Ride With the Devil (14 page)

His offer brought no responses, so he turned to Judge Watermeyer and nodded. “All right, Judge, let’s get this thing started,” Vox ordered.

Judge Watermeyer cleared his throat, then nodded in acquiescence. “This court is now in session,” he said. “What are the charges?”

“The charge is murder,” Vox said. “These here four murderin’ sons of bitches killed Moody.”

“What are you talkin’ about? We didn’t murder him!” Kendall said angrily. “You started shooting first. All we done was shoot back.”

“If you’da come down off your horses, give your guns up, and come to jail like I told you to, none of this woulda ever happened,” Vox said. “You woulda just slept off your drunk in our jail, then gone on home tomorrow. Now, a good man has been kilt, and the four of you is goin’ to hang. Killin’ a lawman in the performance of his duty is murder. And it don’t matter none whether the lawman is shootin’ at you or not. Ain’t that right, Judge?”

“I’m afraid so,” the judge replied hesitantly.

“Which one of you killed Deputy Moody?” Vox asked.

“What? How the hell do I know?” Kendall replied. “We was both firin’ at him.”

“Judge, I’m goin’ to call Bates and Hooper as witnesses,” Vox said. “They was the other two deputies with Moody and me when we tried to arrest these men. Bates, you and Hooper, get over here and take a look at the defendants.”

The two deputies stepped up to the front of the wagon.

“You,” Vox said to one of the men holding a flaming torch. “Put that light over here so the witnesses can see.”

The torch was held very close to Kendall’s face, and he squinted his eyes and held up his hand, as much to shield himself from the heat as to block the light.

“Are these the men that was shootin’ at us?” Vox asked.

“Well, hell, Vox. You know damn well they was,” Hooper said.

“Just answer the damn question,” Vox demanded. “You are a witness in a trial. Now, are these here four men the ones that was shootin’ at us?”

“Well, two of ’em was shootin’,” Hooper said. “Him and him.” He pointed to Kendall and Dusty. He pointed to Pete. “That one was passed out drunk in the back of the wagon, and the one that was drivin’ the wagon, well, he never got off a shot before we killed him.”

“You started shootin’ at us first,” Kendall insisted.

“You’ll get your turn to talk,” Vox said. “Right now I’m doin’ the talkin’.” Vox turned to Bates. “Now let’s hear from you. You go along with what Hooper has to say?”

Bates nodded. “That’s the way it was,” he added. “These two here, this one standin’ in front of the wagon and the other’n, the one sittin’ on the ground by the wheel, was shootin’ at us. But I think the colored man was shootin’ at us too.”

“He couldn’t have been shooting at you. He didn’t even have a gun,” Kendall said. “Moses never carries a gun.”

“Now, Judge, I’m callin’ myself as a witness,” Vox said. “And the way I seen it, all we done was tell these men they was drunk and they was goin’ to have to spend the night in our jail. Just one night, that’s all we was goin’ to ask of ’em. But the next thing you know, they started in to shootin’ at us. And the way I remember it, they was all four shootin’ at us.”

“You are a lying sack of shit,” Kendall said. “Moses didn’t even have a gun, and Pete was passed out drunk. Only me ’n’ Dusty was shootin’ at you.”

“Aha!” Vox shouted triumphantly. He pointed at Kendall. “So, you admit that you was shootin’ at us?”

“Yes, but you drew your guns first,” Kendall said.

“And you admit that you did shoot back?” Vox asked.

“Hell yes, we shot back,” Kendall replied angrily.

“Do we really need this trial to go on any longer, Judge?” Vox asked. “We did draw our guns, but that was to enforce
the arrest. We had no intention of shooting until they began shooting. And you just heard this cowboy admit that they were shooting at us. The way I see it, that is a confession.”

Judge Watermeyer sighed and shook his head. “I don’t like it,” he said. He looked at Vox. “I don’t like any of this. Why can’t we wait until tomorrow morning, when they can get a lawyer to defend them?”

“’Cause there ain’t goin’ to be no tomorrow mornin’ for them,” Vox replied.

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?” Judge Watermeyer asked.

“Simple. I aim to hang these sons of bitches right here, tonight, just as soon as you declare them guilty.”

“In that case, I have no intention of declaring them guilty.”

“You got no choice in it, Judge,” Vox said, again pointing his pistol at Judge Watermeyer. “You either declare these sons of bitches guilty or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

Judge Watermeyer began shaking in fear. “All right, all right,” he said. “I want it noted by all here that I am rendering this decision under duress. But because I have no choice, I find the defendants guilty as charged.”

“Get some rope,” Vox ordered. “We’ll hang these bastards right here, right now.”

“Where?” Bates asked.

Looking around, Vox saw a large brace protruding over the boardwalk. The sign on the brace read:

CASTLEBERRY’S

BOOTS

AND

LEATHER GOODS

“Get that sign tore down,” Vox said. “Let’s get this hangin’ done.”

Within moments the sign was taken down and ropes were tossed over the support arm.

“Vox, this here one is dead,” one of the townspeople said of Dusty.

Vox walked over to Dusty and kicked him, hard. Dusty gave no reaction. “Well, it don’t matter none whether he’s dead or not. The judge has just found him guilty, so we are going to hang him.”

“What about the colored man in the wagon?” another asked.

“Him too. We’re goin’ to hang all four of them.”

Judge Watermeyer shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. He pointed to Pete. “That one was passed out drunk when the shooting started. He didn’t have anything to do with what went on here, and you aren’t going to hang him.”

“He’s as guilty as the others. It don’t matter that he was passed out drunk, he was with ’em.”

“No, sir,” the judge said again, more resolutely this time than before. He shook his head and pointed his finger at Vox. “You aren’t going to hang him!” he said.

“By damn, Watermeyer, you better be careful there, or you’ll wind up hangin’ right alongside them,” Vox said.

“The only way you’re going to hang that other man is if you hang me too,” Judge Watermeyer said, suddenly finding some backbone.

“Well, don’t think we won’t hang you.”

“Vox,” Poindexter said. The stage depot hostler was standing in the front row. “You don’t think we are just going to stand by and let you hang the judge, now, do you?”

“You think you can stop me?” Vox asked.

“I don’t know,” Poindexter said. “But I aim to try. You think you can take on the whole town?”

“So far I don’t see nobody but you mouthin’ off about it,” Vox said.

“And me,” Baldwin added. “You ain’t goin’ to hang the
judge. And you ain’t goin’ to hang the drunk,” the town baker said.

“All right, all right!” Vox said angrily. “We won’t hang the drunk, and we won’t hang the judge. But we sure as hell are goin’ to hang the other three, whether they be already dead or not.”

Kendall was standing on the back of the wagon with his hands tied behind his back. Dusty and Moses were beside him, their already dead bodies hanging from the ropes around their necks.

“No!” a voice cried from the crowd. “No, don’t hang him!”

Looking toward the sound, Kendall saw Darci coming from the direction of the saloon, running toward the wagon.

“Get that whore out of here,” Vox growled, and one of the townsmen took her away, gently.

“Are you goin’ to at least put a hood over his face, Vox?” someone from the crowd asked. “For God’s sake, man, at least do that.”

“All right, if somebody’s got somethin’ for me to use, I’ll do it,” Vox said. “This here is a legal hangin’, it ain’t murder.”

“No, I don’t want a hood,” Kendall said quietly, shaking his head. “When I meet my Maker, I want Him to see my face, so that He may judge me innocent of any wrongdoing.”

“Have it your way,” Vox replied. He dropped the noose over Kendall’s head, then stepped down from the wagon and walked up to the head of the team.

Oddly, even though Kendall was standing on the brink of eternity, he felt no stomach-wrenching fear. Instead, a sense of calm came over him. He was not a regular churchgoing man, but he had been to church a few times, and now a phrase he once heard the preacher use came to him.

Kendall was experiencing a “peace that passeth all understanding.”

Gone was the anxiousness he had felt earlier. He was going to die now, and he knew it. He stood on the wagon and accepted it as calmly as if he were waiting for the visit of a friend.

After all, he told himself, isn’t death a friend? Death will come to everyone, and once it has arrived, what difference does it make how long one had been able to hold it off? A person who has been dead but an hour differs not from one who has been dead for a thousand years.

“Have you got any last words, mister?” someone from the crowd called up to him.

Kendall looked out over the crowd of people who had gathered to witness the execution. He had no idea how many were there, and he was amazed that so many had showed up in the middle of the night.

He looked over the heads of the crowd. Down toward the end of the street he saw a small house with a dim light on inside. He thought of the little boy and the little girl he, Pete, and Dusty had seen playing in the front yard of the house when they had ridden into town earlier. He hoped the children were peacefully asleep, unaware of the atrocity taking place in their town.

He looked back toward the townspeople again. From his newly arrived rapprochement with death, he was able to observe them casually, objectively. Many had looks of sympathy or sorrow. Some looked horrified, others merely curious. What did surprise him, though, was the fact that there were a few who had expressions of almost eager anticipation on their faces, as if they were actually enjoying the gruesome spectacle they were about to witness.

Kendall wanted to laugh at them, to tell them that they weren’t actually going to see anything; that his body might feel the hangman’s noose, but he wouldn’t be in his body. His soul would be free.

“Cowboy,” the judge said, calling up to him. “If you’ll let your neck be relaxed, it’ll snap like a twig and be over in a second. Tighten it up ’n’ it’s likely to take a little longer.”

“Yeah? How do you know that?”

“It isn’t breaking your neck that kills you. You die by strangulation, but if your neck is broken, you’ll pass out, and you won’t be able to feel anything. I’ve seen folks tighten up, then kick for nearly half an hour.”

“Oh, well, then thank you,” Kendall said calmly. “I shall heed your advice.”

Vox stood back from the horses, holding a whip in his hand. He drew it back, held it for one long moment, and looked up at Kendall.

“You got’ny last words, cowboy?”

“Yeah. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I visit your town again.”

A few who were close enough to hear him chuckled. Others shuddered, as if there was some hidden meaning to the comment.

That moment when Vox was holding the whip aloft was all the time that remained between Kendall and eternity. It was just a brief moment in the lives of those who stood on the ground watching, but it was a lifetime for Kendall.

The question was, how best to make use of the time remaining?

Looking toward the back of the crowd, Kendall saw Darci, barely illuminated by the flickering torchlight. She was standing with her back to him, unable to watch him hang, and he wished she would turn around so he could see her one last time.

He thought of how pretty Darci was. He was glad that he was dying a man, and a small, enigmatic smile passed across his face as he recalled everything they had done earlier that night.

“Look at that,” Poindexter said in awe. “He’s smiling. They are about to hang this poor soul and he is smiling. That has to be the bravest son of a bitch I ever saw.”

Those were the last words Kendall would ever hear.

The whip snapped sharply over the head of the team, and the horses leaped forward. Kendall felt himself dropping off into space.

“No!” Pete shouted.

The jerking forward of the wagon had awakened him, and when he sat up, he saw three men hanging.

“Stop that wagon and get him!” Vox shouted.

Hooper and Bates jumped onto their horses and chased the wagon down, then, turning it, they brought it back. Pete was on his knees in the back of the wagon, staring at the bodies of his three friends, trying hard to comprehend the horror of the moment. By now Kendall had quit kicking.

“What is this?” Pete asked in a weak, horrified voice. “What happened?”

“Mister, you just better be glad you was passed out drunk,” Vox said. “Otherwise, you would be hanging up there with them.”

“My God! My God!” Pete said. It was more of a prayer than an oath.

“Throw his ass in jail,” Vox ordered with a jerk of his head.

“Come on, you,” Bates growled.

“The hell you say! I’m not goin’ anywhere with you. I want to know what’s going on here!”

Bates nodded at Hooper, and from behind Hooper hit Pete over the head with the butt of his pistol. Pete went down.

THOSE WHO HAD NOT BEEN ACTUAL WITNESSES to the events of the night before learned about it the next morning. Going out into the street, they were greeted with the grizzly sight of three men hanging from the support arm of what had been the advertising sign for Castleberry’s leather goods store.

Cyrus Green was so incensed by the sight that he did something he had never done before. He put out an extra.

THREE MEN HURLED INTO ETERNITY

Gene Welch pulled his wagon up to the front of Castleberry’s, then stopped. Ken Wright was with him, and when the undertaker stopped the wagon, Ken climbed up onto the wagon seat and took out a knife. He looked into the face of Moses Gillespie.

The expression on Moses’ face could be described more as one of surprise rather than pain or horror. He had died by gunfire, not by hanging.

As Ken cut through the rope he thought of the conversation he and Moses had the night before, when Moses said that his wife no longer had to worry about his not coming back. It didn’t seem right that he had survived Indian battles only to be murdered in the street.

“Moses, when you get up there to Fiddler’s Cyrus, I know you’ll be sayin’ hi to all your old friends. But do me a favor and look up ol’ Travis Jackson for me, will you? I want you and him to hold a place for me. I’ll be up there bye and bye.”

Welch overheard Moses’ comment. “Fiddler’s Cyrus?” he asked. “What’s Fiddler’s Cyrus?”

“It’s a place where all cavalrymen go when they die,” Ken explained as, the rope now cut, he lowered his friend’s body, gently, into the back of the wagon.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Welch said.

“You wasn’t never a cavalryman.”

“Is that just a colored cavalry thing?”

“Mr. Welch, when it come to the army, they be only two races. Those who are cavalry, and those who ain’t.”

Ken cut the other two men down and put them in the wagon as well.

“Hey! Who said you could cut them men down?” Deputy Bates shouted, coming quickly up the street.

Those who had gathered on the boardwalk and out in the street in front of Castleberry’s leather goods shop stepped aside. Bates pushed his way through them until he was standing no more than a couple of feet away from Ken.

“Did you hear the question I asked you?” Deputy Bates asked. “Who gave you permission to cut those men down?”

Welch hesitated for a moment.

“You go ahead, Mr. Welch,” Ken said. “Get these men seen to. I’ll talk to the deputy.”

Welch snapped the reins over the back of the team and they moved forward.

“Hey, you! Come back here!” Bates shouted in anger. “Damn you! Don’t you drive off when I’m talking to you!”

The deputy pulled his pistol and pointed it at Welch.

“Bates! Put that gun down!” Baldwin shouted. The baker was one of those who had gathered around to watch the bodies be removed.

“The hell I will,” Bates replied. “If he don’t bring them bodies back I’m going to shoot him.”

Ken reached out and wrapped his hand around Deputy Bates’s wrist and began squeezing.

“Ahh!” Bates called out in pain.

Ken squeezed harder, and the deputy dropped his pistol. Reaching down, Ken picked up the pistol, then swung open the cylinder and emptied it. Putting the bullets in his own pocket, he handed the gun back to Bates.

“You damn near broke my arm, you black bastard!” Bates said angrily, rubbing the joint in pain.

Ken looked over at the banister that protected the boardwalk from the street. The banister was a round piece of wood, at least one inch in diameter.

“No, sir, Mr. Bates,” Ken said. “If I want to break your arm, your arm would done be broke now. Just like this.”

Ken slammed the side of his hand down against the banister, and it snapped into two pieces. The crowd gasped in awe at the demonstration of strength.

“All I done was keep you from killin’ somebody that was just doin’ his job.”

“That’s right, Bates,” Poindexter said. “If you had shot Welch in front of us it would’ve been murder. Not even Culpepper could have got you out of that.”

“You don’t understand,” Bates said as he continued to gingerly rub his wrist. “I wasn’t really goin’ to shoot him. I was just tryin’ to make him put them bodies back.”

“Why?”

“Why? Well, because Vox didn’t say we could take them down, that’s why.”

“Get on back to your business, Bates,” Baldwin said. “Whatever that is. And leave this be.”

Glowering at Ken and the others, Deputy Bates started back up the boardwalk toward the Regulators’ headquarters.

Cyrus Green was just arriving, and the two men passed on the boardwalk. Cyrus handed Bates a copy of his newspaper.

“I ain’t payin’ you no penny for your newspaper,” Bates growled.

“You don’t need to,” Cyrus said. “Today, this paper is free for every citizen of the community.”

“Free?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” Bates said. He took the paper, but made no effort to read it. Instead, he just continued his purposeful stride toward the headquarters of the Regulators.

“Here you are, folks,” Cyrus called as he reached the gathering. “This is an extra, a special edition of the paper, and it costs you nothing.”

“Cyrus, why are you putting out a free paper?” Poindexter asked.

“Because I’ve got something to say and I want everyone in town to read it,” Cyrus replied. “Gather around folks, it’s hot off the press. Take one for yourself and one for your neighbor.”

Hawke and Flaire had breakfast at the train depot in Marva, then walked over to the stage depot to catch the coach for Salcedo. For a while it looked as if they would be the only
passengers, but just before the coach left, a man, his wife, and two children joined them.

“I’m glad we made it,” the man said once he had his family on board. “If we had missed the coach, we would have had to take a hotel room tonight, and the cost of hotel rooms are so dear.”

“I’m glad you made it too,” Flaire said, smiling at the family.

“We’ve been to see Grandma,” the little boy said.

“Well, I’m sure she was happy to see you,” Flaire said.

“You’re the fella that’s playin’ the piano down at the Golden Calf, aren’t you?” the man asked Hawke.

“Yes.”

“I thought so. I don’t frequent taverns, so I’ve never heard you play, but folks who have say you are very good.”

“He’s one of the best pianists in the entire world,” Flaire said proudly.

The man laughed. “Well, I can see he certainly has a supporter in you,” he said.

Flaire shook her head. “Oh, I’m not the only one who thinks this. We are on our way back from San Antonio, where we attended a concert given by the great Gottschalk. Mr. Gottschalk himself said that about Mason Hawke.”

Hawke stared through the window in embarrassment. He wished Flaire wouldn’t take on about him so, but he was glad there were other people on the stage. After last night, the intimacy of the two of them alone in the coach might have been a bit awkward.

When Justin Parker discovered Pete, Dusty, and Kendall’s empty bedrolls the next morning, he was a little aggravated, but not entirely surprised.

What did surprise him was the fact that Moses hadn’t returned either. That was totally unlike the cook.

“Hey, boss,” one of his drovers said. “What are we going to do for breakfast?”

“Make some coffee, eat some jerky,” Justin said.

“Jerky?”

“If you want to try and make some biscuits, be my guest,” Justin said.

“I can’t make biscuits. Not like Moses, anyway.”

“Nobody can make biscuits like Moses,” one of the other drovers said. “Where is Moses, anyway? Wasn’t he supposed to come back last night?”

“Yes,” Justin said. “And so were the others.”

“Didn’t none of ’em come back? Damn, they musta had a high ol’ time last night. Want me to ride into town and see where at they are?”

“No,” Justin said. “I’ll go myself.”

The others watched as Justin saddled his horse then rode off toward Salcedo.

“If he finds them boys layin’ up with whores this mornin’, I sure wouldn’t want to be in their boots,” one of the cowboys said. Then, slapping the heel of his hand against his forehead, he said, “What am I saying? I’d love to be layin’ with a whore right now.”

The other cowboys laughed.

When Justin reached the town, he recognized the wagon Moses had been driving. It was loaded with supplies and parked in front of the blacksmith shop. Dismounting, Justin stepped under the overhang and looked around.

“Hello the shop!” he called. “Hello, is anyone here?”

Ken came around the corner then, carrying an armload of wood.

“Yes, sir,” Ken said. “What can I do for you? Your horse throw a shoe?”

“No,” Justin said. He nodded toward the wagon. “I want to ask you about that wagon.”

Ken shook his head. “That belongs to a cattle drive outfit that’s camped just out of town.”

“Where’s Moses?”

Ken ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “You must be Mr. Parker,” he said.

“I am,” Justin said. He nodded toward the wagon. “When Moses didn’t come back last night, I figured to come in and see what happened to him. Also, three of my drovers.” He chuckled. “They must’ve had themselves quite a time last night. Not that surprising, I guess, for my drovers. But it’s not like Moses to do something like that.”

“Any of those boys kin to you, Mr. Parker?” Ken asked.

Parker shook his head. “Kin to me? No. Why would you ask that?”

“’Cause if any of ’em was kin, I would try and be more gentle with the news I got for you.”

Parker’s eyes narrowed. “What news?”

“Moses is dead,” Ken said. “So are two of your cowboys.”

“My God! What happened?”

Ken told about the confrontation the night before, then the shootout, followed by the trial and hanging.

“Wait a minute! Are you telling me that they had a trial in the middle of the night? In the street?”

Ken nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Parker shook his head in confusion. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. You said Moses and two of my drovers were dead. What about the third one? Where is he?”

“They got him down in the jail now,” Ken said.

“Thanks,” Parker said. He started back toward his horse.

“Mr. Parker?” Ken called.

Parker turned toward him.

“Moses Gillespie be a friend of mine for a long time. We had a nice long visit last night, before all this happened. He
told me you was a good man. I thank you for treatin’ him so good.”

“You don’t have to thank me, mister,” Parker said. “Black or white, Moses Gillespie was one of the best men I ever had the privilege to know.”

“I’d like to take Moses back home to his wife, if you don’t mind.”

“I’d pay you to take all three of them back,” Justin said.

“No, sir,” Ken replied. “I mean, I take all three of ’em back, but I don’t want no pay for doin’ it.”

“Anything you need? A wagon? Supplies?” Justin asked.

“No sir, I got all I need.”

“No wonder Moses was such a good man, with friends like you,” Justin said.

“That’s the other way around, Mr. Parker. Moses had friends like me because he was such a good man.”

Justin nodded, then remounted and rode on down the street. Ken watched him for a moment, then went back to his pile of wood and started stoking the fire for his forge. He was alone in the shadows of the back of his shop, and he was glad. That way, nobody would be able to see his tears.