Shot in the Back Read online

  “Neither does Zee. Don’t you see, Frank? We can rob that bank up in Minnesota, maybe come away with a hundred thousand dollars or more. Even splitting it up among all of us, we’d have twelve thousand, five hundred dollars apiece. Can you imagine what we could do with that much money? We’d have enough to start over anywhere we wanted. We could go to some place like Tennessee, or Kentucky, or maybe Virginia and buy a farm. I mean a good farm, with good dirt.” Jesse smiled. “We’ll buy two farms, right next to each other, and we’ll be gentleman farmers. Our kids will grow up together, and some day, we’ll just sit on the front porch and rock. What do you say, Frank?”

  “I know I’m crazy for saying this,” Frank said. “But I have to admit that the idea of having enough money to buy a farm and settle down does sound good to me.”

  “Then you’re in?”

  “All right, Jesse, yeah, I’m in. I’ll go along with you this one last time.”

  “Good!” Jesse responded enthusiastically.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “First, we have to raise some money, enough money to finance the operation.”

  “So, what do you have in mind? Are we going to rob a bank so that we have enough money to rob a bank?”

  Jesse smiled. “No. We’re going to rob a train.”

  Otterville, Missouri—July 7, 1876

  It was ten o’clock at night when Jesse and Frank James; Bob, Jim, and Cole Younger; Bill Chadwell; Charlie “Chuck” Pitts; Clell Miller; and Hobbs Kerry rode into town. Most of the townspeople were home in bed, though the saloon was still open and the splashes of light spilling through the windows were the only source of illumination in the entire town. An off-key piano was rendering some tune in discordant notes, and a man’s loud laughter could be heard.

  “The rest of you, go on up to Rocky Cut and wait,” Jesse said. “Frank and I will take care of the night guard.”

  Rocky Cut referred to the gash just beyond the edge of the town that had been blasted through the hill when the tracks for the Missouri Pacific Railroad had been laid.

  Jesse and Frank dismounted, then went inside the depot. The night guard was sitting in one chair with his legs propped up on one another. He was reading a newspaper by lamplight, and he looked up as the two men came in. His eyes grew large when he saw they were both pointing their pistols at him.

  Fifteen minutes later, with the guard tied to the chair he had been sitting on, and with one of his socks stuffed into his mouth held in place by his kerchief, Jesse and Frank joined the others at Rocky Cut. Jesse had the guard’s lantern, with a red lens, and when they heard the train coming, he lit it and stood alongside the train, swinging the red lantern back and forth as a signal to the engineer to stop.

  Hearing the vented steam, then the squeak of the brakes as they were applied, Jesse knew that the engineer was complying with his signal.

  “Get out of sight, boys,” Jesse said. “He’s stopping.”

  Only Jesse remained alongside the track, and when the train stopped, the engineer stuck his head through the cab window.

  “What’s up? What did you stop me for?”

  “Why, we stopped you so we could hold up the train,” Jesse said, almost jovially.

  The others came out of hiding then, and, boarding the train, held the passengers and the conductor at gunpoint while Jesse and Frank climbed into the express car. There were two safes in the car.

  “Listen to me just real close, Messenger, because what you do next could mean the difference between whether you live or die. I see there are two safes. Would you please be kind enough to open them for me?”

  The messenger didn’t respond right away, and Jesse pointed his pistol at the messenger’s head and pulled the hammer back.

  “Because if you can’t open them, we’ll just kill you now and blast them open. But blasting is so messy, I’d rather not do that, and I know you don’t want a big mess in your car. Oh, what am I talking about? It wouldn’t make any difference to you, would it? I mean, after all, you would be dead.”

  “No! I can open them, I can open them!” the messenger shouted.

  “Good. I was hoping you might see it my way.”

  The entire operation was over within ten minutes, and Jesse and the others were on horseback, galloping away.

  The robbery netted fifteen thousand dollars, and it would have been an unmitigated success had Hobbs Kerry not been captured a month later. He gave the authorities the names of everyone who participated in the robbery. Fortunately for Jesse and the others, they were already on the train on their way to Minnesota. Jesse, Frank, Clell Miller, and Jim Younger were on one train. Bob and Cole Younger, Bill Chadwell, and Chuck Pitts were on a second train. They had shipped their horses up on the stock cars that were attached to each train.

  It was the middle of August when they arrived in Minnesota, and they had no idea what bank they wanted to rob, so they split up into four pairs to scout out several small towns before finally deciding that they would rob the First National Bank of Northfield, Minnesota.

  “These Yankee bastards ain’t never run in to the likes of us,” Clell Miller said. “When it goes down, they won’t know whether to scratch their ass or pick their nose.”

  On the morning of September 7, the eight men met just outside Northfield.

  “We’ll break up into three groups. Frank, Bob, and I will be the ones who actually go into the bank,” Jesse said as he laid out the plans. “Cole, you and Clell stay out front of the bank to stand guard. Jim, I want you, Chuck, and Bill to cover our escape route. Any questions?”

  “We’re all wearin’ our guns,” Chuck Pitts said.

  “Well, yeah, don’t you think we might need them?” Clell Miller asked.

  “It’s just that, if you notice, there ain’t nobody in any of these towns we’ve been through that’s been wearin’ guns. Don’t you think maybe we ought to put on our dusters so as to cover them?”

  “Good idea, Chuck,” Jesse said. “Yes, let’s do that.”

  “All right, Frank, Bob, and I will ride into town first. We’ll have lunch and sort of scout the town over. Cole, you and Clell give us about an hour or so before you two come in. When we see you two arrive, we’ll go on into the bank. Jim, you and your group stay back at the bridge. Don’t let anybody block it, because after we come out of the bank, this is where we’ll gather up. Cole, that’s when you and Clell will cut the telegraph lines, so they can’t get any word out about us.”

  The others nodded, then all of them put on their dusters. With a little wave, Jesse, Frank, and Bob rode across the bridge and into town.

  The town was busy, with men and women walking up and down the boardwalks on either side of the street. A wagon carrying beer barrels was backed up to a saloon, and a couple of white-haired and bearded men were playing checkers on the front porch of a hardware store. From the far end of the street came the ring of a blacksmith’s hammer.

  The three went into a restaurant that was on the same street as the bank. A man wearing an apron came over to their table.

  “Fried chicken, or ham and potatoes?” he asked.

  “I never pass up fried chicken,” Jesse said with a smile. “Especially if you’ve got biscuits.”

  “No biscuits. Fresh baked bread, though.”

  “That’s good enough.”

  Frank also ordered fried chicken, but Bob ordered the ham.

  “Haven’t seen you gents before. Just get into town, did you?”

  “We’re just passing through,” Jesse said. “Looks like a nice town, though.”

  “We like it.”

  When the three finished their lunch, they walked across the street to the Lee & Hitchcock Dry Goods Store. This was right next door to the bank, and they sat casually on some crates that were stacked up in front of the store.

  “It doesn’t look to me like the bank is doing all that much business,” Frank said.

  “I hope that doesn’t mean they don’t have much money in it,” Bob said wit
h a little laugh.

  “All right, get ready, boys. There’s Cole and Clell,” Jesse said.

  As soon as the two men arrived, Jesse gave them a nod, then he, Frank, and Bob went into the bank.

  There were three men inside the bank, all three behind the counter. Jesse, Frank, and Bob immediately pulled their guns and aimed them at the three bank employees.

  “We’re robbing this bank. Don’t any of you shout out!”

  The three robbers jumped over the counter.

  “Which one of you is the cashier?” Jesse asked.

  Jesse saw two of the men glance quickly toward the third man. “Mr. Heywood isn’t here,” the third man said.

  The other two men, who had glanced momentarily toward the third, looked away, pointedly.

  Jesse smiled. “I think you are Heywood,” he said. “Open the safe for me, Mr. Heywood. And be damned quick about it. The sooner this is done and we get out of here, the safer it will be for you.”

  “I can’t open the safe,” Heywood said.

  “I don’t believe you. What bank would have a cashier who can’t open the safe?” Jesse asked.

  “Maybe the safe is already open,” Frank suggested. He walked over to the open vault door to inspect the safe inside, and as he began to enter the vault Heywood suddenly bolted toward the vault door and pushed it shut, attempting to lock Frank inside. Frank managed to get out just in time, but his arm and hand were caught by the vault door as it slammed.

  “Damn!” Frank called out.

  “Damn you!” Bob shouted, and he brought the butt of his pistol down over Heywood’s head.

  Outside the bank at that moment, J. S. Allen, who owned one of the town’s two hardware/gun stores, noticed that two men he had never seen before, both wearing long, identical dusters, were standing suspiciously in front of the bank, looking up and down the street. Curious, Allen approached the bank, but Clell grabbed his wrist.

  “What’s going on here?” Allen asked. Then, looking through the window, he saw men holding guns. “The bank is being robbed,” he said.

  “Get out of here, mister, and keep your damned mouth shut!” Clell said, pushing him away.

  Allen walked merely a few feet away, then he began running and shouting, “Get your guns, boys! They’re robbing the bank!”

  Allen’s shout was picked up by Henry Wheeler, the young medical student with whom Allen had been walking.

  “Robbery! Robbery! They’re robbing the bank!” he shouted.

  Clell pulled one of his pistols and fired at Wheeler, but he missed.

  After Clell’s first shot, he and Cole mounted their horses and began charging up and down the street firing into the air and shouting.

  “Get off the street! Everyone, off the street!”

  Jim, Bill, and Chuck, on the bridge, heard the shooting and hurried down to offer assistance. At first, it seemed to be working. The citizens got off the street but only to arm themselves. Within minutes, dozens of armed townspeople were shooting at the five outlaws, and the street became a battlefield with bullets flying from every direction.

  Inside the bank, Jesse knelt down by Heywood, who was still on the floor. He held a knife to Heywood’s neck. “Open the safe, or I’ll cut your damn throat from ear to ear.”

  “I can’t open the safe,” Heywood said. “It has a time lock.”

  “It has a what?”

  “A time lock. It can’t be opened until four o’clock this afternoon!”

  Cole stuck his head in through the front door. “Hurry up! All hell’s breaking loose out here!”

  Outside, Clell Miller took a load of birdshot in the face, not enough to kill him but opening up wounds that bled profusely. Cole and Jim both took slugs through the shoulder.

  One of the townspeople, seeing three horses tethered in front of the bank, shot one of them in the head. The horse, which belonged to Bob Younger, dropped dead instantly. Cole Younger’s hat was shot off, while Bill Chadwell was shot through the heart and he fell from his saddle, dead before he hit the ground.

  Clell Miller, still screaming in pain and rage from being shot in the face with a load of light birdshot, was hit again, this round severing his subclavian artery. With blood gushing out of his eye, face, and shoulder, he attempted to lift himself up on his arms, but after about three seconds of this, his strength gave and he toppled over. Cole saw this and raced toward him. Reaching his body, he dismounted and, using his horse for cover, knelt to examine Clell. Discovering that Clell was dead, Cole grabbed Clell’s pistols and cartridge belts and attempted to remount. As he was doing so, another bullet tore through his left thigh. He winced in pain but managed to pull himself up on his horse and make another charge. He ran past the bank door again and yelled inside, “We’re being killed out here! Come on, now!”

  As they were leaving the bank, Frank saw that Heywood had pulled a pistol from somewhere and was aiming it at Jesse.

  “No!” Frank shouted and, aiming at Heywood, pulled the trigger. Blood, brains, and bone detritus exploded from the side of Heywood’s head.

  “Where the hell did they all come from?” Frank shouted as they ran from the front of the bank.

  “My horse!” Bob shouted, seeing his mount lying dead.

  “Let’s go!” Jesse said as he and Frank mounted. Frank was shot in the leg, and Bob was shot in the arm.

  “Don’t leave me, boys!” Bob called.

  Cole came racing back for his brother, while Chuck covered them with his pistol. By now everyone was firing at Cole and Bob. One bullet hit Bob in the left leg and he stumbled. Another took off Cole’s saddle horn and another cut his reins. Despite that, he managed somehow to reach down, and, with almost superhuman strength, he lifted Bob off the ground and onto the back of his saddle. Bob then wrapped his left arm around Cole’s waist and, with Cole holding his horse’s mane, they took off after the others. The townspeople kept firing, and Cole was hit three more times. Following this, he and Bob met up with Chuck at the end of town and the three of them rode at breakneck speed after Jesse, Frank, and Jim.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Granbury—February 2, 1942

  It had grown dark outside, and now the three men, Jesse James, Sheriff Oran Baker, and Frederick Faust were sitting in Faust’s hotel room, which was dimly lit by a single lamp that sat on the bedside table.

  It had taken Jesse several minutes to tell the story, and now he sat in the chair, staring ahead silently.

  Faust got up and walked over to the table, where he dropped some ice into three glasses; then he poured a shot of whiskey into each of the glasses. He handed one to Sheriff Baker, then another to Jesse.

  “I thought you might need this,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Jesse said.

  “Is there more to the story?”

  Jesse drained the glass before he spoke again.

  “Yeah, but not much more,” he said. “You want to know how much money we got from that robbery?”

  “It didn’t sound like you got anything,” Faust said.

  “Oh, we got something,” Jesse said. “Before we left the bank, Bob scooped up twenty-six dollars and seventy cents. He grabbed it from an open drawer behind the teller’s cage. Twenty-six dollars and seventy cents. And for that, we left behind Bill and Clell dead, one dead horse, and two dead Northfield citizens. Truth is, though, Heywood is the only one we killed. The other fella, the Swede, Nicholas Gustavson, was killed by a stray bullet from one of the townsmen. Five out of the six of us who actually made it out of town were wounded; I was the only one who wasn’t. We split up then, and within two more weeks, all three of the Younger brothers were captured.”

  Faust had not taken a swallow of his drink until then, and now, he raised the glass to his lips and drank.

  “I must confess that you told that story most convincingly,” he said. “I would be inclined to believe you, but there is one more hurdle we must get over.”

  “You want to know about me being killed,” Jesse said.

/>   “Yes, that’s a rather major incident, wouldn’t you think? That’s going to have to be dealt with before we can go any further in this narrative. To begin with, I would be very interested in knowing how it is that you managed to get up and walk away after Bob Ford shot you.”

  Jesse chuckled. “Well, that’s easy enough. It wasn’t me that Bob Ford shot.”

  “Who was it?”

  “It was a man by the name of Charlie Bigelow.”

  St. Joseph, Missouri—April 2, 1882

  When Jesse James, known by everyone in town as Thomas Howard, stepped into the Missouri Cattlemen’s Bar on Mitchell Avenue, he was greeted by the bartender.

  “Hello, Mr. Howard. There are two cattlemen from Kansas City here to see you. They’re sitting in that table in the corner.”

  “Thanks, John,” Jesse said.

  Jesse smiled as he recognized the two “cattlemen.” They were the brothers Bob and Charley Ford. In September, Charley Ford had ridden with Jesse and Frank James when they robbed the Chicago and Alton Railroad at Blue Cut, near Glendale, Missouri.

  “Hello, Jesse,” Charley greeted as Jesse approached the table.

  Jesse glared at him. “My name is Howard,” he said. “Tom Howard.”

  “Sorry, Tom.”

  “You sent a letter, asking me to meet you here today. What’s up?”

  “Have you seen this?” Bob Ford asked, pulling a folded-up piece of paper from his jacket pocket.

  Jesse unfolded the paper.

  PROCLAMATION

  of the

  Governor of Missouri

  $25,000 REWARD

  JESSE JAMES

  DEAD OR ALIVE

  $15,000 for Frank James

  “Why are you showing me this?” Jesse asked, shoving the poster back across the table.

  “I’m showin’ you this ’cause I got me an idea as to how I can collect this here reward.”