“My God, dear, there is nothing to be sorry about,” he said, shaking his head. “This is all just awful.”
“I know...” she said.
“I would postpone this, but there is too much in motion now,” he said.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead.
“I will see you tomorrow at some point.”
“Okay,” she said.
He smiled at Allie and me, then walked out of the room. She watched after him for a moment, then looked to me.
“I’m so glad you are here,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“She looks simply beautiful,” Allie said, “don’t you think, Everett?”
“I do.”
“Oh, please,” she said. “I don’t know what I would have done if it weren’t for the both of you.”
She looked to me and smiled weakly.
“So, when is this going to happen, Everett?”
I looked at my watch.
“About an hour from now.”
She nodded, then looked away, out the window.
72
Thirty minutes prior to the hanging, Virgil and I walked to the gallows, and when we rounded the corner it appeared the whole town was waiting to witness the hanging of Boston Bill Black.
“Good goddamn,” Virgil said. “Don’t these folks have something better to do than to watch a man die?”
“Guess not.”
We walked past the Gallows Door Cantina and Eloise looked up and offered a wave just like the one she gave me in my dream, but this was no dream, not this time, this time it was real and it was happening.
The Gallows Door Cantina was crowded with happy and upbeat beer drinkers. It was a celebration for people to gather for a hanging. Hangings had become as much a spectator event as horse racing and boxing.
When we got close, we could see the Denver contingent standing near the gallows.
“Looks like the Coloradoans got here good and early so they had a good spot,” I said.
“Does,” Virgil said shaking his head.
Sitting in a covered buggy on a rise just behind the gallows was Judge Callison. He was sitting back under the buggy’s shade, smoking a cigar.
Atop the gallows stood the executioner and the two main Appaloosa ministers, one from the Methodist church and the other from the Baptist church.
Virgil and I walked around the crowd and moved up the rise and stood near the judge.
He looked over to us and waited a moment before he said anything.
“You did all you could do, fellas,” he said. “You are both good lawmen.”
We looked to him but didn’t say anything. There was really nothing to say.
“What we do is never easy,” he said.
Again, we said nothing.
“I been at this for almost fifty years now...”
He puffed on his cigar for a moment, looking at the gallows.
“Tried my first murder case when I was just twenty-one. I defended a man I knew was innocent. I would have bet my life on it. He convinced me of it but not the jury. I lost the case and he was sentenced to hang. I was sure heartbroken, thought I had really let him and his family down. I damn near quit right then and there. When he walked to the gallows he looked to the parents of the fellow he was accused of murdering and said, ‘I would do it again if I had the chance’... That was my first hanging...”
Someone in the crowd shouted, “Here he comes.”
The massive crowd turned to see him and everyone started to chatter.
Coming up the Street was Boston Bill Black. He wore shackles on his hands and feet and was being escorted by Book on one side and Chastain on the other, and for extra precaution, every deputy that Appaloosa employed flanked them.
Black stood a full foot and a half taller than Chastain, Book, and the deputies. Looking at him like this reminded me of the story of Hercules as they approached. He was walking with his head up and was looking about, making sure everyone got a good look at him.
The chatter got louder as the crowd parted, making way for them, and when they got to the gallows steps the boisterous group began to jeer.
“Here we go,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
We watched as Black climbed the steps. When he got to the top, the ministers held up their hands to quiet the crowd. After a bit, the crowd simmered. The Baptist minister moved forward a bit.
“Anything you wish to impart,” he said. “Any last words?”
Black looked at the people, then looked to the executioner.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said.
The crowd erupted with excitement as the executioner moved forward and guided Black toward the gallows door. He positioned Black where he wanted and started to put a hood over Black’s head.
“No hood,” Black said. “I want to see the faces.”
The crowd erupted loudly and began shouting, “Hang him, hang him...”
The executioner tossed the hood to the side, then reached up, grabbed the noose, and placed it over Black’s head. He tightened it around Black’s neck, then walked over to the lever. He put his hand on the lever.
“Fuck,” I said. “Look!”
Sliding recklessly around the corner came Valentine’s prison wagon being pulled by his sweat-soaked mules, Magellan and Columbus.
Valentine was on his feet with the reins in one hand and a bullwhip in the other. He was swinging the whip around and popping above the heads of his mules.
“Haw!” Valentine shouted, “HAW!”
“Hold up!” Virgil called out loudly. “Hold up!”
The executioner took his hand off the lever, and within a moment Magellan and Columbus parted the crowd and Valentine pulled back on the reins, stopping the prison wagon directly in front of the gallows in a cloud of dust.
Virgil and I moved forward, and when the dust settled we saw sitting in the back of the prison wagon Lawrence LaCroix.
73
The remainder of July 3 was spent in the judge’s chambers with Lawrence LaCroix.
LaCroix was still hurting from the beating he received from Black. His arm was in a sling and his leg was in a splint. His eyes were dark from having a broken nose and busted jaw, and it was painful for him to speak, but he was talking fairly clearly out of the corner of his mouth.
“Let me get this straight,” the judge said. “You are not British?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not...”
Callison shook his head and looked over to Virgil, Valentine, and me.
“Where are you from, Mr. LaCroix?”
“I was born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.”
“Actually, let me ask you first before we get into more insanity, what is your real name?”
“Ben Salter.”
Callison nodded.
“Ben Salter?”
“Yes.”
“We can believe that?”
He nodded.
“We can assume you have no reason to lie about that?”
“No reason.”
Callison shook his head.
“And, according to Mr. Pell here,” Callison said with a glance to Valentine, “you have no idea who paid you to lie?”
“No,” he said.
Callison looked at him for a moment, then sat back in his chair.
“You are a worthless piece of shit,” the judge said. “You do realize that, don’t you?”
He looked at the judge and lowered his head.
“I have been a judge longer than well water, and in that time I have never come across anything as despicable and atrocious as you.”
Ben Salter’s chin was on his chest.
“I needed the money,” he said quietly.
“Come again?”
Ben looked up, making eye contact with Callison.
“I needed the money.”
The judge shook his head in disbelief.
“You testified in that room out there,” the judge said with a point toward the courtroom, “to send an innocent man to hang.”