CHAPTER 8
Of the four returning inmates from the six assigned to the Boonville bridge project, Ben Crowe was sent to solitary confinement for six months for his attempted escape and an additional six months for his attack on a court official. The other three were sent back to their original cellblock, based on the interrogation of the inmates and the two prison guards. Their testimony was further confirmed by a statement from Judge Wick Justice, who was a witness to the happenings on that one particular day when the actual escape was attempted. So life for inmates John Bannack, Edgar Rice, and Bob Yates returned to the dull, daily grind that was prison life. As before, Bannack retreated back into his private shell, approached only by Yates or Rice, who felt they shared a special bond with the man from Waco.
As before, the prisoners in that cellblock were assigned to the manual labor jobs, which Bannack welcomed. With the war in full swing, the cotton and wool mill in the prison was under heavy production demands to supply tents and uniforms for the Confederate soldiers. One day, Bannack was working with a crew hauling lumber from the sawmill to the textile mill for the construction of a large extra room to assemble tents. In the process of unloading the lumber from the log wagon, he heard a sharp voice right behind him. “Hey, you big monkey, who the hell told you you could unload that lumber there?” Startled, he turned to confront a little man with gray whiskers and a black patch over one eye.
“Well, I’ll be . . .” Bannack started. “George Capp, I reckon you’re the boss of this textile factory now.”
“How you doin’, John?” Capp asked. “How you likin’ prison life?”
“I’m doin’ all right. I think I like it better on the outside, though,” he answered.
Capp grinned and shook his head. “I ain’t the boss yet, but I’m workin’ my way up. I see they got you workin’ with the grunts. That’s what you get for growin’ so damn big. I swear, I’m mighty glad to see you. I was worried about you. We heard about you over in our block. Heard you got into it so bad with some feller some time back in the dinin’ hall that the guards ended up shootin’ him. You know what they’re callin’ you? The man from Waco, that’s what they’re callin’ you. Hell, I told ’em I’m from Waco, why don’t they call me that? They said I was lucky anybody called me at all.”
“Well, you’re lookin’ good, Capp. I think prison life agrees with you better’n rustlin’ cattle.” He gave the little man another close look before deciding he was right. Then he said, “The last time I saw you, I’m sure you were blind in the left eye. But lookin’ at you today, I see you’re wearin’ that patch on the other eye.”
“Oh, you noticed that?” Capp asked. “I never said I was blind in either eye. Fact of the matter is I see ’bout the same outta both eyes. I took this here eye patch offa dead man, six or seven years ago. He got in a gunfight with a feller I was partnerin’ with and came in second. Well, I always admired that patch he wore and my partner didn’t want it, so I took it. And when I looked in his eye, I expected to see an empty socket, but it wasn’t. There was an eyeball in there and that got me to thinkin’. I bet that feller could see outta both eyes and he was wearin’ this patch over one of ’em to rest it up while the other’n did the lookin’. Well, that made a lotta sense to me. Keep your eyesight sharp a lot longer by restin’ one eye all the time. Just don’t forget to switch ’em from time to time.”
John didn’t say anything for a few moments, waiting to see if Capp was going to suddenly break into a chuckling fit. When he didn’t, John asked as casually as he could manage, “Have you been able to tell if it’s helped your eyes or not?”
“I believe it has,” Capp answered. “And one eye is about as strong as the other’n.”
“Then I reckon you’ve got a good idea going there with your patch,” he said. I just hope you don’t run into a man with a pegleg, he thought. “I expect I’d best get the rest of these boards unloaded before somebody comes lookin’ for the wagon. Maybe I’ll see you again, Capp. You take care of yourself.”
“I always do,” Capp replied. “You do the same.” He watched John walk back to the wagon and couldn’t help noticing the transformation. When he and John were first brought to The Unit, John was a big, strong, strapping young man. The few years in prison had further developed him into a formidable man that would be trouble to reckon with.
* * *
Bannack saw Capp a couple of times during the following months and then the word came to the prison that the war was over, Lee had officially surrendered. The everyday work of the prison continued, just as it had all during the war. After breakfast one morning while the prisoners were preparing to march outside the walls for a ditch-digging project, a guard came into their cellblock to escort John Bannack to the Walls Unit. The guard gave him no explanation for his summons but told him to take his personal items with him. Evidently he was being transferred to some other unit, but the guard didn’t know which one. Very much to his surprise, the guard escorted him to the administration building and led him to the office of the superintendent, Wallace Conklin. The only reason John could imagine was that perhaps some terrible tragedy had occurred to his brother Warren or Kitty or the boys. But when he walked into Conklin’s outer office, the first face he recognized was that of Judge Wick Justice. “Come in, John Bannack,” the judge said. John nodded and approached him. “Would you like some coffee?”
The offer fairly startled him. “No, sir. I just had breakfast.”
“Well, sit down,” the judge said, “and I’ll tell you who these gentlemen are.” He indicated a chair at the long table, and they all sat down. “First, I guess I should ask if you remember me. It’s been a long time since we met, under quite different circumstances I should say.”
“Yes, sir, I remember you, Judge Justice. I’m glad to see that you’re all right. And this gentleman on your left is Mr. Wilson, if I recall the name correctly. But I don’t know the other gentleman.”
“Well, let me introduce you,” Justice said, “because you owe this man a helluva lot. This is Superintendent Wallace C. Conklin and he’s the man who is going to sign the papers that are going to permit you to walk out of this prison a free man.”
Bannack did not react, although the three men staring at him were obviously waiting to see his reaction. Instead, he looked back at them, his face devoid of expression. He heard what the judge had said, but he felt certain the words didn’t mean what they implied. When he still did not respond after a short pause, Conklin said, “I don’t believe your man believes you, Wick.” He looked at the confused man and said, “John, it took a long road and a lotta work on the part of Judge Justice and myself to persuade Governor Hamilton to issue a full pardon of the charges that sent you here. But as of eight o’clock this morning, you are a free man.”
They got a reaction from him then but not the one they expected. Anticipating a look of joyous excitement, instead they were met with an expression of alarm, for his first thought was that his brother must have confessed to the robbery of the bank. And that would mean the destruction of his family.
Seeing the obvious distress in his expression, Conklin was prompted to ask, “Did you misunderstand what I said? I’m releasing you from prison. There are some conditions that you’ll have to agree to, but basically, your prison time has been served.” He glanced at Judge Justice, then back at John and smiled. “Most men in here would be tickled to death to hear what I just told you.”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” John said, “and I ain’t any different from any other man in here. But is my brother and his family all right?”
Now it was Conklin’s turn to look confused. “Why, I’m afraid I have no idea about that,” he confessed. “Have they been ill?”
John realized then that his pardon had nothing to do with the bank robbery. He still had no clue as to his release, but whatever the reason, it had to be good news. He was sorry now that he had mentioned his brother. “I’m sorry, sir. The only reason I could think of to set me free was because something bad might have happened to my family. And the only family I’ve got is my brother Warren and his wife and two boys.”
The three men gaping at him all chuckled in response to his misunderstanding. “No, as far as we know, there isn’t any catastrophe with your brother’s family.”
“In that case, I’m tickled to death to hear you’re gonna let me outta here, but I can hardly believe it’s true, so I know there must be some reason other than my ability to get along with others.”
His statement was cause for a chuckle from Conklin, since the man from Waco had a reputation as a loner. “You’re right,” Conklin said, “there is a reason for your parole, and some conditions that you must agree to before it’s official. The man you need to thank, and who is really the man responsible for your release is Judge Wick Justice. He saw something in you that day on the Navasota River that convinced him you were an honest man.” John glanced at the judge, and Justice nodded his head to confirm it. “He was also impressed by the way you restrained the man who attacked him,” Conklin continued. “In effect, Judge Justice is vouching for your lawful conduct as long as you are in his employ.”
“So you’re sayin’ that you’re lettin’ me outta prison to go to work for Judge Justice?”
“I guess you could say that’s about the size of it,” Conklin answered.
“Doing what?” John asked.
“When he first proposed this pardon, I asked him the same question,” Conklin said. “I’ll answer it with the same answer he gave me, doing what you did to save his life without anybody asking you to.”
“You want me to be a bodyguard?” He looked directly at the judge when he asked the question.
The judge answered his question. “That would fall under your duties, I would hope. You would just be my assistant, to help with whatever, but I need a man capable of handling trouble and a man I can trust with my life. I should tell you that I have enemies, and I need a man who has dealt with my enemies before, like you did with Ben Crowe. You will go where I go. I’ll provide your food and a place to live and put some decent clothes on you.”
“That sounds like a better deal than stayin’ in here for another fifteen years,” Bannack said.
The judge laughed. “I’m sure of that. I guess I should tell you, I would be paying you a regular salary for the job.”
“Then I reckon we’ve got a deal,” Bannack said.
“Don’t you want to know what I propose to pay you?”
“No, sir. I expect you’ll be fair about it, and it’ll depend on whether or not I do a decent job,” Bannack said. “What is this paper I have to sign?”
The judge explained it to him. “In addition to clothes and such, I will have to buy you a horse and saddle. I’ll also have to buy you a rifle and a handgun and the ammunition for them. In other words, I’ll have quite an investment in you. The paper you will sign guarantees that you will remain in my employ until all that investment is repaid. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” Bannack agreed. “I’ll sign it.” He thought to himself that it was a useless paper to sign. He figured if he gave his word he would stay, then that should be enough, but he would sign it if it gave the judge some sense of guarantee. The judge, on the other hand, felt positive that Bannack would honor the contract no matter how badly he wanted to leave, simply because he had signed his name on it.
After he signed the paper that the judge had referred to, Justice told Elwood to walk outside with John to the horses and give him the plain work shirt to exchange for his prison issue. He thought John might be a little less self-conscious without his striped shirt when they went to the stable and the general store in town. The judge paused a moment to thank Conklin for all his efforts to arrange Bannack’s freedom. “I’m sorry it took so long,” Conklin apologized, “but, frankly, I’m surprised we got it done. I declare, I’d never seen Bannack up close before. He’s a scary-looking fellow. Kinda throws you off guard when he talks so polite and respectfully. I hope he turns out to be the man you think he is.”
Justice laughed. “If he doesn’t, I’ll shoot him, myself.”
From the prison, they rode directly to the stable in town where they returned the horse and saddle they had borrowed to fetch Bannack. Then the stable owner, a fellow named Floyd Farmer, showed him the horses he had for sale and the judge told him to pick the one he wanted. He replied that he could get by with the gentle sorrel the judge had borrowed. But Justice told him to pick a better one. “You’ll wear that horse out in a week.” Taking him at his word, John looked the horses over carefully before choosing a buckskin gelding, about four years old. The stable owner then showed him several different saddles he had for sale. John picked one and saddled the buckskin after he let the stirrups out a little.
“You gonna try him out and see how he feels?” Floyd asked. John said that might be a good idea, so he led the buckskin out to the street and climbed up into the saddle. Standing back in the door of the stable, Floyd grinned at the judge and Elwood. “He might be in for a little surprise. That’s a right spirited horse he picked out. He don’t generally get along with strangers.” They watched then as John gave the buckskin a nudge with his heels and started down the street at a trot. About halfway down, he settled into a comfortable lope and when he got to the other end, he wheeled the horse and came back to the stable at a gallop. Floyd just gaped, his jaw hanging open, as John reined the horse to a stop and dismounted. “That buckskin ain’t never let nobody jump on him and ride him like that. I swear, if that ain’t somethin’.”
“I think he’ll do just fine,” Bannack said. “It’s been a long time since I was on a horse.”
The judge looked at Elwood and winked. “Let’s go get him some clothes so we can eat dinner at a decent restaurant.” As far as he was concerned, John’s influence on the spirited horse was another positive sign that all the trouble and expense he had gone to was worth it.
The next stop was at Huntsville General Merchandise where John Bannack said goodbye to his prison trousers and shoes and was outfitted in some ordinary work clothes and a decent pair of boots. Justice also bought him a bedroll, since John didn’t even have a blanket. Last, but far from least, was the visit to the gun shop in the back part of the merchandise store. The primary reason for hiring John Bannack was for Wick Justice’s protection and with that in mind, the judge wanted his protector to be equipped to handle the worst situations. So he informed John that he had already purchased the weapons of his choice and he expected him to become proficient in the use of each. Maynard Wells, the store owner, reached under the counter and pulled out the 1860 Henry rifle. With fifteen rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber, the lever-action rifle was worth the forty-two dollars the judge paid for it. At ten dollars a thousand for the .44 cartridges it fired, the judge decided a Colt six-shooter modified to use the same .44 cartridges would be the best choice for Bannack’s handgun.
By this time, John was quite overwhelmed with the lavish investment the judge was making on his behalf. Maybe I should have read that paper I signed a little closer, he thought. I might not live long enough to pay him all I owe him. He took the Henry in hand and hefted the nine-pound rifle to his shoulder. “There’s gonna have to be a honeymoon before I call her mine,” he declared. “It’s been a long time since I shot that old single-shot rifle I used to own.” His comment caused the judge and Elwood to exchange uncertain glances, but it was too late to reconsider the investment. There was a rifle scabbard that came with the saddle they had purchased for him, so John slipped the Henry in it, then strapped on his new gun belt. Then they rode up to the hotel where Justice and Elwood had rented rooms for the night just passed. The judge wanted to have dinner in the hotel dining room before they left Huntsville.
* * *
After a dinner that seemed more a feast to Bannack, the unusual trio of the circuit judge, the court clerk, and the ex-convict set out on the road to the town of Boonville. The judge didn’t tell Bannack their first destination was Boonville before they actually left Huntsville. He hadn’t planned to tell him until they reached the bridge he worked on as a prisoner, just to see if he recognized it. But Elwood told Bannack the judge was scheduled to hold a trial in Boonville, which was a little over fifty miles away. Elwood and the judge had made the trip from Huntsville to Boonville before, so they remembered a nice little camping spot by a creek about twenty miles away from Huntsville. This was their target today, to make camp there that first night. Bannack was anxious to see if he had been bought to be the judge’s general servant and would be expected to do the cooking and wash the dishes. He was to find, however, that Elwood was fairly happy to serve in that capacity. So when they reached the creek, Bannack took care of the horses and built a fire while the judge and Elwood each set up their own sleeping tent. The judge must have thought he would prefer sleeping out under the stars after his years in a prison bunk, Bannack assumed, and he was right about that. He found that he was very comfortable on his blanket roll. The grub that Elwood came up with was inferior to what he would have had in the prison dining hall. But the coffee was good, and he could go a long way on a cup of coffee. Since he was now in possession of a first-class rifle, he decided he would acquire some fresh meat of some kind the first chance he got.
That chance came on their second day of travel. After a breakfast of more of Elwood’s sliced bacon and hardtack, they traveled approximately another twenty miles before striking the Navasota River where they stopped to rest the horses. He figured the Lord must have decided to have some compassion on them because when they reached the river, they frightened three deer up from the bushes growing close beside the water. Without hesitation, he drew the Henry rifle from his scabbard and shot one of the does trailing a young buck just before they vanished into the trees. It had to be pure luck to see deer out that time of day, and to fire a kill shot the first time he fired the rifle. Even though he aimed for a high shoulder shot and the deer was struck behind the front leg, it was still a kill shot. When he practiced with the rifle, he would have to remember his shot was a little low. To the judge and Elwood, however, it was a miraculous shot, and confirmed the judge’s confidence in freeing the man. It had not occurred to His Honor that he had hired a skilled hunter as well as a protector. He was also pleased to find out that Bannack knew how to skin and butcher a deer as well.
They all enjoyed the fresh venison, eating until they could eat no more, but they knew they were going to waste the majority of the meat. The packhorses were loaded down pretty heavily already. Bannack cut a quantity of the fresh meat for supper that night, but with the weather as mild as it was, it would be chancy to risk keeping it any longer. He cut some strips and smoked them over the fire until the horses were rested, but there was not enough time to get the meat smoked long enough. So he reluctantly dragged the rest of the carcass off away from the river for the scavengers to feed on.
While they sat by the fire, digesting the fresh venison, the judge asked Bannack if he knew where he was. “Yes, sir, I do. I think we’re about four or five miles south of that bridge I worked on for the people of Boonville. Did they ever finish it?”
“As a matter of fact, they did,” Justice replied. “But it didn’t help them get the railroad to come through Boonville. There was a lot of arguing between some of the town people and the state. Then the railroad came and talked to the town council and the Boonville folks all decided they didn’t need the railroad bad enough to pay for it. The Houston and Texas Central Railroad decided to extend their tracks from Millican, but instead of laying their tracks through Boonville, they decided to bypass it and run their tracks through Bryan. Boonville is already losing a lot of its people and it isn’t the county seat anymore. The people voted to make Bryan the county seat. The last I heard, the US Post Office is planning to route the mail through Bryan instead of Boonville. And if that’s true, I expect it’ll make a ghost town out of Boonville.”
“That’s too bad,” Bannack said. “I know that mayor, I don’t remember his name.” He repeated it when the judge supplied it. “Right, Ronald Mallard. He wanted to bring the railroad into his town and Daniel Orton was hopin’ that bridge would help the railroad lean their way.”
“And that’s where Elwood shot his first man,” Judge Justice said, grinning at his clerk.
“Ooh,” Elwood responded, pretending to shiver all over, “don’t remind me, Judge. I’ve had a terrible time trying to forget that day.”
“Well, I appreciate it,” Bannack told him. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t shot that man and you wouldn’t have had any fresh deer meat for dinner.”
“That’s right, Elwood,” the judge joked, “if you had realized at the time how important a factor that man’s death was going to be on our dinner today, you’d have shot him sooner.”
When the horses were rested, they loaded up again and crossed over the river, then followed it to the north. When they had traveled about four miles, they reached the bridge that Bannack had worked on. It looked to be in pretty good shape. He rode the buckskin across it and back, the gelding’s hooves tapping a hollow sound on the surface Daniel Orton had nailed in place. What a waste, he thought, two inmates killed and one innocent townsman named Ernie. And the town didn’t even get the railroad.
“We might as well go ahead and make our camp here for the night,” Justice said. “The horses are ready for a rest and so am I.” Bannack was surprised when he heard that because the town was only a mile or two from the bridge. He figured the judge would ride on into Boonville and stay in the hotel. The judge figured he might be thinking something like that, so he said, “The hotel closed its doors and the last time I checked, there wasn’t one opened up yet in Bryan. Otherwise, that’s where we would be staying the night.”
“Well, sir, we got most everything we need right here,” Bannack remarked, “and some fresh deer meat for supper. We might wanna ride on down the river a ways, away from this bridge and the trail.” The judge agreed, so they rode upstream to find a spot that satisfied them.
After the rest of the fresh deer meat was eaten, Bannack asked for permission to take his rifle and his pistol away from the camp to get acquainted with them.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Judge Justice said. “And John, you’re an employee, not a slave. Remember?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll try to remember that,” Bannack replied, but it was hard to forget that he was bought and paid for, just not on the auction block. He might have found it interesting had he known that the judge had experienced some troubling thoughts about how easy it would be for him to simply ride away, now that he had supplied him with a horse and weapons. There was no way that he and Elwood could stop him. So the judge was relieved to see him take his weapons and walk into the woods, instead of riding his horse. Justice knew that Elwood had some fear that Bannack might decide to kill the two of them and take everything. But he knew that John Bannack was not an evil man. He was certain he would never murder anyone. He still believed the man had no business in prison.
Bannack had heard men talk about the Henry rifle and he knew that he already liked the feel of the weapon after firing only one shot. He had always been a good shot, ever since he killed his first squirrel at the age of nine. So he was confident in his ability with any rifle and now he was going to see how a really good rifle performed. After he walked about a quarter of a mile back up the creek, he picked a tree about one hundred yards away to be his target. Setting himself squarely, he levered a cartridge into the chamber, raised the rifle to his shoulder and fired. Then he cranked round after round, firing as fast as he could for six shots. Then he picked out another tree on a rise, maybe fifty yards beyond the first tree. He aimed more carefully and took his time to fire four more shots at the distant tree. When he got to the first target, he found a small circle of splintered bark the size of a serving platter with some bullet holes that could be covered by the span of his two hands. “Not bad,” he declared. On then to the distant target where he found four holes ripped in the bark, not so close as the pattern on the closer tree, but all four shots in the tree within the space of a man’s shoulder to hip. He held the rifle up to look at it at arm’s length and said, “You’ll do, Henry.”
He propped the rifle up against a tree and drew the Colt .44 from his holster. Then he dropped it back in the holster and drew it a couple more times. He had really never fooled with a handgun before, so he had no notion of trying to become a fast-draw gunfighter. But he wanted to see how easily the six-shooter came out of the holster. He was more interested in how accurate he was, once the gun was in his hand. So he holstered it again, then drew it as fast as he could and fired three quick shots into the tree. He was much faster with the Henry, so he decided he would work on the six-shooter whenever he had the occasion. Satisfied with where he stood with his new weapons, however, he walked back to the camp and got the cleaning rod and gun oil the judge bought with the weapons.
“Whaddaya think?” the judge asked him when he walked back to the campfire.
“I think we’re gonna get along just fine,” he said, “and I want to thank you again for the chance you’re taking on an old ex-convict.”
“An old ex-convict,” the judge repeated and grinned at him. “How old are you now, John?”
“I’m twenty-three, if I haven’t miscounted,” he replied. “In prison, sometimes you’re busy havin’ so much fun, you forget and let a birthday slip by you.”
The judge laughed. “I’m sure that must happen a lot. Twenty-three, all is not lost, you’re still a young man. Hell, Elwood’s older than you. How old are you Elwood?”
“I’m thirty,” Elwood said. “I just turned thirty yesterday.”
“What?” Justice exclaimed. “Yesterday was your birthday and you never said a word about it? Why, we’d be remiss if we didn’t acknowledge your thirtieth birthday. We’re going to right that wrong when we get to a saloon.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary, sir,” Elwood was quick to say, already embarrassed to have mentioned it.
“I beg to disagree,” the judge insisted. “I’m sure I didn’t celebrate it last year, either.”
“No, sir,” Elwood replied.