Chapter 3 – The Stage to Abilene

Joe hadn't answered the question of when until I'd already made the decision to take the job. He'd said the where was Lubbock to Abilene; the when was the very next day. Better sooner than later; I wouldn't have too much time to change my mind. I was almost flat broke, and ten dollars wasn't enough to get me into a game. I checked out of the hotel and moved my belongings to Joe's office.

Shotgun Rider was too simple a name for the job. If you were smart you had more than just a shotgun along on the trip. I made sure there was a rifle and plenty of ammunition, as well as my Colt and the Remington in my shoulder holster. And I took a page from the Dandy Jim Buckley Book of Survival – Jim was a longtime friend of mine – and did something unusual for me – tucked a knife in my right boot. I hoped that would be the last I had to see of it. Besides, it was uncomfortable.

The stage was to leave at nine o'clock the next morning, and I had slept in Joe's back office to save money. I was up in time for breakfast and broke that last ten dollar bill to get it. Back to the stage office I went, expecting to meet the coach driver before we loaded and left. There was no one there but Joe, and I was surprised. Stage drivers have a bad habit of being early, which is the biggest reason that coaches tend to leave on time. So I looked at Joe with all curiosity while asking, "Where's our driver?"

"You're lookin' at him," came the reply.

"You – what?" was my startled question.

"My driver quit. Wasn't willing to make the trip."

"And you're driving because . . ."

"Nobody else to do it. I don't have a choice if I wanna keep the contract I just got, and that's the only way to keep the line in business. I worked too hard to get it this far, Bart. I can't afford to lose it now."

"What about your other drivers?"

Joe laughed, an unhappy sound. "They won't make the run. They're scared, and they're anticipating trouble."

"Just like you did," I pointed out. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"You ain't gonna back out on me now, are you?"

Every bone in my body was screaming 'Yes! Yes! That's exactly what I'm gonna do. Run as fast as I can away from all this. I'll do anything else to make some money!' "No," I finally heard myself saying. "I'm not." Now why did I do that?

We had everything loaded and ready to go by a few minutes after nine. Besides the mail and the unusual bank transfer, we were carrying three passengers – a man, a woman, and a little boy. Brady told me all about them as we started for Abilene.

The man was a friend of Joe's, 'Smash' Miller, who owned saloons in Lubbock and Abilene. He traveled back and forth regularly to both establishments and this was his standard trip. Smash acquired his name because he tended to break furniture when he got angry about something; he had quite a temper and his saloons were constantly redecorated.

The woman was a widowed lady named Sarah Gray. Actually I should call her a young widowed lady; Mrs. Gray couldn't have been a day over twenty-two or three. Joe told me her husband had been a cavalry lieutenant who was killed in a skirmish with the Apache's. She was visiting friends in Lubbock but was returning home to Centerville, just outside Abilene. The boy was her son. He looked to be about three or four years old, with brown hair and big brown eyes, and seemed fascinated with my shotgun. His name was Nate, and Joe said he looked just like his pa.

The first leg of the trip was quiet – relatively speaking. We saw nothing of any consequence and Brady and me spent most of the time talking about his efforts to build a respectable business, and my efforts to avoid anything that resembled gainful employment.

By late afternoon we'd reached the way station at Bodie Springs, where we stopped for a change of horses and a quick meal. Little Nate was trying to drive his mother crazy and I took him out to meet the new team pulling the coach. Poor woman deserved a few minutes to herself and I tried to give it to her.

He was a chatty little fellow, and asked all sorts of questions. The one he kept asking over and over was, "How come you have such a big gun?" Like I said earlier, he was fascinated by the shotgun I was carrying.

I laughed and told him, "It's to keep you and your mama safe." He seemed content with that, and I just hoped I didn't have to prove it to him.