Rocky Mountain Justice (The Legend of Camel's Hump) Read online

  By the time the stories were finished, Sheriff Montgomery had regained his composure and was his old, politically smooth, self. “I get the picture now. I guess I was a bit hasty earlier. Widow Moore, thank you for being a calming influence. I do get carried away sometimes, especially when the good men of my force are attacked.” He thought for a moment, then, ignoring Jerry and Ray he addressed the pastor and the widow. “I understand the story the boys are telling you, and I see why you are so upset. But I’m certain there is a lot more to this story. I’ve been involved in these kinds of boxing practices, and I know the heat that they can generate in young men. I’m sure that we will find that something happened, or something was said, that caused this incident. That doesn’t mean that there shouldn’t be some discipline involved here. But it probably won’t turn out to be such an infraction that the legal system need get involved.” He paused to let everyone absorb these words of wisdom and then said, “I should probably go to Dublin and talk to Deputy Schumann. I’ll investigate this and report back to the Reverend here.”

  The widow’s eyes were narrowed to slits and her face was flushed as she commented, “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? But I think that I have a better idea. Why don’t we all go back to Dublin and go see Ike Schumann as a group? That way we can all agree on the situation and you won’t have to bother with a report unless a crime has indeed been committed.” The pastor, who had been looking thoroughly intimidated, finally recovered enough to say, “I think that would be a wonderful idea.” Jerry and Ray commented later that, for once, the pastor’s words were clear and concise although his voice, like Jerry’s earlier, was trembling.

  The political side of the sheriff came to the fore. “You got it. I didn’t think you would be interested in the nitty-gritty of investigative work, but if you want to be there when I question Deputy Schumann, that’s fine with me. I need to clear up a few things here before I can leave. I’ll meet you out front in a half-hour. If you would like to wait here, that would be all right.” With that he rose and left the room. The meeting was over.

  The four from Dublin looked at one another. The widow finally broke the silence, sputtering “Who does that draft-dodger think he is?” The pastor started to reply with “Now, now, Mrs. Moore.” But Jerry held up his hand to stop them from talking, putting his forefinger over his lips in the age-old gesture for silence. He pointed at the copper vents high on the inside walls of the conference room. It was obvious that they were just grates between the rooms and everything said in the conference room would be audible in the lobby and adjoining rooms. He said, “Why don’t we wait outside. It’s a really nice day.” They gathered their belongings and went outside to wait on a bench under a big oak tree.

  True to his word, Sheriff Montgomery came out in a half-hour and made his way to where the little group was gathered. “I’ll drive my car and you can follow. If we get separated, you do know how to get to Ike’s place, don’t you?” The pastor replied in the affirmative and the little caravan got on the road toward Dublin.

  Once again, the group was quiet during the ride. Then Ray broke the silence with, “I wonder what Ike will do when he sees us all coming?” Pastor Long replied, “I imagine he’ll be very surprised, won’t he?” At that Jerry let out a cynical little snicker, “Not a chance. What do you think the sheriff was doing while we waited? He has radio contact with all of the deputies. I’m betting that they already have a game-plan in place!” Aunt Hilda exploded at that. “That little toad!” She seemed to like that description of the sheriff and Jerry had to admit that it was at least semi-accurate. The sheriff did have the squat appearance and bulging, ever-shifting, eyes of an amphibian. But he wasn’t little. Jerry estimated that the sheriff was at least 6’2” and must have weighed in at about 280 pounds. He wasn’t little.

  The conversation became animated then as they all tried to figure out what would happen when they got to the deputy’s ranch. None of them had been there since Ike had bought it from the old couple that had owned it for the past few generations. They knew that Ike had brought in a herd of sheep, but they didn’t know of any other changes. They also knew that Ike had a hair-trigger temper, but none of them believed that they would see it today. Not if Ike was forewarned, and now that they had thought about it, they agreed that Jerry was right about this. Mrs. Moore made the point that they should all stay respectful when the questioning started. “We know that there are going to be some outrageous lies floating around. Let’s keep our dignity and deal with them calmly.” Everyone agreed.

  Eventually they passed through the tiny town of Dublin, following Highway 10 to the west. Highway 10 was the only paved road in the area. It ran through Dublin and then passed by the dirt road leading to Ike’s sheep ranch before climbing over the big mountain known as Camel’s Hump and heading towards the Idaho border.

  Within five miles of town, they turned onto the road that led to the sheep ranch. The car grew silent as they thought about the confrontation that awaited them. They drove the next mile silently, choking in the dust cloud left by the sheriff’s car.

  Sheriff Montgomery stopped at a gate that crossed the road over a cattle guard and sat there, patiently waiting. As the pastor’s car pulled up behind him, Ray jumped out and opened the gate, letting the two cars through. The sheriff went on ahead while Pastor Long waited for Ray to close the gate and get back in the car. Then they drove on towards Ike’s home in the little valley directly ahead of them. None of them were looking forward to this.

  Ike and Sheriff Montgomery were in the yard waiting for them. Bird Schumann, Ike’s silent shadow, was nowhere in sight. They got out of the car and walked together to where the two men were waiting. While they were walking, they noticed that a new building had been built adjacent to the old ranch house. The building was stone and cement and was dug into the ground like a root cellar. But, unlike a root cellar, it had two narrow, barred, windows. The heavy door, which was facing them, was closed and had a large lock in the hasp that prevented it from being opened. It was such an unusual structure in this world of log and lumber homes that they all noticed it.

  The sheriff opened the conversation immediately. “I just told Deputy Schumann about the allegations you’ve made. He doesn’t agree that your story is the whole truth. I’ve asked him to wait so we can all hear the true story at the same time.” Turning back to the deputy, he said, “Go ahead, Ike. Tell us what happened.”

  Schumann looked very uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to having to answer to anyone, let alone a preacher, an old lady, and two brats. He pointed his finger at Jerry and flatly stated, “That little bastard is lying.” Bedlam ensued as the pastor, the widow and the sheriff all started talking heatedly at once. Then the sheriff yelled, “Shut up, Dammit” and the din ceased. Turning back to Ike he said, “Ike, watch your language. Just give us the facts!” He was obviously not too happy. His protégé had apparently strayed from the agreed-upon script.

  “Sorry, Karl’ Ike muttered. Then, visibly gathering himself, he went on. “Yesterday we held boxing lessons in the shed behind the school. These two – he waved at Jerry and Ray – were there. I put Flynn in the ring with that mechanic’s kid, Koski, and Koski kicked his ass. That’s where those cuts came from. Then this spoiled brat started yelling at me for letting Koski hurt him. He called me some names and I slapped him. So I guess he got together with his little buddies and came up with a lie to get even with me. That’s is the whole story, on my honor as a law enforcement official.”

  To their credit, the boys remembered Mrs. Moore’s guidance and remained quiet even though both of them were ready to start yelling. The sheriff turned to Jerry and said, “So you are lying to cover up being beaten by that fat little kid, eh?” Jerry looked him in the eye and calmly said, “No, Sir. Mr. Schumann is lying, not me.” Sheriff Montgomery took one long step toward Jerry and glared at him from about a distance of about six inches. “Let me get this straight. You are calling a deputy sheriff a liar, Boy?” “Yes, Si
r.” was the calm reply, with Jerry’s one good ice-blue eye staring unflinchingly back at the sheriff.

  The sheriff was the first to look away saying. “OK, we obviously have two versions of the truth here.” The pastor held up his hand and started to say something. “I don’t - - -” he started, but the sheriff cut in, “Preacher, were you there when this happened?” “No.” “Then shut the hell up. I’ve wasted enough time because you didn’t make the effort to find out the truth about what really happened before you came whining to me.” With that, the sheriff turned to Ike. “I believe you, Deputy. However you’ve admitted that you did slap a minor. That’s unacceptable conduct for a peace officer and it can’t be ignored. There’s two ways we can handle this. I can write this up and you can deal with the County Attorney on charges, or I can dock you a week’s pay and we can forget the whole thing. Which would you rather do?” Ike took a moment, staring murderously at Jerry before answering, “I’ll take the pay cut. I know I shouldn’t have over-reacted to this little snot’s bitching.”

  The sheriff turned to where the pastor and the widow were standing. “Then this is settled as far as I’m concerned. Please check your facts better before you bother me again. Now let’s get off Mr. Schumann’s property.”

  But Aunt Hilda was not about to accept this without having a say. She marched over to the sheriff and, looking up at him, raised her voice defiantly. “This is an atrocity and a farce. You’re no sheriff. You’re just another hoodlum with a badge. This is what I think of your justice.” With that she took careful aim and spat on the sheriff’s carefully shined cowboy boots. Then she looked back up at him and said, “What are you going to do about it, you horse’s ass? Why don’t you arrest me? I’d love to tell this story to a judge!”

  Sheriff Montgomery was remarkably calm now. He just stepped back and calmly said, “All of you get back in your car and get out of here before I arrest you for trespassing and assaulting an officer of the law.”

  Pastor Long was badly shaken. He took Hilda’s arm and steered her away from the sheriff. He just didn’t comprehend this kind of behavior. In his world, civilized people were honest and gracious with one another. He looked ready to cry as he gathered them together and ushered them back to the car. When they got to the car, he literally jumped into the driver’s seat, imploring the others, “Hurry up and get in before something worse happens.” But Jerry, with Ray at his side, just stood beside the car for a long minute or so, staring back at the two men in the yard. Finally Jerry turned to Ray. “Get in my friend. I don’t know what will happen next, but I don’t think this is over --- not by a long shot. We’d better get out of here while we can.” They slowly climbed into the car; getting seated just as the pastor spun gravel and fishtailed through a turn in his haste to leave.

  Ray and his mother did most of the talking on the way home. Both of them were angry about what they had just been through and they were vocal about it. But the pastor was obviously scared, with his voice shaking badly. He made it plain that he thought they should just accept defeat and get on with their lives. He just didn’t know how to deal with the kind of evil that he had seen unleashed today. He commented several times that he couldn’t wait until he could get home and pray.

  The pastor dropped them off at the Moore home, and Hilda immediately invited Jerry to stay another night. But Jerry declined. “I’m sorry, Aunt Hilda. But Dad may be home by now and he’ll be worrying. I’d better get on home. Thanks for everything, though.” With that, he climbed into his old Ford and headed for home.

  He parked in front of the small house that he shared with his father on the other side of Dublin. It was a two-bedroom bungalow that obviously needed some work. The house’s white paint and green trim was starting to peel and fade. The white picket fence was still intact, but needed a good coat of whitewash. A few straggling flowers poked through the weeds in the old flower beds. Jerry sat in his old car and looked at it sadly. “Mom would really be on our case if she could see this place now.” Slowly he climbed out of the car and walked to the door. Now that he was alone, it seemed like his injuries were hurting a lot more than they had a short time ago. He was tired and aching.

  Jerry went in, stripping off the small shirt that Ray had lent him. The bandages had leaked a bit and the shirt was spotted with blood. But he was far too tired to focus on the shirt, tossing it over the little woodpile beside the kitchen stove.

  He turned on the lights, happy that he didn’t have to fool with kerosene lanterns here in town. It was still a bright summer day outside, but somehow the house seemed dark and cold. He caught himself wishing that his father were home. But it was still mid-week and his father was out at the mine where he would stay until Friday evening. He had told Aunt Hilda a bit of a fib when he said that his dad might be here. Jerry knew better, but he needed some time alone to think about all that had happened.

  Opening a window to let the warm afternoon breeze in, Jerry turned on the radio and sat down in his father’s overstuffed chair. Finally relaxing, he began to realize how tired he was. Soon his eyes closed and he began softly snoring.

  CHAPTER FOUR:

  Evil Comes Calling

  Jerry was awakened by the sound of someone hammering on the door. Looking through the back window, he could see that it was starting to get dark. “God, I must have slept for hours,” he thought as he got up to open the door.

  When the door swung open, he got a real shock. Sheriff Montgomery was standing there. “Can I come in for a minute?” Jerry stepped back from the door and, still groggy from sleep, replied, “Certainly, Sheriff.”

  The sheriff came into the house and looked around. “Where’s your family?” Slowly Jerry replied, “My mother’s dead and Dad is still at work.” He was getting apprehensive now. What did this man want? Surely the problem with Ike was resolved. Or was it? Jerry was getting worried. Then the sheriff turned to face him and Jerry smelled his breath. Even from this distance, he could smell the booze. Jerry knew he was in trouble and he started sidling slowly toward the door, but the sheriff grabbed his arm, stopping him, “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Punk?” “Nowhere, Sir.” Sheriff Montgomery snickered. “Finally you got something right. Finally! Did you think you could run around telling lies about my people without paying for it?”

  “Sheriff, I didn’t tell any lies! Ike did what I said he did. I swear it.” The sheriff’s smile just got wider and he started laughing. He swung Jerry around by the arm, slamming him into the wall. “I think that you’d better change that story now, you little turd. I don’t want to hear it anymore. Do you understand me?” He’d pulled his service revolver with his free hand and was now waving it in Jerry’s face. Jerry could smell the overpoweringly sweet stink of cheap wine as the sheriff stuck his face within inches of his own. Jerry managed to get out, “Yes, Sir. If that’s how you want it, I guess I’ll tell it your way, Sir.”

  The sheriff suddenly shifted his grasp from Jerry’s arm to his throat, thrusting him against the wall and lifting him off his feet. “Yeah, you little shit, that’s how I want it and don’t you ever forget it!” With that, he slammed his gun barrel into Jerry’s forehead, just above his injured eye. Jerry felt a searing pain and saw bright lights flash, then darkness. The skin split immediately, with blood showering the sheriff’s shirtfront and pouring down Jerry’s face. The bigger man released his grip and the boy slid down the wall, bleeding heavily. He was out cold for the second time in two days.

  Sheriff Montgomery backed up and inspected his shirt, cursing under his breath. He repeated to the supine boy, “Don’t you ever forget it!” Then, as he turned to leave, he spotted the bloody shirt that Jerry had tossed aside when he came home. With a thoughtful glance at the boy, he picked it up and looked at it. Looking around, he spotted the little can of kerosene that was used to start the wood fires in the stoves. Throwing the shirt over it, he picked them up and walked to the door. A short time later the rumble of his patrol car’s big engine could be heard fading
in the distance.

  It was early evening, just after dinner, when Pastor Long answered a knock at his front door. He opened it, with his voice booming his standard greeting. “Welcome Friend.” But it was no friend that he found behind the door. It was the menacing figure of Ike Schumann.

  Ike wasted no time making his point. “Preacher, I don’t appreciate you going to my boss, the sheriff, and telling lies about me!” Pastor Long was taken aback. Stepping back a full pace as he stared unbelievingly at Schumann. Then he gathered himself. “Mr. Schumann, I have full confidence that no lies were told and that I took the proper and appropriate action this morning. I have no regrets.” He saw Ike’s wife, Bird, move into the doorway and he half-turned to greet her.

  Ike stepped forward and in one fluid motion buried his right fist in the pastor’s ample belly. He followed it instantly with a left that caught Pastor Long in the short ribs. The pastor doubled over and started to fall, but Ike caught him by the collar and lifted him with his left hand while he continued to pound the pastor’s mid-section with his right fist. It took only a few moments of this punishment before the pastor’s dinner came up. Ike released his grip and his victim slumped to the floor, the contents of his stomach erupting in choking spurts.

  Bird was laughing uproariously at the sight. She walked over and, with her foot, pushed the pastor’s face down into the mess and held him there.

  With a satisfied smile on his face, Ike looked down at their handiwork. He motioned for Bird to step back. Then he spoke in a clear, deadly, tone. “Preacher, you shouldn’t have screwed with me. You fat pig, you ain’t worth the time I’ve wasted on you. If I ever hear that you’ve even spoken my name again, I’ll find you and beat you to death. Do you understand me?” The pastor was curled in a messy ball on the floor, holding his belly and moaning. He didn’t answer Schumann fast enough and Ike kicked him viciously. “God damn you, I said, did you hear me?” Ike was screaming now. Pastor Long managed to mumble, “Yes, yes, yes”. Then he passed out, the ball that was his body slowly opening and his head slumping back onto the vomit-covered floor. Schumann turned on his heels and left him lying in front of the still-open door.