Треваньян - Incident at Twenty-Mile

The force of this tirade made Matthew glance nervously at Coots, who shrugged and asked his partner, "You just about all through?"

B. J. Stone growled and sniffed. Then he nodded. "Yes, I'm through. But… goddamn it, the idea of spilling young blood just so a few old men can-! Oh, don't get me started again." He drew a deep breath, then said, "So, Matthew. You say you didn't even know about the Surprise Lode? You just decided to walk all the way up the railroad cut on the outside chance that you might find work at the end of the line?"

"Well… I figured there must be something at the end of the line. Else why would they have built it? And it seemed like it might be nice up here, tucked away from everything."

"You took one hell of a chance," Coots told him. "That track's mighty narrow, and the train could of flatten you like a turd under a wagon wheel. Hey, wait a minute…!"

"That's right! That train come near as nothing to killing me! I was walking up the track, fat and sassy, then all of a sudden I felt the rails shaking, and the next thing you know I heard the train coming up behind me. You better believe I started looking around for someplace to be, but it was all rock on one side, and nothing but air on the other! So I scrambled up-track as fast as I could, lugging my pack and gun, and just as the engine come round the bend, I found this crack in the wall and I squeezed into it with my face jammed up against the rock! And that train came roaring and sucking past my backside so close that every car knocked against the butt of my gun, click, click, click! I was sure something was going to catch on the strap and snatch me out to be killed. I was just certain that damn old gun was going to do for me, like it done for my pa."

"Lord! That was a close shave!"

"Close? After it passed, I set down right there on the tracks, limp as a rag, my heart pounding away. To tell you the truth, if I would of known-"

"Let me give you some advice, boy," Mr. Stone said. "You should break that habit of saying 'to tell the truth' all the time, because people usually say that as a stall while they cook up a lie. And if you're hell-bent on being a liar, you might as well be a good one."

The boy nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, sir. I'll remember that."

"So I suppose you'll be pushing on up to the mine?" Coots said.

Matthew looked down and studied the ground. Then: "No, sir, I don't believe I will. I think I'll just stay around here for a while."

"But I just told you there's no work in Twenty-Mile," Stone said with some exasperation.

"Yes, sir, you did. But there's something about this place that suits me."

"There is?"

"Don't you worry, sir. I'll find work. Say, can I ask a favor?"

"Anything that doesn't cost me worry, work, money, or time."

"Can I leave my bindle and gun with you while I look around town?"

"Suit yourself. But it's no use."

The young man nodded and grinned. "You're probably right, sir." He stood up. "Well, I sure do thank you for the coffee. It truly hit the spot."

As they watched the boy walk back down the rutted street, B. J. Stone sipped his coffee pensively. "What do you make of him, Coots?"

"Beats my two pair."

"Why would a bright kid like that want to stay here, at the end of the world?"

"Could be he's hiding."

"From what?"

"Beats my two pair."

"Well, one thing's sure. He's not going to find work in this played-out town."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

State Prison, Laramie

WHEN HE ARRIVED TO take the midwatch, Guard Private John "B B" Tillman was sorely troubled.

He had been surprised, but pleased, by the way Lieder had received the tracts his wife selected for his guidance. He had half-expected him to scoff and jeer, the way his fellow guards scoffed and called him a "Bible bug" when he sought to share with them the precious gift of faith. But Lieder didn't jeer. He drew the rolled-up pages of the tracts in through his spy-hole respectfully, almost tenderly. And when they quietly discussed these messages of hope through the door, Lieder's whispering voice always carried tones of sincere yearning… a man seeking his way. And several times Tillman had opened the spy-hole to find Lieder on his knees by his bunk, his face buried in his arms, praying fervently.

Lieder's blasphemous habit of making up scripture and ascribing it to "Paul to the Mohegans," or "Paul to the Floridians," had caused Tillman heartache. But Lieder assured him that he didn't mean any disrespect, and he promised to pray for the strength to break all his bad habits. From that day on, his acceptance of Jesus as his personal savior seemed to lift a mighty burden from him. Tillman often heard him singing to himself in his cell, usually old-time revival songs, and he once declared that he willingly accepted the imprisonment of his body for the rest of his natural life, knowing that he could now hope for the liberation of his soul through all eternity!

At first, Lieder's rapid progress was uplifting to witness and a tribute to the benevolence and power of the Lord. But lately…

"I purely don't know what to do," Tillman had confessed to his wife. "He seems to have fallen into darkness. Sometimes he just breaks down and sobs like to make your heart break. He says his sins are so black and piled so high that he doesn't deserve the Lord's forgiveness. And sometimes he just lies there on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. The fact of it is, Mary, that man's soul is burdened down with sin."

"But he mustn't despair, John. Despair is the greatest sin of all."

"Don't I know it? But what am I to do?"

"You must never, never relent in your efforts to save him, John. You must tell him that he's got to persist through this Slough of Despond, for the Lord's mercy is as vast as it is eternal."

Tillman promised he wouldn't give up on Lieder. He would pray with him that very night. His wife agreed that prayer was the sovereign remedy for all Man's illness and woe, but she reminded him to be careful in dealing with this… what's that you call them?

"Moonberries."

"Well now, don't you take any chances."

"You think I'm crazy, darlin'-heart? You think I want John Junior to grow up without a dad?"

She blushed and pushed his chest with her fingertips, as she always did when he mentioned her "condition," a condition that they had celebrated with an exchange of presents. He gave her ribbons to braid into her hair, and she gave him a braided leather lanyard with a slide that he could wear in place of a tie. They laughed over the coincidence of both presents having to do with "braid," and she said it was a lucky omen.

The first thing Tillman did when he came on watch was to check on Lieder, whom he found lying on his bunk, staring up at the ceiling, lost in misery and self-loathing. He greeted him in an encouraging tone, but Lieder muttered bitterly that there was nothing left for him in this life, and probably nothing in the next. So what's the use? What's the use?

Tillman reminded him that despair is the greatest sin of all. Despair is a trick of the Devil, making us doubt the Lord's promise of salvation for even the least and lowest of us, but Lieder only shook his head miserably and turned his face to the wall.

Tillman sighed and returned to the watch-desk.

It was almost dark when Tillman made his last round of the moonberries. Through the spy-hole he found the acid-thrower sitting on the edge of his cot, rocking himself and humming, as always. "The Politician" was disagreeing violently with a space in the corner that he addressed as "you ignorant little pinch of duck-shit!" At the sound of the spy-hole opening, "the Spook" cowered in the corner. "Don't hurt me! I didn't mean to do it! Honest to God, I didn't mean it!"

The next cell had long been empty, but now it contained two men who had been transferred to the moonberry wing to protect new young prisoners, whom they routinely dragged into dark corners and… "broke in" was the prison term for it. As he approached the door, Tillman heard sounds of grunting and panting as though a fight was going on. He opened the spy-hole and found a neckless, bullet-headed giant bent over the end of his cot, and behind him was a little gnome with a twisted face. They were both panting and grunting. The gnome leered toward the open spy-hole, and only then did Tillman realize that they were… Lord Jesus in Heaven! He snapped the spy-hole shut and turned away.