Fifteen minutes later, Marshal Owen Santos had escorted Jacob back to the jail cell of Benjamin Wilbourne and closed the door behind him. When the heavy metal latch snapped shut, Jacob took a deep breath and a long, focused look at the man sitting on the cot in front of him.
Though Jacob knew Benjamin was perfectly capable and mature enough, he had a hard time looking at him and considering him a man. He had a round, baby-ish face, with no evidence of a razor having ever touched him. Though tall, Benjamin was thin as a rail. He didn’t seem particularly malnourished; it was more that his body seemed to go through all the food he could feed it. His muscles were still forming.
Benjamin Wilbourne had all the evidence of a boy still about him, still growing, still trying to find his place in the world.
“Hello,” Jacob said gently.
The boy sat on the cot, feet pulled up with his arms wrapped around his knees.
“Do you know who I am?”
The boy shook his head. He had not taken his eyes off of Jacob since the latter entered the cell.
“My name is Jacob Payne. I’m a bounty hunter. My job is to find the criminals who are wanted to meet justice for their crimes.”
Benjamin blanched. Though obviously of a darker complexion than many of the other citizens of Tucson, his skin was a medium brown, and light enough that Jacob could notice him paling at the mention of being a criminal.
“I’ve been told a little bit about why you’re in here. Do you want to tell me about it?”
Benjamin shook his head before burying his face in his arms.
Jacob didn’t know what to do. Maybe this boy was guilty. Or maybe he was just scared.
“Look …” Jacob said. He had been standing over the boy. “Can I sit?”
Without looking at him, Benjamin scooted over to one side of the cot, leaving enough room for at least a foot of space between them.
“Look,” Jacob said again. “I want to help you if I can. If you did this crime, I can see about getting you a lawyer for when the judge—”
“I didn’t.”
“What?”
“I didn’t do it.”
Jacob put his hand on the boy’s arm, prompting him to look up. “Tell me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
At that, Benjamin’s eyes filled with tears. Jacob had never been comfortable at the sight of other men crying, but somehow this boy in his fear and his agitation was worse.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Jacob suggested. “How long have you been in Tucson?”
Benjamin wiped away his tear, nodding and sitting up straight. “Okay. All right. You … You’re sure you can help me, sir?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Okay. I … I came out west with the Towers family when I was a real little kid. My family had all been owned by their family for years and years, but after the war …”
“It’s okay,” Jacob said gently. “You can tell me. No one is going to get in trouble.”
“My family,” he began quietly. “They all just … My pa escaped to fight for the north and my ma died and my brothers all … they were just gone. Some sold, some escaped, some … failed at escaping, I think. I never did find out what happened to them. I was maybe ten or so when we was freed, but I didn’t have anywhere to go. I suppose I could leave now, but I was too scared then. I been with the Towers family my whole life. They gave me a place.”
“I’m sure you all did what you thought best.” Jacob tried to reassure him. “No point in wishing for a different outcome now.”
He nodded. “Ever since we got out here I’ve been trying to do my share. There’s always plenty of work to do around here, especially when the kids went off to school. I was the only extra pair of hands for Mr. Towers as we were building the store and getting it going. I remember entire days spent outdoors, swinging that hammer when we first got here.”
He trailed off, as though he were miles and years away in his memory. Jacob didn’t want to interrupt him, afraid to derail what might be a confession of guilt.
After a moment, Benjamin began again. “I know they’re not really my family. I’m not stupid. I know that they were just being good Christians by taking care of a little orphaned, homeless black boy and that I could be thrown out on my own at any time.
“I guess that’s what happened now, isn’t it? I should have expected it. I should have prepared better for this possibility.”
“What would you be doing now if you weren’t in this prison cell?”
“Lots of things. I’m fifteen. Lots of boys my age go out on their own, don’t they? I’ve been loyal to the Towers family, but I could be making my own way soon. Mr. Towers didn’t pay me a salary, but … I could have been saving all the gifts and tips that I’ve gotten over the years, to be more ready.”
“You don’t have any money at all?” Jacob watched him carefully for evidence of hiding or lying.
“I think maybe three or four dollars.” He looked up at Jacob for validation of some kind.
Jacob weighed his next words carefully. “You know why you’re in here, Benjamin?”
“Yes, sir. I do. I know that …” He paused and collected himself. “The marshal tells me that I was seen leaving the telegraph office by a lady who has a store nearby and that some money was stole from there. But, I didn’t do it. I didn’t take anything. I was there—I was dropping off an order from the store for Mr. Wood to take home to his wife. But I didn’t take anything. I’m not a thief, sir. I would never do that.”
“It’s not just that you were seen, Benjamin. It’s that they found a couple things in the office that point to you.”
The boy frowned, puzzled.
“The marshal didn’t tell you about this?” Jacob asked.
“Huh-uh. No, sir. No, I didn’t hear nothing about anything they found. What could it be? I don’t have anything.”
Jacob narrowed his eyes, watching him. “Well, you have something. You have the clothes on your back. You have the food that Mr. Towers gives you. Do you smoke, by chance? Do you play cards? Ride a horse? Benjamin, in the eyes of the law … anything you touch has the potential to be a piece of evidence leading back to you. You don’t have to be a rich rancher to have enough to be a clue.”
“But— But, I didn’t do it, sir.”
He sounded desperate now. Jacob wondered how the conversation with Pastor Ambrose had gone. This boy seemed to be defiant about his situation.
“Well …” He took a deep breath. Jacob had to weigh his conscience—going against what the marshal had said and done, versus doing what he could to find out the truth for this boy. The bounty hunter had met plenty of hardened criminals, he had seen dozens, if not hundreds of men lying and obfuscating and doing everything they could to avoid having to meet their justice.
Benjamin Wilbourne didn’t display any of those signals that Jacob was used to looking for.
“Look at me.”
The kid pulled his head up reluctantly from where it had been resting between his knees. He looked at Jacob, but cautiously, timidly, like a dog that had been beat one too many times and didn’t really believe that he was free of that trap.
“Benjamin, I want to believe you,” Jacob said finally. “I’m going to try to believe you, and I’m going to look for the evidence that could possibly get you out of here.”
The boy’s eyes lit up, but Jacob felt compelled to quench them immediately.
“I’m not promising anything. You have to understand that. You’ll stay in this cell until I can find the real guilty party or until the judge comes to Tucson and pronounces sentence. I may fail, but I want you to know that I’ll try.”
“Thank you, sir,” he whispered.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Jacob said. “Now, let’s start at the beginning. Tell me everything you did on that day. Everyone you spoke to, everyone you saw, everything you touched. Even if you think it’s unimportant, you need to tell me.”
Benjamin nodded, and began.