Jess, McCarthy and the two others finally arrived outside Fort Worth, where McCarthy presented Jess to Johnson like a prize bull he'd just bought. Johnson looked every inch an ambitious coward with no more sense than the mare Jess had brought from Laramie. He appeared to be of average height with a belly that was already starting to push the limits of the fancy vest he wore buttoned up to the top. But he didn't stand or offer his hand in acknowledgement of Jess or McCarthy. His brown hair, parted in the middle, was sleeked back with pomade. But his most impressive feature was his facial hair – sideburns big, bushy and melting into an equally large moustache. An older black guy stood just behind him. He did not invite Jess or McCarthy to sit down as he leaned back into his upholstered chair behind a large mahogany desk to further display his own importance.
"So, you're Jess Harper. I was hearing of you as a fast gun in the 60's, especially after the war. But almost nothing else until McCarthy saw that article in the paper. You really that good?"
"I'm still alive." Jess responded sullenly.
"And you've joined our cause." It was stated as a half question.
"I'm here, ain't I? You can call off your dogs back in Laramie." The gravel in Jess' voice had grown with his irritation.
Johnson lifted an eyebrow in McCarthy's direction, "He had to be convinced?"
"It took a little persuasion at first. We left a couple of guys to help out back with the folks at his ranch. But I think he's come around some since. Still, won't hurt to let him prove himself before we recall the boys."
"Agreed. You can never be too sure with conscriptees." Replied Johnson with a close-mouthed grin. "Samuel," he continued, snapping his fingers towards the black man, "show Harper where he'll be staying and where to get something to eat. We've sketched out a schedule that we'll start first thing in the morning. McCarthy, you stay here a bit. We have a few things to discuss."
As they walked across the field towards the tent encampment, Jess was tempted to ask Samuel if he was ok with what Johnson was doing this the Knights of the Lone Star. But he was not sure he could trust him, even if he was black. He decided to keep his own counsel for the moment until he had the measure of the man. Still, it would be nice to know there was someone in this mess who was on his side, and maybe could get a message out.
The next morning, Samuel showed up as breakfast was ending and took Jess to measure and fit his "uniform" – tall, elaborately embroidered cowboy boots, grey pants with yellow piping. The jacket that was modeled after an officer's but with additional embroidery and short, fitted at the waist, with calvary yellow at sleeves and collar. The hat was also grey, brand new with yellow rope as a band and a large eagle's feather in the band. He was given a holster, black and polished to a high sheen that slung low like his own but had no slots for bullets. The unloaded pistol that was in the holster was not the serviceable one he used at the ranch, nor the one he'd had modified when he was making a living with it, with the hammer filed down and the grip fitted to his hand. This was a Colt built for show, silver and steel body highly polished with elaborate etchings and an ivory grip. Someone had already put notches in it. Notches are probably as much for show as the rest of this gun. Sure ain't no professional ever used anything this heavy and lived, thought Jess. Aloud, Jess mumbled and complained about everything from being measured to the scratchy wool being used for fabric. Samuel just continued to work, only speaking to tell Jess to turn, or raise his arms or whatever.
Jess turned to McCarthy who was supervising the proceedings. "This gun for show or are you expecting me to shoot something with it?" Jess asked. "If you expect me to use it, it's goin' to need some modifications and a lot of practice. It may be fancy, but a lot of those guns ain't true and take some gettin' used to."
McCarthy considered this. "Tell Samuel here what modifications you want. We have a smith in the camp who can deal with it. Then, I'll assign a detail to escort you to practice. 6 shots at a time." McCarthy seemed to find this amusing. "Meanwhile, Samuel here'll finish the tailorin' of the uniform and will keep it except when we need you in it. Come along and meet your show horse. You'll be riding that plug to get places, but when you're rollin' into a town, you need to look the part."
With that they proceeded to the corral where a magnificent stallion was kept, its coat a dark gold like coins that had passed through a few hands and its mane and tail pure white.
"He's broke and trained, but still has a mind of his own. We gotta a saddle to go with the uniform, but you'll be practicing with a normal one until we send you into town. Expect it'll take you the better part of the 2 weeks to get used to each other. Jocko here takes care of him. See to it you treat him well."
Jess was impressed with the horse and for the first time since leaving the ranch saw something to be happy about. "He have a name?"
"Traveler," Jocko replied, "after the general's horse." Jess wasn't sure what he thought of that.
Two days later, a photographer arrived at the camp. They cut Jess' hair, gave him a fresh shave and put Jess in his uniform, now tight fitting. They then proceeded to stage a series of photographs. A few were with Jess on Traveler who did not like to stand still. Other photographs were staged with Jess standing off against Samuel, now dressed up in a suit and string tie, Jess and Samuel with guns drawn and Jess with gun drawn, Samuel on the ground as if shot.
"Excellent, Jess. These will be used to print up flyers that they would use to recruit new folks to the cause." Crowed McCarthy. "We have so much planned for you, boy."
The knot in Jess' stomach continued to grow with the dread of his first assignment. It was clear to him that they were going to have him in a shootout with someone. He had no intention of killing any innocent black man for the sake of their entertainment. But he had to go along to save his family until he heard they were safe.
Jess was determined to wound without killing if he possibly could. But it's easier to kill someone then to wound them. In a gunfight, you aim for the middle and keep shooting until your gun is empty or the guy goes down. You're bound to have hit him somewhere by then. To wound someone, you need your aim to be absolutely sure and only fire once. That leaves you open to getting killed and it had been made clear to him that the consequences for getting killed were the same as for refusing. He practiced every minute of the day they'd allowed him, while being careful to not hit every target. He needed to have a believable excuse for a miss.
0-0-0-0
The first target came 2 weeks after they arrived in Fort Worth. It took them 3 days to arrive at Huntsville, Walker County with some 20 men besides Jess and McCarthy. They made camp 3 miles out. The next morning over the camp fire, McCarthy sat next to Jess.
"So, now we get to the real deal, Jess, my boy." Jess just glared. McCarthy continued, "our scout tells us the target is in town and will be in his office this morning. He takes lunch at a café up the street every day like clockwork. You're goin' be in the street at noon and when he steps out, you're gonna call him out. You'll do everything you need to to make this guy draw on you. Then you kill him. Simple as that."
Though he'd known this was coming, Jess felt sick. "Who is this guy and why do you want him dead?"
"He's the head of the Freedman's Bureau and a more uppity n*** you'll never meet. Fancies hisself equal to white men but also a dandy, fast with a gun."
"What are these other fellas here for?" Jess asked, waving towards the other men taking their breakfast.
"They're the other part of the plan, Jess-boy. These folks in town arrest you or try to gun you down…." After a moment's hesitation, "or you lose the fight, we have a case for self-defense. We can go inta that town and take care of the situation, if you get my drift."
McCarthy turned to face Jess fully, none of his usual smirk to be seen, "But just so's were clear, you lose this gunfight, you may be dead, but be assured, your family'll join you shortly. Try not to lose." With that, he patted Jess on the knee the way he knew Jess hated and rose to walk away.
Jess called the head of the Freedman's Bureau out and managed to shoot him in the shoulder. The fellow got off one shot before he fell back and missed Jess completely. Backing to his horse, Jess rode out of town towards the morning's camp. There he was met by McCarthy and the other men, transferred back to his little mare and they proceeded another 5 miles south to a larger encampment, almost as large as the one in Fort Worth. Jess was escorted to the biggest tent where Johnson was sitting behind a camp desk, his anger apparent.
"Thought you were a top gun, Harper?"
"This gun you give me is just no good for anything but show. I been practicin' but it pulls to the right."
Johnson eyed him speculatively. "Perhaps you haven't been practicing with sufficient vigor, Harper. Perhaps 10 lashes will make you a better study. And McCarthy," he continued, "It's clear, Mr. Harper hasn't fully committed to the cause. Make sure he is kept away from the others until he proves himself."
Jess had been whipped before. In the prison camp and during a year in prison on false charges. He hated the feel of being tied or chained, waiting helplessly for the whip to fall. Hated it as much as he hated the actual pain of the lash. His face paled a bit and his hands shook as he contemplated an escape.
Jess looked over to the nearest man with a gun, calculating whether he could get it before they got him. Only the memory of Mike's face kept him in place and calmed him as Samuel, silent as always and eyes carefully averted, stripped him of their uniform. As the whip fell, he caught McCarthy's face that had a look of venal enjoyment of another's pain. Jess sneered at him, "You like it so much, why don't you get in on the action, McCarthy?"
"Oh no, Jess, I am too important for work in the trenches these days. I have people for that." McCarthy's laugh at his own joke had a hard edge to it, out of proportion with the joke itself. "Keep going, Hale, lay it on thick as you like."
Fortunately for Jess, either Hale was already doing his worst or his joy at the situation was less than McCarthy's. The remaining blows remained at the same strength.
As they led Jess away after, McCarthy quipped, "Take good care of his back now, boys. Make sure he gets the best treatment. We need him to look his best for his next assignment!"
0-0-0-0
The second place they went was Robertson County, where a black man had been elected to town council. The instructions were the same, though this man was less eager to take part in a gun fight. Jess had to follow him into the local saloon where he yelled loudly about the quality of bars that served n*** and Indians. Then, he bumped against the man and spilled his own beer. Jess pretended anger and called the man out. This time, the guy was so slow, Jess had time to aim and catch him in right arm, making him drop his weapon. For all his lack of skill, he managed to graze Jess in left thigh.
Back at the encampment, Jess again blamed the gun and added that he had been forced into the eastern end of the street and had the setting sun in his eye. Johnson remained furious, while McCarthy standing to his right smiled at what he knew was coming. Jess was sentenced to the same 10 lashes on top of those that were only partially healed.
0-0-0-0
Now it's the third time in his 6 weeks in Texas. Jess is starting to doubt that he could manage to miss as bone weary and hopeless as he's feeling. He feared news of these showdowns had spread all through Texas and maybe beyond through the newspapers, the flyers the KLS distributed and word of mouth. That his name was being associated with racist segregationists added to his humiliation. Jess wasn't sure that the KLS strategy would work to drive former slaves out of power. He hoped it didn't. No one deserves to go through life as a second-class citizen. Like Jess himself is right now – subject to the orders of others.
As Jess trots into town in his fake uniform, resplendent on Traveler, he feels the eyes of all the black citizens on him. Most were blank, hiding their true feelings. A few of the younger men were clearly smoldering in anger. It was an effort to keep his eyes ahead and his head up.
This time, he was told to call out the Mayor of Willis. He pulled the horse up to the city hall building McCarthy had described to him and calls out his challenge without stepping down. The mayor was ready for him and emerged from the building with his gun strapped low, a defiant look in his eye.
"Who do you think you are, Harper? You think you can drive us out just because you don't like us? I'm here to tell you, NO. We suffered generations of oppression to get to this place. You will not send us back."
People, black and white, have begun to gather around. Jess recognized a couple from the encampment, not surprised they would be sending spies in to watch. Each word the mayor speaks is another stab in Jess' heart and soul. He has to get this fight over with or he fears he'll turn and leave. "I didn't come to hear speechifying from the likes of you, Mr. so-called Mayor. You think you can stand up to me and the whole army of the KLS, so be it. Choose your spot." With that he swung down from the horse and stalked to the eastern side of the street, knowing that would put the afternoon sun in his eyes.
The Mayor, having seen a gunfight or two, even participated once, and having listened to countless tales of other gunfights, registered surprise as he saw Jess take up position on the wrong side of the street. After a momentary hitch in his step, wondering if he was missing some key element in gunfighting, he stepped off the boardwalk into the street and turned to face Harper.
"If you want to stay in this town, slap leather, Mr. Mayor." Jess snarled, sarcasm heavy on the Mr. Mayor, "Otherwise, prepare to be tarred and feathered on your way out."
Not sure where the trick was in this unexpected scenario, the Mayor answered, "You first, Harper. You come in my town, call me out, you don't get to issue orders."
Jess' admiration for the mayor was growing. "Don't be a fool. I can outdraw you any day of the week. I ain't drawing first, so's you can have me arrested for attempted murder."
Before Jess had finished talking, the Mayor decided he'd best take his chance and drew. As Jess dove to the side, he managed to catch the Mayor in the left shoulder but it took two shots, the first missing. As Jess rose from his roll to one knee, he felt a hand on his arm pulling him up. "Kinda losing your touch there, ain't ya, Jess?"
"Jamie." Jess hissed, joy, then deep shame crossing his face at being seen by someone he respects. Jess had met Jamie in Colorado when he was searching for bank robbers who had wounded Mike. Jamie had been working as a stable hand with a long-term plan. As a black man, he was underpaid and disrespected. But he risked everything to help Jess when a corrupt sheriff tried to run him out.
Jamie has his gun in his right hand but it is pointed down. "I'm going to have to take you into the sheriff, Jess. I don't rightly know what's going on, but you just shot our mayor in a public street."
Jess whips around, grabs Jamie's right hand with his left and twists it behind his back, while raising his gun to Jamie's temple. "Can't let you do that, Jamie. Act like you're my hostage."
"Don't know as that'd take much actin', Jess. Kind a feel like I am your hostage." Jamie replies laconically.
Jess backs Jamie down the street, carefully scanning all around for any opposition. The audience from earlier has all dropped back to the boardwalks and alleyways. Except the group clustered around the mayor now sitting up in the street, holding his shoulder. From one side, Jess can see someone with a doctor's bag hurrying towards the mayor, while staring quizzically at Jess and Jamie.
"That's my assistant with the doctor's bag, Jess. I'm the town vet but as close to a doc as we got here for black folk, even the mayor. They're goin' to be needin' me real soon."
"Just as soon as we get to my horse. Listen, Jamie. I need to ask you a favor."
Jamie twists his head to raise an eyebrow at Jess, "Seems like poor timin' ta be askin' for favors, there, Jess."
"It's not like it looks. I'm bein' forced to do this. They got folks watchin' the Ranch, goin' to hurt Slim or Daisy or Mike if I don't do like they say. Slim and Mort are supposed to be findin' a way to stop them, but I don't have any way of contactin' 'em." Jess kept his head behind Jamie so no one could see him talking. "Could ya get word to them that they plan to hit Galveston next, mid-June? If they figured anythin' out to stop these folks, maybe that'd be a good chance. Or maybe Trim Stuart, US Marshal. He knows me and would take my word for it, if there's anything he can do.
Still backing cautiously up the street, Jess continued, "And don't y'all try nothin'. It's part of their plan that if you arrest me or I get killed, they can come in 'n massacre the whole town 'n call it self-defense."
They had arrived at the horse. Jess stepped up keeping his gun aimed towards Jamie who turned towards Jess with his hands out from his sides. "What have you got yourself into, Harper?"
"Just help me get out, Jamie. Do like I said but be careful the folks watchin' the ranch don't get word. I don't know how, but you're a smart guy. You'll figure it." Jess paused, the grim set of his mouth tightening, but with a tilt to one side with a wry, "Or teach your guys to be better shots?"
As Jess spurred the horse into a gallop, Jamie turned to go back to the Mayor. He felt something tickle his back and put a hand around to wipe it off. It felt sticky. With a sinking feeling at what he thought he was going to see, he brought his hand back around to see blood coating his fingers. "What have you got yourself into, Harper?" he muttered softly as he continued.
Jess knew that Johnson was going to be furious, but hoped that the spies had seen the mayor was no push-over. He really didn't feel up to another whipping. In fact, with the blood he was losing, he didn't feel up to much of anything. Maybe it's just as well. Maybe I can just go to sleep for a while. Maybe this'll all just end here, Jess thought wearily. But he knew it wouldn't be that easy for him. It's never that easy.
Escorted by those who had met him outside of town, he arrived at the new encampment hunched over the saddle horn, patches of blood growing in front and in back where the Mayor's bullet had passed through just below the ribs. He slid off the horse in front of Johnson's tent and stood waiting to be ordered in.
McCarthy emerged from the tent with a frown. "Get in there, Harper." He growled taking in Jess' appearance.
Johnson left him to stand for a full 5 minutes while he fussed over papers on the camp desk. Then, as he leaned back in the chair with an assumed leisurely pace, he took another 30 seconds to eye Jess up and down. Jess felt like all the blood in his body was pooling in his feet, ready to run out into the dry dirt of the tent floor. His head was getting lighter, his vision starting to blur. But he was determined not to pass out in front of Johnson and held himself as straight as he could manage.
"Damn it, Harper. You're not only missing these j**** we set up for you, you're letting them get the better of you. And you're staining our uniform."
"I left that town on my own two feet, Johnson. No one got the better of me. You forgot to mention that this guy knew how to handle a gun." Jess was surprised that his voice sounded strong and powerful, given how he felt, but he was driven by anger.
"Your orders are to kill these n**** and you have yet to manage that!" Johnson's voice was rising for the first time, and he lifted his bulk from the desk chair to try and intimidate Jess. Jess returned his glare without blinking.
Giving up intimidating this stubborn mule of a man, Johnson sat back down with a huff, "Get out of my sight, get out of my uniform and prepare for your usual punishment!"
With that, Jess was escorted to the tent where the camp doc had set up shop. Through the haze of growing dizziness, Jess noted with surprise that they had set it up right next to Johnson's tent. Maybe Johnson's afraid he'll have an attack of the vapors and need smellin' salts, thought Jess as he ducked in. Samuel came in behind him and with his usual efficiency stripped Jess of the uniform. "Sorry to add more laundry and patchin' to your work, Samuel." Jess said tiredly. He still didn't know how Samuel fit into this organization, but made attempts at conversation when he could. Samuel regarded him somberly with pity or distain or something Jess couldn't make out and left him sitting on a cot.
The doc, who had treated Jess' wounds before bustled in and ordered him to lay down. He was none to gentle cleaning the entry and exits wounds, checking the lash marks from the past 2 "lessons" and binding him up essentially from pit to hip. Between the blood loss and rough handling, Jess had drifted off into a welcome oblivion.
0-0-0-0
Jess came to in an empty tent as evening began to fall. He looked around and found a glass of water on the stool next to the bed and raised it carefully to his lips, before falling back to the pillow. Pretty soon, they'll send me back to my tent. Then we'll saddle up and move out again, meanin' I get to spend more time with that slow, stupid, mean, poorly gaited beast. May as well pretend to be out of it and stay on this comfy bed for as long as I can fool 'em.
While he settled himself back into the bed, through the canvas, he heard the doc greet Johnson, McCarthy and maybe some others in Johnson's tent.
"Doc, how come Harper wasn't sent for his lashing? I gave an order." Johnson asked but more as a question than with anger.
"He was still out cold when I left him, but I tell you, you give him another 10 and he might not be fit for the fight in Galveston in two weeks."
There was a pause, then Johnson asked, "McCarthy, I gave an order. Do you think it'd hurt if I rescind it? Or maybe Hale should be told to take it easy? The men seem pretty settled in, not sure it's worth the risk. We do need him for Galveston and it has to be on the 19th."
A voice Jess didn't recognize asked, "What's so important about that place and that date, Johnson? We could just postpose by a week or whatever doc thinks it'll take to get him back in shape. Or maybe we find someone else?"
McCarthy interjected, eager to show he was part of the planning, "June 19th has become a big day for these n***. They been havin' a big celebration every year since some yankee officer read the Emancipation Proclamation," with a sneer in his voice, "in Galveston. Can you imagine, until that day, those illiterate j**** didn't know they was free. On top 'a that, this year, they done elected a n*** to the State Senate. If they take over there, we'll never get the laws we need to put 'em back in their place. They're planning a big party with the Senator makin' speeches and all kinds of partyin'. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces when Harper puts him down right there at the stage. That, or we all ride in and just shoot 'em all." The blood lust shone in McCarthy's voice. Jess could hear what sounded like the others were shifting in their seats.
Another voice Jess didn't know spoke up, "Are you sure it's worth what this is costin' us – 2 men for more'n 2 months in Wyoming, wires back and forth every week, pamphlets, the uniform and all that and he hasn't even killed any of 'em. Surely, like Ted said, we can find someone else to do this who actually wants to?"
"Greg," Johnson replied, "Look at the books. Even without killing any of them, look how many donations we've been getting. The number of recruits coming every day is more than we used to have in months. We're doing better than the KKK ever did and we're staying within the letter of the law.
"Besides, we've been looking for someone else with his skills and particular vulnerabilities and haven't found anyone." McCarthy continued, "We'd never get a replacement in place before the 19th. After that? Yeah, he has probably outlived his usefulness." There was a pause, "Maybe this time, we should make sure both are mortally wounded, huh? We can make Harper out to be our martyr, huge funeral with matching pair drawing the hearse? Then call back the boys from Laramie." There was a murmur of agreement around the tent.
As if just deciding, Johnson finished with, "Samuel, set the whipping up for the morning before we move out and inform Hale that he is to go light. We still need our champion one last time."
Jess stared into the darkness as he heard men leaving the tent next door.