The first night, we built our shelter around three trees, using buffalo hides. An unexpected blue norther swept across the prairie, cutting through the flimsy, wet clothes the eastern folk wore. The fire kept blowing out and I was obliged to keep it lit. It being early fall, we were not supposed to be caught by the weather. A week’s travel was what I was responsible for and that was all, get ‘em there and I’d be back home. Earlier in the day, crossing the Cimarron, a flood upriver caused by a thunder burst swept their two wagons away, leaving them only their feet for means of traveling. They praised God no one died.
They spent the next day walking. I rode a horse.
The second night, we sheltered in an abandoned cabin. The fire stayed lit. At dusk, I left to find food. As I returned, a woman stood before me. I had never seen one’s eyes so filled with fright.
“What happened?” I asked.
“She was unfaithful to her husband, he found out,” a man said.
Now, how could that be way out here, I thought.
Next, I saw her hanging from a tree.
I had this dream when I was about twenty years old. When it came time to find the last of five prompts for a writing class I took on a whim, I remembered, as if it were the night before, the woman hung from a tree. I wrote a 600 word short story called The Hanging. One student said that it was flawless. The professor who taught the class held high praise for my “writing”.
I was 53 years old.
“Hell,” I thought, “maybe I can write more.”
So, I had the audacity to keep going, for I had found Zebadiah Creed.
The Hanging
Cimarron Trail, mid-winter 1846
William hung her at sunset, or shortly before; hung her from an old, barren oak not far from camp. He must have hit her in the head when no one was looking and dragged her off. When I walked up, most of my party was there watching her sway in the wind and he was sitting staring at the ground.
“Why’d you kill her?” I hollered, the crowd turning to me.
I dropped three rabbits to the ground but held my rifle. “Why’d you kill her, William?” The crowd backed away a little. It was almost dark, getting cold, and nobody had eaten since the morning.
Ten days before, we left Dodge City to cross through the Cimarron. So far, I lost them pretty much everything they owned, including three of their kin and the brother of the man who just hung his wife.
“She was unfaithful to me Zeb. Her and my brother, together. I seen ‘em.”
“So, your brother dies in a floodin’ river and your wife’s dead by you hangin’ her. You feel better ‘bout things now, William? You set things right?”
I began to walk slowly toward him. “William, I want you to go up that tree and cut her down and bury her.”
He stood up and turned toward me. He had a pistol in his belt. “She couldn’t bear no children, Zeb. What good’s a woman that cain’t bear no children?”
I walked closer. “William, I want you to climb that tree and cut her down I tell ya, then you’re gonna bury her decent.”
“I will not! She don’t deserve to be buried.”
“You know Son, there’s a lotta faithless folks in this world dead and alive and she may’ve been one of ‘em . . . but she don’t deserve to be left hangin’ for the crows to get at.”
Someone brought a lantern and a shovel. Someone else picked up the rabbits and took them back to camp.
“Who’re you to tell me what to do? If it weren’t for you, we’d be half way farther up the trail and not walkin’ and my brother’d be alive.”
He took a step toward me.
“If it weren’t for you and your brother, we’d have all our wagons. I told you that ford was no good, but you crossed anyway. ‘Cause a you, those other folks followed and were swept away. God only knows how you and her stayed alive and now she’s dead. And, come hell or high water I got to get the rest of these good folks to safe quarters at Fort Union. We seen the high water and I expect we’re comin’ into hell soon enough. Now I will stand here and argue no more. It’s getting colder and I expect to be eatin’ rabbit stew soon. Cut your wife down, William. You’re buryin’ her decent.”
I stood near four strides away with my rifle raised. What folks left listening stood behind me.
He squared up, laid a hand on his pistol and said, “I ain’t cuttin’ no good rope.”
“You were gonna leave the rope swingin’ with her. Now I don’t give a goddamn how you get her down but you’re goin’ to, else we’re buryin’ two folks tonight.”
Stars were shining by then and standing there in the cold we could hear her petticoats rustling above our heads. He turned a little and looked up.
*****
William buried her by moonlight. We could hear him sobbing, digging and scraping. Every once in a while, he would just let out a scream, then nothing.
In the morning, a couple of the men went looking for him, but he was gone.
To Be Continued . . .