Stories (2011) (100 page)

The Chinaman still had the axe in one hand, and he eyed me
and clenched the axe a little tighter. “She go to work.”

“All right,” I said. “Give her time. And lighten up on that
axe, or you’ll wake up with it up your ass.”

I reached down and picked up the crutch she had dropped,
then I reached down and pulled her up and put the crutch under her arm. She
smiled that missing tooth smile. She looked pretty damn good, even if she could
suck a pea through that hole in her chompers with the rest of her teeth
clenched.

“Chop suey,” the Chinaman said to the cripple, and she
limped away into a tent on her crutch.

What Chop suey was, was warm and delicious, though right
then it might have seemed better than it really was cause I was hungry enough
to eat the ass out of dead mule and suck blood out of a chicken’s eye.

I sat on my ass on the dirt floor under a tent roof and ate
up and kept an eye on my Chinaman, as he had never let go of that there axe,
and he had a way of lookin’ at me that made me nervous. I had pulled Cramp off
the horse and stretched him out on some hay that was off to the side of the
tents, next to a cheap corral which was mostly dirt, wind, a frame of wood, and
a spot of tarp. I unsaddled the horse and bought it some hay and water, and had
a China boy curry him down. I paid for the service, and then I went in and ate.

The four whores didn’t depart. They sat nearby and looked at
me and giggled. The Chinaman said, “They want see black come off.”

“It doesn’t.”

“They think you, dead nigger, painted. They not know
things.”

“Tell one of them they can rub my skin, see if it comes
off.”

The Chinaman told them somethin’ in Chinese talk, and one of
the girls, who now that I was closer, looked pretty young to me, came over and
rubbed on my arm.

“No come off,” she said.

“Not so far,” I said.

“Let see dick,” she said.

“Now what?”

“Let see dick.”

“She want know its black,” the Chinaman said.

“She can take my word on that one, and maybe later I can
show it to her in private.”

“That be two bits,” the Chinaman said.

“For the woman?”

He nodded. “Two bits.”

I looked at the China girl, said, “What’s your name?”

“Sally,” she said.

“Really?”

“Sally,” she said.

“They all Sally,” the China man said, holding the axe a
little too comfortably. “You can call Polly or whatever, you buy pussy.”

“I’ll think that over. First things first, where’s the
graveyard?”

The Chinaman pointed. “Back of town, that side. No niggers.”

“He’s dead. What does it matter?”

“No nigger. No Chinaman.”

“Well, that puts a hitch in my drawers,” I said. “Promised
him I’d bury him somewhere wasn’t lonesome.”

“Bury in pig pen, but deep. Not deep. Pigs will eat him.”

“No, I had something different in mind. Like a graveyard.”

“White fellas, not like. Shoot black dick off.”

“That wouldn’t be good.”

I got up and went outside and walked over to Cramp. He
wasn’t lookin’ too good. Startin’ to bloat. I got my knife and slipped it under
his ribs and jabbed hard and let some of the bloat out, which was as bad air as
you ever smelled. I stood over to the side while he deflated a mite.

The Chinaman had followed me out, still carrying his axe. He
said, “Damn. Dead nigger smell plenty bad.”

“Dead anything smells plenty bad…You think maybe you could
put that axe down? You’re makin’ me a nervous.”

“Chinaman like axe.”

“I see that.”

The girls had come out now.

I saddled up my horse and put poor old Cramp over the saddle
again. He had loosened up some, and his head and legs hung down in a sad kind
of way. I had his sombrero on the saddle horn, and I got on the horse and said,
“I need to borrow a shovel and a lantern.”

“Two bits,” the big Chinaman said.

“I said borrow.”

“Two bits.”

“Shit.” I dug in my pocket for two bits and gave it to him,
and the one legged whore, moving pretty good for a wooden leg and a crutch,
carried the shovel and unlit lantern over to me. I reached down from the horse
and took it, rode in the direction the Chinaman said the graveyard was.

The graveyard was on a hill to the east side of the town,
and I rode over there and got off the horse and lit the lantern, held it out
with one hand and led the horse with the other. There was some stone markers,
but mostly they was wood, and some of them was near rotted away or eaten away
by bugs.

I looked until I found a place that was bare, tied up the
horse to one of the wooden markers, put the lantern next to my burying spot,
got the shovel off the saddle, and started to dig.

I had gotten about two feet into the ground, and about two
feet wide, ready to make it six feet long, when I heard a noise and turned to
see lights. Folks were comin’ up the hill, and they were led by the Chinaman,
still carrying his axe. The others were white folks, and they didn’t look
happy. Now and again, I’d like to run up against just one happy white folk.

I stuck the shovel in the dirt, left the lantern where it
was, walked over and stood by my horse, cause that’s where my Winchester was. I
tried not to look like a man that liked being near his Winchester, but being
near it gave me comfort, and of course, I had my revolver with me. It had five
shots in a six shot chamber, which is the way I carry it most of the time,
least I shoot my foot off pullin’ it loose from its holster. But five shots
wasn’t enough for eight men, which there was, countin’ the Chinaman with his
axe. A couple of them were carrying shotguns, and one had a rifle. The rest had
pistols on them.

When they were about twenty-feet from me, they stopped
walking.

The Chinaman said, “I tell him. No niggers. No Chinaman.”

“You scoundrel,” I said, “you rented me the shovel and the
lantern.”

“Make money. Not say bury nigger.”

“The chink here,” one of the shotgun totin’ white men said,
stepping forward a step, “is right. No niggers in Christian soil.”

“What if he’s a Christian?”

“He’s still a nigger. So are you.”

I was wondering how fast I could get on my horse before they
rushed me. I said, “Chinaman, what problem was this of yours?”

“My town.”

I thought, you asshole. Just a half hour ago you were trying
to sell me pussy, sold me food and feed for my horse, and rented me a shovel
and a lantern. His problem was simple, I had stopped him from slapping his
property around, and now that he had my money, he was getting even. Or, from my
way of lookin’ at it, more than even.”

“All right, gentleman,” I said. “I’ll take my dead man and
go.”

“That there jacket,” one of the men said, and my heart sank,
“that’s a Yankee soldier jacket.”

“I was in the army, not the war,” I said. “I didn’t shoot at
no Southerners.”

“You still got on a Yankee jacket.”

“I was chasin’ Indians,” I said, figurin’ most of them
wouldn’t care for Indians either, and that might put me on their side a bit.”

“You and them ain’t got a whole lot of difference, except
you can pick cotton and sing a spiritual.”

“That ought to be a mark in my favor,” I said.

They didn’t think that was funny, and it didn’t do any
endearing.

“Shootin’ a nigger ain’t half the fun as lynchin’ one,” one
of the charming townspeople said.

I pulled my revolver quick like and shot the closest man
carryin’ a shotgun, shot him right between the eyes, and then I turned and shot
the other shot gunner in the side of the head, and just to make me happy, I
shot the Chinaman in the chest. Bullets whizzed around me, but them fellas was
already backin’ down the hill. I’d learned a long time ago, you can’t out shoot
eight determined and brave people fair, but you can outshoot eight cowards if
you get right at it and don’t stop. You can’t hesitate. You got to be, as I
learned in the army, willin’.

I ran to the edge of the hill and popped off my last shot,
and now shots were comin’ back up the hill at me at a more regular pace. I
grabbed my horse and took off, leavin’ Cramps lyin’ there. I rode on up through
the cemetery and topped it out and rode down the other side as bullets whizzed
around me.

I got to a clearin’ and gave the horse a clear path, and it
could really run. I had caught me a good one back there on the prairie, and it
covered ground like a high wind. I looked back and seen that there were some
lanterns waggin’ back there, and then I heard horses comin’, and I bent low
over my pony and said, “Run, you bastard,” and run he did.

We went like that, full out for a long time, and I knew if I
didn’t stop, the horse was gonna keel over, so I pulled up in a stand of wood
and got off of him and let him blow a little. I put my hand on his heaving side
and came away with it covered in salt from sweat. I heard the sound of their
horses, and I hoped they didn’t have no tracker amongst them, and if they did,
I tried to figure that the night was on my side. Course, it would stand to
reason they’d want to look in the only area where a man might hide, this little
patch of woods.

I led the horse deeper in the trees, and then I led him up a
little rise, which was one of the few I’d seen in this part of the country,
outside of the cemetery. The trees wasn’t like those in East Texas where I’d
come from. They were bony lookin’ and there was just this little patch
standing.

I got the Sharps and the Winchester off the horse and took
my saddle bag off of it, and throwed it over my shoulder. I led the horse down
amongst the thickest part of the trees and looped the reins over a limb and went
back to where I could see good and lay down with the Sharps. I opened the
saddle bag and felt around in there for a load and opened the breech on the
Sharps and slid in a round and took a deep breath and waited. They came riding
up, pausing at the patch of trees, having a pretty good guess I was in there.

They was in range, though they didn’t know it, not figurin’
on me havin’ the Sharps, and they was clutched up good. A bunch had joined them
from the town, and I counted twelve. Not a very smart twelve, way they was
jammed up like that, but twelve none the less, and there wasn’t no surprise
goin’ now. They had me treed like a possum.

After a moment, I seen one horse separate from the others,
and the rider on it was sitting straight up in the saddle, stiff. He come on
out away from the others and there didn’t seem to be a thing cautious or
worried about him.

As he closed in, I took a bead on him, and in the moonlight,
as he neared, I noted he was a colored fella, and I figured they had grabbed
some swamper in town and brought him with them, thinkin’ he’d talk me into
givin’ myself up, which he couldn’t. I knew how it would end if they got their
hands on me, and me puttin’ a bullet in my own head was better than that.

Then I seen somethin’ else. It was Cramps. He was tied up on
his horse, an stick or somethin’ worked into the back of the saddle, and he was
bound up good so he wouldn’t fall off. He had his sombrero perched on his head.

I lowered the rifle and seen that the crowd of horses behind
Cramp was spreadin’ out a bit. I was about to put a bead on one of them, when a
white man rode out and said, “You don’t come back, nigger. Stay out of our
town, hear? We’re gonna give you this one so you don’t come back.”

Well, now, I got to admit, I wasn’t plannin’ on goin’ back
for Cramps no how. I had tried to do my good deed and it hadn’t worked out, so
I figured the smartest thing I could do was wish him the best and ride like
hell. But now, here he was. And there they were.

The horse with Cramp on it ambled right into the woods, and
come up toward me like it was glad to see me. I stood up and got hold of its
reins and led it behind me and tied it off on a limb and went back and lay
down. I watched the white folks for awhile.

“You don’t come back,” the fella who’d spoken before said,
and they all turned and rode back toward town.

I didn’t believe they’d given up on me anymore than they’d
given up on breathin’.

Way I had it reckoned, was they was gonna slow me down by
givin’ me Cramps to worry about, and then when they thought I figured they was
gone, they was gonna get me. I knew they was worried about me, cause they had
had no idea I could shoot like I could until that moment on the hill when I
killed a few of them, and their snotty Chinaman too. So now, caution had set
in. They were probably waiting out there until I felt safer, or got so hungry
and thirsty, I had to leave out of the grove, then they was gonna spring on me
like a tick on a nut sack. If I waited until daylight I could see them better,
but, of course, they could see me better too, so I didn’t think that was such a
sterlin’ plan.

I lay there and listened and was certain I could hear them
ridin’ in different directions, and that convinced me I was right about that
they had in mind. They was gonna surround me and wait until they got their
chance to shoot more holes in me than a flour sieve.

I lay there with the Sharps and strained my thinkin, and
then I come up with a plan. I reloaded my revolver and went and pulled Cramps
into the thickest of the trees, and there in the dark I cut him loose from that
pole they had fixed up to the back of the saddle by lacin’ a lariat through it,
and pulled him off the horse.

Cramp stunk like a well used outhouse and his face was
startin’ to wither. I put his sombrero on my head, pulled off his jacket and
tossed mine across his horse. I got my guns and the things I wanted from my
saddle bags, packed them up, climbed on his horse and rested my back against
that pole they had tied up, put my Winchester and the Sharps across my lap,
tuckin’ them as close as possible, and then I clucked softly to the horse and
left the other one tied back there in the trees. I had a moment of worrying
about the horse, him tied and all, but I figured they’d eventually come in here
after me if I managed to get away, and they’d take the horse. Thing was, though
I gave the nag a thought, I was more worried about my ass than his. I tried to
sit good and solid and hope anyone seein’ me would think I was just that dead
fella on a pony, tied to a post.