Chaneysville Incident (16 page)

“We headed off again; there was a chance we might catch him ’fore he got to the fork in the road at the bottom of the mountain. We mighta too, if it hadn’t been so damn dark an’ that road hadn’t been so damn windy. Time we got to the bottom I felt like I jest come through a prizefight with three dozen pine trees. So we sat at the bottom an’ caught our breath; wasn’t nothin’ more to do till the moon come up.

“Soon as we caught our breath Mose says, ‘I don’t like this. I don’t like all them farmers back there, an’ I don’t like all them wagons on the road.’ Well, I told him I didn’t like it neither, but I had worse things to worry about. ‘Like what?’ he says. ‘Well, for one thing,’ I says, ‘you an’ me figured out somethin’ that ain’t gonna make us too damn comfortable is likely to happen if we don’t catch up to Josh.’ ‘Yeah,’ says Mose. ‘Now, jest what do you think that might be?’ Well, I hadn’t really thought ’bout
’xactly
what it might be, an’ I said so. ‘Well,’ Mose says, ‘jest ’xactly what you think is gonna make us any more uncomfortable than a bunch a redneck farmers with shotguns in their hands an’ likker in their guts, ’cept maybe a bunch a redneck farmers with shotguns an’ full a whiskey that’s got wind of a colored boy tryin’ to marry up with a white girl?’

“Well, then it hit me. An’ I was jest about to start gettin’ religion real quick when two things happened, right at the same time. First thing was, the moon come pokin’ over Warrior Ridge; a big, full orangey moon, looked like it was swole up like a blood blister. Second was, we heard harness jinglin’ an’ hoofbeats comin’ from up the mountain, on the road we jest come down. Lots a harness. Lots a hoofbeats. An’ voices, the way drunk men sound when they think they’re bein’ sneaky. I looked at Mose, an’ I swear to Jesus, it was the onliest time up till then I ever seen that man scared. Wasn’t scared when that damnfool Langford Beegle hired us to kill a bear for him an’ didn’t bother to tell us he’d winged the sonofabitch already, so when we got there the bear come chargin’ out of a thicket maddern Joseph after Mary said she was interfered with by an angel. Wasn’t scared when the sheriff took his money an’ then tried to kill us an’ take the whiskey. But he was scared that night, let me tell you. Me, I wasn’t scared, I was pure terrified. An’ I looked at him an’ he looked at me, an’ the same damn thought come to us both at the same damn time: headin’ for trouble like we knowed we was, an’ hadn’t neither one of us thought to bring a gun. All we had was Mose’s huntin’ knife.

“Course, even if we hada had a gun, we wasn’t gonna do nothin’ right then, ’cept what we did, which was slink off into the woods aside of the road, an’ set there, waitin’ for ’em to come past, hopin’ to God they wouldn’t see us, or smell the fear comin’ offa us, which was a damn sight more likely. ‘Jesus, Mose,’ I says, ‘I hope they ain’t got dogs.’ ‘Dogs?’ Mose says. ‘What the hell would they want dogs for?’ ‘Why, to try…’ an’ I stopped. ‘Cause I seen somethin’. They wasn’t gonna need no dogs, ’cause they knowed where Josh was goin’ even if we didn’t. All we had to do was follow ’em. ‘Mose,’ I says, ‘Mose, all we got to do—’ ‘Is follow ’em. Yeah, I know that. But since you’re so smart, what the hell we gonna do after we follow ’em?’ Well, I didn’t have the answer to that one, an’ it didn’t matter anyways, on accounta they was damn near on top a us by then.

“They come by us, ridin’ slow. I wanted to be ’bout six miles away, downwind, but where we was ’bout four feet from the edge a the road, sucked up right to a birch log. We couldn’t half breathe. What we could do was watch, an’ what we seen was ’bout thirty old white farmers with faces that looked like somebody shoulda made shoes outa ’em. They was likkered—they was
well
likkered—you could smell it. But you couldn’t see it in their faces. Those faces was set. An’ they set in their saddles, them that had saddles to set in, straightern hell. Every one of ’em had a shotgun or a rifle. An’ I could moren see ’em. I could smell ’em—smell the whiskey an’ the horses an’ the sweat an’ all that, but mostly I could smell the angry. Maybe you don’t think angry has a smell, but it does. Smells just like hot iron, only it’s jest a shade softern that, jest a touch more fleshy. In a funny way, it’s like a woman’s smell. A woman, first thing, when she’s fresh an’ young, she smells sweet an’ tangy. You can let her be for a while, couple years, maybe, an’ she’s still got that sweetness, maybe a little more salt to her, but that don’t hurt. But you let her set for too long ’thout touchin’ her an’ it all turns sour. Not lemon sour; rotten sour, like the way milk tastes if you take it atop a maple syrup. An’ that’s what happens to the angry smell. An’ that’s what’d happened down there, ’cause the angry I was smellin’ was an old-smellin’ angry, an’ I knowed soon as I smelled it somebody was gonna die that night.

“We waited till they passed, then we straightened up a shade. I looked at Mose, an’ Mose looked at me, an’ I knowed he’d been sniffin’ the angry same as I done. But there wasn’t nothin’ to do ’cept light out after ’em, so I stood. Or I tried to; jest ’bout the time I got to ma knees, Mose hauls me back down. I wasn’t fool enough to say nothin’; I jest looked around till I seen what he seen. An’ presently I did. They had a rear guard; one fella on horseback, with canvas tied ’round his horseshoes so’s they wouldn’t make no noise. He had hisself a shotgun, jest like the rest. But that wasn’t all. He was all dressed up, wearin’ a hood, made outa some kinda white cloth, came to a point at the top an’ hung clean down to his chest, an’ a kinda sheet over the rest of him that hung down to his knees. He rode by slow an’ quiet. An’ we watched him till he was near outa sight, then we crawled out onto the road an’ set off after him.

“We didn’t have to worry ’bout him seein’ us. Fool runs around in a white sheet on a moonlit night is gonna stay in sight to you a damn sight longer than you’re gonna stay in sight to him. What we had to worry ’bout was stayin’ outa earshot. So we couldn’t talk. An’ that was a problem, on accounta I wanted to tell Mose somethin’. Which was that I knowed who that last fella was. Could tell him by his boots. Pair I shined damn near every day for years. Belonged to Parker Adams. Parker, he’d been round the courthouse longern the man on the monument. You wanted somethin’ done, you went to see Parker, an’ Parker knowed who to talk to, an’ he’d talk to ’em, an’ he’d tell you yes or no, an’ how much it was gonna cost. Parker took the money, an’ I guess if any of it had ever come out, it woulda been Parker that went to jail, only none of it never did. Thing was, Parker wasn’t no free lance. He done what he done on accounta it worked both ways, an’ come election time he was right out there twistin’ arms for the party. I wouldn’t say they owned him, but wasn’t no question a whose side he was on, an’ who he took orders from. Which jest let you know ’xactly how far the whole thing had gone. ’Cause havin’ Parker Adams there, dressed up in a sheet, was ’bout the same thing as havin’ a speech by the mayor, an’ the Presbyterian preacher handy to lead the prayer. Whatever they was gonna do to Josh, it wasn’t gonna be no lynchin’. It was gonna be damn near as official as the Fourth of July.

“So we followed quiet. We knowed how to do that, an’ you can bet we never done it no better. ’Bout two miles from the forks, or maybe it’s closer to three, we come up to Chaneysville, which ain’t much of a town, but there was likely to be somebody to see us, an’ maybe call out or somethin’, an’ tip off Parker. Thing was, we couldn’t take a chance on goin’ around, on accounta the road splits off three different ways that I know of, an’ maybe a couple more. So I was worryin’, but it turned out that town was shut down tightern I don’t know what. All the porches was empty an’ all the curtains was drawn, an’ there wasn’t no lights showin’ behind ’em. Wasn’t nobody in that town takin’ a chance on seein’ something they wasn’t wanted to see. Which was fine, since it meant they wasn’t gonna be seein’ us.

“Parker took the left-hand fork, or maybe it was the middle one, I don’t recall too good, but anyways we followed him down the road an’ past a few farmhouses, an’ up over a couple hills, an’ we was gettin’ a little tired on accounta we couldn’t hardly breathe right for fear a makin’ noise, but we stuck to him. Had to. An’ finely he stopped.

“I don’t know how close he come to spottin’ us. He jest stopped dead an’ whirled that horse around an’ looked over his backtrail, an’ wasn’t time for us to take cover; wasn’t time for us to do nothin’ ’cept freeze an’ hope to God that whatever was behind us was dark enough to keep us hid. I swear I don’t know how it was he didn’t see us. But he didn’t, ’cause after a long minute he turned off on a lane, an’ that was that.

“I wanted to set there for a second an’ shake, but we didn’t have no time. Mose lit off through the woods fastern a scalded hound dog, an’ I knowed he musta knowed a shortcut, so I jest tucked in close to Mose’s butt an’ kept ma head down, an’ we went tearin’ through them woods for maybe a quarter mile, an’ then we come out into some old loggin’ road, wasn’t much moren a track but it was a hell of a lot clearer than the woods, an’ we started runnin’. I don’t know how we managed it—ma feet was ’bout ready to pack up any second, but I’ll tell you, I knowed how bad things was gonna get an’ a set of blistered-up toes was hardly gonna be the worst of it. So we run, an’ about ten minutes later that track widened up a bit, an’ Mose quit runnin’ an’ took to the woods again an’ circled us around, an’ we busted up onto some open fields, a pasture, a couple cornfields, an’ then we slipped into a little ring a woods, an’ come up back of a farmhouse.

“ ‘ ’Zis it?’ I says. ‘Better be,’ Mose says. ‘We beat ’em?’ I says. ‘How the hell do I know?’ says Mose. Well, I didn’t see nobody. The house was jest a big old two-story white farmhouse, with white curtains in the windows with yellow lamplight comin’ through, an’ a old glider swing on the porch. There was a front yard an’ a back yard an’ a barn an’ a outhouse an’ what looked like mighta been a separate stable. There was a faint odor a hog, but the pens musta been a good ways off ’cause I couldn’t see no hogs or hear ’em grunt. What it all come down to was a perty picture of a country farmhouse, an’ not a livin’ soul in it.

“Mose waved his hand an’ we backed outa there a ways. ‘Whad we back out for?’ I says. ‘We busted our guts gettin’ down here ’fore them peckerwoods, an’ we ain’t ’xactly got time to spare.’ ‘Yeah,’ Mose says. ‘We ain’t got a lotta things. We ain’t got no guns an’ we ain’t got no horse an’ we ain’t got the love a nobody this side a hell, so we sure God better have ourselves a plan.’ Well, that’s the way Mose was. ‘Mose,’ I says, ‘this here ain’t the kinda thing you want to go make a prayer meetin’ outa. All we got to do is nip up to the back door there an’ knock an’ get in an’ get Josh out, an’ hightail it ’fore them bastards get here.’ Mose shook his head. ‘Jack, you ain’t thought it—’ ‘Mose,’ I says, ‘I ain’t got to think nothin’ through, an’ if I do, I’ll do it when I has to. Now, I know you ain’t really got that much love for Josh, or nobody else for that matter, but he’s like a brother to me, so you all jest set on your butt here an’ plan, an’ when I bring him back you tell us both about it.’

“Now, maybe I wasn’t as careful as Mose, but I wasn’t no hotheaded fool. I took a good look around ’fore I done nothin’, an’ I waited two seconds while the moon went behind a cloud, but once it did I didn’t waste no time with sneakin’ an’ crawlin’. I busted right outa cover an’ hightailed it across the back yard, prayin’ whatever dog them folks had wouldn’t start in to barkin’. I come up to the back door an’ opened her up an’ went in. Wasn’t no time to be polite—if them farmers rode up I sure God didn’t want to be outside.

“Soon as I come in I could see ’em settin’ there, ’round the table. Josh was there, an’ an old rawboned-lookin’ fella had to be the father, an’ two big dumb-lookin’ country boys had to be the brothers. Wasn’t no woman in sight.

“I hadn’t made a whole lotta noise, an’ I guess I come in so fast they didn’t have no time to do nothin’ about what I did make, so I took ’em all by surprise. I says, ‘ ’xcuse me, gentlemen, I hate to bust up the meetin’, but I got some business to discuss with Mr. White here,’ an’ I jest reached right over an’ grabbed old Josh by the shoulder an’ tried to jest haul him away. An’ when I pulled him he come all right, but the chair came with him. On accounta he was tied to it. Whole thing fell on the floor an’ there he was, layin’ on his side, lookin’ up at me with his eyes widern the sky. I looked at him for a second, an’ then I looked up an’ I seen three pistols pointed at me, an’ jest like I told Mose, I thought it through when I had to. An’ then I put ma hands up, real slow.

“The old man looks at me an’ he grins real wide, an’ I could see where his teeth was goin’ green. ‘Why, boys,’ he says, ‘I guess we went to a whole lotta trouble for nothin’. We wouldn’ta had to work on this one so hard if we’da knowed these fools was jest gonna come droppin’ by.’ The two boys laughed real good at that one. Real deep belly laughs; went ‘Wheeyoo, wheeyoo.’ ‘That’s enough now,’ the old man says, an’ the two of ’em shut up ’sif they was switched. He waves the gun at me, an’ he nods toward the chair. ‘Siddown, boy.’ I sat. ‘Merle,’ he says, ‘Merle, you come ’round behind me now an’ go over there an’ tie him up.’ One a them fools come around, an’ I damn near seen ma chance, ’cause he started to cut in ’tween us, but at the last minute he recollected what the old man told him ten seconds back an’ went behind. He come around an’ rummaged around in a cupboard for a while, with his behind stickin’ up in the air, lookin’ like a mountain covered over with denim. After a while he backs outa the cupboard. ‘Pa,’ he says, ‘we done used up all the rope on that un there,’ an’ he gives a nod at Josh, who was still layin’ there on the floor. The other lunk hadn’t said nothin’ up till then, but he chimes in on that, an’ he says, ‘That’s right, Pa, we used her all up on this un here,’ an’ jest in case Pa didn’t know which un where he was talkin’ about, he fetched poor Josh a kick in the kidneys. I was lookin’ right at him when it landed, an’ it wasn’t no love tap, neither, but Josh didn’t show it. His eyes was blank, an’ he hardly even winced. Well, up till then I hadn’t really been thinkin’. But lookin’ at Josh, seein’ him hardly even wince when that dumb ox kicked him, well, I did start thinkin’ ’bout how in hell we was gonna get outa there. An’ the first thing I seen was we wasn’t gonna get outa there. I had maybe an outside chance, ’cause I wasn’t tied yet, an’ with three of ’em there they was gonna have to be mighty careful how they fired them pistols, an’ if Josh coulda maybe kicked one in the shins or somethin’ to give me half a second’s start, well, maybe I coulda made it. An’ if I coulda got clear, maybe me an’ Mose together could do somethin’. But none a that looked likely, on accounta Josh wasn’t gonna be kickin’ nobody to give nobody else half a second’s nothin’. It didn’t take much figurin’ to know what had happened. His mind was ruint. On accounta he figgered out—too late, jest like I figgered out too late—that that girl had been settin’ him up all along. Maybe he even figgered out that there was folks comin’ to lynch him. An’ if he figgered that far, he was surely gonna have figgered that when he swung she was gonna be right there, watchin’ an’ grinnin’ an’ fixin’ to go gushy in her bloomers when he started jerkin’ around. Anyways, I knowed I couldn’t ’xpect no help from Josh. Meanwhile, Pa was tellin’ the second one to take it easy, he didn’t want Josh to die ’fore they was ready. ‘Wayne,’ he says, ‘you go on out to the spring porch an’ see if there ain’t none a that there chain left hangin’.’ ‘Hey, Pa,’ the first one says, ‘there’s a whole heap more rope out in the barn.’ ‘I know that, Merle,’ the old man says, ‘but I don’t want nobody outside jest now.’ Well, it turned out there was some chain, an’ the two of ’em, Merle an’ Wayne, they chained me to the chair, an’ the old man never once took his eyes off me, so I didn’t have a chance to do nothin’. When they was done, Wayne says, ‘Pa, we finished on this un here,’ an’ he slaps me upside the head jest so’s there wasn’t no mistake. ‘You want I should set that un there on his feet?’ ‘You do that, Wayne,’ the old man says, ‘but stay outa ma line a fire. This un looks like he’s got some run in him.’ Wayne looks at me. ‘This un here?’ he says, an’ he went to give me another crack. Onliest thing I could move was ma head, but I twisted around an’ took the slap flush on the mouth, an’ I got a mouthful a finger an’ bit as hard as I could an’ twisted ma head as sharp as I could, an’ I heard the bone go snap jest ’fore Wayne started bellerin’. Sounded awful. An’ it was an awful sight, let me tell you, a two-hundred-an’-fifty-pound farm boy starin’ down at his pinkie finger that was pointin’ south when the rest a his fingers was pointin’ east, cryin’ like a baby. The old man jest shook his head. ‘Yeah, Wayne,’ he says, ‘that un there.’