Horrible Harvest

Tate sprinted around the back of the church, and I peeked around the sidewall, waiting for the men to come scurrying out the bank like a flock of geese. A minute passed, then another. It felt like forever and a day’d passed. Just when I was about to give up on the idea that I’d see a single Miller man file out the bank, I heard two quick shots coming from that direction. A grouping of shots followed by a short pause and then another grouping. Still, not a single body come out the bank. Another round of forever followed ‘fore the door of the bank slowly pulled open and Tate stood under the frame.

I took off as fast as I could, rounds was fired in my direction from the mob of Miller men still pinned down by the whores and tots. Three feet from the door to the bank, I dove inside as Tate stepped back.

I quick made it to my feet, and said, “Your plan – Not a one of them scurried out – ” I stopped mid-sentence when I seen six dead men laying on the floor with wounds from head to groin.

“They didn’t scurry fast enough,” Tate said.

“You shot them all?”

“Two of the fools shot each other by accident. I got the other four.”

I looked to him and seen blood at his shoulder. “You’re hit?”

“Grazed.”

“The vault?”

He pointed to a room on the other side of the teller’s counter. “Not much of one. Appears to be just another room.”

“He in there?”

“He is. Pulled the door shut right after I fired the first two shots.”

We made our way around the counter and stood at the door to the vault for a beat ‘fore I kicked it open. I stepped into the room with my Gunnison at the ready. Tate followed. The room was filled with contraband, ranging from scrap iron to jewelry and household valuables. There were some piles of coins and the random stack of paper money, but for the most part it looked like a looters treasure more than a rich man’s stash.

“Show yourself, you sumbitch,” I said.

We heard the growl and moan of an aching man ‘fore we saw him. He wheezed as if air was being squeezed out him. The stooping, swollen figure of a man stepped out from behind a stripped canopied copper bedframe. His head was wrapped in a yellowed linen scarf from crown to chin. Boils riddled his face and neck. Bumps and sores was in such numbers under his right eye that it weren’t no longer any use to him. His nose was mangled and pushed so far to one side, it appeared as if it’d melted to his cheek.

In a nasally, gravelly rasp, he said, “I say to thee who approaches?”

“Cameron Miller?” I asked, knowing the answer, but not knowing it all at once. He weren’t the lively monster he’d once been. He was just a mangled monster made weak and mad from disease and rotting away from his plantation airs.

“I be he – Who are thee?”

“Step yourself closer and you’ll see – ”

“You dare give your king orders?”

“You’re no king,” Tate said.

“Who be that? I know thee – Foul-skinned, beast – I know thee.”

“He’s lost his mind,” I said, to Tate.

“Not much of a loss,” Tate answered.

“Don’t talk of me as if I be gone. I am here. I am your king. Worship me. I own all. I am all.”

Tate approached him. “Cameron Miller, today I am your judge and jury – And executioner – ”

“Keep your distance, foul one.”

“You have been found guilty of crimes against all who you have trampled upon – My negro brothers and sisters – ”

“My property, all.”

“My kin in destitution and starvation – ”

“Thine is not thine – All the sustenance of this world – every bit of it is mine to lord over. I give and take as I choose. All is mine.”

“For the women you have beaten and raped – ”

“I have dominion – by the Lord on high – I have dominion over the females’ loins and wombs – ”

“For the poor souls you have shackled, whipped and murdered – For the hope you extinguished with cruelty and barbarity – You are sentenced to death – What say you in defense?”

“I say I am above all – ”

Tate pulled the trigger, sending the bullet through the top of Mr. Miller’s forehead, and blasting out the back of his skull at the base.

“I don’t give a good goddamn what you have to say,” Tate growled.

I stepped forward, peered at the twitching lump of humanity that once housed the Devil, and unloaded two more shots into his face.

Tate give out a sigh, followed by a laugh and then a cry.

I give him a nod. I know’d what he was feeling. He’d run his whole life in this direction. Now that it was done, where the hell was he supposed to run to now?

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be plenty more to kill a long the way, especially for a fella like you.”

He shook his head and swallowed a mess of tears. “I think I’ll follow the Bard of Avon from here on out and choose virtue over vengeance.”

I holstered my sidearm. “Risky business, virtue. Requires faith in your fellow man. That’s a fool’s game, that is.”

“Risky business is dodging bullets and piling up the dead just to kill one man, and you’re wrong. Virtue requires faith in yourself. Not a goddamn thing more.”

I give a shrug. “Well, I ain’t got none of that either.”