South of Heaven (11 page)

T
he stagecoach left Matacora a little after two in the afternoon, and we were almost four hours traveling the eighty-five miles. The driver let me out in front of the Greek’s, then swung the big Hudson around in the dusky darkness and headed south toward Fort Stockton.

I’d got myself dolled up in Matacora; new khakis and under-clothes and everything the barber had to sell. But that made no difference to the Greek. He met me at the door, demanding money before he’d let me sit down; then watched me while I ate to make sure I didn’t steal anything.

The food tasted lousy. How could it taste any other way? I thought back on my talk with Darrow. And for a moment I almost wished I’d taken his advice, because I’d suddenly had enough of myself as I was. I’d had it with Tommy Burwell—hobo, junglebird, working stiff, gambler, drunk and what-have-you. I couldn’t stand him anymore, and the only way of getting away from him was to get him to hell away from here!

All the clothes and barbers in the world wouldn’t change anything as long as I lived as I did. Nothing would help but a completely new life.

The Greek tossed my change back at me, without a word of thanks. Just threw it at me, so that I had to do some wild grabbing to keep it from going on the floor. Any other time I might have cussed him out or jumped him. But tonight I merely smiled at him and dropped a penny tip on the counter.

It struck me in the back as I went out the door, but I kept right on going. The way I was determined to stay out of trouble, he could have kicked me in the pants and I’d probably have kissed his foot.

Although they were some five miles away, I could see the lights of camp as I started out of town. I headed toward them, following the truck ruts, my heavy shoes trampling the wiry grass with the sound of secret whispering.

A stingy moon climbed up out of a distant stand of blackjack, and rose slowly into the sky like a sagged-in-the-middle candle. The night wind bustled across the prairie, and the first small stars flickered and winked as though about to blow out. Brave with darkness, a coyote howled eerily. A chorus of dog-wolves began to bark, sounding for all the world like they were scolding someone.

Four Trey had solemnly assured me one time that that was exactly what they
were
doing. They were scolding the moon because their butts were built so close to the ground. I went along with the gag and asked him why the moon; the moon couldn’t do anything about it. And he said, exactly—that was the whole point.

He fell asleep about then, the bottle being empty, and there was nothing more said on the subject. Thinking back on it years later, it dawned on me that there’d been nothing more to say. He’d said it all, and what he’d said was pretty profound.

I stopped walking to take a breather, coughing and spitting the dust from my mouth. The spittle had hardly hit the ground before it was swarming with black beetles—tumble-bugs—which rolled it into balls, dust and all, and rolled the balls away to their almost invisible nest-holes in the grass.

Tumble-bugs are scavengers of the prairies, keeping them clean by balling-up and disposing of anything in the way of waste matter. You find a lot of them where there are cattle and horses. In this particular area, I figured they probably didn’t have things too good, what with nothing but men and machines around. Industrialization was playing hell with their business—a situation I’d written a nutty piece of doggerel about when I should have been using my time for something better:

Well, I’ll leave it at that. It gets kind of dirty from then on.

I went on walking until I was within a couple hundred yards of camp. Veering off to the right there, I aimed myself toward the slight dip in the land where Carol’s housecar was parked. It took me about twenty minutes to get to it, her campsite that is. I stopped on the rim above it, looking down into the little hollow, almost calling out to her before I saw that she wasn’t there. It was the right place; I couldn’t be mistaken about that. But the housecar was gone.

For a moment, I didn’t know what to think. Hell, I couldn’t think at all, the way I felt. Then, it came to me that she might have moved to higher ground on account of that heavy rain. And, breathing easy again, I started looking for her.

The night wasn’t bright enough to see far or well. If you didn’t have a pretty good idea of where something might be, you could come within a hundred yards of it and miss it. Carol, of course, had to be parked within a fairly limited area. So I marked it out in my mind and began to search it; moving ahead for fifty yards or so, turning off at a sharp angle for a few hundred yards, moving ahead again and then angling back for another few hundred yards. Crossing and crisscrossing.

I’d done a lot of walking without moving very far from her original campsite when I heard a car. Despite the fact that even small sounds carry far on the prairie, I almost didn’t hear it. It was moving so quietly, the softly powerful purring of its motor blending and all but losing itself in the soughing of the wind.

I’d never heard a car run like that one. Its lights were off. In virtual silence, it rolled across the uneven land, swaying but never jolting, smoothly smoothing out the hillocks and hummocks, a dark shadow blowing through the night. Then, it slid down into that little dip in the land and disappeared.

There was absolute silence for a moment, a moment in which I wasn’t sure that I hadn’t been dreaming. It ended abruptly with the sound of doors opening—and voices. Carol’s and others. Men’s voices.

There were three of them. Three men. And they didn’t linger with her. I was running forward, thinking, you know, that Carol might need help—although she hadn’t sounded like it—when the three suddenly came up out of the hollow. Moving fast and walking swiftly away in the darkness. Ducked behind a bush, I tried to get a good look at them. But I didn’t have much luck at it.

They were about middling weight and height. They had beards. They were roughly dressed.

In other words, they might be any three of half the men on the line. And, of course, they were working on the line. They’d headed toward camp—where else would they go out here—and if they were in camp they had to be working.

I stayed hidden behind the bush for several minutes, making sure that they weren’t coming back.

Then, I went down to where the car was.

I
t was Carol’s housecar all right. I got inside and started it. It sounded like hell. I turned off the motor and got out of the car. Carol ran up and angrily snatched the keys from my hand.

“Well, smarty?” she said. “What do you have to say for yourself now?”

I didn’t know what to say. The car had run like any old car might have, choking and missing as bad as any I’d ever heard.

“Well, it didn’t run that way a while ago,” I said, but I was no longer so sure of myself. “I know it didn’t, and no one can tell me it did!”

“Oh, you!” She stamped her foot. “If you knew anything, you wouldn’t have come back here! You didn’t have to, dog-gone it! That friend of yours, Mr. Whiteside, he told me he’d turned a lot of money over to you, money he’d been saving for you. And you could have.…”

“Four Trey? How come you were seeing Four Trey?” I said.

“Now don’t you try to make something out of that, Tommy Burwell! He, well, he knew about us and he was afraid I’d be worried, so naturally.…”

“What about those three guys tonight? Were they afraid you’d be worried about me, too?”

She looked at me, lips together tightly. “I don’t have to answer your questions, Mr. Burwell! Just who do you think you are, anyway?”

“Don’t you bet any money that you don’t have to answer,” I said, “because I’m the guy you’re just as good as married to and the guy you’re
going
to be married to. So just don’t you give me any argument!”

Her eyes shifted; lowered. She kicked at a pebble. “You…you haven’t kissed me, Tommy. I haven’t seen you for a long long time, and you haven’t even kissed me.”

“What about those three guys?”

“Will you kiss me if I tell you?”

“Well, uh, yeah, sure I will,” I said. “I mean.…”

“And hug me real nice? Mmm?” She edged closer to me, her voice a teasing little-girl whisper. “An’…an’…after you’ve hugged an’ kissed me real good, will you…?” Her arms went around me, pulling my head down to hers so that she could whisper the last words into my ear. “Will you, Tommy? Just for a little while?”

Well.…

It wasn’t any little while. More than an hour passed before we came back out of the housecar. Plenty of time for her to think up a good explanation for the three men, if she had needed time to think of one. It was so plausible that I doubted that she did.

She’d had to drive into town for supplies and water. The three men had been loafing around the general store. One of them had a couple of bucks, it seemed, and the others had come along to help him blow it. Which added up to a long walk for practically nothing, but at least broke the monotony of camp. Anyway, they’d helped Carol load her supplies and fill her water barrel. So she could hardly refuse when they asked for a ride back to camp.

“It was safe enough, don’t you think so, Tommy? I mean, the storekeeper saw us leaving together. He knew who they were, and if anything happened to me.…”

“Why were you driving with your lights off?”

“They just went out. One of the men thought I’d probably jolted a wire loose.” She put her arms around me, murmured meekly against my chest. “That’s the truth, Tommy. You just try them, and see if they come on.”

I didn’t see any point to that. Not after my experience in testing the car’s motor.

“Tommy,” she said, “you shouldn’t have come back here. You just shouldn’t have, darling. I thought my heart would break when I thought you weren’t coming back. But…but.…” Her voice was suddenly firm. “Leave, Tommy. Right tonight. Don’t go over to camp. Just go right back to town and keep going.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“It’s what you should do, honey. What you have to do. Mr. Whiteside made me see that. The longer you delay, the harder it will become. You’ve been in a lot of trouble already, and if you get in any more—”

“All right,” I said. “All right, I’ll leave.”

“You—you will?”

“I will. But you’ve got to leave with me.”

“B-but—but I can’t, darling. Not right away. I’ll tell you what”—she gave me a brave bright smile. “You go ahead first. Get a place for us, and get started in school and—and everything—and then I’ll join you. How will that be, hmm? Okay, honey?”

I said, no, it sure as heck wasn’t okay. She’d either go with me tonight or neither one of us would go.

“I’ll tell you something, girlie,” I said. “You may have a big lineup of guys over here on payday, but I’m goin’ to be right at the head of it. And the first bo that tries to climb into that truck with you is goin’ to get fanned with a forgy stick!”

I was about as steamed up as a man can get, and if she’d said one word back to me I’d have done a little fanning right then and there. On the seat of her pants, that is, and it wouldn’t have cooled ’em off any if you know what I mean.

But she didn’t talk back. She looked up at me, hesitantly, seemingly on the point of speaking, then took a quick look around as though to make sure that no one was listening.

“Tommy,” she said softly—very, very softly. “There won’t be any lineup over here on payday. No one will be over here but me.”

“Now, that makes a lot of sense,” I said. “Six hundred men with fourteen days’ pay in their pocket, and.…”

“There won’t be.”

“Won’t be?” I said. “Won’t be what? Well?” I waited, frowning. “There’s six hundred men on the line. Nothing can change that. And they’ll have two weeks made in another six-seven days. So…so.…Wait a minute!” I said. “Are you telling me that they won’t get paid?”

“
Sshh!
” She shot a terrified glance into the darkness. “No! I’m not telling you anything! I haven’t told you anything!”

She started to back away from me, her face very white in the night. I grabbed her by the shoulders, and she tore out of my grasp.

“Leave, Tommy! Go away, you hear?”

“But…but.…”

“I’ll follow you later. I swear I will! I’ll write you general delivery in Fort Worth or Dallas or.…But you’ve got to leave now. Please, honey!
Please!”

“No,” I said. “I’m staying.”

“
But you can’t!
You just can’t!”

I told her she’d darned sure see if I couldn’t; whenever I left she’d be going right along with me. She pleaded with me a little longer and then she called me a darned old stubborn fool and said I could do whatever I doggoned pleased, but I’d better not come near her again.

“I don’t like you, Tommy Burwell! I never did like you! You’re just as mean and hateful as you can be, and I wouldn’t go to a dogfight with you. An’…an’ you ever come near me again, I’ll just slap you good!”

“I’ll look forward to it,” I said. “See you tomorrow night.”

I turned and walked away from her. She ran after me a few steps, scolding and pleading and finally crying. But I kept right on heading for camp, not daring to turn around for fear I’d weaken and give in to her. And three-four minutes later I heard the slam of the housecar doors as she locked herself in for the night.

There was a kind of grim finality about it. A don’t-forget-I-warned-you sound. It slowed me down for a moment, forced me to think of what I might be getting myself into. If I hadn’t talked-up so big to her and if I hadn’t been a chronic hard-head, I just might have done what she’d begged me to do. But I had and I was, so I didn’t. Instead, I went right on into camp.

A light was burning in the high-pressure tent, and I could see a shadow moving against the wall. Otherwise, everyone appeared to be bedded down. Or everyone, that is, but Wingy Warfield. He was out fooling around the wash benches, trying to find something wrong, I figured, so he could bellow about it.

I remembered how he’d knocked me to the law, making it look like I had a death-grudge against Bud Lassen just because I hadn’t shaken hands with him. A real nice guy, Wingy was—risking my neck just for the fun of hearing himself loudmouth! Apparently, he remembered, too, and he naturally thought I’d be sore, because he was sure one nervous camp boss as I came up to him.

I put a big smile on my face and slapped him on the back. “How are you, Wingy, my friend,” I said. “How’s it goin’, old pal?”

“H-how…
friend?
” he said. “P-pal?”

“You know it,” I said. “You can’t fool me, Wingy. The law told me all the nice things you said about me. Why, I’ll bet I’d be in jail yet if it wasn’t for you.”

I squeezed a five-dollar bill into his hand; told him he’d just have to take it or I’d be sore. After all, he’d saved my life, and friends were supposed to help each other.

“W-well…well, Jesus, Tommy!” He let out a long deep breath, somehow managing to stick out his chest and look cocky. “By God, that’s damned white of you, boy! Ain’t nothin’ like a real friend, I always say, an’ anytime you need anything you just tell ol’ Wingy Warfield!”

“That’s my pal!” I gave him another slap on the back. “By the way, pal, some guys came in from town about an hour and a half, two hours ago. Three guys with beards. I wonder if you happened to.…”

“You mean the guys that witnessed for you?” he cut in on me. “Those three?”

“Wit…what?” I said.

“You know, the guys that cleared you. The three that saw Bud Lassen get hisself killed.”

And the three that had been with Carol!

“Yes,” I said. “Those are the ones I’m talking about. Do you know what tents they’re in?”

He said, o’ course, he knew. There was damned little that went on in camp that Wingy Warfield didn’t know! “Longden’s in number three tent, Bigger’s in four and Goss is in seven. I reckon they’re all asleep by now, but.…”

“Burwell!”

It was Higby. He came striding toward me, jaw set, swinging a pick handle in his hand. Wingy Warfield took a quick look at him, then at me, and scooted away from his ol’ pal Tommy Burwell just as fast as his big flat feet could take him.

I lighted a cigarette, casually flipping the match away as Higby strode up.

“Yeah?” I said. “Want something?”

“You were told not to come back here, Burwell. Now, let’s see you make tracks!”

“But I’ve been cleared,” I said. “You know that. Why can’t I have a job?”

“We’ve got no jobs for birds like you! You’ve made nothing but trouble since you hit camp and, by God, you’re not making any more!”

“I don’t plan on making any trouble,” I said. “I never make trouble when I can make money.”

“Beat it!” He pointed with the pick handle. “Get your ass long-gone or you’ll be digging this Irish toothpick out of it!”

I drawled that I reckoned I’d wait for payday. He jerked the pick handle up like a baseball bat, and I repeated the word.

“Payday,” I said softly. “Payday, Mr. Higby. I hear it’s going to be something pretty special.”

It was just a guess. About all I had to go on was what Four Trey had said: that Higby would have no place to go when he wound up here. That this would probably be the last big pipeline to be built.

It was betting a guess against a beating. But the guess apparently was a good one. He lowered the pick handle, wet his lips, hesitantly.

“You’re not being smart, Tommy. I don’t know where you tie in or how. But the smartest thing you can do is to drop it and beat it.”

“I want a job,” I said. “What have you got open?”

“Tommy, for God’s sake, son…!”

“Yeah?” I said. “What did you say you could give me?”

He started to say something else, then brought his mouth shut with a snap. “How does a mormon board suit you, punk?”

“Mormon…!” I gulped, tried to make my voice nonchalant. “Fine,” I said. “Nothing I like better than riding a mormon board.”

“You do, eh?” His eyes slitted grimly. “Like pouring dope, too?”

“Why not?”

“Good,” he grunted. “You’re going to be doing both.”

They were the lousiest jobs on a pipeline. The lousiest jobs in the world. The board killed you, and the dope cooked you.

I wondered if I couldn’t have squeezed him for something better and I reckoned I probably could have,
if
I hadn’t played right into his hands. He’d used my cockiness against me, leading me into acting the tough guy. Now, I couldn’t back down without appearing the punk he’d called me. And it just wasn’t in me to do that.

I’d bet into a cold deck and I couldn’t pull my chips.