Chasing Pancho Villa Read Online Free PDF Page B

needed to know,” she said with finality.
    â€œYou better stay on good terms with Senator Fall, mother. The problem may not be over,” Harrison warned.
    *
    Randolph James had wanted his sons to be tough and independent like him. He believed the only way to accomplish that was to treat them accordingly. He expected his old friend from his Nevada days—Jonathan Strong—to take care of it. Jonathan followed his orders, but, not having his own sons, he tried in his own way to give the boys the love they never received from their parents. In addition, he did all that he could to teach them to be good, decent men.
    Jonathan prided himself on his successful parenting, and Harrison and Bart had thought of the old man as their grandfather. He had been a member of the household for more than thirty years. But Jonathan, James had discovered, had one great distraction—he was in love with their mother.
    He thought a lot about that, remembering when he had first learned of Jonathan’s feelings for his mother. It was eleven years ago when Harrison had graduated from Harvard. The two came to attend the ceremony without his father. He had—quite by accident—caught them in an embrace. The two did not know of his discovery, but months later he spoke to Jonathan. Harrison had promised never to betray them and, in appreciation for his silence, Jonathan kept Harrison abreast of his mother’s activities.
    *
    â€œWhere is Smith now, Mother?” he asked with growing irritation. “And what is he up to?”
    â€œYou don’t need to know.”
    Harrison sighed, knowing she would avoid answering all his questions. “Is turning a profit all that you live for?”
    â€œSilence,” she rapped out in a voice of steel. The word echoed through the large house. “Who do you think you are? We didn’t make these wars, Harrison. They want wheat, so we get them wheat. They want explosives, and we find them. That is the business your father started, and it’s also the one that’s given you a spoiled, pampered life.” Her chin was set and Harrison felt the cold from her eyes freeze into him from across the table.
    He knew the conversation was at an end. “Mother, if you could only see the suffering your business affairs now cause.”
    â€œHarrison, you may leave the table.”
    â€œNo. And I didn’t come here to argue with you over business. I came because of Bart. Tell me what happened,” he said.
    â€œWe’re both distraught, Harrison. Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning. I’ll answer your questions about Bart then.”
    â€œBut…”
    â€œHarrison, do as your mother asks,” Jonathan said. He still stood behind James’ mother. His right hand rested on her shoulder. She reached up and laid her hand on top of his.
    He did as Jonathan asked, but later caught the trolley to Market Street for an evening of entertainment.
    She was right, he thought. This is my beautiful, empty life.
    *
    â€œHarrison, gather your wits,” his mother stated the next morning over breakfast. She spoke as if they had not clashed the previous evening. “A telegram from the Army stated that Bartlett had committed suicide. Evidently, some sort of riot among Negro soldiers in Houston—your brother’s soldiers—involved him,” she continued. “The Army has a Major Snow who wishes me to believe Bartlett committed suicide as a result of that riot. Read this.” She gave him the telegram:
    Dear Mrs. James, Captain Bartlett James died on Saturday, September 2, 1917. Investigation concluded the captain died by a self-inflicted gunshot wound in his quarters here at Camp Furlong, New Mexico. Arrangements for transporting the body will be forthcoming. My deepest condolences, Major Kneeland Snow, Commanding, Second Battalion, 24th Infantry Regiment, United States Army.
    She then handed him a newspaper clipping from the
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