by J. Lee Butts
I didn’t like the sound of the proposition one little bit, but could tell Boz had no choice in the matter. “We’ll be fine. Way I’ve got it figured, once Judge Pitts’ ruling settles in on everyone for a day or so, they’ll just accept the decision and get on with life.”
Tatum stared up and down the street, shook his head, and said, “Maybe. But something deep down tells me there’s more to come. Hope I’m wrong. Prisoners gonna slow us down. May take a day or so longer than the first trip, but I’ll be back soon as I can.”
Mose and me waved the judge, the jailbirds, and our friends away about two hours later. Then, we took a meadering, leisurely tour of town, just to let everyone know the law was still about and looking to their interests. Rest of the day passed, and nothing of any note occurred.
Hour or so before noon the following morning, Jack, Dusky, and Nance, along with Chalky and his two thuggish friends, charged in and headed for Shorty Small’s. All of them, except Nance, tried to glare us down as they rode past.
Mose said, “Sweet Jesus, this don’t look good a’tall, Lucius.”
We decided it best to split up. Mose watched from our regular spot in front of the jail. I commandeered a well-worn corner on the bench just outside the Texas Star’s batwing doors. My petrified perch gave me a good view of Shorty’s, and most of the still-congested street. Good many of the country folk had traveled some distance for the hearing. A sizable number had decided to stay over, being as how their entertainment ended so abruptly. Unknowing visitor would’ve mistaken the crowded thoroughfare for a busy month end, or regular Saturday night meet-and-visit session of people, horses, wagons, and kids.
Got hungry ’bout two o’clock. Nate Macray brought me a sandwich and glass of warm beer. I’d barely choked the first swallow of a mighty good chunk of country ham down when I saw one of Chalky’s boys stumble drunkenly out of Shorty’s and into Hickerson’s store. Would bet no more than two minutes passed when Lenny Milsap came hoofing my direction. Poor boy was so excited he could barely talk.
Broom in hand, he jumped to a fidgety stop in front of my chair, went to sweeping, and said, “Mu-mu-mister Dodge. Mu-mu-mister Hickerson be needing you ri-ri-right now. This v-v-very minute. Cain’t wait.”
Snatched up my Henry and won the footrace back to Hickerson’s. Marie caught me on the boardwalk. “Burton’s just inside the door, Lucius. Be careful.”
Eased into the sunlit doorway. My friend had a shotgun leveled in the direction of Chalky’s cornered man. “What’s the problem, Burton?”
“This son of a bitch tried to walk out of the store with that thirty-dollar pair of boots he’s holding. Didn’t feel it necessary to pay for them.”
Scraggly-bearded would-be thief swayed on his unsteady feet and yelped, “Thassh a black lie. Tole thish sanctimomioush thread pusher I’d come back wish the money. Jus’ ain’t got nairry’n on me right thish minute. I can git it. Maybe tomorrer . . . or the nesh day. Bastard pulled at ’ere big man-popper on me. Won’t let me move. Said he’d kill me if’n I even thunk about such.”
Low and steady, I almost whispered, “You can put the shotgun down, Burton. No need to blast him to Kingdom over a pair of boots.” Turned back to the drunken thief. “What’s your name, mister?”
Arrogantlike, he popped off with, “Jimbo Pine. Me and my brother Hubert rode in wish our friends, the Nightshades, for a few dippers of giggle juice. Needed me some boots. Thish here storekeepin’ son of a bitch won’t let me have ’em.”
“No money, no boots,” Hickerson snapped.
“Store’s his, Pine,” I said. “His store, his rules. No money, no boots.”
Drunken lout threw the goods across the room and shouted, “Well, goddamn both of yew to Satan’s fiery pit. I’ll git the money and come back later.” He stumbled to the door and pushed past us. Ran into Marie Hickerson and almost knocked her down. Over his shoulder, as he unsteadily wobbled back to the Nightshades’ favorite watering hole, heard him mumble, “Or maybe I’ll jush come back wish some friends.”
Burton sighed. “I’d appreciate the gesture if you’d stay around for a spell, Lucius. Bet he’s good for his word. But if he shows up with money, I’ll be amazed.”
Marie dragged a rocker out for me. Had a nice cushion in the seat. Got right comfortable. Almost napped off watching Lenny move his favorite piles of grime from one end of the boardwalk to the other. Less than an hour had passed when Sweetwater’s favorite family, and their friends, poured out into the street like a nest of angry wasps. Jack, Chalky, Jimbo Pine, and his brother whipped their mounts my direction. Nance and her mother laid back and waited at Shorty’s.
Lenny swept his way up next to me and smiled at all the noise and dust in the air when the horses came to a jumping stop in front of us. I went to stand. Never made my feet.
Hailstorm of bullets swept over us like a cloud of buzzing hornets. Somehow Lenny landed on top of me. Everything got wet and sticky. My ears rang so loud I thought my head would explode.
Then, the blackest night I’ve ever seen wrapped itself around me like a funeral shroud.
18
“. . . SURE AS HELL’S HOT AND SNOWBALLS ARE COLD.”
MUDDY-MINDED AWARENESS GRADually chewed its way back into my brain. Confusion and darkness came and went. Faces, twisted by a blistering ache behind my eyes, bobbled above me. Heard people talk, but couldn’t make any sense out of it. Their words hummed inside my throbbing head. Down in the deepest part of my ears, screams bounced about. Sounded like someone’s innards were being removed with hot horseshoe tongs. By and by, I came around seated in Marie Hickerson’s rocker. Couldn’t figure out how I got there. Caked blood covered the front of my shirt.
Moses Hand wiped at my face with a wet rag and said, “You be all right, I think. Just got a nice grove in the noggin over here by your right ear. Take a spell to grow the hair back, but you’re gonna look just fine in a few days.” Then he dabbed at a spot on my right side. “This here crease done bled a lot, but I don’t think she caused much real damage. Pistol ball bounced off all the muscle under there. Furrow looks nastier than it really is.”
I tried to speak. Nothing came out for several seconds. Finally mumbled, “All this blood mine?” Screams from inside the store answered me. Agonized, horrid, pitiful sounds that caused dogs in the street to howl. Sent chicken flesh crawling along my spine.
Mose snatched a nervous glance behind me and said, “Naw. Most belongs to Lenny Milsap. He caught two in the stomach, and another in the spine, Lucius. Terrible wounds. Boy’s gonna die an unspeakable death. Doc Bryles been working on him near’bouts an hour now. Guess they’ve poured a bucket of whiskey down the boy’s throat. ’Pears like they ain’t enough liquor in the world to stop his hurtin’, though.”
My senses kept spinning, but I noticed only women and kids milled around in the street. Pulled at Mose’s sleeve and said, “Where are all the men?”
“They done possied up and beat hell out to the Nightshades’ place. Near’bouts every able body in town went. Mr. Hickerson, Mr. Bashwell, Shorty Small, the Bruce brothers, and anyone from the country what could carry a gun. Musta been nigh on fifty of ’em. Even Cap’n White-cotten had some of ’em lash him to a horse. Most folk herebouts loved Lenny, and had no cause not to like you. Seein’ you boys get shot down like Jack and his friends done sho’ nuff snatched the cork outta the jug. Town’s murderous angry, Lucius.”
“Why didn’t you go with ’em?”
“Mr. Hickerson said he thought it best if I stayed here with you. Wanted somethin’ like law around should the shooters come back. Besides, I wouldn’t have gone anyways.”
“Why not?”
He pressed a fresh bandage to the gash in my side, shot a worried look toward the bridge, and said, “Looked to me like every other cracker in the posse was braidin’ up rope for a dose of oak-tree justice, or revenge, whichever you prefer. Don’t do to be a black feller when white folks get lynchin’ on they minds. This here pissant deputy
sheriff’s badge won’t mean a wagonload of postholes to men as mad as that bunch. They hit the briars and brambles, and git enough liquor choked down, no tellin’ who might end up danglin’ from a tree limb.”
Doc Bryles took a break from working on Lenny and did what he could for me. He poured whiskey over anything of mine that was still bleeding. Looked right grim behind his thick spectacles and said, “Douse the hole in your side about every two hours. Keep the bandage loose where some air can get to it. You should be fine. One on your head might not allow you to tolerate a hat for a spell, but I can’t see either of these scratches killing you.”
“How’s Lenny, Doc?” I said.
The sweaty, bloodstained sawbones wearily removed his glasses, and used his shirtsleeve on a clenched brow. “He’ll die—sure as Hell’s hot and snowballs are cold. My wife, Melinda, and I’ll stay with him till his time comes. Ain’t nothing else to be done.”
Couple of hours later, Mose helped me limp over to the jail and the prospect of the modest comfort it allowed. Just outside the door, we stopped and watched as the posse straggled back into town. Tired, dirty, and looking whipped, most of them headed for the saloons. Burton Hickerson appeared right gloomy as he peeled away from the others and reined up at our hitch rail. With some difficulty, the weary grocer dismounted and loosened the girth on his horse. He motioned us inside, threw his hat on the sheriff’s desk, and slumped into a chair.
After almost a minute, I got tired of waiting for him to speak. Image of a cross-eyed, purple-tongued Nance Nightshade flashed across my brain and I blurted, “Well, what the hell happened? Did you catch ’em? Kill the whole family, or what?”
Hickerson looked sad when he said, “Got to their house. Couldn’t find a soul. Rode up and down Little Agnes Creek. Beating the bushes for most of an hour. Somebody spotted sign that led over toward Denton Creek. Lost whatever they claimed to see ’bout ten miles into Wise County. Course you couldn’t have formed up one good tracker out of every drunken nimrod in the party today. Not finding the shooters made all them that was already intoxicated even madder. They charged back to the Nightshades’ ranch and burnt the whole shebang to the ground. Nothing left but ashes. Even burnt the outhouse and that old wagon Titus and his bunch first came to town in. I tried to stop ’em. Didn’t have no luck with my efforts, though.”
I said, “You think the Nightshades got away?”
“Couldn’t say, Lucius, but I can tell you one thing for certain. If Lenny Milsap dies, the mob will press Mose into service and go after ’em again. Everyone knows our deputy sheriff for the best tracker in the county. Lord help that benighted family, and their friends, if the town’s broomlovin’ saint of a boy passes.”
Sweetwater’s gut-shot “saint” held on for quite a spell. Didn’t stop screaming till nearly ten o’clock that night. Gave up the ghost so abruptly, when the silence finally came, it felt as though a great weight had been lifted from the town’s collective broken heart. About a minute later, red-eyed unreasoning anger boiled out of the saloons and into the streets. Men rogued about, yelling and hollering almost all night.
Burton woke us at first light. Sounded like the voice of doom when he said, “They want Mose, and they want him right now.” I glanced out the window. The enraged town’s seething fury rippled up and down Main Street like waves on windblown water. Looked to be near’bouts half-a-hundred men in the street. Never seen such resolute rage on the faces of that many people at once.
For the first time since we’d met, deep lines of concern creased Moses Hand’s ebony countenance. A twitch gnawed at the corner of his mouth, and his hands trembled. He held his hat in supplication. “I’d rather not do this, Mr. Burton, sir. If it’s all the same to you.”
Hickerson shook his head. “We ain’t got no choice in the matter, Mose. You’re the only one can find the people who killed Lenny.”
I could tell there was no profit to be had in arguing the point. So I pulled at my friend’s sleeve and said, “I’ll go along. See to it you’re safe.”
He balked again. “You don’t know these things like I does, Lucius. This is a bad ’un. No good gonna come from anything done today—a tale of horror and bad dyin’ just waiting to happen. Besides, you’re hurt and don’t need to be out ridin’ around all over the countyside on no horse.”
I leaned closer and whispered, “You can’t refuse this time, Mose. All you have to do is look outside. I’ll go along. Should anything out of the way occur, they’ll have to take my life before they come for yours.”
Don’t ever let anyone tell you it doesn’t hurt to get shot. The holes and furrows Jack and his friends put in my hide ached, burned, and stabbed at me with every fall of Grizz’s big ole feet. Time or two, I got so dizzy I almost passed out. But the promise I’d made, and concern for my friend’s safety, kept me going.
Got about an hour’s respite when we pulled up at what remained of the Nightshade ranch. Ashes still smoldered. Mose made Burton, and the rest of the party, stay put while he scoured the surrounding countryside for sign. Seemed as though I’d barely laid myself out under a big gnarly cottonwood when the whooping and hollering went up again.
Original posse’d been on the right track when they started searching around Little Agnes Creek the day before. Took him a spell to sort out the jumble of various prints, but Mose proved his amazing hunter’s skill, and followed the desperate family’s trail north along the shallow stream for about five miles. Then, the route turned into the sea of prairie grass and headed south and west.
’Bout half past noon, the leading edge of our still-fuming band of whiskey-saturated avengers came upon a low hill situated beside a sluggish, unnamed brook lined with blackjack oak and walnut trees. As we got closer, I remember thinking as how, from the top, you could probably see near everything that moved in any direction. Jack and Chalky couldn’t have found a better spot for an ambush if they’d drawn up plans.
No one had really expected the fleeing killers to stop. Early on, Shorty Small had even expressed the opinion that we’d most likely have to chase them all the way to Mexico.
A torrent of hot lead, from the rocky hill, renedered his self-assured presumption into nothingness. Struck down four of our party in the first barrage. Two of them died before their limp corpses hit the ground. Nearly half of those who survived the initial hailstorm of bullets panicked, tucked their cowardly tails, and ran like scalded dogs. Any doubt in the minds of those who stayed as to the deadliness of our situation vanished when the first man died.
Waist-high grass doesn’t offer much by way of shelter, when bullets are zipping around your ears like angry bees and all you can hear is screaming and dying. But I got lucky beyond words that deadly day. Landed in a sheltering depression in the hard ground. Pulled Grizz down on his side next to me. Took months to teach him that trick. First time I’d ever had any real, life-saving need of it. Wouldn’t be the last.
Return fire erupted from our resolute band of liquor-brave leftovers. A rippling line of rifle and pistol balls nibbled its way up the hillside like some kind of invisible, meadow-eating monster. Dust, rock shards, dirt clods, wood chips, and grass blasted into the air. I’d still bet today that inside half an hour Sweetwater’s avengers fired near a thousand rounds into the Nightshade gang’s sheltering mound of dirt. So much lead filled the air, it’s a wonder anyone in front of the scorching onslaught could breathe. Muzzle flashes set several spots of grass afire. Spent black powder added to the confusion and overall insanity of the situation.
Now and again, I’d raise up on my elbow to try and see whatever I could. Bolder members of our crew inched their way forward behind a blazing shield of gun work. The drifting smoke stung my eyes and looked like blue-gray thunderclouds shifting on the breeze.
Then, as suddenly as it started, the yelling, screaming, and bombardment ceased. Heard my name called. Stood to see Mr. Hickerson, and several of the town’s other leading citizens, use rifle and pistol barrels to push three men my direction.
Jack Nightshade, Chalky Snow, and Hubert Pine must have had a cupful of shot in their gory hides. Pine caught the worst of it. Man sported so many holes, I don’t know how he stood and walked. All three dropped to their knees in a wallowed-out spot where some of our men had tried to take cover.
Pine went to carping and moaning. He said, “If’n you’re gonna hang us, get it over with and done. Ye’ve already kilt brother Jimbo on yonder bloody hill. I ain’t got no reason left to live. I’m shot to hell and in right smart of intolerable pain, Ranger.”
Chalky’s ashen face cracked into a smile. He looked me straight in the eye and sneered. “Thought I’d kilt you in Sweetwater, you lucky son of a bitch. Give back one of my pistols, and I’ll finish the job.” Blood trickled from his twisted mouth. I counted three terrible, life-oozing wounds on his person.
Someone shouted, “You ain’t gonna get another chance, you murderin’ skunk.” Half a dozen lengths of hemp fell over the kneeling men’s heads like rainwater. Before I could catch my breath, all three were dragged, kicking and yelping, to a twisted, gnarly piece of oak tree located hard by the stagnant steam’s edge.
Pulled my pistol but, before I could make a move to prevent what I knew was coming, a knot of red-eyed drunks pressed in around me and waved their weapons. Mose caught my hand and urgently whispered, “Let it go, Lucius. You try and stop ’em, could get us both killed. These folks ain’t the same as you knew ’em. They’s a mob now.”
In less than a minute, men I’d once thought reasonable and law-abiding hog-tied their wounded captives and had the terrified killers mounted under the hanging limb—ready for God and Glory. Burton Hickerson offered each of the bullet-riddled trio an opportunity to speak. Hubert Pine couldn’t do anything but make noises like a wounded animal. Someone whipped the horse from under him, and put an end to his ramblings. Chalky’s face turned into a mask of fear and resolution. Jack didn’t even bat an eye.
Hickerson asked Snow if he had anything to say. The south Texas bad man blinked away sweat and grime and snapped, “Hell, no. I ain’t got nothing for you bastards. No way I’m gonna make this any easier for you. Go on and do your—” He never finished his sentence. A rump-slapped horse set him to swinging.
