Chapter ONE
After prison, 1889 . . .
The main gates of Yuma Territorial Prison opened. A man walked two steps forward, stopped, and took a deep breath. Just a few feet away from the prison, and the air smelled different.
His clothes were loose on him. When he had gone to prison seven and a half years ago to serve a twelve-year stretch, he'd been a bigger, healthier man. Now he was about thirty pounds lighter-even with the governor's pardon in his pocket.
He looked down at his shirtfront and could see the pinholes left from where he used to wear his badge. They had been hard on him when they sentenced him because he had been a lawman. But the new governor had given him his pardon because he was an ex-lawman. So the tin had gotten him in, and the tin had gotten him out.
He started walking. No one was there to greet him or pick him up, but that was okay. He wanted to walk, because these were his first steps as a free man in seven and a half years, and he wanted to enjoy every one of them.
Matthew Wheeler was released from Yuma with enough money for a meal and a hotel room. HeÕd had a shave and a quick bath before being released.
When he got to the center of town, he paused to take in the activity around him. People were going about the business of living. In prison, they went about the business of just existing, just trying to get by, to survive until they were released or died.
Here people walked around with smiles on their faces, without haunted looks in their eyes. Granted, some of them looked at him and could tell he'd just been released. But several women actually smiled at him, and those smiles lifted his spirits, even though he knew they stemmed from pity.
He stopped in the first restaurant he came to, a small caf, and ordered a steak dinner. The waitress, a middle-aged, faded-looking woman, brought him a mug of beer while he waited for his meal.
"On the house, honey," she said, "'cause you just got out."
"Thank you."
His first sip of beer in seven and a half years went down as smooth as silk. His first bite of steak was a revelation. After that, he wolfed down both the meal and the brew, and the waitress brought him a second mug.
"No more after that, though, honey," she said. "You're gonna have to get used to drinkin' again."
"Thanks."
"You're also gonna need a job," she said. "We could use somebody here to wash dishes."
"Wash dishes?" he repeated.
"Look," she said, putting her hands on her hips. Other diners were watching the exchange. "We've had lots of ex-cons work here when they first got out. They saved their money and then moved on. You can do the same. And there's a rooming house near here that's cheap. Interested?"
"To tell you the truth," Matt said, "I ain't thought past this meal."
"Well, think it over while you finish," she suggested. "You can let me know when you're done." She started to turn away, then turned back and said, "Oh, yeah, if you take the job, this meal's on the house."
While Matt finished his meal, he wondered how many other places in Yuma offered the same extras-a job and a place to stay. And what did they get from it? Satisfaction, cheap labor, or both?
He really hadn't thought beyond his first meal now that he was out. What he was going to need was a place to do that, and a cheap rooming house might fit that bill. But taking a job washing dishes was quite a comedown from having been a lawman. He probably shouldn't have been thinking of it that way. Instead, the comparison should have been washing dishes here instead of breaking rocks in prison.
Dishes won.
The waitress turned out to be the owner. Her name was Kate Hardin. Once the lunch rush was over, she sat down across the table from Matt and introduced herself.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Matt Wheeler."
"What did you do for a living before you went to prison, Matt?"
"I was a lawman."
"Oh? Sheriff? Marshal?"
"Yes."
"And what did a lawman do to get himself tossed into Yuma Prison?"
"I killed a man."
"Why?"
"Because he killed my wife," he said.
"So you're not a murderer."
"No, I'm not," he said. "But occasionally, in the course of my duties, I killed men."
"And you did kill the man who killed your wife?"
"Yes," he said, then added, "He was one of them."
"One of what?"
"One of the men who killed my wife," he explained.
"So there are others out there?"
"Oh, yeah."
"And are you gonna kill them?"
"I think my days of trackin' killers and killin' them are gone. Don't you?" he asked. He held out his right hand to show her the shakes.
"I suppose so. You can start in the mornin'," the woman said. "Go around the corner and tell Esther at the rooming house that Kate sent you."
"Thanks."
She stood up and asked, "You are gonna be able to wash dishes without dropping and breakin' any, aren't you?"
"Yeah," he said, "I will."
"If you want," she said, "come back later for supper."
"I could start tonight," he offered.
"That's okay," she said. "Tomorrow's good enough. Get yourself settled and do whatever thinkin' you need to do tonight. Come in here in the mornin' knowin' what you want to do."
As Matt stood up to leave, Kate started for the kitchen, then stopped and turned. "Oh, one more thing."
"Yes?" he asked.
"You didn't escape, did you?"
"No," he said, "the governor gave me a full pardon."
Kate nodded, said, "Good enough," and continued on to the kitchen.
Matt walked around the corner to the boardinghouse and found that Esther was an older, pleasant woman with a gentle smile, stooped shoulders, but strong-looking hands.
"Of course," she said at the door, "if Kate sent you, I have a room. Come this way."
He followed her through a hall and up a flight of stairs. She led him past several closed doors to an open one, and then she stepped aside.
"This will be your room," she said. "Breakfast is at eight. Supper's at five. You can eat with us or not. It's your choice."
"Thank you. Um, I can't really give you a lot of money now-"
"Give me a dollar."
He did.
"In the future you can pay me when Kate pays you. Is that fair?"
"Very fair," he said.
"I hope you enjoy staying with us, Mr. Wheeler."
"You can just call me Matt."
"I call all my tenants by their surnames," she said. "But you can call me Esther."
"All right, Esther."
She went down the hall, and he went into his room.
He was wearing the clothes he had been wearing when he entered to prison. He had been stripped and supplied with his prison trousers and shirt. His own clothes had been stored for him until such time as he was released. The only other things he had were the few dollars they'd given him.
The room had a chest of drawers, but it was unlikely he would ever fill it with clothes. He was, however, going to have to buy something new to wear when he went to work. But that couldn't happen until after he got paid for the first time.
He closed the door to his room, undressed, and cleaned his clothes off as well as he could with the brush he found on top of the chest. Then, clad only in his drawers, he went and sat on the bed. It was early, and for the first time in seven and a half years, there was no one to tell him what to do next.
He sat there for a very long time. . . .
The only reason he knew when five oÕclock came was the dinner bell someone downstairs rang. He got dressed again and left the room. He didnÕt bother to lock or even close the door, as there was nothing inside just yet.
Rather than eat with the other tenants and suffer the inevitable questions that would be put to the new man, he decided to go back to the restaurant and take Kate up on her offer of supper.
Chapter TWO
6 weeks later . . .
Matt got to the caf before the supper rush was set to start.
"Have a seat," Kate said to him. "Your supper's almost ready."
There was one table set up in the kitchen with four chairs for the employees to use when they had their meals, which were free.
Matt went and sat across from a waiter named Woody.
"Stew?" he asked.
Woody nodded. He always had stew for supper. After a few days, Matt became determined to take advantage of the gratis meal and usually ordered a steak.
Woody's stew came first, with a hunk of bread, and the younger man attacked his food with gusto.
Matt's steak came next, and then Kate herself sat down with them to eat, preferring some baked chicken. She made sure her employees knew that once the supper rush began, there would be no eating on their part.
"Is that a new shirt, Matt?" Woody asked.
"I bought it last week," Matt said. "Wore it a couple of times then."
"Huh," Woody said. "Looks new. Is that what you're spendin' your pay on? New clothes?"
"Well," Matt said, "I sure need them."
"Don't they give ya some clothes when ya leave prison?" Woody asked.
"Woody," Kate scolded, "let the man eat."
"It's okay," Matt said. "No, they only gave me the clothes I came in with."
"All those years ago?" Woody said, shaking his head. "Man, you'd think they'd at least give ya some new duds."
"You'd think," Matt agreed.
"They treat everybody like that?"
"Every inmate," Matt said.
"So that's why yer buyin' new clothes," Woody said.
"Right," Matt said. "I don't have any."
Woody finished his stew and pushed the bowl away. "Hey, when you were inside-," he started, but Kate cut him off.
"That's enough, Woody," she said. "You've finished eating, so get to your tables."
"Yes, ma'am." He got up and hurried out of the kitchen.
"I'm sorry about that," Kate said.
"That's okay," Matt said. "He's a kid, and he's curious."
"That shirt does look good on you, though," she said. "In fact, you look a helluva lot healthier than you did when you walked in here six weeks ago."
"I've put some weight back on," he admitted.
"And tell me," she said, "what do you do when you're not here washing dishes?"
"Whataya mean?" he asked.
"I mean, in your off time," she said. "What do you do to pass the time?"
He didn't want to tell her that he still just sat in his room, staring, because he didn't know what else to do. In the old days, he had worn a badge and had plenty to do. And in prison, they had given him enough to do to pass the day. Now that he was out, he had no tin on his chest to justify. And he couldn't imagine going out and finding something to do that was . . . pleasant. Not without his Angie.
So he pretty much knew every crack in one wall of his room. He had them memorized. That was when he decided to switch sides of the bed and start staring at the other wall.
"I don't do much," he said. "I still don't have much money and what I have I spend on clothes, haircuts, shaves, things like that."
"What about a stake?" she asked.
"What about it?"
"Well, your second week here, you mentioned how when you got a stake, you'd pull out," she said. "Leave Yuma and the prison behind. How's your stake?"
"Nowhere near enough," he admitted.
"You haven't been gamblin', have you?" she asked.
"What? No . . . Why would you ask me that?"
"I don't know," she said. "I thought lots of ex-cons came out and gambled. You know, in the saloons."
"I don't have the money to go to saloons," he said.
She finished her food, grabbed her plate and Woody's, and took them to the sink for Matt to wash when he was ready.
"I wish I could give ya a raise, Matt," she said, "but I just can't do it."
"That's okay, Kate," he said. "Don't worry about it. I'm grateful you gave me a job the day I got out. I would've been . . . lost for a while."
"Well," she said, "Woody's gonna be comin' in with orders, so I gotta get cookin', and you gotta get washin'."
"Right." He ate the last bite of his steak, then carried his own plate to the sink.
Because Kate had brought up the subject of his poke, when he went home to the rooming house that night, he went to his room to check on it. In the beginning, he hadnÕt been locking his door because there hadnÕt been anything in the room to steal. But once he started getting paid and building his fortune-such as it was-the door started getting locked.
He entered, locked the door behind him, sat on the bed, and fished the envelope holding his money from underneath the night table by the bed. He counted the money and saw that he had instinctively told Kate the truth. He did not have near enough money to leave Yuma. He was going to be washing dishes for the foreseeable future.
As he was shoving the envelope back under the table, there was a gentle knock on his door. He walked to it, unlocked it, and opened it.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mr. Wheeler," Esther the landlady said.
"No, you're not," Matt said. "In fact, I just got in."
"I actually heard you," she said, "and I wanted a word before you turned in."
"Do you want to come in, Esther?" he asked.
"Uh, no," she said. "You know I don't go into my tenants' rooms. But if we keep our voices down, we can talk right here."
"Keep our voices down?"
"Yes," she whispered, "I don't want the others to hear what I'm about to say."
"All right."
"I've noticed that you never eat your meals with us in the evenings," she said.
"It has nothing to do with the food you serve, Esther," he said. "I really enjoy your breakfasts. But I am at the caf almost every night at suppertime, and Kate does give her employees a free meal."
"I'm aware of that," she said. "That's why I wanted to propose that I charge you less money for your room."
Chapter ONE
After prison, 1889 . . .
The main gates of Yuma Territorial Prison opened. A man walked two steps forward, stopped, and took a deep breath. Just a few feet away from the prison, and the air smelled different.
His clothes were loose on him. When he had gone to prison seven and a half years ago to serve a twelve-year stretch, he'd been a bigger, healthier man. Now he was about thirty pounds lighter-even with the governor's pardon in his pocket.
He looked down at his shirtfront and could see the pinholes left from where he used to wear his badge. They had been hard on him when they sentenced him because he had been a lawman. But the new governor had given him his pardon because he was an ex-lawman. So the tin had gotten him in, and the tin had gotten him out.
He started walking. No one was there to greet him or pick him up, but that was okay. He wanted to walk, because these were his first steps as a free man in seven and a half years, and he wanted to enjoy every one of them.
Matthew Wheeler was released from Yuma with enough money for a meal and a hotel room. HeÕd had a shave and a quick bath before being released.
When he got to the center of town, he paused to take in the activity around him. People were going about the business of living. In prison, they went about the business of just existing, just trying to get by, to survive until they were released or died.
Here people walked around with smiles on their faces, without haunted looks in their eyes. Granted, some of them looked at him and could tell he'd just been released. But several women actually smiled at him, and those smiles lifted his spirits, even though he knew they stemmed from pity.
He stopped in the first restaurant he came to, a small caf, and ordered a steak dinner. The waitress, a middle-aged, faded-looking woman, brought him a mug of beer while he waited for his meal.
"On the house, honey," she said, "'cause you just got out."
"Thank you."
His first sip of beer in seven and a half years went down as smooth as silk. His first bite of steak was a revelation. After that, he wolfed down both the meal and the brew, and the waitress brought him a second mug.
"No more after that, though, honey," she said. "You're gonna have to get used to drinkin' again."
"Thanks."
"You're also gonna need a job," she said. "We could use somebody here to wash dishes."
"Wash dishes?" he repeated.
"Look," she said, putting her hands on her hips. Other diners were watching the exchange. "We've had lots of ex-cons work here when they first got out. They saved their money and then moved on. You can do the same. And there's a rooming house near here that's cheap. Interested?"
"To tell you the truth," Matt said, "I ain't thought past this meal."
"Well, think it over while you finish," she suggested. "You can let me know when you're done." She started to turn away, then turned back and said, "Oh, yeah, if you take the job, this meal's on the house."
While Matt finished his meal, he wondered how many other places in Yuma offered the same extras-a job and a place to stay. And what did they get from it? Satisfaction, cheap labor, or both?
He really hadn't thought beyond his first meal now that he was out. What he was going to need was a place to do that, and a cheap rooming house might fit that bill. But taking a job washing dishes was quite a comedown from having been a lawman. He probably shouldn't have been thinking of it that way. Instead, the comparison should have been washing dishes here instead of breaking rocks in prison.
Dishes won.
The waitress turned out to be the owner. Her name was Kate Hardin. Once the lunch rush was over, she sat down across the table from Matt and introduced herself.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Matt Wheeler."
"What did you do for a living before you went to prison, Matt?"
"I was a lawman."
"Oh? Sheriff? Marshal?"
"Yes."
"And what did a lawman do to get himself tossed into Yuma Prison?"
"I killed a man."
"Why?"
"Because he killed my wife," he said.
"So you're not a murderer."
"No, I'm not," he said. "But occasionally, in the course of my duties, I killed men."
"And you did kill the man who killed your wife?"
"Yes," he said, then added, "He was one of them."
"One of what?"
"One of the men who killed my wife," he explained.
"So there are others out there?"
"Oh, yeah."
"And are you gonna kill them?"
"I think my days of trackin' killers and killin' them are gone. Don't you?" he asked. He held out his right hand to show her the shakes.
"I suppose so. You can start in the mornin'," the woman said. "Go around the corner and tell Esther at the rooming house that Kate sent you."
"Thanks."
She stood up and asked, "You are gonna be able to wash dishes without dropping and breakin' any, aren't you?"
"Yeah," he said, "I will."
"If you want," she said, "come back later for supper."
"I could start tonight," he offered.
"That's okay," she said. "Tomorrow's good enough. Get yourself settled and do whatever thinkin' you need to do tonight. Come in here in the mornin' knowin' what you want to do."
As Matt stood up to leave, Kate started for the kitchen, then stopped and turned. "Oh, one more thing."
"Yes?" he asked.
"You didn't escape, did you?"
"No," he said, "the governor gave me a full pardon."
Kate nodded, said, "Good enough," and continued on to the kitchen.
Matt walked around the corner to the boardinghouse and found that Esther was an older, pleasant woman with a gentle smile, stooped shoulders, but strong-looking hands.
"Of course," she said at the door, "if Kate sent you, I have a room. Come this way."
He followed her through a hall and up a flight of stairs. She led him past several closed doors to an open one, and then she stepped aside.
"This will be your room," she said. "Breakfast is at eight. Supper's at five. You can eat with us or not. It's your choice."
"Thank you. Um, I can't really give you a lot of money now-"
"Give me a dollar."
He did.
"In the future you can pay me when Kate pays you. Is that fair?"
"Very fair," he said.
"I hope you enjoy staying with us, Mr. Wheeler."
"You can just call me Matt."
"I call all my tenants by their surnames," she said. "But you can call me Esther."
"All right, Esther."
She went down the hall, and he went into his room.
He was wearing the clothes he had been wearing when he entered to prison. He had been stripped and supplied with his prison trousers and shirt. His own clothes had been stored for him until such time as he was released. The only other things he had were the few dollars they'd given him.
The room had a chest of drawers, but it was unlikely he would ever fill it with clothes. He was, however, going to have to buy something new to wear when he went to work. But that couldn't happen until after he got paid for the first time.
He closed the door to his room, undressed, and cleaned his clothes off as well as he could with the brush he found on top of the chest. Then, clad only in his drawers, he went and sat on the bed. It was early, and for the first time in seven and a half years, there was no one to tell him what to do next.
He sat there for a very long time. . . .
The only reason he knew when five oÕclock came was the dinner bell someone downstairs rang. He got dressed again and left the room. He didnÕt bother to lock or even close the door, as there was nothing inside just yet.
Rather than eat with the other tenants and suffer the inevitable questions that would be put to the new man, he decided to go back to the restaurant and take Kate up on her offer of supper.
Chapter TWO
6 weeks later . . .
Matt got to the caf before the supper rush was set to start.
"Have a seat," Kate said to him. "Your supper's almost ready."
There was one table set up in the kitchen with four chairs for the employees to use when they had their meals, which were free.
Matt went and sat across from a waiter named Woody.
"Stew?" he asked.
Woody nodded. He always had stew for supper. After a few days, Matt became determined to take advantage of the gratis meal and usually ordered a steak.
Woody's stew came first, with a hunk of bread, and the younger man attacked his food with gusto.
Matt's steak came next, and then Kate herself sat down with them to eat, preferring some baked chicken. She made sure her employees knew that once the supper rush began, there would be no eating on their part.
"Is that a new shirt, Matt?" Woody asked.
"I bought it last week," Matt said. "Wore it a couple of times then."
"Huh," Woody said. "Looks new. Is that what you're spendin' your pay on? New clothes?"
"Well," Matt said, "I sure need them."
"Don't they give ya some clothes when ya leave prison?" Woody asked.
"Woody," Kate scolded, "let the man eat."
"It's okay," Matt said. "No, they only gave me the clothes I came in with."
"All those years ago?" Woody said, shaking his head. "Man, you'd think they'd at least give ya some new duds."
"You'd think," Matt agreed.
"They treat everybody like that?"
"Every inmate," Matt said.
"So that's why yer buyin' new clothes," Woody said.
"Right," Matt said. "I don't have any."
Woody finished his stew and pushed the bowl away. "Hey, when you were inside-," he started, but Kate cut him off.
"That's enough, Woody," she said. "You've finished eating, so get to your tables."
"Yes, ma'am." He got up and hurried out of the kitchen.
"I'm sorry about that," Kate said.
"That's okay," Matt said. "He's a kid, and he's curious."
"That shirt does look good on you, though," she said. "In fact, you look a helluva lot healthier than you did when you walked in here six weeks ago."
"I've put some weight back on," he admitted.
"And tell me," she said, "what do you do when you're not here washing dishes?"
"Whataya mean?" he asked.
"I mean, in your off time," she said. "What do you do to pass the time?"
He didn't want to tell her that he still just sat in his room, staring, because he didn't know what else to do. In the old days, he had worn a badge and had plenty to do. And in prison, they had given him enough to do to pass the day. Now that he was out, he had no tin on his chest to justify. And he couldn't imagine going out and finding something to do that was . . . pleasant. Not without his Angie.
So he pretty much knew every crack in one wall of his room. He had them memorized. That was when he decided to switch sides of the bed and start staring at the other wall.
"I don't do much," he said. "I still don't have much money and what I have I spend on clothes, haircuts, shaves, things like that."
"What about a stake?" she asked.
"What about it?"
"Well, your second week here, you mentioned how when you got a stake, you'd pull out," she said. "Leave Yuma and the prison behind. How's your stake?"
"Nowhere near enough," he admitted.
"You haven't been gamblin', have you?" she asked.
"What? No . . . Why would you ask me that?"
"I don't know," she said. "I thought lots of ex-cons came out and gambled. You know, in the saloons."
"I don't have the money to go to saloons," he said.
She finished her food, grabbed her plate and Woody's, and took them to the sink for Matt to wash when he was ready.
"I wish I could give ya a raise, Matt," she said, "but I just can't do it."
"That's okay, Kate," he said. "Don't worry about it. I'm grateful you gave me a job the day I got out. I would've been . . . lost for a while."
"Well," she said, "Woody's gonna be comin' in with orders, so I gotta get cookin', and you gotta get washin'."
"Right." He ate the last bite of his steak, then carried his own plate to the sink.
Because Kate had brought up the subject of his poke, when he went home to the rooming house that night, he went to his room to check on it. In the beginning, he hadnÕt been locking his door because there hadnÕt been anything in the room to steal. But once he started getting paid and building his fortune-such as it was-the door started getting locked.
He entered, locked the door behind him, sat on the bed, and fished the envelope holding his money from underneath the night table by the bed. He counted the money and saw that he had instinctively told Kate the truth. He did not have near enough money to leave Yuma. He was going to be washing dishes for the foreseeable future.
As he was shoving the envelope back under the table, there was a gentle knock on his door. He walked to it, unlocked it, and opened it.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mr. Wheeler," Esther the landlady said.
"No, you're not," Matt said. "In fact, I just got in."
"I actually heard you," she said, "and I wanted a word before you turned in."
"Do you want to come in, Esther?" he asked.
"Uh, no," she said. "You know I don't go into my tenants' rooms. But if we keep our voices down, we can talk right here."
"Keep our voices down?"
"Yes," she whispered, "I don't want the others to hear what I'm about to say."
"All right."
"I've noticed that you never eat your meals with us in the evenings," she said.
"It has nothing to do with the food you serve, Esther," he said. "I really enjoy your breakfasts. But I am at the caf almost every night at suppertime, and Kate does give her employees a free meal."
"I'm aware of that," she said. "That's why I wanted to propose that I charge you less money for your room."
/
