Rocky Mountain Justice (The Legend of Camel's Hump) Page 2
The seventy-odd people who made up the population of Dublin were mostly railroad workers, loggers, and a few hard-rock miners. Big River was forty miles away, down in the valley past another small logging community. Over a thousand people lived in Big River where the area’s only real industry, a large lumber mill, was located.
The county officials, including the sheriff, were all elected by the people of Big River. It was common knowledge that the sheriff had created an organization that ran the entire county through fear and intimidation. The county commissioners had been handpicked by him. It seemed like they were just there to do whatever the sheriff told them to do next. During the years that most of the county’s men had been off to war, Sheriff Montgomery had built a powerful political machine.
Hilda wasn’t deterred. “That’s bull, Child.” Jerry was shocked. He had never heard her use any words as controversial as “bull” and it effectively shut him up. Hilda was so indignant by now that she was walking in circles around the kitchen table, with her big body shaking every time she stomped a foot down. She was mad, and both boys knew that you didn’t argue with her when she was mad. “I’m going to town and I’m taking Pastor Long with me. We’ll see if that draft-dodging toad of a sheriff ignores us!” Then she suddenly realized that in her anger she had forgotten to finish the bandages she had started. “My goodness, I’m not being much of a nurse, am I?”
She sat down and soaked a large pad of cotton in iodine. Then she began gently dabbing the iodine into the cuts. Up to now, Jerry had been stoic, but this was too much. Soon tears were running down his cheeks and, try as he might, he couldn’t completely contain soft sobs. “That stuff hurts worse than being punched” he managed to gasp out between snuffles. She smiled sadly. “I know, Child. But it’ll kill the germs and keep you alive, so it’s necessary. Just a little bit more now.” When she finished with the iodine, she put a coat of Vaseline over the cuts and began making bandages and taping them into place over the iodine’s orange stains. Soon Ray began chuckling. “You got so much tape on your face that you look like the Frankenstein monster.” Jerry tried to smile but ended up wincing as fresh blood stained the bandages over his lips.
Jerry touched his mouth and winced again. “I guess Dawn and I won’t be getting friendly anytime soon.” Jerry and his girlfriend, Dawn Parker, had been inseparable since they first met in grade school. Jerry was tall, with thick brown hair and bright blue eyes. Dawn was almost as thin as Jerry; an athletic brunette with deep brown eyes. Together they looked like a dream couple; an impression enhanced by their obvious devotion to one another.
Then thoughts of Dawn led Jerry to another comment, “Boy, I’m sure glad Dawn wasn’t there tonight.” At that, Ray smiled. “Heck, if Dawn had been there, old Ike would be dead meat by now. She would’ve killed him!”
His mother smiled at the thought. “You’re probably right about that.” Still very much in charge, she returned to the business at hand. “OK Fellas, I have dinner ready. Ray, please light the lanterns and let’s eat. After dinner we can talk about what we want to do about all of this.”
Electric power lines hadn’t yet been installed this far out of town, so all of the home’s light was furnished by kerosene lanterns. Ray moved from one lantern to another, lighting them with the wooden matches that he found in a little brass box on the kitchen counter. With the lanterns lit, Ray helped set the table while his mother served the dinner. She had prepared chicken, dumplings and biscuits and, as always, her food was delicious. Jerry had a rough time eating with his lips as damaged as they were, but he got enough down to satisfy his aunt’s critical eyes. Finally, with the dinner finished, the boys cleaned the kitchen and washed the dishes. Then they brought in some wood from the woodshed for the kitchen stove.
When their chores were finished, Hilda gave Jerry’s face another work-over, replacing the bloody bandages around his mouth. She was, as always, very much in charge. “Jerry, you’re staying here tonight. I want to be able to rework those bandages in the morning. Ray, put some blankets on the bed in the spare room. Put a couple of old towels in there so Jerry can cover the pillow and not bleed all over it. We can’t afford that.”
Jerry didn’t even try to object. The two boys often stayed over at each other’s homes and he knew his father wasn’t home tonight anyway. Jerry, at sixteen, was almost grown and his life with Dad was more of a loose partnership than anything else. Besides, it was nice to have his aunt fussing over him. Even after two years, he still missed the soft touch of a mother.
Jerry went with Ray to get the room ready. When they finished, Hilda wasn’t in the kitchen. They decided she must be out back checking on the chicken coop. Coyotes had been bothering the chickens lately, and they routinely checked on them. The boys lit another lantern and set up a checker board on the kitchen table.
They were happily playing checkers about a half-hour later when Ray looked up to see the door open and his mother coming in with Pastor Long close behind. The pastor was a bearded man that looked like a rough-cut Santa Claus. He taught grades 6, 7, and 8 in the little school and was the local preacher on Sundays. He had a good following, mainly among the wives and children in Dublin, and his sermons were famous for their fire and brimstone. Tonight, he took control from the moment he cleared the door. “Young Mr. Flynn, stand and be seen. I wish to witness your injuries.” He regularly talked this way, a fact that caused much imitation and many guffaws among the teen-agers of Dublin.
The boys exchanged glances. They didn’t like this development, but obviously had no choice in the matter. Jerry stood as directed and the pastor walked closer to him, studying his face. “Good Widow Moore, can you lift a bandage or two that I might bear more critical witness to the damages here?” Hilda came forward and attempted to remove a bandage, but she picked one that was stuck to Jerry’s skin and the blood began flowing again. Pastor Long put his hand over hers, stopping her. “Let me, please. It is my desire to be able to say that I personally observed the injuries, but I have no wish to cause this fine young man any further pain.” With that, he deftly lifted two of the bandages that had more liberal dosages of Vaseline under them, exposing two seriously deep wounds. Smoothing the bandages back into place, he turned to Hilda and said, “That’s enough. I agree with you. This is the year of our Lord, 1949, and we are a civilized people. No civilized person could allow this to pass unpunished. We will go to Big River tomorrow.” Jerry reflexively cried out, “No!” But the pastor held up his hand, stopping their comments. “Shush, Son. This is not your concern. Your elders have decided. Behavior such as that which you have encountered is from the dark ages; from heathen times. It cannot be tolerated. This is the united States of America and we just fought a war to bring enlightenment to heathens. We cannot tolerate them in our midst any more than we could tolerate them overseas.” The boys looked at each other. They were convinced that the pastor was wrong. But he was on his soap box now and they knew that nothing they could say would make a difference.
Pastor Long then had each boy tell his version of the encounter with Ike Schumann, questioning them carefully. When he was done, he dismissed the boys and went into the parlor with Hilda to plan the next day’s visit to Big River. Jerry and Ray tried to get back to their checkers game, but somehow their little game-board rivalry had lost its attraction.
Ray gave voice to the thing that was on both of their minds. “Jerry, what do you think the sheriff will do tomorrow?” “I dunno. But I’ve got a really bad feeling ab
out this. The sheriff will have to do something and, no matter what that is, Ike will know that we’re in the middle of it. I think we’re just asking for trouble.”
As he was speaking, the pastor came into the room. He had obviously overheard their comments. “Boys, you are wrong in your dire assumptions regarding this matter. The sheriff will do his job and Mr. Schumann will have no recourse other than to obey the law of the land. I do believe that this will be a magnificent lesson in American Civics for the two of you.” He turned to face Ray’s mother and went on, “until tomorrow, Widow Moore. Until tomorrow, I bid you adieu.” With that he opened the door and marched into the night.
Jerry and Ray looked at one another, not happy with these developments. Ray decided to plead their case. “Mom, we think this is a huge mistake. Please don’t do this.” She stopped him cold, as only a parent can do. “Ray, enough! It’s settled. Pastor Long will pick us up here at eight o’clock. Be ready, both of you.” With that she turned toward the kitchen, throwing the words over her shoulder, “Time for bed, Fellas. We have a big day tomorrow.”
They both knew that argument was useless, so they put away the checkerboard, picked up the lantern and headed for the upstairs bedrooms. When they got to the spare room, Ray waited until Jerry was in bed and then took the lantern down the hall to his room. Soon the entire house was dark and quiet.
Sleep wouldn’t come to Jerry. No matter which way he lay, something hurt. His thoughts wouldn’t stop churning either. Between the various hurt spots and the thoughts that kept piling in on him, it was going to be a long night. His mind turned to Ike’s Indian wife; a woman they had all seen, but never heard. They had all heard Ike talk about her, and they had seen her silently following in Ike’s wake as he walked around town. But no one had ever heard her say a word and no one knew anything about her. “How could anyone live with a man like Ike Schumann?” Judging from the sadistic stare that she had locked on him this afternoon, she must be as mean as him. Could it be that she understood the viciousness of her husband and enjoyed it? This was a shocking thought to Jerry. He suddenly realized that he had never thought of her as a person. This invisible, silent, shadow that Ike had brought into their midst just had not registered as human to any of them. Jerry thought about this, wondering what her life must be like, living silently in Ike’s wake.
Then his thoughts turned to tomorrow. He dreaded the thought of going to see the sheriff in Big River. Even though the town was only forty miles away, he had only been there a few times; usually to play baseball or basketball against one of the Big River teams. Unless his father needed help with something, Jerry tried to beg off on any other kind of visits to the larger town. He was very comfortable with his little group of friends in Dublin and he knew that the Big River teen-agers made fun of their small-town counterparts. Once, years ago, he had fought back when a gang of them had called him a “Hick”. He’d been soundly thrashed when four of them teamed up against him. That was enough to teach him to just stay away. When he thought about it, there was absolutely nothing that he liked about either Big River or the sheriff.
He really didn’t know Sheriff Karl Montgomery, but he’ seen him in town and he instinctively did’nt like him. The sheriff was a big man with a squat, powerful, build. Aunt Hilda had called him a toad and Jerry thought that this was a good description. But the sheriff was all-powerful in Dublin. He was the only county official that ever seemed to venture this far out of Big River and, when he did come here it was usually to go out to Ike’s place to drink. They sometimes came into Dublin’s only bar when they got bored at the sheep ranch, and they were always drunk and belligerent when they got there. They had been known to beat townspeople and passing strangers badly on these occasions. The townspeople had long-since learned to stay home when the sheriff was in the area.
“Tomorrow’s going to be a very bad scene,” Jerry thought as he readjusted the towel under his head for the thousandth time.
CHAPTER THREE:
The Sheriff
True to his word, Pastor Long parked at the end of the front path and honked his car horn at precisely 8AM. Mrs. Moore and the two boys came out immediately. She and Ray were dressed in their Sunday best. Jerry had forced himself into a clean shirt borrowed from Ray, but the shirt was far too small for him. Ray was going to be a small man, wiry like his father, and his biggest shirt was way too small for Jerry. There was absolutely no way that Jerry could force himself into Ray’s Levis. So there were some dark spots on the legs of his pants where he had tried to scrub out the bloodstains. But, dressed or not, they were going to see the sheriff in his office down in Big River.
Even the pastor was uncharacteristically quiet during the trip. None of them had any idea what to expect when they reached their destination.
It took well over an hour to go the forty miles on the two lane highway that followed the winding river down the valley, passing through the logging community of St. Dubois, before coming to Big River. Finally they arrived and parked in front of the jailhouse; a two-story brick building with the prisoner’s quarters on the second floor and the sheriff’s offices on the first.
The pastor took the lead when they entered the building, telling the young receptionist, “I would like to consult with the good sheriff, if I may.” She replied with the standard answer, “May I ask what this is in reference to?” Pastor Long fixed her with an annoyed stare. “My Dear, there has been a serious transgression by one who is sworn to uphold the laws of the united States of America and we are here to report said transgression.” She was startled by this response and fell back on the response she had been trained to give to strangers. “May I ask your names, please?” “I am the right Reverend Long, Pastor of the Church of Dublin.” This finally got her moving, “Just a moment. I’ll see if the sheriff is available.”
In a few minutes, Sheriff Montgomery came to the lobby and strode to where the pastor was standing with his right hand extended. He had a wide smile on his face as he boomed, “Reverend Long! Long time, no see!” Jerry thought, “He makes it sound as if they’re old friends”. In fact, the pastor had mentioned on the trip to town that he had never met the sheriff. Jerry took a mental note to ask about that on the trip home. Then the pastor answered his question with, “Sheriff, we have not encountered one another previously, but I am familiar with you and I understand that you are dedicated to the enforcement of justice. That is why we are here today”. Then he proceeded to introduce the Widow Moore, Ray, and Jerry.
With the introductions done, the sheriff got down to business. He said, “I understand that you have a complaint?” The pastor replied, “Yes we do, Sir. Please cast your eyes on the countenance of young Mr. Flynn here. I’m certain that you can see that extensive damage has been wrought upon him. He is but sixteen years of age, Sir. The man who did this is both an adult and your sworn deputy. I would appreciate it if you were to take that person into custody and bring the full force of American justice to bear upon him.”
The sheriff stared at the pastor, then at Jerry, and back to the pastor. “This sounds serious. Let’s go into the conference room and discuss the situation.” With that he led the way and everyone found seats around a worn oak table large enough to seat at least twenty people. The room was paneled in knotty pine, with pictures of President Truman, Governor Bonner, and some local dignitaries decorating one wall and a huge American flag on the opposite wall. Varnished pine beams ran the length of the ceiling and long copper ventilation grates decorated the upper side of the inside walls. It was one of the most opulent rooms the boys had ever seen.
When everyone was seated, the sheriff opened the discussion. “OK. Let me get this straight. You are saying that Deputy Schumann did this?” The pastor started another of his long replies. “That is the testimony of… ‘. But Sheriff Montgomery interrupted him, turning to Jerry and saying, “All right, Kid. What the hell did you do to cause this? I know my deputy and I know that he doesn’t do this kind of thing without a reason.” Jerry was t
otally caught off guard. He hadn’t expected this turn of events. He managed to stammer, “Nothing, Sir.” But the sheriff wasn’t buying that. His face was turning red and voice rose. “Bullshit, Boy. You better start telling the truth or your ass is going to be grass and I’m gonna be the lawnmower.” He was glaring at Jerry now, oblivious to everyone else in the room.
This was too much for Widow Moore. She rose to her full height and pointed her finger at the sheriff. She was so mad that her huge body was shaking. “You shut your nasty mouth right now. There is a pastor, a lady, and two children in this room and none of us need to hear the kind of gutter language you’re using. Not only that, but you’re flat-out wrong and I think that you need to stop talking and start listening! And I mean now!”
Sheriff Montgomery’s mouth dropped open. He wasn’t accustomed to having anyone talk to him like this. But he was smart enough to know that he had gone too far. He sat back and was quiet for a moment, obviously gathering himself. Then, still looking at the irate lady in front of him, he said, “OK, tell me what you think happened.” Mrs. Moore slowly sat, her stare still fixed on the sheriff’s face. She took a long breath and then told her story, starting from the time that the two boys had come to her home the evening before. When she finished, the sheriff asked Pastor Long for his version of the story which the pastor delivered with his standard oratorical embellishments.
Then the sheriff turned to Jerry and said, “OK, now I know what you told these good people. But now I want your story and it better be the truth.” His gaze was fixed unwaveringly on Jerry’s face, as if he thought that his glare would cause the story to change. He was employing an old tactic designed to intimidate wayward teenagers. It had worked many times in the past and he was certain that it would now as well.
It didn’t work on Jerry. His one good eye held the sheriff’s unwaveringly as he told his story exactly as it had happened. He was nervous about talking to the sheriff and his voice wavered and broke a bit, but the story was exactly as he remembered it. When he finished, Ray was asked for his version which he gave in a firm but overly loud voice.