The Hell Bent Kid

by Charles O Locke

  For a time I watched the sun getting higher, then would think of something to fill in, so would go back and put it there. Sun got higher. Sat, watching it, regretting somewhat I had not sloped off the night before. Went up the steps to the scanning place and was plain mortified. Stumped plain.

  Some of the people I had feared the night before were people of the Bradleys! Found this out when I saw coffee brought from the Bradley kitchen by the cook to them. These were near riders, scattered around, four I counted.

  But then I saw others more distant, some I had seen the night before, they were getting no coffee and were Boyds all right.

  I got tired watching, went downstairs and here was the folks getting ready to sit down. There was fine food on the breakfast-spread. I still was hungry from away back and Amos said they would fatten me up. They had hot cakes like North Texas, and mountain fish, small but good. They had a platter of pig meat, mostly fat, which only Amos ate of. He said he needed this for the results of the night before and sure looked it.

  Along toward noon Mrs. Bradley had to take one of the girls to the doctor, so all the girls went along, even Nita. Nita wanted to stay, but Mrs. Bradley said no, looking at me, smiling.

  I showed Amos what I had been doing with the pencils and he said: “That’s right. Put it down about your father, though. Put it down.”

  Well, so it went and about midafternoon the girls came back with Mrs. Bradley, and I came down from upstairs where I had worked and Nita and I went out on the patio. Sat there till suppertime. Amos surprised me, not so much the others, by saying he would have the musicians back again that night. But he had an argument with Mrs. Bradley about this. He said: “Why hell, a wedding lasts a week, an engagement party should run up at least to two days.” He may have had other reasons, possibly to show the Boyds, and to get our spirits up again. Also as an excuse to get drunk. Mostly the latter I think.

  Well, it was as would of been expected. The people who came were tired out from the night before. They stood around polite and stiff-like. They evidently liked Amos and came to please him. They had a few drinks and sat around, talking in low voices. Some of the girls danced with each other, for men were few. The five men of the orchestra were only partly there. Two of them were in the calabozo for drunk and fighting. The music was all right but sort of quiet and mournful, except for one or two times when they played for fast dancing. They played The Dove beautiful, which is a beautiful piece.

  Amos was going good and drank a lot, going from person to person.

  I spoke to Nita two or three times and finally we sat down, and was surprised at the ideas she had for us to do. She evidently had been thinking a lot, which made it troublesome for me. She said one thing: “I kissed you up north but here we have not kissed.” I said I would when not so many people were around.

  I said: “I am getting off soon for Wyoming.”

  “Alone?” she said.

  “Well, had planned it that way.”

  “How about together?” This surprised me.

  “It’s a hard life.”

  “Might be harder to stay here.”

  “You mean us.”

  “I mean me.”

  “Oh.”

  Then I said: “Here you are surrounded by friends and comfort which you would tend to miss.”

  “There are other things to be considered.”

  “Well, I suppose so.”

  She said nothing, and I said: “Let us talk it over in the morning.”

  She said, and I could see she was vexed: “You are in no position to come and go here because the house is being watched. You’d better consult someone.”

  “Amos?”

  “Or me.”

  I agreed to that, but said I could not stay forever.

  “A comfortable long time is not forever.”

  Well, this got me to pondering.

  I said to myself now here is a young girl not responsible for her acts. I will have to act according. This young girl, I said, should not become involved with me at this time. But I felt a yearning towards her, and several times in talking to her began to say to myself: “Now here I am telling her about my various problems of life, except the big one, just as natural.” But I watched my talk careful. But at the same time feeling this yearning power.

  Once when I was listening a good deal and later sitting and merely enjoying the quiet with her, I saw tears in her eyes. Now if I had been a ninny I would of thought she was sorry for me. But knew she was a high-strung girl, and only vexed with me for not talking more.

  She had done a lot for me along with Amos and had given me this pin like an H later a T which I had. I had given her nothing. So in the afternoon I thought about this and took the only Mex dollar I had among the remaining others sewed in my jeans, and marked the soft Mex dollar with an N and a T. I ground these letters down with my knife. Then I thought of making it to a ring, but had no savvy, so went to the sheds and made a ring of a horseshoe nail like kids wear. I gave her the dollar and the ring, and the way she acted you would have supposed I had given her a horse. She bust out crying by this act of mine. I regretted it some. It gnawed completely at my mind.

  Soon she said she was tired and would go to bed, and hoped I would be careful. I told her I would be, and was careful in discussing this, not wishing to fret her, not knowing how much Amos had bore down with her. I told her I had slept well the night before, and would get more rest that night.

  We walked to the patio. We shook hands while the other people were leaving and not watching. After a while it was natural, Amos being out back somewhere, for me to go up where Nita and I had been the night before, to ponder about having been there with her and for a good look around.

  That little high old place was as before. The night was pretty dark. Nothing much to be seen, as the clouds were heavy and moon not up yet. But whiles I was there three men on horses rode up to the gate, two stayed mounted and one got off and walked in. Too dark to see who they might be.

  But after some time when I came to the stair turn, standing in the dark, I could see the hall bare, so stayed in the dark and froze when I heard the voices. Through the small stair door and the door to Amos’s office which was wide open, I could see Amos talking to Hunter Boyd.

  The first I thought was to call out Boyd, except that no one but a fool calls a man out in the dark of a night. But I decided different then, because the conversation interested me.

  Amos was saying: “I have a book here.”

  He went out of my sight probably to a shelf and came back with a very old book, with most of the pages falling out. He pulled up a bench close to Boyd.

  Hunter Boyd was saying: “It’s not a case of power. It’s a case of law and order. We cattlemen are determined to bring law and order into this country.”

  “That kind of law sounds lawless.”

  “You are playing on words, Amos. We still have the Constitution of the United States to fall back on. I think that’s still in force. They don’t think much about it in Texas, but I guess we do here.”

  Amos rubbed his chin and looked at Boyd. “Constitution?” He laughed.

  “Well, it’s the basic law of the land.”

  Amos showed the book. He seemed excited. “Hunter, I’m glad you mentioned it. Quite a coincidence, though they’s been a lot of tall talk floating around. Not all coincidence. I’m glad to know you think it means something.”

  “I certainly do,” said Boyd.

  “Hunter, you and your friends don’t know shucks about the Constitution.” Amos stopped fluffing the book pages: “All right, here’s what the Constitution states: It says here that a man for a crime cannot be put twice in jeopardy of his life. Know what jeopardy means? Danger. You cannot put a man where you are endangering or threatening his life two times for one offense against the law. That’s law and order according to the Constitution. Well, with your brand of law and order you have hounded this boy from Texas to Socorro in the territory. You have shot his horse and made him
walk miles for water. You sent other men against him who tried repeatedly to kill him and failed. You have made him fear for his life every night he laid his head on the ground. You have done all this because he killed your son in self-defense. You have done and are still doing this to a poor orphan of eighteen years of age. Placed his life in danger twice? You have done it about sixteen dozen times. And by God, you are hounding him still and will hound him to his grave. So don’t, Hunter, ever talk to me again about law and order and that damn hypocrisy.”

  Hunter Boyd got up and merely looked at Amos. I could hear Hunter Boyd’s breath plain.

  Amos had worked himself up and now he was really mad.

  Hunter Boyd moved to the door, and stood there with his slitty eyes and white hair, and the bad hand sticking up like a claw.

  Amos threw the book with all his force at Hunter Boyd’s feet. The book landed solid and its pages flew all over. A couple of them went in the updraft almost up to Boyd’s middle, so that he put out his hand to push them off, as if he was afraid they’d land in his face.

  “There,” said Amos, “that’s what you and your friends are doing to the Constitution.”

  Hunter Boyd stood there looking at Amos for a minute. Then he said with his face white and his voice trembling: “I will call my men off the house.” He spaced out the words, being hardly able to talk. “But tomorrow from daylight, he has two hours to leave town. Two hours. Then the relief is off.”

  “I may keep him here indefinitely.”

  “At your own risk.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I would not come here. Some of the others might.”

  “They better not.”

  Hunter Boyd reached for the open door handle with his claw hand, the cigar in the other. I saw the cigar tremble and spill ash. I heard him going down the stairs very slowly, picking each step with care. Then I heard the front door close. The mournful music was playing again, and it sounded a little as if the musicians had had a lot to drink by this time, but the violin was still good.

  Well, here I am alone doing the last writing I’ll probably do in the Bradley place. That conversation I heard between Amos and Old Man Boyd shows me what is bound to occur if I stay here. I just went downstairs to go through the place and make sure I can get out without disturbing anyone or getting myself in a bind. Everybody has gone to sleep and I have an idea Amos is deeper down than anyone else because he sure had a lot to drink before he went to bed.

  Everything I could think of I took in view. When the time comes all I have to do is walk down through the main section of the house, then through the pantry and kitchen, then through a covered piece to the shed where they keep the wagons and then through this to the shed where Blacky is. I have already spotted him in the same box stall he was in when I was out there this afternoon making the ring for Nita. In the kitchen I will have to be carefullest because the help is laid out there like timber, with the Mex cook sleeping right in the middle of the floor with a serape over his head, but completely drunk all right.

  I have done pretty well with the letters to Restow which Amos will see are properly handled. Sure have produced a lot of hen-tracked paper. People will see from them that there were two sides to this question and certainly if they read carefully will see the kind of a man my father was. I suppose that is the main reason I wrote more down about this trip than I ever did before, except, of course, I found out it is a relief to a some-troubled mind. I have heard this before, my mother saying when rough times came she usually sat down and wrote to her sister and her sister the same.…

  Have just scanned around from the place above and appears that the Bradley people either got tired and went home or were worked on by the Boyds and sickened of the trouble and left, except there is one man on the front gate, and one more fooling around the shed back of the patio away from the other sheds. I looked into this one yesterday and Amos has a rig and a couple of broke-down dish-wheel wagons stored there.

  No Boyds or their people in sight, but they may have pulled back to bait me into the clear. Will go in the early gray when people get tired and careless of watching, and when I have a fair chance of seeing my way in strange country, though I would scarcely call this night dark. There is a small creek, plumb-dry but deep cut and possible for cover about 90 feet behind the horse sheds and may use this.…

  Have just written a note to Amos. Getting on towards light. Have been looking at an open box of Amos’s shell which would fit my chamber, lying along with full boxes. But have pondered this and will leave with only my own 16 shell, as there are two chances open and will have to meet one or the other.

  19

  The Letters of Bradley and Restow

  Letter from Restow to Amos Bradley

  (Letter was never delivered and ultimately returned to Restow.)

  Dear Mr. Bradley: Your letter reached me after quite a space, though the new train service I can’t complain of. In just the last few days I have heard some disturbing news about Lohman, and in the light of the kind interest you took in your letter I thought I might inquire if you have seen or heard of him. Not only was the news getting bad about Lohman but there is a rumor around here about even worse concerning his father. Believe me, I would come down there and see what I can do to help the boy but the situation up here makes it downright impossible for me to move at this time and, since I must be getting chicken-hearted in my old age, I seem to grow more and more disturbed about Comanche trouble to the west of us which makes the west and south leg of a travel triangle out of the question just now. Besides, I’m wondering when the braves will pay me a call here as they have been sighted near the state line several times heading this way. Let me know what you hear.

  Faithfully yours,

  Restow

  Letter from Restow to Amos Bradley

  (This letter was delivered, having been written after the above letter failed to reach him. It was written and received within two weeks of mailing by Restow, but the writing and receipt took place nearly one year after the events of the party at Bradley’s home and the departure of Lohman from the Bradley hacienda early the next morning. Bradley’s reply follows the letter.)

  Dear Amos: My letter written almost a year ago never reached you, so I’m trying again with a fresh start. Having heard nothing of T. J. Lohman for almost a year and a half but having definitely ascertained that Lohman’s father was executed by misguided persons, I am anxious to know what became of his son. Up here the word is that he is somewhere in Wyoming, which seems likely as he was talking about that part of the country incessantly when he worked for me. I expect to make the first trip into the territory I have made in five years the middle of next month and will be in Santa Rosa and neighboring regions for quite a spell. Let me know if you will be available for a visit when I get down there, as am most anxious to bridge the gap of months and news. My respects to you and your family.

  Restow.

  Dear Restow: Glad to get your letter, saying you will be down this way. The new mail service is O.K., isn’t it? Well, I could tell you quite a tale in writing about the Lohman boy, but suffice to say for the present that I know he is not in Wyoming. I fervently wish he was. But instead of making a lot of hen tracks on paper, and inasmuch as you expect to amble down here soon, will wait to tell you all about it from my own lips.…

  Well, am looking forward to your visit. I had expected to be in Mexico about the end of July, but that has been put off temporarily. Will await your visit. Will make sure I am here to see you. Come right to my place and don’t fool with the hotels, there are two, both poorly.

  Amos Bradley

  20

  Statement by Amos Bradley to Restow on the Occasion of His Visit

  (The events here recounted by Amos Bradley are those that followed the party at the Bradley hacienda at which Lohman was a guest and when Lohman early the next morning took French leave of the Bradley family.)

  Well, this is my story about the Kid, one that sank deep in
my mind, and have told by request so many times that at last one of my daughters put it down in writing, and she was the same one who helped to neaten up the Kid’s stuff.

  I was dizzy as a wasp when I got up. The thing was on my conscience and so I ambled for the Kid’s bed and of course he was not there. Might have known but what was I to do. Also found a note from Lohman, and read it and stowed it away, noting at the same time that my shell, which we had discussed the night before and which fit his rifle as well as mine, was not disturbed. Also there was a sizable half-sealed envelope that told me on the outside what it contained, so did not bother it for the time being. But altogether things did not seem to cinch up.

  Gave some thought about what to do. With a parcel of women about to bust itself around my head I was in bad shape. First it would be Nita when she knew the boy was gone. Then the whole shackful of Spanish-hearted females would probably drive me crazy after he had made such a ten-strike with them the night before.

  I wanted none of that, so I went out to the kitchen and kicked up José who was lying in the middle of the floor with a blanket over him from mucha tequila. Told him a whole gallon of coffee and that greaser never ground the beans and boiled the water so fast. I got a saddle on Jake and led him around to the kitchen. I doused my head in the horse trough a couple of times, got down five cups strong enough to float a gold nugget and then made José fix the rest in a quart mescal bottle with a rope net. Got on my horse and got out of there.

  It seemed sense that the Lohman boy would go north for a hole-up. Something I had noticed about Lohman besides other good traits was his judgment of country, which is light handy to have in this part of it, seeing that a seasoned line rider or such can get himself into plenty of trouble quarter mile from his base camp without trying too hard. I figured if the Kid took the bridge road north he would ride smack into a hole-up he could not miss, a funnel-shaped canyon as long as from here to Cuba, with a steep rise that had good rock cover. The place had various and sundry names like Sawhorse Canyon and the Big Slide. Other less imaginative people called it just a hell of a place to be. The Indians from way back called it Hole in the Sky. Yet I could not be sure, the Kid might have spurned it and rode on north and made a clean break for Wyoming as he had hinted to me the night before. But what he did not know and I was pretty sure about was that the Boyds people were watching all roads out of Santa Rosa and probably the north road special with maybe even a few rolled rocks to slow up a fast rider.