The Gentleman Outlaw and Me
Mary Downing Hahn
* * *
CLARION BOOKS
NEW YORK
* * *
Clarion Books
a Houghton Mifflin Company imprint
215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003
Copyright © 1996 by Mary Downing Hahn
Previously published under the title The Gentleman Outlaw
and Me—Eli. A Story of the Old West
First Clarion paperback edition, 2007
The text was set in New Baskerville
All rights reserved
For information about permission to reproduce
selections from this book, write to Permissions,
Houghton Mifflin Company,
215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003.
www.clarionbooks.com
Printed in the U S A
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hahn, Mary Downing
The Gentleman Outlaw and me / by Mary Downing Hahn,
p cm
Summary In 1887 twelve-year-old Eliza, disguised as a boy and traveling
toward Colorado in search of her missing father, falls in with a
Gentleman Outlaw and joins him in his illegal schemes
ISBN-13. 978-0-618-83000-8
ISBN-10 0-618-83000-6
[1. Sex role—Fiction 2 Robbers and outlaws—Fiction 3. Adventure and
adventurers—Fiction. 4 Frontier and pioneer life—West (U S )—Fiction
5 West (U S )—History—1860–1890—Fiction] I Title
PZ7 H1256Ge 2007
[Fic]—dc22 2006020227
HAD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
* * *
For Eric and Meredith Downing
who love adventures
and
in memory of Harry Sheffield Sherwood
1879–1949
who spun a few western yarns himself
1
I GOT THE IDEA TO RUN AWAY THE NIGHT Uncle Homer beat me for spilling a glass of milk. I hadn't done it on purpose, and I was genuinely sorry because I was hungry and knew full well I wouldn't get a second glass. But he took his belt to me anyway, and no one said a word in my defense.
Fair didn't enter into it. My cousins spilled milk like it was water going over Niagara Falls and never got a whipping, but I wasn't on an equal level with Millicent, William, and Little Homer. I was a charity case, pure and simple.
Of course, there's some history behind all this. About seven years ago, when I was five, my father got fed up with farming and decided to head west. Nothing Mama said could change his mind. No matter how she begged and pleaded, Papa was bound and determined to try his luck at prospecting. Others were getting rich. Why not him too?
While Papa sought his fortune in Colorado, Mama and I stayed in Kansas with her sister's family. Aunt Mabel and Uncle Homer treated us all right at first. Like Mama and me, they expected Papa to get rich. No doubt they imagined he'd reward them for taking good care of his wife and daughter.
Then a terrible thing happened. After we'd been at Aunt Mabel's house for a couple of years, Mama took sick and died which is all I can say without crying because I still have a big empty place in my heart where she used to be.
Not long after that, my life took an even worse turn. Papa's letters stopped coming. My kindly kin told me he didn't want me anymore. Which wasn't any wonder, they said, as I was nothing to brag about.
Without Mama to protect me, I soon found myself living the life of a slave, fetching and carrying and doing all the chores whilst my cousins mocked and teased me. The night I spilled the milk, I decided I'd had more than enough of Uncle Homer's belt and Aunt Mabel's spiteful tongue. The next time my uncle took a notion to whip me, I'd head west. Papa's last letter had come from Tinville, Colorado. I hoped I'd find him there.
***
I didn't have long to wait. Three days later, my cousin William, the most evil child ever born, climbed on a stool to stick his fingers in the jam jar. When Millicent saw what he was up to, she tried to get some too. Next thing they both fell off the stool and the jam jar hit the floor with a crash loud enough to wake a hibernating bear.
I bet I don't need to tell you what happened next. By the time Aunt Mabel arrived on the scene, Millicent and William were blaming it all on me. Me—who'd been out in the yard pumping a bucket of water and made the mistake of running inside to see what the hullabaloo was about.
"I didn't do it," I said.
But Aunt Mabel wasn't one to take my word over her own precious children's. "Don't you lie to me, Eliza Yates," she said as sharp as you please.
I held up the bucket of water for proof. "I was outside filling this, Aunt Mabel." I turned to Millicent and William, hoping against all hope they'd own up to what they'd done. "Tell the truth for once," I begged.
They looked at me with their big blue eyes. "Eliza done it," William whined.
"She got the water 'cause she was hoping to wash the floor before you saw the jam," Millicent added just as sweet as if she were an angel from heaven instead of a fiend from you-know-where.
"Look at their clothes," I said. "They got jam all over themselves!"
"That's 'cause we were trying to tidy up," Millicent said in this simpering little voice she uses to hide her true nature.
'Yes, Mama, that's exactly what we were doing," said William, always one to agree with his sister. "We were cleaning up the mess Eliza made."
At that moment, Little Homer came up behind me and pinched my arm most painfully. Of my three cousins, he was the worst for hurting me, mainly because he was one year older than me and the biggest, meanest thirteen-year-old ever to breathe Kansas air.
"I seen it all," Little Homer said. "Eliza done it."
'You don't know anything about it, you big lying jackass!" I hollered, mad to the roots of my hair. 'You were behind the barn, smoking one of Uncle Homer's cigars. I saw you!"
That did it. Aunt Mabel hauled off and slapped me once or twice. "I don't know which is worse," she yelled. "Stealing jam or lying about it! It's a blessing your poor mother's dead and gone and can't see how you've turned out. You got your father's wild ways along with his red hair."
Once she started into scolding, Aunt Mabel never stopped till sundown, so I just went on about my business, mopping the kitchen floor and thinking my own thoughts. By the time Uncle Homer stepped through the door and started loosening his belt, I was glad he was about to give me the excuse I needed to run.
***
After supper I did my chores as usual. For once I hardly minded washing the dishes and scrubbing the pots and mopping and sweeping and doing whatever else Aunt Mabel thought needed doing. I kept thinking it was the last time I'd see those ugly blue-flowered plates, the last time I'd touch that greasy frying pan, the last time I'd clean the big black stove. In fact, it was all I could do not to sing and dance, which surely would have aroused suspicion.
By the time I finished my chores, Millicent was already sound asleep in the bed we shared. Before I blew out the lamp, I took a good, long look at her spiteful little face. Just like one of those pretty china dolls, she was. Not a brain in her head. Just smart enough to open her eyes when she sat up, close them when she lay down, and cry "Mama" if you squeezed her tummy.
Without getting undressed, I slid into bed beside my cousin, being careful not to wake her. In no time, she was up to her usual nocturnal shenanigans, kicking me, hogging the blankets, and pushing me slowly but surely toward the edge of the mattress. Even in her sleep, Millicent was mean.
But it didn't matter anymore. After tonight, I'd never share a bed with her again. Or anybody els
e. From now on, I swore I'd sleep by myself.
I waited till I heard snores coming from my aunt and uncle's room down the hall. Then I eased out from under the covers. If Millicent woke up, I planned to tell her I was on my way to the outhouse, but she never flicked an eyelash, just spread out and took up more of the bed.
Shoes in hand, I tiptoed to the top of the steps and paused to listen. Uncle Homer was snoring so loud the walls shook, but the only other sound was the crickets chirping outside in the dark.
Avoiding the squeaky spots, I crept downstairs to the kitchen, sneaked my hand into the very bottom of the flour bin, and retrieved two gold coins from Aunt Mabel's secret hiding place. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a thief. That twenty dollars was mine. Every cent of it. Mama left it to me in her will. My aunt claimed she was keeping it safe for me, but I knew I'd never see it again. Not unless I snatched it back.
Next I went to the pantry and helped myself to half a loaf of bread, ajar of jam, which I figured I deserved, some cheese, and a couple of apples.
I bundled the food in one of Aunt Mabel's old napkins, along with my money, a harmonica Papa had left behind, and a rusty jackknife I'd found behind the outhouse.
Before I left, I took one last look at the kitchen where I'd slaved for so long. It gave me great satisfaction to picture Millicent standing at that sink, up to her pretty little elbows in hot soapy water, scrubbing her fingers raw. As for me, I swore I'd never wash another dish, scour a greasy old pot, or mop a floor. No, sir. Those dull days were gone forever. A new life of ease was waiting for me out West and I could hardly wait to begin living it.
2
THE MINUTE I STEPPED OFF THE BACK PORCH, Caesar came running to meet me. He wasn't the world's smartest dog, but he knew better than to make a sound. Like me, he'd had more than his share of blows from Uncle Homer's belt.
I dropped to my knees and slung my arms around his shaggy neck. "I'm leaving," I whispered in his ear. "Don't forget me, Caesar."
I swear that dog understood what I was saying. He was a big old mutt, tall enough to look me in the eye when he stood on his hind legs, but right now he was licking my nose like a lost puppy. All the time he was whining like his heart would break.
I started crying then. How was I to go off and leave Caesar with Uncle Homer? Me—the poor dog's only friend? But how could I take him with me? I had no idea how long it would take to get to Tinville. Didn't know where I'd sleep along the way, or what I'd eat.
While I stood there pondering, Caesar whimpered and held out a paw for me to shake, the one trick he knew, the only one I'd had time to teach him.
That did it. I unfastened his chain, and the two of us ran across the yard, scooted over the back fence, and headed down the alley as fast as we could go—which wasn't near as fast as I'd have liked, on account of Caesar stopping every few seconds to sniff something.
At the end of the alley, we came to the railroad tracks. It made no sense to buy a ticket here in Bartlett. Might as well leave a message on Uncle Homer's pillow, telling him exactly how to find me. So, since I was going out West, I headed in that direction, thinking to reach Clark Summit, the next town down the line, sometime before dawn. I'd board the train there.
I hadn't been walking more than an hour when I ran into trouble. Caesar had followed his nose into the woods, hoping to find a rabbit or squirrel to play with, and I was walking on the railroad tracks, balancing like a tightrope artist and daydreaming about my reunion with Papa. All of a sudden, a raggedy man stepped out of the shadows right in front of me. Without even giving me a chance to think about running, he grabbed my wrist and grinned down at me.
"Well, well," he said, "if it ain't Little Red Riding Hood on her way to Granny's house."
He was looking at my bundle of belongings, his eyes gleaming as if he could see everything in there, including my twenty dollars. If ever I'd thought of a wolf in human form, this man was the very image. All shaggy and dirty and smelling worse than a polecat in the rain.
"Let go of me!" I tried pulling away, but he was a lot bigger than I was. Stronger too.
"Ain't nobody told you good little girls should be home in bed this time of night?" he asked in a voice honeyed with false kindness.
I don't know what would have happened if Caesar hadn't come running out of the woods just then. He took one look at that nasty old tramp and lunged at him, proving the meanness Uncle Homer had been trying to teach him hadn't been in vain after all.
Hollering a string of purely bad words, the tramp took off toward Bartlett with Caesar behind him, shredding the man's trousers to pieces with his sharp teeth.
When he was sure the tramp wasn't going to stop running till next week, Caesar wheeled around and trotted back to me. Of course, I praised him and thanked him and kissed him till he was positively dopey with pride. But it took a while for my heart to slow down and my breath to come easy and natural again.
For a moment I considered scampering home like a scared rabbit. What stopped me was the sight of a clothesline in a yard beside the train tracks. At least a dozen pairs of boys' overalls fluttered in the breeze, along with sheets and shirts and petticoats, waving as if they were beckoning to me. What if I snitched a pair of overalls, cut my hair short, and passed myself off as a boy? No tramps would mess with me then. Or even notice me. The world was full of runaway boys heading west to seek their fortunes.
Best of all, Uncle Homer would be searching for a girl once he discovered I was missing. Not that he'd want me back. It was the twenty dollars he'd be after. If I hadn't taken that, he and Aunt Mabel would probably throw a shindig to celebrate my disappearance.
It didn't take more than a minute to sneak across the grass and grab a pair of overalls and a shirt. I picked the oldest and shabbiest ones on the line. Surely nobody'd miss them or want them either.
'Least I hoped not. I didn't like stealing, but how else was I going to get a disguise? I sure couldn't afford to leave one of my gold coins in exchange for some raggedy old clothes.
As soon as I was safe in the woods, I slipped out of my dress and undergarments. Never in my life had I been stark naked outside in the moonlight. Whooping like a banshee, I kicked up my heels and did a little dance to celebrate my freedom. Caesar ran around in circles, wagging his tail and grinning. He was just as happy as I was.
When a cold breeze tiptoed up and down my bare spine, I gave up dancing and shivered into my new clothes. The overalls were a mite big, but that meant I had growing room, which I sorely needed. Lately I'd been shooting up faster than Jack's beanstalk.
I pulled on my shoes, thanking my stars Aunt Mabel was of a practical mind. When you have a niece waiting on you hand and foot, fetching and carrying, cleaning and scrubbing, you don't go wasting money on fancy slippers for her. She'd given me an old pair of Uncle Homer's boots and stuffed the toes with rags so's they wouldn't fall off. Frankly, they looked a sight smarter with my overalls than they had with my dresses.
Next I used my jackknife to hack off my braids. The blade was rusty and it hurt like the very dickens, but I managed to get my hair as short as a boy's.
The only thing I saved from my life as a girl was the locket hanging around my neck. Inside it were Mama's and Papa's pictures. As long as I kept the chain hidden under my shirt, nobody would see it.
Gathering up my dress, petticoat, and braids, I carried them to the railroad bridge just outside Clark Summit and tossed them over the edge. When my dress hit the water, it puffed up with air as though someone was still wearing it. I watched it float away taking my old self with it—an odd sensation but not altogether unpleasant.
"Good-bye, Eliza Yates," I whispered.
Though it was probably nothing but a muffled echo, I swear the river murmured, "Elijah Bates."
Elijah Bates—it was the perfect name for my new self. Enough like Eliza Yates to make it easy to remember, yet fit for a boy.
Repeating the name with every step, I ran across the bridge toward the Clark Summit train depot.
Caesar raced ahead, looking back every now and then to make sure I was still behind him. That old dog didn't care what I called myself or what clothes I wore. Eliza Yates or Elijah Bates, I was the one he loved best in the whole wide world.
3
BY THE TIME THE TICKET AGENT OPENED THE depot, the sun was just coming up. Caesar and I had been waiting on the platform for about two hours. To pass the time, we'd eaten all our food except an apple. Even though I was tuckered out from walking instead of sleeping, I was too excited to be tired. After all, this was the first day of my new life as Elijah Bates.
The ticket agent peered at me through his little window. "Well, well, you're up bright and early, sonny. What can I do for you today?"
I grinned when I heard him call me "sonny." Knowing I'd passed my first test, I shoved one of my gold coins under the grill. "I want a ticket on the first train heading west," I said, mimicking Little Homer's gruff voice.
The ticket agent studied the coin as if he thought it might be counterfeit. Raising his eyes but not his eyebrows, he frowned at me. "Where did you get this money, young man?"
I stared at him, guessing what he suspicioned. Lordy, he thought I'd stolen that ten dollars. "It's mine," I said, feeling my newfound confidence in my boyhood slip away.
The ticket agent slid the gold eagle round and round with one stubby finger. His nails were as dirty as if he'd spent the morning digging a hole in the earth with his bare hands.
"Well, now," he said thoughtfully, "I don't normally see raggedy boys with a ten-dollar gold piece in their pocket. Maybe you better take a seat over there while I send for the sheriff. Surely you won't mind cooling your heels till he gets hisself on over here. Not if this is really and truly your money."
I looked at the ticket agent. If the sheriff got involved in this, I was deader than dead. Who'd take the word of a child against a full-grown man like the ticket agent?
Reaching under the grill, I grabbed my money and ran.