Gold Pieces

Part 1

Frank James, in his round about way, was giving me his approval to leave.  Me, I had had enough and it was time for me to go:  Enough of the war, enough of gun battles, and enough of endless days in the saddle.  I didn’t exactly know where I wanted to go, but anywhere was better than being on the run all the time.  Going west had been on my mind for a while.

There was no going home for me like Frank and Jesse did when the spirit moved them.  Twice I had ridden with them to Lee’s Summit to visit their mother.  A home cooked meal and being around family seemed to refresh both Frank and Jesse and, after a bit, they were ready to take to the saddle again.  Me, I didn’t have nothing to go home to.  Jayhawkers had killed Ma and Pa when they burned out the farm.  Patrick, my oldest brother, had been killed at Gettysburg, charging some damned fool Yankee position.  His friend from Memphis, Cletus Murphy, whom Patrick had served with, had ridden a mule to our burned out farm to tell me when the war was over.

I was grateful to Cletus for coming because it was something that he didn’t have to do.  All those miles, him with one arm and a hard-headed mule, Cletus had gone far beyond what anybody could expect.  Hell, he could have sent a letter and I suppose it would have gotten to me sooner or later.   But whatever memory that Cletus had of Patrick had driven him to come.  For that, and telling me what happened to my brother so I would know for sure, I will always be in Cletus’s debt.

It was different with Owen, the middle one of us Cooper boys.  He had been missing since Vicksburg.  No one came to ease the pain.  No letter came to let me know.  Owen was the kind to come back as soon as he could.  When he didn’t, I knew just like everyone else did, that he was gone.  That left just me.

After Cletus left to go back home, I packed up the tent that I had been living in under the trees behind what had once been our barn and left for good.  My family was those who I rode with.  Now I wanted to go my own way again.

Near the end of the war I rode with Quantrill, which is how I met Frank James.  I met Jesse later.  Riding with Quantrill and the James brothers gave me two things that I needed:  The exhilaration of battle and the chance for a bullet between the eyes to end my misery.  I wanted both, but only got the battles.