by Jerry L
About five miles outa town I passed a maroon sedan with the words ‘Wells Fargo Company’ in gold letters on the side doors. Inside were two hard looking men in brown uniforms. They didn’t return my wave.” He chuckled, “About then I put the gas pedal to the floor let me tell you I was a steppin an a fetchin!
I was a makin pretty time good time when the tire on the back went flat. By the time I got the durn thing changed I could hear sirens a coming from over the hill. All that day we played hide and seek up in them damn hollows. They got them some boys that was from them parts and every time I’d go to ground they’d find me. I’d give em a few shots from that ‘Tommy’ gun and high tail it again. Finally, I made a wrong turn. It was gettin on towards evening when the road ran out.
I could hear them cuttin a tree for blockin the road down below and someone had a pack of dogs.
An old fellow came down the hill and asked me “What in Billy Hell I was doin with a nice automobile like that up on his side hill?’
I said “Well Sir, I been a runnin shine for Mr. Wills over east so I can make enough money for to maybe save my dying Ma!” I waved back down that dirt track, “I got the medicine oer in the car ifn you want to see it!” I put on a long face, “Cept now…, them Revanooer bastards got me blocked in and is fixin to let the dogs loose on me!”
He asked ,”Thems Law Dogs down there in the hollow aren’t from around here? They are Yankee Revanooers fer sure?”
I assured him that they were “God Dammed Yankees indeed! While I myself; Robert E. Lee Carrick was their prey!” The old man cocked his Winchester as his eyes narrowed, he was a son of the south and was truly pissed off!
He explained that ifin I kept high along yon ridge and forded the crick by that big pine tree I could climb yonder hill. At the top by the salt house was a track that would take me over the top and down the other side into Ar-kansas.
He would shoot a few bullets over them Yankees heads while I made my get away. I reached into one of the leather satchels and give him a handful of twenty dollar bills and he assured me that he would surely keep those ‘sombitches’ pinned down til hell froze oer! We shook hands and I put the Packard in low and kept to the high ground. Behind me I heard the first shot ring out and a dog yelped.
I had to been a good ways into Ar-kansas when the oil pan got holed on a big ole rock. You have to understand it wernt no road I was on, jist a track up in them piney woods. The motor klunked and steamed before finally freezin up. I was a faced down hill so I stuck a rock under the tire. Well then… I spent that night and the next day inside that car while the rain poured like the great flood was a coming back. I knowed that I couldn’t lug those three leather bags down the hill in that weather.
The rain had finally quit when I got out to take a leak. I was proceedin to do my business when I heard a woman holler. At first I thought it was one of them catamounts they got down there. She started cryin and screamed agin. I took the rock from in front of the wheel, took it outa gear, give er a shove, an got back in the car. And an gravidy did the rest… we was off an Runnin! The thing started to roll down the hill towards the screamin. I stuck my head outa the side winder and we coasted on down into a small clearing and up into the yard of a cabin and some tumble down sheds.
It was the Dammedest thing I ever saw goin on there in that yard! This ole boy was a draggin this nekkid woman across that muddy yard through the weeds and brambles to a big ole Hickory tree. He had tied her hands together and was a hoistin her up in the air when this boy about ten or eleven came up to him aimin this old horse pistol at his back. The man had finished tying off the woman to the tree when he seen the boy with that old gun. I expected murder but instead, when the boy pulled the trigger nothing happened.
Course it was an ole cap an ball and it didnt have no cap on the nipple so nothing happened. Not to the man any way, to the boy it was a different story, yesseree, a different story indeed. The man picked up a horse whip layin in the weeds and began to beat the boy with the butt of it. The young feller finally curled up in a ball and I thought the crazy bastard had surely killed him. The man turned back to the woman and uncoiled the whip. He hadn’t heard me coast up, but finally he heard the sound of the brakes a grabbing. He turned towards the car when I got out of the door. “Ya friggin sneaky bandit son a buck… what the hell you doin on my land?’ he said and came towards me. I could see that he wasn’t just drunk or mad, he was crazy as a shit house mouse… bug nuts insane!
I had one of them German pistols in my hand. I tells that ole boy, “Stop right there!” I says, “I ain’t tellin ya again! Hold up there Mister!” as he drew back the whip. Some kinda foam was a coming from his mouth. I seen that he wasn’t gonna stop sos I shot him clean through the heart. He turned towards the woman and said, “See what the devil done made ya do now!” and fell face down into the weeds.
I untied the rope from the tree and helped the woman sit down. Both her eyes were black and almost swollen shut by then.
She said, “Help me up mister, I gotta see to my children. Help me up.” I untied her hands and we made our way over to the boy’s body.
I said, “Is he dead do ya think?” She gave me a worried look and knelt down besides the boy. He moaned so I figured he wern’t dead. Together we got him up to the house and on the porch. Three dogs as a layin dead out in that yard. That loco bastard had done killed em all afore startin on killin his own kin-folk!”
The woman called, “Lucille, baby where are you?’ A little girl came fearfully out of the dark cabin.
By now the boy had kinda revived and was crying against the woman’s bare chest. The little girl joined them. After awhile the woman went over to an old Ford truck with a box on the back and got a dress from a steamer trunk fulla clothes and stuff. She pulled that threadbare dress over her head, came back and sat down on the stoop. She said, “You must be that bank robber they’re lookin for.’ I must have looked dumb cause she said, “The posse came by yesterday seeking a bank robber. I reckon you gotta be him.’
I held out my hand and said, “Robert E. Lee Carrick, bank robber at yore service Ma’am.”
She took my hand and smiled for the first time saying “Lucy Rae Byrne glad to meet you. This here boy with the knots on his head is Trace. The snot nosed girl here is my Lucille Mae.”
I said, ‘Howdy do… to you two!’ I was a little flip with my speech in them days I’m afraid to say.”
The little girl said “We was a goin to sneak off to Texas til Paw woke up from bein drunk. Now that you done kilt him I rekkon were all a goin to prison huh?” The boy started cryin at that news and I must admit I was kinda choked up at the prospect myself. I knowed I wasn’t goin to prison fer too long. If they didn’t shoot me first, they would be a hangin me right quick when they caught up with me!
The woman informed us all, “Aint nobody goin to prison while I’m alive! I won’t have a bit of that talk! You all help me to drag Paw into the house. Quick now!” We dragged the dead man up into that empty house.
Lucy rummaged around in the Packard and found those money sacks. She opened one and said, “Lord have mercy… yer one hell of a robber! Shooo Weee!’ She had me put the ‘Tommy’ gun next to the dead man. She then put the gold coins in the bottom of the two pound lard can. Lucy wrapped most of the big bills in an oilskin table cloth and buried it in the bottom of the twenty pounds of flour. She placed flour sack deep up under the furniture on the truck.
She kept out twelve dollars and the rest of he smaller bills like ones, fives, and tens she scattered around the car and in front of the stoop. One bag of stocks and other papers she left half under the car. The other two bags she put down next to her husband.
I dumped a full can of kerosene all over the house and sat the can down beside the man inside. Lucy had the boy fetch the iodine from a small chest and daubed it all over her face, arms and chest. She worked lard and lamp soot into her cheeks stating that, “Soon as we burn this here house were a leavin fer Texas. Robert, yor
e name is Leonard Abraham Byrne now and you are afeared that yore wife has the influenza real bad! She needs to get to the doctor mighty quick or she might jist die!’
He told his grand-daughter, “Mary Ann, I swear your’e grandma coulda been an actress! When she got done she scared the bejeezus outa all of us. Them kids got behind me they was so scared of what she looked like. With them swollen black eyes she did look like someone about to die. She said it was time to go and the boy asked if he could light the house on fire? I got some tow rags and lit them for him. He threw them into the house just as it started to mist rain. Those rags lit next to the over turned lantern and took fire.
The first roadblock was down by the Hash mark store. Them lawmen heard my story and took one look at Lucy and let us right on through. I remember tellin Lucy Rae, “Missis would you please wipe off that there drool runnin down yore face youre scarin the children!”
The next roadblock went about the same way. She took about a week afore she could get all that crap offa her face. I was mighty struck by how beautiful she was when she got it all off. I asked her to marry me and she said, “Since we was a usin her marriage license, “We was already married as far as she was concerned!”
“I made her marry me under my real name though. A country preacher who had been in the war near me did the honors. We had to live under the name Byrnes on account of me being a bank robber and all, but we have got a marriage license in the name of Carrick. It’s hid with my Army papers in that old leather valise up in the attic. We came out here and bought this place and have been here ever since. I’ll be restin next to Lucy Rae purty soon I reckon and that will be fine by me.
Everybody wants ta think on how them old pioneers done settled this fine state, but I reckon maybe there’s a few got stories like mine and Lucy Rae’s. Well now, I kin tell you a story about a certain old time Governor that run out a burning building a wearin nothing but womens underwear! And this fella was a man! Well, he was a supposta be. Hell, I’m shamed to say, I voted for that feller! Hell I didn’t know!
Well then, that interview got over with and that girl wrote a real nice ‘Human Interest’ story about me and all those brave souls who came into the country and worked real hard improving it. We was all brave and hard working people. Everyone should be real proud of us. I barely recognized myself! She had left out the killin an had me a goin to church even! But hell, it don’t hurt nothing tellin my life story that a way. The way it shoulda been! My kin can be proud of me I guess. Hell, it don’t hurt nothing. Kinda makes me an Lucy Rae interesting humans I reckon.
13: The Arraignment of the Witch Taylee White
It was growing bitter and it was only mid afternoon. The snow came on the wings of the cold of winter barren hills as the three men ducked low to enter the roadhouse. The purple and grey gloom of the harsh day was replaced by a dark and sprawling room the seemed a welcome haven after the assault of February blowing onto the gorse of the moors.
The men unwrapped cloaks and threw great coats onto an empty table and with the prerogative of authority took seats at a second table; one well within the circle of the great hearth’s glow. Drinks were ordered all ‘round; warmed Ale to dispel the chill, and some mutton, and a brace of capons, and some potato, and perhaps a pie or two; for these men had been at difficult work, and demanding too. Difficult work; yes indeed, the Magistrate and his Warders had been sent to fetch to trial the Witch, Taylee White.
Of course, the Magistrate was recognized as soon as he entered the roadhouse, and those who did not know him by sight recognized the gold badge and cockade of the Grouse that adorned his tricorn hat, and those who recognized neither were soon made aware by the loud bravado that they were in the presence of the King’s men.
One by one, the patrons paid their tab and left for they preferred the cold to the risk of an encounter with the Magistrate and his two lackeys. The Master of the House suspected that the weather would make this night a lean one, but, he knew that the otherwise lean times would be even leaner, for the Magistrate expected to be rewarded for the honor of his presence by victuals and drink. But, had anyone else elected to stay, he would have been rewarded by the story of the capture and arrest of the witch.
She was old but her age belied her cunning and her resistance. The skinny Warder re-lived, with glee, how the three men surrounded her wattle dwelling, a hovel really, in the wood and how she had tried to beat them with a cudgel when the large Warder kicked in the door to the sparse structure. Instead of inflicting damage on the men, they in turn took the poor weapon from the woman and used it to inflict a beating of their own; a beating that continued during the “interrogation” and as the witch’s evil dwelling was burned to the ground.
But, the Devil’s old companion was adamant in her refusals, even as the screws were placed over her gnarled fingers and her arthritic joints. To make matters worse, the old woman cursed the King’s men, an act that just angered the heavy Warder, causing him to drag the old crone to the coals and embers of the still enflamed sty wherein the woman had earlier dwelled. The heavy man laughed aloud as the small man recounted the deed. “That old slattern surely howled the wrath of God down on thy head when ye shoved her hand in them fires and embers.”
“Mayhaps, but, it was the pool that brought her to her knees in front of her maker”, spoke the heavy man. “When we dropped her through the rime and hoarfrost to the cleansing water below, she lost all hope of salvation by Beelzebub, and she started her gibberish.” he continued, “ Jest babbling, but by the movement o’ God, she spake. Thrice plunged in the pond and she was ready to spend the night with her unholy unions and cavorting to warm her up, by God.”
The night grew colder and the wind howled at the eaves of the old building; but, the structure was of good stone and heavy timber, and lay solid to boot. The mutton came first and was washed down with more Ale. Some strong local cheese and some of the native bread got the men through the first of their repast. It had indeed been a day of labor both difficult and emotionally draining,
The skinny Warder was aware that the serving wench was listening so he turned her direction and chortled, “But a night in goal wasn’t in the stars for that old hag, we was dragging her hence and she croaked.” The woman’s eyes opened in amazement. The skinny one continued, “Yea, she gave the spark over as we was a’draggin’ her hence.” He laughed at the little joke, “But, she ain’t goin’ to the churchyard. Nay, she’s a swingin’ from a tree at the crossroad. “
The skinny man broke into riotous laughter and slapped his knee, “We tied her arms to a tree limb and she’s a swingin’ there till the ground at the crossroad thaws enough to bury her where she fell.” The skinny man chortled and the big warder joined the little joke.
“But she was a stubborn one, she was.” The big warder added, “She wouldn’t even own up to what we already knew, Why, she wouldn’t even speak her own name aloud when we was a pressin’ her to save her soul.”
The pies came next and were served with some warmed port and not only more of the local bread; but, boiled potatoes and turnip also.
“It was no brave thing, men.” The Magistrate added to the meal. “Twas but another witch what was sent to Hell and eternal damnation at the end of some hemp.”
The thin man was feeling more than just comfortable and the toady was never one to pass a chance to stroke the vanity of his meal ticket. “Ah Sire, o’ course your self is always correct; but, this milord was no mere witch, this one was a queen of the damned.” He lowered his voice and made the sign of the cross, “This was the Witch, Taylee White.”
The magistrate turned and drilled his gaze into his skinny minion. The skinny one sank into his overly-large coat as the Magistrate spoke. “It is a fact Jeffers that even the vilest witch cannot return to haunt the living. The only powers the Evil One grants are to the living.”
The fat servant of the Queen paused and drank a huge quaff of the wine; and then, he slammed the mug to the table, “And, we know for a cer
tainty that that witch was quite dead when we last saw her did we not lads?”
Laughter greeted the ears of the fat Magistrate as the serving girl brought a brace of fat capons straight from the spit and offered a wedge of aged cheddar, baked pumpkin, late-picked apples, accompanied with tankards of cider heated with pokers from the huge hearth. However, with a few minutes the large Warder began to bellow.
“Serving woman, Hie yourself here,” he roared, “The Queen’s men require more drink.”
The Warders were growing louder, their flushed faces aflame, their speech slurred.
“Serving Woman!...” The Warder’s bellow was interrupted by the appearance of a large man in a leather apron; his arms were like tree limbs and his hands looked like hams.
“And what is yourselves will be needin’ gentl’men?” The big man asked.
“Why, more o’ that posset, that won’erful mulled wine yer wench served earlier.” was the slurred reply of the large Warder, the slow witted one.
“Aye, that would do,” replied the skinny man.
But the Magistrate answered naught, his stomach was queasy, his wits seemed dull, and he belched as a cold hand gripped his chest and squeezed his heart. The belch had the taste of almonds.
The man in the leather apron liked puzzled, “Posset? We’ve no posset here, we’re plain country folks. We drink no heated wine here ’bouts. Now if you’ve a mind for some more cider?”
The thin Warder shivered, a spasm gripped his abdomen and he recoiled; he thought he had been stabbed. He realized as he looked down that he had not been stabbed, but, that the pain came from within. The weasly-faced man started to speak and discovered that his speech did not work. He looked toward the Magistrate; but, the Magistrate seemed in deep thought, his head cocked to one side as if he were listening to something.