“What’s the other?” I asked.
I shouldn’t have said nothing, and the way I said it was disrespectful. It wasn’t the words, it was the attitude. Like maybe he had become a cocksucker for money and I knowed it and was going to offer him two bits for the service.
Hubert said, “You let that boy talk to me like that?”
“He’s man-sized,” Mr. Loving said. “He had a question, and he asked it. Fact is, I’m curious. What is the other job you got? Is one of them distilling?”
“I give up the bottle,” he said. “And actually, it’s another job. I’ve become a field driver.”
Now, this ain’t a term I hear much anymore, but it was a fellow that rounded up loose stock, even dogs and cats, and stored them in a corral or pound at the edge of town. You was missing an animal, went over there and found it, you got it back for a fee. There was always the problem that some of the critters ended up in the pound hadn’t been loose to begin with and had been made loose, so to speak, due to that fee for their return. And if the stock wasn’t claimed, it ended up in the field driver’s smokehouse. Dogs and cats might not last longer than an evening due to the feed bills and the smaller fee. Field driving could be a sketchy business.
“Field driver isn’t a job,” Mr. Loving said, and I thought his tone was far more disrespectful than mine had been. “Anyone can round up a neighbor’s lost stock, and a righteous person won’t ask him for a dime to get it back.”
“I’m not here to debate the merits of my professions,” said Hubert. “I’m here to promote hog killing.”
“I can kill a hog,” Mr. Loving said.
“A dog can kill a hog,” Hubert said, “but if you bring them in, I’ll kill them, cut them, and smoke the meat, and you will be entitled to so many pounds of it. I will keep a bit of it for my troubles and for resale.”
“So I bring the hog to you, you kill it, take part of the meat, and smoke it? What have you done that I can’t do?”
“Why, I have saved you time, sir.”
“How do I know I’m getting my meat back?”
“That isn’t the issue,” Hubert said.
“It is with me.”
“We add up the pounds of your hogs, mark out what my portion is to be, and when you want that meat, you come in and shop for your other things, which you can put some meat toward, and if you want the meat, I’ll give you what you have coming. I also got a couple niggers who can make head cheese and such, and you’ll be entitled to some of that. It don’t matter if it’s your hog. What matters is you are entitled to a certain percentage of meat from a hog or to exchange it for goods.”
“I raise good hogs,” Mr. Loving said. “There’s folks aplenty who don’t. I don’t want some wormy critter with more bones than meat or one that’s nothing but fat. For that matter, I just don’t want no one else’s hog. You being the field driver, I might end up with a dog leg and a cat liver in place of the hog I brought to you. No, I’m going to decline with a degree of prejudice. I’ll kill my own hogs, or this boy here will do it for me, but thanks for the offer.”
“It would sure make your life easier,” Hubert said, trying to maintain his politeness but giving me the still-curious eye. “I been going around to all the farms, and I will swear to you that over half of the folks have made the agreement.”
“Slate me down for the half that hasn’t,” Mr. Loving said.
Hubert worked his top lip like he was trying to persuade a fly to get off of it, then said, “That’s the way you want it, of course. Can’t blame a fellow for asking.”
Hubert had become quite the politician. If Mr. Loving had told him to eat shit, he’d have said he already had a mouthful.
Hubert mulled me over. “I seen you somewhere before?”
“You haven’t,” Mr. Loving said before I could answer. “He came from over in Jacksonville looking for a job, and I hired him. He isn’t looking to work nowhere else.”
“I wasn’t looking to hire him on. It’s like I said. I think I know him from somewhere. You know me, boy?”
“No, sir,” I said.
At this point Mr. Loving started indicating in an almost polite manner that he was anxious for Hubert to get on his way so that he could go back to his fire and nurse his ailment. Hubert bid Mr. Loving good day and didn’t bid me sour apples. He walked out to his horse, which he had tied out front to a hitching post. Me and Mr. Loving walked there with him, which was an old custom designed not so much out of politeness but out of a plan to make sure your visitor wasn’t going to his horse to pull a gun.
Hubert got on his beast and sat there for a moment. It was then, me looking up at him and him down on me, that I saw a change in his face. He had remembered who I was. I blame my ears for it. They are memorable, and with me looking up, my hat and hair didn’t hide my ears like before. I still had that bucket with the LeMat in it, and I wanted badly to pull it and blow his brains all over that horse, but I didn’t. He didn’t make any kind of move, either. If he had, before I could have got in that bucket or Hubert could have got his pistol free of that clinging leather holster he wore, Mr. Loving would have yanked that Colt and put a hole in him. He’d have been dead before he hit the ground.
“I think maybe you and me crossed some trouble once,” Hubert said to me.
“I doubt that,” I said.
“You remind me of a nigger that had a problem in town.” I guess he thought rephrasing the remark would get the answer he wanted, but I was harder to corral than that.
“Wasn’t me,” I said.
“Wasn’t him,” Mr. Loving said. “It’s time you rode on, Hubert. I’m worn out with looking at and listening to you. I got a farm to run.”
Hubert boiled Mr. Loving’s words around for a while.
“They got a word for a man like you, you know,” Hubert said.
“And what would that be?” Mr. Loving said.
“Nigger lover,” Hubert said.
“Now you’ve said it, and now you’re through,” Mr. Loving said. “Ride on.”
Hubert wanted to say something more but proved himself smarter than I expected. He reined his horse away from us and started it at a trot down the road.
Mr. Loving turned to me, said, “He recognized you for sure.”
“Yes, sir. He did.”
“He’ll be back, and with Ruggert and some others with sheets over their heads.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ll save you some trouble and clear out.”
“He’ll go into town and let it be known you’re here. They’ll be on you like stink on shit, as that wanted poster on you is still out there, though it’s dusty in the post office.”
“I know,” I said.
It all settled down on me like a hawk on a mouse. I realized that I had put Mr. Loving in a tight spot. I had no choice but to go on. I said as much.
Mr. Loving said, “Well, he’s got a good trip into town, and that horse he was riding sure won’t be confused for a runner. But you need to get your things together and ride out, not because I want you to go, but because you got to, for your own safety.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“We can stand together and fight them,” he said, “and we’ll mess them up a lot, but in the end they’ll just keep coming after that reward money, which will probably go up another hundred by the time Hubert gets through telling how you’re out here and all.”
“Them Kluxers ain’t going to like you none, either,” I said.
“I’ll be okay, but you won’t.”
By this time it had cooled just a little. The sun was dipping its head behind the trees, and the shadows was falling.
“You’ll need to take more than one horse, and in fact you can take two, plus one to ride on. If you remember your math lessons, which have been a trial to you, that’s three.”
“Them’s your horses, Mr. Loving. And they’re good horses, and it’ll cost you considerable to let me have them.”
“I know that,” he said. “You think I
don’t know that? You’ll need those extra two to sell for seed money along the way. Keep the runner to ride. I’ll go draw you up a bill of sale, which will make things easier for you. Meet me at the sitting tree in about twenty minutes, which I figure is all you’ll need to throw your things together. Take just what you need, and gather up them horses. I know it’ll be hard for you to leave that dresser and mirror, but you got to.”
Mr. Loving went coughing into the house, the blanket hanging over his shoulders in a way that made him look like an old Indian squaw. I went out to the loft. I had come to this place with a pocket watch, an old horse—now dead, having not made the first winter—and here I was leaving with a horse to ride and two to sell. I guess it was a profit in a way, but it wasn’t something I felt good about. I didn’t want to leave Mr. Loving. I loved that man about as much as I had loved my ma and pa.
I packed my saddlebags. Lean as I tried to trim it, there was quite a bit of goods, including some food I had for late-night nibbling—bread and jerky and a few boiled eggs wrapped in a paper bag. I rolled up some clothes and other items in my bedroll. I put those nice boots Mr. Loving gave me, along with some nicer clothes and a coat, in another roll.
Following Mr. Loving’s advice, I took the three best horses, saddling one, using another for a pack horse, and using still another as a change-out horse if I needed it.
I was just starting to head up to the sitting tree when I heard the shot. I closed the horses back up in the corral and ran up to the tree. Mr. Loving was there in his chair, his head tossed back, staring at the fresh stars. I could see his eyes was open. I could see starlight in them.
Nervous-like, I come up on him and seen his hand was hanging by his side, and in it was that little pistol, dangling there from one finger, him having put a load into his head right behind the ear. I looked him over, then I yelled at the sky, and then I screamed, and then I dropped to my knees and cried. I was so mad I hit him in the leg once.
The grief I felt isn’t something I can describe with words. All I can say is that it was akin to how I had felt when Ma died and Pa was murdered, only maybe a little worse, because it seemed no matter where I was in life, someone I cared about was going to die on me.
It was then I saw there was a big envelope in his lap. It had my name on the front of it. I opened it up, and three letters spilled out. One said simply that he had taken his own life and that I was not to blame, and it had his signature on it. He left all his worldly goods to what he called a solicitor, which is nothing but a ten-dollar word for a goddamn lawyer.
Opening up the second, there was a bill of sale for the horses, and some other items was listed, them being pretty much the things I had packed on the horses and some things I had chosen not to bother with but would have taken with me had I had the room. He knew me well.
There was another letter, and that was the one to me. I read it in the moonlight. It said:
Willie,
If you asked me if I’d done this a couple of years ago, I would have said no; it is the coward’s way out. But my trips to town have also included trips to the physician, and I have a cancer big as a dry horse turd inside of me, or so says my sawbones, and a litany of health problems that assure me of a soon acquaintance with the grave.
I did not want you to see me in that state of waste, and though I know there is discomfort to you in me taking this method to depart, please understand I did it because I can no longer protect you, and the pain was such I couldn’t wait another minute. I thought I’d wait until you left, but I couldn’t, and so I’m going to do it.
They will come, and you must go. They will blame you for my death, but I have left notes and my will with my solicitor, a Mr. G. O. Freemont, to be opened after my death. The letter stating my suicide will be announced about town, so it will be understood that I died by my own hand. I told him that any day I would take this way out, and that I was leaving my goods to a young man who worked for me, who may in fact have to take to the road.
I told him you had been accused of a crime but were innocent. I have known him for years, and he can be trusted. He is my cousin. I gave him all the information he needs. It assures this farm and all its assets will be sold and that the money will be banked in your real name. You had better take another handle for a time, and upon your return it would be best if you showed him this letter to confirm your claim, though other identification may be necessary.
Now, you look just fine, but I told him about your ears so you can be recognized whenever you show. Make sure it isn’t anytime soon. Keep the ears covered on the trail, because you will be identified with them sure as shit. G.O. is a fairly young man, looks healthy, so I’m expecting him to be around when you set your sights back on this part of the world.
Look under my chair and see the bucket there. It has the Colt and the LeMat, which I have placed in a holster that won’t grab at the gun when you pull it. Also in there is ammunition for all the weapons, including some shotgun loads. You will find the Winchester leaning against the tree. The Colt ammunition fits it. I have sighted it some since you last used it. Stay firm in life and know you’re as good as anyone else, but don’t take to anger too much, as it will be your undoing, especially if you got a gun on you. Wear a wide-brimmed hat in the sun, as I have taught you, because your ears, even with black skin, will take a sunburn.
I’m tired now, and I see you out at the corral, so I got to finish this up and shoot myself in the head. Make sure all the livestock is good and fed, and when word gets out I’m dead, my solicitor will come out and manage the sale of all items. Head out west, but go east first. Cross the draw and cut back to the west when you get past Pine Ridge.
Leave me here in the chair. They will do what they do with my corpse, which they can have, it being of little use to me or them at this point.
You are as a son to me, Willie, and I give you my dearest and loving wishes as would a father. Ride like hell.
P.S. Be careful of women. They can cause you trouble.
I folded up the letters with trembling hands and put them back in the envelope. Gathering up the guns, ammunition, and holster, I went down to the corral and loaded up the weapons on my riding horse. I put the loop-cock Winchester in the saddle sheath. I put some of the ammunition on the pack horse. I fastened on the holster with the LeMat in it. I fed all the stock quickly. They would be all right for a couple of days. Of course, there was nothing that said the wrong people wouldn’t take them, but there was nothing I could do about it. I considered letting all the stock go free, but decided that wasn’t a better idea than leaving them, but to this day I feel guilty about it.
The moon laid a bright path over the ground. It was good for me to see by, but it was good for anyone following as well. I set out east, like Mr. Loving had said. It wasn’t long until I was on a path through the pines. It was the same way I had come to the farm some few years back. Soon I was in the swamp water, going toward Pine Ridge. If all things went well and I wasn’t castrated and hanged by morning, I would be striking out hard for the far west.
6
During the night, as I was making my way through the pines and into the swamp water before cutting westward, I was worried as could be. Sometime near morning I realized I was being followed, and I come to the thought that Ruggert and his men was closing in on me. I had all them horses with me, and that slowed me a lot. I thought about letting them go save for the one I was riding, but thinking on how them beasts was gifts from Mr. Loving, and how much care me and him had put into them, I just couldn’t. Instead I determined I might have to stop somewhere and just fight it out before I let them loose.
It turned out what I heard behind me was a wild hog tramping about, and I was glad then I had kept hold of the horses. I stopped during the day in a cluster of trees that didn’t have but one way in, which was a little narrow trail. The trees was packed up tight together in a big mess on a hill, and vines and brambles and stickers had twisted in there among them, making them like a fence.
Tying off the horses, I went into the trees first on foot, seen that the center was clear of growth. It was blackened there where lightning had hit, burned trees flat so quick the fire hadn’t spread. I got the horses and led them inside the clearing.
I took a chance, removed the saddle off my riding horse so as to give it some comfort, and took the pack goods off the other. It was risky. Should someone come up on me and I had to make a retreat or a fight of it, there wouldn’t be time to put everything back the way it was supposed to be, and the only way out, other than trying to push through thick limbs and tight brambles, was the way I had come in. So I was hid pretty good, but I was also trapped if I was trailed there. It didn’t matter none to me right then. I was tuckered out. I hobbled and fed the horses some grain and let them drink water I poured from my canteen into my hat. I had a simple meal myself, a strip of jerky and a chunk of salt bread.
Stretched out there on my blanket on the ground, my head on the saddle for a pillow, I was feeling about as low as a man could feel. Right then I could have walked under a fat snake’s belly wearing a top hat and tall-heel boots. I tried to think of the good times me and Mr. Loving had, about the cooking and reading and all that, but it wasn’t any use. I could at that point only remember him dead under the sitting tree with that little pistol dangling from his finger.
My plan was to sleep through the days and start out again when the nights came, provided the nights was bright enough to travel by. When I come awake it was firm dark. I could see the stars glimmering between the gaps in the treetops. I lay there and took them in for a while, still feeling lonesome and scared. I had me another piece of jerky and the last of the bread, grained the horses, watered them a little, and then set out.
I went along like that for three days. Traveling by night, sleeping by day, keeping to the wild country as much as possible. I guess it was on the fourth day I decided they wasn’t right on my trail and had maybe never found it to begin with. It was then that I started to keep regular hours. Traveling by day, camping by night. Eventually I rode into a town that was pretty much the border between East Texas and the beginning of the Texas plains. At the livery I was able to sell one of the horses for a fair price.
Paradise Sky Page 6