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Belle Shirley was then 14, and there were two or three brothers smaller. The next time I saw Belle Shirley was in 1868, in Bates county, Mo. She was then the wife of Jim Reed, who had been in my company during the war, and she was at the home of his mother. This was about three months before the birth of her eldest child, Pearl Reed, afterward known as Pearl Starr, after Belle’s second husband.
She had a dauntless heart, that same Belle. Such was the staple of Belle’s conversation.
“You saw me yesterday breakfast time, when you came to borrow the wrapper pattern,” returned Fanny, in serious resentment to her friend’s exaggeration. “And much good the old wrapper pattern did me: a mile too small every way, no matter how much I let out the seams. But see here ” “Belle’s the biggest idiot about her size: there’s no convincing her she’s not a sylph.” “Thank you, Mrs. Dawson.”
I mean his throwing papers around that way. For as far as his never talking went, she couldn’t find any fault with that; Mr. Worthington was just as bad, if he wasn’t worse. But Belle’s not like me; I don’t believe she’d let poor Mr. Worthington talk in the house if he wanted to.”
“Belle’s sure in love with you, Cap’n Cole,” she explained. “You better be careful.” With that hint I thereafter evaded the wife of my former comrade in arms. Reed was killed a few years later after the robbery of the stage near San Antonio, and Belle married again, this time Tom Starr or Sam Starr.
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