A Time For Hanging (25 page)

"You in there Paco?" Vincent said.

"I am here," Paco answered weakly.
 
"I have been shot."

"Damn," Jack said.
 
"They beat the hell out of him, and now he's shot."

"I thought you didn't have much of a taste for this kinda thing anymore, Jack," Vincent said.

"I didn't think so either," Jack answered.
 
"But I think the kid oughta get a fair shake.
 
So far, we ain't done too much for him."

Consuela Morales was wailing something from the porch, but Vincent couldn't understand her.
 
Lucille Benteen was standing with her over the body of Charley, trying to comfort her.

Benteen and Willie Turner were walking slowly across the yard.

It might have been Consuela's wails that attracted Harper's eye to the porch.
 
"Jesus.
 
Did he kill Charley, too?"

"Naw, the preacher did that," Ross said.
 
"But that don't matter.
 
That kid's right here.
 
We gotta take care of him."

"Why did the preacher kill Charley?" Frank asked.
 
"What the hell did Charley do to the preacher?"

Ross shook his head in disgust.
 
"I said that don't matter.
 
What matters is that we got the kid right here in that shed."

The interior of the shed was dark and Vincent and Simkins were standing in front of the door.
 
No one could see exactly what was inside, if anything.

"That right, Sheriff?" Len Hawkins said.
 
"Is that kid in there?"

"He's in here," Vincent said, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice.
 
"I'll be takin' him back to town.
 
You boys just ride on off now."

"We ain't goin' nowhere without that kid," Ross said.
 
"Get outta the way, Sheriff.
 
You, too, Jack."

Vincent kept his voice as steady as he could.
 
"We're not moving, Turley.
 
We're the law, remember?"

"Bullshit," Ross answered.
 
"You let that boy get away once, and you'd do it again.
 
We don't aim for it to happen that way.
 
We're gonna see that he gets what's comin' to him and gets it right now.
 
That right, fellas?"

The cowboys cheered him.
 
A couple of them fired their pistols in the air.

"See what I'm tellin' you, Sheriff?" Ross said.
 
"We're the law now.
 
There's a time for talkin' and there's a time for hangin'.
 
This here's a time for hangin'.
 
Who's got a rope?"

Three or four of the cowboys pulled their lariats loose from the saddle ties and slapped them against their legs or waved them overhead.

"Here we go, Turley!"

"Use mine, fellas.
 
It ain't even broke in yet!"

"This'un here's just made for neck stretchin'."!

Vincent looked at Jack.
 
He didn't know what to say to his deputy, but Jack didn't seem to need any encouragement.
 
His face was set and determined.

I guess it's my job to be standin' here, Vincent thought.
 
He wondered if they'd kill him or just beat him, the way they'd beaten Paco.
 
Either way, there were too many of 'em.
 
He knew he didn't stand a chance, but the thought of leaving never entered his head.
 
He didn't want to be there, but he was the sheriff.
 
One way or the other, he was in for the finish.

It didn't have to be that way for Jack, however.

"You better go on back over to the house, Jack," he said.

Jack smiled crookedly, his scarred face twisting.
 
"Naw, I think I'll stay here.
 
If I'd just let 'em kill him last night, we wouldn't be in this mess."

Vincent grinned back at him.
 
"That's one way to look at it, I guess.
 
You think you're worth all this trouble, Paco?"

There was no answer from inside the shed.

Paco tried to answer, but he could not.
 
His mouth had gone suddenly dry, and the dream of the fire was returning, seeping into his head against his will, though he tried to remain awake.
 
He knew that he was bleeding from the bullet wound, but there was so much pain in his body that he could not even tell where he had been hit.

He could hear the horses screaming and kicking at the stalls that trapped them.

The bales of fire began to fall, and Paco began to flee down the endless corridors of the barn.

#

"Reckon he's dead?" Jack said.

"I don't know," Vincent said, thinking that it would be a hell of a note if he and Jack were to die defending a kid who was already past saving.
 
It made about as much sense as anything else that had happened, he guessed.

"Why don't you get that gambler out of the sun," he told Jack.
 
The deputy put his gun away and grabbed the dead man under the arms, trying to avoid the bloody remains of his head.
 
Then he dragged him over to the side of the shed while Vincent stood in front of the door.

Moran's boots dragged little trails on the dirt, and Jack laid him down in the shade.
 
Then he came back to stand with the sheriff.

By that time, Benteen and Willie had arrived to join them at the door.

Willie plainly didn't want to be there.
 
His eyes were darting to the left and right, looking for a way to escape, but Benteen had a firm grip on his upper arm and there was no way he could get free.
 
The sight of Moran's body clearly wasn't making him feel any better.

"This ain't your fight, Benteen," Vincent said.
 
"Charley and that damn gambler are already dead.
 
No use in you and Willie windin' up the same way."

"We won't," Benteen said.
 
"Willie here has something he wants to say."

Benteen was sorry he had ever come to the Morales place.
 
He knew now that he had been wrong, that he had been stupid to believe that getting the Morales boy out of the way would make things all right for Charley and Lucille.
 
Charley was dead, and maybe he deserved to be, but Benteen did not have to contribute any more to the stupidity and the violence that Liz Randall's death had begun.
 
Hearing Willie's story had convinced him that he had to extricate himself from a situation that he had found disagreeable in the first place.
 
Now he had been given a chance to stop the rock from rolling down the hill, and he was going to take it.

"We don't have to listen to some drunk spout off about his delirious trembles," Ross said.
 
"You get out of the way, Mr. Benteen, and take that drunk with you."

"Wait a minute, Ross," Vincent said.
 
"Why don't you let these men hear for themselves what Willie has to say?
 
It might surprise 'em."

"You saw what talkin' did for Charley," Ross said.
 
"He prob'ly ain't too happy about lettin' you spout off to that preacher."

Vincent got the point, but he still thought he had to let the men hear Willie.
 
Maybe they would believe him.

"You don't speak for me or my men, Mr. Ross," Benteen said, determined that Willie was going to be heard.
 
"They're going to listen to Willie if I say so.
 
Isn't that right, men?"

The cowboys who had pulled their lariats were already tying them back to the saddles.

"We'll listen if you think we ought to, Mr. Benteen," Frank said.
 
"You're the boss man."

Ross knew when he was whipped.
 
"All right.
 
We'll listen.
 
But I don't know who you think'll believe a drunk."

"We'll see," Benteen said.
 
"Tell them, Willie."

Willie had never needed a drink more in his life, not even on the day his wife died.
 
He swallowed once, and it felt like his Adam's apple was going to stick in his throat.
 
He swallowed again, and it wasn't much better.

"Hell, I don't even believe he can talk," Ross said.
 
"Why don't you just get outta the way, Willie, and let us go about our business."

"Yeah, Willie," Len Hawkins said.
 
"Why don't you just do that."

"Don't let 'em bother you, Willie," Vincent said.
 
"Go on and say your piece."

Willie tried again.
 
This time he got it out.
 
"I don't think the kid -- Paco -- I don't think he' the one that killed the preacher's girl."

"There it is then," Ross said.
 
"That about does it, sure enough.
 
The biggest drunk in Dry Springs don't think the kid did it.
 
I guess all you fellas are satisfied now, ain't you?"

He laughed, and most of the others joined in.

"Tell 'em why you think the way you do, Willie," Vincent said.

Willie swallowed again.
 
"I . . . I was there."

The laughter stopped short.
 
Some of the men stirred uneasily in their saddles.

"You was there," Ross snarled.
 
"You was there.
 
Well, if you was there, tell us who did kill her then."
 
Ross already knew that Willie couldn't answer that one.

"I don't know," Willie said.
 
He looked down at the ground.

"See there?" Ross said.
 
"He ain't got no more idea than a rabbit about who killed that girl.
 
Get outta the way, Willie, and you won't get hurt."

Willie would have moved then, but Benteen still had hold of his arm.
 
Benteen may have looked soft, but he had a grip like a bear's claw.

"Tell them the rest of it, Willie," Benteen said.

"I . . . I was there when the kid came by," Willie said.
 
"She was dead when he got there."

"That's a damn lie!" Ross yelled.
 
"We caught him in the act!
 
We was there, too!"

"No you weren't," Willie said, adding something that Ross had not heard earlier.
 
He said it so soft that Vincent thought nobody would hear him, but they did.

"What?" Len Hawkins said.
 
"You callin' us liars, you drunk sonofabitch?"

"I ain't callin' you anything," Willie said.
 
"I'm just sayin' you weren't there when the kid come along, and I was.
 
That's all."

"I oughta kill you right now," Ross said.

"I don't think so," Benteen said.
 
"Not right now."

"You tellin' me that you believe this damn drunk, Mr. Benteen?" Ross said.
 
"Jesus, he's just --"

"I know what he is," Benteen said.
 
"But I think he saw something last night, something that casts a doubt on the boy's guilt.
 
I'm taking my men home."

He looked at Vincent.
 
"I'm not saying the boy's innocent, but I'm not going to have anything to do with hanging him.
 
You're on your own now, Sheriff."

He turned back to his men.
 
"We're pulling out of here.
 
You can come, too, Willie."

Still holding Willie by the arm, he started back to the house, not even looking back to see if his men were following.

The cowboys were looking at one another and at the retreating back of the man who paid their wages.

"What do you think, Frank?" one of them said finally.