Beast of the Field

by Peter Jordan Drake

  Millie was raised on a farm. She knew the many uses for rope. She had seen it used to hang porkers in the smokehouse, pull cars from the mud and bind bales when the twine had run out. She had seen her brother pull a full-grown cow down to her flank with it, then use the same rope to tie her hinds to her fores to her neck and leave enough hemp dangling so she could be dragged. In a hundred years, she would have never expected—even as it uncoiled on its arching flight over the bough, its neat little loop falling down to bounce in the air next to Mr. Sterno's head—to see a length of rope used the way these men used it.

  36.

  Charlie Sterno saw the four men with their torches and his one thought was of Millie. She would have followed him no matter what Junior or her parents would have done to stop her. She would be in these woods somewhere, probably close, maybe right here with him. He had to call to her. She had to get out of these woods.

  He stepped from the fishing cabin before they could see he had been in there, stepped over to make it seem as though he had come from around the back of it. He didn't want them wondering if there was any reason to go in there to tidy up. That bloody trilby was their ticket to the big house, and Sterno wanted it left alone. He came out of the cabin searching the trees around the clearing for the girl, but beyond the trunks of the trees closest to the torchlit pit there was just darkness. He made to call out to her. It was his jaw that stopped him—pain like a gunshot—and in this second of quiet reeling, reason tried to work on him.

  Maybe calling to her would only get her caught.

  Damn it. She was only a girl. He never should have brought her into this.

  But then something else occurred to him. He looked at the torches, in the glow they cast he saw guns. These fellows weren't here to give him a going away present. There was a good chance he would not be going anywhere tonight. If this was the case, Millie would be the only way this case gets closed. It was her case now. His job was to get this son of a bitch Greentree talking.

  The four men were standing tall underneath their flames. Sterno shot a quick thought to his .38, resting in the leaves in the bottom of the dry pond. It may as well have been in Timbuktu. One of the men carried a rifle Sterno knew from when he had bought his whisky. Gomer came for Sterno. He approached him at the ready, just sure Sterno was going to either make a break for it or come at him swinging. When he was close enough he jabbed Sterno in the forehead with its butt. Sterno dropped to one knee, got back up, stood straight on his feet, warm blood pouring down his face. He did not run. Did not fight. Did not beg. He did speak, however. He wiped the blood so he could see. He addressed the big man, who he knew was the mayor.

  "Something tells me those boys down there in the bottom of that pond are going to get some company tonight," Sterno said. He talked as clearly as he could, stretching open his tight jaw. Pain didn't matter to him anymore.

  The eyes behind the mask were creased: the mayor was smiling. "Well, I like this spot, Mr. Sterno. Secluded. Peaceful. No one comes this way, not ever. Well, sometimes…I do like to take my friends here sometimes. My real good friends." He lowered his flame to indicate the bones under the bottom of the crater. "Like those boys from Oklahoma." He then looked squarely at Sterno. "Like you. Like any more like you who come this way."

  "The Donnans will be wondering where I've gone to. They did hire me to complete a job. Even paid me half up front."

  The mayor said something about how the Donnans would be hearing from them too. It was a clear threat. Sterno's mind went to Millie. He wanted to call to her now more than ever. She needed to get out of there, get home.

  If you call to her, everything's lost. She knows this too. Why do you think she's being quiet?

  The mayor was filling up with air now. He claimed to not have to answer to anyone's rules but his own. He claimed America as his own place, to make it how he liked it, according to his own rules. He went on and on about this, a real stump speech. Sterno knew better. That letter he had given to Millie earlier tonight had already set into motion a process of real rules. This man would find out who really makes the rules in America.

  "I guess I'm going to find out about your rules, aren't I," Sterno said. "Just like those men from McMurray oil found out. And I guess Tommy Donnan found out about your rules too, didn't he?" The mayor answered him but he was not paying attention. His ears were on the trees. He’d heard something. Wild dogs, maybe. Maybe not.

  Then something else stole his focus away from Millie, from the mayor, from everything else: the thick coil of rope draped around one of the men's shoulder. He had only just now noticed it.

  So it's going to be the hemp. A one hundred per cent American lynching. Never would have thought it would be like this. Life is full of surprises, aint it Charlie?

  Sterno laughed at this thought despite the pang of dread in his chest. The mayor stopped speaking in mid-sentence. He ordered Gomer to bring Sterno to him for a look. Gomer took one of Sterno's arms in his hand, led him around the edge of the pond to stand next to the mayor. They stood underneath a large cottonwood.

  "Well, well, what do you say Jonas? That brother of yours might be a little soft in the spine, but he still has a good right hook," said the mayor as he looked over Sterno's face.

  But Jonas Neuwald wasn't listening. He too had heard something in the woods, and had separated from them, walked towards the trees with his torch high. He moved slowly, searching the trees in front of him. He lowered his torch to the ground next to his boot, continued toward the woods treading softly. He’d heard her too.

  Sterno could take down Gomer, get the rifle, get the other brother in the gut with it, at this range. That would change things. That would give Millie enough time to make a break.

  With some prodding from Greentree, however, Jonas Neuwald retrieved his light and rejoined them. Sterno sighed, listened, heard nothing from the trees.

  The men had gone quiet in their killing business. They spoke only when there was some instruction like this to give, or a question to ask, and this they did in whispers. They kept their heads turned to the ground. They did not look him in the eye. Sterno stood still, let them do their work. They bound his hands but left his legs free. Sterno had seen this before: these night-riding yokels who got a thrill from watching a man—or a boy—kick his last seconds of life away.

  Sterno’s mind grew suddenly calm in this lull of conversation and wandered to a bright river. He looked across but saw nothing there. Had the dream been a lie? Where was she? Was she trying to tell him something? Was this place a place where a man can smile, this dark place full of evil men? It isn’t all evil men, Charlie. There’s Tess, who could love you, who could make you smile. There’s Millie. Is this what was keeping him from crossing that river? Maybe these two persons were real-life symbols of what could have been if she, if they, hadn’t died that morning. Maybe he should fight them now—right now—take that rifle and at least die fighting.

  But his detective heart—black and shriveled as it was—was thinking about the case, about giving these boys in masks the same treatment they were about to give him.

  That girl is in these woods, he told himself. She’s watching. Send her a message somehow. Give her some time to get out of here; if she doesn’t heed it, that’s her worry. At least then you’ve done your job, instead of just giving up. These boys are heading to her pa's farm when they're done here. Not only is her life in danger, but so is her home, her family, and don’t forget about your case.

  Alright to hell with it, he replied to himself. A fight it is.

  There’s the old Charlie.

  His bare foot came up between the legs of the mayor, who had been standing proudly and confidently over his quarry, but was now doubled-over in clinched pain. It had been a good kick, fast, hard and true to its target and the crunching feeling against his toes had felt to Sterno like an Oriental massage.

  “You kike son-of-a-bitch! Get him still!”

  When one of the other masked men came near enough, Sterno
spat in his face, then kicked him in the stomach. But that would be the last round for Charlie Sterno. Gomer Neuwald laughed his idiot laugh before getting Sterno in the stomach with the stock of his rifle. Sterno went dizzy again, he fell limp against the scratchy rope. That was it. He was crossing quickly now to a bright place, and he liked it. He thought he heard a river, or maybe smelled it. Sunshine was shining through the dark of night. A quiet was settling into him, becoming comfortable there. He decided he was not going to fight, curse, spit or try to kick anymore. He was not going to feel any anger. No, not nothing, he felt almost happy. He was going to her at last.

  It turned out his thoughts did come back to Millie Donnan one last time, however.

  When his feet came off the ground he choked up mustard in the back of his throat. That sandwich he had never wanted, but had had no choice but to eat. You’re going to like this girl, he thought to her, wherever she was waiting for him. And this thought brought him some amusement, so that when Charlie Sterno closed his eyes and crossed to that place where a man smiles, he did it with a smirk.

  37.

  Millie watched the neat loop come down around Mr. Sterno's neck, but did not understand what was happening to him. He was standing so still. He looked so calm. There didn't seem anything wrong.

  Then he kicked the mayor right in the crotch and hell broke loose. He got another one of them, Jonas Neuwald, she thought, right in the gut after spitting in his face. He twisted and turned against the rope at his neck but it was that damn Gomer Neuwald who got him finally. He yuk-yukked and got him in the ribs, it looked like, or maybe the gut, and that was when Mr. Sterno went still

  Perfectly still. He wore a face like a photograph. This confused Millie all over again. She just didn’t understand what was happening in front of her. She thought maybe she should get out of there. There was something very bad happening, and she should be at home. Maybe she should even be warning Mr. Sterno’s “employers.”

  But she was frozen again, couldn’t budge a muscle. Even as Millie watched three of the four men pull the rope leading to his neck taut, watched Mr. Sterno float up into the darkness, her curiosity was too strong to allow in feeling. She heard him expel a long breath from his lungs, but felt nothing. She was pulled into his eyes, and that look on his face—his face said it was okay. It was all okay. When his legs began to quiver and kick, her heart began to beat faster, she did not know why. She felt a powerful chill travel through her, but could not explain it. It wasn't until one of his shoes fell from a sockless foot, landed with a tiny crunch in the dry bed below him that Millie blinked awake from her dream. Then Mr. Neuwald said something, and it was his words that sent the understanding home with a sound like an explosion in her head. At last she remembered what that neat little loop was called, and what they used it for.

  "I be damned, Abner," Mr. Neuwald said. "I think he was the first one that really wasn't scared of dying."

  The mayor was still hunched over. He took off his hood, revealing a red and pained face. He scratched at his head, finally stood up straight. He stuck the once-white cloth in his jacket pocket, looked at the hanged man. "Yeah. I was kinda hoping he’d a begged or cried or something. Maybe he wasn’t a Jew after all," he said. Then the understanding blew up inside her, so that she uttered a small sound from the shock of it. This sound of was heard by all. Her focus remained on the beat-up, torn-apart, floating body of Mr. Sterno, but in the corners of her eyes she saw four faces turn to her.

  "Goddamnit!" said one of them. "Get that damn girl!"

  She turned to run. The crashing footfalls of the men followed her. She found her stride as the first torch reached the thickets, but she had been sweating in Tommy’s boots, and slipped inside them so that she fell to the ground. She felt a hand on her arm and came up swinging. She got him in the nose and the side of the head. She tore off his mask, bringing his hat with it. It was Geshen Neuwald. She punched him again in the nose, until finally he wrapped her up in his arms. He dragged her kicking back into the clearing.

  "You let me down you shit-soaked, chicken-shit, coward, son of a stinking bitch! Let me go—!"

  Mayor Greentree stepped up and gave her a flat hand to the cheek. It was a blow that would stop many men. He looked down at her. Dazed, ears ringing, she returned his gaze. When he spoke he spoke quietly, and he sounded sad. "Get her to the house. Keep her there."

  "What're we going to do with her?" Geshen asked.

  The mayor looked to each of the masked men, then back to her. His eyebrows were folded down over his eyes and his mouth seemed to be thinking about something all on its own. His voice when it came was not the same voice she knew. It was this new voice of his, sad and frightening. "Damn you, girl. Why can't you ever mind your own business." He rubbed his hand down his face, sighed. He did not look at her anymore. "Get her to the house, she saw the whole goddamn thing. Christ Almighty. Just get her to the house. You two, get on over there to Donnan's place and take care of your business. Leave the house alone, though. Here," he said. He handed Gomer his torch. "Take this, you'll need it. I know my way in the dark." He and his white jacket then sunk into in the dark soup of the trees.

  Millie's mouth was bound with a handkerchief. She was flung over Geshen's shoulders, taken through the woods after the others. She watched as Gomer and Mr. Neuwald broke off from the line, went to Mr. Neuwald's pickup, dropped their torches into the back of it. The engine kicked into life, the doors rattled, slammed shut. Their pickup went a different route back out of the woods than the way Geshen took, leaving her alone with him. His panting and his boots in the leaves. Soon she began to hear the caged dogs in the Neuwalds' barn. Their frenzy reached a madhouse pitch as Geshen stepped onto the yard of his house. He yelled at them to shut up, but they kept at it. Swearing, he tossed his still burning torch to the ground, took her into the house, sat her down in a chair in the kitchen.

  "Don't move a muscle," he said. He went through a kitchen drawer, found twine. He used it to tie her to the chair—her feet, her shoulders, her middle. He lit a candle, placed it on the otherwise bare kitchen table. He poured himself a whisky. After drinking this one off, he poured another. He sat in another chair he had scooted over to her from the table. He was breathing heavily, but with every breath he took he was regaining the calm she knew him for. He leaned toward Millie, moved some hair back from her face. He studied the red mark from the mayor's hand.

  He leaned in close, gave her a slow, fumy smile. It was not a friendly smile. They were alone in the kitchen and it was quiet in there. His hand released the loose cup it had on her chin. It traveled down the side of her neck, down her chest to her side, where it stayed. She was forgetting to be angry, felt herself shaking, saw the tears coming into her eyes. Outside, through the windows, there was only the dark of night, blemished now and again with a small, short swell of orange light from Geshen's discarded torch.

  38.

  Jumpy heard the engine when it was still a mote of sound like something an internal combustion mosquito would make. He did not want to get up. He moved the flap of one ear a tad to get a better listen. The sound was moving. It was moving toward his house. He expelled a long breath through his nose. After a stretch on his side he got to his elbows, then his front paws. Pushing up, he managed one leg underneath him—but he couldn't do much with it. He scrabbled out with his left paw until he got the leg on that same side to tremble and straighten almost vertically beneath him. The other leg had no choice but to follow suit. He was on all his pads now, but breathing too hard to do anything else just yet. By the time this process was completed, he could see the headlamps of the car approaching, but still a good span away. He would wait until it was closer, see what happened.

  At that moment the headlamps went off; they disappeared and left behind only the darkness. He jolted in his skin. His pupils dilated. His blood was tingling into spots it hadn't gone in a long time. He was wide awake now, listening, looking, but still not speaking. He sniffed the air, nothing; but when was
the last time he smelled anything he wasn't right on top of it?

  A sound from the barn startled him. He realized it was that sound that had awakened him, not the car. It came again—a loud thump, a stall being kicked. Those mules got their noses on something, Jumpy thought. He turned back to the road. What he saw did not make sense: two faces like coons floating in the darkness, bouncing out of rhythm with each other in the direction of the barn. They're walking on my land, he thought, and he hollered at them to stop.

  "Shht," one of the coons said.

  Jumpy knew then they were not coons at all, but only dressed like coons. They were men. He hollered some more. He came down off the porch hollering, but they continued on toward the barn. They stopped short of the barn, faced each other. One of them flicked open a lighter, put it to the long clubs they each held with pitch-covered rags wrapped tightly around their far ends. The yard was no longer dark, but it went dark again when the men disappeared inside the barn.

  Jumpy came off the ground hollering, like he had in his youth. He at least expected the big fella to be down by now. From inside the barn he heard the bawling of the cows. He heard the pigs grunting, then squealing. One of the mules swung skipping and hopping out into the darkness behind the barn, followed by the other.

  Where’s the horse? That horse ought to be there too.

  The fire had reached the open windows and doors of the barn. Now at last Jumpy heard the mother’s voice from her bedroom: “Fire fire fire!” she yelled. “Braun, the barn! Junior! Millie! Everybody up!” Then, just a second after that: “My God, where is Millie!” Then finally the big fella came crashing through the front door. Jumpy kept hollering even though it didn't matter anymore who came out of the house. The barn was on fire and the coons who did it were long gone down the road.