Peter Matthiessen - Shadow Country

“Course these arrests never come to nothin, cause he couldn’t prove nothin, not in Monroe County. Judge at Key West would be plain crazy to jail a man for doin what our people always done-what it was our God-given right to do, the way we look at it. Who was here first, us huntin families or them Audi-bones from New York City? Judge figured the plumers was punished enough, what with all that huntin time was lost sailin seventy miles down to Key West and back, missin day after day in the best part of the season, knowin that soon as the warden was gone, their neighbors had went right back to the rookeries and finished off what few white birds was left.

“Spring of nineteen and ought-four, aigrets was farther in between than ever and prospects was lookin very very poor. Before the next breedin season come around, Cap’n Walt Smith, a sponge fisherman out of Key West who kept a huntin camp on the mainland at Flamingo, done his best to take away Guy’s job. Smith spread the word that if the hunters would vote for him instead of Bradley, they could go on huntin to their hearts’ content.

“Before Guy got to be the warden, him and Smith was huntin partners. All the same, Guy told him to stay out of them rookeries or he’d take ’em to court. And Walt Smith said, ‘Now lookit here goddammit, Guy, I been shootin out here years and years and you right next to me so don’t you go to messin with me now!’ But Guy just went ahead, done what he said he’d do, and before the year was out, he arrested Smith’s boy twice. Tom was sixteen. Smith had a fit. He said, ‘By God, you interfere with my boy again and I will kill you.’

“Now our Flamingo folks, they always liked Guy Bradley, leastways before he went over to wardenin. Even them few that didn’t care for him no more and called him too upstandin, they liked him a whole lot better than they liked Smith, cause Smith was a mean skunk and his sons took after him. His boys was about the only ones as voted for him.

“When Smith lost out on takin Bradley’s job, he come to see this as insult and injury. Hollered to anybody who would listen that he had swallered all he meant to take: said no man could shit upon Smith family honor and live to tell the tale. That was the first us Filly-mingo folks had ever heard about Smith family honor. As my dad said, a feller’d have to hunt long and hard to come up with enough of that to shit upon.”

We had a good laugh over Smith family honor, Lucius, too. “No, them Smiths were not so famous for their honor,” Gene said, “they were famous for revenge. Eighth day of July, not long after that election, that bunch come in at sunrise, shot up Bird Key not two miles out in Florida Bay from Bradley’s house. In fact, Guy was awoke up by all the shootin, and when he looked out and seen the old blue Cleveland over there, he sighed and told his young wife Fronie, ‘Them Smiths is out there killin so I guess I got to go over there and put a stop to it.’ But he must of knew that nobody would shoot so close in to Flamingo that wasn’t lookin for a showdown with the warden.

“It was kind of funny how much pains Guy took to say good-bye-that’s what Fronie told us the next day. Picked up his two little fellers and hugged ’em hard though he weren’t goin but only that short distance and be back for supper. Later she figured her husband had a feelin what was comin down on him but was too stubborn to mention it let alone head the other way.”

(It puzzled me that Fronie Bradley never tried to stop him, I told Lucius later, because she could back up her opinions with her fists. She’d put on the gloves with anybody, man nor woman-that young Mrs. Bradley loved to box! One feller I knew held the opinion that this darn female should be taken down a peg before all our women got that boxing habit, so he took her on. I was there. I saw this. She knocked him down as fast as he got up. Finally he dusted himself off, said, Thanks for the boxin lesson, ma’am, but I reckon I have had about enough. Fronie yelled, Hold on there, mister, I ain’t done boxin! Darned if she didn’t run over there, knock him flat again!)

“That morning Lew Bradley was around someplace,” Gene said, “but Guy never asked his brother to go with him. Just set sail in his little sloop across the Bay. No question he knowed who that blue schooner belonged to but he never liked askin nobody for help-sin of pride, I reckon.

“Piecin together what them crewmen said in court, Tom Smith and his brother Dan was still out huntin, over on the key. When Bradley’s skiff come up alongside, Old Man Walt fired a shot into the air and his boys come in. Never bothered to hide their birds, brought ’em right in under the warden’s nose, made sure he seen ’em. Guy told ’em to stop but they went aboard and down into the cabin, like they was sayin, Well now, ye Audi-bone sonofabitch, what you aim to do about it?

“Guy told Walt Smith that his older boy was under arrest and Smith said, ‘You want Tom, you have to come and get him.’ Walt Smith had his rifle on his arm, never tried to hide it. Claimed in court he reminded Bradley of his warnin, claimed he expected Bradley to back down, but I believe he knew the man too well for that.

“That crewman and the other feller stayed below but both of ’em heard Bradley’s answer. He said, ‘Put down that rifle, then, and I will come aboard.’ Heard them words and then right away two shots.

“That evenin, we seen Walt Smith’s boat come into Flamingo. He picked up his family and took off again. When Guy never showed up, Fronie got worried, come to see me. She said, ‘Gene, my man never come home so I’d appreciate you have a look around first thing in the mornin.’

“I started across at daybreak, feelin bad. Not a sign of nothin at Bird Key, but scannin up and down the coast, I seen Guy’s little sailing sloop drifted up on shore. I went on over there and found Guy slumped forward, dead, shot through the neck.”

“Walt Smith went straight back to Key West,” I told Lucius, “and spread the word that the bird warden was dead. Someone said, ‘Ed Watson kill him?’ And Smith said, ‘That could be.’ When it turned out I was away up north, he changed his story, admitted he might of done the job himself in self-defense. Said Bradley fired first-‘malice aforemost,’ he called it-and showed two slugs he had dug out of his mast to prove it. Guy not being likely to miss a man at point-blank range, it seemed pretty clear that Smith shot those holes himself, but his crewmen would not testify against him.”

“Didn’t want no trouble,” Gene agreed. “I went to Key West and told the court that all six cartridges was still in Guy’s revolver when I found him. Smith’s bullet had pierced into his neck and down his spine because it was fired from above. I said Bradley never left his boat and probably took a very long time dyin. And my daddy, Steve L. Roberts, who built Guy’s coffin and helped bury him, told that jury about the death threat Smith made two months earlier, said that was a message Smith meant Guy to receive and Guy received it. He knew about that threat when he sailed out there.

“Well, them young Smiths stepped up and swore on their Smith family honor that Guy Bradley weren’t nothin but a deep-dyed plumer hidin behind all that Audubonin, that he was still partners with his brother Lew and them dang Roberts boys, who was not only Mainlanders but the most bloodthirstiest aigret butchers in all south Florida. Swore that Bradley harassed God-fearin Key Westers cause they give his Mainland partners too much competition. Naturally the grand jury was dead set against putting a Key West man on trial for a thing like that so they opened up the jailhouse door and sent him home.”

Gene Roberts told Lucius that thanks to Walter Smith, a lot of people still believed Guy’s killer was Ed Watson. “So when people talk about your daddy, son,” Gene said, raising his glass to me, “you has got to remember there’s been plenty killins blamed on E. J. Watson that he never done. Compared to some of the low skunks I seen around the Glades, your dad here is a fine upstandin feller. I myself have heard Nap Broward say that his friend E. J. Watson was that old leather breed of frontier American that made this country great.”