Lawman

CW: Violence, kidnapping

The clouds blow a purple over the bluffs when storm's coming. That's how I knew one was.

But I was stopped in my leaving town by three men. Only one of whom did I recognize. Pat Ragnell. He stood in front, blocking my path, regarding me. It didn't look too violent, but I kept a hand 'neath my jacket, knowing better than to trust how it looked.

Pat spoke. Listen Lawman. We think it wrong t'yure doing. And we've spaken to the priest. He concurs. So, we are credentialed in this opinion aren't we boys.

The boys cried out.

Is that where right and wrong come from? The priest?

We have the town too, but for McCroy who cain't speak, see or hear nothing. But if forced to bet, I know what's in that cracked head of his. He's with us.

And this ain't exactly a democracy out here. Even if it were, are you contending right and wrong come from a vote.

Another man spoke. He was small, dark and greasy, with perturbative eyes and corkscrew hair which bounced as he talked. Alright Lawman, where does it come from then?

You answered your own question. Me.

You voted in? You credentialed.

You know that to be true. You should know also I don't refer to my role – though I worked all my life for it just so I might have the means of this decision you're contesting – but my sense of justice. Of morality. While you labor under the burdens of avarice and pleasure, I'm kept awake by the nightmares of evil. My mind's on higher things than booze, and meat, and women.

Silence fell into which Pat Ragnell spat a gob and looked at his boys in turn who nodded almost imperceptibly back. And they fell aside. And I moved past.

As I did, one of them said. You're doing wrong Lawman. You know why we do this? You're doing wrong.

The town I left behind was a horseshoe palisade cut down into the scorched earth. Its open end was cut off by a gate with no keeper. Man could come and go as he please. Man rarely did.

Out there, equidistant to the bluffs and through a mesquite wood was the knoll which looked bovine and hapless. A simple, featureless swell. On the knoll was a crate, and in that crate was the Feller. Where I was headed.

From town to base was a good half hour of walking over rattler nests. I wore leather up to my backside; never understood how the priest move through these parts in nothing but a robe. A coyote followed me. He'd probably been following me for sometime a'fore I noticed him. When I did I stopped and stared him down. He didn't move; just looked right back. He won this one, and I kept moving. Eventually the coyote realized I wasn't just gonna fall and give him the feast of my flesh. That I didn't have a scrap for him. He grew disinterested and stuck his nose down furrows instead. But his tracking got me thinking. The priest ever shrewd – it wouldn't be beyond him to sic a posse on me. I ducked down into a tangle and looked back to town, waiting quietly.

The sky purpled. The thunderhead pressed hard against the bluff, rising up. With it came a wash of creosote.

It wasn't until the shadow of the mesquite grew out that I was satisfied. And moved again.

The base of the knoll was but packed earth. Nothing grew on it any more, though skeletons still stood in formation around its perimeter. There was a howling in the air. Could've been the storm, could've been the Feller.

And in the time which wiled as I walked, I felt a certain thrill of conclusion fall around me, and envelop me with the sureness of a good day's work. I was doing what was right. The duty of a moral man. I was fulfilling that, despite the personal debt I might be accruing, back where the men and women would end me in the dark if they could for this. Yes, the thrill of conclusion was in the air.

If the howl had been the Feller's, he'd stopped. The crate was sad and silent. Covered in rawhide. I saw nothing in it. Crouching, I lifted a flap of hide from the corner and bent over to peer through the crepuscular light. The Feller withdrew, like a spooked dog, but looked out plainly, with blue eyes.

I spoke to him. It's over. I've come to give you no more than you are due. And no less. Your freedom from this box.

The Feller did not meet the moment. I was enraged, if just fleetingly, by his pacifism. The Feller's head lowered like a canid, and he looked up at me with round eyes that fell away from the evening shade.

I will escort you back to town, where you will be given food. And a bed. And basic niceties. And I will personally ensure your safety.

The wind.

I opened the crate. The Feller emerged, unraveling to full height which surpassed mine by a foot. He was lean and cool, like eucalyptus. His voice was flat. Why have you let me out.

I am the new Lawman. And I've nurtured within myself for the longest time a hatred of your captivity; of my townspeople for perpetrating it. I'm doing right by the privilege of my new position.

The Feller lifted a hand slowly, which unclenched from a fist into a fan and which he set limply upon the dome of his head. Ah. Pride.

Setting things right, and just.

If you say so.

I haven't come for satisfaction. I've come to let you go.

My apologies. Do, lead on.

We walked in silence, the Feller's footfall as quiet as the coyote's. After some paces I remembered manners, and feeling my tongue was lizard dry I offered him my bladder which was still half full. The Feller took it in a great milky hand and raised it to his thin lips which encircled the neck. Not a drop spilled. He handed the bladder back. And we walked on.

I was being careful to look down, as rattlers tend to this time of day; they's coils could be seen everywhere. Then there was a small concussion and my eye went funny. Seeing both ways I reached up, and despite great pain, palpitated the dangling bauble. I turned back on the Feller to get sense of the situation. He watched me with a simple face as I attempted to lift my hanging eye level with the other so's to see straight. The Feller moved, a languid action. And I lost sight and sense altogether.

Time's a funny thing in dreams. And I was dreaming. Of colors and doubt, and spinning things. I felt sick and exhilarated. Then a pinhole of light, and a lick of breeze, and my mind slowly returned to reality. The distant storm was yet high above the bluffs. I could see it flickering through the slats of the crate, even through my crooked eyes. I pulled the distended ball by its umbilical, and worked it loosely back into my skull. It was made messy by the blood which poured every which way. By my chill, I knew I didn't have long. Chill meant it only went one direction. I'd seen that on many men who shivered to the end.

I was cramping. My leg a big knot. I turned my nauseated vision from the East to the West and could just make the silhouette of town. Of its exclusive palisade walls. It could've been the storm. It could've been Pat Ragnell and his boys. Or the priest.

Or it could've been the Feller I heard howling.