A Step in the Right Direction

By Beth Goodman
Copyright 1999

The warm, glowing rays of the morning sun were just beginning to peak out from behind the horizon. The young man wandered through the windswept grass on foot, weary and fatigued, his form silhouetting against the boldly colored blue, orange, and fiery yellow sky. His dark clothes and black hat were full of caked-on mud, and his face was spotted with dust and sweat. Strands of his somewhat long, disheveled, brown hair were matted to the sides of his face, glued with beads of perspiration. His muscles ached terribly as his legs began to tremble beneath him. The man felt that he was close to delirium as he continued his journey, barely able to stand and on the verge of collapsing from sheer exhaustion.

Soon, the young man decided he could walk no more. He made his way to an old elm tree where his legs finally gave out from under him. Though he was more tired than he had ever been in his entire life, he found himself unable to drift off into the comforting escape from reality that dreams promised. Instead, he saw images of the events of the past few days flickering before his eyes as his mind remained unable to rest.

It had only been a few days since the murder of Sam Leland had transpired, and James Butler Hickok was still so full of guilt and regret. If only I hadn’t trusted Dobbins, Jimmy thought. If only I hadn’t led him to Leland, he’d still be alive, but instead, I’ve made his wife a widow and his son fatherless.

Jimmy was allowing himself to be torn apart by the anguish he felt over his part in the death of an innocent man. Jimmy had finally been able to get away from Dobbins, after serving as his right hand man, forced to do Dobbins' dirty work all because he had been hungry and was caught stealing a couple of eggs from a henhouse.

"Now look where all that target practicin’ got me." Jimmy fumed, cursing the Navy Colt that had been given to him by the Judge, the man he’d worked for before coming to work for Dobbins, who was marshal in Clinton, Nebraska Territory

He remembered when he used to think that weapons were toys and gunplay was a game. It was not all that long ago. However, to Jimmy, it seemed like ages, before he was forced to lose his innocence and live by the gun. Jimmy had been trained as a killer, and that’s what he felt he had become, whether he liked it or not.

So, the exhausted young man sat in the shade of the old tree, unable to move his body and unable to still the thoughts that lingered on his conscience and haunted his soul. Those moments seemed like an eternity. Will he ever be able to find the forgiveness and inner peace that he so desperately needed?

James Hickok began to feel that he would die out there in the wilderness, alone without water or food. The minutes had passed into hours, and the sun, which was once such a welcome change from the endless darkness and loneliness of the night, became a curse as its blistering rays began to beat down upon the Earth relentlessly and mercilessly.

Believing himself to be delirious, Jimmy completely dismissed the wagon that was passing not more than ten feet away from him as a simple hallucination. I must be goin’ crazy, he thought. I’m beginnin’ to see things.

He closed his eyes, trying to erase what he believed were visions, a product of a frenzied and wearied mind. However, he forced himself to reopen his sparkling brown eyes, which had begun to water due to the strength of the sun’s blazing light, when he heard a voice calling out to him.

"Excuse me? Young man? Young man?"

Jimmy tilted his head upward and realized that the wagon he had seen was not an illusion. The sunlight obscured the faces of the figures above him, so he lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the blinding rays. He saw a man and woman sitting in a buckboard looking down at him.

"Young man, are you alright?" The woman cried out to Jimmy when she saw that he finally acknowledged their presence. The woman was about thirty years old, and the man with her was probably about forty. She looked at Jimmy with deep concern and sincerity in her eyes, and Jimmy knew that he was going to be alright.

Jimmy moistened his dry lips with his tongue before answering. His throat was parched and his voice was rough. "I don’t know," was all he managed to say.

"Clem, help this young man onto the buckboard," the woman said to the man next to her, who was apparently her husband.

Clem helped Jimmy into the back of the wagon and gave him some water from a canteen. Jimmy gulped the water until there was none left, not realizing just how thirsty he was until he had drunk the last of the water.

He looked up at the woman apologetically, but was still unable to speak.

"Oh, that’s alright. You just drink as much as you like. You need it more than we do." She smiled at Jimmy and put his mind at ease. "I’m Claire, and this is my husband Clem."

Clem nodded, but it was not until he noted Jimmy’s low-hung Navy Colt that he asked, "So how is it that a young man like you got all the way out here without a horse?"

"Well, I used to have a horse." Jimmy cleared his throat and continued, "But he got spooked in a storm two days ago. Threw me and ran off. When I found him, his leg was hurt real bad, so I shot him."

"And you’ve been walkin’ ever since?" Claire wrinkled her brow in worry before adding, "Well, it’s just a good thing we found ya when we did."

"Where are ya headed?" Clem inquired, as he jerked the reins slightly, bidding the horses to proceed.

"Nowhere…Anywhere," Jimmy replied, the uncertainty evident in his wavering voice.

Claire looked back at Jimmy and smiled, "Sweetwater’s closest. It’s only about five miles east. That’s where we’re headed. We’re visitin’ my sister and her family there. They live just on the other side of town. We’d be glad to let you ride the way with us."

"I’m much obliged, ma’am," Jimmy responded with a great deal of sincerity and appreciation.

The three rode in silence for the rest of the journey to Sweetwater, and it wasn’t long before they were in the midst of the small, yet bustling, town. Clem pulled the horses to a halt in front of the Sweetwater Hotel.

"I guess this is it, son," Clem stated matter-of-factly. "Here’s the Hotel. You can get yourself a hot bath and a good meal. There’s the livery stable where you can get yourself a horse." Clem pointed out the various locations in the town as he described them to Jimmy.

"And there’s the doctor. You really should get yourself checked out," Claire interjected.

Jimmy mustered all the strength he had remaining and slid off the back of the buckboard and moved around to the front to face the two people who had probably saved his life. He removed his dusty back hat and said, "I don’t know how to thank you—both of you." Suddenly, Jimmy was at a loss for words, and it seemed to him that his simple thanks just wasn’t enough.

"No need for that," Claire assured. "Just you take care of yourself, ya hear?"

"Yes, ma’am," Jimmy nodded.

"Well, we best get out to your sister’s place before she gets worried," Clem said to Claire.

Claire threw a kind smile at Jimmy, and with a slap of the reins, the wagon was on its way.

Jimmy watched the two figures disappear out of the town before turning his focus toward the livery across the street. With no money in his pockets and nothing else of value to speak of—except his gun, which he knew he would need sooner or later—Jimmy made his way to the stable looking for some way to buy himself the hot meal that he so needed.

He entered the barn and saw a middle-aged man raking the hay on the floor.

"Uh, ’Scuse me. But would you happen to know where I might be able to find a job around here? I ain’t got no money and I need somethin’ to eat and a place to sleep."

The man looked up, wary of the stranger standing before him, and replied with a tinge of caution, "Nope, ain’t got nothin’ here."

The man noticed that Jimmy looked downcast at this remark. Then he added, "But there’s a sign over there that might interest ya." He pointed to stable door.

Jimmy approached the sign and studied it for a minute, even though he couldn’t read. Finally, he figured he had no choice but to swallow his pride and ask the man for help.

Just as Jimmy was about to ask the man to read the sign to him, he heard a voice from behind, "Pony Express. St. Joseph, Missouri to California in 10 days or less. Wanted young, skinny, wiry, fellows not over eighteen. Must be expert riders, willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred. Wages $25 per week."

Jimmy turned and saw that it was the man that had been raking in the stable who read the sign for him. "Just go talk to the fella at the post office across the street and next to the hotel on the left. He’ll tell ya what ya need to do."

"Well, I don’t have a horse," Jimmy answered sheepishly.

"The Pony Express has bought horses already. I think they’ll give ya one to ride if they hire ya," the man stated.

Jimmy tipped his hat thankfully and turned to head toward the direction of the post office. He figured that riding for the Pony Express was just as good a job as any. Besides, Jimmy needed the money badly, not to mention the chance at a life where he might not be forced to do things that would only add onto this long list of regrets.

He opened the door of the building that the man at the livery told him was the post office and inquired to the gentleman behind the desk, "Is this where I go to become a rider for the Pony Express?"

"You’re in the right place, young man," he said. "Do you have any family? ‘Cause ridin’ for the Express is dangerous work."

Looking downward, Jimmy simply shook his head.

The post office clerk pulled out a piece of paper from his desk drawer and continued, "Then all I need you to do is read this and sign at the bottom."

Jimmy took the piece of paper, looked at it, and then handed it back to the clerk somewhat embarassed. "I can’t read."

The man read the contract for him: "I do hereby swear, before the Great and Living God, that during engagement, and while I am an employee of Russell, Majors & Waddell, that I will, under no circumstances, use profane language; that I will drink no intoxicating liquors; that I will not quarrel or fight with any other employee of the firm, and that in every respect I will conduct myself honestly, be faithful to my duties, and so direct all my acts as to win the confidence of my employers. So help me God."

Jimmy made his mark upon the contract, and the clerk gave him some money as advanced pay and a Bible.

"The Pony Express station where you’ll be livin’ and workin’ is just outside of town. A woman named Miss Shannon owns the property and a man named Teaspoon Hunter runs the outfit. They're real good people. They'll make sure you have a bed to sleep in and decent food in your stomach. You can either ride your own horse or use the ones provided by the company."

"Thank you, Mister." Jimmy promptly turned to leave.

With the good feeling of money in his pocket and the potential for doing an honest man’s work, Jimmy made his way to the hotel for that meal he had been craving for so long. He was still as tired as ever, but he felt better knowing that he had done the right thing in getting away from Dobbins. Jimmy realized that he would probably never be able to free himself of the guilt and responsibility he felt for his role in the murder of an innocent man, but at least he was taking a step in the right direction.

-The End-

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