Judas Payne: A Weird Western

by Michael Hemmingson

  “Quite a name.”

  “So is yours.”

  “My name is plain as day,” she said, “just like my looks, eh? I’m your average, hard-working girl hoping for a bright future for my family. Well, my family is just my husband and me, Robert Kevin Scroggins, who is, right now, manning two horses pulling this buggy, but we’re planning on many, many children—but give us time,” she giggled, “we’ve only been married a few months.

  “He’ll be happy to know that you’re all right, Mr. Payne. We found you lying on the ground on the trail. Thought you were dead. Almost got yourself runned over and killed.” Her voice became somber. “You had a nasty piece of glass wedged in your eye. Count your blessings I’ve had some nursing experience— not much, mind you, but enough so that I could remove that shard. And we had to take your eye out, too, it was rotting. I’m afraid—”

  “I only have one eye,” Judas said. He’d already realized this, but her confirmation made the agony worse.

  She seemed hurt, looking at him. “I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do. Nothing I knew what to do. Like I said, I’ve had some nursing experience, but I ain’t no doctor and we don’t have no doctor in this caravan.”

  He said, “Caravan?”

  “Yes,” Mary Jo Scroggins said. “There’s eleven wagons. We’re on the Santa Fe Trail.”

  “I—” He didn’t know what to say.

  “We couldn’t leave you,” she said. “I couldn’t. Robert agreed. But we could let you off, if you need to get back.”

  “No,” he said. “No, I don’t need to get back.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “I have nowhere to go.”

  “I thought so. You can come with us, if you like.”

  “Where?”

  “Why do you think they call it the Santa Fe Trail?” She laughed. He liked her laugh—it was soothing.

  “Of course,” he said, feeling weak.

  She touched his forehead. Her palm was dry. “You need to sleep more. We’ll be stopping to camp in a few hours, as it gets dark, and making dinner.”

  Sleep came quickly and easily.

  * * *

  He was awake in time for dinner. There were indeed eleven covered wagons in this procession, each with a family of men and women in their late teens or early twenties, some with children and some, like the Scrogginses, not. They were a healthy, hardy, good-natured group of people who’d begun this journey from Independence and Franklin, Missouri, all with the Southwest and the start of a life on their minds.

  Robert Kevin Scroggins had a firm grip when he shook hands with Judas; a wide smile and a joyful glint in his eye. He was a short but thick-chest man, strong in body and spirit, so it seemed. “Thank the Lord that you are alive well,” Scroggins said, “however...”

  “One eye is better than none,” Judas said, trying to be humorous. He failed, since Scroggins’ expression was grave.

  Judas realized that he hadn’t yet come to terms with the fact that he was going to lead the rest of his life blind in one eye. He would be a freak...

  People would look at him...

  Judas wasn’t even sure what kind of life he had to look forward to, so it didn’t really seem to matter at the moment.

  For the moment, he was hungry, and food was being cooked at the campfire.

  Scroggins put his arm around Judas’ shoulders. “You’re a fine man, I can tell. You’ll get through this. Believe that the Lord has a path for all, however queer it may be. Are you hungry?”

  “Very.”

  “Come, let’s eat. My wife tells me you’re going to join us on our trip.”

  “I suppose I am,” Judas said.

  “Good,” Scroggins said, “good.”

  Dinner consisted of baked beans and bread. Judas was ravished. Eating quickly, he wondered what Evangeline was doing, he wondered what was going on back at home. Thinking these things, his stomach knotted. He made himself not think these things. That life was over, lost like his eye.

  He was sur prised that none of the others questioned him. They didn’t ask why he’d been found on their trail unconscious and injured, what he’d done, where he even came from. Everyone was pleasant, concerned for his well-being, and delighted that he was enjoying his meal so much, for such simple food.

  It may come to a surprise as well, that (as Judas Payne would later reflect) no one questioned the dark color of his skin, for he was obviously not a white person, as they all were. The Indian in his features stood out, and some could have, and would later, mistaken him for Mexican, until they heard him speak with a Kansas twang. It should be noted that in this Santa Fe Trail caravan was a new breed of young people, non-judgmental, righteous but not pious, looking to get away from the world created by their forefathers, with the shadow of the Civil War— while long gone since they were children—still looming.

  But good people come to terrible ends, as Judas Payne would learn throughout his life. Evil sought out the good in America, to tear apart and consume. The lessons that made Judas Payne the man he would become started here.

  * * *

  Evangeline Payne was a ghost in her own house. She remained in her room most of the time, until her Father left; even then, sometimes she did not come out, except to get a bite to eat. There was nothing here for her anymore. Her brother was gone; there was not only a great emptiness in her life, but in her heart and soul. If she didn’t know how much her brother meant to her before—how much she dearly adored him—then she did now. Not knowing if he was alive or dead beguiled her the most. Reverend Payne did not tell either Doc Kelly or Sheriff Lish the truth, and she wasn’t surprised by her father’s lying—all the hypocrisies and deceptions of the man were now quite clear to her. The Reverend said that a bandit, a hoodlum, a “thief in the night” had come onto his land with the intent of robbery and to “defile my young daughter.” The Reverend had confronted this foul man, and in the struggle, the man had used the ax on the Reverend, and fled. When Sheriff Lish asked Evangeline if this were true, she looked down and didn’t say a word to the contrary—she could feel the Reverend glaring at her, forbidding her not to speak.

  “Miss Payne?” the Sheriff said.

  “She is frightened,” the Reverend declared, “and ashamed.” “It took a lot of courage for this young lady to ride into town and get me,” Doc Kelly said. “She should be commended.” “We shouldn’t bother the poor girl with this,” Sheriff Lish said, clearing his throat. “What did this outlaw look like?” he asked Jedediah Payne.

  The Reverend described a young man much like Judas — dark-skinned, thin with wiry muscles, but: “And eyes as black and evil as the night.”

  “Prolly Mexican,” Lish said.

  “I reckon so,” the Reverend said.

  That night, he was at her door, but she would not unlock it. “Go away, Father,” she said.

  His voice was soft and ominous, as if his mouth were pressed against the wood on the other side. “Listen to me, girl,” he said, “listen to me, you whore of Babylon. No one ever knew about the devil boy staying here, no one knew that he was your halfbrother. I made a vow to your mother on her deathbed. I know now that you are truly your mother’s daughter. Your mother laid with a monster, and that boy was the product. And you too had the desire to lay with the demon. You are tainted now. You are going to burn in Hell. God and Jesus have turned their faces away from you, you are so foul and filthy. But I tell you this: never utter a word to anyone the truth about that Judas boy. I’m sure he is dead and back in Hell where he belongs. One day, you will meet him in hell, and your foul souls can fornicate in the fiery pits, as you did in the flesh.”

  She wanted to yell at him, tell him that nothing improper had occurred, that she was not ruined as he believed. But she didn’t care what he thought. He was no longer her father. She no longer wanted to live here.

  What was she going to do, what was she going to do? She knew she had to find a husband to get away, that was the choice.

 
; She was beyond the age to marry. She was seventeen. Again, she thought about Doc Kelly. Perhaps she could go into town and visit him. But to go into town, she’s have to leave her room; if she left when the Reverend was here, he might confront her, tell her awful things—and if she went into town when he was there, she might see him, walking down the street, displaying his missing arm—his stump—like it was a proud badge in his holy—his fictitious—battle against the forces of darkness. Evangeline never thought about Sheriff Lish as a possible husband, but the Sheriff was thinking of her. He’d never really seen much of the Reverend’s daughter when she was in town, but going out to the Payne’s land, he was struck by how beautiful she was. Sheriff Lish had been married before, when he was younger, but his beloved first wife had died of the cancer. There’d been women later, who had some interest, but mostly the Sheriff took to visiting the whores in the neighboring town, Hand (there were no saloons or brothels in Tyburn). That satisfied him enough—at least, the momentary urge of the body, but certainly not the heart, and a man’s need for a companion. He was thirty-eight years old and his hair was beginning to gray and he wondered if, truly, a seventeen-year-old daughter of a preacher would be interested in him. Sheriff Lish knew something wasn’t right about the story the Reverend gave him. Over the years, Lish had heard Payne hired the occasional hand to help out, probably transient Mexicans or ruffians; some had said they’d seen some young dark-skinned men working at Payne’s home. It was just talk Lish had heard from time to time that meant nothing. Now, however, Lish wondered if the attacker wasn’t one of the workers the Reverend employed—and he certainly couldn’t fault some wayward young man wanting to ravish a beauty like Evangeline Payne, wrong as it may be.

  It was of little consequence, but it gave Sheriff Lish an excuse to go out to the house when the Reverend was in town. He could talk to the girl about the incident, and maybe get to know her better, determine by her reactions if there was any possibility for romance. Or matrimony.

  I’m an old fool, Lish thought as he rode out to the Payne’s land.

  Arriving, he tied his horse near the barn and knocked on the door.

  “Hello?” he said. “Is anyone home? Miss Payne?” Evangeline was there. She was getting some food—what little her stomach could hold these days—and was startled when the

  Sheriff rode in. They rarely got visitors, and certainly not from a lawman. She was scared. Was the Sheriff here about Judas?

  Did they catch him? Did they find out the truth?

  The truth, that could make her laugh. And why should she be afraid of it? The truth was, it was her father who provoked the fight; he attacked Judas first. Judas was only trying to defend himself.

  I should fear nothing, she told herself.

  “Miss Payne? It’s Sheriff Lish, from town.”

  She took in a deep breath.

  “Hello?” the man said.

  Just as he was about to give up, Evangeline appeared at the door. She was wearing a simple dress and her hair was messy, but his heart felt warm when seeing her. He just wanted to take her in his arms and....

  “Yes, Sheriff?”

  “Good day, Miss Payne,” and he took off his hat, smiling sheepishly. “We met about three weeks ago—”

  “Yes,” she said, “I don’t have a faulty memory.”

  “Of course! I didn’t mean—well, everything was—” “Would you like to come inside, Sheriff?”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Thank you.”

  She held the door open. He walked in.

  “Can I get you something to eat or drink?” she asked. “Well, um,” he said. “No, thank you, ma’am.”

  “My father,” she said, choking on the words, “is not here.” “Yes, I know. I didn’t come here to talk to him.”

  “Oh?”

  “I came here. Well, I came here to see how you are. You certainly must’ve been quite terrified and troubled by what happened...”

  “Yes,” she said flatly.

  “I just....”

  “I’m quite fine, Sheriff,” she lied. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry to say we have no leads on the villainous culprit that attacked you and maimed your father.”

  “That is a shame.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “Yes,” she said, looking away.

  “I’m just so sorry that it happened,” he said.

  “I am as well.”

  Awkwardly, Lish said, “Kinda makes me feel like I’m not doing my job, protecting the people ’round here.”

  “Well, you cannot be everywhere at once.”

  “I reckon not.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a glass of water?” “Water would be nice, actually. Thank you, ma’am.” She went to get the Sheriff a glass of water. She was glad to be out of the same room with him. She wanted to scream. She composed herself. There were a number of jugs of water in the kitchen, warm and from the well. Judas had retrieved this water from the well.

  She returned with the glass of water.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Lish said.

  “You’re welcome. It’s a long ride out.” She added, “Just to see how I am.”

  “There’s something else.”

  “I figured there was, Sheriff.”

  “I was wondering if maybe the ruffian in question was someone your father had hired before.”

  “What do you mean?” she said. It was like she’d left her body: she was watching herself talk to the man. She was not in her body, but floating on the ceiling.

  Sheriff Lish said, “Your father has hired transient workers for this land in the past?”

  He had, and these men had worked alongside her brother. But her brother was the one who did most of the work. She felt tears swelling up.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Was it one of them?”

  “No,” she said, and then it all came out, she couldn’t help herself, she began to sob uncontrollably—for the loss of her beloved, and her life, and her trust in the Reverend, and her trust in God. She tried to stop herself, knowing how unbecoming and embarrassing it was to cry like this in front of a total stranger, but she could not stop.

  Sheriff Lish was embarrassed as well. This was so sudden—the girl was calm and poised, refined and elegant, and suddenly she was hysterical with tears. It pained him too see the young woman in this poor condition. He didn’t know what to do. She just looked at him, balling. He did what he thought was natural—he moved to hold her, to help her—

  Evangeline fell in his embrace. She needed this—to cry into his chest, to cling onto him. He smelled strong, that man smell, and it wasn’t bad; it didn’t remind her of Judas, but it triggered something soft in her. All men were different, she supposed. Lish was telling her to hush, that it was all right. He touched her hair.

  She wanted to tell him it was not all right.

  “I’m here,” he was saying, “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” What was he talking about?

  She glanced up at him, and he was looking at her. She knew that look in his eye, she’d seen it in her brother’s. She closed her own eyes. She then realize that the Sheriff was trying to kiss her.

  She let him. She kissed the man, eyes still closed, pretending the whole while he was Judas...

  Ten minutes later, the Sheriff left, feeling good, feeling positive about life. He’d marry this girl after all, that was his goal.

  * * *

  While that was going on in Tyburn, the caravan on the Santa Fe Trail crossed into New Mexico, where they met up with unfortunate and detrimental circumstances.

  They were attacked by a band of marauders, as the old saying goes. They were white men, ex-soldiers, twelve of them led by a man known as Colonel Charles K. Jodzio.

  Judas Payne was sitting up front in the wagon, next to Robert Scroggins, when Jodzio and his men attacked. The caravan didn’t put up much of a fight. They circled the wagons, but the attackers were excellent shots—they didn’t kill anyone, they just shot a few men
in the shoulders or arms.

  Colonel Jodzio didn’t want any casualties. He needed live bodies. His men gathered the families together, separating the men from the women, allowing the children to stay with their mothers.

  “I thought if we’d be attacked,” Robert Scroggins said softly to Judas, “it would be by Indians. Not our own kind.”

  The Colonel didn’t wear a military uniform, although he had served in the Union during the War and seen many battles. He walked like a solider, with that arrogant stance, and carried a saber on his hip. His men surrounded the captives with rifles and pistols, grinning. They were a dirty, unshaven, smelly bunch that Judas Payne knew were up to no good.

  “I am Colonel Charles K. Jodzio!” the man’s voice boomed with authority and terror. “Who among you is the leader of this horde?”

  Everyone from the caravan looked at each other.

  Robert Scroggins stepped forward. “I speak for us.”

  “And your name?”

  “Robert Kevin Scroggins.”

  “A fine name. We share the same middle name, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Robert said cordially. “Why have you attacked us? Why do you hold us captive?”

  Jodzio approached Robert, and stood face to face. “I like a man who gets to the point. All you fine, young, healthy and strong people are now in my employ.”

  The Colonel’s men laughed at that. So did the Colonel, who stepped back, and looked at his prisoners.

  “To put it another way,” Jodzio said, “you have now become members of a small demographic group known as forced labor. You will be taken to my silver mines, and work those mines, and make me and my men quite rich. We can’t do the job ourselves, and we can’t afford to hire labor at this time, that will surly cut deep into our profits. In the end, you will be compensated, for I am not a completely cruel man. I can be fair, as you will come to understand—and even appreciate.”

  “You call yourself a Colonel?” Robert asked.

  Jodzio’s eyes narrowed, “Yes, I do.”

  “With what army?”

  “I’m retired from the services of our country,” Jodzio said. “I got so used to being called Colonel that my men here still do, and I am partial to that title.”