by
V. A. Glover
He was a lean, hard looking man, with a face and body that seemed to have been used up by the and desert, the dry winds and blistering suns. His eyes were mere slits now, and the stubble of his beard was shaded with dirt and grime. He sat his saddle defiantly, head held high, disdaining to even notice his captors. Three men sat watching with morbid fascination as a fourth man slipped the heavy hemp rope over his neck and jerked the knot tight.
As he moved back, he said to the man about to hang, "Tell old Buck howdy, 'Biscuit.' " Then he wacked the rump of the horse with his hand and yelled. The horse bolted and Clayton "Biscuit" Wilson swung lazily in the bright Texas sun, his feet kicking wildly, trying to climb invisible stairs.
The men sat there watching to the last twitch, their horses moving nervously about. One, a heavy, florid man with a bright blue bandanna clutched in his hand spoke to no one in particular, "He had it comin', if ever a man did."
"Jamison, there ain't no cause to talk mean about old Biscuit, now that he's gone."
The big man looked at the speaker, a skinny, pale man with shiny, button eyes. He said, "Looky here, Munson, what that man did deserved hangin' a couple times over."
Jamison wiped his face again and shuddered. "When I think of what that man did. . . ."
"Don't get me riled, Jamison! I'm liable to cut him down and start all over again!" The third man sat on his horse staring at the still swaying body, the hate obvious in his face. Rafe Huggins was not the kind of man to forgive anything, and he would never forgive or forget what Biscuit Wilson did to him. Not ever.
A fourth man walked his horse over near the body and gave it a shove, starting the swinging motion all over again. Munson shouted, "What'd you do that for? That ain't Christian, Wiley! You got to treat the dead with respect. You can't. . . ."
"Aw, shut your face, Munson."
Wiley gave Munson a glare and then went back to watching the body swing slowly, twisting as it moved its slow arc across the baked ground below. There was no mistaking the pleasure that Wiley was taking from the hanging.
He looked at Munson and said, "I got what some of you got: A special invite! I always ate at Biscuit's when I come to town. I've ate from his wagon before he come to town and set up his eatin' place. One day he gave me this special invite, sayin' I was his favorite customer, and he wanted to cook up somethin' special for me. It was special, all right. Real special." He turned his head and spat in the general direction of the slow moving body. "Old Biscuit always served up the best meals around. Even when he was cookin' for the J-Bar, he was good."
Jamison said, "Aint no denyin' that! I never had a biscuit' til I bite into one of his! They'd melt into your mouth."
"Yeah, and how about his apple pies? I ain't ate a woman's pie like his. He knew how to do it, and I ain't ashamed to tell it." Munson was smiling at the memory.
Jamison said, "Me the missus had broiled steaks and some kind of meat gravy. It was real tasty and wasn't nuthin' wrong with that. But that pie he served wasn't all right. I only had a little taste of pie, but the missus had a whole piece." The thought was apparently too much for him and his eyes bulged and the large blue bandanna flew to his mouth. The man's ample belly convulsed beneath the too tight vest, then subsided. Tears brimmed in his eyes as everyone watched with anticipation.
Finally, Jamison settled down and said, "Munson here found out Biscuit's pies was dog meat soaked in honey and steeped in molasses, then mixed with apples." He grinned as Munson squirmed at the memory. He continued, "How many of them pies did you eat?" He chuckled, then looked at Wiley and said, "Wiley there had a fine soup made out of pieces of old Rufus." Jamison added, "I'll never understand why Biscuit would harm an old dog like that." The grin on his face was wide.
"What about you, Jamison? What'd you get?" Huggins asked.
The grin vanished and Jamison's eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath and said weakly, "I don't know. All he'd do when I asked him in the jail was grin at me. He said I'd know, one day. But that pie never tasted right, so I didn't take more'n that one bite. My missus still gets the heaves now and then when she gets to thinking about that pie. I think it was the pie, but I didn't eat much of it."
Wiley looked curiously at Jamison and asked, ."You ever eat much at Biscuit's place?"
Jamison shook his head. "No, just a few times when he first opened the place, and then that time we got the invite. "
Munson wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his shirt sleeve and said, "Ain't a soul in town but didn't eat some of Biscuit's stuff. The Dray sisters got sick on that dead gopher he served 'cm; the Aikens boy ate them briney things that he thought was some kind of strange pickles, but was really a cat's tail." He grinned, then added, "They was a lot of folk taken with that cat's tail."
Jamison shook his head sadly and said, "Yeah, and it could be ole Biscuit might still have his life and still be settin' in jail if Owen had lived. That was a low down thing to do, serving the kid a dead horse's brains and calling it puddin'. Owen wasn't the smartest rider on the J-Bar but he ought to have known there was somethin' wrong with that stuff." He looked wistfully at the corpse swaying gently now, it's movements slowing with time.
Wiley said, "Well, ole Rafe here had him a good reason to want Biscuit hung. Yes, sir, he had him some real cause for hurtin' Biscuit.. I don't think he'd have let ole Biscuit live, even if Owen had lived,"
At that, Rafe Huggins stalked over to Wilson's dangling body and with an angry grunt, shoved the body forward. The rope creaked and the man stepped back, savoring the moment. But it was clear from his face that it was not enough. If ever a man wanted to believe in the dead coming back to life, Huggins did.
Wiley continued, keeping the grin that was inside from showing on his face for Rafe Huggins was a dangerous man when angered. "Them three steaks Rafe had was off his donkey, Hector. The one that saw him through the prospectin' time." He paused a long moment, looked at Huggins and said, "Ain't that right, Rafe?"
There was no comment from Huggins. He was completely absorbed with watching Wilson's swaying corpse.
Jamison exclaimed, "That was a low down thing to do."
Wiley said, "Yeah! Poor Rafe ain't got over it yet. I reckon he'd like to kill old Biscuit all over again. That mule was kinfolk, if you know what I mean."
Munson's face wrinkled with thought and he looked curiously at Jamison, He asked, "Lester, exactly when was it you ate over at Biscuit's place?"
Jamison answered, "I reckon it was two weeks ago. A Friday, I believe." He thought for a moment, then added, "In fact, it was the day of Aunt Cynthia's funeral. You was there. We ate there that evening."
Munson nodded, his brow wrinkled in contemplation. "Yeah, I remember." He paused a long moment, then, lowering his voice to a sinister pitch, said, " I also remember Biscuit standing by that casket a mighty long time. It was real curious, especially since he hated Cynthia and all her kin." Munson grinned and added, "You was kin to her, now weren't you?"
Jamison's eyes widened instantly as the thought took hold and realization of the enormity of what Biscuit Wilson had done and a fat hand flew to his pocket while his belly began a series of unstoppable convulsions..
The blue bandanna was not quick enough.
****
What happens when a former lawman, a man dedicated to maintaining law and order, finds himself stripped of everything he loved, and inside, shrivels emotionally? What happens when a man becomes driven by vengance? What about justice? Where is that bright line? These are issues that confronted Weston Teague in the novel, Bloody Wes Teague. Teague had been a lawman in Texas in his early years, and he'd earned a "rep" as a tough man—a man who'd not back down from a fight. But, when he became a rancher in Wyoming, he left behind those years and that life. He married a beautiful New Yorker and brought her into the West. But, someone followed them. That man would earn the wrath of Wes Teague. His actions would also call into question everything Teague had once stood for as a lawman. Click here to read more.
Copyright 1976
Voyle A. Glover