NOVEL NEXT chapter 15 - MJ
Clatter, clatter.
On the way into downtown Leavenworth.
With his arms hooked on the wagon sideboard, Conall called back to Max riding behind.
“Max, what are you buying today?”
“Food.”
“And what else?”
“Food.”
“Geez.”
Conall stuck out his lip, and Max said with a grin:
“You’ve gotta eat to build strength. You too—don’t be picky. Eat whatever you can get.”
“You sound just like Mom. Ugh…!”
“Of course. Because she’s right.”
Mary, on the driver’s bench, glanced back and rolled her eyes.
Max, on horseback, looked over the scenery.
From open prairie to, closer to town, wooden buildings coming into view.
A settlement starts simple.
First come a general store and a saloon.
The general store handles everything from foodstuffs to clothes, farm tools, weapons, and tents; as the town grows, it splits into specialties.
Leavenworth’s general stores had split into a grocer, a dry-goods shop, a hardware store, a butcher—big enough to count as a proper town.
Reaching the east end of Main Street,
James pointed.
“That’s the hardware store George runs.”
Leavenworth’s first hardware store, his own name “George Russell” painted [N O V E L I G H T] in big letters.
Goods from the smithy were displayed there, and customers placed custom orders.
Just then the door opened and George stepped out.
“Well now. The whole family’s out.”
“Got a lot to buy.”
“Good timing. Mind dropping me off on the way?”
“Of course. Where to?”
“Rively’s store. Follow the road out to Salt Creek Valley.”
Mary made room on the driver’s bench, and she climbed into the bed with Max and Conall.
“Sorry for the trouble, Mary.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s fine.”
Looking a bit sheepish, George then turned to Max.
“Have you fired the bullets yet?”
“Wasn’t long, but they came out well.”
“Yeah? If it were up to me, I’d show Fort Leavenworth right now.”
“You said the commander’s changing.”
“They’re all one-year men.”
Convinced the copper bullet would work, George was itching to see the army’s reaction.
Not long after he started getting heated about bullets, they arrived at Rively’s store.
Rively’s Store (Trading post).
Max, intrigued by the sign, asked George:
“What’s this place?”
“You don’t know? It’s the most famous spot off Fort Riley Road and the Oregon Trail.”
“No idea.”
“Usually it’s a trading post, but sometimes it’s used for meetings or speeches. A few months back the first meeting of Kansas settlers was held here.”
“What about today?”
“My friend’s giving a speech today. Want to come?”
“Not at all.”
The post was interesting; speeches weren’t.
Max clammed up, unimpressed. James asked George:
“What’s your friend speaking on?”
“Name’s Isaac Cody. He’s real active in the abolition movement.”
“Touchy times lately, aren’t they?”
“That’s why we’re going. He’s speaking in a nest of pro-slavery men.”
Lost his damn mind… But—Isaac Cody, huh?
Where had he heard that…
Max’s eyes flashed. Digging through memory, he landed on a fact.
No way I’m passing this up.
“Let’s go have a look too, James.”
“Huh? Sure, why not.”
“Oh, right. You can’t bring firearms inside the post.”
At George’s words, Max thought for a moment, then hid his guns in the wagon bed.
They climbed down with George and entered the store. Inside, the very scene George had worried about was already underway.
Crack.
Thud.
A man dropped, shattering a table.
It was George’s friend, Isaac Cody.
Around him, men trying to kill him and men trying to stop them had turned the place into a brawl.
“You’d better stay with Conall at the wagon.”
“I think you should stay at the wagon, James.”
“Hrm.”
If he got involved, nothing good would come to James’s family.
Max sent them all back to the wagon, clicked his tongue, and watched the room.
Complete shitshow.
“Beasts aren’t the Blacks—they’re you bastards!”
“Let that mouth flap in a grave, you son of a bitch!”
“Who the hell are you to yammer about giving niggers freedom!”
“Everybody calm down! What the hell are you doing in another man’s store!”
The proprietor, R. P. Rively, was sweating, trying to break it up.
Clutching his bleeding shoulder, Isaac was crawling to escape along the floor.
George rushed to him.
“George! If you don’t want the same, get out of this. We’ve had our eye on how you pal around with that bastard.”
“Differences of thought or not, this isn’t right!”
“Thoughts, my ass. Isaac’s head is full of shit! We’ll make sure he never mouths that crap about emancipation again!”
Just then one of them lunged to kill the newly risen Isaac.
The knife in his hand aimed for Isaac’s gut.
And at that moment,
Max slipped between them.
Crack.
The man took a square shot to the face and flew back faster than he’d charged.
“Guh…”
“W—what the hell is that bastard!?”
His buddies shouted, drawing knives.
Max Jo, who stilled the ruckus in a breath.
He stepped in front of Isaac and looked levelly at them.
One of them, anger boiling over, rushed with a knife.
“An Oriental, and you dare!”
No guns, so it’s all knives, huh.
Max decided to match.
He drew his Bowie knife to meet him.
“Die, you coolie bastard!”
He slipped the stabbing blade just off line and yanked the man’s wrist. The man, losing his center, stumbled in, and Max instantly took his back and seized a fistful of hair.
“Hup!”
As the man sucked a breath, Max kicked his legs out from behind. Hair in his grip, the man dropped to his knees, hanging from Max’s hand.
People stared, spellbound.
Max bent at the waist, set his blade to the man’s throat, and whispered.
“What now.”
“Urk…”
Winter cold. The chill of the edge ran straight into his neck. Terror loosened the man’s mouth into a grovel.
“S—spare me. With all these eyes on us, you can’t do this…”
Gotta head out onto the open range if you want to do as you please, huh.
In a relatively big town, killing a man isn’t easy.
Same for collecting a bounty.
And with the gun ban, the knife fight made him feel movies are just movies.
Or maybe it’s just not yet the full-blown gunman era.
Max calmly scanned the room.
Rage, or curiosity.
Some of them must’ve read the newspaper; they whispered while staring at Max.
Whatever they felt,
Max’s interest was elsewhere.
His eyes went to Isaac Cody—George’s friend and the spark of this mess.
More precisely, to the small boy beside him, standing there with wet eyes.
That kid is Buffalo—
Bang!
A gunshot from outside the store froze Max’s thoughts.
A middle-aged man stepped in. With a badge on his chest, he was Leavenworth’s acting sheriff, Green D. Todd.
“Why don’t you put that knife down, Oriental friend.”
A deep voice, smooth enough.
Max straightened and slowly lifted the blade off the man’s throat. The man, rubbing his neck, glared and spat on the floor.
The begging-for-his-life from a moment ago was nowhere to be seen.
“The meeting’s over. Disperse! If there’s more trouble, I won’t sit on my hands!”
At Sheriff Todd’s words, people began filing out.
With the situation over, Max’s eyes went back to the boy beside Isaac.
That boy is—
“Hey, Oriental! Which side are you on?”
Oh, come on.
Max knit his brows and looked at the man who’d asked. It wasn’t just one.
Most here were pro-slavery.
And they had a rough idea in their heads of what an Oriental was. That’s why they fixed on Max’s answer to sort out whether he was on their side.
He’d helped Isaac, but that wasn’t enough to peg him. Depending on Max’s answer, the road ahead would be set. It was a key moment.
“I’m neutral.”
A beat of silence, then a man jeered:
“Bullshit. Does that even make sense?”
“Why not. I’m not a slave and I’ve never owned any, so either way’s all the same to me.”
“Hmph. No convictions, huh.”
“‘No convictions,’ huh?”
Max glared and the man flinched.
They were ordinary settlers who’d come to Leavenworth to make a living. They were venting their anger at Isaac for denying their beliefs.
“Isaac needed someone to buy his goods. I helped him for that. Nothing else.”
As far as he remembered, Isaac was a merchant.
He didn’t know what he sold, but to keep the meaning of the rescue from being twisted, Max drew a clear line.
Seeing the chill in Max’s eyes, the others tugged the man’s sleeve.
If his stance was unclear, they had no grounds to attack.
And their opponent had put down a famous gang. There was nothing to gain by picking a fight.
“Tch. Isaac! You read trash like this and run your mouth. Lucky you lived, but you’ll die in the end!”
The man, taking it out on Isaac, tossed the book he’d been holding onto the floor in front of Max with petty spite.
Then he and his crew disappeared out of the store.
Stabbing a man and strolling off—guess it really is the lawless West.
Shaking his head, Max bent and picked up the book they’d thrown, now in rags.
Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
A novel that dragged the slavery conflict into the open and stirred abolitionists to a great wave.
America’s first million-seller.
Isaac had probably based his speech on this book.
And he’d done it in front of men who supported slavery…
Like a monk walking into Sunday service to preach the Dharma—he could understand their reaction.
Guts, or a swollen head.
Or conviction that strong.
Max let the book he was holding drop to the floor, as if it bored him.
Just then Sheriff Todd—who didn’t look to be doing much—came over.
“Throwing it away? Ah, you can’t read, huh.”
Read it ages ago, pal.
Instead of answering, Max looked at Todd.
Todd asked, interested:
“You’re Max Jo, right?”
He’d read the paper—he even knew the name.
“That’s right.”
“An honor. So—was what you just said true?”
“You don’t believe the part where I said ‘that’s right’?”
“...No. That you’re neutral on slavery.”
“Ah, that. Yes. Why?”
Arms folded, Todd said:
“Good answer. But it’ll be a little annoying from here on.”
Max already guessed what he meant.
Both camps would approach him.
Which was part of his plan.
Until something got decided, neither side would move to attack him—or James’s family.
“And you, Sheriff—which side are you on?”
“Whoa, whoa. Don’t pin that on me.”
“I can tell at a glance.”
“...Which?”
Curious, Todd watched his mouth.
“Same as me—neutral, I’d say.”
In a place where the two camps were taut as a wire,
a sheriff couldn’t easily take a side.
He’s probably walking a razor’s edge.
“When you’ve got time, drop by the office. You’re more interesting than an Indian who speaks good English.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means talking to you is that entertaining.”
Todd grinned, clapped Max on the shoulder—
And Rively, the proprietor, came up to unload his complaints.
“Todd! I asked for support in advance. You know trouble comes every time there’s a meeting.”
“Well you shouldn’t have invited Isaac to speak at a pro-slavery gathering in the first place. How many times have I warned you.”
“Don’t just warn—send help! And listen. A man’s thinking gets flexible by hearing the other side too. Am I wrong?”
“Quite right, but that depends on the situation.”
R. P. Rively, storekeeper, had left the Mexican War with the rank of major.
He, Isaac Cody, and George Russell were among Leavenworth’s earliest settlers.
As Sheriff Todd and Rively traded barbs,
Max quietly eased away and turned his back.
And there, a boy stood staring up at him.
Well now. Look who it is.
Isaac Cody’s son.
A man who would shoot through Western history, a legendary gunman who’d write a page of it.
Buffalo Bill Cody.
There are plenty of words for him.
A popular American hero and soldier, a buffalo hunter, and the showman who made “Wild West” a household name.
So I really did come to the West.
The most famous person he’d met so far.
And that historic figure was about to move his lips and speak.
“Thank you for helping my father. I’ll repay the favor.”
They say a promising tree shows it from the sprout.
From an eight-year-old’s mouth came the word favor.
“Your name?”
“William Cody. I’m eight.”
“You’re young.”
“Because I’m a kid.”
Max gave a wry chuckle and a faint smile.
Part of him felt it was a pity.
Met you too early.
Too soon to do anything together.
But time would move, one way or another.
“You’ll repay the favor?”
With his lips pressed tight, William nodded.
“Then if I come looking someday, can you help me—once?”
“Of course!”
Maybe it was an answer a kid could give.
Maybe, because he was a kid, he’d forget this promise.
Max pulled something from his coat and set it in William Cody’s hand.
“?”
“A token of the promise. So you never forget.”
William looked at what lay on his palm.
A copper-plated bullet.
He wouldn’t know it was a bullet for a long time yet.
But he could see the initials engraved up top.
MJ…
William closed his fingers around the bullet and nodded.
“Call me anytime and I’ll come!”
Oh, you will.
That’s why he’d helped him.
Max ruffled William’s hair and smiled.