by Tell Cotten
We were transported to Huntsville in a prisoner wagon. The Texas Rangers called it a ‘tumbleweed wagon’ because the wagon wandered along aimlessly.
We picked up three other prisoners on our way. Two were convicted murderers, and the other one was a bank robber. We were all chained to the floor of the wagon, and at nighttime we were chained to the trees. If no trees were available, we were chained to the wagon wheels.
It took us several weeks to get there, and when we arrived we were sweaty, dirty, and in need of a bath.
The bouncing in that wagon didn’t help my shoulder any. But, complaining wouldn’t have done any good, so I kept my mouth shut.
Unpleasant as our trip was, the severity of our decision didn’t hit home until they slammed the gate shut at Huntsville prison.
They unloaded us, stuck us in a stonewalled room, stripped us, gave us crude haircuts, and threw buckets of cold water on us. After that they gave us a pair of striped prison clothes. We got dressed, and they made us stand in a line.
The captain of the guards came in to see us next.
He had a leathery face with a hard jaw and cold eyes. Even if he had wanted to look friendly, I doubted that he could with that face.
He wasn’t trying to look friendly now. He thrust his jaw out as he paced back and forth in front of us, and his voice had a hard ring of authority.
“My name’s Reilly Parker,” he bellowed. “From here on out, you boys belong to me. You stay on my good side and life can be pleasant. But you make me mad-,” his voice got even harder, “-then I’ll make your sorry lives so miserable you’ll wish you were dead. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir!” We all said.
“Everyone earns their keep here, and you five will be no different. You’ll work six days a week. If you behave, you’ll have Sundays off.” He paused and looked at us. “Everything goes through me. If any of you boys want to write a letter to your mama, just ask and you’ll be given pen and paper. If I approve of the letter, I’ll send it on.” He paused again and looked at the guards. “That’s all for now. Take them to their cells.”
A guard shoved me in the back. I stumbled forward, but managed to stay on my feet. Then, I hurried after the others.
We marched outside, and the sun was bright. I squinted as I looked around, and we were in the prison yard.
Other inmates stared at us while we marched across the yard. I heard a few chuckles, but I ignored them as we went back inside where the cells were.
I studied the cells as we walked down the long hallway. They were roughly eight by eight, and the walls were made out of red adobe bricks.
The guards stopped at a cell, and one of them unlocked the iron door and gestured at Brian and me. We walked in, and he slammed the door shut behind us. The sound was loud, and Brian and I both jumped.
We stood by the door and watched as they walked on down the hallway.
Soon as they were gone, we looked at each other. Brian’s face was somber and grave, and I’m sure mine looked the same way.
I turned and studied our cell.
There were four bunks; two on either side. There was a bucket in the corner, and it smelled. I figured out right quick that the bucket was our outhouse.
I suddenly noticed that we had company.
Lying in a bunk was a man. He was reading a book, and it looked like a law book of some sort.
He ignored us, and it was silent as I studied him.
He had brown hair and dark skin, and he was so thin that a stiff wind could have blown him over.
There was also a look about him that told me he was dangerous. I knew right off that he wasn’t one to mess with.
“Afternoon,” I said.
He took his eyes off the book and looked at us. His eyes were cold and hard. He studied us a moment, and he returned to his book without saying a word.
I glanced at Brian, and he looked concerned. He motioned me closer, and I leaned in so he could whisper in my ear.
“Do you know who that is?” He murmured.
I shook my head.
“That’s John Wesley Hardin!” He hissed.
I stared at Brian, and he nodded emphatically. Several seconds passed, and then I smiled.
“I’d be worried, if’n I was you,” I whispered back.
“Why’s that?”
“He once killed a man just for snoring,” I explained.
Brian’s eyes grew wide. I chuckled softly, and we walked over and sat on the bunk that was across the cell from Hardin.
We just sat there, looking at him, and Hardin continued to ignore us as he read his book.
It started to get dark about an hour later. I suddenly realized how tired I was, so I climbed into the top bunk while Brian stretched out below me.
Hardin finally shut the book and rolled over. A few minutes passed, and we could hear the steady sound of his breathing.
I glanced down at Brian, and he was wide-awake.
“Can’t sleep?” I whispered.
Brian gestured at Hardin.
“I want to make sure he’s sound asleep first.”
“Good luck with that.”
“You ain’t worried?” Brian hissed.
“I don’t snore,” I whispered back.
Chapter forty-four
No other prisoners were added to our cell, so it was just Hardin and us.
The guards let all of us prisoners out of our cells at sunup, and we were herded to the mess hall.
It was a big square room, with tables in long rows. Brian and I were at the back of the line, and I studied the other prisoners.
At least half of the inmates were dark, either Mexicans or Indians. The rest were white, except for one Chinaman.
A sour-looking cook filled our plates with scrambled eggs and two biscuits. There wasn’t any coffee, just water.
We stood there and studied the sitting arrangement. The Indians sat together, the Mexicans sat together, and the whites sat together. We found an open spot among the whites and sat down.
Nobody talked much during breakfast. Afterwards, we grabbed our plates, and as we left the mess hall we put our spoons, plates, and cups in battered tubs.
Outside in the yard the guards lined us up, and they split us up according to our different duties.
Brian and I were assigned to the brickyard. I wasn’t sure what that was, but I figured out right quick that it was where adobe bricks were made.
The Walls Unit was the nickname of the division of the prison that we were in, and the walls were made out of red adobe bricks. We soon discovered that most of the adobe bricks were made at Huntsville.
There was a big mixing trough in the middle of the yard, and next to that were the brick molds. On the other side of the trough were two wagons. One was heaped full with sand, and the other one was heaped full of reddish clay.
“You two are the mixers,” one of the guards told us. “Take your shoes off and climb into the trough.”
“What are we mixing?” I asked.
“Clay, sand, and water.”
“What do we mix with?”
“Your feet. Stomp it until it’s a thick mud, and then these other fellers will fill the molds.”
I looked at Brian and scowled, but we did as we were told.
Everyone else got in their place.
Two men climbed into the wagons and shoveled clay and sand into the trough while others poured water in. No shovels were allowed, so they had to shovel the sand with their hands. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew stood by the molds and waited.
“All right,” the guard commanded us. “Sweat never drowned anybody, so get to it!”
Brian and I started stomping with our feet. We stomped, and stomped, and stomped.
As we stomped, they poured in more water. But then it got too runny, so they shoveled in more clay and sand. But then it got too thick, so the process started all over again. Meanwhile, Brian and I stomped furiously.
We finally got the correct mixture of mud, and o
ne of the guards motioned at us.
“All right, get out of there. Soon as they get the mud into the molds we’ll start again.”
We climbed out, walked over to the water barrel, and we drank like men who had been lost in the desert for days.
Brian’s shirt was soaked with sweat, and he was panting hard. He looked at me and smiled as I gulped down more water.
“What are you smiling about?” I frowned as I wiped the sweat from my brow.
“I was just wondering,” he replied.
“Wondering what?”
“Wondering if we’re finally getting what we deserve,” he explained.
That was a depressing thought, and my face got heavy and mulish.
“Probably,” I admitted.
Chapter forty-five
It didn’t take me long to decide that I never wanted to see a brick, let alone make one, for the rest of my life.
We worked until late afternoon, and the guards finally decided that we’d made enough bricks for one day. We washed up and made our way to the mess hall.
I felt a weariness like I’d never felt before. I had worn blisters on my feet, and my legs were heavy. They hurt so bad that they even trembled as I stood in line for supper.
After supper the prisoners were allowed to stroll around the prison yard, but Brian and I went straight to our cell. Hardin was there, reading his book, but we ignored him.
I was hurting so bad that Brian had to help me climb into my bunk, and then he wearily fell into his.
A few minutes passed, and we both moaned and groaned.
“I’m too old for this,” Brian muttered.
“So am I,” I said.
“You’re twenty years younger than I am,” he retorted.
“True, but I’m catching up mighty quick.”
“What’s the plan?” Brian asked, and he must have forgotten that Hardin was there. “I don’t think I can take too much more of this.”
“What plan?” I said, and I glanced down at him and made a motion to be quiet.
Brian’s eyes grew wide, and it was silent for several tense seconds.
We heard a chuckle. We looked at Hardin, and he closed his book, sat up in his bunk, and looked sourly at us.
“Don’t tell me,” he said, and I was surprised at how educated he sounded. “You two are already planning an escape.”
“Who said anything about an escape?” I asked innocently.
“Whatever you have planned, don’t try it,” he said as he ignored my comment. “I’ve tried everything, and nothing works.”
We didn’t say anything, and Hardin continued.
“I’ve tried tunneling out from the wheelwright’s shop, I’ve made keys to the locks; I’ve even bribed the guards.”
“What went wrong?” Brian asked.
“This prison is filled with Benedict Arnolds,” Hardin said bitterly. “You’ll find that out soon enough.”
“What happened when you were caught?” I asked curiously.
“They tied my hands and feet, stretched me out, and flogged me with a strap until I was quivering and bleeding,” Hardin said, and his face was twisted in pain as he remembered back.
“Are you going to attempt another escape?” Brian asked.
Hardin laughed, but not humorously. He leaned back in his bunk, opened his book, and went back to ignoring us as he started reading.
Brian looked at me, and I just shrugged.
Chapter forty-six
Life in prison quickly became a routine. We ate breakfast, made adobe bricks, ate supper, strolled around in the prison yard, slept, and then we did it all over again the next day.
I discovered that nighttime in prison was a good time to reflect, and I took advantage of it. I thought of our hotel, Jessica, Amos and Brock; I even thought about Yancy.
But mostly, I thought about April and June. I just couldn’t forget those big, blue eyes, and they haunted me every time I tried to sleep. It was a confusing and irritating feeling.
A week passed, and we slowly got accustomed to the strenuous work. Our feet got hard and calloused, and muscles started forming in our legs that I didn’t know were even there.
During that week nobody approached us or talked to us much. We both listened, trying to figure out who Ike’s man was, but we never heard his name mentioned.
We sat alone at breakfast one morning, talking it over.
“I wonder why Ike’s man hasn’t contacted us?” Brian wondered.
“Mebbe he doesn’t know about us yet.”
“Well, somebody had better know something,” Brian grunted.
“I have a thought,” I said, and I stood abruptly.
While Brian watched curiously, I beat on the table with my hand. The chatter in the room died down, and almost everybody in the room looked at me.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” I said loudly.
I heard a few mumblings, and everyone stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.
I saw a guard walking towards me, and he held a wood truncheon in his hand.
“Sit down!” He growled.
I ignored him as I raised my cup of water.
“To Ike Nash, the greatest man in Texas!”
Nobody said anything. I took a swig of water and sat down as the guard reached us.
“Do that again, and you’ll spend a week in solitary confinement,” he said harshly.
“Yes, sir.”
The guard glared at me for a few seconds more, and then he turned and walked away. Meanwhile, all the prisoners scoffed at me and returned to their breakfast.
“What was that?” Brian hissed.
“I’m just grabbing at every straw that floats by,” I whispered back.
“So now what?”
“Now we wait and see.”
Chapter forty-seven
At the end of each month, Butch Nelson always made a trip to Empty-lake to buy supplies for the ranch.
After breakfast, he hitched up a team to the buckboard. It was a pleasant day, and he enjoyed the ride to town. He stopped at the general store and went inside.
The general store was a good place to hear the news. There was always a pot of coffee brewing on the stove in the back, and folks liked to gather there and gossip.
Today it was crowded and busy. Butch gave the clerk his list, and his mood darkened as he listened in on the chatter.
The clerk got everything gathered, and Butch paid the bill and loaded the supplies into the back of the backboard. He trotted briskly back to the ranch, tied the team to the hitching rail, and hurried inside.
Ike looked up curiously from his desk as he entered the study.
“Back so soon?”
“There’s news from town. Bad news, I’m afraid.”
“Oh?”
“It’s Yancy and Cooper Landon. They arrested Brock and Amos, and they also killed Morgan and Boyle Gant.”
Ike was startled, and an irritated look crossed his face.
“Those Landons are starting to annoy me,” he muttered, and asked, “What happened to Brock and Amos?”
“Judge Parker found them guilty.”
“Huntsville?”
“Yep.”
“That happened fast,” Ike grunted.
“What do you want to do?”
It was silent as Ike pondered that.
“I need Brock,” he finally said. “Go ahead and make the usual arrangements.”
“How ’bout Amos?”
“Might as well.”
“I’ll get it done,” Butch said.
He started to leave the room, but Ike called out and stopped him.
“I received word from Ron Gallegan, and he’s coming to see me in a couple of weeks. We’ll use the hotel as our meeting place. I want Ron to be treated with the upmost respect.”
“I’ll make sure Jeremiah understands,” Butch said, and then he asked, “Isn’t Ron that politician from back east?”
“That’s right,” Ike nodded. “We’ve got important busin
ess to discuss.”
Butch was curious, but he knew not to ask any more questions. He was silent, hoping Ike would explain, but he didn’t.
“That’s all,” Ike told him instead.
Butch nodded curtly and left the study.
Chapter forty-eight
That evening after supper, Brian and I walked around the prison yard. It was cool and pleasant. Prisoners were spread all about, and nobody paid us any attention.
Reilly Parker, the captain of the guards, strolled around the yard with his truncheon in hand. Several of the inmates had written letters, and this was the time that Reilly usually collected them.
Reilly stuffed all the letters into his pocket, and then he walked over to us. He waited while the closest prisoners to us drifted away, and then he lowered his voice.
“I heard you mentioned Ike Nash’s name at breakfast,” his voice was curt.
I was startled, but I recovered quickly.
“That’s right,” I nodded. “We work for him.”
“Is that so?”
“Sure is,” I said, and asked, “Do you know Ike?”
“No, I’ve never met him,” he said. It was quiet, and he added, “But, I’ve done some work for him from time to time.”
I studied his face, but his expression revealed nothing.
“Can you get us out of here?” I finally asked.
He grunted.
“Look. I don’t know what you boys think you know, but I haven’t heard anything about you two yet. If word comes, I’ll let you know. Until then, you boys are nothing to me. So keep your mouth shut and don’t be mentioning Ike Nash again.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
He scowled at us and moved on, and Brian glanced at me.
“I think we found our man,” he said softly.
“Looks like it,” I agreed.
“Now what?” Brian asked.
“I’m not sure,” I frowned.
“Can’t we just send word to Yancy?” Brian looked hopeful.
“Sure,” I replied sarcastically. “We’ll write Yancy a letter, give it to Reilly, and hope he doesn’t read it.”