A Place for the Snakes

It was a lovely Sunday afternoon. The children had been to Sunday school while the grownups had been to church and now the entire family was gathered in the backyard. Mother and Father were both working in the garden while the children played cowboys and Indians, and Grandpa was seated by himself enjoying the air underneath a tree.

The older cowboy had just effectively brought his younger sibling to justice. Unfortunately, rather than simply die as a respectable outlaw should, the younger child had transformed into an Indian and was now intent on scalping the older one for stealing his land. This might have gone on for quite some time, if the older one had not grown tired and announced that he would not play anymore. This might have produced a tantrum from the younger one, if the older one had not asked, "Can you tell us a story, Grandpa?"

Grandpa smiled. "And what sort of story would you like to hear?"

"A story about Indians scalping people," said the younger one.

"Don't listen to him," said the older one. "Grandpa, is it true that you knew Jesse James?"

That caused Grandpa's smile to diminish slightly. "Now, who told you a thing like that?"

"The older one looked a little embarrassed. "Well, I heard it from. . .someplace."

"Mmm," said Grandpa.

But by now, the younger one was so interested that the Indians were no longer important. "Tell us a story about Jesse James," he ordered.

Grandpa frowned a little. "Jesse James eh? Well. . .I guess if it's what you really want to hear. . . .

* * *

Before you hear about Jesse James, there're a few things that I think you ought to consider.

For example, you went to Sunday School this morning, and you probably learned that there's God above us and there's the other guy below us. Old Scratch, the man in the red suit, whatever you want to call him. You probably learned that God is good and the other guy is bad, and I guess that's the best way of thinking of it at your age, but when you get to be my age, you wonder if that's a little misleading. It might make more sense to say God is orderly and the other is not so much.

Consider the Garden of Eden. It was probably a garden like the one your parents are planting right now with flowers, trees, and grass all lined up in their proper places and everyone following God's commands. Later on, God gave us ten commandments, and I guess it's good that he did because you can walk around outside without being afraid that someone will just try to kill you or steal your lunch money, so considered that way, I guess God is good.

On the other hand, there's a problem with gardens and that's that sometimes they're just not big enough for everyone. Like the Garden of Eden. That snake realized there wasn't enough room for the likes of him, so he did things his way, and when that happens you have to ask yourself: What price would you pay to get rid of the snakes?

I see you're getting impatient. You want to hear about Jesse, not gardens. Well, all right. My point is that Jesse James lived in a time when America was busy planting the beautiful garden that exists today, and we was running out of room for the snakes.

Once, when I was young, I was with Jesse when he rode into a small town outside of Missouri. We came to this old rundown house where a widow and her son lived. They were both weeping. When Jesse asked her why she was so sorrowful, she said it was on account of she owed rent to her landlord which she couldn't pay. She had begged and begged her landlord for more time, but he wouldn't give to her, so now she expected that she and her son would be homeless with no place to go soon. 

Well Jesse asked her how much she owed. She told him fifteen hundred dollars, so Jesse reached into his wallet and counted out that amount exactly and gave it to her.

Of course, she tried to protest, but Jesse wouldn't hear none of it. He insisted she take the money. He sounds like a mighty fine fellow, eh?

Except that you don't know the whole story. You see, after he gave her the money, he ordered us to take up positions around the Widow's house, and wait for the landlord. We didn't do nothing when he went into the house, but when the landlord came out with the widow's money, Jesse ordered us to open fire. We plugged at least twenty or thirty bullets into that landlord before Jesse raided the body for every cent, it was carrying, including the fifteen hundred dollars and then rode off.


It goes back to what I said before, about how America didn’t have enough room for the snakes. You know, Jesse had a family like you. He had a beautiful Ma, and a little brother, who was. . .well. . .I guess today, you would call him “special”. Back then we called him, “simple.” Anyway, once there was this detective named Pinkerton. There was a God-lovin man. A man who would stop at nothing to get his snakes.  So one day, he showed up the house where Jesse’s Ma and brother lived. He tossed a bomb right into the place. The blast killed Jesse’s little brother and blew off part of his Ma’s arm. I have to say I’d be scared to do that, no matter ugly the snake I was after, but Pinkerton didn’t care. The sad part is that he didn’t even get Jesse, but I’m sure God gave him a place in Heaven for trying so hard.

Still, Jesse couldn’t hold out forever. Not one when America was so intent on getting rid of its snakes. Eventually, the governor of Missouri offered a reward of $10,000 to anyone who could bring Jesse James to dead or alive. To me, $10,000 was quite a bit of money.

I still remember the last day. Jesse was planning another big heist. So we talked and laughed over a breakfast of flapjacks and coffee. Then, Jesse announced that it was time to head out, so he stood up and strapped on his guns. I saw my chance. I pointed to a picture over the mantle of Jesse’s Ma. “It looks a might dusty,” I said.

Jesse agreed and stood on the chair to give it a dusting. Now, I really had my chance. His back was to me and my gun was loaded. So, I shot him three times in the back of the head.

You know, at first they actually had the nerve to arrest me, and for a while I thought that I would hang, but after I had been in jail for a few days, the pardon came down from the governor of Missour, not to mention the reward money.

I guess that’s something to be proud of. I got rid of one of the worst men this country has ever seen, but I often wonder about the price.


1,205 words