When the noise and smoke cleared there were three dead men lying on the floor of the cantina. Dillon holstered his pistol, walked to the bar and tossed a few coins to the bartender. "Sorry about the mess senor," he said. Turning he left the cantina, mounted his horse, picked up his gear from his cabin, and rode out of Nuevo Laredo.
Dillon thought about his life and travels since the end of the war. Has it really been over three years now? Maybe I ought to head home, he thought. Seems all I'm doing out here is getting shot at or shooting people.
After three years away from home, Dillon headed back to Richmond. Maybe I can make peace with Father, he thought.
****************
Samuel Gallagher looked at his son; Dillon as he sat across the desk from him. The two hadn't seen each other since Dillon left home to join the 1
st
Regiment Virginia Cavalry in July of 1861. The elder Gallagher still owned the largest bank in Richmond, Virginia; the former capitol of the Confederate States of America. He and Dillon were in Samuel's plush office on this early morning in September '68.
Dillon's been gone for 7 years Samuel thought as he appraised his son. He found the change in Dillon remarkable; the boy's matured during his long absence, Samuel said to himself. Maybe now he'll understand my position.
Dillon had left Richmond a little soft; he had been 6 feet tall and weighed 225, with a pale complexion. Dillon took after his mother with blue eyes and very dark hair which he wore unfashionably long. He returned whip cord slim and strong; now weighing no more than 190. His face was sun burned to a deep tan which made his blue eyes seemed to jump out at you.
The older Gallagher also saw a change in Dillon's personality. He was no longer the almost naïve, argumentative, angry young man that had left home. Now he was quietly confident and seemed older than his 27 years.
"Where have you been?" Samuel asked. "Lee surrendered in April of '65. It's been better than three years since then."
"I decided I didn't want to be around for the aftermath of the surrender, so I headed west for a while," Dillon replied.
"No matter, you're here now. We'll get you cleaned up and tomorrow I'll take you to the Capitol building. You can take the Oath to the Union and we'll get on with our lives," Samuel said. "Of course your farm was confiscated, what with you being a Confederate officer. I tried to stop it but couldn't do anything." Then almost to himself, "I hope you're service doesn't have an adverse effect on the bank."
"Wouldn't mind cleaning up a bit, but I can't take that oath." Dillon stared at his father and said, "Also I don't believe you tried very hard to keep them from taking the farm; it might have put you in a bad light with your Northern friends."
Samuel stopped and looked at his son. He saw the conviction in the boy's eyes and the set of his chin. "Can't or won't take the oath?" He didn't address Dillon's comment about his efforts to save the farm.
"Take your pick, either way I'm not swearing an oath to the Union," Dillon replied returning his father's hard stare.
"Why in the world not? If you're going to live here you have to take that oath."
"I already took an oath; to the Confederacy. Reckon a man's only good for one oath at a time," Dillon said with a grim smile.
"But the wars over; Lee surrendered," Samuel almost pleaded.
"Lee surrendered, I didn't."
"If you don't swear that oath, it could cause me and the bank a lot of trouble. I've managed to hold on by helping the Union representatives down here. Do you want me to lose it all?"
"You haven't changed, have you Father? Our views haven't changed since our last talk either. The only thing you believe in is money and profit. The only difference is now you're a toady for Northern Reconstruction," Dillon said sadly.
Samuel angrily responded "I think you're just afraid to admit you were wrong to join the Confederacy. I never thought I'd see my son be too much of a coward to do what's good for the family."
Dillon stared at Samuel with a cold anger; his eyes blazing. "A coward! If you weren't my father I'd shoot you where you sit," Dillon said, his voice quivering with rage. His hand had moved to the butt of the pistol at his hip. "I won't be staying; I'll drop by and say good bye to Mother before I go."
"You and your mother are two of a kind. She moved to her sister's in Boston two years ago," Samuel said.
"Good for her. I'm glad that at least one of my parents shows some sense. Good bye Father, I doubt that I'll ever see you again." Dillon stood, looked at his father one last time and left the office.
Outside the bank, he mounted the big buckskin stallion that had carried him for hundreds of miles and rode to his father's house; there was a room over the carriage house where Dillon lived before the war. Hidden behind a false panel were several of his things that he wanted to take with him.
He pushed open the panel covering his treasure trove and sorted through the contents. One of the things he wanted was gold and silver Hunter cased pocket watch with a heavy gold chain and fob. The watch had belonged to his maternal grandfather James Dillon Flynn. He was a crusty old man that had never been impressed by Samuel Gallagher and his wealth. In spite of Samuel's objections, Dillon's mother, Sarah, had named her son after her father. It was the first but not the last act of independence and rebellion by Sarah.
Inside the case of the watch was a picture of Dillon's mother; taken just before Dillon left for college. The watch had been left to Dillon when his grandfather Flynn has passed away. Along with the farm and watch he received sixty $20 double eagle gold coins worth $1200 dollars from the old man's estate.
There were several other items that Dillon wanted to take with him. One was a Bowie knife and sheath, also left to him by Grandpa Flynn. It had been made by the same blacksmith, James Black that had made the original knife for the famous Jim Bowie. Flynn and Bowie were friends and cohorts in the early 1830s and after covering each others back in saloon fight in a small Texas town, Bowie made a gift of the knife to his friend.
The other items Dillon took were two books of poetry. While attending Virginia Military he became interested in certain poets and poems; these were two of his favorites. One was a collection of the works of Shelley and the other the works of Lord Byron. Some people will think I'm a dandy from the east if they see these, Dillon thought. It doesn't matter what they think, I want them with me.
Riding to his old room and now as he was leaving he could still see the aftermath of the devastating fires that ran through Richmond in April of '65. The fires had been set by the retreating Confederate troops trying to destroy any supplies that the invading Union army could use.
The fires had gotten out of hand and burned over 25 percent of the buildings in the city. The Union soldiers put out most of the fires as they advanced and captured the city. In spite of what many of the city's residents thought it was the Union army that saved Richmond from even greater destruction.
Dillon looked at the burned out areas of the city that even three years later hadn't been cleaned up or restored. This is why I didn't come home he thought. This and the overbearing attitude of many of the managers, officials and representatives of the Union government. If I stay, I'll end up killing some carpet bagger. Time to leave; for good this time.
Taking one last look, Dillon didn't replace the panel to cover the hiding place. Doesn't much matter now, he said to himself. He took his 'treasures' down to his horse and placed everything in the saddlebags. Mounting the big animal and turning its head west he said, "Time to go West Buck, this isn't my home anymore."
