Read Rocky Mountain Justice (The Legend of Camel's Hump) Online
Authors: Jeff Noonan
Ray was the first to speak. “Al, you coming with us?” Al shook his head. “Nope. I’ve had it. I’m going on home if you don’t need me.” Al was the only one of the boys with a shower at home, so he seldom went to the school’s little communal shower with them. Jerry slapped him weakly on the shoulder. “I don’t blame you. See you tomorrow.” With that, Al left, walking slowly across the field and down the gravel road towards his home on the other side of town.
The cousins made their way to the front of the schoolhouse, where they entered through the school’s front door. Standing in the entranceway, they could see down the short hall past every door in the school. The men’s bathroom was on the right and the women’s on the left. All the other rooms opened off the short hallway past the bathrooms. The school was small, just a half-dozen classrooms and an assembly room used for both town meetings and school functions. When the townspeople built the school a few years before, they had put showers in both the boy’s and the girl’s bathrooms. The showers were intended to make up for the fact that only the richer people in town had any significant indoor plumbing.
The little building on the back of the school was an afterthought that was normally used for storage. However, this summer the town had made it available to Ike Schumann so he could teach the local boys something about boxing. Ike was an ex-boxer who’d bought a hard-scrabble piece of land in a tiny valley west of town, at the base of the big mountain known as Camel’s Hump. With the help of his wife, Bird, he kept a milk cow and a few sheep in the little valley. Ike had also managed to get himself appointed as the deputy sheriff for this part of the county. He was now the law in their small town; a fact that no one really noticed, since there was seldom any need for law enforcement in the community of Dublin.
The boys headed for the men’s bathroom, where they stripped and hit the showers. Jerry usually took his time here, reveling in the wonderful feel of hot water. This was a luxury he seldom experienced since he and his father had only cold running water at home. But tonight the water hitting the open wounds on his face was just too much and he cut the shower short. Looking in the bathroom mirror, he could see why the water hurt so badly. His face was a mess. His lips were smashed, his cheek was cut, and his left eye was fast closing. The eyebrow above it was split and bleeding. He and Ray dabbed at his face with toilet paper from the stalls, trying to slow the blood flow, but they weren’t particularly successful.
Ray opened the conversation. “Why in hell did he do that? He’s a grown man and he’s at least fifty pounds heavier than you. Plus he was a professional boxer! This ain’t right!” Jerry just shrugged. “I think he just enjoys hurting people. I’ve heard that he likes to pick on smaller guys at the bar whenever he can. He’s just a whacko.”
Ray was seriously upset. The two boys were not only cousins, but circumstances had brought them close and now they were also the best of friends.
Fully dressed, with Jerry’s bleeding temporarily stopped, the boys left the school and headed across the dirt parking lot toward Jerry’s car, a ten-year-old Ford DeLuxe 60 Horsepower Coupe that he’d received as payment for working at a local ranch. It hadn’t been running when it was given to him, but with the help of his friends and some guidance from his father, it was in great shape now.
Jerry tossed the keys to Ray as they neared the car. “You drive, please.” Ray grunted an “OK” and paused. Then he repeated, “Why in hell did Schumann do that”? Jerry didn’t have an answer for him. “I dunno.” He painfully climbed into the old Ford. “But I’m sure not going back to any of his classes. Dad might get mad, but I’m not going to ever have anything to do with that crazy asshole again.”
He had no idea how wrong he was.
R
ay’s home was an older two-story farmhouse standing in the corner of a large field east of town. Tall cottonwood trees surrounded the house, while the driveway and the path to the front door were lined with lilacs. A root cellar, wood shed, and well house stood near the back of the home, with an outhouse a little further away. About fifty feet further there was another stand of cottonwoods that shielded the house from the noise and smell of the family’s chicken coop. A big vegetable garden was visible adjacent to the chicken pen.
Jerry’ father, Wayne, and Ray’s mother, Hilda, were siblings who had both married high school sweethearts. But tragedy had stepped into their lives and both spouses were now dead. Ray’s father had been killed during the early years of World War Two on an island somewhere in the Pacific. Jerry’s mother had gone more recently in a tragic automobile accident.
Hilda had been unable to keep up with the ranch after the death of her husband, so she sold most of the property to a neighbor. She kept the old farmhouse they called home and a couple of acres of the surrounding land, which she used to raise chickens and plant a vegetable garden.
Ray parked the car at the edge of the front yard and they went inside. Hilda was bustling about in the kitchen, with the pleasant odors of home cooking filling the room, when they entered. She stopped cold and stared, openmouthed, when she saw them. “My God, Jerry! What happened to you, Child?” She was moving even as she talked. She was a long-time ranch wife and had seen her share of cuts and bruises. She knew when action was needed and in short order she had the family’s bandage material, a big bottle of iodine, and some Vaseline on the table. “Sit here, Jerry. I’ll get that fixed up. We don’t want it getting infected now, do we?” Her next questions were rapid-fire and directed to Ray. “What happened? Did you guys get in a brawl somewhere? Are you in trouble? I want the truth and I want it now!”
Ray hastened to explain, “No, Mom. It was just Ike Schumann trying to teach us to box. Jerry and Al were in the ring and when Jerry didn’t hit Al enough, Schumann hit Jerry. He said it would teach him to listen when he gave instructions.”
Hilda didn’t say anything right away, but you could see the impact of this statement in her face. Her lips pursed and her face got redder and redder as she absorbed the news. “Why did he want Jerry to hit Al?” “I dunno, Mom. Al was on his knees, falling down, and Ike was screaming at Jerry to hit him again.” This was too much for the gentle Sunday-school teacher and she almost spat out the next words, “We’ll see about this. That man is out of control. We need to talk to the sheriff about him.” In unison, both boys started talking, objecting vehemently. She stopped them with a stern, “One at a time! One at a time! Jerry, you’re the loudest. Why shouldn’t we file a complaint with the sheriff about this?”
Jerry took a deep breath before answering. “Please stop and think about it, Aunt Hilda. We’re living up here in Dublin and Sheriff Montgomery is from Big River. The only time he comes up here is to go out to Ike’s place. Everybody knows the sheriff is Ike’s buddy. He’s even made Ike a deputy sheriff. If you try to do anything about this, the best thing that could happen is for Sheriff Montgomery to just ignore you and let Ike take it out on all of us. But I’ve heard stories about how mean the sheriff is down in Big River and he scares me a lot.”
The seventy-odd people who made up the population of Dublin were mostly railroad workers, loggers, and a few hard-rock miners. Big River was forty miles away, down in the valley past another small logging community. Over a thousand people lived in Big River where the area’s only real industry, a large lumber mill, was located.
The county officials, including the sheriff, were all elected by the people of Big River. It was common knowledge that the sheriff had created an organization that ran the entire county through fear and intimidation. The county commissioners had been handpicked by him. It seemed like they were just there to do whatever the sheriff told them to do next. During the years that most of the county’s men had been off to war, Sheriff Montgomery had built a powerful political machine.
Hilda wasn’t deterred. “That’s bull, Child.” Jerry was shocked. He had never heard her use any words as controversial as “bull” and it effectively shut him up. Hilda was so indignant by now that she was walking in circles around the kitchen table, with her big body shaking every time she stomped a foot down. She was mad, and both boys knew that you didn’t argue with her when she was mad. “I’m going to town and I’m taking Pastor Long with me. We’ll see if that draft-dodging toad of a sheriff ignores us!” Then she suddenly realized that in her anger she had forgotten to finish the bandages she had started. “My goodness, I’m not being much of a nurse, am I?”
She sat down and soaked a large pad of cotton in iodine. Then she began gently dabbing the iodine into the cuts. Up to now, Jerry had been stoic, but this was too much. Soon tears were running down his cheeks and, try as he might, he couldn’t completely contain soft sobs. “That stuff hurts worse than being punched” he managed to gasp out between snuffles. She smiled sadly. “I know, Child. But it’ll kill the germs and keep you alive, so it’s necessary. Just a little bit more now.” When she finished with the iodine, she put a coat of Vaseline over the cuts and began making bandages and taping them into place over the iodine’s orange stains. Soon Ray began chuckling. “You got so much tape on your face that you look like the Frankenstein monster.” Jerry tried to smile but ended up wincing as fresh blood stained the bandages over his lips.
Jerry touched his mouth and winced again. “I guess Dawn and I won’t be getting friendly anytime soon.” Jerry and his girlfriend, Dawn Parker, had been inseparable since they first met in grade school. Jerry was tall, with thick brown hair and bright blue eyes. Dawn was almost as thin as Jerry; an athletic brunette with deep brown eyes. Together they looked like a dream couple; an impression enhanced by their obvious devotion to one another.
Then thoughts of Dawn led Jerry to another comment, “Boy, I’m sure glad Dawn wasn’t there tonight.” At that, Ray smiled. “Heck, if Dawn had been there, old Ike would be dead meat by now. She would’ve killed him!”
His mother smiled at the thought. “You’re probably right about that.” Still very much in charge, she returned to the business at hand. “OK Fellas, I have dinner ready. Ray, please light the lanterns and let’s eat. After dinner we can talk about what we want to do about all of this.”
Electric power lines hadn’t yet been installed this far out of town, so all of the home’s light was furnished by kerosene lanterns. Ray moved from one lantern to another, lighting them with the wooden matches that he found in a little brass box on the kitchen counter. With the lanterns lit, Ray helped set the table while his mother served the dinner. She had prepared chicken, dumplings and biscuits and, as always, her food was delicious. Jerry had a rough time eating with his lips as damaged as they were, but he got enough down to satisfy his aunt’s critical eyes. Finally, with the dinner finished, the boys cleaned the kitchen and washed the dishes. Then they brought in some wood from the woodshed for the kitchen stove.
When their chores were finished, Hilda gave Jerry’s face another work-over, replacing the bloody bandages around his mouth. She was, as always, very much in charge. “Jerry, you’re staying here tonight. I want to be able to rework those bandages in the morning. Ray, put some blankets on the bed in the spare room. Put a couple of old towels in there so Jerry can cover the pillow and not bleed all over it. We can’t afford that.”
Jerry didn’t even try to object. The two boys often stayed over at each other’s homes and he knew his father wasn’t home tonight anyway. Jerry, at sixteen, was almost grown and his life with Dad was more of a loose partnership than anything else. Besides, it was nice to have his aunt fussing over him. Even after two years, he still missed the soft touch of a mother.
Jerry went with Ray to get the room ready. When they finished, Hilda wasn’t in the kitchen. They decided she must be out back checking on the chicken coop. Coyotes had been bothering the chickens lately, and they routinely checked on them. The boys lit another lantern and set up a checker board on the kitchen table.
They were happily playing checkers about a half-hour later when Ray looked up to see the door open and his mother coming in with Pastor Long close behind. The pastor was a bearded man that looked like a rough-cut Santa Claus. He taught grades 6, 7, and 8 in the little school and was the local preacher on Sundays. He had a good following, mainly among the wives and children in Dublin, and his sermons were famous for their fire and brimstone. Tonight, he took control from the moment he cleared the door. “Young Mr. Flynn, stand and be seen. I wish to witness your injuries.” He regularly talked this way, a fact that caused much imitation and many guffaws among the teen-agers of Dublin.
The boys exchanged glances. They didn’t like this development, but obviously had no choice in the matter. Jerry stood as directed and the pastor walked closer to him, studying his face. “Good Widow Moore, can you lift a bandage or two that I might bear more critical witness to the damages here?” Hilda came forward and attempted to remove a bandage, but she picked one that was stuck to Jerry’s skin and the blood began flowing again. Pastor Long put his hand over hers, stopping her. “Let me, please. It is my desire to be able to say that I personally observed the injuries, but I have no wish to cause this fine young man any further pain.” With that, he deftly lifted two of the bandages that had more liberal dosages of Vaseline under them, exposing two seriously deep wounds. Smoothing the bandages back into place, he turned to Hilda and said, “That’s enough. I agree with you. This is the year of our Lord, 1949, and we are a civilized people. No civilized person could allow this to pass unpunished. We will go to Big River tomorrow.” Jerry reflexively cried out, “No!” But the pastor held up his hand, stopping their comments. “Shush, Son. This is not your concern. Your elders have decided. Behavior such as that which you have encountered is from the dark ages; from heathen times. It cannot be tolerated. This is the united States of America and we just fought a war to bring enlightenment to heathens. We cannot tolerate them in our midst any more than we could tolerate them overseas.” The boys looked at each other. They were convinced that the pastor was wrong. But he was on his soap box now and they knew that nothing they could say would make a difference.