But Ernestine was determined to see it through. Personally, she did not think she was doing anything wrong. Not really. It was not as if she was a dove working the other side of the tracks. She was a teacher, meeting a student. That the student was a grown man with whom she had spent a lot of time—alone—the past week was not a reflection on her moral fiber. Truly it wasn’t. She was willing to swear on a stack of Bibles.
Ernestine hurried on. She wanted to have the door unlocked and the lamp lit when he arrived. She was so intent in groping in her bag for the key that she did not notice the gruella until it nickered. Startled, she glanced up, blurting, “Who’s there?” A silly thing to say, she told herself.
A shadow came from the corner of the schoolhouse. “It’s me, Jeeter. Sorry if I spooked you, ma’am.”
“Not you, your horse,” Ernestine said nervously. She found the key and stepped quickly to the door.
“I want to thank you again for doing this,” Jeeter Frost said. “It is awful sweet of you.”
Her cheeks burning, Ernestine replied, “I would do the same for any of my students.”
“Maybe so,” Jeeter said. “But it means a lot to me, you taking extra time like this so I can learn to read that much sooner.”
“You are making fine progress, Mr. Frost.” Ernestine twisted the key and entered. The inside was black as pitch. She moved along an aisle between rows of desks with the ease of long familiarity. It took a minute for her to light the lamp. She adjusted the wick and turned, nearly bumping into Jeeter Frost. “My word! You shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Jeeter said. “Old habits, and all.” He took off his hat and claimed his usual desk. “What letter are we up to again? I keep forgetting.”
“You are up to
“I’ll be switched,” Jeeter said with distinct pride. “Had I known learning it would be so much fun, I’d have done it years ago.”
Ernestine grinned. “Few of my young charges regard schooling as fun. To them it is more akin to torture.” She opened a drawer and took out the
“What first?” Jeeter asked. “Want me to write a
“Actually,” Ernestine said, leaning back against the desk, “before we commence your studies I was hoping you would tell me the rest of your story about that incident in Newton you were involved in.”
Jeeter chuckled. “It beats me all hollow why you let me prattle on about my past. I have told you more about myself than I have ever told anyone.”
“You honor me with your confidence,” Ernestine said. She did not mention how illuminating the revelations had been. She felt she knew him better than she knew anyone except herself, and the knowledge she gleaned had cast this supposedly notorious killer in a whole new light.
“As for Newton, there wasn’t much to it,” Jeeter said. “Back in seventy-one, it was, before Dodge City came to be. Then Newton was the wildest and woolliest of the cow towns. The dance halls and saloons were open twenty-four hours of the day. A man could do anything, buy anything.”
“As you can in Dodge now, south of the tracks,” Ernestine commented.
“Oh, Newton was wilder, ma’am. It was about the toughest, roughest place I’ve ever been, and that’s saying something. I spent a lot of time gambling in those days, usually at Tuttle’s. One night I was there when some cowhands came up the trail from Texas.”
Ernestine listened in rapt attention, her eyes shining with more than reflected lantern light.
“It was the end of the drive and they naturally decided to tear up the town. All the outfits did in those days. They would clean up and get liquored up and make the rounds of all the saloons. Six of them came into Tuttle’s, and that’s when the trouble began.” Jeeter stopped, reliving it again in his mind’s eye.
“You were playing cards, you say?” Ernestine goaded when he did not go on.
“Yes, ma’am. I had just been dealt a flush, the best hand I had all night. I bet all I had. If I had won the pot, I’d have been a couple of hundred dollars richer. In those days that was a lot.”
“It still is,” Ernestine felt compelled to say.
“I reckon. Anyway, along about then, some drunk punchers got into an argument with some other fellas. There was a lot of name calling and pushing and shoving, and a cowboy came stumbling out of nowhere and fell on our table and upended it. Down went the money, our cards, everything.”
“That made you mad?”
“It sure as blazes did!” Jeeter exclaimed. “The cards were all mixed up on the floor. We couldn’t end the hand. Everyone was given their money back, so I suppose I should have been grateful. But when I saw the cowboy who did it standing there smiling like it was a big joke, I lost my temper. I drew my revolver and pistol-whipped the bas—” Jeeter caught himself. “Sorry, ma’am. I tend to forget myself sometimes.”
