So Tipton was kind a famous for a spell. Everybody wanted to get a look at him. Women carried him food over to the jail. Men went to talk to him about the meanin’ of life and death, him being so intimate with both. It made him a expert, I suppose. He held the hand of the Reaper and come back to tell about it. He seemed happy and content. And he begun to talk a lot. He said he was lookin’ forward to the next hangin’, wantin’ to get it over with.
“Boys!” I remember him sayin’, “I done what I had to do, ya’ll know I did.” He had the look of a wise man. “And Heaven seen the debt was paid.” He took a deep breath and looked at us with a deepness in his eyes. “What’s right is right. They ain’t none of us can fight it, you know we cain’t.”
It was hard to argue with the boy. He was lucky.
So the clock moved on and it come time for the hangin’. The townspeople marched along beside Tipton as he made his way to the scaffold. They was singin’ hymns and laughin’ and cheerin’. Tipton smiled so sweet you hardly noticed those missin’ teeth a his. He seemed happier than he been his whole life.
Tipton Lange stepped up to the noose and the Sheriff slipped it ‘round his neck.
“We should count it down!” Someone yelled this from the crowd. It may a been Pete Conroy again. Tipton nodded his head, givin’ his approval.
“Five!” screamed the crowd, clappin’ their hands, whistlin’ and shoutin’.
“Four-Three-Two!” they bellowed, a strong wind beginnin’ to rise up and lift their hair from their foreheads. Clouds filled the sky, blottin’ out the sun. A feelin’ of revelation was in the air.
“One!” screamed the crowd, with wild and joyful abandon. Women begun to faint and men stared wild eyed, upward, at Tipton Lange, sweat pourin’ down their faces, as the Sheriff pulled the lever that released the trapdoor.
Tipton fell without a trace a fear on his face and stopped, a course, halfway to the ground. His body twitched a few times, then it begun to spin slowly in a circle. The crowd was shocked quiet. You could hear the wind blowin’ through the town.
He looked like a old broken watch hangin’ from a chain.
The people drifted on home, whisperin’ quietly, walkin’ softly. I helped the Sheriff take the boy down. There was only us two beside the Preacher.
Anyways. ‘Twas my job. Somebody had to lift him into the ground.
THE END
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010
Showing posts with label luck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label luck. Show all posts
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Lucky (pt2)
See, Bradshaw killed Tipton Lange’s daddy. We all knowed he done it. And he didn’ mind us knowin’. But there was no way to prove it ‘cause he was too smart to do it in front of any witnesses. He wanted Tipton’s daddy dead, and Mr. Bradshaw always seem to get what he wanted.
Daddy Lange had got a loan from Bradshaw. It was pure foolishness, but there you go. And, odd thing was, nobody knowed what the old man did with the money. Some say he gambled it away but, whatever he done, when it come time to pay Bradshaw back he didn’ have it. It was like he wanted to die.
Bradshaw warned Tipton’s daddy to pay up or else. It was a matter a pride. He threatened him right in front of Tipton. But nobody else was there. And when
Daddy Lange was found dead, shot four times in the chest, Bradshaw had a air-tight alibi. Three men, all cronies of Bradshaw, said he was with them the night of the murder. So nobody could prove he done it, even though we all knowed he did.
You’d think Tom Bradshaw woulda rather had the old man alive so’s he might get his money back. But most of us figured he must a just killed him for the fun of it. To show he could. To warn the rest of us. And I could believe that of Bradshaw. There was just somethin’ bad about him, underneath all that charm, and nobody could give a reason for it if they tried.
Well. Two days after his daddy was buried, Tipton rode up on his horse to the middle of town, in front of God and everybody. He slid down off his horse and, before Bradshaw could say a prayer, the boy pulled out a gun and shot the man dead.
Four bullets in the chest.
Everybody seen him do it. The boy was dumb about the whole thing. The only way he pulled it off is Bradshaw never figured him to do it. He thought him a coward. Maybe he was.
The Sheriff come out and put his hand on Tipton’s shoulder. Tipton already dropped the gun in the dirt. Tears were crawlin’ down his face. He looked tired.
The Sheriff moved him, gentle like. He walked behind him all the way to the jail house. Tipton never said a word. He went real quiet.
TO BE CONTINUED...
© LW Publishing 2010
Daddy Lange had got a loan from Bradshaw. It was pure foolishness, but there you go. And, odd thing was, nobody knowed what the old man did with the money. Some say he gambled it away but, whatever he done, when it come time to pay Bradshaw back he didn’ have it. It was like he wanted to die.
Bradshaw warned Tipton’s daddy to pay up or else. It was a matter a pride. He threatened him right in front of Tipton. But nobody else was there. And when
Daddy Lange was found dead, shot four times in the chest, Bradshaw had a air-tight alibi. Three men, all cronies of Bradshaw, said he was with them the night of the murder. So nobody could prove he done it, even though we all knowed he did.
You’d think Tom Bradshaw woulda rather had the old man alive so’s he might get his money back. But most of us figured he must a just killed him for the fun of it. To show he could. To warn the rest of us. And I could believe that of Bradshaw. There was just somethin’ bad about him, underneath all that charm, and nobody could give a reason for it if they tried.
Well. Two days after his daddy was buried, Tipton rode up on his horse to the middle of town, in front of God and everybody. He slid down off his horse and, before Bradshaw could say a prayer, the boy pulled out a gun and shot the man dead.
Four bullets in the chest.
Everybody seen him do it. The boy was dumb about the whole thing. The only way he pulled it off is Bradshaw never figured him to do it. He thought him a coward. Maybe he was.
The Sheriff come out and put his hand on Tipton’s shoulder. Tipton already dropped the gun in the dirt. Tears were crawlin’ down his face. He looked tired.
The Sheriff moved him, gentle like. He walked behind him all the way to the jail house. Tipton never said a word. He went real quiet.
TO BE CONTINUED...
© LW Publishing 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Lucky (pt1)
The religious folk in town figured God had spared him and would continue to do so. A quiet few figured it was the work a the Devil. I just figured he was lucky.
The first time they tried to hang him, there was a loud snappin' sound, like a whip, when the rope broke in two. He went through the door of that scaffold, screamin’ his head off, and he kept on screamin’ after he hit the ground. His eyes was closed tight and it took him a few seconds to realize he wasn’ dead. But he finally stopped his rantin', opened his eyes, and looked at all of us standin’ there, his mouth still hangin’ open like he had somethin’ to say.
He didn’.
The Sheriff pulled his gun, thinkin’ it might be somebody tryin’ to set the boy free. But it was no conspiracy. At least none we could see.
The crowd broke out in a loud rumble of amazed conversation. Tipton Lange – that was the fella they was tryin’ to hang – he begin to laugh like a crazy man. It was one of the strangest things I ever seen. Nobody knowed what to do.
The Sheriff went over to Tipton and picked him up by the arm to get him on his feet. He pulled the noose from 'round his neck and tossed it on the ground.
Someone in the crowd yelled, “God don’t want this man hanged!” I knowed the voice. It was Pete Conroy. Pete testified for Tipton at the trial, but the prosecutin’ attorney shook him up and made him say the wrong things. Pete growed up with Tipton, they been friends since they was too young to remember, so he had a interest. He shouted, “Tom Bradshaw deserved to be killed!” And maybe he did. But the lawyer knowed a lot of big words. He said, “It is for God to determine whether or not Mr. Bradshaw deserved to die. It is only for the jury to decide whether or not Tipton Lange did the killing.”
And everybody knowed Tipton done it. I seen it myself. I was there.
TO BE CONTINUED...
© LW Publishing 2010
The first time they tried to hang him, there was a loud snappin' sound, like a whip, when the rope broke in two. He went through the door of that scaffold, screamin’ his head off, and he kept on screamin’ after he hit the ground. His eyes was closed tight and it took him a few seconds to realize he wasn’ dead. But he finally stopped his rantin', opened his eyes, and looked at all of us standin’ there, his mouth still hangin’ open like he had somethin’ to say.
He didn’.
The Sheriff pulled his gun, thinkin’ it might be somebody tryin’ to set the boy free. But it was no conspiracy. At least none we could see.
The crowd broke out in a loud rumble of amazed conversation. Tipton Lange – that was the fella they was tryin’ to hang – he begin to laugh like a crazy man. It was one of the strangest things I ever seen. Nobody knowed what to do.
The Sheriff went over to Tipton and picked him up by the arm to get him on his feet. He pulled the noose from 'round his neck and tossed it on the ground.
Someone in the crowd yelled, “God don’t want this man hanged!” I knowed the voice. It was Pete Conroy. Pete testified for Tipton at the trial, but the prosecutin’ attorney shook him up and made him say the wrong things. Pete growed up with Tipton, they been friends since they was too young to remember, so he had a interest. He shouted, “Tom Bradshaw deserved to be killed!” And maybe he did. But the lawyer knowed a lot of big words. He said, “It is for God to determine whether or not Mr. Bradshaw deserved to die. It is only for the jury to decide whether or not Tipton Lange did the killing.”
And everybody knowed Tipton done it. I seen it myself. I was there.
TO BE CONTINUED...
© LW Publishing 2010
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