chapter 1

One secret in the wrong hands has the potential to destroy the future. Sue Lincoln killed a man after years of blackmail to protect her son, Cole, from learning the true identity of his father. Two years had ed since that Friday in 1904. No one suspected her involvement. It was little comfort considering her troubles had escalated until the day of reckoning had come to . Cole was on his way home now to force the truth about his outlaw father out of her. Her surrogate mother, Betty, had called minutes ago to forewarn her of his intentions. With fearful urgency, she whispered through the crackling phone line, “He knows. Peter told him. He set out for home ten minutes ago. He’s been beaten badly. I don’t know by whom.” “Lewis, that’s who,” Sue said. Stricken with shock, she sat down in the chair next to the phone table. Distraught at the possibility he’d never forgive her for lying, guilt fell heavy in her gut. “Why’d he tell him now?” Sue pleaded but barely heard the reply. Peter and Betty Striver were the only people who knew the fatal ending of Sue and Jesse’s brief courtship. As she thought about the lonely trek to Texas, Sue’s hand swiped across her forehead. “Your heart was in the right place,” Betty said when she was quiet for too long. “Oh, Sue, how do you think he will take it?” “He’ll be all right,” she said but didn’t believe it. She knew Peter was unable to keep a secret. Betty continued to chatter. Sue no longer listened to her. The words of explanation prepared long ago sounded unworthy for him at his age. Worried about Cole, Sue said her goodbyes and set the earpiece of the phone in its cradle.

She never intended harm by keeping his father’s paternity a secret. The urge to tell him about his father surfaced throughout his young life. At age six, she had taken him fishing and planned to surprise him with it. But she made up her mind that he was too young. When he was ten, she determined it’d do more harm than good. Later, it was too late to tell him. She concluded that it was in his best interest to completely conceal it forever. The only thing she told him about his father was that his ancestors predicted one of their lines would have fame in the New World. It was one of Jesse’s many stories that he had told her all those years ago. If only Jesse James had lived. If only she’d accepted his death and moved on. She was so young then, barely a woman, and incapable of accepting the horrible truth. Besides, nobody was recovered to prove it. He repeatedly cheated death. These facts made it easy to believe he’d return someday. They made it a necessary lie. Sue was never fully certain if Cole’s father was the dignified Davis Lincoln or an infamous outlaw who was ready to put the past behind him. Years ed before she learned the truth. All her troubles began when she received a visit from his brother. Even then, she was reluctant to accept the finality of his death. These thoughts raced through her mind as she returned to the front room of her home and continued to stitch patches for a quilt. The air held stiff calm before a storm. The godfather clock peeled off the half hour. The same old what-ifs came to mind as she thought about Jesse. If only he had not gone on that Indian raid, blackmail by Marvin Woodworth would have been impossible. She wove the threaded needle in and out of the fabric. Vaguely, she noticed her hands moved too fast, and she manhandled the fabric. The needle poked her forefinger and drew blood. Lost in reverie, she shoved the line of fabric blocks aside. She pushed herself up from the rocking chair. It jostled out of place by the force of her momentum. Down the hall, she rushed to find the metal box stored in a dark comer of a closet. It held her only mementos of Jesse. It offered comfort, and when the lock resisted the key, she grew anxious over the possibility of not gaining access. She gave a sigh of pent-up energy when, finally, the lock turned, cash tumbled out, and therein lie Jesse’s bandana. She wrapped her fingers in softened red fabric and brought it to her face.

Overwhelmed by emotion, she shoved it into her pocket and relocked the box. On instinct, she moved it to a different hiding spot. Intuition warned value rested on Cole’s guaranteed survival through the night. Her home, which had been her crowning achievement, proved useless right now. She built the 1,400-square-foot six-room structure with hard-earned money. Peter and his sons constructed the house. It featured an open kitchen and dining room with a formal dining table centered between the two rooms. She had insisted upon a window over the kitchen sink even though Peter had predicted the water would freeze and bust the pipes. She had also fought him on the oversized windows in the dining room that were strategically placed to capture a southern breeze. Peter argued with her about the wide center hall as well and the large bathroom. The plumbing would come later, she argued. By then, she’d think of a way to protect the pipes. The dining room table was covered with quilts in various states of completion. A pot of beans she planned to sort and soak tonight dominated one end of the table. Boxes of bullets were piled precariously on one end. Today’s paper lay open on the back page. A headline announced: “Lazy Horse Saloon closed for business.” She folded the paper and sighed in defeat. The win for Temperance she’d gladly trade for her son’s forgiveness. In Denton Texas, Temperance had a presence as early as the 1870s. After 1900, as the city tried to establish itself, Temperance and Prohibition forces celebrated a victory. The county went dry in 1902. City leaders hoped the law would force the route of bootleg whiskey to detour around the city. Instead, the underground market exploded in Denton. The largest producers were the Woodworth family. They had a reputation as powerful untouchables that flaunted wealth. She stood under the wide entrance to her living room and looked into the dark fireplace across from her. It occurred to her that Peter designed the house to her specifications. Just now, she wished she’d resigned to his expertise and convinced him of the importance of keeping her secret instead. Glass knickknacks displayed on the fireplace mantle were all material possessions and useless in this state of anxiety. She surrendered to the urge to seize a ceramic owl from its center point on the mantle. It sounded minuet as it broke against the dining room wall. She never believed owls were bad luck, but

now in this overpowering sense of helplessness, she found logic in the old superstition. Was that the low sound of an owl she heard hooting from somewhere in the still late afternoon? With one phone call, the time of revelation was at hand. Her mind raced with questions about whether to start at the beginning or to it that she not only lied but also fictionalized his father. The truth carried precedence without warning. She roamed through the house and tidied things up as she wondered about his reaction. She smoothed a ruffled tablecloth, straightened chairs, and went through each room twice. Eventually, she returned to stare at the phone in the hopes it’d ring and give better news than the news before. She expected Cole to react with anger and figured she deserved it. But she had to make him understand why she kept it from him. She did it to ensure he had the fresh start she and his father were robbed of by his untimely death. After placing the cornbread in the oven, she went outside and waited for Cole to arrive. Sue doubted he had the patience to hear her out. His generation expected instant answers to age old questions. When dissatisfied, they worked to change things. Strangers to war, they were eager for a fight. Cole found one, courted it even, and what happened in the next few hours determined his fate. Cloud cover pushed dusk time up almost an hour, and the temperature began to fall. The wind stopped in warm fits and returned with cool gusts as a cloud bank moved in from the west. Aware of the number of years she’d lied to her son, Sue attempted to justify her reasoning for keeping the truth from him. She watched the road and prayed for the right words of explanation. It wasn’t long before she heard the steady rumble of a car motor that edged its way in her direction. Eager to have this out in the open and behind them, Sue assumed it was Cole. She gave no thought to the fact that the car arrived from the opposite direction of Peter’s place. It pulled into her drive, and she stopped in her tracks when she discovered it was not Cole but rather the district attorney, Matthew Gleason. A car full of police pulled in behind him. A well-built man who styled a handlebar mustache and beard, Gleason wore a white shirt with black suspenders. A small-brimmed hat topped his head. Dread laced his voice. “Where’s your son?” Gleason asked. “He’s out of town on business. Why?”

“We have a search warrant. If we find what we’re looking for, he’s under arrest.” Blindsided and concerned about Cole, she grabbed the warrant and read it. It cited Cole’s involvement as a bootleg whiskey supplier. The accusations in print, combined with his newfound knowledge of her deception, led her to conclude that she’d failed to protect him. “You know as well as I do, that warrant was signed because Cole went against the bootleggers,” she said. Sue ripped the warrant to shreds and threw it at his feet. Gleason’s face reddened, and he nervously rubbed his beard smooth. He expected her directness. But to tolerate blatant disrespect while on duty made him look the fool in front of his men. He said, “This warrant’s a week old. The only reason it wasn’t done before is because Lewis stalled it.” “You’re a liar,” Sue spattered. “Lewis did it today on purpose. The whiskey is his. You know it, and I know it.” He tilted his head, warily looked at her, and said, “Be that as it may, this farm’s under raid.” Policemen spread out over the property in search of Cole and the whiskey. Gleason entered the house and immediately noticed the broken owl and out-ofkilter rocking chair. When he saw the shotgun centered over the fireplace, he asked, “Is it loaded?” Sue refused to answer any questions. He removed the rifle. Two bullets dropped into his palm when he slid open the loading latch. Thunder rumbled closer on lightning charged air. In the bedroom, Gleason shuffled through the opened drawers and boxes that were removed from the closet. Unlike the police, who had emptied everything and left doors and drawers open, Gleason took inventory of her possessions and categorized her life. He found the knife hidden deep under the mattress and the keys taped to the

bottom of her bedside table. In Cole’s room, he looked over the books in the shelves and opened the armoire. He pushed his meaty hands under the clothes, checked pockets, and came up with lint and a few coins. He peeked underneath the bed and slid a finger across the dust. He rose back to his feet and held it out to her with triumph. “All but one square spot is covered with thick dust. Did you miss a spot cleaning perhaps?” “I suppose so,” she said. “More likely it’s from the shirt I found shoved under there. You know how boys are.” Gleason gave a shrug as if it was unimportant. His aloofness planted the suspicion that he was here to scare her and nothing more. Humiliated, she fought the impulse to push him out of her house. Each time Gleason found a gun, he’d stop and judge her reaction. Three shotguns and two pistols were strategically placed throughout the house. One pistol was missing, and she hoped Cole had it. Gleason skimmed over the cabinets in the kitchen and opened the icebox and oven. The cornbread was still mushy and had twenty minutes at least. He pushed aside the rugs in front of the stove and kitchen sink with one boot tip. At the front door, he threw a superior glance when he found the unlocked trap door. He retrieved the box and shook it in his big hands. “What’s in here?” “Mementoes.” “Open it,” he said and handed it to her. She wanted to refuse his command but knew he’d break the lock. Grateful he hadn’t found it in the bedroom, she crossed to the dining room table and set it down. Gleason stood at her shoulder as she jiggled the key in the lock. She felt relieved she’d put Jesse’s bandana in her pocket earlier that afternoon. “It won’t open,” she said. Gleason shoved her aside and forced it open. He counted the cash. “That’s a lot of money for a farmer.”

“I’ve been saving it for ten years.” “Maybe it’s hush money.” “Maybe it is,” she said and regretted it. Gleason’s cool patience left little recourse to protest this invasion of her privacy. He shoved her aside and examined the contents of the box. He replaced the cash and walked out to the porch to stand with the city sheriff, Bill Miller. “Anything yet?” he asked. “Nothing so far,” Miller said. Cole must have known about the raid beforehand and had removed the whiskey from the property. Any minute, Sue expected him to arrive. She said, “It looks like you’ve come up empty-handed.” “He’s still under arrest,” Gleason said. “You can’t arrest him. You didn’t find anything.” “We have enough witnesses to back up the charges.” “I demand you leave,” she said. That’s when she noticed two speeding cars were set for a head-on collision at the blind corner a few hundred feet away. Sue started down the porch steps but stopped when she realized the vantage point was better where she stood. The southbound car swerved to avoid the collision. The northbound car gained speed and crashed into the other car. A horrendous sound of crushed metal accompanied the impact. Chrome glinted in the drizzling rain through the treelined road. “Maybe that’s him now,” Gleason said. Everyone rushed to the crash site. Meanwhile, a third car sped by them. The female driver fiercely gripped the steering wheel and tunneled her attention to the road. The car disappeared around the comer and came to a screeching halt.

Then the driver reversed the car and revved the engine. She accelerated and almost hit the car that blocked the road. She repeated the action until undistinguishable voices raised in terror. “Let’s get out of here,” someone said. Car doors slammed shut. The car that caused the accident fled the scene. Sue and Gleason rounded the comer in time to see Cole and Annelle hug and exchange words. Sheriff Miller said, “Halt, right there.” The couple broke their embrace. Cole’s stare burned Sue with accusation. Additional hurt and worry piled onto the emotions of guilt when she noticed the bandage around his neck. Then Charlie Lione, Cole’s best friend, caused a distraction. He said, “You’ve got me, I surrender.” In the next moment, Annelle slid behind the wheel, and Cole and Charlie jumped into the car. They drove off, and Sue gave a secret cheer. Neither did she bother to suppress a victorious smile. “Damn it, why didn’t you apprehend them while you had the chance?” Gleason questioned as he watched them leave. “I was waiting on orders,” Miller answered. “You had your orders,” Gleason barked. He shook his head, put his hands on his hips, and asked Sue, “Is this Cole’s car?” Hit head-on, Cole’s car rested in the ditch. Steam poured from the radiator. One headlight hung loosely from its socket. The front fender was bent inward, and the crank was broken off and lay in the road. Relieved he escaped capture, she said, “I’m not telling.” Gleason waved a finger at her and then stalked away. “Get the cars,” he instructed Miller.

A cold wind blew in then, and rain fell in big cold drops. The police left in pursuit of her son. Sue returned to the house and changed into dry clothes. Minutes later, a heavy green sky unrolled great sheets of rain that blew in sideways and flooded the yard. In its shadows, secrets bourn of innocence and ignorance mounted up after all these years. Yet they were completely irrelevant. Precedence shifted to the extent of Cole’s injuries and what actions to take to guarantee his freedom.

Chapter 2

In spite of Sue’s overprotectiveness, Cole had repeated his father’s mistakes. Maybe if she had told him before now, then it was possible to sidestep a fate identical to that of his fathers. These were her fears as she considered driving to the city jail. Cole gave her a car this past July. She never intended to drive it. But the more she thought about it, the more desirable it became. She wasn’t that bold quite yet, however. Instead, she called Peter for assistance. He agreed to pick her up and drive her to the city jail to await news. Peter never said “I told you so” until they were on the way to town. Reproach thickened the lines around his eyes. He said, “Nothing could’ve changed how it all turned out.” Sue said, “It’s in his blood. He’s as stubborn as a mule.” A half hour later, they reached downtown and stood before an ornamental city jailhouse. A fan circulated musty air inside. Deputy Wilson, a young pleasant fellow, sat behind a desk and fiddled with a pocketknife. He said, “Why, Mrs. Lincoln, I never expected to see you here.” “You know damn well why I’m here. Where is he?” He looked lonely as he stood up. “Right this way.” “Thank God he’s all right,” Sue exclaimed. “He’ll get through this,” Peter said. “Go see him. I’ll wait here.” Barred rooms and gray brick walls lined the corridor. Each cell had a window. A hungry look to Cole’s eyes leant a gloomy quality to his complexion. Bandages around his neck were soaked in blood. His mouth was a slash of contempt. Bruises narrowed his eyes into slits. Grateful he was alive, she withheld comment on his wretched appearance. She ed a water canteen through the

bars to him. He greedily drank from it. “Who did this to you?” she asked. “Who do you think?” Cole said. Uncomfortable quiet followed, and Sue overheard Peter and Wilson make small talk down the hall. “They raided the house.” “I figured they did.” “Where’s the whiskey?” “Never you mind.” More discomfort and she waited for him to ask the dreaded question. “Have you heard if Charlie’s all right?” “No,” she said. “He was shot.” “I haven’t heard anything. I’ll find out. Bail is two hundred dollars. I’ll get it for you.” “Don’t bother. I don’t want your money. What I want is the truth. You owe me that.” Guilt shadowed her face. She pulled up a chair closer to the bars and began her tale. “You know most of it. I grew up on a tobacco farm in Missouri with my grandfather until I ran away. He was a hateful man.” Cole grew impatient with her tired voice and said, “Get to the point.” “Don’t rush me,” she scolded. “Your whole problem is that you’re in too much of a hurry to get things done when these things take time.”

Her frustration at his take-charge attitude had never been greater than right now. If he expected the truth, she planned to tell it all. “Granddad served on the blue coat army and abhorred Missouri’s violent civil past. However, his allegiance to the north offered no protection against the monopoly of northern banks. He sold his prized thoroughbred horses to raise tax money to save the house. He kept two horses, but it wasn’t enough to compensate his losses. “Shortly thereafter, I set out on my own. I came to Texas with the Strivers,” she said and her voice perked up a notch. “They practically adopted me as one of their own. I was about your age. What you don’t know is what happened between here and Missouri.” She shifted in her seat and commanded her hands to stop fidgeting, but it began again. She felt far removed from her past as if she recounted someone else’s life. “Less than twelve hours after I fled home, I met your father.” She smiled now at the memory of the first time she saw Jesse James. He sat against the stoop of a tree and carried the calmness of a man who had recently won a great battle. A slender face with a short nose and broad forehead accentuated a narrow chin. A hint of a smile perked up his mouth in a pleasant way. He made no move to acknowledge her. He only stared at her unblinking. It felt like he waited for her to speak. It was as if he were unsure she was real. His intense stare lacked menace and more closely resembled curiosity. “I never once feared him,” Sue said from her side of the bars. “But I knew when I first saw him, he was Jesse James. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew it.” “We holed up in a cabin for two weeks before we met Peter and Betty in Westport. It wasn’t long after before revenge got the better of him.” Her tone took on a serious note. “When I was your age, violent guerrilla bands fought a civil war long before Ft. Sumter and long after the Battle of Gettysburg. The gangs were intelligent, wealthy young men, but their ruthless appetite for blood bitterly divided sister states.

“The conflict also created a network of southern ers and safe houses. These sympathizers made possible the long nm of the Jesse James gang-former guerilla men who turned their crusade to a national level in 1878. “Everyone but Granddad believed Jesse James had exploited the Ford brothers and faked his own death. With a million-dollar bounty on his head, he had no other choice but to escape. “There was no way he was shot in the back while dusting a picture.” Ridicule lined her voice. “Jesse James wouldn’t turn his back on someone he didn’t trust. The Ford brothers were new initiates in the gang. The assassination was a hoax and his last great rebellion. “When I met him, his home was the Missouri woods. I was the first person he saw when he emerged from his five-year hiatus.” At the time, when the excitement of facing the world on her own drew her bold, she never once found reason to fear this man, not until she witnessed a dose of his paranoia. Well, maybe she was a little afraid. But she had just run away from home and enjoyed her newfound independence. She was quiet aware of danger just because he was a stranger. As she stood in the Missouri River and watered her horse Blackbee, Jesse continued to lean against the tree without a care in the world. Common sense demanded that she stay on guard. She wasn’t strong enough to stop him if he planned to overpower her. If he threatened her with a gun, time would tortuously draw out. The fact of not knowing what his intentions were demanded that she curb the inclination to romanticize the situation. She looked at him more closely. A red bandana was tied around his neck. Lines around his eyes suggested he was older than she initially thought. Sadness lingered underneath a handsome expression as if he searched for some lost valuable and meant to ask her about it. He sat with his back against the tree and stretched out his legs. He moved his hat down to cover his eyes. Moments later, he was still and appeared to snooze. The river ran its course as she packed up her camping gear. Once finished, she smoothly mounted up into the saddle of her horse. Just as quietly, she gathered

the reigns. Her back was to him for maybe ten seconds when she heard a voice at her back. “Going somewhere?” he asked. She held the reins tight between both hands and tried to resist his penetrative blue eyes. She said, as she stared straight ahead, “I don’t think this is suitable at all.” “It’s not ladylike to leave without saying goodbye,” he ventured. She was afraid, suddenly afraid because she didn’t know him, afraid because she was small in the big scheme of things. Her heart said he was harmless, but her head told her to steer clear. Confused, unsure what to do or say, her fears grew and sank again. “I have to go,” she said. He lowered his head and put his hands in his pockets. He said desperately, “At least tell me your name before you go.” There was no harm in his appeal. “It’s Sue.” “Sue,” he repeated, with emphasis as if he was reluctant to let the syllable go. “I’m Davis.” He reached up for a handshake. Drawn to the sense of humor that rested underneath the surface, she shook his hand. She decided to stay for now. She started to dismount the horse when his smile turned downward and his eyes enlarged in alarm. “Don’t move,” he said. Slowly, he reached into his waistband and pulled out a gun. He swiped a hand down the horse’s nose to quiet him. Fear returned with full force as he took a single step forward, raised a gun, and fired at something behind her. The shot echoed through the forest, and birds catapulted from the trees.

Blackbee startled at the shot. He reared his front legs and attempted to run. The reigns burned her skin as they slipped through her hands. Davis caught the reigns and gripped the horses face gear. The horse continued to fight before it realized it was captured. Davis petted his snout, and Sue leaned over the mane and whispered reassurances to the horse. She eventually peered behind her and saw a tree snake that lay dead. Her eyes met Davis’s, and she craved more excitement with him. Unfamiliar with such feelings, she looked away first. Minutes before, she’d been fearful, and now she wanted to fall in his arms. She reminded herself to stay on guard. She said, “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Unbothered by the unexpected interruption, he half closed one eye as if the sun glinted in it and said, “I’m starved. Let’s eat.” He returned to the campfire and stoked a fire to life. They shared a bowl of oatmeal that tasted terrible without sugar. Afterward, he asked, “Are you traveling alone?” “I’m headed to see my family.” He went on as if she had not spoken. “The way I see it, you’re a runaway. Soon, a search party will be down this way. Best you cross the river soon.” She smoothed her skirt nervously and stared at her shoes. With no destination planned past the running part, her foolhardiness was laid bare. Now that he prodded her for details, she wished she had planned this out better. She wondered again if Granddad searched for her. Even if he found her, she wouldn’t go back with him, yet being alone being alone posed risks. There was any number of threats to her freedom that hadn’t occurred to her until now. She said, “No one will come.”

“You’re going to need a traveling companion if you’re going very far. A girl your age cannot travel alone,” Davis said. She came to the same conclusion. However, she disliked the condescending tone he used to make his statements. She asked, “Where are you headed to?” “To Texas in the long run.” He offered her a stick of beef jerky, and she took it. “What’s your big hurry anyway?” “Daylight’s wasting is all.” Underneath a boyish smile, he looked lonely. “I’m ready when you are,” she replied.

Chapter 3

Back at the jail cell, Sue felt a sense of failure. Aware of a Maggie in the cell next to Cole’s, Sue lowered her voice. “I asked him point-blank who he was, but he never itted to being Jesse James.” “That first day he spoke about the places he’d been and people he’d met.” A musical quality carried his voice on the gentle wind as they worked their way on horseback and horses clomps marked off the miles. “Have you ever been to San Francisco?” Davis asked. “No,” she muttered. “If I make it there, I’ll strike up an old flame.” He spoke of a woman he’d known, and a blush warmed her cheeks. He noticed her discomfort and changed the subject. “You’d like it in Texas. There’s modest beauty there.” She shrugged in disinterest, and he continued the one-sided conversation. “Where I’m headed, black soil puts wheat crops up without fail.” “It sounds nice,” she said uncommittedly. “Flocks of birds migrate in black masses across an endless sky in the fall. Farmers work from dusk to dawn readying crops of wheat, mallow, corn, or peanuts.” Agitated at his boastfulness in light of her inexperience, she said, “You must like it. It’s all you’ve talked about.” His easy manner faltered, and squinted eyes hinted at a dangerous mood.

He tilted his head to the left and said, “Maybe. How about you talk for a while?” She wondered what he’d think if he knew her thoughts leaned toward affection. Nothing was more pressing than the question of his identity, however. “Who are you?” she asked. “Whoa, that’s a loaded question. How about you start with something else? Perhaps, you tell me why you ran away from home.” “I’d rather not talk about it just now.” “Well, I guess you have your reasons,” he said. Repetitive steps of the horses marked off the minutes. “I’m nobody, my nickname’s Dingus.” “What does that mean?” “I just told you,” he smartly replied. His evasiveness bothered her, and she resolved to find out the truth. “What business are you in?” she asked. “Cattle mostly. I’m supposed to meet a man by the name of John Carillion in Pilot Point, Texas. You can come along if you like. As long as you’re sure your mother or father aren’t worrying themselves sick over your disappearance.” She said, “My mother died when I was born, and I never knew my father.” He said sympathetically, “My father caught gold fever and died in California. My mother, though she is an iron mountain, I’ve never seen her show fear to anyone.” His expression of awe led her to think he too was afraid of his mother. He continued, “After the railroad corporations took over everything, the defeated would visit my ma. They’d leave confident that they’d reclaim the south. Many called her harsh, but it’s really ion for southern traditions.” Sue listened with rapt attention. “I collect my strength from her,” Davis said. “She always told me to be the best

of men. And I do what I can.” “Davis,” she’d say, “There’s two types of men in this world—the faithful and the unfaithful. They unite for bloody battle, but the winner is always the most loyal to faith.” “Your ma makes it sound so simple,” Sue said. “It is simple,” he proclaimed. They moved at a comfortable leisurely pace on horseback, and she grew more comfortable and grew talkative. “I took care of the farm animals back home. They understand me. My grandfather saw me as a slave. That’s all I would’ve ever been if I had stayed.” “I’ll sure be glad to reach Texas and leave the bled dry spirit of Missouri behind,” Davis said. “In Westport, we’ll meet others and follow the dry path to Texas. It may take up to two months to reach there.” He enlightened her further about the trip, but she barely noticed. She thought about driving the cattle lanes by his side dressed in boots and spurs. The miles ed by, and his stories unwound at a deliberate pace. Occasionally, his eyes met hers and intensity spared no breath. Nevertheless, she failed to shake the instinct that he ran from something. It was evident every time he glanced over his shoulder. The cabin they stayed in for two weeks was dominated by a rickety bed weighed down by quilts. A well-stocked pantry supplied a supper of beans and potatoes. When the horses were watered and tied down for the night, they took a walk along the river’s edge. The Blue River stood still and calm except when a fish surfaced for air or a snake’s head broke water as he slinked to his nest. They sat on the bank under a black starlit sky. Sue felt content, like she belonged here with him. Before long, Davis started humming, and when she recognized the melody, she sang along. Then he’d come up with another one that usually started with a bellowing, “Well, I,” and on it would go. Modeled after hymnals, she sometimes sang the corresponding hymn. He dipped in and out of both versions. When his

well of songs ran dry, she began one of her own. Part of her expected him to know the well-known eulogy, and she anticipated his reaction. “It was Robert Ford that dirty coward, I wonder how he does feel. For he eats of Jesse’s bread and slept in Jesse’s bed. Then laid poor Jesse in his grave. Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor. He never would see a man suffer pain. And with his brother Frank, he robbed the Chicago bank. And stopped the Glendale train. They went to the crossing, not far from there. And there they did the same. With the agent on his knees, he delivered up the keys, to the outlaws Jesse and Frank James.” Sue’s voice, which held a healthy soprano, lowered a pitch before she continued. “It was a Saturday night, Jesse was at home, talking with his family brave. Robert Ford came along like a thief in the night. and laid poor Jesse in his grave. The people held their breath, when they heard of Jesse’s death. And wondered how he ever came to die.” Her voice faded to incoherent when she said the last words. He whispered modestly, “I’ve never heard it before. It’s magnificent.” His eyes watered, his face rounded in sadness, and he looked older again. He moved off from the bank of the river and turned his back to her. She went to him, but he put out a hand to stop her advance. She said, “If you’re from Missouri, how come you’ve never heard the song before?” He answered with a shrug. She rested a hand on his shoulder from behind and said, “You’re Jesse James, aren’t you?” “No, I’m Dingus, . Nobody.” “You act like the song was about you.” He wiped tears away, and dirt smudged his cheeks.

He said, “Jesse James knew about loyalty. He fought a good clean fight.” A chill ran down her spine. “I know,” she reassured him. It obviously pained him to speak about it, and Sue regretted pressing him about it. “Let’s just forget about it.” “Our stay in that cabin was mostly in that bed or lying under the stars,” Sue said to Cole. “I barely what else we talked about, but I knew love in his arms. “I never shook the instinct he was Jesse James, and when we reached Westport, my suspicions were confirmed.”

Chapter 4

Westport, Missouri, was a bustling town of commerce and the gateway to the west along the Kansas border. The bittersweet smell of fresh tobacco hit them as they rode into town. People, wagons, and horses crowded the streets. Door boys loaded cases, crates, and luggage onto wagons. Families said farewells from carriage windows. A crowd stood on the train platform. Hammers from saddle and carriage workshops competed against automatic piano music coming from speakeasies. Men gathered in front of shops and traded or sold farm equipment, tools, and weapons. Women exchanged cooking recipes and sewing notions. Not everyone had a choice to move west. These types deviated from the excitement and stood off to themselves. Sue and Davis worked their way through the crowd on horseback. At the post office, he sent a telegram. “Who was that to?” She asked. He started to speak and nodded his head no instead. Skillfully, he led them through the crowd. From the high position on horseback, he easily spotted their guide to Texas—Peter Striver. Stout but tall with genuine red hair, he recognized Davis, shook his hand, and said, “Good thing you got here when you did. Pinkerton’s on the hunt again.” “I expected as much,” Davis said. The look that ed between them shadowed dire images. “This is my wife,” Davis said. “Or she will be once we reach Texas.” Peter said, “If that’s the way it is.” The exchange sounded like a coded conversation and raised again the question of his true identity. The mention of Detective Pinkerton, the man who captured all but one of the Jesse James gang, prompted Davis to wring his hands restlessly

and search the crowd. “Your timing couldn’t be better,” Peter said. “We’re leaving in the morning. I was beginning to wonder about you, but now I see what held you up.” They both regarded her, but she mustered no reply. “I’m looking for that bacon I smell cooking,” Peter said. “I figure this shawl is valuable enough for the trade.” He shook a shawl in his hand, and she had the impression he felt foolish carrying it. “The camp’s down a mile or so.” He pointed eastward, and they all looked in that direction. He said, “I’ll see you there,” and went on his way. Meanwhile, Sue thought about what she knew about the Jesse James assassination. His autopsy came up missing shortly after his death. Bob Ford, the man who allegedly shot him, never received the million-dollar reward. The most inconsistent detail was how he was presumably shot from behind while he straightened a picture. It sounded like a brilliant stunt to guarantee his freedom. She searched Davis’s features for hints to her conclusions. He looked nothing like an outlaw. He appeared too young to rob a train. It seemed impossible, but every bone in her body told her it was true. She wanted him to it it. Far from earshot of town, she asked, “What are you running from?” “Not running from anything. Just starting over is all, like you.” “What’s your last name?” “Lincoln,” he responded. “You’re hiding something. I’d rather you not protect me as if I were a child.”

“You sure make it hard for a man to forget his past.” “What past?” “A past under the black flag. A life that never existed if we want to be happy,” Davis said. They stopped and maneuvered the horses nose to nose. The black flag was the symbol of Bloody Bill Anderson, the gang Frank and Jesse James belonged to before Anderson was killed. Her impressions verified, she distinguished, “You’re Jesse James.” He looked tight-lipped, and she asked, “Were you in the James gang?” “No. I’m just a man who believes in his heritage and fought to keep it alive.” Now with forced eye , he said, “My gang was killed when they walked into a Union ambush. My brother and I were lucky to have lived through the fight.” He raised his shirt and pointed to a scar and said, “I was shot once. The bullet’s lodged in my lung. It’s all right, it doesn’t hurt.” He lowered his shirt and absentmindedly scratched the scar. “My mother claims my first American ancestor, John, was excommunicated from England and sent to a Virginia prison. Supposedly, because he was the bastard child of King James IV. He believed his unruly past would find redemption in his offspring, one of whom would be famous in the New World. He swore on it. He had a brother that returned to England.” She searched his face for hints of pretense. All she noticed was the humor that rested just underneath the surface. It was a tall tale. His lighthearted nature avoided anything too serious. “You’re just pulling my leg,” Sue said. “It’s a true story,” he said and laughed. Sue wanted a straight answer, but at this point, she assumed she’d never receive one. She let the matter rest for now. In the years, these conversations haunted her until she was no longer certain as to what was truth or fiction between them.

And tonight, as Cole absorbed the story, Sue understood entrapment and knew desperation that led to fabrication of the truth. Rain outside the cell just added to the musty smell of the jail. Sue said, “We had a fresh start together and left our pasts behind. But the past catches up with you. No matter the time invested in putting it behind you.”

Chapter 5

From Westport, Peter led them south to the Canadian River and edged along the jagged Ozark Mountains. The eagerness to start a new life was absent after two weeks of driving sun, dusty roads, and limited food supply. However, the children, who walked alongside the train of wagons, were happy and healthy. No illnesses such as malaria or cholera ed among them. No cries of a woman in childbirth disturbed them. Peter noted that it had been a good trip to retire on. In his twenty years of leading groups to Texas, he expected trouble. But in the twelfth hour of his career, fears of the unknown were forgotten. His family was with him, and when he reached Texas, he’d settle down for good. His wife, Betty, had never been thirty miles from home and missed it already. She said, “It’s nothing like the fall we know.” “It’s nice in different ways,” Peter replied. “It’s too flat. No wonder tornadoes tear it apart.” Having her company delighted him despite the complaints. While he never discussed it, a new house waited for them in Pilot Point, Texas. It hosted indoor plumbing, a kitchen sink, and new furniture. To distract her, he pointed out the scenic attractions with the flair of a tour guide. They coursed around a breathtaking view now. “That’s Blue Ridge, a steep hilltop but well worth the view,” Peter said. “I don’t care to see it considering the climb,” Betty said. “You’d love it. At night, the moon illuminates everything blue, and the stars look close enough to touch.” “How would you know?” she asked. “Just how I heard it.”

“I think the air’s getting to you, or else you traded for Indian tobacco when I wasn’t looking,” Betty said. Peter laughed and she continued to tease him, “It sounds fine for you. You’ve done this a hundred times.” “A hundred and one, my sweet.” He reached across the wagon and kissed her cheek. Tired of his optimism in the face of growing misery, she said, “I’m going to send you to the top of that mountain. We’ve got enough marching to do without you adding more to it.” Those within earshot of the couple grunted in agreement. Everyone suffered from achy muscles and little sleep. Only one trading post remained before they reached Oklahoma City. While Peter disliked the custom of power trading common with the Choctaw Indians, it was the risk he took when he crossed the plain states. Whether the chief approved of the trade determined whether you were allowed age. Chief Namino expected little from him all these years and had never traded life. There was no reason to think today would go any different. Just after nine o’clock, they reached the traveling post. Chief Namino greeted him with a handshake. Two middle-aged men stood guard with crossed arms. They wore modern pants and button-down shirts. In Spanish, Peter asked, “I don’t need much. A couple of cooked hams will do. If you have it.” Chiefs eyebrows rose, and wrinkles moved into frown lines. “That big trade,” the large man said. Peter appeared aloof when Namino looked past the goat and spotted his best milking cow. He pointed to her and said, “I’ll take her.” She was old, and he didn’t want to let her go. “Would you consider two goats instead?”

Chief refused to barter further and stood stoic and unresponsive. Peter released the cow, and it was taken away. Moments later, Namino handed him two large smoked hams. Food was more important than an old cow, even though he felt like he’d been cheated. Once they made camp, the aroma of cooked ham was a welcome cue that their destination was within reach. Peter reminded them of this during the supper prayer. Jesse James, the man who usually slept with a .38 under his pillow, heard nothing during the invasion of the campsite that night. The southern hero, who usually kept one eye open at all times, failed to waken when the horses alerted to foul play. He faintly snored and held Sue in his arms, content and oblivious to the intruders. Soundless moccasin shoes carried weightless figures through still forms. A child calmed the animals while two young men searched the crop stock and food wagons. The basket of eggs was scooped up, as well as tobacco, guns and ammunition, two horses and one of the mules. The only valuable not found was the gold which Peter clutched in a blanket as he slept. Within three minutes, the thieves were gone. Come morning, Eleanor, Peter’s daughter, noticed the missing bacon right away. She checked in the bran-filled chest half a dozen times. It wasn’t unheard of for fat to melt overnight and shrink the bacon. But it was gone, cloth and all. Eleanor suspected it had been stolen and rushed to tell her mother. Eleanor said, “I can’t find the bacon.” Betty stopped grinding coffee and rushed to the food wagon. She thoroughly sifted through the chest as well. She gawked at her daughter expectantly when she came up empty-handed. “I put it there, I know I did,” Eleanor exclaimed. Betty had seen her put it there and suspected foul play. Across camp, her sons, Richard and Paul, were shocked the horses were gone and were headed to see their father.

Foreign language that sounded like an argument crested before two young Frenchmen hurried past Jesse and muttered, “Peter, Peter.” Jesse followed them. Peter, who had witnessed his daughter’s quick flight from the food stock wagon, knew right away something was amiss. Anytime a cook left the kitchen at such an hour hinted at some problem or another. He sipped his coffee and hoped it was nothing major. Betty and Eleanor rushed to him from one direction and his sons from the other. Betty reached him first. “The bacon’s missing,” Betty said. Before he could respond, Paul pushed past his sister and said, “My horse and one of the goats are gone.” His brother scowled and said, “Or they’ve been stolen.” Peter stood up and said, “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Were there signs of animals?” “No,” they said in unison. Peter investigated for himself. When he saw the clean cut ropes, he asked, “Did one of you do this or any of the kids?” The Frenchmen approached him. “Whiskey manqué,” he said. “Whiskey missing?” Peter ventured. “Oui, whiskey manqué,” he repeated. Peter shook his head and told them to stay calm. They didn’t understand and repeated their pronouncements. Paul returned with no horses. “I found this,” he said. He held up one clean arrow. Everyone waited to hear Peter’s response. “It was a thief all right. They’re gone now. Go on about what you were doing. We’ll have oats for breakfast and pack up and leave.”

The young men expected a plan of defense and stared at him with dissatisfaction. Richard and Paul broadened the search. It wasn’t long before footprints were found. “Two sets of moccasins.” Richard noted. “Something has to be done.” “No need to get a hot head. We’ve got places to be,” Peter advised. “I’m of the same mind,” Jesse said. “We should conduct a robbing of our own. See how they like it.” “We should go farther than that,” said Richard. “Now everyone just settle down,” Peter said. But no one heard his objections. Overruled by the younger set, he gestured defeat with a sweep of his hands and returned to his breakfast. Betty demanded of him to stop this. “Surely, you can do something. You’re the leader, you must gain control.” Peter watched the men feed each other’s anger and replied, “I can no more stop this than you can.” “It will only take four of us,” Richard said. “We split off into pairs. When we find their camp, we signal to regroup then go together and attack.” “To take what’s ours,” Paul added. Jesse said nothing. Action was his strong suit. He looked on as their discussion encouraged warrior instinct, an adrenaline rush he knew well. One taste left a thirst for more especially in instances of honor such as these. Ready to act and stop the talk, Jesse stepped to the forefront. “Your plan sounds good, boys. But there’s one thing you’re missing.” He pulled out a knife and flipped it in his skilled hands. The others ired his tricks. For Sue, his actions revealed a dark side of him she wasn’t prepared to accept yet. The other wives resigned themselves to the inevitable and paid no

attention. Sue wanted more of a say in the situation. After suppertime, final plans were confirmed, and Jesse ran back to her side one last time. “Stay with me,” she pleaded and grasped his forearms. When his eyes met hers, she saw raw aggression. Being unfamiliar with this part of his character, she produced not another sound. He gave her a kiss and said, “This won’t take long.” She gathered her nerve and said, “You can’t go.” But he was already gone. He slipped out of her grip and ran to catch up with the others. “That was the last time I saw him alive. I never quite believed he was dead and expected him to walk back into my life the way he did the first time. But the future had different ideas,” Sue said to Cole. When the hunters returned, Sue rushed to meet them and noticed Paul rushed to Peter and said something she was unable to hear. Peter spoke to Betty, and they looked sad as they all stared in her direction. A chill ran up her spine. “Indians got him,” Paul relayed in a deep voice. “They took him and dragged him away.” “He was taken off guard,” Richard added. Betty’s hands covered her mouth in shock before they dropped to her sides. She raced to Sue with tears in her eyes. She knew by the look on Betty’s face that something terrible had happened and wanted to run. Her limbs were too heavy to take the command. Betty gripped her shoulder, and another went around her waist. “He didn’t make it.” The words were heavy, unwanted, clumsy, and shock settled in electric currents

under her skin. “Go back and find him,” she said. Peter acted as if he expected these words and said, “We have to leave in the morning.” Sadness weighed Paul’s shoulders as he and Betty sat Sue down on a bench. His head bent modestly, and his hands overlapped in his lap as he spoke sorrowseared words. “We went back to find him, but he was gone.” Angered he was here instead of Jesse, Sue said straightforwardly, “You left him and ran like cowards.” He sat up straight and absorbed her accusation. “I’m sorry,” he said as he placed Jesse’s bandana and pocket Bible on her lap. “I found these and wanted you to have them.” Sue crushed the bandana into her fist and inhaled the scent of him. For a second, she felt close to him again, but it represented a great loss. The pain that stabbed at her heart proved more agonizing than any leather strap. She wanted to die and be with him rather than live in a world without him. Paul gave her an awkward hug. His brooding mannerisms continued to weigh him down as he walked away. Unable to walk away as easily as him, Sue resented him from that day on. As the landscape changed in a seamless transition underfoot, the belief that a better world existed over the next horizon was absent from memory in her grief. As dry heat and flat plains highlighted the region and hundreds of miles divided her from the place where she was with him, another world had come and gone. The green faded to dead still brown, and the desolate landscape fed her grief and guilt. She sensed she would never find a more pure love again. She regretted not telling him that she loved him despite his past. She was ashamed that she had not

been strong enough to convince him that there was no score to settle. She felt responsible for his death. Jesse had wanted to leave his past behind. She should’ve held him to his word.

Chapter 6

“As we left Missouri behind and took the dry path to Texas, I gave up the only love I’d ever known. When you were born, I took the surname Lincoln,” she said. Her gaze cast to the floor as if she was unworthy of his attention. The quiet of jail was an unbearable burden in light of the confession. “So you see,” she said with a tremble in her voice, “all this is my fault.” The information presented a complication, and Cole didn’t completely accept it, not when a clear head was critical. Besides, it didn’t change anything. None of his thoughts were betrayed when he rose to his feet and walked to the bars. His eyes narrowed in anger. He said, “Jesse James died before I was born.” “No.” She advanced to the bars. “He staged his own death and was half crazy when I met him.” The sag of her mouth led him to the conclusion she’d experienced a great loss. Lucky for her, he had a plan. He displayed hurt and shock for her benefit. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “It’s the truth.” Her shoulders slumped in resignation, and she returned to her seat. “I deserved to know before now. And I should’ve heard it from you.” She said, “I did the best I could.” Cole wondered who was the bigger fool—he for absolving her from blame, or her for believing he’d never find out. A tinge of betrayal under shadowed the idea of having a hero for a father. It made him feel comfortable in his skin and a part of something bigger than himself.

Maggie, a barmaid arrested yesterday, said from the cell next to his, “Look at it this way, kid, your father’s a hero.” He suppressed a smile and said, “What happened when they raided the house?” “They didn’t find anything.” “I knew they wouldn’t.” “Where’s the whiskey?” He sat back down and said, “I don’t know,” and meant it. Secrets, the covering of indiscretions bourn of innocence and ignorance, mounted up after all these years. The grimy jail air suffocated her as she waited for his judgment. The thunderstorm gave a rumble now and again outside. He remained silent, and she continued, “I never gave up hope he’d walk back in my life someday. I believed he was still alive for a long time. “I gave up that foolish hope years later. When his brother, Frank, came to the farm. He was the only one of the gang to walk away alive and free. You him, don’t you? “It was that long winter of 1899. The whole country was frozen over. The second week of February a snowstorm dropped twelve inches across the region. Trains stopped running and businesses closed down. After a week snow still stood thick in the shade.” Cabin fever had settled in deep that February. Firewood needed chopping, cows needed milking, and the hens cackled from seeming neglect. Barn roof damage from the weight of the snow needed attention. Sue bundled up and braved the frigid temperatures. She had been in the hayloft when she heard horsemen coming in her direction from the north. She wondered who was in such a hurry and why anyone traveled in this cold weather. When they drew closer and veered into her drive, she grabbed a rifle from behind a toolbox and loaded it. She watched from behind the cracked barn door as one man dismounted his horse and headed toward the house.

Cole slept inside unaware. She moved along the fence line to head off the intruders. When there was a short distance between her and the man who approached the house, she cocked the gun. The stranger stopped, turned, and in the time it took to blink, he pulled his gun and had it pointed at her. His two companions stayed on their horses and positioned their hands to reveal weapons. The rifle felt heavy on her shoulder. She appeared calm and said, as she narrowed the distance, “Where do you think you’re going?” He looked at her familiarly, put his gun back in its holster, and stepped closer. He stuck out his hand and said, “Sue, I’m Frank, Jesse’s brother.” She visibly faltered and then held the gun higher. She kept a close eye on his friends. He said, “I’ve come through these parts before. I’ve known your family for a long time.” An eye slanted downward, and a small mouth and nose gave him the same jawline. Although his hair was darker, a faded red bandana wrapped around his wrist bore resemblance to Jesse’s bandana. Frank looked cold and worn out. He put his gun away. Sue asked, “Why are you here?” Frank dropped his hand when she didn’t shake it. “I’ve come to meet the woman Jesse, or as you knew him, Davis spoke of in his dying breath.” “Bullshit. Why are you really here?” He shoved his hands in his pockets as if he were a child caught in a mischievous act. He said, “My friends and I need a place to stay for a night.”

Snow dusted from tree limbs and the roof. Reminded of the bitter cold, she shivered and lowered her gun. Eager to hear news of Davis, she said, “Come inside, let’s get you warm.” Cold air rushed in the house with them. Frank warmed his hands at the fireplace, and his friends gathered around the stove. Sue made more coffee as buried questions threatened to her lips. When she could wait no longer, she asked, “Did he suffer?” Frank shook his head no. He drew a gold chain from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. As she took it, she questioned for the hundredth time why their love was weaker than his desires for revenge. She put the chain around her neck. She felt closure with the simple weight of the cross. She blurted, “How’d it happen?” “An arrow aggravated an old injury. He almost bled to death and slept for days when he reached home.” Frank sat on the couch and lowered his head and said, “He died in his sleep. He repeated your name often.” A gentle voice laced with finality. “I don’t know if he knew half of what he was saying. But he was clear when he spoke of you.” After all these years of not knowing for sure how he’d died, certainty stabbed at that old grief and bled it fresh. Unable to deny his death any longer, her voice took on grief-filled sharpness. “You’re Frank James. I know who you are. Davis was not like you. He was kind and honest and—” Overwhelming pent-up grief washed through her. She shook her head as if to deny the truth one last time. Frank took her hands in his.

“Jesse,” he said deliberately, “was kind and loving. But he was also a hunted man and torn in two.” He paused and searched for the right words. “To be or not to be, that was his question. He left his wife and family to free them. Last fall, he sent me a telegram saying he was alive. The next time I saw him, he was dying.” Growing uncomfortable, Frank released her hands and returned to stand at the fireplace. He rested one elbow on the mantle and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “He escaped the Indians by cutting through the ropes.” Firelight reflected sorrow in his features. Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. Caught up in the moment, Sue forgot all about Cole until he timidly stepped from his room. She had time to wipe her face dry and said, “Cole, this is Frank. He’s Granddad’s cousin.” Cole crossed the room and shook his hand. He took notice of her red eyes and somber expression. “You can go outside now,” Sue said. “Finish chopping wood.” “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yes, yes,” she said and moved a hand to dismiss him. Once the sound of hacking wood wafted from the barnyard, Frank said, “Jesse finally found peace. I could see it in him before he died. I guess you were the reason for that.” Sue wanted to confirm his conclusion but changed her mind. She sensed nervousness. His beard was a week old. He smelled as if his last bath had been a month ago.

“You’re hiding something. What is it?” Frank shifted from foot to foot and looked at her sideways. “I’m making opportunity in these parts and need a place to stay for a night or two to rest. Me and my posse.” “Opportunity? Don’t you mean stealing? Ain’t that what you do—travel with the circus and steal from every town on the way west?” “Ah, Sue, those are just rumors. I work as a farmer like an honest man. I always have.” “Psh, don’t take me for no fool. I can see it in your restless hands.” Dozens of reasons to send Frank away surfaced in warning. However, the link to Jesse and home won out. “You can stay for a night. By daybreak, I want you and your brood gone. In the meantime, there’s work I’m sure you boys won’t mind doing.” She helped them find the ladder and tools needed to repair the barn roof. Afterward, Sue took Frank aside. “You keep away from Cole. Not a word of Jesse to him.” “Yes, ma’am,” Frank said with a salute. Louder now, she said, “I don’t know why you boys don’t find something better to do with yourselves. Settling down ain’t all that bad.” “The west ain’t tamed yet, Mrs. Lincoln,” Frank replied. His attention turned to the ladder. He stabilized it against the barn and worked his way to the roof. Moments later, snow sifted to the ground. His friends, whom he’d said were cousins, carried wood up the ladder. They squared the hole and patched it up with fresh planks. Cole had carried the hammers and nails up to them. Now he stood by her side

and watched their progress. He regarded her with distrust but didn’t voice his curiosity. “I guess it won’t do any harm,” she said. “Work’s getting done. Better him up on that ladder than you.” “You never mentioned I have any cousins,” Cole stated. “I didn’t think I’d ever see him again, to tell you the truth. I only saw him a handful of times,” she said. During supper, her guests were overly polite, but memories of Jesse distracted her. She’d known then who he was but never fully acknowledged it until now. The long held fantasy of a reunion perished that cold evening. As dinner wore on, Cole became the center of attention. He shifted his curious gaze between the three men and settled on Frank. When he met her commanding stare, his features smoothed out. Before long, he avoided her stare altogether. Candlelight flickered across the walls behind them. Frank noticed the growing tension and met Cole’s questioning stare with directness. Sue attempted light conversation. “Where are you headed to next?” “Fort Worth,” Frank said. “Robert here”—he waved a hand at one of his friends —“has an uncle there who works at the railroad. With any luck, we’ll all have jobs before long.” “I see,” she said. Conversation waned and Sue felt ill prepared for Cole’s sudden inquest. “Are you one of the brothers?” he asked Frank. Frank cleared his throat and set his elbows on either side of his chili bowl. A conflicted expression colored his words. “I don’t think so,” Frank said. “It depends on whose brother you’re talking about,” Robert said.

Sue regretted having told him the story of his ancestors and said, “Son, don’t grill these men with fantastical stories.” Cole pressed on. “You know the story of the two brothers from England, the sons of King James?” “I know that story,” Frank said. “Is it true?” “Maybe, but there’s no proof. It’s just a legend.” Cole crossly regarded her and hurried to finish supper. Frank attempted to smooth over the discomfort. “Where’s your husband?” he asked. “I’ve been a widow for thirteen years,” Sue replied. “Sorry to hear that,” Frank said. Later, Sue confronted Cole. “I thought I made it clear to keep that story to yourself?” “I do, you did,” he stammered. “I thought maybe he was my father or had seen him.” “That’s not your father. You just keep your curiosity to yourself.” Her voice wavered with emotion. “I told you never to tell that story.” “But he knew.” “Ah, ah, ah,” Sue warned. “Just because he says he’s heard it doesn’t mean it’s the same story. There’s only one that counts where you’re concerned.” Cole wasn’t satisfied. Come morning, he slipped outside before daybreak. He intended to continue his conversation with Frank in private. His booted feet froze in deep snow, and he shivered as he waited for Frank to come outside. Predawn light banded the sky purple to the east. He counted the minutes and prayed his mother wouldn’t notice his absence.

Frank didn’t seem surprised to see him. He said, “You look cold.” Cole asked, through chattering teeth, “Did you know my father?” “I met him once. He liked to joke around. He had blue eyes like yours.” Every word was calm and deliberate. “He always used to say, sit down, act clever, and be still.” Satisfied, more questions bumbled out. “What did he do, where is he now?” Frank looked past him and to the horizon where the sun crested and spread orange diamonds across the snowy countryside. Nothing good would come of putting his nose where it didn’t belong. Neither would it bode well if Jesse’s legal widow, Zee, found out there was an illegitimate child. He let out a sad sigh and squatted down and met Cole eye to eye. “If he were here, he’d tell you to forget about him.” The words were harsh, but his eyes were kind. “Oh.” Cole tried to hide his disappointment. Frank stood up, patted his shoulder, and handed him his hat. “Here, you can have this to me by.” It was too big, but Cole was happy to have it. He struggled to make it stay on his head. Frank said, “Take care of your mother.” He tightened his saddle and slid into it and left without a glance back. Cole left his boots on the porch and tiptoed to his room. He thought he had pulled it off until he saw his mother. She was just a shadow on the edge of his bed, and he jumped when he entered his room. “What’s this?”

Sue snatched the hat from his hand, paced the room, and looked it over. It was a nice hat, lined with a double stitch brim in good condition. “Frank gave it to me.” “What else did he give you?” “Nothing.” She glared at him in disapproval. “There must have been a reason he gave it to you. What was it?” He backed away and looked to the floor. She marched to stand over him and said in a deep voice, “Look at me.” He looked into blue brimstone and resisted the instinct to look away. A lie she smelled from ten feet but half the truth she took as a full disclosure. He settled for the middle ground. “I asked again about the legend. He said it was a lie.” Sue backed off as if she’d been slapped. “He told me to take care of you.” She turned the hat over in her hands and removed a stray hay blade from one crevice. Her expression softened, and she held it out to him. “If you’re lying, I’ll find out. And then the hat’s mine.” Everything she thought she knew changed that frigid winter. Old memories surfaced to haunt her. Old myths were spoiled with truth. Her son walked with new purpose and direction. She blamed it on that hat. She hated that hat. It was evidence that soon he’d turn to men for guidance. What she failed to consider was how the past had the ability to return unannounced. And one secret in the wrong hands gave it the ability to destroy the future.

Chapter 7

“The bribery began shortly thereafter.” Sue wrung her hands in her lap. Outside the storm moved on, and the thunder dwindled to nonexistent. Cole calmly regarded her, and she found it odd. “Sheriff Marvin Woodworth gained his title by inheritance. He practiced kin policing, and if you weren’t vested in his bootleg interests, you were the enemy. He wore red snakeskin boots and took full advantage of his powerful position— often to the detriment of innocent people. One morning, at church he blocked my path.” His close proximity was like the dread of a cloud ing over the sun. Marvin said, “I know who your company was.” “I don’t know what you refer to,” Sue said. “Yes, you do. Frank and Jesse James and that Bartlett boy.” He tossed his head in the direction of the Bartlett place. “Jesse James has been dead for more than ten years,” Sue said. Affronted and crept out by his ability to sniff out secrets, Sue started to walk away. But Marvin grabbed her wrist and stopped her in her tracks. He bent close to her ear and said, “I know your boy’s the son of Jesse James. And you harbored fugitives. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I don’t let somebody know.” “That’s awful presumptuous,” she said and broke free of his grip. “Especially considering it’s not your job in the first place.” She shook all over but remained outwardly calm. Curious as to how no one witnessed the brutality, she focused her attention on Betty and hurried in her direction.

Almost a month later, Marvin followed through on his intentions. Low clouds leant a balmy lifelessness over the countryside. On alert, Sue heard him coming from a mile away and loaded her gun and waited for him on the front porch. His allegations were heresy. He had no way of knowing about Frank and Jesse unless he’d eavesdropped under the window. She planned to fight back although she was unsure how to go about it. When he arrived, Marvin resembled a brown pear perched atop a dusty toy carriage. His long torso and short legs made his departure clumsy as he stepped to the ground. He slowed his pace when he saw the firearm she gripped in one hand. Inches from the porch steps, he raised his hands inoffensively. “I’m not gonna hurtcha, little lady. We’re just gonna talk.” Sue raised the gun to eye level and cocked it back. Loose strands of hair at her temples blew across her vision. She kept a steady hand and focused on Marvin. His over-compensative smile faded as he looked at her askew and pondered his dilemma. His attention turned to the wheat field. “It looks like you’ll have a bumper crop this year. It’d be a shame if you lost it. And that nice big barn of yours—I imagine you’ve got what—twenty heads of cattle by now? I think,” he said as he tiptoed closer, “maybe you could sublet half of that barn to me.” Disgusted by how he slithered close like a snake, she said over the barrel of the raised gun, “I’ll shoot you dead before I do business with you.” Marvin gave a dark demented laugh. The open countryside swallowed it up, although, to her, it sounded loud enough to echo. In the next instant, he lunged up the steps and forced the gun between her legs. Sue fought to pull it up to no avail. “I think I’ll have whatever I like,” Marvin whispered. He yanked the gun out of her hands, and it rattled to a standstill after he threw it across the porch. He shoved her against the house. Window glass broke and fell at her feet. A terrified sound slipped from her, and he took pleasure from it.

He said, “When I want you, you’re mine.” He backed off and circled her like a vulture to prey. When a foot stood between them, Sue ran and picked up the gun. Once she had it, she pivoted and ran at him. There wasn’t time to cock it. He clearly hadn’t planned on this, and shock widened his eyes. The barrel tip clinkered against chinbone and knocked him over the steps and onto his back in the dust. “You’ll never have me or anything I own,” Sue said from above him. Humiliated, Marvin hurried to his feet, brushed himself off, and returned his hat to his head. He bellowed, “You’re mistaken about that. I own this land. I have long before you came here.” “You’re just an old free grassman.” With a forefinger, he inspected the bump that swelled his jaw and gave her a mistrustful look. “Soon, the sheriff’s office will call on county residents to confirm land titles. Do you know where your title is, Mrs. Lincoln?” “I’m certain I do.” He chuckled in amusement. “You best make sure. And your birth certificate. It seems there’s no record of it anywhere.” She raised the gun again and said, “You leave now.” He returned to his buggy. She stood statuesque on the porch ready to cry and stood there until the sound of his carriage faded. Immediately, she searched for her land deed. The birth certificate meant little, but the deed was the reassurance she needed right now. She imagined how it looked folded neatly among other important papers in a metal box.

When she opened it, a musty smell wafted from the compartment. It grew stronger as she sorted through the papers. Receipts for the taxes paid were there, along with Jesse’s Bible and bandana, but the deed and her meager savings were gone. She searched the entire house and barn, came up empty-handed, and repeated the action until the house was torn inside out. She wished she’d killed Marvin when she had the chance. It sounded like too much trouble to steal it, but she wouldn’t put it past him. He had a reputation as a low-handed dealer and obviously fished for some way to bribe her. Certain a copy of the deed solved her problems, the next morning, she put on her best clothes and drove by horseback to the courthouse. The romantic Romanesque style courthouse centered on a hill in downtown Denton overlooked wide streets and a close-knit town. Rough textured sandstone bricks with red columns that accented the comers offered the building bold three-dimensional appeal. Abundant windows gave it a watchful character. An octagon clock tower topped the roof. Surrounded by eight smaller domes, it appeared top-heavy, extravagant, and overdone. Any other day, its beauty charmed her, but in her current mood, she found it sinister. The county clerk’s office was dominated by a tall, long counter that cut off the clerk from the shoulders down. She was young, blonde, and one of Eleanor’s friends. Sue had second thoughts but knew she’d look a fool if she left right after she came inside. She forced her feet to move and felt intimidated by how the clerk towered over her. She plastered a smile on her face and said, “I seem to have misplaced my deed. Can I see the copy you have?” The clerk disappeared to a back room for ten minutes. Upon her return, she said apologetically, “I didn’t find it.” Sue felt trapped like a cow behind a fence. The clerk said, “I’ll look again. Maybe it’s just misplaced.” “Yes, misplaced on purpose,” Sue said.

“Pardon me?” the clerk asked. “Nothing, don’t give it a second thought.” “I’ll come see you when I find it,” the clerk called as Sue left the building. The ominous air that surrounded the courthouse doubled as she took the grand staircase to the lawn. She thought what flimsy power paper held in this situation. She noticed the police station a few doors down and decided the first recourse was to report the missing deed. With fists clenched at her sides, she crossed the street and headed in that direction. The police station was an official-looking building on the outside, but inside, grayness covered everything. The floors, the walls, and the narrow room with four cells at the back were saturated in a nothing color. Deputy Wilson, a uniformed man who suffered from early baldness, sat behind one of two desks. He stood up to greet her and politely said, “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Somewhat offended by his familiarity, Sue replied, “This is no agreeable visit.” She took the chair he offered and wished she had formulated her argument before she barged in here. She said, “Mr. Wilson, I have a problem, a big problem.” Thick eyebrows rose in question. “The gist of it is that my deed is gone. I know I put it where I always do. But then just last night, Marvin Woodworth informed me that he had stolen it.” “He said this?” Mr. Wilson asked. “No. It’s more like he implied that he had.” “Implication doesn’t sound like any crime I know of.” Sue grew annoyed. “You see, after he told me this, I looked for it. I know I haven’t touched it since I put it away when I received it by mail. It should’ve been there. But it was gone.”

“And you think the county sheriff did it?” “He’s no sheriff,” she said. “He was appointed a sheriff this past December. He took an oath to uphold the law.” “Marvin did it. I know he did.” An irate tone crept into her voice. Skeptical, Mr. Wilson shoved a legal pad across the desk. “Would you like to put that in writing?” His challenge cut at her pride, and she had every intention of writing it out and g it. But when blank lines stared back at her and he slid the inkwell in her direction, it felt wrong. The police offered no protection from him. She was powerless under law. Hell, she couldn’t even vote. “Forget it,” she said. She’d walked the square under the sting of defeat, and sunlight fogged with red shade, and the sharp-hewn stones of the courthouse looked capable of drawing blood. Irrationality tainted her thoughts, and the buildings stood as repressive invaders who held more power than the people. Soon, capitalism would rule the world and stand for everything Jesse James had fought to prevent. She knew Marvin wanted to store bootleg whiskey in her barn. He was the largest producer of it in north Texas. If Marvin told Cole about his heritage, newspapers would drag him into the Jesse James controversy. At an impressionable age, she hated to think what would happen if he knew she had betrayed him. Why, he may become an outlaw. Doing business with Marvin was better than these consequences. She’d fought back once and lost more than imaginable and had Cole to think about.

Chapter 8

“You didn’t have to go into business with him,” Cole said. Confounded by his calm reactions, she wondered at the sincerity of his absolution. With his face in shadow, his bruised hollowness appeared steeper than when she’d begun, and she said, “Days later, Marvin arrived with his first shipment. And I realized I had no choice in the matter.” When he showed up unannounced on a warm winter day, he drove straight to the barn. His sons, Lewis and Will, unloaded crates of whiskey while he looked on, smoked a cigarette, then turned his back on it. “I realized in that moment I had no choice in the matter.” However, that disregard of the cigarette moved her to act, and she marched over to them and said, “I don’t appreciate you showing up unannounced. What if Cole had been here?” She lamented, “And what’s in those boxes?” “Best you not know,” Marvin said and placed bills in her hands. “I have the right to know what you put in my barn,” she said and absently shoved the money in a pocket. “Another shipment will arrive the same time next month. If any of my boys give you any trouble, let me know. I’ll take care of it.” A voice like jagged ice made her shiver then relief when he turned to leave. Overrun at her own home with great effort, she refrained from cursing aloud as he made his way back on the road. Once out of sight, she raced to the barn to see for herself what exactly he put there, although she already knew it was whiskey. Hay smell overwhelmed her as she groped for a crowbar and forced it under the lid. It slid off and clanked to the ground and exposed a crate with twelve jugs to a crate with fifteen crates in all. She counted the bills she had shoved into her apron pocket—one hundred dollars.

The money felt dirty, the bribery oppressive, and it choked the air out of her and left her feeling ill. She rubbed her hands on her apron to wipe them clean. In the long run, she adjusted to the arrangement and moved past the immoral angle. As long as Cole had no knowledge of it, there was no harm done. Besides, if it prevented Cole from learning his father was Jesse James, then it was worth it. The seasons ed, the money added up, and her secret was safe. Life went on, and Marvin’s crooked business proved harmless until he brutally forced her hand and ended up dead. There was dead stillness in the cell block. Sue could hear Cole breathe. “A few years ed until he showed up one afternoon with a demented look in his eye and an overconfident swagger. I knew when I first saw him he had something on his mind other than business. And he paid me three hundred dollars upfront, instead of the usual one hundred dollars afterward.” That day, a full moon hung heavy to the east. Moonlight smothered the wheat field bedspread smooth. Marvin moved across the yard slowly, drunkenly to where she sat on the porch. She wished someone was here with her. When he handed her the money, she smelled whiskey on his breath. “I sure would like a piece of that pie I smell,” Marvin said. She cut him a small slice and poured him a cup of coffee. Her nervousness grew steeper as he finished off the pie and set his cup aside. “I thank you for the money you’ve given me,” Sue said. “I’ve used it to buy that cutting machine and a new china cabinet. But I’ll have you know,” she said with a dark even tone, “that while I’ll let you use my barn for your drink and may appear hospitable, I refuse any advances and ask that you forgive me if I’ve given you the wrong impression.” Marvin offered no acknowledgment or even spoke until his boys left. “What you want don’t interest me none.” He leaned closer and said with an air of keen relish, “I’ll have you tonight.” “Not with my consent,” she said. “I don’t need any consent. If you refuse me, I’ll put you out and live in the house.” He leaned closer and said, “Give me a kiss.”

His breath felt like hot pin drops on her skin and linked in her mind, her worst memories of Granddad. As Marvin rose from his chair, she no longer saw him but saw Granddad’s bony frame and heard rattled old man’s breath at her neckline. The chair scraped loudly on the porch as she pushed it out from under her in an attempt to run. He lunged for her, pulled her close to his body, wrenched her jaw around to face him, and kissed her hard. She spit and fought, but her feet were unable to grip the floor. He effortlessly carried her inside the house and down the hall. He threw her on the bed, and she bounced twice before being crushed by his weight. Her attempts to break free and screams of denial were useless against his strength. A draft on her legs preempted pain between her thighs that intensified with each thrust. Unable to stand it any longer, she forced both arms free. With both hands, she squeezed his neck and swore she’d choke him to death. His face contorted in surprise and then anger. He pulled them free and slapped her. His forceful motion began again. Sue gritted her teeth, gripped his Adam’s apple between three fingers, and pulled until it protruded grotesquely and her fingers were halfway under his skin. His breath decreased, and both his hands worked to remove hers. The hellish motion stopped as he tried to push her away. Her death lock gave her the upper hand. Before long, he weakened, and she led him off the bed, and the dresser vibrated as she slammed him against a wall. His struggles as his breath waned and the feel of bones as his windpipe shrank nauseated her. She let go, and his breath came in greedy gasps, and a bluish hue dulled his features as he slid to the floor. Unable to pry the safety latch open because she shook all over, she opted to ram the butt of the gun into his chest and head. He sunk lower, gasped for breath, and pleaded for her to spare him. But she held no sympathy for him. It wasn’t a man she saw but an animal that deserved extinction. “You’ll never own me, you bastard.” Two shots fired, and Marvin’s face exploded on the wall behind him. Echoes of the shots mingled with the smell of blood and gunpowder. His body slumped forward, he took his last breath and his eyes glazed over. Sue backed away and had a desire to turn back time and reclaim the peace of mind she had hours ago. She had to go outside and see something besides the expression of surprise that

stuck on his face. On the porch, still air stopped time, and tree branches sagged under the weight of humidity. The shot still rang in her ears. She held the gun and blood trickled down her arm and onto it. Her thighs painfully throbbed. She felt dirty and craved a hot bath. Mostly, she was afraid to go back in there and face what she’d done. Certain she was unable to lift him, she decided to move the body when Cole returned home after his shift at the train station. Sue met him at the front door when he arrived and said, “I’ve got bacon and eggs cooked for you.” “You’re pale, what’s wrong?” he asked. “I killed him. I killed Marvin,” she said. “What? Where is he?” Cole bounded past her, and hurried boots on wood floors moved through the house. Sue reached the hallway in time to hear his reaction. “God’s grace.” Horror moved his features long and drawn. Bone and brains spread over the floor around Marvin’s body. A large pool of blood spread dark underneath his form. “He raped me,” Sue said from the doorway. “Did you have to shoot him in the face?” “I had to make sure he was dead.” He stared at her in astonishment, and in the next instant, a humorless eerie laugh escaped into the room. Contagion occurred, and mad laughter that only truly morbid situations produced was shared between them. “You did that all right.” His protective nature roused. He held back questions and forced himself to look

her in the eye. “Are you all right?” he asked. “I’m fine,” she said. “He overpowered me on the porch and dragged me in here.” He didn’t need to hear the details. “Obviously, it was self-defense.” Sue lowered her gaze and said, “I’ll get the wheelbarrow.” When the screen door banged shut behind her, Cole inspected the eye that popped out of Marvin’s head and landed by the wardrobe. It followed his movements around the room, and he expected it to blink. If anyone were to ask if he’d stare at a dead man, he would’ve said no. But in this room, as the light of a full moon drifted over the body, he was drawn to it. He crouched down and took his wallet and closed Marvin’s one eye before he retrieved a sheet and covered him with it. He left the room in a cold sweat and ignored the gas lamp that usually ran this time of night and worked in darkness. His attention turned to the task of removing the rug from underneath the heavy oak dining table. When Mother returned with the wheel barrel, they carried it to the bedroom. Cole pushed her aside when she failed to lift Marvin’s body onto it. They wrapped the rug around the corpse, secured it with ropes, and dragged it outside. It misstepped across the ground at a high volume and sounded like a fleet of dragging shoes. Cole found a shovel and dug a hole. It wasn’t too long before she demanded that he hand it over to her. “I did it, I’ll bury him.” Sue mumbled a prayer as Marvin’s body rolled into the hole. The rug came loose, and that empty eye socket stared up at her. The only bearer of her darkest secret, she poured sulfuric acid onto the corpse. Fumes rose from the body, and she rushed to cover him with dirt and have him gone from her sight forever. The worst was over. The evidence of a crime was covered, and no one would ever know what she’d done. When the hole was full, Sue patted the grave top smooth. With the absence of remorse clearly defined on her features, she felt exposed under his scrutiny.

At some point, Cole had left and returned and watched from atop a horse. She said, “I didn’t mean to kill him, but now it’s done.” “I’m sorry this happened to you,” Cole said. Sue was sorry too but not for killing Marvin. “We need rain,” she muttered remorselessly. Irritated by her aloof statement, Cole replied, “We need an alibi.” He took Marvin’s horse by the reigns and headed east. Sue watched him go and muttered to herself, “Smells like rain.” However aloof her reactions, she failed to take into that he was his father’s son. That revenge ran through his blood just as sure as the Red River is red and the Missouri River is blue. She soon learned that the lack of insight into his father’s outlaw past did nothing to prevent the inheritance of a taste of justice in the son.

Chapter 9

The look of savored victory worn graveside by his mother was wholly absent now as she sat across the bars from him. She looked more prisoner than he felt and fidgeted her hands in her lap. She might as well have been the one behind bars. For a split second, Cole’s muddled thoughts conjured confusion as to who was the prisoner. Expectantly, she waited for some impending punishment, some judgment, something that was not his to give. The contradiction of vulnerability and strength confused him, and no pleasure was garnered from her guilty demeanor. Cole looked at the wall, out the window behind her at the courthouse’s gleaming towers, at anything besides her defeated demeanor. His pain deepened his own pain, and his breath held a steady but labored rhythm. He ed often the bent of her back as she strained to drag Marvin’s rug wrapped body across the yard the night of the murder. The sizzle of hair and stench of burning flesh and fibers after she’d poured sulfuric acid onto the corpse haunted his dreams. In that final atrocious moment, as she stood over that crude grave and twisted satisfaction warped her features, she’d been toppled from the pedestal of the all-knowing mother and fell into the light of a desperado. That night, he took on the duty to protect her from prosecution and, more importantly, to even the score. A bittersweet taste that consumed him, vengeance was the reason he missed baseball practice and was kicked off the team. It was behind his reasoning to have a lengthy courtship with his best girl, Annelle, and was why he never hung around the train station after work anymore. He craved the free feeling of standing with his friends and watching the trains come and go with nothing on his mind but the power of a machine. But his funster days were over. A relentless ambition rearranged his priorities. Every action and reaction was a strategic decision aimed to eventually topple the Woodworth Empire. He never once considered failure. Even now, as he sat behind bars and listened to her tale, he worked out an escape plan.

“Marvin knew the truth,” Cole said. Sue nodded ission and said, “Things got out of hand.” “Mother, stop playing the victim. You took a gamble and lost.” Desperation continued to mar her delicate features. She said, “You’ll lose too if you go through with this. Jesse spent his whole life fighting corruption and lost everything in the end. Don’t make the same mistake.” Unfamiliar doubt assaulted him, but he pushed it aside. The truth of his paternity granted him an overinflated ego, and he instantly forgave his mother for the omission. He said, “It looks like we’ve both been keeping secrets.” After Cole helped her bury the sheriff, he went ten miles out of his way to run off Marvin’s horse and galloped full speed to East Denton to secure an alibi before the night was out. It was two o’clock when he reached the bar turned saloon that served as Woodworth headquarters. As he sat astride his horse sweated in the still night, heat and laughter rose and fell, and stories and lies were told for entertainment. In the bar, he saw Evan White, president of the Farmers’ Alliance, play poker with other well-dressed men. The photogenic moment set them still in time, and he wondered what their relationship had been with Marvin. Cole crossed into the light, looped the horse reins over a hitching post, and headed inside. A long bar lined a back wall. A thin-haired bartender wiped a glass dry and stared at Cole for indications of malice. He put the glass down when Cole sat down at the bar. “I’ll have a Jack and Coke.” “You a lawman?” Cole narrowed his eyes and said, “No.”

He cleared the lump in his throat and suffered another inquiring stare from the bartender before he made him a drink. After he received his drink, he turned his back to the bar and strolled through the smoke-filled room toward a back table where he recognized a friend. Charlie Lione had a knack for being at the right place at the right time. Right now, Cole felt lucky to have run into him. He didn’t recognize the man he played poker with whom he later learned was Henry, a poker player from Reno. Charlie straightened a deck of cards and readied to deal the next hand. At his approach, Charlie said, “I never was good at this game.” A casual tone of voice betrayed whatever serious intent was meant by the statement. Cole clapped him on the back, sat down, and laughed when Charlie said, “Oh, good, fresh dolphin for the card shark.” His charm momentarily put his mind to rest. Charlie dealt the cards, and Cole followed his lead, and when the time came, he anted in a nickel. Henry stoically studied his cards and bet a dime. Charlie deliberately arranged his cards and stared at them with a downturned mouth. Cole kept his expression neutral, traded two cards, and gained another ace and a ten of spades. Henry and Charlie matched his bet, but when he raised it a second time, a flat calm fell over the table as they studied each other. Charlie folded and Cole raised the pot again. “I’ll raise you two dollars.” “That’s a week’s pay, are you fooling me?” Charlie asked. “Not at all, I always win when it counts,” Cole said. But Henry matched his raise every time and forced Cole to fold. Henry slapped down a low straight. He bounced as he laughed as he saw Cole’s full house and pulled the pile of bills toward him.

“Bluffing is half the game,” Henry said. “Indeed it is,” Cole said. The game went on, and Cole’s luck never improved. His second drink tasted better than the first. Charlie wasn’t any better at poker. He couldn’t keep a straight face at a funeral but was an expert at having a good time. He also knew Cole better than anyone and read him without him having to say a word. As soon as Cole had sat down, Charlie curiously regarded him. With eye , they communicated over the cards. After Henry was three sheets to the wind, Charlie asked, “Trouble at home?” Cole searched his clothes for blood, a dangling eye or something that gave him away, but found nothing. Charlie noticed his gestures and raised both eyebrows in question. Cole said loudly, “Nothing too bad. Just a misfire earlier tonight while I cleaned that old Winchester Mother keeps around.” “That must have been what I heard,” Charlie said. He emphasized the last syllable, and Cole wondered if he’d seen anything. Worried now, Cole asked, “Did you catch anything today?” Like brothers, they had code questions when only a yes or no was necessary, but they both knew what the other wanted to know. This was one of those times. Charlie answered, “Yep, a bass as big as a horse.” Charlie had possibly seen him run off the horse. Cole said, “I’ve caught that same fish and let it go. I needed someone to help carry it home.” “Next time,” Charlie said. Within the hour, Lewis Woodworth, Marvin Woodworth’s son, showed up. Now eager to serve, the bartender mixed a drink, and it waited for Lewis when

he reached the bar. Lewis drank it all and waited on another one. Stuart mumbled, and Lewis leaned forward to hear, and they both glared in his direction. Lewis had his mother’s dark complexion and his father’s stocky body type. When he headed his way, Cole noticed he stood six feet tall or more but leaned slightly when he walked like a penguin. He pulled a chair from another table and put one foot in it. Lewis said, “I didn’t take you for a drinker.” “Everybody needs a drink now and then,” Cole said. Cole had planned out beforehand what to talk about baseball when he saw Lewis. Cole was a star hitter on Pilot Point’s baseball team and Lewis the pitcher on the rivalry team. “Who’s the new first baseman?” Cole asked. “Nobody yet,” Lewis said. “We’d like Buster, but he’s looking for dollar signs.” Cole leaned back into his seat and snidely said, “Whoever it is, be sure and let him know we’ll break him in.” “Yep, boy’s got a lot of running ahead of him,” Charlie said. They shared a laugh, and it could’ve been any other night. “I wouldn’t know,” Lewis said and scratched his chin uninterested. Charlie tapped the back of his cards and took his turn. He looked at Cole in a mood of accomplishment. Cole kept it moving. “You should’ve gone fishing with us this evening. I caught that big bass that lives at culvert’s crossing.” Charlie nodded agreeably and said, “It almost tugged the line out of his hand. He stood ankle deep in water by the time he pulled it out.” “He was a fighter, all right. It took all evening to catch him.”

Cole sat back and crossed his arms and said, “I let him go. He wouldn’t have lived long enough to get home.” He gauged whether Lewis believed him and held his breath in those long seconds. “That’s too bad,” Lewis said. “That’s too bad,” Charlie mocked. Lewis slapped him across the back of the head and said, “What’s your problem?” Charlie said, “How about you us for a hand? We’ll school you on the finer points of losing.” Irritated, Lewis said, “I don’t have any use for it.” Charlie said, “Then get out of my light.” Lewis left without another word. “He wouldn’t know fun if it was a snake and bit him,” Charlie said. “He’ll get what’s coming to him, and he’ll wish he would’ve had more fun while he had the chance,” Cole said. “That’s a bet I’ll wager on.” Thankful Charlie had the ability to think on his feet, he reminded himself that he owed his friend a favor. A plot to destroy the Woodworth’s took shape over that poker table as he played cards until the early morning hours.

Chapter 10

It was a Tuesday before Halloween when the Woodworth brothers showed up unannounced at his mother’s place. Seasonless heat held over from summer parched the land brown until after sunset when the air cooled and heat of dinner washed out of the house. Harvest in full swing kept Cole working overtime as a telegrapher at the train station. For the last week, he had a buddy cover his shift in order to stay close to the house and not miss the opportunity to make his first move in his plot for revenge. The whole idea rested on that first meeting. Cole waited for him to make the next move. He grew impatient and, for days, had listened and watched every carriage that came around as it rounded the corner in front of his house. Today as he charred the familiar rattles of an approaching vehicle, hope waned as it winded its way down his road. When it peaked at the final hill, Cole’s anticipation exceeded his limit. He rushed to the window to see who was out and about. When Lewis and his brother Will pulled into the drive, Cole’s excitement was betrayed in his tone. “The bastards act like we’re not even here.” Sue stopped peeling potatoes and looked outside with narrowed eyes. “Never mind them. Their days are numbered.” “Yes, they are. And today’s the first day of the end.” Sue heard determination in his voice but turned a blind eye to it. She said, “I’ll put an end to this right now.” Cole stepped in her path. “Stay in the house, Mother.” She gave him a harsh glare, and he backed down. She bolted past him, grabbed the rifle, and jogged to the barn. Oblivious to her approach, Lewis and Will were taken by surprise when they heard her challenge.

“Your whiskey’s not welcome here any longer.” Will’s mouth dropped open, but Lewis never stopped unloading the crates. When finished, he raised his palms out just like his father and stepped closer. He said, “Put the gun down, Mrs. Lincoln.” Sue said, “Marvin’s gone and with him goes my business.” Lewis took a toothpick out of his pocket and positioned it in the comer of his mouth. He said, “I know all about you.” “What does that mean?” Cole asked. Sue stood her ground and finally said, “You’re no better than your father.” Curious as to what that meant but desperate to continue his charade, Cole clapped Lewis on the shoulder. He said, “She’s just an old fuddy-dud. She doesn’t mean any harm. Do you, Mother?” “I mean exactly what I say.” Cole reacted with a scoff, and she lowered the gun. He betted on the fact she was reluctant to cause a scene. He wasn’t surprised when she returned to the house. “I expected you sooner. It seems Saturday’s a better day for this type of business,” Cole said. “Too many people out,” Lewis said. “I wouldn’t mind doing it then,” Cole replied with an easy smile. “Oh yeah?” Lewis said and faced him toe to toe. “What makes you think we’d trust you?” He ignored the sarcasm and put a secretive tone in his voice. “Think about it. No one knows what’s under those tarps. As farmers, we’d blend in and work both

weekend days.” Lewis never acknowledged receipt of the offer, and Cole grew nervous. “Unless you don’t like making money,” he finally said. Lewis regarded him with lazy interest and then stroked his chin in consideration. A toothpick rested at a corner of his mouth. He said, “That’s good business sense, but the pays terrible. And it’s risky.” “I’m not afraid,” Cole said. “He doesn’t even drink,” Will said. Lewis regarded Will with disinterest, and then his commanding eyes returned to Cole. Time drew out as Lewis came to a decision. Hard features made him difficult to read. Cole feigned boredom and prepared a rebuttal if they refused his offer. “That’s true,” Lewis eventually said. Cole started to argue and blurted, “And pay her double.” Lewis said, “We can work something out.” They shook on it. Lewis eyed him with distrust. The afternoon was an accomplishment until he faced his mother. Once inside the house, he readied himself for a confrontation. Mother immediately approached him and said, “Why’d you do that, that money’s dirty?” Shock stood wide in her eyes. He calmly sat down at the kitchen table. She sat across from him. “I don’t know why you’d talk to them. It makes no sense to continue doing business with them. I just don’t understand.”

“I planned it that way,” Cole finally said. “They’re not going away, Momma. The farm’s drying up, and you’re getting too old to run it.” This came out more harshly than intended, and he took her hands in his and said delicately, “Besides, it’s not worth the cost of shipping wheat anymore.” “What foolishness. The cost will go down. Besides, God helps those who help themselves.” Cole released her hands and folded his own in submission before him on the table. Mother paced and sat down and stood up again. Desperately, she said, “You better leave it alone. There’s nothing to be done anyway.” His voice rose a pitch. “I plan on doing plenty. Bootlegging is illegal, and it’s about time somebody did something about it.” “He’s dead. It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said. “To hell it don’t.” His words hung in the air with great finality. Unable to fully interpret his intentions, Sue lashed out in confusion. “You know what your problem is. It’s those idealistic notions you take from that overbearing president. But you listen good.” She leaned in close and wagged a finger at him. “Things won’t ever change. They’ll keep selling whiskey just as long as there’s somebody to buy it. That’s just the way the rooster crows.” He let a respectable silence play out and said, “That rooster needs to be knocked off his post.” “Cole, you’re not above the law, you’re no hero.” It sounded surreal, even to her, and distance across the table widened the

generation gap between them. Cole said, “You need to put that money in the bank.” “Not in that county bank. It lasted less than a year the first time it opened all because of that gossiping Miller woman.” “You’re overreacting. And that was twenty years ago. Things are different now.” Now he leaned in closer and whispered, “Wouldn’t it feel good to let it build wealth? It’d be like revenge.” “I have no use for revenge. Neither should you. It will destroy you just like it did your fa—” Unable to stop now, she continued, “Your father.” Emotions watered her eyes, and she clasped both hands in her lap. “What do you mean, my father?” “Your father upheld an honor of the south. He was a hero, at least in Missouri. And he died because of it.” “Well, I have honor too to you. And I’ll die for what I believe in.” She wanted to make him understand the uselessness of vigilante justice but feared it was too late. Unable to tolerate the resemblance to his father, she acted on her antagonism. “I’ll be damned if any more whiskeys coming on this property.” She rose to her feet with clenched fists by her sides and dashed out of the house and to the barn. By the time he reached her, a sledgehammer swung over her shoulder began its arc. “Stop, don’t do this,” he pleaded. The blade made with wood and glass that splintered and shattered on impact. She repeated the motions and was weakened each time but continued on. Whiskey’s reek from underfoot overwhelmed them both.

She dropped the sledgehammer. He reached out a hand. “Give it to me.” With her shoulders slumped and head hung low, she handed it over to him. He waited for her to catch her breath and said, “You should Temperance.” “It’s useless to fight.” Fearless to confront the enemy, Cole moved forward with his plan. He liked the challenges his long-term plan presented and always did feel a dark side called him to lead. Requesting more money was a spontaneous idea that worked out beautifully. He knew the risk he took working alongside the Woodworth brothers and would easily sacrifice himself to prevent his mother from going to prison. But logically, the only way to get a monkey off your back was to keep the bananas close at hand. And only when your power overrides there can you starve the beast.

Chapter 11

In hindsight, problems existed from the beginning. A disastrous first day as a roadrunner tested his resolve. Gaining Lewis’s trust proved more difficult than initially expected. The whiskey destroyed by his mother he replaced with a competitor’s supply. When the time came for Lewis to deliver it, Lewis immediately noticed the differences. The cool stillness of a November afternoon leaned the parched land graveyard peacefulness. Cole had been expecting them and met them in the yard. Harsh features gave Lewis an emotionless edge. Lewis said, “Those aren’t ours. They’re not even the same color.” A glimpse of hostility in his brother’s eyes caused Will to look to the ground. He said, “Let’s just get the goods and go.” Lewis raised a wary finger, and Will shoved his hands in his pockets. “What happened to the other?” Lewis asked. Cole said matter-of-factly, “My mother smashed the other batch. So I replaced it.” “Where’d you get it?” Will asked. “In Texoma,” Cole said. Unimpressed, Lewis sized him up with a critical eye. “Did you bother to check if it’s really liquor?” He had not touched a drop. “Of course.” Lewis opened a bottle and handed it to Will. He took a deep swig, belched, and said, “It’s good all right.” Lewis’s dark

expression Cole challenged with complete attention. “You’re lucky,” Lewis said. “If it was water, you’d be headed up there to straighten it out. Alone.” Will continued to sample the liquor. He said, “Hell if he went to all that trouble I don’t see a problem.” Evident in Will’s attempts to calm Lewis rested the fact that Lewis had a reputation as a hothead. In the next instant, Lewis had Cole’s shirt bundled in his fist. He said, “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t trust you.” “Is that so,” Cole said casually. Repulsed by breath that smelled of burnt cider, Cole stepped back a step. Lewis let go. Cole braced his back foot but kept his hands at his sides. Lewis said, “The problem is the boys will notice the difference and think we watered it down. And right now, we don’t need that kind of trouble.” Talking his side now or ing in on a joke Cole wasn’t sure which, Will said, “There are rules to follow.” Lewis went from rage to sincerity in seconds. He said, “For one thing know what you’re selling.” Cole folded his arms across his chest and stretched to appear taller. Relief was what he felt. The horses shuffled in their pins under the tension. “We wouldn’t want to sell them goldbricks,” Lewis said and clapped him hard on the shoulder. Cole said, “I knew you were just fooling.” The barn erupted in laughter, but instinct warned Cole that the ability to turn on anyone prevailed in his moody character. He shook his hand and felt good about

things by the time they loaded the wagon and set off to make deliveries. As they rolled south at ten miles per hour, Cole marked off the miles. He relaxed his hands as much as possible even though his excitement level bordered on uncontrollable. He listened as Lewis and Will discussed baseball and eventually contemplated aloud the night ahead. “He’s so damn contrary,” Lewis said. “Everybody hates him,” Will added. “Even his runners.” They complained about Buster Graves who had a reputation as a bad tempered brat. He reminded Cole of Lewis. “Yeah well,” Lewis scoffed, “he and our daddy worked together a long time. We have to get along.” “He’s going to cause us trouble,” Will warned. Conversation waned for a time until Lewis lightened the mood. “He’s serious about going professional,” Lewis said. “He’s not fast enough,” Will said. “I don’t see it,” Cole said from behind them. Lewis gave him a forgotten look, and he felt like an intruder. Lewis and Will went on this way for an hour or more before they met Buster at the Tarrant County line. No trouble came of any of the runners they met that night. After three deliveries, they headed back home. Cole thought the night had been a success. His high hopes were dashed when Lewis missed the turned at his road and continued to drive north. He expected them to tell him where they were going and what risks were involved, but they were silent. He grew agitated when his questions went unanswered. They continued to talk baseball, and this bothered him more than anything. He worried they were setting him up somehow. He finally blurted, “Speaking of losing, how long is this going to take?” “An hour or two longer. We reload and make two more drops. One at your

place.” Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he guessed Lewis was capable of anything. “We’ll have a drink at the distillers,” Lewis said and grinned for the first time all evening. “It smells better than it tastes,” Will went on. “Since it’s your first day, you get the first drink from a fresh batch.” Cole forced a smile and said, “It can’t be any worse than what’s at that godforsaken gin mill or whatever you call that hole in the wall.” “I’ll let you be the judge of that,” Lewis said. They drove another hour and drove up a steep, windy drive. They pulled in behind a ramshackle house that leaned to the left. A cliff hovered behind it. Caves gaped open like earthen mouths. Red Stokes who dressed in faded coveralls shambled out to meet them. They all shook hands, and Red said, “Sorry to hear about your father.” Lewis appeared distracted by it but said, “It’s all right, we’ll get along.” Red looked after him in concern and later smoked cigarettes as he stood at the cave entrance and watched them work. After the wagon bed contained a fresh load, they rested in the cool cave. First thing, Lewis lifted a lid off a barrel and inhaled the smell. He filled a tumbler and handed it to Cole. Cole took a sniff from the cup and held it at arm’s length. “It smells like shit.” “Drink it,” Lewis said. Eager to prove his loyalty, he conceded. It was too bitter to hold down, and he spit it out. “Gross!” Will checked the cup, balked, and said, “It’s not even half gone. Drink the rest.” “The first sip’s the worst,” Lewis added.

Cole choked back a grimace as a taste equivalent to rotten potatoes slid down his throat. It expanded and he held back a gag and finished it off. He lowered the cup. His felt like a giant as the distance widened between his head and feet. He tapped his foot to make sure the ground was permanent. He tried to speak and failed to produce a sound. Lewis said, “So what do you think?” “I think I’ve been befuddled,” Cole said. Their happy expressions seemed out of place in his misery. Apparently, they found him quiet entertaining. They continued to stare, and their laughter echoed back to him in waves. Lewis poured another drink. He noticed his tumbler was free from foam. “Why don’t you drink the foamy stuff?” Laughter picked up momentum. Lewis emptied his glass and said, “Because I already know the top layer is ten times stronger than the brew.” The last thing Cole ed was Will’s watery voice when he said, “I think it was a good batch.”

Chapter 12

After a humiliating first day in which the most important thing Cole learned was never to drink the corn mix that rose to the top of the barrel, he met Charlie downtown for breakfast. Concerned that Lewis toyed with him, he needed to talk to someone and ease his worried mind. Cole ambled up to the square and fell under the shadow of the courthouse. The magnificent structure dominated everything, and he resented the county power present by its brooding and watchful characteristics. It crossed his mind that he’d underestimated the amount of time it’d take to destroy the Woodworth’s. Having no desire to spend his whole life fighting his enemies, he decided to convince Lewis of his trustworthiness by staging a faux frame-up. He planned to run it by Charlie first. His original plan to gather evidence and turn it over to authorities could possibly take years. If he took too long, Annelle might move on, and he’d miss his chance to marry her. Eager to get on with it, this was his way to speed things along. As he entered the Oatman Hotel’s dining room, Annelle waved to him from the kitchen. She wore a white apron over her university uniform. A wisp of stray hair framed her light complexion. Cole sat across from Charlie at their usual table in the back. The smell of bacon and coffee gave him all the comforts of home. When Annelle brought him a cup of coffee, she said, “You’re here early, did you start a fire?” “No, but I will if you tell me to,” Cole said. “I bet you would too.” A smile before her attention turned to another table. He had a sip of coffee before Charlie said, “You look a little haggard.” “I’ll never drink again.”

“What happened, did they get you drunk?” Amusement lined his voice. “As drunk as Principal Pearson on Easter Sunday. I don’t anything after meeting the brewers. Everything went wrong. “I think they planned it from the beginning. I think there setting me up.” It sounded paranoid, and Charlie mirrored this conclusion. “They initiated you is all. They were checking the thickness of your hide.” He talked with his hands to imply his strong message. “Judging by what you said, it’s pretty thin.” “My hides as thick as any cowboys.” “Weak under the bottle then.” Cole said, “I wouldn’t go that far.” He finished his coffee and considered the advice. Charlie said, “You’re there under false pretenses, but all they did was get you drunk. And you’ll have to drink again. You can count on it.” The words rolled off animated hands. “You can’t turn back now. But next time, sip at it.” Granted, the accomplished mission brightened his outlook. However, he felt like the punch line of a joke. As Annelle made her rounds, he watched how she moved in her blue skirt. He hoped for smooth sailing in the months ahead. Impatient to get on with his life, he grew restless as he considered the complications of his mission. “Will’s as useless as a blind train conductor. Lewis does everything.” Charlie said, “I wouldn’t doubt it.” “He’s the one I have to prove myself to. He’s as distrustful as a hooker,” Cole said with an incredible air to his words.

“He’ll come around once you prove you’re worth your salt.” “I can’t wait forever. I have to know he trusts me.” Annelle refilled his coffee and took their order. By the time Cole spoke again, they were on the same page. “A frame-up is what needs to happen. Some way to prove my loyalty.” “It’s too soon,” Charlie said. “Wait for the right opportunity.” “Time is not on my side.” Irritated by Charlie’s confidence, Cole said, “What I need is someone to watch my back.” “What do you think I’m here for?” “I’m serious. I have to do this full barrel or not at all.” “I’ve got your back. Just use an empty barrel next time.” At a table in a shadowy corner, Cole and Charlie simplified his problems, planned strategy, and blindly navigated the underworld of bootleg politics. Despite his impatience, Cole was optimistic that if he stuck to his plan, success followed. He had no idea of the personal consequences or that his plan had potential to topple the balance of power from county to city.

Chapter 13

After Cole secured a job as a whiskey runner, he moved to a rental house in Denton. Unable to handle the brush of accusation given in stolen glances by his mother that said he failed to meet high expectations, he put her out of sight and out of mind. However, he noticed her furtive glances held a deceptive quality. He never shook a feeling a missing piece of information she kept from him held great importance. Often drawn to the conclusion she knew something horrible about his character he had yet to uncover made it easy to justify leaving her in the dark about his double life. She wouldn’t understand the reasons that lead him to revenge. The lies he told her resounded with guilt every night. He worried that without her having necessary information raised the likelihood she’d suffer harm if his cover was blown. He fell short of confessing it to her early on but eventually decided against it. As long as everything went as planned, the Woodworth brothers would be locked up by this time next year. Never quite sure if Lewis trusted him or if he tolerated him for business reasons, Cole held a guarded respect for him. Eager to prove his trust, he went against Charlie’s advice and planned a setup for a Friday after New Year’s Day. He discreetly planted a seed to a theory that Lewis overlooked an entire route. He warned Lewis to expect retaliation from an unidentified buyer. The day of the setup arrived bitter cold. As he had breakfast at the Oatman and went over final details with Charlie, a cold wind rattled the windows. Rain cast down the glass. Coffee-tuned senses energized Cole. He leaned forward and talked huddled over the table without awareness of it. “I expect Lewis to leave the Miller place by seven and be home by eight. We’ll be waiting for him. The goal is to intimidate him and bully him before you tell him who you are. That way, he won’t have time to think.” His audience listened with rapt attention. When Annelle approached their table, talk ceased, and they sat up straight and gave her their undivided attention.

“I thought you were off,” Cole asked one time. “Covering for Eleanor,” Annelle said. Cole pretended not to notice her curious expression, and she reluctantly walked away. Charlie rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Adam, a friend whom Lewis didn’t know, sat watchful and quiet. His brother Sam tapped his hands on the table in boredom. Cole worried if he really could trust Adam or if he was a mole for the Woodworth brothers. Charlie was the only one he completely trusted. But he needed someone unknown to Lewis to make his idea fool proof. “Adam, demand to see Marvin. When he tells you he’s dead, demand money.” “Assuming all goes as planned,” Charlie said with sarcasm. Cole pondered the inflection of his tone. They all sat back, and no one said anything. Charlie held a no compromise focus which left Cole to reply. “I don’t expect them to refuse,” Cole said. Charlie’s silence played out and expressed the importance of his point. “I’m willing to use force,” Adam added. “Put the fear of God into them,” Cole said, his mind already made up. “Convince them they’ll die if they don’t come up with the money.” Charlie had yet to give the all go. Cole said, “It’s now or never.” Charlie said, “If Lewis figures out your arrival is coincidental, trouble will come up. It always does when Will’s around.” Cole said, equally determined, “It’s the only way to prove my loyalty.” “All I’m saying is watch your back. He’s stupid but he’s fast on the draw.” Adam nodded in agreement and said, “I’ll .” Two hours later, Cole barged into Lewis’s home out of breath and frantic. Lewis

sat with his legs propped on a chair and appeared too comfortable to move. Will relaxed in an easy chair. Cole caught his breath and said, “Get the guns.” “What’s happened?” Lewis asked. “You should’ve listened to me. I told you the odds were high your father had another route.” He exaggerated his words. “At the train station, a dandy-looking fellow got off. He obviously wasn’t from around her. I thought maybe he was a circus performer or a high class trainee. Anyway, I followed him.” He moved closer to him now and sat on the edge of the desk. “He went to the Lazy Horse and complained to whoever listened that Marvin showed him up.” “Why didn’t you tell him he was dead?” Will asked. “Nobody told him anything.” Lewis said, “You’re getting worked up over nothing.” Cole tried not to make a mistake and stayed on script. He wished Adam would burst through the door right now. At odds of what to say next, he dashed to the gun cabinet and thought the doors would break off with the force of which he swung them back. It got their attention. Lewis removed his feet from the desk, and Will sat forward and straight. Cole checked to see that the guns were loaded and handed Lewis a pistol. “Prepare yourself.” “Somebody’s stringing you along,” Will said. Lewis accused him with a glare. “Buster warned me to expect something like

this from you,” Lewis said. Cole never felt more vulnerable and was never more grateful than when he saw Adam. He said, “Here he comes.” Lewes ed Cole one last suspicious look. In that moment, he worried Adam was setting him up, and Lewis knew everything. In the next, loyalty gained clarity. Adam busted in and said, “Where’s Marvin?” “He’s been dead for over three months,” Lewis said, calm but agitated. “I’m sorry to hear that. But he owes me a shipment.” “You and everybody else.” “You’ve missed two deliveries out my way,” Adam continued. “For all I know, you could be cops,” Lewis said with flat eyes. In the next second, Adam forced Lewis facedown on the desk. One broad forearm bolted his head to the furniture. Lewis sputtered and struggled to breathe. Adam’s brother Sam, who’d snuck in unseen, grabbed Will from behind and held his hands behind his back. He fought and Sam squeezed with further force. Will cried out in pain. Cole stood stock still as if paralyzed. “Now,” Adam said to Cole, “you’ve got sixty minutes to bring us our whiskey. Or one of these fool’s is dead. No less than ten crates.” “Don’t worry, I’ll bring it,” Cole said. Convinced of the sincerity, he found it difficult not to laugh as he hurried out of the house. An hour was plenty of time. He hoped Lewis’s captivity knocked him down a notch. At his mother’s house, he focused on loading a wagon. He was completely taken off guard when he heard her voice at his back. He figured a

scheduled Temperance meeting kept her busy. He felt caught when she asked, “What are you doing here?” “I should ask you the same thing,” he asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “I thought you were at a meeting?” “It was cancelled again.” He continued to load the wagon bed with the crated whiskey with exaggerated focus. Disappointed he was not here to visit, Sue said, “I guess I’ll go back in the house if you’re too busy to talk.” He said nothing. “Running with those Woodworth boys has made you too big for your pants,” she said. Distracted by the guilt she attempted to plant in him, he snapped at her. “I don’t have time for this, Mother.” She asked what she wanted to know for a long time. “And just where is the money going? You wear those nice clothes and hang out at the square with those city types. It looks like you’re blowing it.” He slammed shut the tailgate and said, “He invested it in steel.” She was unaware the money doubled and tripled months ago. Desperately, she said, “Whatever it is you’re doing with Lewis, you must stop now. They’ll drag you down with them. Get out while you can.” With the truck loaded and ready to leave, Cole said, “I know what I’m doing.” Without another word, he left. Time wasted on her unexpected presence planted further doubt. He wondered again if Adam would turn on him when he arrived back at Lewis’s house. When he reached Charlie at the gate, he kicked himself for doubting Adam.

Charlie said, “They’re holding them. Not a peep so far.” In the Woodworth’ s breakfast nook, Lewis sweated and relief stood clear in his eyes upon Cole’s return. His eyes stayed on him as he spoke to Adam. “It’s there in that wagon. Now let him go.” Adam and Sam released Lewis and Will. Lewis moved back behind the desk and shuffled smooth his clothes and regained his confidence. He eyed them all with an air of distrust. Cole said, “Pay us for it.” “It’s already been paid for,” Adam said. “Not to Lewis it hasn’t. Has he paid you anything?” Cole asked. “Nope,” Lewis said, now in control. “Pay up,” Cole said, “unless you want this to be your last shipment.” Adam reached into his jacket. Cole pretended to believe he went for a gun and drew his own gun. Adam opened a wallet and took a stack of bills from it and handed it to Lewis. Cole put his gun away. “Meet me at the southwest corner of Collin County next time. At the old Jonesport place,” Adam said. “And we can avoid all this.” As Adam left Cole, Will and Lewis stood motionless and watched them drive away. Cole backhanded Lewis across the shoulder and said, “Forget something?” Lewis shrugged, looked thoughtful, and continued to gaze out the window. Cole played the keeper of machinations well and found it easy to manipulate him. Witness to friendly banter exchanged during those long cold drives to delivery points led one to believe no underlying motives marked their interactions. As they counted money every Saturday night, it appeared Cole’s interest in him was genuine and Lewis trusted him completely. In fact, neither

statement was true. And interference from competitors and his own impatience eventually sent things spinning out of control.

Chapter 14

By the two-year anniversary of Marvin’s death, Cole had enough evidence to secure a criminal conviction against Lewis and Will. The evidence listed quantities and profits and mapped out storage and delivery points. It linked bootleggers to a handful of Denton’s powerful and prestigious citizens. It bloated a five-pound-feed sack and was hidden in a newly built storm cellar. He planned to turn it over to Mayor Jim McNarry, an avid prohibitionist, by the end of the year. His side businesses—horse races and rooster rings—generated ten times the profit of his telegraph job. He kept the telegraph job anyway. It was a gold mine of a news source. Overwhelmed with responsibilities, he relegated many of them to Charlie. He hired Adam as a mechanic to take care of unexpected problems. The handful of people who worked for him upheld strict codes of loyalty and behavior. They hung as a pack at the Oatman, and his circle of friends evolved to four couples and two tables that first year. Annelle still served him dinner. Nonetheless, plenty of time existed to spend the abundant cash which proved an irresistible temptation. He threw his spare dollars on frivolous gifts for Annelle. He lavished it on entertainment and clothes. Much of it went to his mother whom he managed to keep in the dark about his double life. She tolerated the gifts—the fireplace bread toaster, the new wheat thrasher, the ready-made silk shirts, and leather dress shoes. But when he brought that car home, she carried on like he’d committed a crime. It was a 4 cylinder with two speeds and reverse capabilities. He showed it to Mother first. He was ready to have his double life out in the open to her and leave the guilt feelings. And as more time ed, he felt she was at greater risk of harm. He found it necessary to tell her for her own protection. That day, he had glided into the drive, cut the engine, and waited for her to come outside. It wasn’t long before she slammed out of the house. Like a hawk, she circled the car. She came around to his side and looked at him as if he were a stranger.

“Take it back.” “I won’t. I own it.” She reached out to touch it and hesitated as if she feared a hand burn. “You take that off here, right now. I won’t have you bringing the devil’s toy on my place.” Her ignorance was laughable, but he didn’t dare laugh. “I guess the devil’s in me then,” he said. In countryside quiet, he heard the dirt shift under her feet. Disappointment narrowed her mouth as she moved closer. She said, “Don’t say such things.” “It’s true,” he said and tooted the horn. They eyed each other like enemies, and he held his breath in anticipation. “I’d rather be a devil than a god anyway. It’s much more fun.” Different and distinct emotions ed over her features in measured seconds. They were as broad as the phases of the moon: shock, confusion, fear, and finally understanding, and then concern as she struggled to control her emotions. The presence of the car disallowed denial any longer. The struggle to let it all go and accept him as his father’s son had slapped her momentarily speechless. The notion to tell him about Jesse once again pushed for expression. But mostly, in this moment, she noticed his cocky attitude and arrogance. He looked as if the world rested at his fingertips. It occurred to her that someday his choices might lead to one in which he’ll have to go into hiding as his father had before him. Anguished that Marvin Woodworth caused all this in the first place, she felt out of control. She’d never tell him the truth about his father now, not since he was caught up in a vendetta with enemies. She feared she had about as much power to stop him as she did to stop Jesse from seeking adventure that long ago night. “You should leave here. Go away to college.”

An informational tone had him enrolled and leaving tomorrow. “They’ll get their dues in due time.” He got out of the car and leaned against it. “Is that what you tell yourself all these years?” Frustrated, he folded his arms across his chest and said, “Momma, God’s not going to appear and fix everything. You have to take control if you expect to get what you want.” She stood over him menacingly, although she was shorter than him, and said, “Shut those blasphemous statements. Some things are more important, like getting along.” “And getting by, I know, I know.” It was out before he considered the impact. She slapped him so hard his hat fell to the ground. He didn’t move to pick it up. Her fists were clenched by her sides. He expected her to strike him again. Eventually, she picked up his hat, dusted it off, and handed it to him. Unable to stifle strong emotions that tied to the past and a truth she never completely acknowledged, Sue inwardly cried for Jesse’s lost life. She acknowledged the kind man she fell for at first sight was the leader of the Jesse James gang. Trained under the flag of Bloody Bill Anderson, Jesse had an unhealthy aggression from the beginning. Cole had the same ions for justice. A revelation that she never had control of her life but rather stood as a player in something larger than herself fell heavy on her mind. While she’d never it it, she’d protect him anyway she could. No longer idle and naive of the truth, she’d do whatever it took to ensure his survival. Under the impression there was something important she needed to say, he moved closer. A calm tone when she spoke again spooked him. Her petite hands gripped each of his shoulders. She said, “Son, you can’t win a fight against the world and expect to win.”

“It’s not the whole world,” he said. “It’s just them.” More gently, she said, “They run this town just like any other. And this car will bring you nothing but trouble.” “Keep the guns close,” he said. It was a simple statement that washed away any doubt about his lifestyle. “Soon, it will be over,” he said. He returned the hat to his head. He cranked up the car and drove away.

*****

Lewis had a problem with his spending habits as well. He made his position clear a few weeks later. They were counting money after a twelve-hour Saturday night. Lewis and Will bantered back and forth with contrary zeal like they did most nights. There was no indication Lewis was bothered by Cole’s new car until he edged in on the conversation and Lewis turned on him. Cole said, “The new model B leaves the old one out to pasture.” Lewis said, “I have no use for it.” Cole found Lewis’s disposition a distraction. You never knew whether there was any significance behind his attitude or if he merely blew off steam for sport. It had not occurred to him that his recent purchase of a car put his hairs crosswise. Lewis raised his eyebrows and still counted bills. He folded them when he reached a hundred and said, “The cost of keeping it running isn’t worth it.” A condescending tone took the energy out of Cole’s argument. “The driving time would be cut in half,” Cole said. “We’d make better time on deliveries and make twice as much money.”

“For someone who likes his toast buttered, you sure are ignorant when it comes to cars,” Will said. Combative energy marred Lewis’s frame. “What do you know about it?” Lewis said. “You’re new to this ball game,” Cole said. He stopped counting money, slapped his hands on the table, leaned in to glare at Cole, and said, “You best not buy anything for a while. Or you’ll be out. And you wouldn’t like the going away party.” The words felt like an accusation, and he felt indispensable. For the first time since this crusade began, he questioned his ability to fool Lewis long enough to reach the finish line. Cole forced a smile and said, “I’ll that.”

*****

Over the course of the next two days, Cole took inventory of the past few weeks. For a change, he hung out with his friends at Turner Falls. He missed the days of loitering around and pestering the telegraphers for news. Charlie still hung out there all the time. If Cole was there, he was in the telegraph station. He’d sleep for days when this was all over, but for now, a relentless ambition rearranged his priorities. Although Turner Falls was far enough away from his other world to garner perspective, his thoughts continually returned to Lewis’s threat. The problem with Lewis was that you never knew if his words were serious. By the second day, it was far from his thoughts. This day, he speculated if Annelle would be around when it was all over. This was his and Annelle’s second date. The first was an impromptu date. They

were at the closing the Oatman Hotel during a downpour with just the two of them and an a.m. radio. They had shared a dance. He wanted to propose to her but not until this crusade was behind him. He’d rather start a family with a clean slate. Today with her by his side and the sun on his face, he lived in the moment. She wore a cute blue bathing suit and cap. He wanted to touch her skin but resisted the urge. Besides his attraction for Annelle, Cole felt close to her like a friend. He wanted to unburden himself and his feelings and confide in her. However, he was reluctant to mislead her if things went askew or if they took longer than he expected them to take. Yet he wanted to know if her feelings matched his own. “Will you wait for me?” “Where are you going?” she asked. “I’m serious,” he said. “What’re you going off to war?” “There’s something I have to do.” Giggles from the girls who eavesdropped on their conversation agitated Cole. “Let’s walk.” Down river and away from the pack, where the shallow rock ridden water picked up steam, he took her hands in his and said, “I want you to be more than just my girl. I want you as my wife.” She let go of his hands to cover a squeal from her mouth. He went down on one knee. “Will you marry me?” She stepped back as if cornered. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” “I’m engaged to someone else. My father arranged it.” Disappointed, Cole said, “I guess I’m too late.” Uncomfortable with the strength of his emotions, Cole stood up. He led her to a clearing and asked, “Have you ever fired a gun?” “No,” she said. “I’ll show you.” She took the gun in her hands with confidence, and it surprised him. He correctly positioned her hands. He held her arms parallel to hers. He said in her ear, “Aim for that low branch.” She cocked it back, and he was never more attracted to her. The trigger released, and the bullet hit the tree but not the branch. She smirked and said, “Almost.” In the next breath, she said with sarcasm, “My father’s arranged a suitor, but I don’t know who it is.” “That’s barbaric,” Cole said with as much calm as he could muster. “Someone local.” “So I’ll still see you?” “You can be my friend but friend only.” Cole seethed with envy. She shot the gun again and hit her mark. In that instant, he decided that there was no need to waste any more time and he planned to turn the evidence in tomorrow. By the time he fell into own bed at home, early Monday morning, he was still resolute about it. With evidence against them, the proper authorities would seek a conviction against Lewis for

illegal distribution. Mayor Jim McNarry was his go-between and boasted a reputation as the most progressive mayor in Denton County history. His popularity was also due to his easy manners and peaceful nature. While the police were owned by the Woodworth’s, Mayor McNarry carried enough political clout to demand ability. Overconfident due to the evening’s events and convinced enough evidence existed to guarantee a conviction, Cole rested easy. However, he underestimated the mechanical pulse of politics and how such bold assessments affected local culture.

Chapter 15

By morning, Cole regretted his openness toward Annelle. But he was still resolute that there was no time like the present to turn over the evidence to Jim. Better to adjust his timeline rather than drag it out and endanger Annelle or Mother. He dressed in his best clothes and left early to catch Jim first thing in the morning. His office was at the square. The courthouse stood in the height of majestic beauty under a blue morning sky. As Cole moved up its grand staircases that stretched long and wide to the lawn, he felt incompetent compared to the imposing architecture. He wished he’d given more thought as to what to say to the mayor. Inside the courthouse, natural light lit up the black iron stairwell that circled up to the rotunda roof piece. Its romantic touches gave the stairwells an abandoned texture. Cole’s focus centered on which approach to take with the mayor, whether to build a case against the Woodworth’s or to lay the evidence out up front. Sweat coated his palms. Without stopping to knock, he barged into Jim’s office before he lost his nerve. Under the short roof and square room, the confined space put into perspective his simple request. Cole stood before his desk within seconds and waited as Jim finished writing on a legal pad. The comb over became less pronounced when he looked up. There was nothing old about the focused intelligent eyes. As Cole looked into them, he understood why people held him up as an ideal progressive. McNarry said, “You must be here for the clerk’s job.” Struck dumb with luck, Cole said, “That’s exactly what I’m here for.” Mayor McNarry extended his hand across the desk. Cole took it and said, “The name’s Cole, Cole Lincoln.”

“Sit down, sit down.” Cole sat and decided it was the wrong time to turn in evidence but the right time to gather allies. “You’re here early, I like that.” Cole didn’t know what a clerk did besides deliver summons. Wasting no time, McNarry slid a stack of envelopes across the table to him. He said, “You can start by delivering these.”

Chapter 16

His plot for vengeance began to spin out of control after he took the clerk’s job. Nothing stayed secret in this town for long, and Lewis confronted him about it within the week. Cole refused to quit and explained it served as a cover for his mother’s benefit. He explained it paid more than the telegraph job. He brushed off Lewis’s criticism and aggressively moved forward with his plan for vengeance. He began attending Founders Baptist Church, a melting pot of antiprohibitionists. Unbeknownst to him, outside interference of a political nature matched his momentum and would take credit for the swing of popular opinion into a prohibition stance. While Cole understood firsthand the pressure Lewis put himself under to succeed in business, on a personal level, he wondered why he behaved like a creep. He also noticed Lewis had detective qualities. He had a tendency to seek out details and catch what others missed. Naturally, Cole was wary of him. One might think him paranoid until one considered Lewis treated his younger brother as distrustfully as he did everyone else. Despite Lewis’s guarded nature, Cole felt things were swinging his way. The influx of competition, which flourished after Marvin’s death, spurred the public into prohibition action. Public intoxication was suddenly a big problem according to the Aerial Ladies Club. The mayor agreed as well who partnered with bankers to attract new businesses to the region. Saloons on the town square tarnished the image the city promoted. Many businessmen were pressed by their peers to improve the overall safety and comfort for families on the streets of downtown. Unfortunately, county businessmen owned most of the buildings on the square. Without contributions for county’s profitable farm crops, the project to build a new jail would stall another five years. Meanwhile, the city’s most powerful men encouraged the Aerial Ladies Club to leave the politics to men. This enraged the Arial aristocrats. German blood that balked at the chastisement and already having a strong Prohibition presence, they organized further action. First, they moved horse parking to side streets. Sidewalks were improved, and

last but not least, six out of seven saloons were petitioned and voluntarily closed their doors. However, that seventh saloon, the Lazy Horse, refused to close its doors. The Lazy Horse Saloon stood on the northeast corner of the square. Owned by John Black, president of the Farmer’s Alliance, he had no intention of closing his doors voluntarily. His brassy daughter Maggie ran the bar, and she too refused to consider the ridiculous demands. The consequences of which made the wives and daughters of Denton’s finest look the fool, the husbands succumbed to the pressure to act after such disgrace. A formal date to close the saloon was set for September first. Mayor McNarry planned to personally deliver the news. Confident the mayor’s actions flamed the spark of the Woodworth’s demise, Cole and Charlie sat bar side on the day of the closing. Aged bricks limited light in the narrow hall-like bar, and the only natural light emanated from the front windows. When McNarry and the Aerial Ladies arrived right on time, the bar grew quiet. Will broke the silence. “They look like they’re in a Sunday school parade,” Will said. Mocking laughter traveled through the bar, and discussion continued in this vein. It rose in volume as Jim and the Aerial Ladies entered the saloon. He towered over the women who wore identical grimaces of disgust on their faces. A couple of them never lifted their eyes from the floor. Jim searched for John Black. Having not found him, he confronted Maggie instead. He said, “According to city ordinance nine, you’re in violation of selling spirits in a dry county. If you continue to sell in city limits, I’ll have no choice but to arrest you.” A sinister glitter flawed her smile. She said, “Tomorrow, I’ll no longer sale spirits to anyone.” Her friends released a gala of approval as if they were in on a side joke. No one expressed concern that the celebration would end tomorrow. Lively conversation drove out the intruders.

John Black entered from a back room and took his place at the end of the bar next to his son-in-law, Tim. Maggie tended bar and lingered close by her father to hear his take on the rebuff. Cole wanted to leave and sensed the mood darken around him. Unable to shake a bad vibe, he felt adrift and exposed among his enemies. As it turned out, Lewis had double-checked that missing route and found no one his father knew had ever heard of Adam Sampson.

Chapter 17

“Someone tipped of Lewis,” Cole said from his side of the bars. He felt overbearing loneliness prisoners become accustomed to as hours drag into days. The idea these were his last hours pestered him. Despite his refusal to consider defeat, he worried he was in a death trap. He hoped Charlie had no trouble executing the escape plan. Unconsciousness beckoned with promises of peace, and he fought it with his last drops of strength. Maggie softly said, “I didn’t sell any alcohol.” Indeed, Cole and Charlie were bar side, and true to her word, Maggie gave away the alcohol and sold peanuts for ten cents apiece. Gleason ordered a warrant for her arrest. By three o’clock that afternoon, one hundred people packed into the saloon. Hundreds more collected in the streets outside. The crowded street merged with the buildings and resembled an artist’s intentions in a painting where people connected with buildings as one great tapestry. Each was incapable of functioning without the other. Cole stood at the front door in the receiving line with Charlie and the Woodworth brothers. When Cole noticed John Black worked their way up the sidewalk, Cole’s depth of hatred for their kind was concealed with a wistful grin. Tall but thick-waisted Black worked the crowd with handshakes and small talk as skillfully as a political candidate. Cole put his hand out for a handshake and felt exposed when John Black gave him a strange accusatory glare. Black moved on to shake Charlie and then Will’s hand, and Cole overheard him say, “I didn’t know traitors had reserved seats.” Humiliated, Cole leveled his game face. Suddenly paranoid, he told Charlie, “We have to go.”

They moved toward the front door and away from Lewis and Will. Repositioned at the bottom stairs, they took in the crowd that grew by inches as more people reached the streets of downtown. To Cole’s left, farmers outnumbered the better dressed anti-prohibitionists, and Peter and Paul stood with this group. Dozens of children mingled along the front of the crowd closest to the saloon. Families picnicked on the courthouse lawn as if it were a peaceful Sunday. Prohibition protestors marched through the crowd. His mother stood in the lead. A white band circled her plain weave hat. On the color of suffrage, she made a bold statement. A pocket Bible he’d never seen before peaked out from under one arm. She lended the younger women that surrounded her refined, traditional air. Cole watched her progress from behind Charlie’s back and kept an eye on Peter. His greatest fear was having a confrontation with Peter or Mother while among his enemies. Eventually, she saw him. Her steps faltered a step. A ripple effect occurred, and a wave of marchers slowed behind her. She broke from them and bolted in his direction. He lost her position and descended onto the street. Automatically, Cole looked to where Peter stood and noticed he no longer stood there. “Great,” he said and moved faster down the street. Peter stepped in his path first. His chest heaved in grand authority. Cole thought he was going to hit him, knock him flat, or exact some other fatherly humiliation. Then a tired knowing look softened his eyes, and Cole felt duped by him. Peter said, “You’re standing on the wrong side of the fence.” “No fence here,” Charlie said over a cough as if amused. “Nope, just this here street,” Cole added. That’s when Lewis appeared at his side. “Where do you think you’re going?” Lewis asked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cole said. “I could use some supper,” Charlie said. Cole wished he’d shut up and not antagonize Lewis. Unable to think straight with Peter and Lewis in the same circle, he felt incompetent. He struggled to accommodate the needs of everyone. “Just talking to Peter,” Cole said. Lewis backed off, but in the next moment, he was further confounded when Mother appeared by his side. Unsure what guise to take, Cole said, “Aren’t you supposed to be in a parade?” She displayed geniality for appearance’s sake, but Peter recognized the desperation in her voice. “Don’t you know Lewis is one of his best friends?” Cole wouldn’t have believed she took his side unless he’d seen it for himself. Lewis retreated. Her warmness vanished once he was out of earshot. “Leave him alone before you bring the hammer down on his head,” she said to Peter. She took Peter’s hand in her own and patted it as if she’d shared bad news. Peter gawked at him with a flair for adventure in his expression. Cole overheard Lewis say, “Don’t let him out of your sight.” Peter shook Cole’s hand and said, “I should’ve known better than to think otherwise.” Cole had no idea what he meant, but as they retreated, he was thankful for her interference and returned to his post at the saloon. He smoothed things over with Lewis. “I knew they’d embarrass me. You should thank me for talking to them over there and not right here.”

Lewis failed to suppress a laugh when he said, “Are you scared?” “I’m not a pansy, and you know it,” Cole said. Then Charlie nudged him in the ribs and said, “Don’t look now.” Annelle pushed her way through the crowd toward them. Cole ed the full volume of the noisy street. Lewis and his friends had gone quiet behind him. He stepped back into the shade of the porch awning to hide. It was too late. Lewis said, “You’re under attack from all ends today. But at least this one’s nice to look at.” “Back off of her,” Cole said. Cole felt defenseless but looked her in the eye. He found her attractive in her angry stance and thought about how it took guts to march up here and confront him. She said, “You look like you’re with them.” “We all sit on the wrong side of the fence around here,” Cole said. It hurt him to say it. Anger electrified the air between them. He barely heard her emotional response as she bolted away, but hurt feelings hunched her shoulders as she took a second glance at him. Obligated to stay with Lewis, he saw clearly the problems his double life created. He suppressed a strong desire to chase her. Once the door of the Oatman closed behind her, he realized he made a mistake. He said, “You lowlife, now she thinks I’m with you.” He’d played his part and saved face. But being exposed to Annelle made the accomplishment unworthy of celebration. And facing Peter’s disappointment was nothing compared to the bitter taste of her upset. He forgot about Annelle for the time being and found himself caught up in the excitement of the mayor’s arrival. When news reached the saloon that McNarry was set on the path to the saloon, the atmosphere changed to one of celebration. It swelled conversation to a fever pitch, and a throng of people gazed down Locust Street.

Charlie said, “I can see a lot of flowered hats, but I don’t see the mayor.” “He’s lost in the garden,” Cole joked. The mayor and the Aerial Ladies who followed moved forward as a group, and the crowd broke as smoothly as onlookers gathered to watch a grand march or the opening ceremonies of a formal ball. As Grand Master, Jim’s power was magnified by the aristocratic dress of the stately women. The crowd closed behind them. However, anti-prohibitionists in front of the saloon expressed unkindness and jeered and spit and barely moved to accommodate them. With them bound between the street and entrance, the police chief stepped forward and cleared the sidewalk. Inside the bar, an unnatural quiet fell over everyone. This time, McNarry wasted no time on formalities. “Mrs. Black, you’re under arrest for selling spirits in a dry county.” “If that’s the way you want it,” she said. From behind the bar, John Black spoke in her defense, “Leave her alone.” Maggie held up a hand to quiet him and said, “Father, I go willingly.” Mr. Black shoved her aside and said, “She’s innocent, take me.” He held out his wrists for cuffs. “If you sell or serve more alcohol, you’ll be next,” Sheriff Miller said. Maggie said, “I’m no coward.” “If that’s the case, I assume there’s no need for handcuffs,” McNarry said. Maggie walked around from behind the bar. Miller gripped her by an elbow and led her outside. People booed as she was led to a waiting car. With Maggie gone, the mood sank to inhospitable. No one openly contradicted her decision or placed doubt on her father. Words like brave and noble were

tossed out like free shots. A receiving line formed around John Black, and everyone shook his hand. Lewis clapped him on the shoulder as he shook his hand and said, “She doesn’t belong in jail. I’ll personally bail her out.” His comment prompted agreement. Black sternly said, “Don’t do anything until she sees the judge.” Cole sympathized with Black and the bootleggers. It was a momentarily lapse, and in the next seconds, arrogant confidence was why he didn’t hear John Black say to Lewis, “I want it taken care of by morning and no later.” The Lazy Horse Saloon closed that afternoon and never reopened in that spot. As Cole left the saloon and stepped into the crowded street, he relished the defeat of the anti’s. Today, the first brick was pulled from the bootleg empire. A few more strategic hits and the entire structure would collapse. As Cole and Charlie made their way to the Oatman with the intention of making things right with Annelle, he avoided Charlie’s glance. If he looked him in the eye, he’d break out in laughter and reveal his true feelings. The invigoration of success lapped over with a new attraction for Annelle. Almost desperate to see her, he picked up his pace and was unaware that he walked into an ambush. “Let’s have steak tonight,” Cole said. They rounded a comer, ed an alley, and heard Lewis’s voice at his back. “You know what happens to snicks,” Lewis said. “They get their neck sliced.”

Chapter 18

Lewis shoved him against a wall and held a switchblade to his neck. Cole remained perfectly still and said, “I don’t want no trouble.” Lewis swung him around, and the knife swung in front of his face and nicked his jawbone. He said, “It may be too late for you.” A blood line formed on Cole’s chin and chilled in the cool night air. Meanwhile, Will tackled Charlie and held him to the ground. Cole had no idea he was capable of moving that fast and fell further shocked as Lewis busted his eyes and bloodied his face with repeated blows. Anti’s, who’d loitered in front of the saloon, ventured over and commented on the fight. Grounded by now, Cole went for his gun hidden in his boot. Right before he pulled the trigger, he thought about his mother and Lewis’s mother and the grief such an occasion caused them. Cold in his hands, the shot fired above his head. Everyone stopped and stared, and some people ran. The small crowd stepped back three paces as Cole got to his feet. He said, “I’m not a snick.” He shoved the gun in his waistband and ran at Lewis. He tackled him and pounded his head with repeated blows. He went for a knockout and was disappointed when Will pulled him to his feet and held his arms behind his back. Lewis produced a gun as well and fired it. It shot Cole ducked, but it shot him in the neck. He heard blood splosh before he felt it run and fell to his knees. He fired a second time, but by then, Cole broke free and fired a second shot at Lewis. It hit his shoulder. He never felt more satisfaction than when Lewis cried out in pain. In the next instant, he’d been recaptured and thrown to the ground. A knee held his head to wooden sidewalks. He took repeated kicks in the torso

and legs. Sidewalk splinters struck into his cheeks and necks. Pain exploded in his head and neck with each subsequent kick. He felt like he lost a lot of blood. Boots and denim marked the Woodworth brother’s quick exit. The crowd dissipated as quickly as it had arrived there. Will yelled from afar, “I’ll be watching you.” Once Cole managed to rise to his feet, he tasted blood and breathed clumsily through injured ribs. He almost ed out but focused on the Oatman’s porch light. Charlie helped him cross the street. He fell into rather than walked through the door of the restaurant. A light-colored scented shape rushed toward him before the world went black.

*****

He woke up alone in a back room that reeked of coffee grains and potatoes. He failed to recognize his surroundings until Annelle rushed to his side. She placed a warm cloth on his head and shoved a thermometer in his mouth. Alarm laced her voice. “It’s about time you came to.” Everything that happened came back to him. He’d been relieved his cover hadn’t been blown and was on his way to make things right with her when the Woodworth brothers jumped him. Regardless of the beating he took, his greatest concern was whether or not she was angry with him. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re delirious,” Annelle said. Small measured breaths eased the intensity of pain, but his headache was a constant nuisance. The thermometer bobbed and weaved from his mouth as he

struggled to remain conscious. She said, “Take it easy, you lost a lot of blood.” He asked, “How long did I sleep?” “You’ve been in and out for twelve hours,” she said. She adjusted the bandage around his neck. “That cuts deep, cowboy. You’re lucky they missed the jugular.” Candlelight lit her face and made it possible to temporarily forget the pain. She removed the thermometer and announced, “One hundred degrees.” “So I’m in good hands?” he teased. She smiled sadly and asked, “What happened?” He wanted to tell her everything, that he was on the verge of destroying the Woodworth’s, that he feared he’d fail and his mother would never see justice. He wanted her to understand why vengeance consumed him. She was so good, and she’d say, “Two wrongs don’t make a right.” He fell short of taking her into confidence. He replied, “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She reacted with a scoff and said sarcastically, “Not when you’re red hot.” “What does that mean?” “It means you have your hands in the wrong cookie jar. Everyone knows it.” He hadn’t known she knew it. Her acceptance of the truth made his heart leap in his chest. She said, “Your mother was here and Charlie.” “Anyone else?” She shook her head no and asked, “Are you in trouble, did you do something bad?”

“Nothing that won’t benefit us all later,” he said. Tears shimmered over her brown eyes, and she filled a tumbler with whiskey and handed it to him. “For the pain.” He drank and thought he quite liked her bedside manner. The bandage caked off his skin as she took it off. And alcohol fumes watered his eyes. He winced as a burn traveled far under his skin. He reached for the bottle and took a good swig. Afterward, she said, “Lie back down and rest. But come back to me.” Her voice faded as he ed into unconsciousness. Kisses sprinkled on his forehead as his head rested in her lap. Thirty minutes later, Charlie slammed into the back room and startled Cole awake. In his healing sleep, Charlie resembled a caricature. A gaunt frame held exaggerated his elfin appeal. The serious expression on his face looked unnatural. He said, “You’ve got to leave town now.”

Chapter 19

“He’s on to you. He said you set him up and stabbed him in the back. He’s offering a reward for your capture,” Charlie said. “How much?” “One thousand dollars.” Fully awake and aware of itching pain in his stab wound, Cole automatically grabbed his boots and put them on. Cole soaked it all in and said, “Get me to a phone.” Cole called Peter and told him to expect him at his back door in thirty minutes. “I’ll take you there,” Annelle said. “We can take my car.” Cole ired her bravery. Uncomfortable thinking about her in the fray, he shot her down. “It’s too dangerous. Get me to Peter’s,” he told Charlie. “After we get the evidence.” Charlie shook his head no. “They’re waiting for you there.” The low mumble of diners took a fever pitch from the other side of the door. Cole craved breakfast. This room felt far removed from the real world. His livelihood depended on what happened in the next twenty-four hours. “Without it, they’ll win. I’m willing to risk it.” “I’ll do it, get the evidence I mean,” Annelle said. “No,” Cole said. “I won’t let you.” “I don’t need your permission,” she said.

He grew excited by the flair of ion in her cool gaze but kept his emotions in cheek. Charlie silently urged him to take the option. With no time to waste, he reluctantly agreed. “All right.” Charlie approved with a playful wink, and Cole gave her instructions. “It’s in the southeast corner of the well house in a feed sack. Use a crowbar to slip the trap door up and meet us at Peter’s when you’re done. It should take about an hour round trip.” Eagerly, she nodded in agreement, and he spontaneously kissed her on the mouth. Her lips were moist, soft, and he worried he’d overstepped boundaries. He took pleasure when she hugged him tight. She said, “I’ll see you in an hour.” Minutes later, Cole and Charlie slipped out the back door of the hotel and borrowed two horses from Jim Brown’s livery stable. They ran at full speed northeast until they reached Pilot Point. Near the Robert’s place, they hit a fence line that would put them at Peter’s place in fifteen minutes. He’d help him leave town if necessary or at least regroup and realign his strategy. Cole and Charlie heard gate watchman coming from the direction of Peter’s gate. They carried on without regard to discretion. A deadly situation as far as Cole was concerned heightened Cole’s hearing and vision. He saw the dogs cut through the weeds to him. Relieved to see a light coming from Peter’s barn, Charlie and Cole weaved in and around plows, tractors, and sheds and steadily worked their way to the back of the property unbothered by anyone. Cole barged in and said, “I need your help. I thought I can handle this, but it’s bigger than me.”

*****

Unsurprised to see him, Peter said, “Hold your horses. What’s happened

exactly?” “I almost had them where I wanted, but something went wrong.” Peter never thought of Jesse more than now as he considered the confrontation he and Cole exchanged on the street earlier that day. “You can’t stop them,” Peter scoffed. “I have enough evidence to,” Cole said. It occurred to Peter Cole knew nothing about the war Jesse had fought against capitalism. Apparently, he held very little awareness of the power wielded by the Woodworth clan as well. He had to make him understand what he was up against. Peter said, “Some things are older than you and your modern ideas.” Cole felt betrayed and said, “Now you sound like my mother.” Peter moved closer, took him by both shoulders, and said, “You listen here. These older families run things. Farming has carried this county for sixty years. As long as they bring in the bounty, no one cares about a little drunkenness.” “A dirty little secret swept under the rug,” Charlie added. “You have no idea what you’re up against,” Peter said. The Woodworth’s funded the railroads that put the county on the map as Texas’s largest wheat shipper. “After the railroads were completed, the mills went up, and the Grainger movement fought against state control of railroads and grain elevators. Bob Woodworth formed the Farmers’ Alliance and beat the Democrat incumbent in the senate. They cannot be stopped. So whatever it is that has you all worked up, let it go.” Charlie guarded the door and looked uninterested in the history lesson. Cole half listened himself. Thirty minutes had ed since he sent Annelle to find the evidence. “I can’t,” Cole said.

“Listen to me. Forget about this. They will kill you.” Cole’s attention had moved on. Cole forgot about him as an ally and was ready to go find Annelle. “They want to kill him now,” Charlie said. Charlie’s nonchalant delivery shocked Peter. He never forgave himself for what happened to Jesse on the dusty path to Texas. An image of a younger, heartbroken Sue built large in his mind. He argued with himself whether to tell him about his father. Impulsively, Peter said, “She hasn’t told you has she?” “Told me what?” “Your father was Jesse James.” In that long moment of comprehension, Cole rolled with waves of confusion and disbelief. “That’s impossible, I wasn’t born until 1887,” Cole said. “He staged his own death.” “She would’ve told me,” Cole said. As far as he knew, his father had worked the cattle lanes and died under a stampede. The fable of his ancestor, John, held more weight with him. Dread lined Peter’s voice. “She thought it best you not know to protect you. It’s why you have to forget about this vendetta.” “Maybe he’s supposed to do it,” Charlie said. “I don’t know much about Jesse James, but I know he stood for something.” “You’re trying to distract me. I’m not falling for it.” In the next breath, Cole turned to leave. Peter realized he’d made a mistake.

“Wait, hear me out.” But Cole had no time to waste, and his thoughts returned to Annelle. Once he knew how she faired, then he’d think about his own survival. He took Peter’s car and left to find her. On the road home, however, he thought about his mother’s deceit. If it was true, he wanted to hear it from her. The car became his outlet for the betrayal he felt and the speedometer dial broke off the control . The left side bumped along with a lumpy tire. Rain scented the air, and a darkening sky threatened to erupt any minute. He made the last comer a few dozen feet from his mother’s place and came nose to nose with another car. He slammed the breaks, and it crashed into his car. Both cars stopped, and his head thudded against the steering wheel. When he looked up, Lewis was dragging him through the window. Will and Charlie fought on the other side. Cole felt his neck wound bleed fresh and wanted to fall to the ground from weakness as Lewis beat him. He heard a car coming and a screech of tires. Lewis stopped beating him. He no longer heard grunts of battle from Charlie and Will. Everyone witnessed Annelle rev the engine as if she meant to drive down Will and Lewis. She backed off and advanced with more speed. She repeated the action until Lewis and Will went to their car. Lewis exclaimed, “Let’s get out of here.” They jumped in their car and drove off. Satisfied, Annelle threw the car in neutral and pulled the break. Within seconds, she bent over him. Soft hair fell in his face. She said, “Just breathe.” He asked, “Do you have the evidence?” “Yes.” She and Charlie helped him to the car. Charlie asked, “What do we do now?” “Get me to the mayors,” he said. “I’ll get you there,” she said. “Just don’t bleed to death.”

She hugged him, and over her shoulder, he saw the police and his mother. “Halt right there,” Sheriff Miller said. Annelle squeezed his hand, pushed him in the back seat, and sped them away. Rain began to pour from the sky. They took the back way to town and couldn’t have gone more than five hundred feet when they hit a road block. Four cars clustered in the middle of the road made it imible from this side. Forced to slow the car, Annelle made a wide circle and ionately said, “I’ll keep going.” A shot fired and hit Charlie in the shoulder. Annelle’s car stalled and died. In the next minute, police surrounded them. Deputy Wilson pointed a gun in Cole’s face. He smelled the gunpowder and raised his arms in submission. “You got me. Let my friends go.” Deputy Wilson handcuffed him and read him his rights. Annelle appeared ready to cry and said, “I’m going with you.” Wilson said, “That’s not possible.” She put her hands on her hips and looked downright offended and said, “I’m a nurse, and if he’s not taken care of, he’ll die.” Wilson put Cole in the car without answering Annelle. Seconds later, she noticed the other deputy was attempting to peak into the feed sack in the back seat of her car. She barged over and said, “Do you mind not rummaging through my unmentionables?” She pulled out the scarf she’d taken off when it interfered with the removal of evidence from the well house. She held it out to them and said, “See.” Charlie played dead in her car. When everyone was gone, he perked back up, and he and Annelle took the evidence to Jim McNarry.

Chapter 20

In constant pain and cold from blood loss, Cole peered at Mother through the jailhouse bars and brooded over her deceptive capabilities. Through a string of coincidences or bad luck, she made calculated decisions to withhold his father’s identity from him. Best intentions that backfired and left this ironic situation. Despite never having known his father, Cole’s life revolved around an unquenchable taste for revenge exactly like Jesse’s. While the confession amounted to bad timing on her part, it reinforced his resolve to destroy the Woodworth Empire. In and out of delirium, a ridiculous but believable possibility occurred to him. Maybe he was the ancestor destined to fame as spoken of in the old English legend. Maybe he’d find success where Jesse courted failure. In hindsight, it all made sense. It was up to him to not only avenge his mother but also supply the ammunition for the downfall of bootleggers in Denton County, maybe even the whole state. The possibility of destiny loomed larger as he waited for Charlie to arrive. If he followed the plan, he’d be free within the hour. Unable to afford the time to dwell on Mother’s guilt-ridden demeanor, he extricated her from blame. He said, “Peter knew all this time?” Sue nodded affirmation. Comfortable in his skin and confident in his ability to escape capture, Lewis’s words dominated his thoughts. He must have acted on someone else’s command. Earlier when he shook John Black’s hand, a threat transpired between them. He was certain Black had given the order to arrest him. He said, “I have to get out of here, or I’ll die here.” He said it with great calm. It took a minute for them to absorb the weight of it.

Maggie said, “I’ll help.” Cole rose from the stone bench, steadied himself, and lurched to the bars. Mother appeared apprehensive as she closed the circle and said, “I’ll do what I can.” “I’m counting on you both,” he said. “Maggie, do you know how to tie a Boy Scout knot?” “I’m a little rusty, but I’ll manage.” “When Charlie gets here, he will slip some rope through the bars of the window. Maggie, ask Wilson for some water. When he brings it, flirt with him. When the time is right, I’ll slip you the rope, and you tie up his hands.” Catching on, Maggie’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Mother, you find a key and unlock us. Drive us to the mayor’s house.” Sue reached into her pocket and brought out a faded red bandana and handed it to him. She had worn it every day until the day came when she accepted his death. Then she put it away. “This was your father’s. He wore it for luck.” He took it and said, “I’ll make it through this, don’t worry.” A shadow moved over the window behind her and then a tap, tap. It startled Sue but, that in descript sound, held a musical note for Cole. Hope leapt in his chest. Sue inched up the window, and it never squeaked once. Rain scented night air entered the hall and energized Cole. Sue took the rope and handed it to Cole. Cole handed it to Maggie, and she hid it in the folds of her skirt. Cole felt unsure if this simple plan would be a success. “Ready,” he said. Sue returned to the chair, and Maggie fitted her mouth to the bars and screeched, “Mr. Wilson, I need some water please.”

Dead silence filled the eleventh hour as footsteps alerted to Wilson’s approach. Maggie immediately gained eye with Wilson when he stood before her cell. She said, “What’re you trying to do, starve me?” “You said water, not food,” Wilson said. He handed her a cup of water and moved closer to the bars. She grunted approvingly as she drank it and cajoled Wilson up until the second her weight shifted and she wrapped it around his wrists and pulled tight on her end. He had no idea of his peril. With his hands shackled, she stomped on his foot, and he howled in pain. “The key, go find it,” Cole demanded of Sue. Wilson said, “You can’t do this.” Maggie looped the rope into a second knot and tightened it further. “I just did,” she said. From down the hall, Sue exclaimed in appreciation as Peter found a key. Peter ran behind her as she brought it but stopped when he noticed Wilson was tied to the bars. Peter said, “How the hell did that happen?” “None of you saw anything, especially not you Wilson,” Cole said. Cole put on a scarf and coat and walked out the front door. Disguise intact, they entered a waiting car. Charlie drove and it was a miracle they made it to McNarry alive on the slippery streets.

Chapter 21

As Cole was dropped off, Sue ired his confidence. Even while wounded, power emanated from the set of his shoulders. He resembled his father now more than ever. A feeling of dread overcame her, and she wondered if history planned to repeat itself. Peter said from beside her, “God help him.” For years, she had denied Davis Lincoln was a pseudonym for Jesse James. She’d denied Cole’s double life. No matter the vehemence in which she held onto her illusions, they shattered in the time it took to say goodbye. She felt like a small part of a great battle in which she had no control over the outcome. Jesse and Cole fought for something greater than all of them. They never belonged to anyone but rather to the world. He was committed to stand by her side but followed his own heart. She couldn’t save him anymore than she could’ve saved Jesse James from his fateful death. At the house, Peter helped carry out his directions. She gathered ammunition and weapons and food from the kitchen. The next step required concentration, and while she’d never driven before, her determination to take control bolstered her confidence. She’d do anything to ensure her son lived through the night. Unlike last time when she saw Jesse off, she played a critical role in Cole’s escape. Blackbee eyed it with suspicion. Now twenty-five years old, he’d have to be put down soon, and this heap of metal replaced him. Wasting no time, she tested the wheel for tightness and shifted into gear. Peter started the car for her and backed it out and pointed it in the right direction. “Just steer straight, and you’ll be all right.” “Why’d you tell him?” Sue asked. “Does it make any difference now?” he questioned.

“No, I guess not,” she said. She shared equal responsibility and who knows maybe the knowledge at this junction served his purpose. Amazed at how far they’d come together, she slid behind the wheel of the car and shut the door. She said, “I never thought I’d drive one of these.” Peter pointed to the pedal on the left and said, “Don’t be afraid to use the break.” Although she swore she’d never drive one, she loved the feeling of control it offered when every minute counted. She inched the clutch pedal out slowly, and the car moved forward. When she gave it gas, it lurched quickly forward. If Cole were here now, she’d it her haste when she dismissed the impact of automobiles. She’d say anything just as long as she spoke to him one last time. Forty-five minutes later, she idled into the mayor’s drive. With determined purpose she walked up the cement walk to his front porch. When she entered the Victorian style two-story house and saw Cole, she immediately embraced him. Annelle hovered around him. He wore a fresh bandage around his neck. Cole said, “It’s about time.” “Everything you asked for is in the car,” Sue said. She noticed he wore Jesse’s bandana tied around his wrist, and tears welled up in her eyes. She said, “You look better.” “I’ll be all right,” he said. “What now?” she asked. “We alerted the media that we have enough evidence to put the Woodworth’s away for a long time. If they print the story, Lewis will back off. If not—” Emotion threatened for expression, and she bit her lip to prevent it. He said, “I’ll be all right, Momma. I’ll stay here until it settles and Charlie will

get news to you.” Sue wanted to onish him, tell him of his foolishness, but it was too late. He was a man now. Courage and determination sharpened his jawline. He looked just like his father the last time she saw him alive. It was too late to do anything. In time, he’d learn how the world works. When that time came, he’d cool his heels. “It’s politics. It’s not personal,” she said. “You’re wrong, the personal is political,” he said. Despite her noble efforts to protect her son, anger and possible estrangement were the first of many consequences to lying to him for so long. The long-term effects of her mistakes would fall on generations and not only devastate the family but also lead to the Lincoln–Woodworth Scandal, an event that caused major repercussions on Denton City’s modern political machine.

Chapter 22

Outside on the street, rain scented the air. Across from him, the courthouse lawn was silent. Cole and Charlie walked west and picked up a ride from Adam. He dropped them off at the corner of Hickory and Denton Street. Charlie dripped blood on the sidewalk. Cole fared just as worse. His bandage was bled through. Jim’s house was dubbed Silk Stocking Row. Every house was new, and most were two-story beauties. Lighted windows gave view to picturesque rooms. They sneaked around to a back alley. They followed it until they reached Jim’s back door. Cole tapped on the glass. A porch light came on. A haggard but bright-eyed Jim opened the door. The only one with the connections to expose the corrupt Woodworth’s, Cole blurted, “You’re the only one that can help me.” Jim’s forehead narrowed in concern. He said, “You’re the one behind the pile of papers a young woman brought by here today. And now you’ve come in the dead of night to seek my help, I imagine.” Cole said, “I know it’s late. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.” Jim took one last look at them. Desperation marred their features. He invited them inside with the sweep of a hand. Jim turned on a stove. They sat around the breakfast nook table. Cole gathered his thoughts. He explained, “Look, I’m not trying to drag you into anything you’ll regret. Lewis had me locked up, but I’m innocent. He’s the one that has possession of bootleg whiskey. Everybody knows it. And those papers contain enough evidence to prove it.” It all came out in a rush. He realized he was babbling and quickly shut his mouth. Charlie sat beside him without saying a word.

“You expect too much of me,” Jim said. Cole played his ace. “If we send copies to newspapers, then something will have to be done.” Jim said, “Every paper around here is in their pocket.” Nonetheless, Jim pulled some strings. Friday’s Denton City Newspaper headline read: “Innocent Man Imprisoned on False Charges.” Jim supplied details of Cole’s unwarranted arrest. Cole came off as a martyr. The rival paper, the Denton County News, painted Cole as a thief. Lewis accused him of “having the characteristics of a rat.” He claimed Cole took advantage after Marvin Woodworth’s death. This raised undue suspicions. Cole retorted with questions regarding the amount of unpaid taxes the Woodworth’s owed to the internal revenue. It went on this way for days as each side accused the other of hideous transgressions. Cole stayed at Jim’s house and hoped for a resolution. On Sunday when Jim came back from church, he reported that the majority of the people he spoke with were on the side of prohibition. “It’s all anyone talked about,” he said, as he removed his hat and sat across from him at the table. “Street gangs formed overnight and are trashing the city. People are afraid.” “They should be,” Cole said. “Charlie, find out who’s the leader and organize them. Tell them to wait for a command.” “You got it,” Charlie said and then he left. “Tom Baker of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram is following the story,” was Cole’s response. “Unfortunately, the district attorney here in Denton refuses to interfere. He thinks it will ruin his chances of reelection.” With confrontation imminent, Cole had a brilliant idea. “Let’s announce a time for a peaceable confrontation in twenty-four hours.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Jim said. “Why not?” Because gangs will fight and someone could get hurt.” “So we bring the police.” “There’s not enough of them.” Cole felt like he spoke to an unruly child. He said as gently as possible, “Recruit from other counties. This affects everyone, my friend.” His overconfidence was apparent in Jim’s wide-eyed reaction. “Lewis won’t have a choice but to accept the challenge.” The next day’s paper rallied for prohibition. They put in large print the Corrupt Practices Act—a recent law that forbids the use of campaign contributions from politicians for votes. Cole denied rumors that he worked with Lewis. He claimed John Black, president of the Farmers’ Alliance, ordered the hit on his life. He also stated his belief that Lewis intended to harm him while behind bars. In his ending statement, he challenged Lewis to a public confrontation at twelve noon on Friday at the town square. He laid out rules: no weapons and no drinking before the exchange. He had little faith Lewis would abide these rules. He planned to carry a pistol himself. The goal was to come to a peaceable resolution without firing shots. If so, people would return to their daily lives. If not, there was a possibility of a chaotic bitter battle. Late that afternoon, he received a telegram from Lewis. It confirmed his acceptance of a meeting. His greatest hope was that the district attorney would do an investigation that eventually reaped prosecution. Until then, he waited for the time of the public confrontation. Hours before, he hung out at the Oatman with Annelle and Charlie and a handful of close friends. Annelle had come daily to redo his bandages. She worked wonders to raise his morale. Once, she joked, “This should heal fine as long as you don’t go and get yourself

killed.” Cole had said, “Not a chance.” The familiarity of his hangout was comforting on this day. Surrounded by friends, he was confident that no one would get hurt today. “I imagine Will, will hunker behind Lewis,” Charlie said. Cole gave a guffaw. “He finishes last in the fighting department. Lewis, however, keeps a clear head.” This warranted one of those lulls in conversation as each thought of Lewis’s short temper. “If he jumps the gun, I’ll draw my gun. You and Cole do the same. Don’t shoot unless they shoot first.” “I hope you’re a good shot,” Cole said. “You bet your ass he is,” Charlie said. Another lull in the run of conversation and Charlie said, “Let’s just make it out of this alive.” “We will,” Cole said with confidence. The waiting game was on, and they made the best of it. When it was the final hour, Cole said a prayer and put on his game face. He dressed in his best Levis and black shoes. His father’s bandana hung around his neck. It covered the wound nicely, and even Annelle approved. “You almost look healthy again,” Annelle said. ers crowded the restaurant and streets outside. Cole checked for his pistol one last time. He sent Charlie outside to the street at fifteen minutes until twelve. Charlie urged the crowd to keep the peace. His peers regarded him in confusion and shook their heads as if shocked by his onition. Cole been naive to think he’d make a difference without more people behind

him. And he learned the hard way he’d never beat them if he played by their rules. But if he reinvented the game and landed himself in a position of power, he’d prevail. If he turned his attention to building wealth, he’d eventually destroy the Woodworth’s. But first, he had to get through this. Lewis came from the opposite direction, and a north wind threatened to blow his hat from his head. This brought a disapproving murmur from the crowd. Lewis approached Cole with measured steps. Cole remained standing in one place with his hands at his sides. Charlie stood at his back. Will and John Black stood with Lewis. Lewis said, “What do you have to say for yourself traitor.” “I’m no traitor.” Lewis shifted his body weight and put his hand near his gun. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Cole said. The moment seemed to last forever, and Lewis moved his hand toward his gun. Cole did the same. Cole felt like his heart would beat out of his chest. He was ready to shoot to kill if Lewis made a wrong move. Lewis’s gang marched forward, and Cole led his gang forward as well. He hadn’t counted on the number of armed men on both sides of the battlefield. Charlie was by Cole’s side. Lewis fired and men fell. Cole fired his weapon and heard a cry of pain. But Lewis kept moving forward in his direction. The guns were traded for knives as men broke into battles. Cole deflected a knife and leveled the guy with a right hook. To his left, someone charged him. He stepped aside at the last minute, and the man fell to the ground. Cole kicked him until grunts abated to nothing. Lewis was within inches of him. Cole braced his back foot and readied himself for the fight. In the end, it had come down to them. Cole took repeated blows to the face. Cole dodged the blows. Lewis tackled him to the ground. He pounded him in the face. Cole eventually turned Lewis over and gained the upper hand. He used all his strength to punch Lewis in the face and upper body. When he was satisfied Lewis was down, he rose to his feet. He

kicked him for good measure. Cole’s neck wound had ruptured, and blood ran down his back. As he stood up, he felt faint. He took out his gun. He shot Lewis in the shoulder. Will fired in Cole’s direction and missed. Cole fired back and hit him. Will cried out in pain and cursed Cole. “You bastard, I’ll get you for this.” Cole shot Lewis in the shoulder. And just like that, it was all over. A call was made to retreat. Everyone stopped fighting. Lewis stumbled to his feet and ran to his brother’s aide. Cole stood motionless as he watched Mrs. Woodworth cry at her son’s state. Charlie clapped him on the shoulder. He said, “It’s time to go.” Cole found out three days later that Will’s wound was fatal. He’ been shot in the lung and died within two hours. Cole felt bad but secretly wished it was Lewis who was fatally wounded by his bullet. The proper authorities had the evidence against Lewis. But after four weeks, nothing happened. Lewis was still in business. Jim demanded the governor take action. But nothing came of it. Cole learned his lesson well. Evidence wasn’t enough. If he succeeded in taking the Woodworth Empire down, he’d have to do it from the inside out. He swore he’d find some way to destroy Lewis. Little did he know how much this vendetta that consumed him affected future generations of his family.