Rocky Mountain Justice (The Legend of Camel's Hump) (3 page)

Pastor Long then had each boy tell his version of the encounter with Ike Schumann, questioning them carefully. When he was done, he dismissed the boys and went into the parlor with Hilda to plan the next day’s visit to Big River. Jerry and Ray tried to get back to their checkers game, but somehow their little game-board rivalry had lost its attraction.

Ray gave voice to the thing that was on both of their minds. “Jerry, what do you think the sheriff will do tomorrow?” “I dunno. But I’ve got a really bad feeling about this. The sheriff will have to do something and, no matter what that is, Ike will know that we’re in the middle of it. I think we’re just asking for trouble.”

As he was speaking, the pastor came into the room. He had obviously overheard their comments. “Boys, you are wrong in your dire assumptions regarding this matter. The sheriff will do his job and Mr. Schumann will have no recourse other than to obey the law of the land. I do believe that this will be a magnificent lesson in American Civics for the two of you.” He turned to face Ray’s mother and went on, “until tomorrow, Widow Moore. Until tomorrow, I bid you adieu.” With that he opened the door and marched into the night.

Jerry and Ray looked at one another, not happy with these developments. Ray decided to plead their case. “Mom, we think this is a huge mistake. Please don’t do this.” She stopped him cold, as only a parent can do. “Ray, enough! It’s settled. Pastor Long will pick us up here at eight o’clock. Be ready, both of you.” With that she turned toward the kitchen, throwing the words over her shoulder, “Time for bed, Fellas. We have a big day tomorrow.”

They both knew that argument was useless, so they put away the checkerboard, picked up the lantern and headed for the upstairs bedrooms. When they got to the spare room, Ray waited until Jerry was in bed and then took the lantern down the hall to his room. Soon the entire house was dark and quiet.

Sleep wouldn’t come to Jerry. No matter which way he lay, something hurt. His thoughts wouldn’t stop churning either. Between the various hurt spots and the thoughts that kept piling in on him, it was going to be a long night. His mind turned to Ike’s Indian wife; a woman they had all seen, but never heard. They had all heard Ike talk about her, and they had seen her silently following in Ike’s wake as he walked around town. But no one had ever heard her say a word and no one knew anything about her. “
How could anyone live with a man like Ike Schumann?”
Judging from the sadistic stare that she had locked on him this afternoon, she must be as mean as him. Could it be that she understood the viciousness of her husband and enjoyed it? This was a shocking thought to Jerry. He suddenly realized that he had never thought of her as a person. This invisible, silent, shadow that Ike had brought into their midst just had not registered as human to any of them. Jerry thought about this, wondering what her life must be like, living silently in Ike’s wake.

Then his thoughts turned to tomorrow. He dreaded the thought of going to see the sheriff in Big River. Even though the town was only forty miles away, he had only been there a few times; usually to play baseball or basketball against one of the Big River teams. Unless his father needed help with something, Jerry tried to beg off on any other kind of visits to the larger town. He was very comfortable with his little group of friends in Dublin and he knew that the Big River teen-agers made fun of their small-town counterparts. Once, years ago, he had fought back when a gang of them had called him a “Hick”. He’d been soundly thrashed when four of them teamed up against him. That was enough to teach him to just stay away. When he thought about it, there was absolutely nothing that he liked about either Big River or the sheriff.

He really didn’t know Sheriff Karl Montgomery, but he’ seen him in town and he instinctively did’nt like him. The sheriff was a big man with a squat, powerful, build. Aunt Hilda had called him a toad and Jerry thought that this was a good description. But the sheriff was all-powerful in Dublin. He was the only county official that ever seemed to venture this far out of Big River and, when he did come here it was usually to go out to Ike’s place to drink. They sometimes came into Dublin’s only bar when they got bored at the sheep ranch, and they were always drunk and belligerent when they got there. They had been known to beat townspeople and passing strangers badly on these occasions. The townspeople had long-since learned to stay home when the sheriff was in the area.

“Tomorrow’s going to be a very bad scene,”
Jerry thought as he readjusted the towel under his head for the thousandth time.

CHAPTER THREE:

The Sheriff

T
rue to his word, Pastor Long parked at the end of the front path and honked his car horn at precisely 8AM. Mrs. Moore and the two boys came out immediately. She and Ray were dressed in their Sunday best. Jerry had forced himself into a clean shirt borrowed from Ray, but the shirt was far too small for him. Ray was going to be a small man, wiry like his father, and his biggest shirt was way too small for Jerry. There was absolutely no way that Jerry could force himself into Ray’s Levis. So there were some dark spots on the legs of his pants where he had tried to scrub out the bloodstains. But, dressed or not, they were going to see the sheriff in his office down in Big River.

Even the pastor was uncharacteristically quiet during the trip. None of them had any idea what to expect when they reached their destination.

It took well over an hour to go the forty miles on the two lane highway that followed the winding river down the valley, passing through the logging community of St. Dubois, before coming to Big River. Finally they arrived and parked in front of the jailhouse; a two-story brick building with the prisoner’s quarters on the second floor and the sheriff’s offices on the first.

The pastor took the lead when they entered the building, telling the young receptionist, “I would like to consult with the good sheriff, if I may.” She replied with the standard answer, “May I ask what this is in reference to?” Pastor Long fixed her with an annoyed stare. “My Dear, there has been a serious transgression by one who is sworn to uphold the laws of the united States of America and we are here to report said transgression.” She was startled by this response and fell back on the response she had been trained to give to strangers. “May I ask your names, please?” “I am the right Reverend Long, Pastor of the Church of Dublin.” This finally got her moving, “Just a moment. I’ll see if the sheriff is available.”

In a few minutes, Sheriff Montgomery came to the lobby and strode to where the pastor was standing with his right hand extended. He had a wide smile on his face as he boomed, “Reverend Long! Long time, no see!” Jerry thought, “
He makes it sound as if they’re old friends”
. In fact, the pastor had mentioned on the trip to town that he had never met the sheriff. Jerry took a mental note to ask about that on the trip home. Then the pastor answered his question with, “Sheriff, we have not encountered one another previously, but I am familiar with you and I understand that you are dedicated to the enforcement of justice. That is why we are here today”. Then he proceeded to introduce the Widow Moore, Ray, and Jerry.

With the introductions done, the sheriff got down to business. He said, “I understand that you have a complaint?” The pastor replied, “Yes we do, Sir. Please cast your eyes on the countenance of young Mr. Flynn here. I’m certain that you can see that extensive damage has been wrought upon him. He is but sixteen years of age, Sir. The man who did this is both an adult and your sworn deputy. I would appreciate it if you were to take that person into custody and bring the full force of American justice to bear upon him.”

The sheriff stared at the pastor, then at Jerry, and back to the pastor. “This sounds serious. Let’s go into the conference room and discuss the situation.” With that he led the way and everyone found seats around a worn oak table large enough to seat at least twenty people. The room was paneled in knotty pine, with pictures of President Truman, Governor Bonner, and some local dignitaries decorating one wall and a huge American flag on the opposite wall. Varnished pine beams ran the length of the ceiling and long copper ventilation grates decorated the upper side of the inside walls. It was one of the most opulent rooms the boys had ever seen.

When everyone was seated, the sheriff opened the discussion. “OK. Let me get this straight. You are saying that Deputy Schumann did this?” The pastor started another of his long replies. “That is the testimony of… ‘. But Sheriff Montgomery interrupted him, turning to Jerry and saying, “All right, Kid. What the hell did you do to cause this? I know my deputy and I know that he doesn’t do this kind of thing without a reason.” Jerry was totally caught off guard. He hadn’t expected this turn of events. He managed to stammer, “Nothing, Sir.” But the sheriff wasn’t buying that. His face was turning red and voice rose. “Bullshit, Boy. You better start telling the truth or your ass is going to be grass and I’m gonna be the lawnmower.” He was glaring at Jerry now, oblivious to everyone else in the room.

This was too much for Widow Moore. She rose to her full height and pointed her finger at the sheriff. She was so mad that her huge body was shaking. “You shut your nasty mouth right now. There is a pastor, a lady, and two children in this room and none of us need to hear the kind of gutter language you’re using. Not only that, but you’re flat-out wrong and I think that you need to stop talking and start listening! And I mean now!”

Sheriff Montgomery’s mouth dropped open. He wasn’t accustomed to having anyone talk to him like this. But he was smart enough to know that he had gone too far. He sat back and was quiet for a moment, obviously gathering himself. Then, still looking at the irate lady in front of him, he said, “OK, tell me what you think happened.” Mrs. Moore slowly sat, her stare still fixed on the sheriff’s face. She took a long breath and then told her story, starting from the time that the two boys had come to her home the evening before. When she finished, the sheriff asked Pastor Long for his version of the story which the pastor delivered with his standard oratorical embellishments.

Then the sheriff turned to Jerry and said, “OK, now I know what you told these good people. But now I want your story and it better be the truth.” His gaze was fixed unwaveringly on Jerry’s face, as if he thought that his glare would cause the story to change. He was employing an old tactic designed to intimidate wayward teenagers. It had worked many times in the past and he was certain that it would now as well.

It didn’t work on Jerry. His one good eye held the sheriff’s unwaveringly as he told his story exactly as it had happened. He was nervous about talking to the sheriff and his voice wavered and broke a bit, but the story was exactly as he remembered it. When he finished, Ray was asked for his version which he gave in a firm but overly loud voice.

By the time the stories were finished, Sheriff Montgomery had regained his composure and was his old, politically smooth, self. “I get the picture now. I guess I was a bit hasty earlier. Widow Moore, thank you for being a calming influence. I do get carried away sometimes, especially when the good men of my force are attacked.” He thought for a moment, then, ignoring Jerry and Ray he addressed the pastor and the widow. “I understand the story the boys are telling you, and I see why you are so upset. But I’m certain there is a lot more to this story. I’ve been involved in these kinds of boxing practices, and I know the heat that they can generate in young men. I’m sure that we will find that something happened, or something was said, that caused this incident. That doesn’t mean that there shouldn’t be some discipline involved here. But it probably won’t turn out to be such an infraction that the legal system need get involved.” He paused to let everyone absorb these words of wisdom and then said, “I should probably go to Dublin and talk to Deputy Schumann. I’ll investigate this and report back to the Reverend here.”

The widow’s eyes were narrowed to slits and her face was flushed as she commented, “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? But I think that I have a better idea. Why don’t we all go back to Dublin and go see Ike Schumann as a group? That way we can all agree on the situation and you won’t have to bother with a report unless a crime has indeed been committed.” The pastor, who had been looking thoroughly intimidated, finally recovered enough to say, “I think that would be a wonderful idea.” Jerry and Ray commented later that, for once, the pastor’s words were clear and concise although his voice, like Jerry’s earlier, was trembling.

The political side of the sheriff came to the fore. “You got it. I didn’t think you would be interested in the nitty-gritty of investigative work, but if you want to be there when I question Deputy Schumann, that’s fine with me. I need to clear up a few things here before I can leave. I’ll meet you out front in a half-hour. If you would like to wait here, that would be all right.” With that he rose and left the room. The meeting was over.

The four from Dublin looked at one another. The widow finally broke the silence, sputtering “Who does that draft-dodger think he is?” The pastor started to reply with “Now, now, Mrs. Moore.” But Jerry held up his hand to stop them from talking, putting his forefinger over his lips in the age-old gesture for silence. He pointed at the copper vents high on the inside walls of the conference room. It was obvious that they were just grates between the rooms and everything said in the conference room would be audible in the lobby and adjoining rooms. He said, “Why don’t we wait outside. It’s a really nice day.” They gathered their belongings and went outside to wait on a bench under a big oak tree.

True to his word, Sheriff Montgomery came out in a half-hour and made his way to where the little group was gathered. “I’ll drive my car and you can follow. If we get separated, you do know how to get to Ike’s place, don’t you?” The pastor replied in the affirmative and the little caravan got on the road toward Dublin.

Once again, the group was quiet during the ride. Then Ray broke the silence with, “I wonder what Ike will do when he sees us all coming?” Pastor Long replied, “I imagine he’ll be very surprised, won’t he?” At that Jerry let out a cynical little snicker, “Not a chance. What do you think the sheriff was doing while we waited? He has radio contact with all of the deputies. I’m betting that they already have a game-plan in place!” Aunt Hilda exploded at that. “That little toad!” She seemed to like that description of the sheriff and Jerry had to admit that it was at least semi-accurate. The sheriff did have the squat appearance and bulging, ever-shifting, eyes of an amphibian. But he wasn’t little. Jerry estimated that the sheriff was at least 6’2” and must have weighed in at about 280 pounds. He wasn’t little.