Horrible Harvest

At to the edge of the cesspool village, stood a crooked tent made of patches of fabric from a dozen somewheres. It was well ventilated on account of the holes and poor stitching.

Daddy pulled his knife. “Stand at the entrance. Call for Dillard to come out.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t bring on dumb. You heard me.” He scooted to the edge of the tent, just to the right of the opening. His Bowie at the ready.

I stood at the opening and give Daddy a look. I had small hope he’d change his mind, but I knew I was foolish to hope such a thing. “Mr. Dillard?”

A stirring come from inside the tent.

Daddy squirmed and held the knife a touch higher.  “Again,” he whispered.

“Mr. Dillard, sir?”

Roland Dillard appeared at the entrance in a state of undress. He planted himself just inside, holding his britches up with one hand. The other gripped a six-barreled pepperbox aimed direct on me. He was a cracker short on hair and had as many teeth as he had lips. His nose hairs was dark against his auburn mustache, and they was just the tiniest bit longer than the hair sprouting out his ears. “Who’re you?”

I didn’t have no idea how Daddy wanted me to answer such a question, so I didn’t say a thing.

“The major send you?”

Daddy give me a nod.

“He got call for me to visit?”

I passed the nod on to Roland Dillard. “Yes, sir.”

He lowered the pepperbox. “Let me get my sundries together.”

Daddy shook his head.

I barked out a “No.”

“You giving me orders, boy?”

My heart crawled up into my throat.

The pepperbox was turned back on me.  “How ‘bout I add a few holes to you?” He took a step past the opening.

I shuffled back.

Dillard saw fit to take another step forward.

The lady Barker appeared at the rear of the tent. She was naked and in an unfortunate state. Her skin had sag to it. She was so skinny I could see the tiny cracks and bumps in her ribs. They weren’t much to her chest but what she had hung like mistletoe. And she had her some bruises on her neck and arms. Her hair on her head didn’t look to be but a wisp, and it was as gray as the hair at her biblical area.

Daddy pounced, driving his Bowie deep into Dillard’s neck.

The cracker didn’t have the first clue what had befallen him. He twisted in a panic and fired his pepperbox out of reflex. The slug struck the lady Barker in the chin, and she had a better idea what cruelty had come her way than Dillard did. She fell to her knees and give an unnatural lean to the left before collapsing all the way to the ground.

Dillard found the ground a tick after. He bled out ‘fore Daddy could work his knife free from his neck.

Daddy pried the pepperbox loose from Dillard’s hand. “Go on. Take it.”

 I did as I was told.

“We got us a thicket of crackers to wade through. Shoot all the sumbitches you can with that pea-shooter. Aim low. Gut shot’ll do fine.”

I didn’t give a reply. I just held tight to the pepperbox and felt it grow bigger in my hand.

Daddy lifted Dillard and draped the limp cracker over his shoulder. He was set on delivering the body straight to Mr. Miller’s doorstep. He drew one of his Navy Colts.

I stood at the entrance of the tent and stared at lady Barker for a time. Her eyes and mouth were locked open. She lost her breath crying for help or praying for the end. It’s hard to say. It struck me that she was only dead because she chose the wrong spot to stand. She died for no good reason. ‘Course some would say her life entire never had good reason, so it was fitting. As a boy holding the gun that cut her down, I felt sad that I was most likely the only person in all the world that felt any kind of way about her passing. Nobody else would hardly take notice.