Hell to Pay: The Life and Violent Times of Eli Gault

by J. Lee Butts

  Bruno's second lick whistled past an ear that rang like cathedral bells, and crashed through the inch-thick planks of their porch beside my head like a ten-pound sledgehammer. Splintering lumber and dust filled the evening air. I tried an evasive move in the opposite direction, and almost fell off the porch.

  Stumbled to my less-than-helpful feet, staggered to one of the props holding the veranda's roof up, and in vain, slapped my side for the pistol I'd left hanging on a peg inside the doorway. By that point, my eyes had finally adjusted to the dying light. Glanced up to see Kleitz down on his knees trying to pull his hand out of the shattered mess he'd made. Had no idea how the big goober got stuck, but he went to bellowing like a wounded bull, and jerked a sizable stack of boards loose before he ripped free.

  Foot-long piece of rough-cut timber was stuck to his hand by a tenpenny nail that went through the palm and protruded from the other side. He swayed to his feet, grabbed the board with his free hand, whimpered like a hurt child, and ripped the kindling from his injured fist. Stream of blood shot from the wound and spurted two feet my direction.

  He squeezed his hand and yelped, "Damn you, Moon. You're gonna pay heavy for this."

  Saw Ella jump on the thug's back and claw at his face. He brushed her away like she was nothing more than a nuisance fly. Her father grabbed at one of the gorilla's arms, and called for him to give up the fight. Big man smacked Justin between the eyes with a hellish lick. Watched as the poor man dropped like a gunnysack full of rocks.

  A guttural grunt escaped Kleitz's heaving chest. He turned and charged my direction again. Shook my fogged-up brain box, dance-stepped out of his way, and watched as he went through the 4 x 4 wooden roof prop like it was a matchstick. Big bastard lost his balance when the support snapped. He half staggered, half fell into the darkness, and went headfirst into the trunk of an ancient live oak a few feet from the house. Heard what I thought were neck bones cracking. Leastways, that's what I hoped the sound was.

  Took a couple of steps his direction to check on what I felt sure would be a dead body. Damned if the loutish swine didn't stand, shake his bloodied head, and make another run at me. Tried to get out of the way, but he swooped in with both arms open, grabbed me up like a bear capturing prey, and started to squeeze the life right out of me. As he swung his head back and forth, hairy chunks of gore from the scalp wound splattered all over me. Crushing muscles like iron bands tightened huge arms 'round my waist, and the air whooshed out of crushed lungs so fast I couldn't believe it.

  Used my open palms to slap him upside his ears. Popping him didn't appear to faze the crazed beast in the least. Butted his nose with my forehead as hard as I could. Cartilage snapped like a piece of rotten cottonwood branch and punched a sizable hole through the skin. Got a mouthful of his blood as it spewed into my face. Crushing grip around my waist tightened. Little more pressure, and my ribs would've snapped.

  Everything around us started to fade. Figured I only had one more thing to try before he killed me. Placed a blood-saturated palm on his cheek. Twisted his head sideways, slid my thumb into the corner of his eye, and gouged the eyeball out. Ugly yellow sucker made a right strange popping sound when it dropped onto his cheek.

  Big son of a bitch let go of me pretty damned quick, and screamed so loud I can't imagine how people in Uvalde didn't hear him. Then he went to puking. Sprayed the stuff all over me, the porch, woodpile, everything within ten feet around. God Almighty, but the man must have eaten a gallon of bunkhouse chili for lunch that day.

  Next thing I knew, he stood in front of me and held his eyeball up to the side of his head like he was trying to still see with the poor damaged glob. From God only knows where, he'd also managed to grab up an ax. Jesus, but the scene would've made one hell of a picture. Both of us stared at each other like madmen. Bruno held his eyeball in one hand, the ax in his other. He moved the dislocated orb back and forth in his fingers, and cried like a little kid.

  He advanced on me again, swung the ax several times, but to no effect. Vision from his good eye was blocked by blood freely flowing from the wound on top of his head. Didn't slow him down much, though. He started across the porch, stepped into the hole he'd made when he swung at me the first time, and fell to his knees. The ax slipped from his blood- and puke-slicked hand, flew sideways, and stuck in the wall.

  I figured the whole mess had run its course. But through willpower impossible for me to comprehend, the big brute managed to bring himself upright and stand. Heard something beside my ear, and half turned in time to see Ella's pistol-filled hand appear. Big blaster went off less than two feet from my face.

  Bruno groaned, staggered a step backward, recovered, and lurched our way once more. He still held the gory eyeball like it was a coal miner's lamp guiding him to the object of an undying wrath. Second slug she sent his way punched a hole in his right cheek. Third one hit him in the throat. He made a nasty gurgling, retching sound, dropped the yellow eyeball, and grabbed at his neck. Have to admit, the girl was a damned good shot.

  Shot giant made unspeakable air-sucking noises and sagged like a hundred-pound sack of feed grain with a hole cut in the bottom corner. Ella dropped the pistol, and ran to help her father. Thank God, the blow he'd suffered didn't do much more than raise an egg-sized knot right between his eyes. Once we'd got Justin on his feet again, the three of us stood over Kleitz's limp body for almost a minute and didn't say anything. Still believe that all three of us felt certain he'd probably try to get up again. For a spell, that Texas evening got as quiet as an open grave at midnight.

  Ella finally broke the silence. "What the hell are we gonna do now?"

  Farnsworth waved at the mess on his front porch like a man bewildered. "We'll have to get Hector Stamps out here. Tell him what happened."

  Thought about that for a minute before I said, "You can't tell anyone that Ella fired the shots that killed Kleitz."

  At the same time father and daughter said, "Why not?"

  "Because everyone within fifty miles of Uvalde knows Bruno and Ella's history. First thing mat's going to happen out of this is an inquest. Real good chance his family will claim we killed ole Bruno out of malice, and staged this whole business. Or that Ella murdered him because of their failed relationship. Hell, it could go any number of ways. Not a damned one of them I can think of would be good for her."

  Justin put his arm around his daughter's shoulders. "Then what do you propose we do, Moon?"

  Dabbed at the cut on my head with my bandanna and said, "We could drag his sorry ass a few miles away. Dump him out in the big cold and lonely. Wolves would have him chewed up to nothing in a few days. Hell, it'll take anyone who goes out searching for him at least a week to find the corpse, if they ever did."

  Seemed like a good idea to me, but Justin discarded it out of hand. "Can't let wolves eat him, Moon. Gonna have to get the law involved in this business sooner or later. Hell, look at you. You think his disappearance and the way you look won't get connected?"

  So I said, "Well, then, we'll load the body up and I'll take it to my place. Lay him out, as close as I can to the way he is right now, on my own front porch. I'll wring a chicken's neck and splatter everything in sight with blood."

  Ella said, "What can we do?"

  "Tidy this mess and yourselves up. Repair the damage even if it takes all night. Once I get everything situated at my place, I'll ride into town and have the marshal come out. Shouldn't be a problem convincing him that I was attacked and had to defend myself. Tales about us having words in the saloon have been flying since the day we met."

  So that's the way it all shook out. We threw a tarp over ole Bruno's horse's back. Took all three of us to get him loaded. Everything went pretty good, up to a point. Arranged the body exactly the way I'd described, but ended up having to make an extra trip back to the Farnsworth place to scrounge around for Bruno's loose eyeball. Like to have never found the damned thing. Somehow, it ended up under the porch. Wasn't anything but good luck the cats or t
he chickens didn't get to the vile thing first.

  Didn't clean myself up any. Went into town still bloodier than hell. Rousted Marshal Stamps out of his bed about daylight. He was horrified by my gory appearance. He rode out to my place, and stood around for almost an hour shaking his head. Asked a boatload of stupid questions that didn't go anywhere toward helping me explain away what confronted him. We took the corpse to town and left it with the undertaker.

  Kleitz's family came in that afternoon and carried him back to their ranch for burial. Sweet Jesus, but they were one angry bunch of folks. Week later, Hector Stamps presided over the inquest. Convened the whole dance in the El Perro Blanco Cantina. Stamps figured on a sizable crowd and claimed it was the largest room in town. My God, but he was right. Throng overflowed and spilled into the street. Didn't realize that many people lived within fifty miles of Uvalde.

  Marshal impaneled a jury of what he referred to as six good men. Everything appeared to be going about the way I'd expected. That is, until the findings were announced. Turns out I'd made one hell of a big mistake. You see, when it got right down to the bottom line, small-town behind-the-scenes politics took over, and Henry Moon got a lesson in just how powerful the Kleitz clan of Uvalde really was.

  Stamps accepted the jury's inquest findings from the foreman, snapped the paper between his fingers, and read, "We do hereby find the death of Bruno Kleitz to be suspicious in nature and, therefore, direct that Henry Moon be arrested and held for suitable trial at the earliest possible convenience. We furthermore direct the town marshal, Hector Stamps, to send for Judge Arthur Holmes in San Antonio to preside over such proceedings."

  Well, I damned near passed out. I mean, just think about it. A whole passel of men, and at least one woman, were roasting in hell as a result of me killing them, and nothing much had ever come of those murderous acts. Now, here I was being put behind a set of iron bars for a murder I didn't commit, and in my mind at least, Bruno's death occupied the realm of a completely justifiable killing—whether I was responsible for his totally timely death or not.

  Only good thing that came out the whole shooting match was I got to see Ella every day. She brought me a hot lunch and dinner without fail, and sat outside my cell door so we could talk while I ate. At first, Marshal Stamps searched everything she brought me. But after about two weeks, he got tired of that particular game and let his earlier efforts go by the board.

  Damn near every day, she'd say something like, "I've talked with Pa, Moon. We'll tell Marshal Stamps the whole bloody story, exactly the way it happened."

  Almost all my entreaties to her were along the lines of, "No, Ella. Don't do that. No reason to let what Bruno did to you get out. You'd never hear the end of small-town gossip. Most likely the good citizens around here would blame you for the whole tragic mess."

  "Well, I worry about you, Moon."

  Reached through the bars and took her hand. "You needn't trouble yourself, darlin'. I'm not trying to be noble or anything here. But hell, there ain't a jury in Texas gonna convict a man for defending himself. This farce will be over before you know it and I'll be back out at the ranch. We'll ride to Elephant Butte every morning for the sunrise. Go fishing. Sit on the porch and talk. Everything's going to turn out just dandy."

  Boy howdy was I ever wrong.

  19

  "Gonna be fun to watch you drop."

  And so, here I sat with nothing much to do but think on my sinful and bloody past. Appears ole Satan's 'bout ready to call me to book. Took almost six weeks for Marshal Stamps to finally bring Judge Arthur Holmes to town. Knew I was in trouble the moment Holmes strode into Uvalde's jail. Famed adjudicator was trailed by a cadaverous-looking gent, who got introduced around as a specially appointed prosecutor from San Antonio named Solomon Meek. Personally, I couldn't detect one damned meek trait about the man. First thing he did was stalk to my cell door and eyeball me like I was an animal with its foot stuck in a trap.

  Over his shoulder, he said to Stamps, "Is this the man who slaughtered poor Mr. Kleitz, Marshal?"

  Stupid jackass of a lawman didn't bother to point out I'd only been accused. Hell, no. He said, "Yessir. That's him. My God, sir, but slaughter is a damned good word. Bloodiest mess I've ever had to look on."

  As Meek stomped away, he added, "Well, we'll see to him by the end of the week." Awful part of the whole exchange was that Judge Holmes didn't say a word, only nodded his agreement.

  As always, that afternoon Ella brought my dinner. Soon as she got settled I whispered, "Darlin' you've got to get me a gun. Found out this morning these people are planning on hanging me, and damned quick. I've gotta get out of here."

  She threw me a perplexed look and said, "How do you know that?"

  Told her all about Meek's obvious threat, and how I thought maybe Bruno's family had gone so far as to buy the judge and prosecutor. Girl said she wouldn't be a bit surprised, and promised me a weapon as soon as possible.

  Next afternoon, Ella managed to sneak me a pissant-sized Hopkins and Allen .32-caliber pocket pistol. Wasn't much of a gun, but I figured it would have to do. Damned good thing she did.

  Day after she delivered the gun, Stamps and a couple of newly appointed deputies dragged me over to the saloon and, quicker than a hot dry wind can lift a dead leaf, my trial started. Didn't take long for me to realize those folks intended to string me up like a ham in a smokehouse.

  While not a damn thing negative about me got said by anyone from Uvalde who took the stand, I could tell it didn't matter one bit. The fix was in, and my neck had already been bought and paid for. Thank God it took a bit longer than that bunch must have figured on. Gave me and Ella a little more time to finalize a few plans. She arranged for my horse, food, clothing, money, and such, while I got ready to check out.

  Stunning surprise walked into the courtroom on the third and last day of their legal lynching. The worthless drunk appointed to defend me didn't voice a word's worth of objection when the prosecutor said, "I call Texas Ranger Tiger Jim Becker." Damn, I came a hairsbreadth of falling off my chair into the floor.

  Becker bumped into me as he passed, and almost knocked me over. Took the oath and flopped into the witness chair. Meek got all the preliminaries out of the way quick as he could, and cut right to the chase.

  He struck a pose straight from a gallery portrait and said, "Do you know the defendant, Ranger Becker?"

  Becker needed very little by way of urging. He told the whole bloody story of how I'd killed his more-than-worthless brother in Cuero. But he didn't bother to mention Nathan's slutty wife Ruby and the ole badger game they were working.

  Then, out of the clear blue, he really threw out a hell of a surprise. Said, "I've been tracking this man-killin' son of a bitch for almost three years. His name isn't really Henry Moon. I am convinced that what you have here in Uvalde is the real, live, and murderous Eli Gault—a one-man plague the likes of which Texas has never seen before." Everyone in the place that day sucked in a shocked, shuddering breath.

  For the next thirty minutes, Ranger Tiger Jim Becker went through a long and detailed recitation of my killings. He didn't know about all of them, but by God, it sounded to me like he intended to get a complete list sooner or later. During his entire performance, the packed courtroom continued to gasp after every slaughter he meticulously described.

  Hell, Eli Gault, alias Henry Moon, was nothing more than a dead man sitting in a chair, and two hours later, the jury confirmed it. Took that bunch of drunken yahoos less than ten minutes to reach a verdict. Judge Holmes had me sentenced to hang so fast, my head was still swimming when Stamps and his henchmen jerked me up and threw my soon-to-be-dead ass back in a cell.

  One of the new deputies turned the key on me and said, "Ain't never walked a man up no gallows afore, Moon, or Gault, or whatever the hell your name be. Hear tell a man messes hisself when he hits the end of the rope." Then he sneered at me between the bars and added, "Cain't wait to see it. Gonna be fun to watch you drop."
r />   One of his cohorts walked up and said, "Hangman's on his way from Austin right now. Marshal Stamps don't want no part of stringin' you up, so the judge sent for a man he trusts to do you up right, Moon." Son of a bitch tilted his head to one side, poked his tongue out, and made loud gagging, spitting noises. Everyone in attendance 'cept me thought him a right humorous feller.

  Lawmen refused to let Ella visit me once I got sentenced. Said she could see me the day of the hanging. Didn't matter a damn one way or the other, far as I was concerned. I intended to be gone by sunup the next morning.

  Waited till after midnight to make my move. The marshal and all the deputies, except for a feller named Russell Stutts, had retired earlier that evening. Stutts was the smart-mouth who told me how much fun it'd be to watch me hang and mess myself. Let him get good and asleep for about fifteen minutes, then banged on the bars with my drinking cup.

  Sleepy-eyed dolt hopped out of his chair like a dagger of mercury blue lightning had struck the desk. Fumbled around for his pistol and looked sheepish. "What the hell's goin' on here, Moon?"

  "Gotta go to the outhouse, Russ." None of my guards had ever denied me before, no matter how late it got. Had no reason to believe Stutts would either.

  "Damn, it's after midnight. Can't it wait?"

  Grabbed my stomach, bent over at the waist, and groaned real loud. Came back up, looked pitiful, and said, "Something you boys fed me this afternoon must have been bad. You can either take me outside or live with the smell for the rest of the night. Your choice."

  He frowned, holstered his pistol, snatched the desk drawer open, grabbed the key ring, and said, "Damn, Moon. I'd just managed to get to sleep. Now I gotta follow you out to the shitter. Probably be up all night."

  Watched as he rubbed sleep from his eyes and stumbled to the cell door. Let him get close enough before I reached through the bars, grabbed his shirtfront, and snatched him my direction. Placed Ella's tiny pistol barrel against his forehead and blew a trench all the way through his brain. Had the muzzle pressed against his skull so tight, the tiny popper barely made a noise. Dropped him quick as I could to keep the blood spurting out of his head from getting all over me.