The two frightened men readily complied with his bogus demands, and then were shocked when he stepped into the small clearing. It had been a long time since he had given any thought to his physical appearance. He was formidable looking in a scary sort of way. His hair and beard were all scraggly and long, matted and sticking to his face. There was a fiendish aura about him that would cause alarm in anyone who saw him. He grinned, showing his pearly whites through the darkness of his unshaven face, and good-naturedly exclaimed, “Got you!"
"Hey, man, you ain't the police!” shouted one of the two, in disbelief, as if by saying this aloud, all would be right in the world again.
"No shit! Nothing gets past you, does it?” he questioned scornfully, the inquiry dripped with sarcasm. “I'll tell you what I want you to do, and you can either comply, which I might add will cause me a might of displeasure, or you can tell me to go to hell, which will tickle the shit out of me ... and I'll kill you!” Although there was already a live round chambered, he worked the lever action of the rifle for emphasis allowing the men no doubt whatsoever as to his preference.
The two men had no inkling as to what the other choice was going to be, but it sure as hell had to be better than certain death, so one of them asked, “What do we have to do?"
"Strip down to what you were born in,” he answered with a smile plastered on his face.
"You've got to be as crazy as a loon! I'm not about to take off my clothes for you or..."
The bullet that took off the lobe of his left ear made him see the light and he peeled out of his attire so fast that a body would have thought Raquel Welch was in bed nude, just waiting for him to join her. The quieter of the two quickly, and without any fuss, followed suit, so to speak.
Faden allowed them to keep their boots on, sans socks, as he marched them to the pilings of the old river railroad crossing. The three concrete columns, which stood like sentinels watching over the Red River, were all that remained of the defunct bridge. It was the only column of the three, which wasn't currently standing in water that he bound the men to. He had them take their boots off before tying them hand to hand encircling the piling. Their naked butts would be visible from the Highway 70 Bridge come first light, regardless of how they moved in a circle around the column. He had tied them tight enough, stomachs against the cool concrete, to make any movement extremely difficult. He had to sit and allow his laughter at the sight of the two of them to subside before he was able to continue.
He said, “I'd suppose it's going to be a might embarrassing come morning. That is, if the river doesn't rise during what's left of the night, and drown you first,” then liked to have busted a gut in a fit of laughter. It was the first time he had laughed out loud since talking with young Tommy in Byers that night, which seemed like it had been eons ago. He stood and turned to leave, preparing to rush headlong into the night.
One of the men remarked, around a face full of concrete, “You can't leave us here like this. It's inhuman. You'll get yours when he gets here!"
"Inhuman? Did I hear you say, inhuman? I suppose in your mind it's okay for you all to track me as if I were some sort of rabid animal, intending to shoot me on sight in cold blood, but when I attempt to defend myself, I'm inhuman. I've just got one more thing to say to you. I can, and will, leave you here all night. If only you would have taken it like your partner and kept your mouth shut, then you would have at least been able to stand there with some measure of dignity, and not had that splitting headache to contend with."
"But I don't have a headache, my ear hurts like hell...” was all he got out before Faden slammed the butt of the rifle against the back of the man's head, causing a nasty scrape on the front of his face from the sudden contact with the rough texture of the concrete column, along with the swelling bump on the back of his noggin.
Faden looked from the unconscious man, to the other one who was smiling, and inquired, “You got any pearls of wisdom that you believe I absolutely need to know?"
"No, Sir!” he hastily quipped. “I'll be just fine now that you've shut that big mouth of his. He's an agreeable enough fellow, but he hasn't shut that trap of his since we embarked on this crazy journey. I should never have let him talk me into coming along with him. He made it sound so easy, and made you out to be some kind of monster. I suppose I deserve what ever happens to me for being so stupid. I'm much obliged to you for shutting him up. I consider it a personal favor, and if I ever get out of here you don't have to worry about ever seeing my ugly mug again."
Faden figured this was the longest stretch of words that the man had ever spoken in his lifetime. While leaving him bound, Faden assisted him in putting his pants back on. As Faden was leaving he glanced toward the quiet man, and said, “Under different circumstances...” then left the rest unspoken as the disillusioned, but likeable fellow, nodded his head in mutual assent.
CHAPTER XV
Faden sat on his haunches behind the screen of mesquite brush. It was somewhere in the neighborhood of six o'clock in the evening, and the stranger was preparing his supper over a well-built campfire. The man was no tinhorn when it came to adapting in the great outdoors. He was sort of familiar, but then he wasn't. Faden couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt that he knew the man from somewhere, maybe from a long time ago. This had to be the professional tracker and man-killer he had overheard the last two talking about. They had spoken with awe in their voices, as if this one might hear them and seek retribution against them. As Faden understood it, this man demanded that everyone else clear out of the area whenever he took an assignment. He always worked alone, and would brook no interference from anyone. If anyone should dare to cross him in this endeavor, then the hunter was likely to become the hunted, or so the legend went.
The man's identity came to him at about the same time as the stranger calmly said, “Come have something to eat, Faden. I've known for some time that you were watching me. You're good, I'll have to give you that, but I saw the sun glint off of that well oiled rifle barrel of yours'."
It took Faden all of thirty seconds to piece it all together. The man was none other than his old nemesis, Ben Roachman, and he would bet his bottom dollar that Ben was the one who had killed Sinda, and then set him up to take the fall. “I've got my rifle trained on your black heart, you son-of-a-bitch! You killed her! Didn't you?"
"Yeah, I suppose I did! Where do we go from here? You aren't going to shoot me in cold blood, I know you too well for that.” Ben continued to calmly stir his soup as if he didn't have a care in the world, much less a gun aimed at him. The man was an ice cube.
Faden snapped a shot into the center of the campfire, and saw the sparks and embers fly onto the face and arms of Ben. The man merely watched as his own flesh and blood extinguished the coals. He never so much as flinched or lifted a finger to brush them off.
"Nice shot. Pain is a wonderful thing, Faden. I hear you have been responsible for quite a lot of it lately. Are you beginning to enjoy watching other's suffering? Have you crossed over the line yet?"
Faden walked into the camp, rifle at the ready. He stopped when he was directly across the fire from his enemy of old. This foe that he had despised for almost all of his life. Placing the business end of the rifle against Ben's forehead, he asked, “Why?"
"Why did I kill her? It was strictly business. Why did I frame you for it? Pure and simple, vengeance! Oh, you should have seen her, she never once begged for her life, or anything. She reminded me a lot of your mother. She could take an enormous amount of pain. Was that your bastard she was carrying?"
He saw the look of confused surprise stamped on Faden's face, and knew he had hit a nerve. He decided to twist the knife a little. “But of course it was! What was I thinking? She loved you, you know? Oh yes, she loved you with all of her heart, even told me so. As a matter of fact, it was the last words out of her mouth. To think that a woman like her could possibly ever love a weakling like you ... go figure!"
He gathered the scattered co
als, never paying Faden, or the threat he posed any mind. He nonchalantly got the fire going again, then said, “Shoot if you've a mind to, or put the gun down. As you can well see, I am unarmed at the moment. What is it going to be? Rifles at thirty paces? Knives, hand to hand combat, or are we going to draw like the Earp's at the OK Corral?"
Faden was fairly seething on the inside, but remained serene on the surface. It would never do to let Ben know just how much his needling was getting to him. He laid the rifle in the fork of a mesquite tree, and said, “I'm going to kill you with my bare hands, you low-life dog!” But just as he was turning back around to face his adversary, Ben shot him high in the left shoulder with the .44 caliber derringer he had been concealing in his boot. The shock and impetus of the heavy slug drove Faden onto his back on the ground. He made a grab for his rifle, but Ben, surprisingly agile and quick for a man his age, kicked it out of his reach. He booted Faden in the wound, and then returned to the other side of the fire.
"Stupid, Faden, very stupid. When did you ever start thinking you could trust someone like me? Honor among thieves, and all that rot, huh? Some people never learn!” he exclaimed, keeping the remaining loaded barrel of the derringer trained on Faden's prone form.
The force of the kick and ensuing bolt of pain had turned Faden on his side. He could sure enough use about twenty of the Tylenol No. 3s now. By being very careful not to show any undue movement, he began to work the hunting knife out of the waistband of his pants. It was then that he saw the rattlesnake. It was identical to the one he had seen in his vision. It lay, apparently sleeping and unconcerned, with all that was taking place in the vicinity. Faden left off with his retrieval of the knife, which would probably have only gotten him killed, anyway.
"I don't know whether to toy with you, or just kill you right out. What do you think I should do? Do you suppose you could take anywhere near as much pain as your mother and girlfriend did, or will you pass out and start screaming for mercy which won't be forthcoming?” Ben threw back his head in laughter.
Faden, without any regard to his own safety, very quickly threw the snake at Ben. Luck was still with him, and the snake hadn't struck him when he grabbed it, but it did bite Ben on the neck on its way by. Ben screamed, and reflexively fired the gun he held. The slug tore through the meaty portion of Faden's thigh, tearing out a great chunk of flesh, and rendering him momentarily all but helpless.
But God must have been watching over him because Ben, in his terror, had backed into a log and fell, striking the back of his head on a semi buried rock. He was for the time being stunned into unconsciousness.
Faden half crawled, half stumbled over to the fallen body. He watched the rattlesnake slither into the brush, then picked up a stone of some fifty pounds or so in weight, and while lifting it as high as possible above his head, his arms stretched to the limit, he let loose a blood curdling yell of triumph.
"Put the rock down, Faden. He's not worth it!” Dewayne was speaking and he had his .357 Magnum aimed at Faden's heart. “Please don't make me shoot you!"
Faden barely heard the sheriff. The pain radiating from his shoulder and leg distorted his hearing. Not that it would have made any difference if he had heard him clearly. It was taking all the strength that he currently possessed just to stand and hold the stone. His vision was becoming blurred from the loss of blood, and he didn't know how long he was going to be able to relish this exquisite moment. He wished with all of his might that Ben would wake up so he could see what was about to happen to him, but Faden was tiring out fast.
"DROP IT, FADEN! DROP IT NOW!” screamed Dewayne, panic creeping into his voice. He was trying to penetrate the fog that surrounded Faden's brain. “Drop it, please?"
And so Faden did ... bringing the stone crashing down on the forehead of Ben with all of his pent-up frustration and might. Ben's skull fractured with an ominous splat. Red and gray matter gushed from his ears. Tears of blood flowing from the corners of his eyes coursed down both sides of his face. He made a last desperate gasp for air, which turned into a death rattle.
Faden raised his arms high above his head, once again, in a placating plea to God. He yelled, “It is a good day to die!” and was shot through the heart by a purely reflexive action on the part of a high-strung, nerve wrought, Dewayne. Faden was dead, his eyes already glassing over, before his body hit the ground.
EPILOGUE
No matter how much Dewayne dug, he could never gather enough evidence to get a judge to vindicate Faden of the crime. He wished to clear Faden's name, but then it really didn't make much difference anyway. Everyone who had known Faden before all of this started knew that he hadn't committed the crime of which he was accused. Dewayne had, with the help of Kimberly, deduced the truth.
Kimberly Johnson inherited all of Sinda Rilla's money and possessions, making her the wealthiest Black woman in the history of the state of Oklahoma. She had miraculously survived the ordeal caused by Ben Roachman, and was currently in the best of health. She became Dewayne's closest personal friend and confidant.
Jim Simmons died a violent death at the hands of a professional gambler to whom he had owed a substantial amount of money, which he had intended to welsh on.
The ranch house maid, and Sinda's personal business secretary were both killed in a freak automobile accident at the intersection of Highways 70 and 81 near Beaver Point. The maid had been driving and had apparently fallen asleep at the wheel, striking the center median curb and entering the path of an oncoming semi tractor trailer rig. The truck had to have been traveling at a very high rate of speed to cause so much damage. The car had flipped and rolled numerous times. The two were reportedly on their way to Oklahoma City to catch a flight for Los Angeles, California. Sheriff Dewayne McClure believed it an ominous omen that the radio was still in operating condition when he arrived at the scene. The speakers were blaring at full volume, playing Sinda Rilla's song, “I'm Going To Get You!” which was one of her hits that was being played in a twenty-four hour tribute in memory of the late singer. They had to unhook one of the battery cables to shut the stereo off.
Dewayne had resigned shortly after investigating the accident. With the $500,000 that he had collected through anonymous channels for bringing Faden down, and with the help and major contributions from Kimberly, he built a combination lodge and vocational training school on the one hundred and forty acres he inherited from Faden. It was a place for children from abusive homes to live. The kids were taught how to live off of the land, and learned skills that would help them when they grew old enough to be out on their own. The main theme of the park-like place was to have fun and enjoy life. Dewayne received training on how to best manage such a place, and did so, happily. No child would ever be mistreated while at the Faden Sin River Ranch for as long as he and Kimberly lived.
Once a year, without fail, a boy would ride a bicycle, then as he grew older, a motorcycle, to the Beaver Point Cemetery. He would mow, trim, clean up, and always leave flowers and a poster of Sinda Rilla on Faden's grave. In time, he became an all-star catcher for a national baseball team. He was once seen leaving an old worn-out catcher's mitt leaning against Faden's tombstone. Inside the portion of the glove made for the index finger, there was a rolled-up signed check for the amount of six hundred dollars, made payable to one, Faden Casteel.
~—~
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