Jackrabbit Joe

Jackrabbit Joe

The streets weren’t always so crowded. So many people, so many confounded horses. I remember the time when a horse coming into town meant some cowboy had done gotten himself in trouble. We used to get all the outlaws through here. Since the railroad passed us by, they figured they’d have a place to lie low for a while before any law men would find them. There was the time that the Pinkerton’s found one of them though.
Jackrabbit Joe they called him. He always seemed to stay one jump ahead of getting caught. He’d been living outside Starkes, Nevada with his wife when it started. Priscilla was a real pretty woman from New York. She always said she hated the rugged country Joe had moved her into. She was educated and was used to being pampered. She had been raised quite the proper city lady. The idea of living in a two room, dirt floor shack in the middle of nowhere just didn’t appeal to her. It didn’t matter to her that Joe was trying to get his herd built up. It didn’t matter that he would work from can to cain’t, daylight to dark putting up fences, diggin‘ out waterin‘ holes, or cutting‘ hay. It didn’t matter that Joe loved her more than life itself.
Joe would take her to town every chance he got. When he’d have to go in to buy whatever building material he needed, supplies, or grub, he always brought Priscilla. She would walk into the mercantile like she was some kind of queen. She always acted like she was better than everybody else and she never was pleased with anything. That is, until the day she met Lawrence Cashman. He’d been a big shot newspaper man in Philadelphia, and had came to Starkes to start a new paper. He had also been raised “proper”, and was quite the gentleman.
Priscilla was hooked right from the start. “I finally have someone to talk to, Joe. Somebody other than these rowdy, dirty people that live in this hell hole of a place”, she said. Joe didn’t like it, but he always gave in. He loved her too much to argue with her.
Joe had to go into Carson City to pick up a few young heifers to add to the herd. He knew he’d be gone at least a week. He also knew Priscilla wouldn’t want to stay at the shack until he came back. She would want to pack up and go into town to stay at the hotel. “At least”, she said, “I won’t have to worry about Indians and coyotes if I’m in town”. Joe worried more about the wolf at the newspaper office. Joe got her all settled in
at Miss Rosie’s, and took off. He told Priscilla he’d be back by supper on the following Friday. Joe felt mighty uneasy, but blamed it on the slightly cool breeze and the clouds banked up to the west.

Joe arrived home late Thursday evening. The heifers had been penned up in Carson City, and were anxious to get out on the trail. There weren’t but 20 head, so Joe had no problem keeping them together by himself. Come spring, these heifers would hopefully have had their first calves. If he was lucky, he thought, there might even be a set of twins in the bunch.
He was daydreaming when he approached the shack. He put the heifers into the newest fenced area, got off his horse, and went inside. “It may be shabby”, he thought, “but it shore feels good to be home”. The first thing he noticed was the lamp on the old board table holding down a letter. Then he saw the empty trunk where Priscilla’s things used to be. He began to shake as he picked up the letter and began to read.

“Dear Joe, I am sorry to leave you this way, but I just can’t bear
another minute of this horrid life. It will make me old before
my time. As you may have guessed, I am with Lawrence. He
and I intend on leaving Friday morning for Sacramento. He
has told me of the city, and I think I would fit better there than
here. I’m sorry things didn’t work out, but I tried. I hope you have a
good life. Sincerely, Priscilla”.

He read it again. Then again for the third time. He didn’t want to believe that the one thing he loved in this life was gone. Something broke deep in his chest. A burning pain like he’d never felt before rippled through him like a tornado on the plains. Joe started to cry. He’d never cried a day in his life, not even when his ma passed on. He wiped the tears from his face and walked to the fireplace where his gun belt hung. He never made a habit of wearing it, as he wasn’t the type for violence. He strapped it on, and for some reason, it just felt good. He reached over the mantle and took down the Sharps. He loaded both weapons carefully, then turned and walked out. It was just beginning to get dark, and the sunset was a crimson red on the horizon. He walked around behind the shack and turned out all the cattle. Calmly, he went back inside the shack, rolled a cigarette, and took out a match to light it. The burning match he threw onto Priscilla’s letter on the table, and he began to watch his entire life, his dreams, go up in flames and disappear in the smoke. Nothing mattered now.
The ride into town didn’t seem to take long. He tethered his horse outside of Miss Rosie’s boarding house, and walked in. When Miss Rosie saw the gun slung around his hip, she knew there was going to be trouble. She spoke to Joe and told him “Now, Joe, don’t go losin’ your head over that woman! Everybody knows she ain’t no good, and there’s been trouble brewin’ ever since that news feller came to town. You’re too good a man to be brought down by the likes of her.”
Joe heard nothing as he climbed the stairs two at a time. He didn’t even bother knocking, just went through the door. There was his Priscilla, all wrapped up in the sheets, but without any clothes on. She had never slept that way at home. She said it wasn’t proper for a lady. When her eyes fluttered open, there was a look of fear when she saw the pistol in his hand. “’Cilla,” said Joe, “I always loved you, and always will, but you ain’t never goin’ to belong to anybody else but me. I reckon I’ll see you in hell, cause that‘s surely where I‘ll be goin‘”. He pulled the trigger until the gun was empty. He didn’t even notice the blood for the tears in his eyes. He then left the boarding house and headed over to the little room where Lawrence stayed over the printing office. From the corner of his eye, Joe saw Lawrence riding hell to breakfast out of town. “No matter”, he thought, “I’ll find’im” He calmly mounted his horse and began to ride in the direction Lawrence had went. He didn’t care how long he’d have to tail him, he’d find him.
It took almost two weeks, but Joe tailed him to a railroad station near Lake Tahoe. Lawrence had bought himself a ticket and boarded the train. Joe had no money for a ticket, so he just rode out a few miles to meet the train when it got there. After about an hour, the sound of the train could be heard. Joe stood in the middle of the track with his old Sharps ready and aimed. The screeching brakes and steam billowing up brought the train to a stop. Joe boarded the train and told everybody not to be scared, he was simply looking for one man. He found him in the dining car, with a liquor glass in his hand. Lawrence looked up and smiled at Joe. “I wondered how long it would take you. I simply got tired of running, and decided to have a little more pleasure before I left this life.” Lawrence then emptied his glass. “The only pleasure I ever had in this world ”, replied Joe, “is gone because of you. And your right, you’re fixin’ to leave this life.” By the time the smoke cleared, Joe was gone, and Lawrence was dead.
The Pinkerton’s were notified about the killings, and they began the search for Joe. Just about the time they would show up, Jackrabbit Joe would be one jump ahead of them. After several years of running, Joe went back to Starkes to start over. The Pinkerton’s followed, but when they arrived, all they found was a fresh grave marked with Joe’s name. Miss Rosie told them he “had just came home and died. Buried him three days ago.” The Pinkerton’s had, as usual, found their man. The only thing they didn’t know is that there was no body in that grave, just an old wood coffin. I know this for a fact.
My name has been Mack for now on 25 years, but I used to be called….Joe.