Moment Of Vengeance And Other Stories Part 9

"Well?" Hyatt said. His voice was controlled, and it told nothing of what he might be thinking.

d.y.k.e brought a match out of his vest pocket and wedged it into the corner of his mouth, shaking his head as he did. "That's all there is to the story."

Hyatt hesitated. "Now what?"

"Now, Mr. Earl," d.y.k.e said mildly, his eyes lift '

ing then, "we're going to hang you right on that cottonwood over there."

"What're you talking about, hanging! You don't even know-" Hyatt broke off. He looked at d.y.k.e and at his men and for a long moment he was silent, gaining control of himself. He said then, calmly, almost defiantly, "You got to take us to trial. That's what the law says."

The matchstick moved under d.y.k.e's full mustache. "Mr. Earl, are you telling me what I have to do?"

That was it. The futility of arguing showed briefly on Hyatt's face. He asked, "What about the woman?"

d.y.k.e shook his head. "This Cliff said she didn't want any part of it, but you forced her into it. We're not bothered about her. Just you and Rady there." He nodded directly at Mitch.e.l.l.

Mitch.e.l.l frowned. Hurriedly then his eyes swept the clearing. Rady wasn't here! He called to d.y.k.e, "I'm not Rady! He's the one with the Remington...was out by the road."

d.y.k.e studied him before answering. "There wasn't anybody out there."

"Then he got away, but I sure as h.e.l.l ain't Rady!"

"Who're you supposed to be?"

"Dave Mitch.e.l.l. I just rode in a little while ago looking to camp." He saw Hyatt watching him, a grin softening the dark bearded face.

"Rady," Hyatt said, "are you drunk or something?"

Mitch.e.l.l stared at him with disbelief. "What's the matter with you? Tell them who I am!"

Hyatt shook his head. "There's no use in that, Rady. Let's own up...take our medicine like men."

Mitch.e.l.l's eyes went to d.y.k.e. "Listen. This man's crazy. I suspected it before. Now I'm sure."

"If I was in your shoes," said d.y.k.e, "I might pull the same stunt."

Mitch.e.l.l paused. "All right"-his glance went to the woman-"ask her."

She looked at Mitch.e.l.l, then shook her head. "He's not Rady. His name is Mitch.e.l.l."

d.y.k.e said, "Uh-huh, and you're Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l."

"I never saw him before this evening."

"Claire," Hyatt said sympathetically, "there's no use. Rady's got to take his medicine just the same way I do."

The woman's face was cold and showed no emotion. "He had a fight with this man Mitch.e.l.l and lost. That's why he wants to see him hang."

"Claire! ...Rady and I were just kidding! You thought we really meant it?"

Mitch.e.l.l looked at d.y.k.e again. "You said that holdup was day before yesterday. I can prove I was at Whipple then. I was just discharged yesterday."

"What's your proof?" d.y.k.e asked.

"Ask anybody at Whipple!"

"Rady," Hyatt said, "delaying it a few days ain't going to help any, they'll still hang you. Let's get it over with."

Mitch.e.l.l's expression changed suddenly and his hand went to his chest. "My discharge order! It's dated yesterday!"

"Keep your hand out of that coat!" d.y.k.e snapped. He nodded to one of the men near Mitch.e.l.l. "Take a look."

The man stepped in front of Mitch.e.l.l. His hand went over the s.h.i.+rt, then to the inside coat pocket. "Nothing," he said over his shoulder.

Mitch.e.l.l's hand came up. He felt the empty pocket, and the part of his s.h.i.+rt that was torn- "Listen, while we were fighting my s.h.i.+rt was ripped. The paper fell out, that's what happened. Look around there, right where you're standing!"

d.y.k.e continued to study Mitch.e.l.l, but some of his men moved about, looking at the ground and scuffing the sand with their boots. A man said, "I don't see nothin'," and another said, "Not around here." Watching them, the tension building and becoming unbearable. Mitch.e.l.l suddenly tore himself from the men holding him. They started after him and d.y.k.e called, "Let him go!"

Mitch.e.l.l came on, his eyes searching the ground, then dropped to his hands and knees, his fingers brus.h.i.+ng the sand, smoothing it, and carefully he covered the area where the fight had taken place. He came up slowly and sat back on his heels. "It's not here," he said wearily. Then: "Wait! When I was pulled off my horse-" He came to his feet quickly.

d.y.k.e asked, "You ever on the stage?"

"I'm telling you the truth!" Mitch.e.l.l screamed. "Can't you see that!"

"I see a man fighting awful hard," d.y.k.e replied, "for a life he don't deserve."

"What do you expect me to do!" Mitch.e.l.l paused then. He breathed in and out and said, more calmly, "I swear to Almighty G.o.d I had nothing to do with that holdup."

"That's what this Cliff said," d.y.k.e answered. "Before I broke his jaw."

"Rady," Hyatt spoke up, "you don't want that to happen to you, do you?"

Mitch.e.l.l ignored him. Still looking at d.y.k.e he said, "Isn't there a doubt in your mind?" d.y.k.e didn't answer and in the silence their eyes held.

Then, behind Mitch.e.l.l, a man said, "Let's have '

some coffee first." d.y.k.e's eyes lifted. He nodded and walked toward the fire, finished with Mitch.e.l.l.

Hyatt and the woman were moved over by the wagon. Then Mitch.e.l.l was brought over. They tied Hyatt's and Mitch.e.l.l's hands behind their backs and made them sit down, the woman between them.

There was nothing to be said. In silence they watched d.y.k.e's men build another fire close to the cottonwood tree they would use. Two men entered the clearing carrying riatas, uncoiling them as they crossed to the tree. Mitch.e.l.l saw his sorrel and a bay brought in and the saddles were taken off both horses.

Now what do you do? he thought.

Tell him! him!

I did tell him! He's hard-sh.e.l.led and mean because Hyatt killed his friend and that's all he can think about. But he's calm about it, isn't he? Judge and jury wrapped into one hard-bitten weathered face. His mind is the law and he can be as calm as he pleases, knowing his way is the only way.

Twelve years of campaigning and you're going to die under another man's name. n.o.body knowing . . . no, two people knowing who you are. The woman-Claire-and Hyatt.

Two feet away and you can't even touch him. Get up quick and b.u.t.t his face in with your head! No ...come on, think straight now. Now isn't a time to think about revenge. Forget about him. You're going to die and that's all there is to it.

He said it in his mind, feeling each word: I'm going to die. More slowly then: I am going to die.

All right, now you know it. You always knew it, but now you know it. Come on, think straight. I am am thinking straight. Go to h.e.l.l with that thinking straight business! There's no thinking straight. Go to h.e.l.l with that thinking straight business! There's no straight straight way to think when you're going to die. What did you think about the other time? The first and only and supposedly last other time. way to think when you're going to die. What did you think about the other time? The first and only and supposedly last other time.

Nervous and not liking it, not believing that it was happening to him, but holding himself together nevertheless and thinking over and over again that it was a shame to die alone. Alone, because the Coyotero tracker didn't count. You couldn't talk about last things in sign language. Dos Fuegos had taken out a buckskin pouch in which he carried his hoddentin, hoddentin, the sacred pollen made from tule that would ward off evil, and with that he had readied himself. the sacred pollen made from tule that would ward off evil, and with that he had readied himself.

Corporal Mitch.e.l.l then, Corporal Mitch.e.l.l and a Coyotero tracker called Dos Fuegos-the two of them riding point and cut off from the others and their mounts shot from under them. Then holding flat to the ground, lying behind the mound and looking across to the rock-scrambled sand-glaring dead-silent slope where the Mimbres were. Lying unmoving-wondering if the patrol would find them.

The Mimbres came-a few at a time, running, dodging, firing carbines; and they drove them back to cover. The second rush came before they had time to reload-but so did D Company, brought by the firing, and that was that.

Sergeant Mitch.e.l.l, the next month, and less talkative.

But, Mitch.e.l.l thought, you really didn't learn anything that time. Not that you could apply to this one. Only that dying is important to you and if you can't do it in bed, sometime far in the future, then have it happen during a heroic act with a great number of people watching. Don't talk foolish. You're going to die, that's all ...so do it as well as you can.

He thought of his father and mother and for a few minutes he prayed.

The woman touched his arm and he looked up. "I'm sorry...I wish there was something I could do."

"I wish there was too," Mitch.e.l.l answered. "I wonder if you'd do me a favor."

"What is it?"

"Sometime look up my father in Banderas, R. F. Mitch.e.l.l, and let him know what happened."

She nodded slowly. "All right."

Hyatt leaned forward. "Rady, your folks don't live in Banderas."

"You've got a real sense of humor," Mitch.e.l.l said, mildly.

Momentarily Hyatt frowned. "You've calmed down some."

Mitch.e.l.l didn't reply. He saw d.y.k.e, standing by the big cottonwood tree, motion to the men guarding them, and now they were pulled to their feet. Hyatt turned to the woman. "Claire, we say goodbye now."

"Hy, tell them who he is."

Hyatt grinned. "Honey, I did."

"I think I'm glad they're hanging you," she said.

Hyatt shrugged. One of the poss.e.m.e.n took Mitch.e.l.l's arm. He looked at the woman and their eyes held lingeringly. Come on, he thought. You couldn't say it in minutes, so don't say it at all. He '

turned and followed Hyatt across the clearing and he knew that the woman was watching him.

"Get 'em up," d.y.k.e ordered.

They were lifted onto the horses and a mounted man rode between them and adjusted the riata loops over their heads. d.y.k.e looked up at them. "Mr. Rady seems to've lost his fight."

Hyatt grinned. "He's turned honest."

Mitch.e.l.l looked at him. "You proved your point. Now you're wearing it out."

Hyatt's eyes narrowed. For a moment he was silent and he watched Mitch.e.l.l curiously. "You ever see a hanging?" he asked then.

Mitch.e.l.l shook his head. "No."

"If your neck don't bust, you strangle awhile." His eyes stayed on Mitch.e.l.l. "You scared?"

Mitch.e.l.l shrugged. "Probably, the same as you are."

A bewildered look crossed Hyatt's face. Apparently he had expected Mitch.e.l.l to panic now, to lose control of himself pleading for his life, but he was at ease and he sat the sorrel without moving. He leaned closer so that only Mitch.e.l.l could hear him say, "Rady's ten miles away by now; but in another minute he'll be legally, officially dead."

"I'd say I was doing him some favor," Mitch.e.l.l answered.

Hyatt hesitated, and the cloud of uncertainty clouded his face again. He wanted to whisper, but his voice rasped. "You're going to hang hang! You understand that? Hang!"

Mitch.e.l.l nodded. "The same as you are."

Hyatt's teeth clenched. He was about to say more, but he stopped.

Mitch.e.l.l looked down at d.y.k.e. "He's going to foam at the mouth in a minute."

d.y.k.e shook his head. "He don't have that long."

But now Hyatt was looking at Mitch.e.l.l calmly, without bewilderment, and without the brooding anger that had been a knife edge inside of him since the fight. That had started to die as they sat by the wagon. He had tried to bring it back by taunting Mitch.e.l.l, but it was no use. His anger was dead and even the memory of it seemed senseless and unimportant. Mitch.e.l.l was a man. Give him credit for it.

That's how it happened. That's what caused Hyatt to say, unexpectedly, "Reach in the side of my boot; the right one."

d.y.k.e looked at him. "What for?"

"Just do it!"

Hyatt's eyes returned to Mitch.e.l.l. "You either '

got more guts than any man I ever saw...or else you're the dumbest."

d.y.k.e's two fingers came out of the boot lifting the folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it and his eyes went over it slowly.

The two granite-faced men, at the very gates of a hot and waiting h.e.l.l, stared stonily down at the executioner.

d.y.k.e read it completely: the formal phrasing of the discharge order, the written-in-ink portion that described the soldier, and the scrawled, illegible signature at the bottom. He looked at the date again. Then, and only then, did he look at Mitch.e.l.l.