“How come you didn’t have any rank with an education like you have,” Rance said.
“Didn’t want any. Didn’t tell them about the schoolin’ or the colored part. Tried to make me a sergeant a couple of times when they found out I could read and write but I turned it down. Didn’t waste no time getting rid of me when the war was over.”
“I went to West Point,” Rance said. “Kind of the same thing in reverse. Was fighting Apaches when the war broke out. By the time I got home it was too late, everyone was dead. The Yankees hung my papa from his front porch and burned the house down around him and my mama. Nothin’ left of them to bury. Murdered my wife and daughter as they ran away. My neighbor Julie and her family found them and buried them for me. Had two brothers killed fightin’ for the union in ‘61. Don’t know where they are. Resigned my commission when I got a letter from Julie telling me what happened at home. Paid a visit to my wife. Spent some time there grieving and joined the Confederates. We never owned any slaves and my pa hadn’t fired a shot against no one. No need for what they did, no need at all. Destroyed our farms and slaughtered our families because they could.”
B.W. stared off into the distance studying the soft white clouds, wrinkling his nose at the smell, eating his peaches. “Sorry ‘bout your family,” he said. “Only one I had was my mama. I liked being an Indian. Now I can’t go back. Seams we both have good reasons for what we did. If you look at our point of view.”
“Did what I thought I had to do at the time,” Rance said.
“I had a good reason for what I did. Me and Mama was slaves,” B.W. said, digging in the can of peaches with his knife “Theses peaches are good but the stench is so strong it smells like the whole world has been skunked.”
“I know who my papa is,” Tommy said.
“You do?” B.W. said surprised.
“His name is Robert Travers from Texas,” Tommy said. “My mama told me all about him. He owns a railroad. Told everybody after my mama died but they laughed at me, said I was making up a story.”
“Are you?” Rance asked.
“No, it’s true. I got a letter to prove it. It’s in my stash. I’ll show you.”
Tommy jumped up and ran to his horse and untied the gunny sack.
“Sounds like his mama fixed up a pretty important papa for him,” B.W. said.
“Yeah, owns a railroad,” Rance said.
Tommy came running back to Rance and B.W., sat down and untied his sack and picked up a faded letter and a picture from the sack. “I tried to show this to everyone but no one would read it.” He handed the letter and picture to Rance.
“Can you read, Tommy ?” Rance asked.
“No, but my mama could. She read it to me a lot. I know every word of it.”
Rance glanced at the picture, then the letter. It was hand written on Travers Southern Railway – Traversville, Texas letterhead dated 15 July 1853 to Alice Woodson c/o Big Sally’s Saloon.
Rance read the letter aloud, Tommy lip-synching the words.
“My dear Alice, I’m sorry to inform you that I cannot continue to see you. I am enclosing a hundred dollars and a train ticket to Whiskey Gulch, Virginia where you and Tommy can stay on my cousin’s farm for as long as you like. His name is Billy Freeman. He is expecting you. I will send fifty dollars every month for your future care. I have no other choice. My father said because of your past I have to break all ties or he will disinherit me. If you do not accept this arrangement then I will deny any kind of relationship ever existed and have no further contact with you or the boy. I hope you will accept my offer. Signed, Robert Travers.”
Rance looked at the picture and handed it to B.W. The man in the picture was tall, good-looking, maybe in his thirties, well-dressed in a suit with a watch chain hanging out of a vest pocket. He had on a bowler hat with thick hair sticking out from it. A pretty young lady was standing beside him holding an infant.
“Where did your mama get the name Thomas?” Rance asked. “Shouldn’t it be Robert if that’s your daddy?”
“Was my mama’s daddy’s name. He was killed by Indians,” Tommy said.
“Do you know if Robert ever sent your mama money?” Rance asked.
“Some,” Tommy said. “Mama said Billy was keeping it. We stayed with Billy until the war started. He learned me how to ride and shoot then got himself killed by some Union soldiers for being a Confederate. Then me and mama had to leave and she got a job at the saloon.”
“This may be your papa, Tommy,” B.W. said, “but it looks like he didn’t want to see you or your mama anymore, why he sent you away.”
Tommy snatched the letter and picture from B.W., jumped up and stuck them in the sack. “I know she was a whore. I’m old enough to know what that is. The picture was when I was born. At least I know who my papa was. That’s more than you do.” He ran to his horse, tied the sack back on the saddle and took off at a hard gallop.
“Where you goin’, boy?” Rance yelled. But he kept riding and disappeared over the next rise.
“Didn’t handle that very well, did I?” B.W. said.
“Nope,” Rance said. “Let’s go get him.”
They mounted and saw a flock of buzzards filling the sky from over the rise. Just before they toped the hill Tommy appeared, riding as fast as he could towards them.
“What the hell?” B.W. said. “What’s that boy doin?’”
Tommy reined down his horse beside them and wheeled him around. “Come with me,” he said and took off in a hard gallop.
“Tommy come back here!” Rance yelled, but he kept riding.
B.W. and Rance spurred their horses after Tommy. When they topped the rise, Tommy was sitting on his horse in front of a big oak tree. A colored man and a boy, about Tommy’s age, were hanging from the tree, naked. Their eyes were gone, loose, stringy flesh hanging from all parts of their bodies. A note was pinned on an overturned wagon. “What free niggers get.” Big chunks of meat were tore out of the wagon’s two dead horses still in harnesses.
They sat motionless on their horses, trying to absorb the reality of what they were seeing. Tommy threw up his peaches.
B.W. drew his knife, rode up to them holding one hand over his mouth and cut them down. “Maybe there’s a shovel in the wagon.” He dismounted and led his horse to the wagon. He saw a pair of stained leather gloves in the wagon. He picked up the gloves and walked over to the man and laid a glove over his hand. It was way too small for him. B.W. saw a paper blowing by, stepped on it and picked it up. It was a receipt for ten pounds of flour made out to Leon Brookings from Catching’s Trading Post. He stuck the receipt in his pocket and put the gloves in his saddle bags.
“Wasn’t no tools in the wagon,” he said.
“We’ll figure out somethin,’” Rance said.
“Still think you were on the right side, major?”
”Don’t know how to answer that.”
“Would think there would be a woman around with the boy but ain’t seen nothin’ to say that.”
“Was thinking the same thing,” Rance said. “May have taken her with them.”
“You know what that means,” B.W. said.
“Yeah, I’m afraid so,” Rance said.
B.W. mounted and rode over to Tommy. “I’m sorry for what I said back there.”
“Don’t seem that important anymore,” Tommy said. “Don’t know why I even kept that letter. We goin’ to look for the ones that did this?”
“Don’t know yet,” B.W. said.
B.W. showed Rance the name on the receipt. “Ever hear of that place?”
“Not too far from here,” Rance said.
They found a depression deep enough for the bodies and covered them with rocks. B.W. scratched “Brookings Family” on a big rock near them and they rode away.
5
After a half-hour ride from the Brookings place, a dark cloud blew in from the west and it started to rain. They found an overhang from a ledge that kept them from getting soaked and waited for th
e rain to stop.
When the sun came back out, they rode on for a mile or two, topped a ridge and saw a long clapboard building no more than fifty yards away beside a small railroad depot that was boarded up, and a railroad water tower shot full of holes. A cattle car with “Travers Southern Railway” on it was sitting on the tracks beside the water tower.
“Look at that,” B.W. said. Rance shook his head. B.W. returned it with a nod and didn’t say anything else. They rode up to the hitching post.
Two horses were tied to the hitching post hooked to a wagon in front. One of the horses was sitting on his butt.
They dismounted and tied their horses next to the wagon. The trough in front of the horses was dry. A sign over the door said “Catching’s Trading Post.”
“Them horses look like they’re about to keel over,” Rance said.
“Want me to see if I can find some feed and water?” Tommy asked.
“Let’s check it out first,” B.W. said and pulled his rifle out of the saddle boot and cocked it. “I’ll go in first. Tommy, you stay behind the major.”
The place had been ransacked. All kinds of goods, clothes, farm equipment and feed were scattered all over the floor. Mirrors were shattered and canned-good shelves pulled down.
“Hello,” he said. “Anybody here?” No one answered. “Hello,” he said again. Nothing.
Rance and Tommy walked up beside him, looking at the mess. “Wow,” Tommy said, “Somebody really tore this place up.”
“Should be a well around here somewhere,” B.W. said. “Tommy, see if you can get those horses a couple of buckets of water and some feed. We’ll take care of ours later.” Tommy nodded and hurried outside.
Rance looked around the room and noticed a boot sticking out from an overturned shelf. “Look there,” he said, gesturing toward the boot. They raised the shelf up and a skinny old man with a wrinkled face, white hair and a long white beard was lying on his back with two dried-blood bullet holes in his plaid shirt.
“Looks like he’s been dead for a while. Maybe about the time the Brookings were hung,” Rance said.
“Most likely the same ones did both,” B.W. said. “That Catching’s?”
“Never been in here,” Rance said.
B.W. searched the dead man’s pockets and came up with a wallet, removed several Union bills from it and stuck them in his pocket, then unfolded a paper and looked at it. “That’s him,” he said.
“You were supposed to be finding out who he was, not robbing him,” Rance said.
“We’ll pay him back by burying him,” B.W. said.
“That’s right Christian of you. Maybe you did learn something at that missionary school.”
“I’ll dig the grave since you’re kind of at a disadvantage.”
“How many you think did this?” Rance said.
“Hard to tell. Looks like a lot of hoof prints out there. Rain messed them up some, maybe three or four headed south. Might go lookin’ for them if it wasn’t for the boy.”
“That does pose a problem,” Rance said. “You think his papa really owns the railroad?”
“Name’s on that cattle car but if he is, Tommy was an accident,” B.W. said. “Travers couldn’t marry a whore so he got rid of them. Didn’t even have the guts to tell them face to face.”
“Feel bad for the boy,” Rance said.
“Why I’m holdin’ off goin’ after them varmints,” B.W. said. “Don’t want any harm to come to him.”
Tommy walked back in. “I got the horses out of their harness, watered and fed them. There’s a lean-to out back with a place for the horses and a stove and tub for that bath you wanted, major.”
“Think we got time for a bath, B.W., or do you still think you smell like a tree?”
“What’s he talkin’ ‘bout?” Tommy asked.
“He don’t know,” B.W. said.
“I don’t take baths,” Tommy said.
“You do now,” Rance said.
“Why do we have to take a bath?” Tommy said. “We ain’t goin’ to church or nothin.’”
“Beats me,” B.W. said. “Got this on his mind and won’t let it go. Might as well get it over with.”
“I’ll start a fire, heat some water and take care of the animals,” Rance said. “B.W., you and the boy look for some clothes and somethin’ to eat.”
B.W. and Tommy looked at each other and shook their heads.
“You could shoot him, B.W.,” Tommy said.
“Been considerin’ that.”
“See if there are any weapons around,” Rance said. “We may need all the firepower we can get.”
“Been considerin’ that too,” B.W. said.
“Thinks he’s still in the army givin’ orders,” Tommy said. B.W. grinned.
By the time they got their baths, Rance shaved his beard and they changed clothes and fed themselves and the animals, it was getting dark. Rance found a lamp and lit it.
“Looks like the rain’s coming back. Might as well stay here for the night and ride out in the morning.”
“Think so too,” B.W. said. “Get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch. Wake you when I get tired. How’s the arm?”
“Hurts some but I can handle it.”
“Need whiskey ‘bout now?” B.W. said.
“Me or you?” Rance asked.
“Both.”
“Might better load that shotgun you found.”
“Was going to do that,” B.W. said and pointed a finger at Tommy.
He had fallen asleep on a pile of clothes in a corner wearing his new boots with a peppermint stick in his hand.
“Long day,” Rance said.
“You ever been to Texas, major?”
“No.”
“Me neither. Think Travers is still alive?”
“No telling.”
“No matter, it would be his estate that’s liable regardless,” B.W. said.
“Yeah, kind of leaves us with a choice, don’t it,” Rance said. “Don’t have nothin’ else to do.”
“May not do any good,” B.W. said. “But we won’t know if we don’t try.”
“True,” Rance said. “Let’s think on it. I found four bottles of whiskey in a cabinet. Put ‘em in my saddle bags. Think you would know when to stop if I let you have some?”
“I’ll force myself,” B.W. said.
“I’ll get it,” Rance said.
B.W. cracked the breech of the twelve-gauge, loaded two shells, eased the barrels shut and sat down on the floor facing the front door. He laid the Henry beside his leg, leaned against a fallen shelf and placed the shotgun across his lap. Two rats ran out from behind the shelves and scampered across the floor, disappearing in a corner piled up with clothes. B.W. stuffed his pants in his boots. The roar of thunder rumbled across the sky and lightning flashed through the cracks in the walls as the rain began a steady tap on the tin roof.
Rance brought a bottle of whiskey back, sat it down beside B.W., took the cap off and handed it to B.W. He lifted the bottle to his lips, titled it back and began to sallow in big gulps. Like a baby with a milk bottle. Rance reached up and took the bottle out of his hand.
“That’s it for now,” Rance said and stood up with the bottle.
“That was just enough to make me want more,” B.W. said.
“I could see that. Why I took it away.”
“Anyone else do that I would beat the hell out of them.”
“Think you could, huh? Looks like whiskey brings your temper out,” Rance said and walked away.
6
The next morning, sunshine was warming a clear April sky. They filled their canteens and put canned food in their saddle bags. B.W. tied the loaded double-barrel to his saddle and put three boxes of buckshot in the saddle bags. He stuck a wooden cross in the ground on Catching’s grave, removed the feather from his old hat and sat the hat on top of the cross. He placed the feather in the band of his new black hat, brushed his long braided black hair back and set the hat on his head, twisted
it a little to the left, pushing it down on his head, and climbed up in the saddle.
Rance rode by the corral behind the store and opened the gate, flushing the two horses out and watched them run across a field. Tommy rode up beside him.
“Think they’ll be okay?” Tommy asked.
“Be fine, they’ll have plenty of grass and water out there,” Rance said.
“How you like my new black hat and boots?” Tommy said, shaking his foot at Rance.
Rance pushed his new black hat back on his head. “We look like the Three Musketeers,” Rance
said.
“The who?” Tommy asked.
“Never mind,” Rance said. “I’ll tell you later.”
B.W. rode up beside Rance. “You get the whiskey, major?”
“I did,” Rance said. “Belongs to me.”
“You may need somethin’ for the pain,” B.W. said.
Rance grinned. “You might too,” he said and they rode away.
A short time later, Tommy rode up beside B.W. and Rance. “I been thinkin,’ where do you think them riders went after they hung the colored folks?”
“Hard to say,” B.W. said. “The tracks looks like they’re headed the same way we’ve been. Might be the ones that killed old man Catching too. But could have been anybody made them tracks.”
“Suits me if they went their way and we go ours,” Rance said.
“You mean you don’t care that they hung those people and killed Mr. Catching?” Tommy asked.
“No, but I don’t want us to be next either,” Rance said. “Sometimes it’s not what you do but what you don’t that’s the right thing.”
“That right, B.W.?” Tommy said.
“Don’t know,” B.W. said. “Think the major is saying we should mind our own business.”
“Something like that,” Rance said. “Could back ourselves into a corner we can’t get out of.”
“Is that what you think, B.W.?” Tommy said.
“Best to let whatever happens happen. Don’t worry too much about it ‘fore it does,” B.W. said.
“That doesn’t always work,” Rance said. “Need to plan before jumping in the fire. If you can’t come up with a plan, don’t do it. Learned that at West Point.”
The Last Good Day Page 3
