Authors: I. J. Parnham
The Gallows Gang
‘Take the knife,’ Mitch Cartwright said, ‘before the guards see it.’
Nathaniel McBain considered the sharpened length of metal wrapped in cloth, which was lying at the bottom of the water bucket. Temptation made his heart beat faster and his fingers twitch, but he shook his head.
‘I get out in five days,’ he said. ‘I’d be a fool to join you.’
‘You’ll get out in five minutes if you join us.’
‘I know, but give it to Ramsey. He’s got another seven years.’ Nathaniel held Mitch’s gaze for a moment. ‘And good luck.’
Mitch nodded, then moved on down the line to Ramsey Carr, who wasted no time in thrusting his hands into the bucket and scooping out a handful of water to drink.
He drank slowly with his head bowed, watching the nearest prison guard, who wasn’t paying the process of watering the prisoners too much
attention
. So he scooped out a second handful to splash
on his face, but this time he drew out the makeshift knife.
While Mitch moved on to Turner Jackson, the third man in their small detail, Ramsey wrapped a large hand around the knife, then clutched the bunched hand to his chest, sighing with relief. He’d waited for years to get a weapon in his grasp and now his future was in his own hands again, his contented expression said.
So far the breakout from Beaver Ridge jail was going as planned.
Last month Hiram Deeds, the head guard in the quarry – and also the least trustworthy guard, had been bribed to look the other way when a hole had been blasted out to give the prisoners access to a new rock seam.
Mitch Cartwright had purloined two sticks of
dynamite
, but not for long. Something that dangerous going missing had been noticed within minutes and it had taken only another ten minutes to locate the missing sticks, but Mitch hadn’t been disappointed.
The dynamite hadn’t been his target.
The sticks had been stored in a box that had a metal rim around the edges and it was the metal that he had wanted. So while the guards were frantically searching for the dynamite he’d broken up the box and distributed it amongst the prisoners.
Then the work had begun. Working late at night, slowly and secretly, the pieces had been shaped then sharpened. Using bare hands and having only the stone walls to scrape against, it had taken a month to
get them into the right shape but eventually a dozen sharp knives had resulted.
Now, what was planned to be the largest ever breakout from Beaver Ridge jail was approaching its crucial final stage in the quarry, the nearest point in the jail to the outside world. Mitch had distributed the knives during a break in the daily grind of
rock-breaking,
and now the distraction was about to start.
‘You not coming, then?’ Ramsey said, making his way over to Nathaniel now that the short break was over.
‘No,’ Nathaniel said as they turned away to face the heap of rocks on which they’d been working. ‘Like I’ve been saying, once I get out of here I’ll make sure I never end up in a place like this again. I’ll just stay back when it happens.’
Ramsey nodded. ‘And you, Turner?’
Turner didn’t meet Ramsey’s eye as he shuffled round to head back to the rock face, making Ramsey grunt his question again. This time Turner did look at him, but he shook his head.
‘I ain’t going either,’ he murmured.
Ramsey looked around. No guard was close enough to hear them as the prisoners dispersed to their positions at the slowest pace that wouldn’t invite retribution, as if everything was normal.
‘But you’ve got life,’ Ramsey said, his eyes opening wide with astonishment. ‘This is your only hope of tasting freedom again.’
‘It ain’t. I’ve been working on Hiram Deeds, telling him a tale about a hidden stash of gold I have
on the outside. He says he’ll get me out of here. I reckon I’ll take my chances with him.’
Ramsey’s eyes opened even wider before he shot an amused glance at Nathaniel, who registered his bemusement with a low whistle. Hiram Deeds was less reliable with his promises than the average
prisoner
was.
‘I wouldn’t believe anything he says,’ Nathaniel said. ‘That man is—’
‘Move along there,’ the strident voice of their guard demanded from behind them. ‘Your free time is over. Get back to work.’
The three men moved towards their
rock-hammers
ready to begin the process of converting large rocks into small rocks, but they moved slowly, waiting….
A loud oath-filled shout went up from the other side of the quarry.
The three men turned, their quick motions making them appear shocked. Up the slope on the other side of the quarry two prisoners, Casey Dawson and Swift Tate, were pushing each other while
shouting
taunts.
Fights were common and often the guards let them run their course, figuring that working off steam did everyone some good, and sure enough nobody moved to break them up.
Swift and Casey grabbed each other and after a brief skirmish the larger prisoner, Casey, grounded Swift with a flailing punch to the nose. Then he proceeded to kick him viciously and repeatedly in
the ribs, making him rise with every blow.
‘That’s enough,’ their guard said after the fourth blow, advancing on them.
Seemingly appeased Casey delivered one last kick, then turned on his heel and made his way back to his position. But the fallen Swift hadn’t had enough. He rolled to his knees, rubbed his bruised ribs, then ran for his rock-hammer.
Casey heard him rise and turned to see his
opponent
charging at him with the hammer raised high above his head, ready to deliver a pulverizing blow.
He threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the descending hammer, which crashed into the ground, sending rock slivers scything in all
directions
. Then, with another aggrieved grunt, Swift raised the hammer again.
By now the fight had got everyone’s attention.
‘Get him!’ one prisoner shouted.
‘Casey stole from me too,’ another shouted. ‘Crush him!’
Within seconds the quarry was alive with motion as the prisoners scurried towards the fight.
Nathaniel stayed back as did Turner, and Ramsey took advantage of their desire to keep out of this by staying with them so he could remain close to their guard.
Around the quarry the guards shot glances towards the quarry rim where Hiram Deeds sat in his imperious position, asking whether they should step in or let Swift and Casey settle their differences. But with Swift wielding a ten-pound hammer, even a man
like Hiram had an easy decision to make.
‘Enough!’ he roared, his voice echoing.
That demand didn’t deter the prisoners from milling in, so he fired into the air. The prisoners ignored him, instead forming a circle around Swift and Casey and urging Swift to bury the hammer in Casey’s head.
Inside the circle Swift advanced on Casey with measured intent, so Hiram shouted out for five guards to break up the circle and separate the two fighting prisoners, pointing at the men he’d selected to do the task.
One of those men was the guard looking after Nathaniel’s group. After muttering a quick order to the nearest guard to take over the duty of looking after them, he moved off.
‘Wait,’ Turner said, stepping forward.
‘Be quiet,’ the guard muttered, not breaking his stride.
‘But you’ve got to. I promised Hiram.’
While Nathaniel and Ramsey shot surprised looks at him, then at each other, wondering if this was part of the plan, the guard turned.
‘Promised him what?’
‘That I’d keep him informed.’ Turner looked up towards Hiram, then shot an ashamed glance at Nathaniel and Ramsey. ‘This fight ain’t what it seems. It’s a—’
Turner didn’t get to complete what was clearly going to be a foolhardy attempt to curry favour with Hiram Deeds by selling everyone out, because
Ramsey let out a great roar, then charged at him. He wrapped a large arm around his waist and carried him back several paces.
Nathaniel had resolved to avoid getting involved, but Turner’s duplicity had enraged him too. He joined Ramsey in wrestling Turner to the ground. While Ramsey slapped a hand over his mouth, Nathaniel pinned him down.
But the damage had already been done.
‘The fight’s a trap!’ the guard shouted.
Around the quarry everyone froze. None of the guards was close to the prisoners, as they needed to be when the prisoners revealed their hidden knives. With the element of surprise gone, the circle broke up and the prisoners ran towards their nearest targets.
In response the alerted guards backed away while the armed ones drew their guns.
Ramsey released his grip of Turner’s head, aiming to run at the guard who had alerted everyone, but Turner threw out a hand and grabbed his arm,
dragging
him down.
As a hubbub of shouting and gunfire rose around him Nathaniel struggled to keep Turner held down, but with him wriggling madly, all three men went sprawling, their frantic movements sending them tumbling down the side of the quarry. They rolled over each other, coming to an entangled halt twenty feet further down the slope.
Nathaniel lay for a moment, winded, then raised himself to see that the attempted breakout had
ended almost before it had got started.
Several guards were lying on their backs clutching stab wounds, and he counted the bodies of at least three shot prisoners. Most of the other prisoners were kneeling with their hands on their heads. The few free ones, brandishing knives, were nowhere near their target guards and were being shouted at to drop their weapons or be shot.
A guard was making his way purposefully towards them, so Nathaniel pre-empted his demand by
kneeling
and putting his hands on his head. He looked at Ramsey to see if he’d done the same, but only the double-crossing Turner was sitting up and he was staring down at Ramsey.
Nathaniel followed his gaze to see that Ramsey was lying on his back with his eyes glazed and lifeless, his neck arched backwards, baring his bloody throat. The knife that he’d waited for so long to get his hands on stuck upwards from his jugular, blood
pooling
up around it.
‘Step away from him,’ the guard said.
‘It was an accident,’ Turner said.
‘Sure was,’ Nathaniel said.
The guard sneered with disbelief as he looked at Nathaniel.
‘I saw what happened and that weren’t no
accident
.’ He snorted. ‘And to think you only had five days before you got freedom. Now, you’ve got about five days before you get the gallows.’
‘I reckon it’d be easier to just hang Javier Rodriguez here in Beaver Ridge,’ Shackleton Frost said.
Marshal Kurt McLynn nodded. ‘It would, but Mayor Maxwell reckons the townsfolk of Bear Creek suffered plenty at the hands of the Rodriguez
brothers
and they deserve better than to just hear Javier got hung in some jail over two hundred miles away. And now that the mayor’s invited the state governor to come and see how he deals with outlaws, it’s all become bigger than just one man and one
execution
.’
‘I know that, but ten men is a lot of manpower to transport one man.’
Kurt sat back in his chair and with a raised foot pushed himself away from the desk –
my
desk, Shackleton couldn’t help but note.
Ever since the governor of Beaver Ridge jail, Wes Bradbury, had appointed a US Marshal to oversee the task of delivering the outlaw Javier Rodriguez to his demise, a confrontation had been inevitable. To
Shackleton’s way of thinking, the meeting to discuss the task’s arrangements was as good a time as any.
For the last three years Shackleton and his small and trusted detail of two men had escorted prisoners from the small town jailhouses to Beaver Ridge. Never once had a prisoner escaped
en route
, and Shackleton was rightly proud of that record.
Even when Marshal Kurt McLynn had captured Javier, the most dangerous of the notorious Rodriguez brothers, Shackleton’s team had taken him from Bear Creek to Beaver Ridge without
trouble
. But now Javier’s final appeal had failed and a very public and political appointment with the gallows awaited him.
To ensure that he reached Bear Creek without mishaps Governor Bradbury had decided, despite Shackleton’s record, that he wasn’t capable enough for the job and so he’d hired the man who had brought Javier Rodriguez to justice.
So far, Kurt and Shackleton had agreed on only one thing – they didn’t like each other.
‘You saying I can do it with fewer men?’ Kurt asked. ‘Three, for instance?’
Shackleton smiled as Kurt cut straight to the heart of his concern.
‘For the last three years three men have got the job done.’
‘Except this time everyone knows Javier’s moving on, so if Pablo wants to save his brother, he’ll have to do it between here and Bear Creek.’
‘Yeah, but last time everyone knew Javier was
coming here
and
the townsfolk were baying for a lynching. So I took him away in the middle of the night, then used the trails nobody would expect,
travelling
only at night. I got him here….’
Shackleton let the rest of his comment go unsaid, partly because he didn’t need to say it, but mainly because he was losing the will to continue with this argument. He’d had the same debate with Governor Bradbury when he’d told him the bad news. Then he’d been unable to convince him that a small
experienced
detail who knew the area had a greater chance of success than a large detail putting on a deliberate show of strength.
Kurt’s sneer suggested he’d never convince
him
of that, either.
‘You’re wasting your breath, Shackleton. Governor Bradbury hired me, so if you want to be involved you’ll have to put your personal feelings aside.’ Kurt cocked his head to one side. ‘Should I find someone else?’
‘No,’ Shackleton said, then clenched his teeth.
For nearly a minute Kurt stared at him while
rocking
back and forth in his chair, reinforcing his command and Shackleton’s subordinate status; then he softened his expression and spread his hands.
‘If it helps, I can put your mind at rest on one matter.’ Kurt leaned forward to take a sheet of paper from the desk. He held it out. ‘I won’t use ten men to guard one. We’re giving Javier some company on the gallows. I’m taking at least seven other prisoners to Bear Creek.’
Shackleton took the paper and read down the list of names. The failed breakout had resulted in the deaths of two guards followed by an ongoing series of brief and merciless trials.
‘For this many men we’ll need a cage and that’ll mean we’ll have to stay on the well-travelled route along Devil’s Canyon. That’ll make it certain that everyone, including Pablo Rodriguez, will know exactly where we’ll be.’
Kurt chuckled. ‘I believe a public show of strength requires it.’
Shackleton frowned, irritated now that Kurt had converted the arrangements for this prisoner
movement
into the complete opposite of everything that had worked for him in the past. Then he narrowed his eyes.
‘You’re hoping Pablo
will
try something, aren’t you? You want to be known as the man who got both the Rodriguez brothers.’
‘The thought had crossed my mind.’ Kurt raised his eyebrows in an invitation to Shackleton to join him in finding the idea enticing.
But Shackleton’s job was purely to transport
prisoners
and he could see nothing to smile about.
‘In that case,’ he said, ‘perhaps ten men might not be enough.’
‘My thoughts exactly.’ Kurt reached over to another list. ‘I’ve been reviewing the details of the men here and comparing them to the men you recommended. There are some surprising
omissions
.’
Shackleton took the second list. The top name made him wince.
‘Hiram Deeds!’ he spluttered.
‘Why not? His information let the governor know a breakout was being planned. It’s men like him that I need.’
‘Hiram Deeds only got that information by taking bribes. He’s the biggest double-crossing snake you’ll ever find on this side of the jailhouse bars.’ Shackleton shook his head. ‘If you’re thinking of putting him on the detail, I want nothing to do with this.’
‘That’s fine with me, Shackleton, because I like men like Hiram who don’t question my orders.’ Kurt smirked. ‘And I’m starting to think he’d be a better man to do your job.’
‘Get out there, Nathaniel McBain,’ the guard said, gesturing to the door. ‘You’ve got an appointment with a short rope.’
Nathaniel pushed himself off his cot and got to his feet. Hope that common sense would prevail made sweat break out on his brow, but he still trudged out of the cell, resigned to what was about to happen.
The other prisoners in this secure part of the jail behind the courtroom glared at him from their own cells. Most had already been tried for their part in the attempted breakout, which explained their surly looks, but not why several men ran to the front of their cells to shout taunts and spit at him.
By the time Nathaniel reached the door a
cacophony
of noise accompanied him, making the guard push him through the door then go back in to quell the rising disquiet.
Nathaniel found himself unguarded in a short corridor: not that freedom here would help him. The only other door led to the jail courtroom.
Turner Jackson was already standing in the
corridor
, but he didn’t look up to acknowledge him. Nathaniel soon saw the reason for his sullen attitude. Bruises darkened his face and he stood with a stiff posture as if that beating had spread elsewhere.
‘They treat you badly?’ Nathaniel asked.
‘It wasn’t the guards,’ Turner murmured. ‘They put me in with two other prisoners. Everyone’s
looking
for a scapegoat.’
‘Can you blame them? You did warn the guard.’ Nathaniel snorted as he looked Turner up and down, feeling a twinge of sympathy for him. He might have sold everyone out, but even if he avoided the gallows, Turner’s life term was sure to be a short and painful one. ‘I hope for your sake that Hiram Deeds delivers on his promises.’
Turner shuffled unhappily from foot to foot, acknowledging this was unlikely, then raised his chin defiantly.
‘You ain’t got nothing to gloat about, Nathaniel. We were on the same detail.’
Nathaniel nodded. ‘So that’s why they were all shouting at me. They think I’m as guilty as you are.’
‘Yeah. So you’d better hope you don’t get left alone with anyone, either.’
‘I’ve got nothing to fear. I know the truth about what happened.’ Nathaniel sighed. ‘And for that matter, telling the truth in there is the only thing that can save us from the gallows.’
Turner’s sneer suggested he thought this was an even more unlikely prospect than Hiram Deeds
helping
him.
Then they both waited in pensive silence for the guard to return and take them to the courtroom where they faced the visiting judge along with Governor Bradbury and Hiram Deeds. The only witnesses were guards, adding further weight to Turner’s belief that this would turn out badly.
Judge Matthews heard the testimony of the guard who had separated them, his story being that they had silenced Ramsey Carr to settle an old grudge before they escaped. The judge grunted with
satisfaction
on hearing this summation of events, then turned to Nathaniel with the bored air of a man going through the formalities.
‘Nathaniel McBain,’ he said, ‘serving seven years for numerous robberies and misdemeanours, but never with violence. It would appear your time in here has helped you develop a killing streak.’
‘It’s the opposite,’ Nathaniel said, standing tall as he spoke his mind honestly. ‘I took to thieving only because I was hungry and misguided, but I know now I did wrong and the regime here has changed me. When I get out of here I plan to work hard and stay out of trouble.’
The courtroom echoed to subdued snorts of
derision
.
Judge Matthews waited with his chin resting on an upturned hand until the commotion had quietened down before replying.
‘Nathaniel McBain, I’ve been subjected to an endless litany of lies over the last two days and I’m in no mood for any more.’ He leaned forward. ‘You say you planned to stay out of trouble and yet you killed a man.’
‘I didn’t. It was an accident. I …’ Nathaniel noted that Judge Matthews was tapping his fingers on his desk with exasperation. The prisoner code of conduct was never to sell out your fellow prisoner, and Nathaniel found that he couldn’t do it even when that other prisoner was Turner Jackson. ‘I admit we were fighting, but it weren’t to settle no grudge. It was another matter.’
Judge Matthews snorted. ‘And then you planned to escape?’
Nathaniel took a deep breath. In thinking through how he would explain away the incident, he had only one indisputable fact that would help him and now was, he felt, as good a time as any to mention it.
‘I wasn’t planning on escaping. I only had five days of my sentence left to serve. I plan to avoid jail for the rest of my life, so I’d have been foolish to risk
everything
by attempting to escape, wouldn’t I?’
This declaration had the desired effect of making Judge Matthews raise his eyebrows and show some interest in proceedings for the first time.
‘Perhaps you would,’ he said, ‘although that still
leaves the matter of you fighting with another
prisoner
for a reason you are not prepared to divulge.’
‘And I’ll take my punishment for that, but I didn’t kill Ramsey and I wasn’t trying to escape.’
Judge Matthews leaned towards Governor Bradbury and engaged in a whispered conversation, then looked at Nathaniel with his head still bowed.
‘And who was holding the knife?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nathaniel said, ‘but it wasn’t me.’
He glanced at Turner, but Turner was staring at the floor and gave no sign that he had heard his comment.
‘So your story is that Turner killed Ramsey?’
‘I didn’t say that!’ Nathaniel said, taking a pace forward. ‘I just meant—’
‘Silence!’ Judge Matthews glared at him until he took a pace backwards, then turned his gaze on to Turner. ‘And what’s your story, Turner Jackson,
serving
life for bank robbery, manslaughter, to detail just the top two items on your very long list of crimes?’
Turner kept staring at the floor until a guard nudged him, making him raise his head. He lifted a manacled hand to rub his chest, wincing, then looked around the courtroom, taking in the row of hostile witnesses.
Then he dropped to his knees, raised his hands in a pleading gesture, and bleated out his story.
‘It was Nathaniel,’ he screeched. ‘He held the knife. He killed Ramsey. He—’
‘You double-crossing …’ Nathaniel said then swung round to Turner, aiming to finish the job that
the other prisoners had started.
He only managed to swing back a manacled hand, aiming to strike Turner across his lying mouth before a guard stepped in and clubbed the back of his head, knocking him to the floor.
He lay stunned while Turner blurted out a story that started with Nathaniel having just shown
everyone
how bad a temper he had. Then it went on to agree with the only other witness’s version of events, except he added the detail that Nathaniel had buried the knife in Ramsey’s throat.
By the time his tale had ended and Nathaniel had been dragged to his feet Judge Matthews was
consulting
with Governor Bradbury. Then he turned to the prisoners, his eyes lively, although Nathaniel
reckoned
that that was only because this was the last trial of the day.
‘The punishment for a prisoner who kills another is the gallows,’ he said. ‘A man
was
killed and so, based on the testimony I have heard, I have to decide whether one of you should hang, or both.’
‘I’m innocent,’ Nathaniel said. ‘Everything Turner said was a lie.’
‘May the grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people,’ Judge Matthews said, ignoring Nathaniel’s plea as he looked at Turner, then turned his gaze on to Nathaniel. He raised his gavel.