The Pistoleer: A Novel of John Wesley Hardin by James Carlos Blake

Author:James Carlos Blake
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
Published: 2012-04-25T11:08:49.110000+00:00

Hardin made his terms real plain to Sheriff Dick. First off, he wanted protection from mobs. It’s the one thing he was scared of—being taken by a mob—and nobody could blame him for that. A mob is a murdering thing with no more mind to it than a hay barn afire: once it gets out of hand there’s nothing to be done but watch it burn till all that’s left is the smoking ashes. And he wanted a doctor of course. And to be kept someplace other than a jail until he was mended good enough to travel. And Dick’s word that he wouldn’t stand trial anywhere but Gonzales. And he wanted half the reward Dick Reagan would get paid for him.

I was Dick Reagan’s chief deputy at the time. It was Dave Harrel who brought Hardin’s offer to us in Rusk. Harrel said Hardin wouldn’t make the offer to the Angelina County sheriff because, as everybody damn well knew, he was a natural-born son of a bitch who was a toady for the State Police. “That Angelina shithead would agree to the deal,” Dave said, “then for sure turn him over to the State Police to get shot or be given over to a mob to get lynched.”

Dick wanted to know what made Hardin think he wouldn’t do the same himself. Harrel said Wes had heard from people he trusted that Dick Reagan was a smart and honest lawman with no love for the State Police. “Kind of him to think so well of me,” Dick said, “but I wonder if I ain’t due more than just half the reward, considering all he wants.”

Half the reward was a far sight more than no reward at all, Harrel said. “Five hundred dollars ain’t nothing to sneeze at. And you get the glory of being the man who captured John Wesley Hardin. A heroic accomplishment like that could do a man with political ambitions a lot of good if he made proper use of it.” Dick had to grin at the truth of that. “Just one thing,” he told Harrel, “it’s a state warrant, so I’ll have to take him to Austin first when he’s strong enough. But the warrant’s for a killing in Gonzales County, so he can be sure of going there for trial.” And so they had a deal.

Sheriff Dick owned a hotel in Rusk, and that’s where we put him. The news of John Wesley Hardin’s arrest had carried ahead of us on the wind, the way such news always does, and naturally damn near everybody in town turned out to have a look at him. You’d of thought he was a one-man sideshow, the way they gawked at him when we put him on a litter and carried him inside and up the stairs. I do believe some expected him to have horns, tail, and hooves—and they seemed downright disappointed that he didn’t. I heard one sprout say, “Shoot, he don’t look so dang different than us.

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