the Hanging Tree

CHAPTER ONE1

"THE HANGING"2

-- 1862 -- 3

In a little town, once known as Dead Horse Corners, an outlaw is about to be hanged. This outlaw is a bank robber! A murderer! A no-good scoundrel! And a soon-to-be dead dog. 4

His name is Jack Barker. Black Jack Barker. A venomous man lacking not just feelings, but also most of his common sense. But it was his ‘scents' that got him caught. His foul scents. Sheriff Wayne Kidd, who was known as the hanging sheriff in these parts, and his six-man posse took five days to track Black Jack down. Three to find him. Two to bring him back. They were like bloodhounds once they caught his scent. Which accounts for why he's the only one, they caught, at first. When he and his two compadres split up, the posse lost the others trails. But they did catch Black Jack and right now that's all that matters. 5

In less than twenty minutes, he'll be dead. 6

Justice in Dead Horse Corners could be swift. Either on the main street, fifty feet away from your opponent, hands cocked for the quick draw. Or, like tonight, swinging from the hanging tree.7

His sentence will be carried out on the grotesquely twisted and gnarled chestnut tree. Better known as the hanging tree, in these parts. It stands watch over the town from its high vantage point of Overlook Hill, like the Grim-Reaper. 8

Black Jack's saddle had been removed and he was now sitting bareback on top of his horse. His hands were tied together behind his back. He was not gagged. The Sheriff and his posse wanted to hear the name's of Black Jack's partners, before they continued. 9

There were no onlookers at this hanging tonight. 10

"Ain't no need in keepin' this bastard locked up, and nobody needs to see him die. ‘Cept for us. Right John?" Sheriff Kidd said to John Culp as they neared town tonight, slipping in the back way through the woods. 11

The cold light of the full moon, shed stark and grisly shadows on the dusty ground around them. The air was hauntingly still. 12

All the Sheriff needed now was the whereabouts of Black Jack's two accomplices. But all he really wanted was the money they stole. 13

He told John Culp on their ride back, "Nobody's gonna come into my town, hold up the bank and get away with it. Never mind the two people they killed in cold blood." To add insult to injury, they got away with nearly fifteen thousand dollars. The Sheriff wanted the money first and then he wanted to see all three of those bastards hanging. Since Black Jack didn't have the money, then he would hang first. But not before he give up the other two.14

‘Before Black Jack dies, he'll talk', the Sheriff thought to himself. ‘Him and his kind like to think they're above the law. But when they end up with a rope around their neck, they always talk.' This is one of the rare occasions that the sheriff and his posse didn't come back with every thing or every body that they was after. Dead or alive. Normally, under those occasions, it didn't matter to him if they talked. But this time, people were killed as well as money bein' stole. And two of those bastards are still on the loose. 15

That riled Sheriff Kidd, to no end.16

Once in a blue moon you get one that says nothing at all. Just sits on his horse and stares straight ahead. Quiet as a mouse. Eyes wide open as if they're trying to stare death down. Or scare death away.17

Not this night. 18

Tonight the moon is not blue, but it is full and Black Jack will talk.19

The rope hung from the branch like it was part of the tree, fitting seamlessly into the grooves in the bark. Once they had been cuts, now they're scars. Scars of so many hangings. This gnarled and twisted old tree, was much younger than it appeared. Because, it was in fact, already witness to too many deaths. 20

The Sheriff yelled above the others voices.21

"John Culp. Put that rope around that bastards neck. And make sure that it's pulled good'n' tight. I don't want him slippin' out and gettin' away. Quick man." 22

The rest of the posse snickered and chuckled, nervously. They were a quickly thrown together group of men, who, for the most part, were not used to this part of the job. Two of them were related to the dead in town, and didn't mind being here, watching this ordeal, but the others would rather have been at home right then. 23

John Culp eased Black Jack's steed over to the tree, stopping it beneath the rope. As he did this, the other horses became skittish, bumping into one another. Jostling for position. They were quickly brought under control. John looked up at the branch where the rope was tied, watching it as he grabbed it and gave it a tug. He smiled, but didn't notice how the smooth edges of the bark had begun to grow over top of the rope.24

Black Jack's horse stood dead still beneath the rope, his head bowed to the ground, as if in prayer. His rider struggled to stay on, sliding from side to side on the horses sweaty, bare back. 25

The Sheriff sat tall in his saddle. His back straight and his hands crossed over the saddle- horn. He was watching the face of Black Jack Barker. Searching it for those tell-tale signs he was so familiar with. He had worked with fear his entire life. He felt comfortable with the knowledge that most men, whether staring at a pointed gun or settin' on a horse with a rope around their neck, will and does taste fear. They might think they're tough, until they're actually looking death square in the face. Right in the eye.26

Black Jack's forehead and upper lip were beginning to glisten with drops of sweat. A warm breeze picked up and swished past him, throwing dust up in his face. It caused him to shiver, just a bit. 27

The Sheriff smiled and waited. 28

John placed the rough rope around Black Jack's neck and pulled the knot tight, contorting his own face as he did. As if the rope was tightening around his neck. Then he pulled his own horse back, away.29

The Sheriff then eased his horse over beside Black Jack's right side, and asked, "Anything to say Black Jack? Before you hang?" He had a huge sarcastic smile on his face that Black Jack couldn't completely see. Didn't really make no never mind. He could hear it in his voice. And he could feel it around his neck.30

Black Jack spat on the ground to his left. Spittle dripped slowly down his filthy, unshaven chin, leaving a cleaner trail behind. He glanced over toward the Sheriff and smiled. 31

A wispy little breeze blew past, tussling the unkempt hair on Black Jack's head. Dust-devils twisted on the ground below them.32

"Ya! I got somethin' to say," he answered in a dry, squeaky voice, then he spat again. Only this time it was aimed at the Sheriff. Missed him, but hit his horse. 33

The Sheriff glared at him, his face shadowed by the rim of his hat . . . waiting. 34

Black Jack started slipping off his horse again, sliding to his right. He squeezed his legs tighter, trying his damnedest to keep balanced and keep his horse still. He didn't want her to think he was giving her the nudge to move on.35

That was when the Sheriff noticed something in his eyes. 36

In the glow of the full moon his face was ghost-like. A sickly, pale white. Visible, even through the dirt. The wrinkles around his eyes and the few scars he had, were like the furrows in a freshly tilled field. Filthy and deep. 37

Fear! It was fear! 38

Black Jack tried to speak again. 39

Too dry . . . Too dusty . . . ‘Maybe, I should'a kept that spit to wet my whistle,' he thought as he tried to swallow. The inside of his throat was raw . . . scratchy.40

The Sheriff smiled. Black Jack was tasting hot, dry, fear. 41

"Ya doesn't want those other two to keep the money after you're hangin' here, does ya?" the Sheriff asked. The others began to chuckle. Their horses neyed. 42

Black Jack fought the urge to talk and swallowed what felt like, dry, rough sand. His Adam's apple hurt as it moved up, then down against the rope. His need for drink was great as he turned slightly, trying to look face to face with the Sheriff, keeping his legs tightly gripped around his horse. In a dry, sandy voice he spoke one word.43

"Water." His throat hurt to talk. It was as rough and dry as the rope around his neck. This was exactly what the Sheriff had been waiting for. He knew the only way he could get the money . . . and those other two. . . was to get Black Jack to talk. He nodded to John Culp.44

John rode over and gave Black Jack a drink from his waterbag, holding the open end up to his mouth. Black Jack swallowed fast and hard as the water poured all over his face and down his front. It felt good, even though it stung on the rope burns which had begun to bleed. He would suffer the pain. He welcomed its coolness.45

Just when he had a good mouthful, swallowing it ever so slowly, John pulled the waterbag and his horse, away.46

"Whoa there, big fella!" John said laughing, "We don't wanna waste too much of this on the likes of you. You sloppy pig." That brought a roar of laughter from the rest of the men. 47

"O.K. Black Jack!" The Sheriff yelled. The night went dead silent. No crickets sang. No horse moved. Nobody so much as breathed. 48

Black Jack, who had been swallowing the water very slowly, allowing it to trickle down the inside of his dry, sore throat, relishing its coolness, choked and spit out what little water he had left in his mouth. He also slipped on his horse losing his balance, but he managed to squeeze his legs tight again, just in time to stop himself from sliding off to his right, and in the process, hang himself.49

The Sheriff was right, and he knew it. 50

Black Jack tried to laugh, but even that hurt his still soar throat. He didn't want those other two to get away scott free and him to end up being the lone hanger. His horse, he knew would never move unless he told her too, or unless he gave her a nudge, but he had very little control over that now. His life, for the time being, rested on his being completely still. So he kept his legs tightly gripped on the horse and eased himself up level again. 51

Defiantly, he spit. What little spit he had, barely left his mouth. It dribbled down and around the bottom of his chin and onto the rope, where it was quickly soaked up like water on dry earth at high noon. He laughed and made a wheezy hollow sound that made him choke and cough. 52

‘I better watch it' . . . as he started to slip again . . . ‘or I'll do their job myself.' 53

"Times wasting Black Jack." Sheriff yelled. " My men are tired, hungry and mighty pissed off. An' my trigger finger's gettin' mighty itchy." The Sheriff chuckled, and nodded to John. Black Jack thought about kicking his horse into a full out gallop, hoping the rope was as old and rotted as it felt on his neck. Maybe it would break and he could get away. He couldn't see the knot above his head. 54

That wouldn't work, his mind yelled back at him. Before the rope would break, you'd be pulled off the horse no matter how hard you grab on with your legs. Besides, they'd all shoot you if that happened, any ways. You'd never get away.55

John reached out and nudged Black Jack's horse with his foot. The horse just swatted at him with its tail, as if he were a fly, turned its head to look at him, but did not move. Laughter broke the silence of the night air. Nervous posse laughter. 56

"What are their names Black Jack?" Sheriff Kidd yelled at him. The others went silent.57

Fear covered Black Jack's face now like the flour sacks him and his compadres used to hide their faces when they robbed the bank. Black Jack knew there was no way out of this. He was going to hang no matter if he told or not. The words rumbled in his raw throat, and shot through his lips as quick as lightning.58

"Ike Donnelly, and ‘Slim' Jim Madden. They're at Devils Point. An' you can go straight to hell . . . ," was the last thing Black Jack Barker ever said on this earth. 59

John pulled his pistol out of his holster.60

Black Jack's face distorted into a ghastly mask of fear. He sat deathly still gripping onto the horse with very weak legs. Doing the closest thing to a prayer, he'd ever done. 61

Some of the other horses neyed and shuffled about again. Their riders began to talk amongst themselves, their voices like ghostly whispers. 62

He tried to look at John, but the rope was too tight and he couldn't turn his head, without slipping off the horse. 63

There was silence as John eased the hammer back.64

‘CLICK!' 65

Sheriff Kidd smiled. The moment of truth was upon us.66

Black Jack tried to say more, but only squeaked like a mouse. 67

The others laughed loudly, shattering the silence like broken glass. 68

John pointed the pistol at the ground beneath Black Jack, and between his horses hind legs, and squeezed the trigger. 69

BANG!!70

The bullet exploded into the dry dirt, throwing chunks of it out in every direction.71

All of the others horses jumped, except Black Jack's. His stood perfectly still.72

"Damn!" yelled the Sheriff. "Shoot the damned thing." Waving his pistol at Black Jack's horse. "Everybody!" he yelled louder this time.73

Black Jack's words were jammed in his throat, and he was choking on them. The rope was seeing to that as it tightened itself. His ears were plugged with the sounds of seven gun shots. The rope tightened more as he pulled his legs out to the sides, ready to kick the steed. Hoping beyond hope that the rope would break. But he was already choking.74

His horse dropped to the ground beneath him. Dead! 75

Black Jack followed him and came down hard, with a ‘SNAP' of the rope and a ‘CRACK' of his neck. He never hit the ground.76

He choked and twisted at the end of the rope, long after they left. The rope did not break. Its noose tightened and tightened around his neck, as it swayed back and forth. Soon, he would be dead. 77

A fitting end for such a wretched life.78

The Sheriff wanted to catch the other two first, before cutting Black Jack down. So, for five more days Black Jack was left hanging from that tree, up on Overlook Hill. Swinging and twisting in the hot summer breeze. 79

He wanted Black Jack to be a sign for everybody to see how guilty bank robbers are handled in his town. Plus he wanted Ike and ‘Slim' Jim to see their fate before they felt it. 80

None of those three bastards looked too good by the time they was all cut down a week later. 81

They were all buried in Overlook Graveyard. Yonder, behind the tree. 82

The undertaker made no comments to any of the town-folk he knew, about the appearance of any of them. He did make some notes in his journal, the day after they were in the ground. He mentioned how they had all been hanging out there for seven days, and the hot sun can dry a man out in three. To him, they resembled someone who'd died in the desert and found quite a long time later. These three, he goes on to write, looked like skeletons. But, it was none of his business what people look like. He's paid to cut them down, say they're dead, then bury them. That's what he did. That and nothing else. 83

In February of 1880, Wayne Kidd, consumed by alcohol, was himself caught stealing money and as a result was hanged on Overlook Hill. Buried in the graveyard beyond.84

One month later, under the closed eye of the new moon, the hanging tree drifted into a deep-rooted sleep. 85

CHAPTER TWO86

"A NEW BEGINNING"87

-- 1900 --88

It was the first year in a new century. Dead Horse Corners was about to go through some major changes 89

John William (J.W.) Lincoln, who was the last living member of the Barker gang posse and who became the next Sheriff of that town, was in 1900, their Mayor. He convinced the town folk to move the graveyard from Overlook Hill to a more pleasant part of town and change its name to Westhaven Cemetery. He wished to draw awareness away from that wretched old tree. After all these years he was still not comfortable with what that tree represented. Or it might be that he was haunted so to speak, by the men he helped hang up there.90

But after they got started moving that graveyard and its inhabitants, they found that there weren't nothing left in those graves, but dust. They came to a quick and quiet decision to move only the headstones down to its new place in Westhaven and left the dust of its past, where it was. When he died in 1912, the town council voted to change the name of Dead Horse Corners, to Lincoln. 91

They wanted to bury the past, and look forward to the future. 92

CHAPTER THREE93

"ED WILLOUGHBY"94

-- 1937 --95

One of the warmer September's in Lincoln history, in the year 1937, an aging man looking much older than his 35 years, slowly makes his way through town. A length of old rope in his left hand.96

It's late on Saturday night. Nobody is around on the streets. But down Main Street at Donovan's Inn there was noise. The patrons were having their weekly dart tournament.97

Ed Willoughby knew this because he used to be one of those patrons. He was a good dart player. Not great, but good. When Evelyn, his wife, had gotten pregnant with their fourth child, he quite reluctantly had to quit his Saturday night outings at Donovan's. That was seven years and two more kids ago.98

"We've got to save some money, somehow Ed," she'd said. "You know that. Six mouths to feed, and six bodies to clothe."99

She was right. Ed knew it. She was always right. Just about everything she did was right. Except getting pregnant. But she had no control over that. They could restrain themselves, but that was easier said than done. The rhythm method just didn't work.100

He walked on across Main St., and headed out toward Hillview Dr. at the edge of town. The wind rustled his hair as he turned down Elgin St., and it rushed up between the buildings. He wiped tears from his eyes, and shifted the rope from his right hand into his left.101

--- This morning Ed woke up early. Or rather something woke him. 102

A nightmare? It must have been.103

All he could remember was being frightened. 104

When he was a little boy and had a frightening nightmare, in the morning he'd get a beating from his father for wetting the bed.105

This morning, in his dream, he was a kid again, with his friends down at Millpond. They were swimming in the small pond beside the feed mill. Taking turns swinging out on the rope hanging down from a branch of the willow on the bank. He was the first to go.106

Ed climbed up the tree to the branch, and wormed his way out to the rope, shimmied down it to the big huge knot at its end. He started to swing the rope, pushing and pulling, back and forth, out over the water, until he got a wide enough arc. Then . . . he let go. As he flies through the air, he grabs his knees and pulls them tight to his chest, and crashes into the refreshing water like a sack of rocks.107

‘KERRRR - PLUNK!!' 108

Down he went. 109

He opened his eyes as he sank, and nearly died of fright. Right in front of him,beneath the water, was his father. Floating, with his arms crossed across his chest. He was yelling at Ed. But Ed couldn't understand. The words coming out of his father's mouth were soundless bubbles of air, rising up between them. 110

Ed screamed, or tried to, and pushed himself toward the surface. As he broke through and opened his eyes, he wasn't swimming. He was fighting with wet bed covers. 111

And gasping for breath. Drowning in fear, while his heart pumped furiously in his chest. 112

He was soaked in sweat.113

Ed looked over to his right. Evelyn was still asleep.114

He tossed back the covers, threw his legs over the edge and sat there with his head cupped in his hands. He thought he was really swimming. It felt so real.115

He eased his aching bulk up onto the floor, and noticed why he was soaked. He'd thought he was soaked from the sweat of fear. But that's wasn't it. He'd been sweating alright, but, Ed Willoughby had wet the bed.116

Disgusted with himself he went into the bathroom, took off his wet pants and threw them in the hamper. Then he sat on the edge of the tub and cried. Cried like he hadn't cried in years. Not since he was a kid.---117

The wind howled down Hillview Dr. It felt cold on his teary face. Autumn was just around the corner. He glanced up at Overlook Hill. The old graveyard tree up there looked so . . . right. It made Ed feel comfortable. The full moon beyond, watched.118

--- This morning after Evelyn got up and changed the bed sheets, never saying anything to Ed about the wet spot on his side, she made breakfast. That wasn't so strange. But her mood was. She seemed beside herself. Distracted somehow. It was like she . . . 119

Ed said nothing. He thought he knew what it was.120

She had spent most of the day keeping herself busy doing laundry, just one of her daily chores. It was a constant, all day job, now that there were eight of them.121

A couple of years ago, Ed took on an extra job at night. Tryin' to make ends meet. It didn't pay much but it helped. Some nights the kids were able to get a second helping of dinner or maybe some dessert. Last week he'd gotten notice that this second night job was not going to last much longer. Ed would be let go. 122

He was devastated. What would they do now?123

Evelyn said, ‘God would provide.' 124

Ed knew differently. He'd tried that many times before. On many different occasions. He prayed in church on Sundays. He'd even put a small donation in the collection tray as it was passed along down his pew. Even when he couldn't afford it. 125

Sure! God will provide!126

Well, Ed couldn't wait for God, any longer.127

Every time God was supposed to provide for the Willoughby's, Evelyn got pregnant. Then Ed had to provide.128

"Ed," she started, "I've got something nice to tell you."129

He looked at her while he helped one of the children get ready for bed. Deep inside, he knew what she was going to say. And he didn't want to hear it. Did not want to think about it. ---130

He climbed up the hill and stood panting, leaning against the chestnut tree. About three feet above his head, there was a good, solid branch. It may have been old and rotten, but Ed felt sure that it would be strong enough to support his weight. 131

He took the rough rope, and threw one end over the branch. Holding onto both ends of the looped rope, he ‘walked' up the trunk of the tree, hoisting himself onto the branch. There he sat, remembering this evening, and crying.132

--- It was what he thought it was. She was expecting another child. Their seventh. Ed tried to look happy. Tried to be enthusiastic. He even managed a smile. But inside, Ed was frantic.133

"Listen Evelyn," he began. "I've got something to do before we continue. I'll be back." And he kissed her on the lips. He got his jacket from the pole by the back door, and left.134

"Don't you be going down to Donovan's tonight, Ed?" She yelled as he shut the door.135

Donovan's was exactly where he was headed. But not to drink. He didn't have the money for that. He headed south from his house and out past the down town. That dream he had this morning had given him an idea.136

Ed tied one fraying end of the old rope to the branch. The other end he tried desperately to make a noose. Tears rolled down his face like the falls at Millpond. He tried three times but his hands were shaking too much. In the end, he did his best. It wasn't a good noose, but it would work.137

He slipped it over his head and around his neck, and pulled it tight. 138

Without another thought, he leaned forward and slipped off of the branch and hanged there until Pat Cooper saw him the next morning and called the police.139

When the Lincoln Police got there, Ed was already laying on the ground. One of the four men present had cut him down. Deputy Matt Meagher recognized everyone there that morning. Pat Cooper, Sharky Poorman, Bert Hicks and Denis Donovan. Matt knew each of them like he knew Ed. Even though Denis Donovan was old enough to be the father of either of them. That was when Matt made a personal vendetta with himself to find who did this, and bring them to justice. 140

He also noticed that the buds he saw on some of the dead branches in July, when he cut the Mayor's son, Willy down, were now leaves.141

-- to be continued --