Judas Payne: A Weird Western Page 7

  * * *

  Each morning and night, Robert Kevin Scroggins held prayer among the captive men working the silver mines belonging to Colonel Jodzio and his highwaymen. The enslaved men consisted not only those who were part of the caravan, but a dozen others who had been captured in a previous caravan two months before. At first, Judas Payne joined, or pretended to join, closing his eyes and lowering his head, all the while thinking about the hard work, which was more difficult than the work he had to do on his father’s land.

  There were about forty men, from Judas’ initial count, all housed under one large canvas tent and guarded, at the entrance, by two armed “Jodzioites” (as someone coined the term, humorous at first, but now having the ring of distaste). On the other side of the small mountain, which was being mined, were two other large tents: one for women, one for the rest of Jodzio’s men. No one talked about what was going on over there. No one wanted to know, even if they did know.

  They received three meals a day—breakfast, lunch, and dinner, which was often the same thing: grits and beans and stale bread and dirty water. Jodzio was fond of saying that while it was not the best grub around, it was enough to sustain them, and “better than what most niggers and Chinese slaves get.”

  Of which, there were several Negro and Chinese mine workers, who were, ironically enough, in foreman positions, telling them what to do in the mines. They were housed in a smaller tent nearby, which was left unguarded.

  They went to work at six a.m. sharp, entering the main entrance of the small mountain, split into groups for various tunnels. Each group was guarded by a single armed man. At eleven, they had a half hour lunch break, and they worked until five or six, at which time they had dinner (all meals, they were reminded, prepared by their own wives). Then they retired to their communal tent, where most collapsed from exhaustion.

  One day, Scroggins said to Judas, “The Jodzioites didn’t tunnel this mountain out. None of them did a hard day’s work here, ever. I don’t even think Jodzio prospected and made claim. He stole the property. I bet he even killed the original owner.”

  It was back-breaking, trying, and heart-breaking work. The men dug and tunneled, sifted through rock, hauled silver out by the barrel-full. Judas could understand the worth of such work if this were your land, your silver to become rich from; or if you were being paid well. But this was forced labor, with no end to it in site, it was always uncomfortably hot both inside and outside the mountain, and at the best all they could expect was the measly morsels of food, a blanket on the floor, and the incessant worry for their wives and children on the other side.

  While work may have kept their minds off what their wives were going through, each day Judas could see it growing on their faces: weariness and the desire to give up, coupled with fear and worry, but the acceptance of that fear and worry. While a lot of the men—Scroggins included—were, at the beginning, defiant and ready to fight for their freedom at any opportune moment, that fire soon dwindled as the days became weeks.

  Scroggins held his ground, and often tried to boost morale. “Jodzio knows that working us to weakness is the best way to defeat any acts of rebellion. We must find the strength to stand against the Jodzioites, not only in our hearts, but in our faith in God.”

  Someone said, “God? There is God here. God has looked away from us.”

  Someone else said, “Perhaps it was a sin to leave home and look for a new life and we are being punished.”

  “No, no, NO,” Scroggins cried, frustrated at the defeatism. “Life is a big test, filled with many smaller tests. This is but another test.”

  “Then God is a hard teacher,” Judas heard himself say. He was surprised by the words that came from his mouth. As quickly as they came out, he wished he could retract them.

  Scroggins considered Judas for a moment, then nodded. “Yes,” he said, “this is true. God is a hard teacher, and he wants us all to pass his tests with good grades.”

  “Bullshit,” someone said.

  And someone else: “Go to sleep, Scroggins. It’ll be morning sooner than you think.”

  One young fellow from the caravan, Billy Patricks, always listened to Scroggins—he looked up to the man for strength and wisdom, and wasn’t about to give up. He had a lot of fight. “There are only two guards posted outside each night,” he said, “and forty of us.”

  Someone said: “And each guard has two pistols and a rifle.”

  “Some may die,” Patricks said, “but it’s a sacrifice that has to be made, for the overall good. We will be free, and then we can rescue the women and children.”

  Someone: “How do we know that there’s just two? It could be a ploy. There may be two others out in the darkness.”

  “There are only fifteen Jodzioites in all,” Patricks said. “They’re not everywhere.”

  Someone: “How do we know the niggers and chinks don’t have guns? They seem well enough in cahoots with the Jodzioites.”

  Someone: “Yeah, I think the niggers and chinks are with them and could be armed as well.”

  “I doubt that,” Scroggins spoke up. “I admire your determination, Billy. But say we do overtake the guards. That gives us what? Four pistols and two rifles among forty men? Less those that may die in the overtaking? Then we have to go to the other camp and fight the Jodzioites and all their weapons. And those men, need I remind you, are hardened veterans of the War. They are soldiers who are experts in guns and hand-to-hand combat. Who among us has fought in battle?”

  All the young men looked down, and no one raised their hand.

  Then they went to sleep.

  A few days later, in the tunnels, Billy Patricks went about telling everyone his plan. He would, tonight, fake sickness— grave illness. “I’ll act as if I have the cholera,” he said, “I’ve seen people who had it, I know how they act, how they wither in pain and despair. We will tell the guards that I need immediate medical attention. When the guards come in to look upon me screaming in pain, in all the commotion, we will jump them, kill them, take their guns, and make ourselves free.”

  It was a wild idea but Patricks enlisted the help of enough of the men, including Scroggins.

  “It’s worth a try,” Scroggins admitted. “At this point, anything is.”

  So that evening, as planned, Patricks fell to the ground, crying, clutching his gut, withering about in the dirt like a man possessed by something foul. Judas thought he was doing a good performance. Others called out to the guards for help. Both guards came in, rifle in one hand, pistol in the other.

  Shouts and pleas: “He’s sick! He has the cholera! He needs a doctor now! He needs to be taken out of here!”

  The guards went to inspect Patrick, who was still moaning and twitching.

  One of the guards said, “What ails him, you say?”

  “It must be the cholera!” someone said. “I’ve seen it before.”

  The two guards looked at each other. They nodded, in unison, and one shot Patricks twice in the chest with his pistol.

  A silence fell throughout the tent, as well as a collective wave of shock and surprise.

  “Can’t have the cholera spreading around this camp,” the guard who’d fired said. “Okay, I need two men to cart this body out.”

  The two men were Scroggins and Judas.

  The next day, another man was killed. Colonel Jodzio, for the first time since the capture of the caravan, gathered everyone at the foot of the mountain, men and women separated as usual. The children were not present. Wives cried out to their husbands, husbands to their wives, until the Jodzioites silenced them with stares, pointed guns, and fists.

  Jodzio, in full military regalia and his saber, hat on head, medals shining in the sun, stood between the two groups and spoke loudly.

  “It is time for a lesson,” he said. He nodded to one of his men, who brought out a young lady from the women’s side. She was bruised and blood was dried around her lips.

  “Helen,” one of the enslaved men said.

/>   Jodzio paced and he spoke. “It was explained, and expected, that each woman would have her share of work to do: preparing food, doing laundry, and keeping me and my men very happy.”

  The Jodzioites all laughed.

  “This young lady here has been resistant. You see,” turning to the men, “I first sample each young lady. I determine how good she is in the sack, and if there’s any special talents she may have that my men will enjoy. But this strong-willed girl has been refusing to do one of her duties. She cooks, yes, and she can launder clothes, yes, but she will not screw. I cannot have such defiance here, it doesn’t suit well with my program. So it is necessary to break her will. Who among you here is this fine young lady’s husband?”

  The fellow who’d called her name raised his hand and said proudly, “I am!”

  “Bring him here,” Jodzio said to one of his men.

  “No,” Scroggins said, but it was a whisper. “No...”

  The young man was brought forward, feet away from his wife. Both were made to kneel and face each other. The young woman, Helen, was crying, and so was her husband.

  “Helen?” Jodzio said.

  She cried.

  “Helen,” the Colonel said, “do you love him?”

  “I love him more than anything,” she wept, “and he is the only man who will ever know me!”

  Jodzio pulled out his saber and drove it straight through the young man’s chest, the blade, covered in blood, exiting out his back.

  Helen screamed, tried to go to her husband; she was restrained by one of the Jodzioites. The other women cried out in shared agony and fear, perhaps terrified that the same would happen to their husbands. Of the men, there was only silence.

  Jodzio pulled his saber free, and the young man fell forward, dead, his face almost landing in the lap of his hysterical wife.

  Jodzio took out a cloth from his back pocket and cleaned his sword. “Now Helen doesn’t have to worry about her virtue,” he said, more to the women than anyone else. “She’s a widow. And for any other woman who does not do what is expected of her, she too will become a widow.” He raised his voice, to speak to all. “This is not something I want to do. I have lost two workers already, and they are workers much needed. You are all needed. All I ask is that you do what is expected of you, do as you’re told, and no more death will occur. The man from last night, he did not have the cholera.” To the men’s side: “I don’t know what you had planned, but I can surmise what it may have been. My advice: Do Not Try Anything Foolish.”

  It was more like a motto to live by in the weeks and months to follow.

  * * *

  Evangeline Payne didn’t know her father was out of town. She figured he was at his church. Sheriff Lish knew the Reverend had gone to Hand for some sort of business that was neither the Sheriff’s concern nor care. The Reverend’s lack of presence was a good excuse to ride out to the Payne’s and pay another visit to the girl he felt he could marry.

  Evangeline wasn’t all that surprised to have the Sheriff call on her. She had hoped he would soon. She knew what was on his mind, given that kiss between them.

  “I just wanted to see how you’re doing, Miss Payne,” he said. “Very fine, thank you,” she lied. “And you can call me Evangeline, if you like.”

  “I would rather call you ‘angel,’” he said.

  The word sent terror and cold through her blood and body.

  “Angel” is what she called her one and only love, her dearest, whom she did her best to keep out of her mind so as not to go insane. She started to say something, but she didn’t know what to say.

  “Has anyone ever called you ‘Angel’?” Lish asked. “It’s a fitting na—”

  “Stop, no,” she held up a hand. “I do not wish to be called that.”

  “I’m sorry. Evangeline?”

  She would not cry in front of this man, not now, not ever. She would only cry in private. If she showed him tears, showed him her weakness, he would want to know why, and she might tell him.

  She said, “Perhaps, for now, you should refer to me in the proper, as Miss Payne, for we hardly know much of each other, now do we, Sheriff?”

  “No,” he said, fumbling around with his hat. “Perhaps it was a mistake having come out here. Maybe...”

  He started to back away. Evangeline said, “Don’t be foolish, Sheriff Lish. Come on inside and rest a bit. I know the ride out here is always trying on the body.”

  Not the body, Lish wanted to say.

  They sat across from each other at the table. Sunlight shone through the window and glared off the old wood. Neither of them knew what to say to the other.

  “Would you care for some lunch?” Evangeline asked. “I can make sandwiches with jam. We may have some peanut butter as well. And I know we have some oatmeal cookies.”

  “Well,” Lish said. He smiled. “Yes. Yes, some lunch would be nice.”

  Evangeline stood, pleased that she at least had a task to do. “I shan’t take long.”

  “Would you care for some help?” He almost stood up, but ceased when she held out her hand, the same way she had when she didn’t want him to call her angel. “I...”

  “No help is needed, Mr. Lish,” she said. “This is my chore and my chore alone, and you will be pleased with the result, I hope. I’m rather talented in the kitchen. Not having had a mother, I have been cooking for my father and—” She almost said brother. She had to watch herself. “For my father and guests since I was a child this high,” indicating, with her hand flat, a level at her mid-section.

  “I’ll wait then,” Lish said.

  Smiling, Evangeline retreated to the kitchen. Her heart was pumping fast. Why was she entertaining this man? Oh, but she knew why. Stop questioning yourself!

  She returned, fifteen minutes later, with the sandwiches and cookies, as well as lemonade.

  They sat quietly at the table and ate.

  Finally, Evangeline broke the silence. “Is your job very dangerous?”

  “Not usually, no.”

  “You carry a gun.”

  “All men carry guns these days,” Lish laughed, placing a napkin at his mouth.

  “Have you had to use your gun?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “Have you ever killed men?”

  “No, not as a Sheriff,” he said.

  “But you have killed men?”

  “In the War.”

  She nodded. “Men kill men in wars. It is the nature of war, is it not?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “But you never have to deal with hooligans and rough necks?”

  “Not usually. Tyburn is a bit out of the way. Sure one day I’ll have to, I reckon. And maybe I’ll have to hire a deputy or two to help.”

  “Yes, that’s right. You are alone in your job.”

  I’m alone, he wanted to say. “You ask a lot of questions, Miss Payne.”

  “Please, may call me Evangeline. I’m afraid I was being a bit brash and testy a while back.”

  “Evangeline. I like saying your name.”

  She laughed, lightly, and—demurely—looked away.

  He said, “Did I say something funny?”

  “No, not at all,” the girl said. “It just occurred to me that I don’t know your name. I have been calling you Sheriff and Mister.”

  “Paul,” he said.

  “Paul,” she said. “Paul,” she said again.

  “Evangeline.” He loved saying her name.

  When it was time for him to go, Evangeline saw him to the door. He was just going to leave, but he mustered the courage to say, “May I kiss you again, before I head back to town?”

  “No,” she said. “Not yet. Last time was a fluke, an accident by all means. I am not a girl who rushes into romance.”

  Lish felt his knees shake. “Is this romance?”

  “I do not know,” she said. “What do you think? Have you ever been in love, Paul?”

  “I don’t think so,” he told her. �
�I think—I thought, at certain times, in my life, that I was. But now I’m not sure. Have you?”

  “Have I?”

  “Been in love?”

  “I’m just a girl out here alone on my father’s land. What do I know of love?” And she lied again: “No, Sheriff Paul Lish, I do not know love. I wonder if I will know it when it comes.”

  “You will.”

  “Then I have hope,” she said softly.

  “I sure would love to kiss you again.”

  “A kiss would be nice,” she said, “but not today.”

  “May I ask—?”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you truly possible, ever,” he was choking on his words, “would it be possible for an old fellow like me to attract the interest a girl so young and attractive as yourself?”

  “Yes,” she heard herself say.

  “Even for marriage?”

  “You certainly rush into things,” she said. “One thing at a time, one day at a time. Marriage is something a girl needs to think about quite seriously.”

  “Of course....”

  “But anything is possible,” she said.

  She watched him ride away. She would never love him, but she would marry him, to get away from her father once and for all.

  A few hours after the Sheriff had departed, the Reverend came home. Evangeline fled to her room. She didn’t expect him to come to her door.

  “Open up, girl,” he said.

  “No,” she said.

  “We have a visitor. I would like you to pay your respects.” “What visitor?”

  “A woman from out of town. Do not be rude. Open the door and say hello to her.”

  She hesitated, but opened her door. The sight of her onearmed father was ghastly. “Where is this woman?” she asked, expecting a trick.

  “Waiting to see you,” the Reverend said.

  The woman in question was sitting in the exact spot at the table where the Sheriff had sat. Evangeline thought she looked like an old witch. Her skin was brown like her beloved’s.

  “My dear, my dear,” the woman said, standing, smiling with a mouthful of very white teeth. “Aren’t you a lovely one? And what did your father say your name was?”