Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, The: A Novel (P.S.)
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Jesse James was a fabled outlaw, a charismatic, spiritual, larger-than-life bad man whose bloody exploits captured the imagination and admiration of a nation hungry for antiheroes. Robert Ford was a young upstart torn between dedicated worship and murderous jealousy, the "dirty little coward" who coveted Jesse's legend. The powerful, strange, and unforgettable story of their interweaving paths—and twin destinies that would collide in a rain of blood and betrayal—is a story of America in all her rough, conflicted glory and the myths that made her.
vaguely orange in the glow as Zee made the prescribed suggestions. They each up-ended their mugs and clocked them around three times as Zee, with a slight giggle, recited, “Tell me faithful, tell me well, the secrets that the leaves foretell.” She then requested that Bob give her his mug and gazed at the green dregs still clinging to the murky bottom. “It looks like a snake.” Bob got up from his chair and gaped with puzzlement as she obligingly tilted the mug. “You mean that squiggle there?”
checked the vest watch again. Then the night lessened, the clouds ashened slightly, and the men became starkly black and brown against the gray of the snow. Craig walked out to scan the east and saw pink in the mile-off woods and he turned connotatively to Sheriff Timberlake. The sheriff whistled succinctly and motioned forward for the deputies to move on the farmhouse and the twelve crept forward. Craig sucked on his index finger to thaw it, then nestled it next to the rifle’s trigger.
without it, the duty devolving upon me would be much more difficult, if not altogether impossible to accomplish. The task Henry Craig has assumed requires fearless courage, extraordinary vigilance, and an unerring selection of instrumentalities. He is always ready to undergo any labor, danger, or exposure in pursuit of the outlaws, and in every action Henry Craig has committed himself to the highest standards of the Craig Rifles and the Kansas City Police Department, and to that I unhesitatingly
passageway. (The vestibules that connected coaches and kept out the weather had not yet been invented; the only protection was a platform railing and roof.) He snuck down the stairs and saw three masked men beneath the lamplit second compartment of the sleeper, one man smoking a cigarette, another kicking soot clods from the carriage. It had been several minutes since they’d stopped the train, they wanted activities and hobbies; soon they’d be looking for bottles to break. The man with the
and you said you didn’t know anything about Dick.” “And I don’t.” Jesse moved his finger down the page, guiding his eyes as he read. “It’s very strange,” he said and made no other comment as he continued to the conclusion. Zee was scraping the children’s breakfast plates in the kitchen and immersing them in soaped dishwater. They thudded together with the wooden sound of a muscular heart pumping blood. Jesse sipped some coffee without looking up from the newspaper. He said, “It says here Dick