The Which Way Tree

by Elizabeth Crook

  Me and Mr Hildebrand had a good talk. He is a freethinker and will not entertain a notion unless it can be proved. He does not believe in a all mighty god, on account of there is not a good deal of proof of him. Amongst other things, Mr Hildebrand said I am a lucky young man to be friendly with a person of your stature, as you are known to be a honest judge and a good man. He said the government in Austin has got a bunch of idiots. That is a exact quote. He said I could tell you he said so. Notwithstanding you were known for a Union man, he said nobody in his right mind of either persuasion would sign up to run against you in the coming up election, as you are well liked and it would be a waste of their time, and nobody these days has time they aught to be wasting, as we have all got work to do. I was glad to hear him say so many good things about you.

  I told him I was sorry there was not another letter from you. However, he said it makes sense, as you are a long way off. He showed me a map of counties you was to visit and the route you apprised him of a while back. Also we agreed you might be having all kinds of trouble from Indians and robbers, not even to mention the usual hazards. I hope you are safe, sir.

  Whilst on the matter of Indians, I have good news to pass along. You might recall, as it was talked about, what happened to the Gilmore family last year when Mrs Gilmore and her daughter went out in a buggy to call on friends and pick up the mail and was attacked by Indians. If you have not heard about it, I am sorry to tell you it was not a good end they come to. The faithful horse come hauling the buggy back home with the mother and girl in it, though they was passed. The mother had her throat cut ear to ear and the girl’s head was cleaved off. The family figured the Indians had hold of it, but after a better look in the buggy they seen it under the seat. That must of been a terrible sight to behold. However, the good news of recent days is that Mr Gilmore has got some revenge at last. He come across Indian tracks and followed them and found three Indians off their mounts and having a rest, and he dispatched them. No matter if the Indians he killed was the very same that murdered his wife and daughter, he said they would do. He is aiming to get more men and hunt down more Indians, as that is his main purpose in life as it now stands. I should probably not tell you that, as you are a judge and Uncle Sam has forbid folks to raise arms on account of the troubles that taken place when folks done so before. So enough about that.

  You will see in this report that I have started up where I left off. It was troublesome to write and took up good portions of five days, as I was at it before daylight and after dark whilst I was cramped at a small table and wrote with a quill that is nearly wore out. Sam has been pestering me to read her what I wrote. She is not a good reader herself. I have not taken the time to teach her. What has she ever done for me. If I was to read her my report she would not like things I have said about her. She would deny them and put up a quarrel and then claim she come out the victor. She is unpleasant to deal with. However, that is off the topic at hand.

  I hope you are having good travels and bringing justice to lots of folks. I will send this report tomorrow and write more later. I could do so faster with a good pen. However, I have only quills.

  Yours kindly,

  Benjamin Shreve

  MY TESTAMENT

  Clarence Hanlin was a mess to lay eyes on under the big bur oak, wearing that dress he had got on that was lacking the buttons on account of the ill treatment of two men now having wore it. You would not believe all the blood that come out of his finger. It was like the fishes and loaves. He kept trying to sop it up with the rag. He tried sticking his hand up high and squeezing the finger. However, that just made the blood come pouring down his arm. I was astonished he had any left. The squeezing made him holler, as it hurt a great deal. He was barefoot but for his socks. He had got his soggy plug of tobacco stuffed in a pocket of the dress, but who would want it. He did not try to get his gone finger out of the dirt, though I thought he would do so, as he did look at it. He said goddamn it a number of times.

  The Mexican told Sam to come down out of the tree, and she done so. When Clarence Hanlin seen her face, he yelled goddamn, she’s a goddamn witch. Look at her face.

  The Mexican took a good long look at her face. It was a serious look. He said, She is not a witch, she is cat-marked.

  Sam didn’t pay any mind to Hanlin, on account of she had her pride. She got the nanny goat out of the rope tangle and took her off to the house, as if nothing at all was amiss. I think the nanny was pleased to be shed of the place, as flies was after her teats and her kid stank from being passed.

  I asked the Mexican, What would you have me do.

  He said, Who is the girl.

  I owned that she was my half sister.

  He asked if she was on her way to our house.

  I told him yes, it was yonder and she was headed that direction.

  He said Clarence Hanlin and myself was to follow behind her. We done so. The Mexican followed behind us with the pistols. When we got to the house Sam taken the nanny to the pen and did not look back at us. I think she felt bad about her looks after the fuss Hanlin made, although she did not let on about it. She knew for a fact they was not right looks, but it is one matter to know such a thing and make your peace with it, and another entire matter to be scoffed at by the likes of Clarence Hanlin.

  The Mexican told Hanlin and me to enter the house, and he come in after us. He aimed his pistol at Hanlin the whole time. He taken his hat off when he come in. Hanlin did not have a hat, as the prisoner had gone off wearing it.

  I had forgotten how bad the house appeared until I seen it from their standpoint. It smelled bad too. Our pots was ate off of and dirty. I can’t even think what Juda would say about the bugs and whatnot. We had mice shat all over the place. We had pig shat on the floor and chicken shat on the bed. There was a infestation of scorpions that I thought Hanlin might step on, as he was barefoot but for his socks. However, what did I care.

  I told the Mexican, I am sorry about the condition you have found us in. We have not cleaned up in a while.

  He asked where our folks was.

  I told him they was passed.

  Clarence Hanlin said, Goddamn, it’s a pigsty.

  The Mexican told him to sit down. He done so whilst holding his hurt hand wrapped up in the rag. He said, I am just about a gone case.

  He did look woozy. He was pale and his teeth was clanking together although the day had warmed up a good bit already and there was not much chill in the air.

  The Mexican told me to get a bucket of water.

  I told him I had no more buckets, as they was all outside in the tree and most of them filled with rocks.

  He asked what we had thought we might do with rocks in a tree.

  I told him they was to throw at a panther we was enticing.

  He told me to fill our pitcher.

  I gone to the creek and done that. When I come back, the Mexican give me my pistol that was empty of lead. He give me Clarence Hanlin’s pistol that was loaded. It was a Colt’s forty-four six-shot. He showed me how to use it. On account of I was only fourteen and my hands not fully grown, it was a long reach to the hammer. He give me instructions to aim at Hanlin’s head and shoot him if he moved in a way he should not.

  I asked if I was actually to shoot him, and the Mexican said I was. I said, What if I miss or don’t kill him.

  He said, Cock the pistol again. Pull the trigger again.

  I said, All right then.

  The Mexican removed his shirt so as not to spoil it, and made a attempt to stop Hanlin’s hand from spurting out blood. Hanlin was behaving unreasonable. The Mexican had to yell at him to press harder on it with the rag. However, Hanlin yelled all the more about that. It was a foul looking hand. The gone finger left a bit of a nub. The Mexican told me to get something to tie that off with, so I give him some of my fishing string and the Mexican tied it on the nub and poured water on the hand to wash it up. The gone finger was the one next to the smallest. The middle one beside it had a chunk of flesh
out of it too. Hanlin cussed the whole time, but done what the Mexican told him.

  Whilst undertaking this, the Mexican asked my name.

  I said, Benjamin Shreve. What’s yours.

  He said, Lorenzo Pacheco. What’s your sister’s name.

  Samantha Shreve, I said. She will answer to Sam.

  He asked for liniment or ointment and for lint or a bandage.

  I told him hog’s lard was the best I could do and that I had no bandage. I said we could cut a piece of a dress, as I had done so on occasion for wounds of my own. It was Juda’s old dress.

  Sam come in from the pen after we cut the dress and she had a fit about that.

  The Mexican told her he was sorry. He did, in fact, seem to be.

  She had goat’s milk and give us some but give none to Hanlin.

  He said, To hell with you, bitch. He said he felt sick and did not want it on any account.

  She said, I wouldn’t give you none if you begged. You was rude to me.

  He cursed her looks some more.

  I asked her, Do you want me to shoot him. I was not serious about it.

  She thought I was serious and expressed that it might be a good idea. This worried Hanlin a good bit. He said, Don’t shoot me.

  The Mexican wrapped up his hand.

  I thought of saying nothing about what I seen Hanlin do on the Julian, and then I thought better of that. I said, I seen what you done on the Julian.

  That stopped his cussing. His eyes was rolling about with pain, but nevertheless he stopped to look me over. After what I seen on the Julian I had hoped I might never lay eyes on the man again, yet now here he sat, in my own home. His look would of froze me with fear, if not for the fact that I had his pistol aimed at his head.

  He said, I ain’t never been on the Julian.

  I said, I seen you there, picking the pockets of them that was hanged.

  He said, I know of nobody hanged.

  I said, It was a number of them, and they was hanged and had ropes on their necks whilst you was picking their pockets.

  Liar, he said. That’s a falsehood.

  I said, Say you done it, or I’ll shoot you.

  He said, All right, then, so I done it. But they was deserving of what they got. They was evading conscription. They was traveling without permits.

  I figured the Mexican would not know the occasion we was talking about and aught to be told. I told him what I seen that day, how I gone for a hunt, and fired a shot, and missed, and heard coyotes jibbering, and come across such a sight as I had never seen in my life, which was this man here, this same sorry one, picking the pockets of passed men that was hanged and laying on the ground, scattered about.

  The Mexican took it all in. I did not know what he might make of that information. When he was done fixing the hand, he washed up and put his shirt back on and thought over what I had told him. He asked Sam what she would have him do with the evil ombray.

  She was making herself busy about the fire. Do what you want, said she. I don’t care about him. I would like never to see him again, is all. I would like him never to lay eyes on me.

  The Mexican give her all his attention whilst she stirred up the fire. He asked if she had coffee to offer. She told him to ask me, as I was the one that mostly done the cooking. He asked me if I had coffee to offer. I told him we had no coffee on account of the Yankee blockade. I said we was accustomed to using ground up acorns. He agreed he would have that.

  Sam put on water to boil. She did not usually do a great deal for persons other than herself but I think she did not want Hanlin eyeing her, and therefore kept herself busy.

  I got a better look at the Mexican. He had pocks of black powder burned into one side of his face that appeared to of been there a good many years. I already informed you his clothes was all black but for his white shirt. He had hung his hat on the stick by the door where my father used to hang his. It was a wide-brimmed felt affair with a high crown. It was black. His boots was black too. They was good boots, about the best I ever saw. He had no spurs. His holster was black, and there was ferns carved in the leather. He was a person of some pride. He did not look like a shoemaker, as he told Clarence Hanlin at the Indian grave he was. He asked would Sam be so kind as to bring him his pinto that awaited at the cut-through down to the creek.

  She said all right, and went off, I think pleased to be gone. I give Hanlin’s pistol back to the Mexican, as I did not want it laying around for Hanlin to get whilst I made us coffee. When I had made it, Hanlin and myself and the Mexican sat about and drank it. This might of been a peaceable moment if Hanlin had not bemoaned his finger the whole time and cussed the coffee, as it was acorns. He sat hunched before a bowl that was full to the brim of bloody water that made me feel sick to look at. He could not seem to get over his loss. Also, it was not the end of his troubles, for he laid eyes on cooties that was hunkered down in the dress he wore. He commenced to yell about cooties and cuss the prisoner that worn the dress before him, saying such things as, The goddamn escapee is the ruin of me!

  The Mexican told him to get quiet or he would shoot him.

  Hanlin asked could he take off the dress.

  The Mexican said, If you wish.

  Hanlin said, I have nothing to wear.

  The Mexican said nothing to that.

  Hanlin then spied my father’s trousers hanging on a peg and said, What about them trousers.

  I said, Those was my father’s. You can’t have them.

  He become irate and shouted at me about having nothing to wear.

  That is your situation, not mine, I told him.

  The trousers would of fit him, as he was a regular size person like my father. He was not bad looking, neither, if I am to be fair. However, he did have the droopy eye and a spiteful air. His hair was a light color, and kempt, but stuck to his head on account of he was dripping sweat. He had a short beard and a well trimmed mustache. His eyes was blue. If I had not seen what I seen of him, I would of thought him all right. However, I would of still not wanted to give him my father’s trousers.

  Sam come back in and told the Mexican she had brought his horse and it was out front. He give me back Hanlin’s pistol to keep a watch on the man, and went out to check on the horse. He come back in and helped hisself to more coffee. He did not seem to have a idea about what to do with Hanlin.

  Hanlin said he felt sick and did not want food, but aught to have it, or he would pass out. He said, What have you got to eat.

  I said, Nothing I care to share with you.

  He said, I got to have food. It’s your fault I lost my hardtack. It was in my jacket.

  It’s your fault you lost your jacket, I told him. If you had not of come after two kids in a tree that was doing you no harm, you would have your jacket and your hardtack, also your boots and everything else including your finger. Now you have lost it all, on account of your meanness. If you ask me, you are not right in the head.

  He said, I aught to kill you.

  The Mexican laughed about that, on account of I had Hanlin’s pistol, so how was he to do it.

  I asked the Mexican if he was hungry. He agreed he could eat. I told him we had corn meal.

  He asked did it have weevils. He did not care for weevils.

  I told him it had none.

  I fried some, and we ate it. We did not give Hanlin a share.

  The Mexican taken a good deal of interest in Sam. She is hard to figure, and he tried to figure her. I did not know what his motives might be, but I did not think they was risky, as he treated us fairly. He squatted like a Indian when he ate, by which I mean only the bottoms of his boots was touching the floor. He was a delicate eater and did not get food on his face. He kept near the door on account of the stink in the house. I said, You are not a shoemaker like you said.

  He allowed he was not.

  I said, What are you then.

  He did not say, but inquired of Sam about her cat marks. He called her Neenya, and she took issue, as it was
not her name. He explained it meant little girl. He said, Neenya, tell me about the puma.

  She said, Do you mean the panther.

  He said, Yes.

  She did not know what to make of the question. She was not accustomed to being asked that question nor any other. She got on the bed and thought it over. I could see she wished to tell him. She was used to having only me to talk to, who already knew that story.

  After consideration she cut loose. She said, My daddy brought home a man that had lice in his hair.

  Then she went on to tell it. She become serious and yet excited at the very same time. I believe she forgot how bad her face looked, regardless of that being a main part of the tale. She sat on her bed with the mice and chicken shat and told the story straight-faced, as if it weren’t what wrecked her life and her face and done away with her mother. She had every detail just perfect. She told about the cold night, the lice ridding, the way she run and the way the panther come flashing out of the dark.