But the girls’ favorite places were the ice cream salons. Wes called them saloons just to make Jane blush. “Oh … John,” she’d say, “behave!” The city was full of them, and I swear I never tasted nothing better than the praline-and-caramel ice cream I ate in a salon on Royal Street. The first spoonful of it I put in my mouth made me think my tongue had died and gone to heaven. And for all the fun he made of the places, Wes loved them too, and it wasn’t unusual for him to eat two bowls to my one.
There finally came the morning we checked out of the hotel and went with Wes and Jane and Molly down to the wharf to see them off. Wes and me shook hands and Jane and Jenny hugged and kissed and cried all over each other. Then they went aboard the steamboat and waved to us from the railing while the whistle blew and blew. Then the boat pulled away from the dock and headed on downriver for the Gulf of Mexico and steamed away to Florida.
It was their first time at sea and it showed. As soon as we reached open Gulf and the steamer started its easy pitching on the low swells, they got a little green around the gills. By the next day, however, they had their proper color again and were back at the railing like a pair of old salts, smiling at the sea and each other, telling their little girl not to be scared of the sea gulls fluttering and screeching over the deck.
Even as he talked and laughed with his family, his eyes didn’t miss a thing going on around him. He was a man with no use for surprises. His coat was open, the top two buttons of his vest were undone, and the left side of it bulged with a pistol. He was just starting a mustache. I had him figured for a Texan. We had plenty of them in Florida at the time. There were cattle wars going on from the upper St. John’s all the way to the southwest coast, and some of the big ranchers were importing pistoleros to protect their interests. The prisoner I’d just turned over to a Texas Ranger in New Orleans was such a man. We’d had a DeSoto County rustling warrant on him, and one evening I spotted him coming out of a Beaver Street whorehouse, so I slipped up behind him and gave him the butt of my shotgun in the head. A little later we received the Texas warrant on him for murder and I delivered him on the steamship. But this one had his family with him, so I figured he was likely more interested in staying out of trouble than looking for it.
The weather that afternoon was nice—bright sunshine and a gentle salt breeze. I was standing only a few feet from them at the railing when the woman suddenly pointed and cried out, “Oh, look—what are those?” A school of porpoises had surfaced and was rolling and blowing alongside the ship. I tipped my hat and told them what they were looking at. “They’re warm-blooded as you and me,” I told them. “See those blowholes on their heads they breathe through? Some say they’re smart and can talk to each other, though I can’t guess what about. Maybe what kind of fish make the best eating, or whether the water feels any cooler today than yesterday, or which boy porpoise has been chasing after which lady porpoise—beg pardon, ma’am.”
The man laughed and the woman blushed pretty. I introduced myself and put my hand out. “John Swain,” he said as we shook—“my wife Jane and daughter Molly.” Jane said she didn’t know how smart porpoises were, but they sure did look like the happiest things. “Just look at those great big smiles!” she said. The man said he’d smile all the time too if all he had to do was play and eat and chase after the ladies all day long. “Now, Wes, behave!” she said, blushing again—and then quick put her hand up to her mouth. And just like that, I knew who he was.
Jane gaped at him like she’d spilled coffee in his lap. He patted her hand and looked around to make sure we weren’t being overheard, then smiled at me and said, “Mr. Kennedy, you look like you might have something on your mind.”
Of course I was a little wary. I mean, John Wesley Hardin, the Texas mankiller! “Well, sir,” I said, “I’d say Miz Swain might be one to get names a little confused when she gets excited.”
He smiled and said, “That’s a fact. Just last week she called me Winston in the excitement of a horse race in Houston. Winston! I about died of shame.” Then his smile closed up. “What I’m wondering is what some lawman might do if he was to mistake a peaceable citizen like myself for a man on the dodge, a man who ain’t wanted in the lawman’s own state and for sure ain’t wanted on this boat.” I said before that his eyes didn’t miss much, but I was surprised he’d spotted me for a policeman. “I’m asking you man-to-man, Mr. Kennedy—what you aim to do now?”
“Mr. Swain,” I said, “I aim to enjoy this boat ride like I always do, and let sleeping dogs lie like I always do. I figure a policeman’s job is to protect a citizen’s person and property from them that’s trying to harm the one or steal the other. Beyond that, I got no use for a policeman myself.” It was the truth. I’d become a law officer by chance after getting my fill of the cow-hunter’s life on the prairie. Turned out I was a good one—I was big and probably a bit less fearful than most, and I had a sharp eye for what was going on around me. But I never used my badge to bully nor went looking for trouble.
He studied my face close for a minute, making up his mind, then gave me his hand with a grin. “Proud to know you, Gus.” And I said, “Proud to make your acquaintance … Winston.” And even Jane laughed.
I accepted their invitation to join them for supper that evening, and we took most our meals together every day after that for the rest of the voyage. Jane couldn’t get enough of talking about New Orleans, and John and I always accommodated her choice of topic at the table. In the afternoons, however, when she retired to their cabin to put the baby down for a nap, John and I went to the upper deck railing to smoke a cigar and talk about our adventures in the cow trade—and about horseflesh and gambling houses and parlor palaces where we’d taken our pleasure. We had many similar opinions and both loved games of chance. I told him that if he ever got up to Jacksonville, I’d take him to some poker houses where the stakes ran rich as mother lodes.
He said Jane had kin in the Alabama boot heel, and he thought he might go in the lumber business up there. But first he wanted to see an old friend of his from the trail-driving days, a fella named Bama Bill, who was running a saloon in Gainesville. He fancied the idea of running his own saloon and wanted to see if Bill could use a partner. He didn’t talk about his trouble with the Texas law but to say he wasn’t guilty of a thing except defending himself and his own. I said no honest man could fault him for that. By the time the steamer bumped up against the dock at Cedar Key, it felt like we’d been friends for years.
They about smothered in the humidity. “Good Lord,” Jane said, “we’ve got heat in Texas, but this!” Mosquitoes whined in our ears and horseflies stabbed the backs of our necks as our hack made its slow way around all the timber wagons delivering loads to the dock for shipment. After trading profanities with every teamster impeding our progress, our driver finally got us to the train station. But not till the train pulled out and gained enough speed to bring a breeze through the windows did we get some relief from the heat and the insects. Gazing out the coach window at the passing country of pine and cypress, John smiled and said it reminded him of the East Texas piny woods, which he loved. “Me too,” Jane said, only she looked sad and far from home. We said good-bye at the Gainesville station. As the train pulled out again, heading for Jacksonville, they stood on the platform and waved so long.