A Rocky Mountain Christmas

“I think you know why that is,” McCoy quipped.

Jenny was lost from that moment, falling head over heels in love with him.

Three months later, On January 3, 1891, they were married.

Jenny learned quickly that marrying Nate McCoy was the biggest mistake she had ever made. Although he’d told her he was a broker who dealt with “other people’s money,” that was an extremely broad interpretation of his actual profession. McCoy was a professional gambler, and not an honest one.

Caught cheating on the Delta Mist, he was barred from taking passage on that or any of the passenger boats that plied the Mississippi. When he left the boats Jenny left with him, and for the next eighteen months, her life with McCoy became little more than running from town to town just ahead of a lynch mob.

“Why do you cheat?” Jenny asked her husband.

“Why do I cheat? Isn’t it obvious? I cheat to make money. Where do you think we get the food we eat? The expensive clothes you wear? How do we pay for the fine hotel rooms? From my winnings, that’s where. The odds of winning are not good enough for all that unless I give myself an edge. And that is exactly what I do, my dear. I give myself an edge.”

“By cheating.”

“You call it cheating, I call it increasing the odds.”

“When you were caught cheating on the boats you were barred from taking any further passage on them. But if you are caught cheating in a saloon or a gambling house, the consequences could be much more severe. You could be killed.”

“Ahh, it does my heart good to know my darling wife is frightened for me,” Nate said sarcastically.

“Nate, why don’t we make a living doing something else? I have an education. I could teach school.” Jenny made that offer, even though she knew most schools had a provision in their contract that the teachers they hire be unwed.

“Assuming you could get around the obstacle of being married, what would you propose that I do, my dear? Become a store clerk perhaps?”

“Why not? It would be honest work. And we could settle down somewhere and have a real home like ordinary people.”

“Like ordinary people,” McCoy repeated, emphasizing the word.

“Yes.”

“And this real home, no doubt, will have a white picket fence? Perhaps some flowers that you care for so tenderly? Maybe even a brat or two running around?”

“I-I wouldn’t call them brats,” Jenny mumbled, hurt by his sarcastic response.

“Yes. Well, my dear, as for your rather tedious dream, I am not ordinary, as you know.”

“Yes,” Jenny said, the dream now dead. “How well I know.”

Colorado Springs, Colorado

Two days after that very conversation, Jenny and Nate had breakfast in the hotel dining room.

“I’ve never seen a town that had so many people who were ripe for the plucking. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t get out of here with between a thousand and fifteen hundred dollars.”

“Nate, please be careful.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, my dear. I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know how to take care of myself.” McCoy stood and left Jenny to return to their room alone.

Jenny tried to concentrate on the book in her hand, but her thoughts kept interrupting. Nate had been gone for over four hours, and it wasn’t like him to be gone so long. He had told her they would have lunch together, but it was nearly one o’clock and he hadn’t come back to the hotel room yet.

Feeling an overwhelming sense of foreboding, Jenny put the book aside and walked to the window, looking down onto the street below. When there was a knock at the door she gasped. She knew something was wrong. Nate wouldn’t knock.

Turning away from the window, she took a sharp breath, and with trembling hands, crossed over to open the door. The man standing in the hallway was wearing the badge of a deputy city marshal.

“Mrs. McCoy?”

“Is he dead?” Jenny asked in a quiet and resigned voice.

If the deputy was shocked by her question, he didn’t show it. “Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid he is.”

“What happened?”

“I’m told he was caught with an ace up his sleeve. There was an altercation, your husband went for a gun, and he was shot.”

“That isn’t possible.”

“Mrs. McCoy, are you saying your husband didn’t cheat?”

“No, he cheated all right. But it isn’t possible that he went for a gun. He never carried one.”

“To be truthful with you, Mrs. McCoy, it doesn’t matter whether he had a gun or not. There was a bitter argument precipitated by your husband, and the man who shot him believed McCoy was going for a gun. The belief that his life was threatened is all it takes to justify shooting your husband.”

“Where is he now?”

“The undertaker has him. Will you be paying for his final expenses or will the city pay?”

“You mean the city would pay?”

“A plain pine box and a hole in the ground. I’m afraid there is nothing comforting about a city-financed burying.”

“I’ll go see the undertaker,” Jenny said. “Perhaps we can come to an accommodation of sorts.”

Learning that the undertaker’s business was next door to the hardware store, Jenny left the hotel and walked down to see him. Surprised to see a rather substantial knot of people standing around in front of the undertaker’s building, she wondered why they were there.

As soon as she arrived, she saw what was holding their attention. There, in an open casket, she saw her husband. His arms were folded across his chest, and he was holding a hand of cards. A hand-lettered sign read A CHEATING GAMBLER’S FATE.

“I’ll bet all five of them cards is aces,” a man in the crowd said, causing several others to laugh.

Jenny went into the establishment where she was met by a tall, gaunt man in a black suit, white shirt, and black string tie.

“Yes, ma’am. Is there something I can do for you?”

“There certainly is. You can remove my husband from that horrid display in the window,” Jenny answered pointedly.

“Your husband? You mean the gambler?”

“Yes, Nate McCoy. He is—was—my husband. And what you are doing, displaying him like that, is disgraceful. I thought morticians were supposed to show respect for the dead and their families.”

“I-I beg your pardon, madam. I wasn’t aware the deceased was married, and I was especially unaware he had any family in Colorado Springs. Of course, I will remove the remains at once.”

“Why would you do such a thing, anyway?”

“I thought the city would be responsible for burying him. They pay so little I don’t even break even on the cost of the services I provide. Displaying his body in such a way draws people to satisfy their curiosity, morbid though it may be. And that is good publicity for my business.”

“I will pay for his funeral,” Jenny promised.

“Yes, ma’am. Will you want a church service and a minister in attendance during the committal?”

“I will.”

“What is your denomination?” the undertaker asked.

“I am not particular.”

“And how soon do you want the funeral?”

“As quickly as it can be arranged.” Jenny opened her reticule and withdrew the roll of money Nate had won in the last city. It was to be his seed money for his next gambling operation. “How much will this cost?”