The Carpetbaggers (16 page)

The guard had come and checked the leg irons, fastening each man to the bed post. He had gone to the door and stood there for a moment. Then he laughed into the dark and went out.

Almost immediately, Max heard the scratch of a match, then a faint glow spread through the darkness. Max turned toward the light. Somehow one of the men had got a candle. It burned almost gaily at the head of his bed.

There was a subdued sound of laughter in the room. Max heard a voice say, "At leas' this time we can see what they look like."

"I don't care what they look like," another voice answered quickly, "as long as they got big tits."

Still another voice said raucously, "Your pecker won't know what to do, it's so used to yoh lily-white hand."

A soft laughter rippled through the room. About a half hour passed. Max could hear the sounds of restless movements, men twisting anxiously in their bunks.

"You reckon maybe they won't show up?" a voice asked nervously.

"They'll show up, all right," another prisoner replied. "They been waitin' for this as long as we have."

"Sweet Jesus." An anguished voice came from the far end of the room. "I can't hold it no more. All day long I been thinkin' about them women, about tonight— " His voice trailed off in a hoarse moan.

For a moment, the room filled with the sounds of the men turning restlessly in their bunks. Max felt the sweat come out on his forehead and his heart began to beat heavily. He rolled over on his stomach, feeling the sweet, heavy warmth suddenly spread into his loins. For a moment he writhed, caught in the fire of a wild desire, then angrily he forced himself to turn over. He rolled a cigarette with trembling fingers. He felt shreds of the tobacco fall around him but he finally lit it and dragged the smoke deep into his lungs.

"They ain't comin'," a voice cried, almost on the verge of tears.

"They ain't nothin' but a bunch of cock-teasers!" another voice said angrily. "T’ hell with them."

Max lay quietly in his bunk, letting the smoke trickle through his nostrils. The candle sputtered and flickered out and now the bunkhouse was pitch black. Mike's voice came softly from the next bunk. "How you doin' boy?"

"All right."

"Gimme a drag of that there butt."

Their hands touched briefly as Max silently held the cigarette out. The cigarette glowed and cast a faint shine over Mike's face as he dragged on it.

"Don' worry, boy." His voice was soft and reassuring. "They'll show up any moment now the candle's out. What those damn fools can't seem to understan' is them women don' want to see 'em, anymore'n they want theyselves to be seen."

A moment later, the bunkhouse door opened and the women began to come in. They entered silently, their bare feet making the faintest whisper on the floor.

Max turned in his bunk, hoping he could catch a glimpse of the one that would come to him. But all he could see were shadows that entered and then were lost in the dark. A hand touched his face. He started.

"Are you young or old?" a voice whispered.

"Young," he whispered back.

Her hand found his and brought it to her cheek. For a moment, his fingers explored her face gently. Her skin was soft and warm. He felt her lips tremble beneath his fingers. "Do you want me to stay with you?" she whispered.

"Yes."

Swiftly she came into the bunk beside him and he buried his head to the softness of her bosom. A great warmth and gentleness welled up inside him.

As if from a great distance, he heard a man across the room begin to cry softly. "My darling," he said, "my darling wife. You don't know how I've missed you."

Max turned his face up to the woman. As she bent to kiss his lips, he felt the tears rolling down her cheeks and he knew that she also had heard.

He closed his eyes. How could he tell this woman he couldn't even see what he felt? How could he tell her she brought kindness and love into this room?

"Thank you," he whispered gratefully. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

* * *

On the fourth day at the rice fields, Reeves came over to him. "I been wanting to talk to you," he said quickly. "But I had to wait until that damn nigger wasn't around. I got a boat!"

"What?"

"Keep yer voice down," Reeves said harshly. "It's all arranged. It'll be in that big clump of cypresses south of the prison the day after we get back."

"How d'you know?"

"I got it fixed with my girl," Reeves said.

"You sure she ain't jobbin' you?"

"I'm sure," Reeves answered quickly. "These Cajun girls all want the same thing. I told her I'd take her to New Orleans with me if she helped me escape. The boat'll be there. Her place is out to the middle of nowhere. It'll be a perfect place to hide out until they stop lookin' for us."

He glanced up quickly and began to move off.

That evening, Mike sat down next to Max at chow. For a long time, there were only the sounds of eating, the scraping of spoons on plates.

"You goin' with Reeves now that he got his boat?" Mike asked suddenly.

Max stared at him. "You know that already?"

Mike smiled. "Ain' no secrets in a place like this."

"I don' know," Max said.

"Believe me, boy," the Negro said sincerely, "thirty days in the cage is a lot longer than the year an' a half you got to go."

"But maybe we’ll make it."

"You won't make it," Mike said sadly. "Fust thing the warden does is get out the dogs. They don' get you, the swamp will."

"How would he know we went by the swamp?" Max asked quickly. "You wouldn' tell him?"

The Negro's eyes had a hurt expression. "You knows better'n that, boy. I may be a trusty, but I ain't no fink. The warden's gonna know all by himself. One man allus goes by the road. Two men allus goes by the swamp. It's like it was the rule."

Max was silent as he dragged on his cigarette.

"Please don' go, boy," Mike said. "Don' do nothin' to make me have to hurt you. I want to be you' friend."

Max looked at him, then smiled slowly. He reached out his hand and rested it on the big man's shoulder. "No matter what," he said seriously, "you're my friend."

"You goin'," Mike said. "You' mind's made up." Mike got to his feet and walked off slowly.

Max looked after him, puzzled. How could Mike know what he himself didn't know? He got to his feet and scraped off his plate.

But it wasn't until he was over the fence the next night and racing madly toward the clump of cypresses with Reeves at his side that he knew how right Mike had been.

Then Reeves was scrambling around at the foot of the cypresses, sunk half to his knees to the murky swamp water, swearing. "The bitch! The no-good lying Cajun whore!"

There was no boat there.

THEY PUSHED THEIR WAY THROUGH THE REEDS, sloshing in the water up to their waist, and up onto a hummock. They sank to their haunches, their chests heaving, their lungs gulping in great mouthfuls of air. From a great distance, they could hear the baying of a hound.

Reeves slapped at the insects around his head. "They're gaining on us," he mumbled through swollen lips.

Max looked at his companion. Reeves's face was swollen and distorted from insect bites, his clothing torn. Reeves stared back at him balefully. "How do you know we ain't been goin' in circles? Three days now and we ain't seen nothing."

"That's how I know. If we was goin' in circles, we woulda run into them sure."

"I can't keep this up much longer," Reeves said. "I'm goin' crazy from bug bites. I'm ready to let 'em take me."

"Maybe you are," Max said, "but I ain't. I ain't got this far to go back an' sit in a cage." He got to his feet. "Come on. We rested enough."

Reeves looked over at him. "How come them bugs don't bother you?" he asked resentfully. "It mus' be your Injun blood or somethin'."

"Might be," Max said. "Also might be that I don't scratch at 'em. Come on."

"Can't we stay here for the night?" Reeves complained.

"Uh-uh," Max said. "We got another two hours of daylight. That's another mile. Let's go."

He pushed off into the water. He didn't look back, but a moment later, he heard Reeves splash into the water behind him. It was almost dark when he found another hummock.

Reeves sprawled flat on the ground. Max looked down at him. For a moment, he felt almost sorry for him, then he remembered the fierce hatreds that flamed in Reeves and he wasn't sorry any more. He'd known what he was doing.

Max took out his knife and hacked swiftly at one of the long canes. He sharpened the end to a pointed spear. Then he sloshed out into the water. He stood there motionlessly for almost fifteen minutes, until he saw an indistinct shape swimming under the surface. He held his breath, waiting for it to come closer. It did and he moved swiftly. The spear flashed into the water.

He felt the pull against his arms as he lifted the spear free of the water. A large, squirming catfish was impaled on the tip.

"We got a good one this time," he said, returning to Reeves. He squatted down beside him and began to skin the fish.

Reeves sat up. "Start a fire," he said. "We'll cook this one."

Max was already chewing on a piece. He shook his head. "The smell of a fire carries for miles."

Reeves got to his feet angrily. "I don't give a damn," he snarled, his face flushing. "I ain't no damn Injun like you. I'm cookin' my fish."

He scrambled around, gathering twigs. At last, he had enough to start a small fixe. His hand groped in his pocket for matches. He found one and scraped it on a log. It didn't light. Angrily he scraped it again. He stared at the match. "They're still wet," he said.

"Yeah," Max answered, still chewing stolidly on the fish. It was rubbery and oily but he chewed it slowly, swallowing only a little at a time.

"You c'n start a fire," Reeves snapped.

Max looked up at him. "How?"

"Injun style," Reeves said, "rubbin’ two sticks together."

Max laughed. "It won't work. The wood's too damp." He picked up a piece of the fish and held it up toward Reeves. "Here, eat it. It ain't so bad if you chew it slow."

Reeves took the fish and squatted down beside Max, then began to chew on it. After a moment, he spat it out. "I can't eat it." He was silent for a moment, his arms wrapped around himself. "It's gettin' damn cold out here," he said, shivering slightly.

Max looked at him. It wasn't that cold. Faint beads of perspiration stood out on Reeves's face and he was beginning to tremble.

"Lay down," Max said. "I’ll cover you with grass — that'll keep you warm."

Reeves stretched out and Max bent down and touched his face. It was hot with fever. Max straightened up slowly and went to cut some more grass.

It was a hell of a time for Reeves to come down with malaria. Reluctantly he took one of his matches from its oilskin wrapping and lighted a fire.

* * *

Reeves continued to shake spastically beneath the blanket of swamp grass and moan through his chattering teeth. Max glanced up at the sky. The night was almost gone. Unconsciously he sighed. He wondered how long it would take for the warden to catch up with them now.

He dozed, swaying slightly, as he sat. A strange sound hit his subconscious and suddenly he was awake.

He reached for his fishing spear and crouched down. The sound came again. Whatever it was, it was large. He heard the sound again, closer this time. His legs drew up beneath him. He was set to lunge the spear. It wasn't much but it was the only weapon he had.

Then Mike was standing there casually, his rifle crooked in his arm. "You' a damn fool, boy," he said. "Shoulda knowed better'n to light a fire out here."

Max got to his feet. He could feel fatigue spread over him now that it was over. He gestured to the sick man. "He got the fever."

Mike walked over to Reeves. "Sure 'nough," he said, his voice marveling. "That warden, he was right. He figgered Reeves would get it after three days in the swamp."

Mike sat down next to the fire and warmed his hands. "Man but that fire sure do feel good," he said. "You should'n'a waited aroun'."

"What else could I do?"

"He would'n'a waited if it was you."

"But it wasn' me," Max said.

The Negro looked down at the ground. "Maybe you better git goin' now, boy."

Max stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Git goin'," Mike said harshly.

"But the rest of the posse?"

"They won' catch up fo' a couple of hours," Mike said. "They be satisfied catchin' Reeves."

Max stared at him, then looked off into the swamp. After a moment, he shook his head. "I can't do it," he said.

"You' a bigger fool than I thought, boy," Mike said heavily. " 'Twas him, he'd be off in the swamp now."

"We busted out together," Max answered. "It's only fittin' we go back together."

"All right, boy," Mike said in a resigned voice. He got to his feet. "Drown that fire."

Max kicked the fire into the water, where it sputtered and died. He glanced back and saw Mike pick up Reeves as if he were a baby and sling him over his shoulder. Max started back into the swamp toward the prison.

"Where at you goin', boy?" Mike's voice came from behind him.

Max turned around and stared.

Mike pointed in the opposite direction. "The end o' the swamp about twenty-fi' miles that way."

Sudden comprehension came to Max. "You can't do it, Mike. You ain't even officially a prisoner no more."

The big man's head nodded. "You' right, boy. I ain't a prisoner. That means I kin go where I wants an' if I don't want to go back, they can't say nothin' about it."

"But it's different if they catch you helpin' me."

"If they catch us, they catch us," Mike said simply. "Anyway, I don't wanta be the one who lays the snake on you. I can't do it. You see, we's really frien's."

* * *

Eight days later, they came out of the swamp. They stretched out on the hard, dry ground, gasping for breath. Max raised his head. Far in the distance, he could see smoke rising on the horizon.

"There's a town there," he said excitedly, scrambling to his feet. "We'll be able to git some decent grub."