Chapter Six
Mr. Smith rode to the edge of the town and stopped, getting off of his wagon and walking into the tall brush and woods near the town’s outskirts. The deputy following him was unsure of what to do next. He paused and pondered the options around him, standing straight on the ridge in broad daylight before moving down towards the wagon. He looked in the back to find a few store bought goods, some flour, and a few foods before placing the blanket that was covering it once again.
From the steppes of the ridge, one of Harris’ men appeared. He was staring right at the deputy, nodded his head and started down towards him as well. The bandit halted only a few feet away from the deputy, dismounting his horse and slapping it away.
“What are you doing here?” asked the deputy to the bandit.
“I’m here to kill that little man on the behalf of Evan Harris, you?”
“Marshal Thomas told me to follow him. Who is this guy anyway?” the puzzled deputy asked the rough bandit.
“No one that we need worry about in a few moments, I reckon,” responded the bandit who drew his pistol from his holster and slowly started to walk into the high grass and the tree-line where William Smith had just entered. “Well, are you following me?” he asked the deputy. The deputy was quick to nod his head and followed the bandit into the woods with his gun drawn as well.
They entered the dark and gloomy forest, bugs hovering all over the place; some landing in their eyes and on clothes. The deputy nervously made his way through the woods. He peered over at the bandit who looked straight back at him.
“Where is he?” asked the deputy.
“I don’t know, I guess we should split up. Listen, I’ll go straight ahead and you take the left flank, understood?”
“Yes, I reckon,” answered the uncertain deputy as they moved deeper into the woodland muck and wildlife.
Sweat palmed down from the face of the deputy who was moving the long blades of grass and tree-branches from his face. In a flash, the deputy saw a large brown object right in his face, speeding forward and nailing him across the mouth. The deputy fell back, bleeding and unconscious. His pistol fell into the dirt, quickly to be picked up by the mysterious person. The man looked down at the deputy and smiled.
“Sorry,” he said, “but I’m not trying to kill you,” said the man.
The bandit was calmly making his way deeper into the woods. From behind, the light from the town was quickly fading; he was now deep into the dense Kentucky wilderness. He began to breathe hard, the humidity was intense for this time of the year, and he panned off the gallons of sweat that had taken control of his face. He opened his mouth, his eyes becoming more dazed as he moved deeper into the woods. He called out for the deputy but no one answered. The man paused near a tall oak tree, taking his hat off and taking a seat on a tree stump nearby.
Behind him, Mr. Smith slowly approached like a predator ready to pounce. Mr. Smith was easily avoiding the twigs and leaves that riddled the ground floor that could give away his presence, his hands clutching the deputy’s pistol, his arm shaking and sweating just as much as the bandit. Mr. Smith crept his way forward, he cocked the pistol back, placing the pistol barrel directly behind the head of the bandit. The bandit froze; he dropped his pistol to the ground and put his arms in the air.
“Please God, don’t…”
“Don’t what? Like you weren’t gonna kill me if you had the chance, right?”
The bandit was trying to stay composed at this point, he started talking about the deputy in an attempt to buy some time and figure out what to do next. Mr. Smith kept the gun glued to his head.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow your brains out right this moment?” Mr. Smith asked the bandit.
No response.
“Go on,” he said once more.
No response.
Mr. Smith drew back his pistol, the bandit smiled. Just as quickly he turned the pistol around and used the butt as a club and rocked the bandit in the back of the head. Hours had passed since Evan Harris had last sent out his man to try and kill Mr. Smith; he, some of his men, and the Marshal went out around 4 o’clock to find out what had happened. They entered the same woods where the deputy finally staggered out of the woods. He collapsed after reaching the fields where Harris and his party were. The Marshal rode forward.
“Are you alright? What happened? C'mon John! Speak.”
“Leave him Marshal, let’s head in,” said Evan with an evil look in his eyes. As they entered, he split them in four pairs of two; he and the Marshal were going straight ahead. After some time, they eventually stumbled into a startling sight.
Hanging from the tree was the bandit, still alive but barely. He was tied around the tree, about 25 or so feet high, his mouth stuff the barrel of his own pistol in his mouth and a rope tied around the trigger which would cause it to fire if too much tension and pressure was put on the rope. The man was barely conscious; his head was rolling back and forth from exhaustion. The Marshal began yelling out for the others to come back to them. Evan Harris was just looking at the sight, his eyes resembling the devil in everyway, shape, and form. He cracked his neck and took out his pistol.
As he did, the others arrived, Peter and Tank were shocked at the sight, and the others were unable to stomach it and turned away. Evan nodded his head, smiling; he aimed his pistol and shot the rope that was holding him up. After four shots, the man came crashing down to the ground with a loud thump.
“Pick him up,” he said gently, “take him back to town. Take him to Doc Richardson,” he finished as he and his posse left the woods.
Back home, Mr. Smith halted his wagon by his main door. His children and came running out, Nate and his wife followed. “Why don’t you give me a hand with all this stuff,” he said to his children.
“Okay pa,” said both Jeb and Dill as they marched to the back of the wagon, together they picked up the large pack of flour and carried into the house. “Abigail, Abigail! Where do you want the flour,” they said as they entered the kitchen.
The rest of the kids were running amok outside in the plowed fields. Mr. Smith smiled and approached his wife.
“Anything happen today?” she asked him.
“No, it was a splendid day,” he said and gave Nate a hand gesture as he hugged his wife after the long and draining day.