A World of Hurt

by Tim Bryant

  “What if, when we die, death is like that?” I said. I wondered if a horse might want to be a man in the afterlife. Why would he want to? Roman had seen enough to not make that mistake.

  “Are horses afraid of dying?” I said.

  Trouble with that, I knew if you were truly afraid of dying, you were afraid of living too. I rode on through the night, talking to Roman, talking to myself, thinking my way along, until I awoke there by the remains of the fire, my book still in my hand. My journey was still unfinished.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Gentleman Jack was beside himself.

  He was playing his best card, and it wasn’t the ace he had imagined. In fact, it appeared to be nothing but a big old blank. He was telling everybody it was a royal flush, but they weren’t lining up to buy it.

  “Mrs. Liqourish said it herself,” he said. “Wilkie John was scheming to do something much bigger than riding point and following a bell cow halfway across Texas. It was his scheming, and his recklessness that endangered not only his crew but the eight hundred cattle.”

  The Reverend was trying his best, but it was like swatting at a bunch of flies coming at him from all directions. “The cattle drive was supposed to extend to Kansas City. They were trying to do their jobs. There was no scheming. The cattle were infected with Red Water Disease before they even left Mobeetie. Before the crew ever saw them. How can you call that scheming?”

  He smiled at the crowd, confident he’d made his point.

  “Mrs. Liquorish,” Jack said, “you tell me, and I remind you that lying could put you in a fair amount of harm as well. Was your husband, Wilkie John here, a good, upstanding, law abiding young man? Yes or no.”

  Greer never raised her eyes, never raised her voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said, “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  I saw her lips move, but no words could be heard. I felt Caliber squeeze my upper arm and realized he was still holding me. I could have wrestled free. I came close to trying.

  “The answer would be no, wouldn’t it, Mrs. Liquorish?” Jack said. “The true answer to that question would be that your husband had killed many a man just in the short time that you knew him. Would you agree?”

  She didn’t say anything. Simeon Payne, who had been holding her hand as they came up the steps onto the platform, whom I thought must have designs on my wife, attached to her as he was, right in front of me, put the squeeze on her just as Caliber had done with me. I knew, at that moment, that she was being forced to testify against me. And, if she was doing so, I wondered what else she’d been forced into.

  “Let her go free and I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” I said.

  I didn’t talk it over with the Reverend. I didn’t need to. I didn’t feel like I’d ever been responsible for the death of an innocent person, and especially not a lady. If I had got her into this situation, it was up to me to get her out. Short of shooting our way out, this seemed like my best move. Gentleman Jack wasn’t so sure.

  “What makes you think I would give my ace up so readily?”

  I knew what she knew and what she didn’t know. At least I was pretty sure I did.

  “She doesn’t know,” I said. “Only I do.”

  You could see Jack thinking. He looked at Simeon Payne, as if Simeon could tell him anything.

  “I won’t let her get away so easy, Wilkie John,” Jack said. “But I might be persuaded to keep her from hanging with you today, depending on how much you talk.”

  Now you might think I would be inclined to push my luck and see if the deck cut my way. And you would be right in most situations. But I didn’t play loose with other people’s lives, and certainly not with Greer’s. I might have been the only one, but, when I looked at her, I still saw the same girl who came wandering into Fort Griffin with her family, who sat across the fire from me on a night when her eyes shone brighter than the flame or the starlight. Who charmed me with the soft singsong in her voice when I could scarcely make out a word she said.

  “Take her down from here, and I’ll hang alone for everything I done.”

  I meant that. I still thought Reverend Caliber was capable of winning my freedom. I thought I had the crowd on my side. I hadn’t given up the fight. But I was more than ready to negotiate the prize. I wanted her off the table.

  Gentleman Jack took a pause to think it over, looking over a page of notes as if this very option and its riposte was copied down there. He murmured something and, looking across the stage at Greer, shook his head no. The Reverend sensed an opening and took it.

  “Jack Delaney has long called himself a gentleman,” he said. “Gentleman Jack Delaney, he says. Let’s see if he can live up to that name and let an innocent young lady walk free today.”

  Another great cheer grew from across the way, like a wave of kindness crashing up against our pier of death. It put Jack on the spot. Jack didn’t like being put on the spot.

  “I’ll effect a compromise with you,” he said. “I’ll take her down from the gallows, if you’ll do as you say. But she will remain secured at the back and, if I later determine you haven’t lived up to your word, she will be brought back up to answer for her own crimes.”

  I don’t believe, at that point, there was any admiration left for the son of a bitch. I wanted nothing more than to scalp him the way I’d seen the Blackfoot Indians do to so many Anglos. Maybe it was only then that I began to understand the hate those Indians must have felt for the people who were bringing war against them and taking over their land.

  “And what crimes might those be?” I said.

  I could think of nothing legitimate to hold her for. If she was to account for anything, it seemed only fair that it be spelled out publicly and specifically.

  “The crime of living with and giving refuge to a murderer,” Jack said. “Of knowing the repulsiveness of the man whose name she took, and yet doing nothing about it. Look at her. The crime of bringing the child of such a depraved man into this world. Of not attempting in any way to stop the dreadful plan that he embarked upon, the plan that led us to this very day, this very moment.”

  If I hadn’t accepted Gentleman Jack’s deal, Greer would have stayed on the gallows, just feet away from me. The reason I shook on it and agreed? In the event I hung, I didn’t want her up there. It’s as simple as that. A minute later, she was being led back down the stairs by Simeon Payne, a vision I couldn’t gaze on. In case I swung, I refused to let that be my final memory of her. She might have misunderstood, watching me stand there with my back to her. It was all I could do at that moment, and I hoped she understood.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Moving on in the pale light of that third morning out of Meridian, my muscles burned and my mind was bruised by too much sand, too much sun, too much struggle. What I remembered mama calling “too much too much.” We had seen tough times. She saw tougher than Ira Lee or me. Back in the days right after Henry was killed, when we bounced around from place to place, losing more and more with each move until we were left with nothing but each other, mama couldn’t have found much beyond us two boys to live for.

  Walking along with Roman, I eyed Bird a time or two, but I didn’t trust her, as far as riding went, and she looked at me like she didn’t trust me either. My shoes had come apart, and I was now walking barefoot, leaving small drops of blood as a marker. I could make out a path in front of me, even if it had no signs to tell me where it was leading. The sand managed to hide it for long stretches, but it would eventually show itself again, and, if I had gone astray, it was never quite so far that I couldn’t correct myself.

  I told Roman stories I’d told before, thinking maybe their familiarity would be comforting to him. If Bird paid any attention at all, she didn’t show it. I told the one about the day I caught a young soldier coming out of mama’s bedroom in our little crib in the District.

  “What was that man doing in there with you, mama?” I’d said.

  I can still remember just
how she looked. Sad but strong, and beautiful beyond words.

  “Sometimes men come to me and I’m able to talk to them and help them out,” she said.

  I felt like I had a clear understanding there. Mama had certainly helped me and Ira Lee and even the other girls up and down the row.

  “Like when you help me do my work for the church school?”

  Ira Lee and me both went to the Catholic school for a few years. It didn’t take with Ira Lee, and he was soon skipping off for more adventurous diversions than math and reading. I stuck with the reading, even if math failed to hold my interest.

  “In a way, it’s like that,” mama said, “except they pay me money for it, and I use that money for our food and clothing and school books.”

  I thought that was spectacular news. The next day, with my love for mama guiding my way, I went down to the area where the Sporting District met up with the Army base. There I would meet up with men on their way to the gambling halls and saloons and tell them about my mama. The men would laugh and ask me to tell them again, or they would bring their friends around and get me to tell them again. Most of them went on their way. A couple even gave me coins from their pocket. But a few asked me to walk them to our crib and knock on the door for them.

  It was another year or two before I had any idea what kind of help was really going on in that tiny little bedroom. As for mama, she told me never to do it again, but she never brought it up again, and, a few years later, when I said something about it, she denied that it had ever happened.

  Once again, a denial. A question. I could still recall small but specific details. The uniforms of the soldiers. The way they smelled. But mama said no. I dreamed a lot, she said. It had been a dream.

  In an effort to comfort Roman, I took the saddlebag from him and draped it over Bird. Bird was a young mule, and I hoped she would withstand the conditions better. She fussed for a while and managed to shake herself out from under it once but finally resigned herself to the situation and walked right alongside Roman.

  We had been on the move for several hours when, just as the sun was beginning to climb toward its loftiest height, I saw a storm cloud rising up on the northern horizon. I at first thought it to be a dust storm and maneuvered to take a northwestern tack around it. Roman sensed it too and seemed skittish. He was weak from too much of the too much, and so I looked for a way to get far enough away from the coming winds and stop for a while.

  I believed that I was making a big mistake even as I did it. If we were caught inside a true Texas dust storm, it could come at us for hours. We wouldn’t stand a chance of making it. The best thing that could be said, it would kill us and bury us all in one swoop. A model of efficiency. We moved to a high place that seemed to have once followed along a creek. The creek, long since gone and forgotten, as we might soon be. I only hoped our altitude would keep us above the worst of things.

  Looking back now, it was fortune and not fate that stopped us so close to the approaching trail of dust. From higher above the desert floor, I was quickly able to see that it was no storm. It was a wagon coming toward us. Maybe it was Leon Thaw, I thought.

  I tied cloths over the nostrils of both horses and waited. I could make out a single horse pulling the coach, and it looked like it would pass to the south of us. I thought about moving back in that direction, but Roman didn’t want to. He seemed to think we stood a better chance of being seen if we were up high. It made sense, so I agreed. I tied a leftover piece of cloth—the one I’d saved to hold over my own face as the dust grew nearer—to the end of Long Gun’s rifle and held it as high as I could manage. The gun, not light to begin with, seemed to have tripled in weight. I could scarcely keep it high. I brought it down and waited for the coach to draw closer before trying again.

  The horse and rider had kicked up enough earth on their trip into our field of vision that the cloud arrived a good minute before they did. By the time they pulled up, I could only see a dim outline of them, like a ghost truly returned to dust.

  “Leon Thaw?”

  I didn’t know it was him, but I didn’t know who else it might be. If it had been him, I’d have been happier to see him than I would have thought possible. There was no answer from the coach. Roman stood strong. Bird kicked at the dust and tried to pull away.

  “Leon Thaw, that you there?” I said.

  And waited.

  Slowly, I saw a figure come from the coach and make its way toward us.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Wilkie John Liquorish, I need a simple yes or no answer. And I would like to remind you that, like your Mrs., you are under oath to tell the truth. Yes or no, have you ever killed a man?”

  Gentleman Jack seemed to lose a bit of his gentleness with the removal of the only woman from the stage. I wasn’t concerned. I knew if I kept my composure, it would make him look desperate by comparison.

  “Lots of ’em,” I said.

  Reverend Caliber wiped his brow. Jack jumped back, surprised at my answer.

  “I’m sorry,” I added. “The answer would be yes.”

  You might think the women in the crowd all blushed and gasped while the men laughed. Truth is, the women laughed louder than the men, who seemed unsure of what to do.

  “You are aware that you are being charged with murder and sentenced to hang for your crimes?” Gentleman Jack said.

  In my mind, I was standing in front of Sister Mary Constance and the class in downtown San Antonio. My hands were in my pockets, and everyone’s eyes were on me.

  “You do know that you were supposed to have your homework done before you came to class today, right, Wilkie?”

  I lived to make the Sister throw her hands up in defeat. Or cry. Or laugh.

  “I did it, Sister Mary Constance. I swear I did.”

  She walked across the room to my desk and looked down at my hands. I knew the drill better than she did. I laid my hands across the desk and held my breath. She came down across the knuckles on my right hand. I sucked in air and closed my eyes. The left hand always came second. Always hurt more that the right. Because it was the weaker.

  “You know you’re not to swear,” the Sister said.

  Then I would take my homework out of my back pocket and unfold it on my desk. I always did my homework. I made good grades. When it got boring, I made it more interesting.

  “I was a soldier,” I said.

  With one exception, any killing I had done was after being sworn in to the Army at Fort Griffin.

  “Wilkie John was a private in the United States Army, sworn to serve and protect the very lives of you people here today,” Reverend Caliber said. “And this man here gets hemp fever and wants to hang him on evidence that’s flimsier than a floozy’s nightdress.”

  He pointed his finger into the chest of Gentleman Jack, who recoiled like he’d been hit with holy water. I was standing there thinking this all boiled down to a verbal fighting match between two egos who cared less about my immediate future than their own reputations.

  “Why don’t the three of us just arm wrestle. Loser swings,” I said.

  The reverend looked horrified, like I’d double crossed him. I’m not sure either of them got my point.

  “Before we get into that, I think it’s time to call my third witness up,” Gentleman Jack said. “Pete Doon has come from Wichita Falls to tell us what happened when Wilkie John brought his destruction into town. He was there when Wilkie John showed up and he saw firsthand what followed.”

  Pete Doon stepped forward, took off his hat and held it over his heart. He exhibited a solemnity that had, up till that point, been lacking. I appreciated his serious-mindedness, even if it did give off the air of being at a funeral.

  “Mr. Doon, do you reside in Wichita Falls, and did you reside there on the day that Wilkie John Liquorman visited the town?” Gentleman Jack said.

  Doon looked at me close before answering. I guess he was running my face through his head and comparing it with whatever was in there. H
e deliberated on it for a spell and seemed satisfied.

  “I live there,” he said. “And yes, I recognize this man.”

  I resisted the urge to smile at him. I was still a little mad he’d offered me such a paltry amount for those cows. Even madder I’d taken it. I didn’t think they were sick. They never looked sick to me.

  “Mr. Doon, you are, in fact, the one who met Mr. Liquorman on his way into Wichita Falls, are you not?”

  I was getting more and more annoyed at Jack getting my name wrong, but I knew he was poking me. I refused to react.

  “No, I am,” Pete Doon said. “I mean, yes. Yes, I was. I was there.”

  Pete Doon as star witness didn’t seem to have the sense God gave a chicken, but he had indeed been there. I hadn’t known his name, but I never forget a face. And he had a face that perfectly matched the name Pete Doon.

  “Did you hear or see Wilkie John kill anybody, try to kill anybody, or even talk about killing anybody?” Reverend Caliber said.

  Doon shuffled his feet like he was about to launch into a song and dance.

  “No sir,” he said. “No sir, I can’t say that I did. That he did, rather.”

  This guy was a puzzle, and he hadn’t quite solved himself.

  “Can you tell us, in your own words, what happened on the day you met Wilkie John Liquorman there in Wichita Falls?” Gentleman Jack said.

  The Reverend looked to an empty sky.

  “Heaven help us,” he said.

  “We wasn’t actually in Wichita Falls,” Pete Doon said. “We was a ways up the other side, as we’d heard tell there was a big drive coming. It didn’t turn out to be much of anything after all, just a few cows.”

  I guess he thought we were driving fifty-eight head of cattle across the land.

  “But you turned him away and wouldn’t let him enter,” Reverend Caliber said. “Why did you take it upon yourself to turn this man away?”