Slocum and the hangmans.., p.14
Slocum and the Hangman's Lady,
p.14
“Strip him,” Slocum said, pointing to Judge Wyman. “Just leave him with socks and shorts.”
“Who me?” Wyman asked, as Slocum fixed him with a look.
“Yes, you.”
“This is an outrage,” Wyman said.
“Oh, this isn’t the half of it, Wyman.” Slocum smiled. “You believe in justice, don’t you? Well, you’re going to get justice today, all right.”
“You bastard,” snarled Wyman as Blandings helped him off with his tie. In moments, Wyman stood there, white-skinned, bare except for his feet and privates, looking like a plucked chicken. The Mexicans in the room snickered. Wyman scowled.
“Blandings, there stands your judge,” Slocum said. “Defrocked. Now march him to the gallows. Jonesy, you walk with him. We’ll all be right behind you.”
The procession picked up a crowd as it made its way to the plaza in the center of town. One of the Hidalgo Mexicans led their horses and Abeja’s burro behind them. One of those who came up to Slocum as he reached the town square was Emory Davis.
Slocum saw the attorney heading toward them and smiled. For once, Davis seemed to have lost his composure. He was definitely ruffled because he seemed all feet as he stumbled and faltered, dodging those who got in his way.
“Mr. Slocum,” Davis said, “tell me that isn’t Judge Wyman practically buck naked.”
“I can’t tell you that, Mr. Davis.”
“My God, man, what are you planning to do with him? And how come the sheriff is helping you?”
“The sheriff has had his teeth pulled. There are no bullets in that pistol he’s packing. As for the judge, he’s going to stand up there on that gallows with a rope around his neck.”
Davis’s face turned ashen as he walked along beside Slocum. They came up to the gallows and the crowd gasped, as if it had had the wind knocked out of it.
“Stand Wyman around in back of the gallows in the shade. Any sign of the hangman yet?”
“Ya vienen Fernandez y su esposa,” one of the Mexicans said. “Here comes Fernandez and his wife now.”
“Good,” Slocum said.
Emory Davis spluttered over the words in his mouth.
“Mr. Slocum, as a member of the court, I must advise you that this is highly illegal. What you’re doing is a criminal offense.”
“Calm down, Emory,” Slocum said. “Judge Wyman himself is a criminal offense. And he’s only part of the necktie party.”
“Egads, are you going to hang the whole town?”
“Not a bad idea, but no. Just relax, Davis. Enjoy this moment. It might even be historic.”
Slocum stepped up to Blandings.
“You get set, Sheriff. I want Fernandez up on that gallows when I bring Wyman up.” He turned to the men from Hidalgo who were all around him, armed to the teeth.
He spoke to them in Spanish.
“Don’t shoot Fernandez if he tries to run,” he said. “But if he looks like a rabbit, you all aim your guns at him and make sure he knows you might shoot him.”
Carlos and Pandora Fernandez rode up, unsuspecting of anything being amiss. He was grinning and his wife was acting the regal lady. They dismounted and tied their horses at a hitchrail in front of a dry goods store. Fernandez united his things in back of the cantle and hefted the canvas sack containing his rope and slung it over his shoulder. He and Pandora walked toward the gallows. Then they both looked up and saw that it was glistening with fresh red paint. They halted. Two of the Hidalgans came up behind them and prodded them with rifles.
“Walk,” one of the men said, in English.
“What have they done?” wailed Fernadez.
“Now,” Slocum said, prodding the sheriff. “Escort Fernandez up on the gallows platform.”
Blandings stepped out and met Fernandez. Pandora shrank back, looked all around, her face a mask. Color had begun to creep up her neck.
“Take your position, Carlos,” Blandings said, his voice quavering with fear. He knew the guns were on him.
“Where is the prisoner?” Fernandez croaked.
“I’ll bring him up when you get up there.”
With the sheriff behind him, Fernandez removed the rope from the sack and lugged it up the steps. As the crowd watched, he secured it to the gallows beam, tested it. He put a foot on the platform and saw that it was secure. He turned to Blandings.
“Who in hell painted this gallows?” he asked. “The paint is still wet and it’s all over my boots.”
Blandings was at a loss for words.
Slocum grabbed Wyman and shoved him around the side of the gallows. He marched him up the steps.
“I did,” Slocum said.
Fernandez dropped his jaw in surprise as Slocum pushed Wyman under the rope.
“What the hell’s the meaning of this, Slocum? Judge, didn’t I come here to hang Slocum?”
“Put the rope around Wyman’s neck, Fernandez,” Slocum said.
“I will not.”
Slocum drew his pistol. A collective gasp escaped from the crowd, which had now swelled to hundreds.
“If you don’t, I’ll shoot you where you stand,” Slocum said. He thumbed back the hammer and the click could be heard from boardwalk to boardwalk in the plaza.
“Judge, what should I do?” Fernandez said. “I can’t hang you.”
“If you don’t put that rope around Wyman’s neck,” Slocum said, “it’s going to go around yours. Now, do it. Quick.”
With fumbling hands, Fernandez moved Wyman into the correct position. He pulled the noose down and slipped it over the judge’s head. He hesitated before tightening it. Slocum gestured with his pistol and Fernandez pulled on the knot until the rope was tight around Wyman’s neck.
“Now, step aside,” Slocum told Fernandez.
Fernandez stepped to one side on a line with the judge. Slocum walked to the front of the platform and looked down at Pandora.
“Bring her up here,” he told the two Mexicans who flanked her.
Pandora bolted, started to run. The two men grabbed her and wrestled her to the stairs. They pulled and pushed her up to the platform until she stood next to her husband.
“You bastard,” she said to Slocum.
He smiled at her.
“We’ll start the proceedings very soon now,” Slocum said. The crowd began murmuring among themselves, asking questions, shouting out cheers and jostling among one another for a better look at the strange things that were happening in the very center of their city.
Then, the murmur changed and the crowd parted.
Slocum looked down the street and saw the Hidalgans escorting Bill Hardesty and Cordelia Granby toward him.
“What is this?” Blandings asked.
“A gathering of the guilty,” Slocum said, a wry smile on his lips.
Then he looked down at Hardesty, who sat on his horse, a look of rage on his face. Cordelia looked bewildered and scared. Her eyes moved like marbles in a tumbler, her gaze darting all around and up at Slocum.
“Slocum, are you behind this?” Hardesty asked.
“Come and join us up here, Bill,” Slocum said. “Cordelia, you can just stay down there and watch. Both of you climb out of the saddle.”
Hardesty reined his horse over, trying to turn it but Slocum’s guards grabbed him, then moved in to drag Hardesty from the saddle. Others helped Cordelia dismount.
“Bring him up here,” Slocum ordered and two men wrestled Hardesty up the steps. He fought them all the way, elbowing and kicking until they released him and stood by for further orders.
The crowd began to get noisier, shouting and clapping.
“What’s going on?” someone yelled and others took up the chant. Some people began clapping and others joined in until it sounded like the finish of an outdoor concert.
Slocum holstered his Colt, easing the hammer back down to half-cock. He held up both arms, then brought his hands down in a gesture meant to quiet the crowd. Grumbling and whispering, the crowd slowly grew silent and pushed forward in packed bunches to hear what Slocum was going to say.
“Now, listen carefully,” he said. “What’s happening here concerns each and every one of you who live and work in Del Rio. My name is John Slocum and I’m here to help you bring justice back to your town.”
The crowd cheered and Slocum raised his arms again. They quieted down quickly.
“Slocum, you bastard,” Hardesty said, “I demand you stop this farce right now.”
Slocum turned and speared Hardesty with a hard look.
“Shut up, Hardesty,” he said.
Then, he turned back to the crowd.
“A couple of days ago,” Slocum said, “Judge Wyman here sentenced an innocent man to death. The man’s name was Luis Delgado. The judge knew he was innocent. So did the bailiff, who is now dead. So did the sheriff and his deputies. And so did Carlos Fernandez, the hangman. More importantly, so did Pandora Fernandez, his wife, who is standing up here on this bloody gallows. And so did Bill Hardesty, Pandora’s father.”
The crowd gasped so loudly it was as if a brisk wind had sprung up from nowhere and riffled through the town.
“An innocent man died because of the greed of Bill Hardesty and his daughter Pandora,” Slocum continued. “And Luis Delgado was not the first to die on these gallows because of the people you see here. Innocent men have been hanged here because of Hardesty’s greed and the heartlessness of all who are standing behind me. If you want proof, read this week’s newspaper, because Mr. Cunningham is going to publish the evidence. He is going to name names, both of the victims and of their murderers.”
Another collective gasp from the crowd filled the air with a whooshing sound.
“Now, I can take the law into my own hands,” Slocum went on. “In fact, I already have. I can hang Judge Wyman right here and now. But I won’t be the judge and the jury. You citizens of Del Rio will be that judge and jury. So, make your decision. Do you want to hang Judge Wyman and all those up here who are guilty of several murders, or do you want to bring law and order back to Del Rio? You’ll have to elect a new judge. You’ll have to try these people in a new court of law and you’ll have to abide by the court’s decision.”
“Hang ’em all,” a man in the crowd shouted.
Some others took up the chant, but others in the assemblage quieted them down.
“Listen to Slocum,” someone else cried out.
“There is blood on these gallows,” Slocum said. “Innocent blood. That’s not red paint you see, but blood, human blood, and these people are responsible for every drop of it. But I say that you must choose between law and lawlessness. If you hang these people, you will be breaking the law. But if you jail them and get a new judge and try them legally, you will have triumphed over evil. You will have brought justice back to Del Rio.”
The crowd went silent.
Slocum looked down the street and saw a rider coming at a gallop. He recognized her, her hair flying in the wind, her beautiful form part of the white horse she rode, Aladdin.
It was Lorelei Hardesty.
Slocum stepped back, waiting for the crowd’s response.
“Justice,” a woman shouted.
“Justice, justice, justice,” the crowd chanted.
“Jail them.”
“Kill them.”
Slocum smiled.
“Raise your hands if you want to follow the law with these people,” he shouted.
Nearly everyone in the crowd raised a hand.
“So be it,” Slocum said. “You have chosen law and you will achieve justice.”
The crowd erupted in a roar of approval. Men crowded around the gallows and some rushed up to the platform and began grabbing Fernandez, Pandora, Hardesty and the sheriff. Slocum removed the noose from around Wyman’s neck and men snatched him away, hurled him down the steps. He landed in an ignominious heap at the bottom of the stairs.
Slocum walked down the steps, the last to go, and he stood in front of Lorelei, who sat atop Aladdin.
“I don’t know what went on here,” she said, “but it appears you’ve won.”
“I’m sorry about your father,” he said.
“Don’t be, John. I knew why the men came and took him away. I’ve known for a long time. I just didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to think of my father as a murderer. But he is.”
“And you’ll accept whatever punishment he gets in a court of law?”
“I will. Oh, I’ll cry and I’ll have regrets and I’ll feel guilty.”
“I can tell you a way to get over it,” he said.
She slid from the saddle and melted into Slocum’s arms.
“Tell me,” she said.
“Just think about Luis Delgado and all the others your father had murdered on the gallows. Just think about them and how their lives were cut short.”
“I will,” she said, stepping back and standing on tiptoes to kiss Slocum. “And I’ll think about you, too, John Slocum.”
They embraced as the crowd surged around them and melted away. Slocum looked over at Cordelia who was flanked by Torres and Abeja. He nodded, and they grabbed her arms and started walking her toward the jail.
Lorelei began to cry and Slocum wondered whether it was for her father or because she was happy to be free of the heavy load she had carried for so long.
Perhaps, he thought, he would never know.
Watch for
SLOCUM AND THE CROOKED SHERIFF
309th novel
in the exciting SLOCUM
series from Jove
Coming in November!
Jake Logan, Slocum and the Hangman's Lady
