Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

“These hills ain’t been too kind to lawmen as a general rule. However, times are different now. Everything’s different.” Gran stopped and gazed at him, lost in thought. Coming to a decision, she spoke forcefully so everyone could hear. “Might be we could use some law, now and again. We’ve had some trouble, and don’t know how to fix it. Whyn’t you climb off that horse and see.”

Walking into the mercantile, she turned at the door and addressed the crowd. “Y’all go on about your business. Lon, set some of the men to keep watch. We’ll be out later.”

He followed the woman into the building. What she called trouble lay on a wooden bench at the back of the room. The form looked like a woman. He had no doubt that it was. The blanket was too short to cover all of the body, so they had covered her head, letting the feet show. Her left foot still had on a black lace-up shoe. Homemade. The other foot was bare and bloody—both had rope burns on the ankles. He shook his head. Another killing. What the hell?

The old woman seemed more frail, now that she wasn’t in front of the townspeople. Authority is a heavy burden. She didn’t make any effort to approach the body. Her voice was old gravel, washed in mud and loathing. “Sometimes I think I’ve been on this earth too long. It’s time for me to go.” She shook her head. “But I can’t… my people….” She straightened her back, and he could see the effort it took. “Someone killed one of our girls. Did things to her.” Her voice broke and her eyes pinned him. “We tried to trail whoever did it. The trail just petered out and went away. Left just enough for us to think it’s maybe one person, and a man.”

Anger colored her voice. “There ain’t many people we can’t trail in the woods, mister brand spankin’ new Marshal. You know anything about this?”

“More than I want to. There have been others.”

The old woman kept silent for a few moments as she digested this, searching his face with eyes that had seen more pain than they should ever have to see. With a catch in her voice she said. “She was the prettiest girl here. We were hoping to marry her off soon.”

“Gran,” he said softly. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Lord knows I don’t. But I need to look at her. All of her. I have to know if she was killed the same as the others. You know… not just that she died, but exactly how she was killed.” He inclined his head toward the door. “I wouldn’t like to get shot while I’m doing it.”

“She’s naked.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, waiting for her decision.

Finally… “Will it make a difference?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know.” Trent sighed and met her gaze. Her eyes were red with unshed tears. “I’m kind of new at this.”

She looked at him with a little humor peeking around her grief. “My God, an honest lawman. You’ll never last.” She ran her fingers through snow white hair, holding her cap in her other hand. “Go ahead, Marshal. I’d appreciate it if you don’t touch her.”

Understanding the stubborn pride and moral code these hill people possessed, he said simply, “Of course.”

Leaving the building a few minutes later, he paused outside the door and took in a deep breath. The girl looked much the same. Maybe a little more hurried in the handiwork, and he needed to think about that some. Her belly sliced open, her pubic hair scalped, and the nipples were gone from her breasts. And the brand. What significance a cross burned into her forehead had to anything, he didn’t know. There was a lot he didn’t know. Too damned many questions. Not enough answers.

He hated this job already.

The old woman was waiting, watering his horse from a bucket, flanked by several men and women. Even in the heat, the men all wore bib-overalls and long sleeved homemade shirts. Black hats and full beards on the men, bonnets on the women, firmly seated in the last century. Not an old rusted out vehicle anywhere. They probably never had one, or needed it.

“Well?” All eyes were on him as Gran asked the question.

He addressed them all. “Counting this girl, there have been three women killed in this particular manner that I know of. There may be more. I don’t have a clue about who did it except he, or she, is very good in the forest. They obviously have a small branding iron and a very sharp knife. There hasn’t been a sign left anywhere to look at.”

He saw a few of the men look at each other, nodding. He knew they’d tried to trail the killer, and their failure rankled.

“That’s all I know.”

One of the men spoke up around his cud of tobacco. “That ain’t much. How you going to keep this from happening again, Lawman? Tell me that.”

Trent answered truthfully. “I can’t. You know that as well as I do. Before The Fall, there were hundreds of thousands of lawmen, maybe a million. Even back then, the law couldn’t protect you from something like this. It’s no different now. You have to take care of yourselves, just like you’ve always done.”

“Well now, that’s a right big help.”

Trent smiled ruefully, “I know it isn’t much, but it’s all I can tell you. For my part, I’ll do my best. That’s the only promise I can give. Meanwhile, you protect your womenfolk. Keep your eyes open. Don’t let them go anywhere without someone with them. I don’t think this killer likes a crowd. I also think it’s a man, from the one heel-print I saw. He’s strong, and a woodsman. There is one other thing. If there’s any doubt, shoot to kill.”

“We ‘bout shot you, mister.” The laconic reply came from one of the older men.

He looked pointedly at the man. “That’s why I rode down the middle of the street. So there would be no misunderstandings.” Addressing all of them, he said. “I know it’s a couple of days travel, but if you need me for anything, or find anything I need to know, I’ll be at Big Springs.”

As he mounted and started to leave, the old woman had a final comment. “You got a badge, lawman?”

“Yeah, somewhere,” he answered, searching his pockets.

“Better pin it on. Might save you from any…” she hesitated a moment, “misunderstandin’s.”

He reached into his saddlebag and found the badge, and pinned it on his shirt. “You might have a point, there, Gran.”

One thing he’d forgot to mention to Gran and her folks. Tent pegs. Hardly anyone pitched a tent anymore. Who in hell had tent pegs?

Heading back up the trail toward the standing rocks of Eleven Point Creek, he remembered his original mission.

And where in hell was Gunny?

It was nearing twilight when Trent rode up to the campsite. The sound of the water bubbling over the rocks had muffled his approach, and he rode unannounced right into trouble.

Katie had backed up against a rock, the campfire between her and one of the soldiers. Wide and muscular, he was already moving around the fire toward her when Trent’s voice came to him. “Soldier, I’d like to save your life.”

The big man whirled. “What’d you say?”

“You heard me. Now get back to your own part of the camp.”

“Or you’ll do what?” The soldier was half Trent’s age, and held a short machine pistol, barrel pointing down.

“I’ll kill you.” He said it simply. The soldier looked at him full of contempt. “I got an automatic in my hand, and your toy pistol is in its holster. Now, I am no hotshot courier like you, but I just have to believe I got the edge here. I think you’re dead meat. As a matter of fact, I think go ahead and I’ll kill you first, and then enjoy your woman the rest of the night.”

“To do that, you’ll have to be able to pull the trigger.”

The man stood facing him. “Awww, I heard of you. You are supposed to be some ‘quick draw’ artist, like Wyatt Earp or sumpin’. I never believed those old stories, and I don’t believe you.”