I was marshal of Brenham when Wes showed up in the summer of ’74. I was married to Jenny Parks, a second cousin of his. Will Hardin introduced us at a calf roast they were having in his honor. I already knew about the terrible happenings at Comanche, and he’d confessed to Jenny he was worried sick about Jane and Molly and the rest of his family still back there. He didn’t show it, though, when he was among people. When we were introduced, he joked about me being a marshal, and I joshed him back for being the most wanted outlaw in Texas. I liked him right off. Him and me and his cousins Will and J.D. went fishing in the creek the next day and caught a mess of catfish and perch and had us a big fish fry that evening.
After we got easy with each other, he told me he wanted to get out of Texas for a time. He believed mob law was everywhere. It had so far cost the life of his brother and of other kin, and he was sure it would get him too if he stayed in Texas. Just a week or so earlier, he’d been given even more reason to feel that way when the four trail hands of his who’d been arrested in Comanche had been taken down to Gonzales County to stand trial on trumped-up charges of some kind. The Rangers turned them over to the sheriff in Clinton and then quick left town, all of them, and in the middle of the night a band of vigilantes showed up and dragged the prisoners off to the cemetery and hanged three of them—Scrap Taylor, Shorty Tuggle, and Frog White. The fourth one, Doc Brosius, somehow got away.
“Even if it’s lawmen who catch me,” Wes said, “they’ll either hand me over to the mob or the mob’ll take me from them by force.”
I argued that there were some lawmen who’d never let a mob take a prisoner from them. He laughed and asked me how many mobs I’d seen in action. I had to admit I hadn’t seen a serious one yet. “Well,” he said, “after you see your first serious one, I’ll be interested in hearing how easy you think it is for even a brave lawman to hold off Captain Lynch.”
He had written to Jane in Comanche, writing in a code they had and using her daddy’s name on the envelope. In her return letter she said that when Captain Waller got the news of the Clinton lynching, he had released the family from arrest and told her she was free to go home. All she needed was somebody to come get her and Molly. But she warned him not to come himself, since the county was still full of Rangers and bounty men who would shoot him on sight. J.D. left for Comanche on horseback early the next morning. He would buy a wagon there to bring them back in.
In the meantime, Jane’s father, Neal Bowen, had just got back to Gonzales from Kansas, where he’d gone at Wes’s request to help Joe Clements get top dollar for Wes’s cattle, and he was holding a good bit of money for him. Wes wanted to go to Gonzales to collect it, and he asked me to go with him, figuring my badge would keep the Sutton Party at a distance if they got wind of his presence. I really don’t think my damn badge was nearly as much protection to him as his own reputation. We heard lots of talk in town of what the Sutton Party had said they’d do to Wes Hardin or Jim Taylor if either of them showed his face in the Sandies again, but we didn’t have any trouble while we were there. Jim Taylor hadn’t been so lucky. The Suttons had made several attempts on his life in the weeks since he’d come back, and he’d been wounded in a fight near the Guadalupe. Wes wanted to see him and try to talk him into leaving the region, but he was pretty sure Taylor wouldn’t leave again, no matter what. Besides, Taylor was hiding out with an old pal named Russel Hoy, who Wes distrusted so much he would not go to his house, not even to try and see Jim.
Wes was several thousand dollars richer when we got back to Brenham, but he was also more convinced than ever that he had to get out of Texas fast.
A few days later J.D. got back with Jane and Molly. He’d driven day and night and gone through three teams of horses. I mean to tell you that was one happy reunion Wes had with his family. During the supper party my Jenny gave for them that evening, him and Jane couldn’t keep their eyes off each other—hardly their hands, if truth be told. I had a feeling they couldn’t wait for it to be over so they could get to their bedroom in Bob Hardin’s house. Jenny, bless her sharp-eyed soul, saw how anxious they were to get together in private too, and she managed to bring the party to an early ending without offending any of the guests. You can’t do better in this life than to be married to a wise and good-hearted woman.
Wes’s problem now was how to get out of Texas without putting Jane and Molly at risk. That’s where I came in. I said I’d accompany his wife and child to New Orleans so he could travel alone and not have to worry about danger to them if he should run into any trouble on the way. Jenny corrected me—she said we’d take Jane and Molly. “I’ve always hankered to go to New Orleans,” she said. “Let’s make a high time of it.”
Wes left Brenham on horseback a couple of days before the rest of us set out in a wagon with a couple of spare horses hitched to its rear. It was a real nice trip for us. We slept under the stars some nights, in road inns on others, and in hotels when we were near a town. Jenny and Jane became true fast friends. Molly wasn’t yet two years old at the time, but she was a hardy little traveler and eyeballed everything on the road with curiosity. I knew she was going to be a smart little scamp, that one.
fancy little bonnet with flowers on it for Molly to wear in her stroller.We met Wes at the Prince Francis Hotel in the French Quarter as planned. He’d been there for four days by the time we arrived. He’d registered as J. W. Swain and told the hotel manager that his brother Harry would soon be arriving with the wives and child. Jane and Jenny couldn’t believe the splendor of the hotel. “Makes me feel like poor kin, though,” Jane whispered, “dressed like this in such a place.” Wes said he’d figured that’s how she’d feel, and had already informed the dress shop around the corner that she and Jenny would be in for fittings that afternoon. The next day our wives were wearing beautiful dresses and ready to see the town. You never saw two prettier gals with happier eyes. They even bought a
Wes was already acquainted with the city and eager to show it to the rest of us. It was warm and the air was heavy, but a sweet breeze came off the river. None of us had seen the Mississippi before. “My Lord,” Jenny said, gazing on it, “the Big Muddy is right.” Wes laughed and said, “It ain’t Sandy Crick, is it?” He had to keep reminding Jane to call him John instead of Wes.
We took long walks through the Quarter, admiring the iron lacework of the balconies and the tap dancing of the Nigra boys on the street corners and the fine jumpy music coming out of every other doorway. Wes was careful not to say anything about the fancy houses we passed on nearly every street, and naturally Jane and Jenny were too well brought up to even show they’d noticed them. But every now and then when we’d pass one and the girls weren’t looking our way, Wes would nod at it and give me a big wink so I couldn’t keep from grinning. He has some rascal in him, all right.
The smells from all the wonderful bakeries and restaurants kept us in a constant hunger, and it seemed like we spent half our time in New Orleans just eating. We spooned up bowls of gumbo and cleaned off platters of crayfish and iced raw oysters and trays of fancy desserts. The coffee was sweet as candy and the wines so fine it was no wonder we all drank ourselves silly at the table every night. Jenny’s first sip of Bourdeaux lit her eyes up like a sudden understanding, and she said, “Oh, my.” She looked so soft-eyed and beautiful, I couldn’t help but lean over and kiss her on the one shoulder her pretty new dress left bare. New Orleans is the kind of place that’ll make a man do a thing like that. “Harry!” she said, all big-eyed with happy surprise. Wes clapped me on the back and said, “Damn, Harry, if you ain’t a natural-born Frenchman—pardon my French, ladies.” And Jane—who swore her lips had never touched spirits until she took her first taste of wine with us—just smiled and smiled. She raised her glass and said, “To us all,” and we drank to that.