World Made by Hand

Nine

We rushed out of the store and down to the gate area, Shawn lay crumpled facedown with his right arm twisted unnaturally behind his head and bright arterial blood spilling out of him, actually raising tiny spumes of dust as it ran downhill, like fingers clawing the ground. The dog lay a few feet away with his head facing uphill. One of his eyes was shot out and he was motionless, with blood puddling around the margins of his deep fur.

“Oh, what the hell now, Bunny!” Wayne said as we arrived on the scene. He repeated himself several times with increasing anger until he was shouting at the much larger man, who seemed to draw inward trying to make himself look smaller.

I was so overcome with fright that I started hyperventilating. I kneeled down just uphill of Shawn’s head. The truth was I could barely remain upright and had to kneel to keep from passing out. I tried to straighten Shawn’s arm out, as if that would help. I soon understood that both Shawn and the dog were dead.

“You shit-for-brains!” Wayne said and smacked Bunny in the head. “What the hell happened here?” A revolver still dangled from Bunny’s right hand.

“He fell asleep,” Bunny said, “and his dog come up on me.”

“Asleep! Who goes to sleep in the middle of the road!” Wayne shouted and smacked Bunny again.

“No, down by that tree,” Bunny said.

By now, the other men working back in the dump had ventured down to the front of the general and gathered around us in a semicircle.

“If he was sleeping down there, how in hell did you happen to shoot him up here?” Wayne said.

“I shot the damn dog and then he woke up and he come up on me.

“What’d you shoot the got-damn dog for?”

“He got the rabies. Lookit how he’s frothing at the damn mouth!”

“He just needed some water is all,” I said.

“What the got-damn hell you know what the dog needed or didn’t need, got-dammit,” Wayne said and then turned wrathfully back to Bunny. “Gimme that got-damn gun!” He wrenched it right out of Bunny’s huge fingers and then brandished it at him. “You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your got-damn brainpan, you stupid sonofabitch. And I’ll tell you something else: this is the last time you’ll ever draw shack duty.”

The other men mumbled among themselves.

“Shut up,” Wayne said to them. “That your cart up by the office?” he said to me.

“It was his,” I said.

“Go get that cart,” Wayne said to one of the other men.

He hopped to and trundled the cart down in short order.

“Load him in there,” Wayne said.

Several of the men picked up Shawn’s body and put him in the cart faceup, but with his arms dangling. One of them got blood all over his hands and tried to rub it off on Shawn’s shirt. You could see part of Shawn’s jaw was shot off.

“Fix him right, damn you,” Wayne said, and the men got Shawn’s arms tucked inside.

“Why are you putting him in that?” I asked.

“Because you’re going to take him back.”

“What about that team and wagon up there?”

“It’s staying put.”

Wayne and the rest of the men stared blankly at me. Flies began landing on Shawn’s wounds. My clothes were soaking wet. I was trembling as though it were a winter day, while sweat dripped off the end of my nose.

“I guess you plan to pretend this didn’t happen here?” I said.

“I’m truly sorry. It’s mostly a downgrade to town from here,” Wayne said. “You’ll get there by and by.”

“You expect me to say anything other than what really happened?”

“I don’t expect nothing. You say what you will. It’ll be word against word.”

“It was a accident,” Bunny said.

“Did I ax you?” Wayne shouted. “Here,” he said, suddenly turning to me with an air of disgusted resignation and held out the big pistol, as if for me to take it. “You do us all a favor and shoot this stupid sonofabitch.”

“Look…”

“He was your friend, wasn’t he? You got any doubt who done it?”

“For Pete’s sake, Wayne…” Bunny said.

“I’ll just… leave,” I said.

“We’ll all swear it was self-defense,” Wayne said. “Won’t we boys?”

A few of them mumbled something, but they didn’t seem all that enthusiastic.

“Go on, take it,” Wayne said. “Take the got-damn pistola, amigo.

“Forget it.”

“You pass up this chance for justice, it might not come again.”

“I’m not an executioner.”

“Well, you take this iron anyways.” Wayne grabbed my hand and literally pressed the pistol into it.

I tossed it back down in the dirt.

“I don’t think you understand,” Wayne said. He picked it up and jammed it into the waist of my pants. “This piece ain’t staying round here. Let’s not argue. Wally, go up to the store and get me a length of stout rope.” Wally jogged briskly away. “We’re going to fix this cart so you can tow on it.”

“People back in town are going to want to know what happened here,” I said.

“I know they are. You go with it, Fiddler. Tell your story, whatever you think you understand about this unfortunate accident. Give them the weapon if you feel like it. Whatever you need to do. We’ll do what we need to do.” He came closer and pushed me a few yards away so the others were out of earshot. “Lookit, we both know who done this. It was a reckless act of stupidity, and I will tell you so straight up this one time only. But it’s done and nothing I can do will bring this young man back to life. This will all come out in the wash, I promise you. But don’t expect too much from the law. The truth is, we’re our own law in these times, like it or not. Apart from all that, I’m personally sorry this has happened, and I wish you luck in dealing with it. Who was he anyway? I know I seen him.”

“He was a hand on Mr. Schmidt’s farm. Shawn Watling.”

“Watling? I once bought a double lot from that Wading agency.”

“That was his parents. They’re dead.”

“Well God bless us the living, anyway.”

Wally returned with a length of rope and was rigging it to the harness so I could pull it more easily. Then there was nothing to do but leave with Shawn’s body. It was a substantial load. As I pulled the cart away from the general, all I could think about was whether they would eat the dog.