Ghost Town by Joan Lowery Nixon Page A

have it,” Mike said eagerly. “I mean, you can have what's left of it. Part is missing—like theflesh and the blood and the dirty fingernail. All I have is the bone, and it's in the pocket of my jeans.”
    Jack looked startled. Furtively he examined his fingernails, then shook his head. “You had no call to point out the lack of a manicure. They weren't to be had in the likes of Bodie. The bone's all I want.”
    “Then take it!” Mike cried.
    “No. It's not that easy,” Jack snapped. He scowled at Mike. “What I need you to do is—”
    The bedside light flipped on. Dr. Nelson squinted at Mike, then put on his glasses to look at him more closely. “You were talking in your sleep, son. You yelled something. Were you having a bad dream?” he asked.
    Mike stared down at the end of his bed. Jack had vanished. “Yeah, I guess,” he answered. Then he sat up in bed. “Dad,” he said, “you told me that the rangers at Bodie would know all about the people who lived there. Could I talk to them tomorrow? Will they be able to answer my questions?”
    Dr. Nelson's eyes opened wide in pleased surprise. “Of course they will. May I ask what you have in mind?”
    Mike wasn't about to tell his father about the bone he had found or the visit by the Bad Man from Bodie. But he had to give him some kind of explanation. “All of a sudden I kinda have this interest in history, Dad,” he said.
    “Wonderful, Mike!” Dr. Nelson beamed. “You don't know how much that pleases me.” He glanced at the clock, then reached for the light. “It's two-sixteen A.M., so we have four hours and forty-four minutes left to sleep. Let's make the most of it.”
    At nine-thirty the next morning Mike's father led him into Bodie's Miners' Union Hall, which had been turned into a visitors' center. They passed a large bulletin board, which displayed letters and drawings from kids who had visited Bodie, and went to the desk. There Dr. Nelson introduced Mike to a ranger named Susan. Giving Mike another happy smile, Dr. Nelson left to continue his own research.
    “Your father said you had some questions,” Susan said. “Anything in particular you want to know?”
    “Yes,” Mike said. “Have you ever heard of somebody who called himself the Bad Man from Bodie? His real name was Jack.”
    Susan smiled. “A lot of outlaws liked to claim that they were the Bad Man from Bodie, but I bet you're talking about Rough and Tumble Jack,” she said. “He was a real tough character. There's no telling how many men he killed before someone shot and killed him back in 1878.”
    Mike gulped. He didn't want anything to do with a murderer. The sooner he could give Jack his bone,the better. He wished his dad hadn't interrupted before Jack had spelled out exactly what it was he wanted Mike to do. “Did everybody call him the Bad Man from Bodie?” Mike asked Susan.
    “As I understand it, Rough and Tumble Jack was what he was usually called, although you could certainly say that Jack was first to fit the title of the Bad Man from Bodie.
    “There were plenty of bad men from Bodie during the late 1870s and early 1880s. Any one of them could have been known by that name, and some of them liked to claim it. Over and over, outlaws robbed the Concord stagecoaches that carried gold and silver bullion through the canyon to Aurora, and there were so many shootings that took place in Bodie, I doubt if anyone bothered to count them.”
    Mike interrupted. “Do you have a picture of Jack?”
    “No, I don't. Sorry.”
    “Some of his stuff ?”
    “Stuff ? No. Nothing in our museum collection has any tie to Rough and Tumble Jack.”
    Mike thought a moment. “Can you tell me this about Jack—was he buried here in Boot Hill?”
    “Yes, he was,” Susan answered.
    Mike remembered Jack's description of his burial. “With only Mad Molly to cry at his funeral,” he said.
    Susan raised an eyebrow. “You must have read something I didn't. Who's Mad Molly?”
    “A citizen of