Lords of an Empty Land (21 page)

Douglas walked through the stable across the street from his office to inspect the army stock. In the barn, four or five soldiers tended to the horses, inspecting their hooves and shoes and girder burns, and trimming the manes neatly. A few soldiers mended tack or uniforms.

Douglas loved being around the barn; the sweet smells of manure, hay, and leather were invigorating. He was, after all, a cavalry soldier and this reminded him of it, what he had been trained to do.

He looked at the happy soldiers. Douglas had now been with them almost a week. After having spent so much time around them, surrounded almost every minute of every day, he almost forgot he was white. The men's faces were a delight this afternoon. Despite his near undoing, the morning raid to get the Dallons had been a success; the captives were now interned in the little jail in Douglas's office across the street. Though Douglas forbid the troops, all but Dixon, from entering the room that accessed the cell to gaze at the prisoners, the ranks buzzed with talk of the raid. The soldiers' stories varied, from vivid tales of the brave white officer or Negro sergeant to detailed, dramatic accounts of the captain's near downfall.

The soft chattering in the barn paused as Douglas looked down the corridor that led to the street. There stood Hannah, lifting her dress with both hands to avoid the dirt. She hopped along joyfully toward Douglas, passing a few greetings to the troopers.

“Thought I'd come down and see the intrepid soldiers that brought in the Dallons,” she said with a smile.

“We's a sure brought 'em in,” one of the soldiers said. “And brave Captain Owens was in the lead.”

Douglas led Hannah back to the street, not comfortable with her around his troops. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the barn.

“I needed to get out of the house,” Hannah said. “Don't you want to take me for a balloon ride? It's down at the ferry. Everybody says it's grand fun.”

“Well, now,” Douglas said. “Why not? It's a wonderful day.” He inspected his bride, her fair skin, curves, and red hair shining sumptuously under the bright sun. Just looking at her pleased him. He still had trouble believing she was his.

“It's a quarter each. Am I worth a quarter?”

Douglas grabbed Hannah's horse and extended his hand to lift her. “I reckon,” he laughed. “A quarter isn't much for the best-looking gal in town, especially when your sister's out of town and I've got business that will require me to come out to the Butler plantation several times this week.”

 

 

The large hot-air balloon sat tethered to a dock on the bank of the Red River. Around it, dozens of citizens of every background looked on curiously. A man dressed in a black suit, topped with a bow tie and black hat, paced around the dock selling tickets. The little circus apparently moved up and down the river via steamboat, stopping for a day at the population centers to collect fares before moving on. “See the wonderful Red River Valley, thousand-foot safety line. Don't miss it. It's a once-in-a-lifetime chance!”

Douglas stepped forward and handed the man fifty cents.

A few people in the crowd pointed at the two, mumbling in French, a habit the natives used to disguise their disapproval.

Douglas and Hannah then followed a little Chinaman over to a wicker basket that was tied to the ground.

“Step here,” the Chinaman said, grabbing Hannah's hand from Douglas and helping her up a set of wood steps. “Thousand feet, five minute up, five minute at top, five minute down. That's it.”

Hannah smiled as she boarded the basket, tucking her dress inside. Douglas followed, the large, white cotton balloon hovering overhead. An oversized gas burner sat in the basket, its flames burning at the base of the balloon.

The Chinaman then climbed into the basket, untied some ropes battening the contraption to the dock and some sandbags, and turned a large handle on the gas burner. “You ready?”

“Yes, yes!” Hannah said.

The basket jerked free of the ground and zoomed up. Startled, Douglas grasped the wicker box, his stomach churning. He looked over the side at the ground falling away rather rapidly. The heads on the ground turned up, arms waved, and everything grew smaller by the second.

The sun shone on the land from the side, producing silver reflections from the metal rooftops of town. A few plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys. Off in the distance, the Red River meandered through the land, and the brown water of its tributaries blended in with the burgundy river. Miles of cultivated fields and scattered farms, surrounded by sun-splashed hills, produced a wonderful montage of color. The fertile plain cased the river, maybe five miles wide. From the air, this composite view, even including the farms, almost looked untouched by man.

Hannah let out a few deep breaths and a long
ooh
over the sound of some birds cutting through the clean air.

Douglas grabbed Hannah's hand. How had he managed to find the woman of his dreams in this seemingly deserted landscape?

The Chinaman looked down from the basket to a man feeding the balloon rope. What seemed like only a few seconds passed, and the little man turned to Douglas then looked at his watch.

“Oh, it's just stunning,” Hannah said. “Look, there's the Butler plantation. It's just exquisite from up here. We used to pick flowers in that field when I was small.”

Douglas pointed to the Butler house and then his office. “That's where the good guys are and that's where the outlaws are, all locked up.”

The temperature had dropped. The cool wind stirred Douglas's hair as it brushed across his cheeks. This was somewhere between heaven and earth, he and Hannah alone, above the world and its burdens. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. “I love you,” he said, giving her a big, deep kiss.

A quick burst of air jetted by, jostling the basket. The balloon and its passengers rocked and dipped, quickly displacing Douglas from his fairy-tale thoughts and reminding him of his dubious location.

“Time we go down,” the Chinaman said. “Go down slower than come up.”

Hannah giggled, and continued the kiss that had been altered by the turbulence. The two stood speechless for a few seconds before Douglas slowly moved back to the edge of the basket to look down. The ground grew closer. A dozen or so white kids played kickball on an open lawn, their faint screams and bantering drifting up. What was their future in this strange land so far from anywhere? What would it all look like in ten, twenty, fifty years? What future did those youngsters have? Would they grow up to be bigoted criminals, swayed by a few bad apples, malicious toward the changing world, or take their own courses that surely promised a bountiful harvest for man and land alike? Could he make a difference here or would his work be temporary, only to be swept under the rug at some later time? The land and people were indelible fixtures. His command wasn't. In a few days, would he be claimed by this land, his body decomposing without a grave or tombstone?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the balloon's large shadow racing across the ground to meet him back at the dock.

Hannah grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. She reached and straightened the collar on his uniform. “Captain Owens, this was just terrific.”

The Chinaman barked loudly at the man on the ground, ending Douglas's magical ride into solitude.

The basket collided with the dock gently and Douglas felt his footing grab hold of the basket's floor. Hannah fanned her now cherry face. An annoying fly crawled up the side of her nose, blotching her beauty. They had returned to the ugly land.

Douglas laughed. “Anytime I turn you red or make you fan yourself, I've pleased myself.”

Hannah chuckled and extended her hand.

Douglas grabbed it and helped her out of the basket. As he did, he noticed the hoarse, uninviting, and cynical voices of the people, the pushing and shoving of the world. Dirty work lay in the future, but he now thought he had the bandits on the run.

 

 

The setting couldn't have been further from Douglas's tranquil balloon ride with Hannah earlier that afternoon. He looked into the little cell in his office. Only the dark air from the pitch-black night filtered into his office. In the cell, Clinton Dallon sat at a small table, lit by the only light in the room, a candle.

Douglas had instructed Huff to move the younger Dallon to one of the back rooms where three soldiers currently stood watch. He then had the desk and two chairs placed in the cell. He turned to Basil and Huff, standing outside the bars. He struck a match and lit a lantern on his desk before opening a letter that had arrived that day by a secure carrier from New Orleans.

Douglas sighed deeply, folded the letter, and placed it in a drawer. He looked up on the shelf beside his desk at the hundreds of files he'd amassed on crimes and suspects over the years. He stood and laughed at Clinton Dallon. “Kind of makes you believe Mr. Darwin is right about all that evolution and stuff, doesn't it?”

Clinton turned to Douglas with a dead face. “I only see one thing in here that evolved from an ape.”

Basil grinned, looking up at the highwayman as he continued to sharpen his knife on a stone. The long, icy strokes produced a demented sound that seemed to be music to Basil's ears but made Douglas's skin crawl.

Douglas ambled into the cell, Basil behind him. He took a seat in the chair opposite Clinton as Basil stood beside the table, looking down on the outlaw. Huff stood outside the iron cage, holding his rifle at port arms.

“Do I need to introduce myself?” Douglas said. Like most of the bushwhackers he had met, this one appeared completely witless.

Clinton just stared at Douglas, squinting so hard his cheeks wrinkled.

Breaking the silence, Basil rapidly raised his fist and backhanded Clinton with all his might, knocking him out of his chair.

“The captain asked you a
question,
” Basil snarled. “You answer him, or you'll wish the only thing I'll do to you is to give you a lifelong limp like I gave that pig father of yours.”

Clinton climbed back onto the chair, his veins pulsing big and fast. He wiped the blood from his face on his sleeve. “You're Captain Douglas Owens, Fourth Cavalry, defeated and run out of here in disgrace by General Taylor during the war.”

Douglas reached into his pocket and removed a hanky. He wiped a big splotch of Clinton's blood off his white undershirt and then tossed the rag across the table. “I've got a proposal for you. No offense, but I don't really want you or your brother. You're little fish. What I want is somebody who will make my superiors happy, get me a promotion or some medals so I won't have to go traipsing off to these godforsaken hovels where there's no running water and sewer. Somebody like Moses Garrett, or Sheriff Thaxton, or that greasy little prick, the local newspaper editor. What's his name?”

“Fuck you,” Clinton said.

Basil raised his hand again, but Douglas motioned for him not to deliver the blow.

“I don't see where you have any choice,” Douglas continued. “I've got sworn, documented, and written statements that you and Amos helped kill Corporal Taylor. We got his body out of that well. Got both Republicans and Democrats in good standing who will attest to that. You and your little brother will hang.”