Tishomingo Blues

24

ROBERT WENT DOWN TO THE Confederate encampment in the orchard, his sword hanging at his side, his hand on the hilt to keep it from hitting his leg and tripping him up, swords not being as cool as they looked. Man, all the serious Southron types down here getting ready, Robert estimating their number at a hundred and a half easy, living in dirt and eating bad food and loving it.

He saw squads of them marching through the tangle of trees to drumbeats, some already taking their positions on the line. He saw a half-dozen cavalrymen sitting their horses, and three cannon Robert believed were six-pounders rolled out to aim across the field. There were hardcores who looked like they'd been doing this since Fort Sumter was fired on, along with farbs in half-asked outfits here to have some fun.

Robert came through brush strung along a dry creek bed that separated the main Confederate camp from a gathering of hillbilly-looking rednecks with beards and black hillbilly hats that put Robert in mind of a biker gang without their leathers. He believed he was getting close to Kirkbride's outfit and identified himself to a group passing around a jar of shine.

"How you doing? I'm Forrest's chief scout, looking to report to the general."

What they did was stare with dumb, serious faces, looking at him with the kind of stares Robert was used to. First the sizing up, then the remarks to put him in his place, have some fun with him. Robert didn't let them get to that part. He said, "You fuck with me, I'll bring Arlen over to get on your ass. I laid in the thicket all night spying on the Federal camp and the general's waiting for my report."

Sounding official to confuse them, remind them of what they were doing here. It got him pointed to Kirkbride's tent, over there in that cottonwood shade: Walter Kirkbride with Arlen and his people and their fruit jar, Arlen looking this way and now all of them looking, Walter saying something, and now he was coming away from them, by himself.

Good. It told Robert Walter had been looking at his crossroads and was keeping Arlen out of it, the man cautious now, not wanting to get himself in the middle of any gangsta business. Still, Robert intended to hook him, show the man he wasn't home free.

Walter walked up looking like a general and Robert said, "How you doing? I understand you got little Traci in camp with you."

Stopped the man cold, whatever it was he might've had ready to say now gone.

"That cute girl has the trailer behind Junebug's? My man Tonto saw her walking around the camp. But was Wesley told me she's your sweetheart. Wesley, the bartender out there wears the undershirt?"

The man stood motionless in his officer's uniform, his hat on, his eyes sad, like a general tired of war and about to offer his sword. Bobby Lee at Appomattox.

Robert said, "Listen to me, Walter, I ain't holding Traci over your head, that ain't my business. You go on have your fun. What I'm saying to you, I realize the kind of mental defectives you have to associate with, and I know you're better than having to do that. I maybe even could use you in my business. You understand what I'm saying?"

Walter said, "I've got a pretty good idea," his voice showing some life.

"You don't deserve to go down with Arlen and his people. And they going down," Robert said, looking past Walter, "all of them watching us right now, wanting to know what I'm saying to you, they going down."

"Whatever happens-" Walter started to say.

Robert cut him off with, "Arlen's coming." Walter turned and they watched Arlen coming with his rifle, Arlen looking like a Confederate from out of the past in his uniform, his pistol, sword, pouches and canteen hanging from his belt, straps crisscrossing his chest, all the way hardcore except the cowboy boots.

"Arlen, you looking fierce," Robert said, "like you want to get you some Yankees."

Arlen didn't look at Walter, only Robert.

"Where they gonna be?"

"Up on the north side of the field. The idea is like you drive 'em into the woods and go in after 'em to finish the job."

"Like Tyree Bell 's brigade," Walter said. "Though technically he flanked the other end of the Federal line."

"That's right," Robert said, glad to see Walter getting into it again.

Arlen said, "The one that thinks he's General Grant gonna be there, German-o?" "Wouldn't miss it."

"And that diver?"

"He'll be there."

"Who else?"

"The two you saw last night."

"The greasers," Arlen said.

"Yeah, call 'em that we eet out in the wood-."

"How they gonna keep John Rau out of it?"

"You gonna do that," Robert said. "Take the man prisoner and tie him to a tree."

Arlen reset his hat thinking about it. "I never saw that done."

"It happened at Brice's," Walter said. "Old Bedford took hundreds of prisoners. Hell, most of the eighteen hundred the Yankees listed as missing."

Robert said, "You don't want him watching, do you? Those fellas over there look like hillbilly bikers-get them to do it. Bring him back here and tie him up, a sack over his head. Have some fun with him."

Arlen didn't say if he would or not. He said, "Where you gonna be?"

"Right around here. Take a stroll through the camp, look at those cannons. I'll be back."

"Ain't gonna stroll off, are you?"

"I had that in mind I wouldn't have strolled over here, would I?"

They watched Robert walk off through the orchard, Walter waiting for whatever Arlen would have to say now, get Arlen's take on the uppity colored fella.

What he said, his gaze still following Robert, "That smoke's got some kind of scheme in mind. I can feel it.”

"It's your business," Walter said, "not mine. I don't want to know anything about it, whatever happens."

"I think he's trying to set me up."

"Arlen, it was your idea to get him in the woods. I can hear you saying it, in my office. Shoot 'em and after dark bury 'em. That still your plan?"

"We was talking about the nigger and the diver. Now they's four five of 'em."

"Well, just shoot the ones you want," Walter said.

It got Arlen to turn and put his dirty look on him.

"You think you're out of it? You're gonna be there with me, partner, loads in your pistol. I tell you to shoot, you better start shootin'."

Robert roamed through the camps getting looks, inspected the cannons, went up to the edge of the woods, came back thinking the battle was about to begin-uh-unh. What they said about being in the army all hurry up and wait? It was even true pretending to be in the army. He hung around the edge of Arlen's people now, not wanting to push any more of their buttons. They were all juiced and seeing how ugly they could act.

Two of them, Fish and the one they called Eugene, kept yelling at each other about what happened to Rose, whoever Rose was, sounding like it was somebody the Fish had shot and killed. Man, these people. Eugene having a fit, getting into a high-blood-pressure kind of rage over it, the Fish raging back at him to defend himself, saying he had to do it. Next thing they were shoving each other and throwing punches-the one called Newton egging them on-till pretty soon they were both sitting on the ground trying to catch their breath in the heat, close on to a hundred degrees.

Robert asked Walter who Rose was and Walter said Eugene 's dog. Robert said, "They trying to kill each other over a dog?"

Walter had his own problems, telling Robert that Arlen was making him go with them, saying they would have loaded guns when they went in the woods.

Robert said, "You didn't know that?" He said, "Don't shoot me, Walter, and I won't shoot you."

It didn't help. Walter's stunned expression remained set, the man appearing lost.

Robert kept a close eye on Newton, the dedicated racist with tobacco stains in his beard. His brother, Bob Hoon, was the one ran the methamphetamine lab Robert had spoken to about future business and seemed to have a larger-size brain than these other peckerwoods. They'd wonder out loud where Bob Hoon was today and ask Newton and Newton would shake his head and say he was suppose to be here. Robert took Bob Hoon 's absence to mean he was interested in a future deal, didn't care who he sold his meth to or what happened to Newton, maybe even glad to be rid of him, Newton the kind of person should have a bounty on him.

Right before they finally went up on the line and the show got started, Arlen brought Newton over to where Robert was waiting.

"Newton don't understand," Arlen said, "what you're doing here on our side."

"Tell him I'm a freed slave, can do what I want."

"Newton says shit, you're the nigger we're after and you're standing right there. Why don't we hit you over the head and string you up?"

"Tell him he ought to be ashamed of himself."

"No, I said there'd be a time for it," Arlen said. "See, there's a bridge right over here on the Coldwater? The river's a mud puddle this time a year, but the bridge has a good height to it." Arlen said, "You ever thought you'd be hanging from one like your old grampa?"

"My great-grampa," Robert said.

"And I'll be standing on the bridge in the pitcher. I imagine, though," Arlen said, "one of us'll shoot you first." He nodded toward Robert's holster. "That gun loaded?"

Robert shook his head. "Not yet."

"It better not be. Weapons are checked before we go out there and put on the show. You know how to load it, you get in the woods?"

"I practiced," Robert said, "how you do it."

It got Arlen staring at him, Arlen rigged for war, that salty hat curling toward his eyes.

"You practiced. Have you fired it?"

"Couple of times."

Arlen squinted at him. "You lying to me?"

"No, I'm fuckin with you," Robert said. "You want to know can I shoot, come on out to the woods."

Arlen turned his head to look at Newton standing by, Newton 's eyes glazed from the shine. Arlen turned to Robert again and for a moment looked like he might smile, wanting to. But he didn't, he stared and finally said, "You're pulling some kind of scheme on me, aren't you? Acting dumb like that."

Robert said, "You coming or not?"

All he wanted to know.

"You take off," Arlen said, "we gonna be after you.