Sentinels

by Matt Manochio

  “I can.” Harrison trailed Noah to the rear of the building and its jail cells.

  Noah thanked and dismissed the two soldiers guarding the door fronting the cell room and then entered with Harrison.

  Beasley, smelling of boozy foulness, rested on the slender, metal-framed bed bolted to the cell’s floor. A flat, dingy mattress provided little comfort or support. A metal bucket full of water rested next to the bed. A wooden cup stood next to it and appeared dry. Nurse Yarnell, sitting on a three-legged stool, rose to greet the lawmen.

  “How’s your patient?” Noah watched Culliver’s belly rise and fall in the cell next to Beasley’s as he slept on a thin mattress that featured its first clean sheet in years. A second white sheet covered Culliver from his ankles to neck. Blood stained the sheet near the Klansman’s abdomen.

  “He’s full of morphine right now. His fall to the ground busted open his stitches. Doc did a quick suture on him at the scene and I sewed him up here. He won’t wake up for a while.”

  “Think he can hear us?” It was Harrison.

  “I sincerely doubt it,” she said.

  “Do you mind stepping outside while we discuss matters with this other upstanding gentleman?” Noah motioned to the snoring, stinking Beasley. “Feel free to wait out front or go to the doc’s if need be. One of us’ll come find you when it’s time.”

  “Thank you—I thought you’d never ask.” Yarnell barreled between the lawmen to escape the sleeping wretches.

  “Rise and shine in there,” Noah called, and then as an aside to Harrison, “Please go find the key.”

  Harrison left and Noah shook the cell door with his hands to startle Beasley, whose mouth slacked agape, and whose rhythmic snores were distorted by his nose’s spastic wrinkling.

  Harrison returned and unlocked the cell door. Noah pulled it open and walked toward the sleeping man. He lifted his boot and nudged Beasley’s shoulder. The body jiggled but stayed asleep.

  “Harrison, see if you can find a mop.”

  “What do you want a mop—”

  Noah picked up the bucket and poured its contents onto Beasley’s head, making certain the water flowed down his gullet and into his nostrils. He flailed his limbs and sputtered for breath.

  “Christ almighty!” Beasley croaked and sat up, launching into a coughing fit.

  “I’ll go look for a mop,” Harrison said.

  “Wait.” Noah handed him the bucket. “Bring some more water too. Maybe he’ll drink it on his own this time.”

  Water dripped from all parts of Beasley’s drenched beard and pooled into a murky brew of dirt, snot and sweat at the bedside. The drunkard shook his head like a dog ridding itself of bathwater.

  “Can’t say I appreciate that.” Noah wiped water off his clothes.

  “You ain’t supposed to, dickhead. Am I supposed to appreciate you trying to drown an incapacitated man while he sleeps? What’s your deal?” Beasley wiped water from his eyes.

  “What’d you see this morning by the doc’s place?”

  “Like I told the other guy—”

  “I already know what you told the other guy. Maybe things are a little less foggy now that you’ve had a chance to sleep on it.”

  Harrison returned and placed a fresh pail of water in front of Beasley and then began cleaning up the spill with a bunch of large rags.

  “Couldn’t find a mop,” Harrison said. “These’ll have to do.”

  Noah turned his attention away from Beasley and grabbed the wooden cup to scoop fresh water from the bucket.

  “Would you care to drink this the normal way?” Noah jiggled the cup and Beasley snatched it and drank.

  “That’s better. Now, let’s say you and I talk about these men you saw this morning. You saw two or three of them?”

  Beasley help up one finger to kill some time as he greedily gulped the water.

  “Three.” He took the cup from his mouth and went for more water. Noah didn’t stop him. “Three guys. Real skinny from the way their clothes hung.”

  “You could see how their clothes fit from where you were?”

  “I was sitting on the porch by the mercantile, feeling all good, you know. I spotted the soldiers in front of the doc’s house, just standing there.” Beasley placed the cup next to the bucket. “Then out of nowhere they get bum-rushed. These two guys charge them, and each one grabbed a soldier’s head, and”—Beasley loudly clapped his hands once for effect—“rammed ’em together. They plopped to the ground like shit from a horse’s ass. Just, plop.”

  He laughed at his own joke before reaching for the water cup.

  Noah seized Beasley’s arm. “There was porch light at the doc’s place, I know it. So what else happened?”

  Harrison had stopped toweling and squatted in place before Beasley, more interested in his story than anything else. Noah freed Beasley so he could drink.

  “Much obliged.” Beasley downed a third cup of water and went for a fourth. “As I was saying, the two fellers who laid out the men on the porch then ran around back, carrying the soldiers with them, but before they did, I saw a third one beat ’em to the punch. Same build, just scampered back there.”

  “You said they carried them?” Noah said. “Like one took a soldier by the arms, the other by his legs and they lugged him into the back?”

  “Nossir, each feller picked up a soldier and flung him over his shoulder, like he was carrying a sack of grain. Did it quick-like too.”

  Noah looked at Harrison, who thought the same thing.

  “These men must’ve been pretty strong to do that, don’t you think?” Noah continued.

  Beasley let loose a long, deep burp, which wafted over to Noah and then Harrison. Both did their best to ignore it.

  “Ah, that’s better,” Beasley said. “Yep, they must’ve been strong like the elephants. Only they wasn’t built like elephants—maybe their tusks. I told you they was skinny.”

  “Any of them look at you?” Harrison asked.

  “Looked in my direction, sure. I don’t think they saw me. No light around me.”

  “What’d their faces look like?” Noah said.

  “Didn’t have any.”

  “What? Make sense, boy. Or I take away the water.”

  “I am making sense, boy. I couldn’t see none of their faces. Even with the light. It’s not like they challenged me to a staring contest. They was moving quick, like they had a hot date with a whore. And they were wearing hats and hoods, so it made their heads darker.”

  “Hoods? Like Klan hoods?” Noah said.

  “Near as I could figure. At least one of them was.”

  “Klan taking revenge on the Army for what happened at the Elkton farm?” Harrison said.

  “But why hang Culliver if he was one of their own?” Noah said. “Maybe they were freedmen?”

  “Why would niggers attack the soldiers that freed them?” Beasley said.

  Noah smacked him to get his attention. “Knock it off. You hear me?” Beasley fluttered his eyelids, not sure of why Noah slapped him. He let it sink into the man’s whisky-stained skull.

  “Now, answer my question. Were they black?”

  “Black? White? I can’t say, maybe they was wearing masks? That might make sense. I mean, wouldn’t you want to hide yourself as best you could?”

  “Obviously, yes.” Noah’s frustration grew. “They say anything to each other? Could you hear?”

  “No words. Just grunts. Like when they was lifting up the soldiers. But they didn’t carry on any meaningful dialogue like we are at this moment.” Beasley smiled.

  “And then what?”

  “Well, I heard some trees rustling and then gunfire. That spooked them all to run away. Two were already up front waiting for their buddy in the back. All three ran out of town a few seconds after the gun blasts. That’s
when the fourth one came by.”

  “You said you only saw three,” Noah said.

  “I hadn’t gotten that far along yet to tell you what I seen. You gotta learn to be patient, boy.”

  Harrison couldn’t suppress his laugh. Noah looked at him with a “Really?” expression.

  “The fourth guy walked down Main Street all cocksure like. That one had knives. I could tell. Saw the shapes. Big ones like the clowns juggle at the circus. The other three guys had long poles with them. Those boys dropped them so they could attack the soldiers, then picked up the poles in one hand and lugged the Army boys over their shoulders using the other.” Beasley mimicked the movements with his arms.

  “They had rifles?” Noah said.

  “Boy, I shot rifles before. I ain’t shot poles. One of the poles had points on the end.”

  “Like a pitchfork?” Noah said. “They were carrying tools?”

  “Poles with tools on the end? I suppose that could be it. One of them looked like a big letter L.”

  “Pitchfork, reaping scythe, just like what probably killed the Klansmen the other night,” Harrison said.

  “I guess the fourth guy was there to finish the job. He walked in—this one actually talked, and I heard the other feller reply.”

  Noah grabbed both Beasley’s shoulders and shook. “What’d he say?”

  “Dunno. But I heard two distinct voices. It was American, that’s for sure. And then I heard screaming moments later. That’s when I ran.”

  “Where’d you run?”

  “I don’t know, boy. I ran for my life! I didn’t whip out a map and plot a course. I ran to get the hell out of there.”

  “Was the fourth man wearing a mask?” Noah said.

  “Couldn’t tell. His back was to me the entire time. Wore a cowboy hat like some of the other skinny fellers. He looked a little more built than the other three, I can tell you that. Maybe that’s why he went in last, just in case things got hairy. Some added muscle. Seemed to have worked.” Beasley paused and dropped the attitude. “Sorry about Sheriff Cole. He may have locked me up a bunch of times, but he was always polite about it. You could learn a thing or two from him. Like not smacking people.”

  “Only when they deserve it.” Noah stood to leave. “Keep drinking your water.”

  “Ain’t you gonna dry my clothes?”

  “Heat’ll dry them for you.” Noah waited for Harrison to complete his final few wipes before leaving the cell with the sheets.

  “You rest a bit more,” Noah said. “Oh, and thank you, Beasley.”

  “See, that wasn’t so hard.” Beasley reclined on the mattress.

  Noah closed the door.

  “So much for putting up ‘wanted’ signs.” Harrison stood with Noah in the lobby.

  “We could post something asking people to keep an eye out for four men wearing cowboy hats and perhaps Klan hoods,” Noah said.

  “That narrows it down to half the population of this town.”

  “We gotta put something up, if only to warn folks that some really bad people are out there,” Noah said.

  “I don’t think signs will be necessary for that.”

  “You know what I mean, Harrison. People’ll want information. I think it’s best to give them what we can. I’ll go to the mercantile.”

  “Shouldn’t you check with Sheriff Clement first?”

  “I suppose so, but I won’t. It’s what Sheriff Cole or any other competent sheriff would do. Clement even said it himself—people will want an explanation. So we’ll let folks know what we want them to know, just not everything. If the nurse ain’t out front I’ll find her and send her back. Watch over Culliver in the meantime. Maybe he’ll be awake by the time I get back.”

  “He didn’t stir a bit while we were interrogating Beasley. I think he’ll still be asleep when you return.”

  “Watch him all the same.” Noah left Harrison to mind the concerned townspeople who ducked in from time to time. He walked down Main Street and stopped when he saw Toby Jenkins pacing in front of the Tavern.

  He talking to himself? Noah thought. The man’s agitation became apparent when he halted his circular route in front of the Tavern’s entrance and punched a support beam holding the building’s awning in place.

  Toby stomped toward Noah, almost over him, as the deputy sidestepped him to let him pass.

  “What’s wrong, Toby? Slow down,” Noah called to the man’s backside.

  “Can’t. Got to figure out something.” Toby kept walking.

  Noah jogged to catch up and stopped Toby by standing in front of him, not moving.

  “Please, Deputy, I ain’t got the time for this.”

  “What do you know? What was all that about back there at the Tavern?”

  The men stood eye to eye, their noses practically touching. Noah removed his Stetson so the brim wouldn’t rub against Toby’s forehead. Neither seemed bothered by the closeness, as they were too preoccupied by the unexplained to feel self-conscious. Sounds of horse-drawn wagons and the shuffling of busy feet, even the railroad locomotive’s whistle, went unheard as they spoke.

  “I don’t know what happened to Sheriff Cole, honest to God,” Toby said. “He was a good man.”

  “But you know what happened to those soldiers and that Klansman?”

  “Never said that. I’m just glad the soldiers are alive.”

  “But not the Klansman?” Noah needled Toby, whose eyes glared at the deputy with shock in place of anger.

  “He’s not dead? Word around town was he was hanged.”

  “He was, but the rope split,” Noah said. “Managed to cheat the Reaper twice.”

  Toby stepped back. “Got to get back to work. Corn’s ripe for picking.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing here in the first place? You didn’t buy anything. I’m going to the mercantile to buy supplies and I’ll ask the shopkeeper whether you came in to pay off a debt—which I sincerely doubt. I’ll go to the bank to see if you did any business there.”

  Toby eyed him accusingly but thought better of escalating the situation.

  “Noah, come inside and sit down with me.” Toby didn’t wait for a response and walked back to the Tavern, holding open its door, waving for Noah to enter.

  “I can’t drink on the job.”

  “You can drink water, can’t you? It’ll take but a minute or two. No sense in us clogging up the walkways, right?”

  Noah acquiesced and the two took a table in the far end of the mostly uninhabited bar. Toby brought over a glass of water and clanked it down in front of Noah.

  “There, it’s on me.”

  “He charged you for water?”

  “Course not.” Toby laughed and took his seat from across Noah. “What place have you ever gone to where they made you pay for water? I think there’s a law against it. Drink up. You’re sweating.”

  “I see you wanted something a little harder.”

  Toby held up a double shot of whisky as if toasting.

  “You’ll pardon me for saying there are better things to drink for breakfast,” Noah said.

  “You’re pardoned.” Toby threw back enough booze to make his body take notice and left enough in the glass to make the conversation bearable. “And there are worse things, too. I’m having a glass. Those men at the bar”—Toby, glass in hand, pointed at the groaning, hunched masses—“they’re having bottles. I’d say I’m being the responsible one. Besides, sometimes a man needs a drink for no other reason than he needs one. Now, as the English might say, old chap: Cheers.” Toby took another swig.

  “Right.” Noah gulped until the glass was empty.

  “Want another?” Toby asked.

  “No, thank you. You said this would only take a minute or two. Time’s already up and I’ve got work to do.”

  “Good thin
g about being your own boss—you decide when you’re on the job. I’m off the clock right now. So keep your drawers on. Let the juice work its magic.”

  “You drink like this every morning?”

  “Every now and then when I’m in town.” Toby looked at him cockeyed. “I’m a grown man, Noah. I know my limit. ” Toby slouched back in his chair and looked around to make sure no eavesdroppers were listening. Satisfied none lingered, he turned serious.

  “Snoop all you want. I had nothing to do with any of those boys at the doc’s.”

  Noah mirrored Toby’s demeanor. “Then why’d you come down here? To look at them? To see how three of them had their skulls bashed in? You’re taking a mighty strong interest in something you know nothing about.”

  Toby remained relaxed but he never lost eye contact. He took a long drink before replying.

  “Can’t a man be concerned about his town’s well-being, Noah?”

  “Of course he can. He should. But that’s got nothing to do with what we’re talking about.”

  “Really?” Toby smiled upon realizing he hadn’t passed along his best to the deputy. “Congratulations on your little boy, by the way. Word spreads fast.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  Toby hadn’t meant to emotionally disarm Noah, but it worked.

  “Fatherhood leads to my point, Noah. It probably ain’t happened yet, and only barely if it has, and that’s this: Pretty soon you’re gonna wonder just what the hell kind of world have I brought my boy into? It all starts with this town—any town, really. How will it treat him once he becomes familiar with the folks living here? Your boy don’t have to worry about being called a nigger, or being lynched, or worry about men wearing hoods, carrying torches. Mine will, and sooner than I’d like. Soon enough so that his childhood’ll be spent learning he’s hated for no earthly good reason. And that’s only going to increase the love you feel for him. You’re going to discover something—hell, I’m going through it myself. That love you feel for that little person cannot be realized by people who don’t have children. It can’t. Sometimes it’s a joy you feel just by looking at him sleeping, other times it’s melancholy because there’s only so much you can do to protect him from the monsters of the world, and you might not be there for him when he needs you most. It’s a responsibility that enlivens me and terrifies me, Noah. It does something awful. I think of my own mortality, wanting to live long enough to know I done right for him. Now I understand what drove my father to protect me as a boy—especially when the white man took me.”