Part Three – Marking Time
Chapter Four
August 1883
The discordant clanging of the cellblock bell woke the inmate of cell 314 from his restless sleep. His right hand shot to the top of the bed frame and hit the wall of stone.
"Ow, dammit," muttered L1314 as he examined the now-bleeding knuckle of his blistered right hand. Did he say that aloud? L1314 rested on his elbows and looked toward the cell door glad not to see a guard on the other side.
Kid Curry noticed it was light as he sank back down onto the lumpy thin mattress, rubbing his bristled face. He realized it must be Sunday. He remembered from the rules he had memorized four long days ago that on Sundays, instead of rising at 5:00 am, the inmates rose at 7:00 am.
Prisoners were expected to rise precisely when the bell rang, not before and definitely not after. He found this out his first morning. Kid never did like waking in what he considered the middle of the night. He did often enough in the past but that was when Heyes needed a sounding board or work required it. Work that landed him here, he thought ruefully, as he unconsciously rubbed the back of his left shoulder; the shoulder that the cellblock guard brought his hard leather lash onto when he wasn't standing at attention when the cell door had opened at 5:30 am.
Kid dragged himself from the cot, muscles protesting. For a man who didn't like work hard on the back, the long workdays were taking some getting used to. His bruises were starting to collect bruises; the prodding, blows, and strikes from the guards' wooden-handled lashes were doing some damage. Kid couldn't seem to work hard or quick enough for their liking. Curry stuffed his feet into scratchy gray wool socks and the low black prison-made shoes. He made his bed. L1314 was standing at attention when the young red-haired guard, O'Reilly, unlocked the iron door.
Riggs then unlocked the cell next to the Kid's. Both inmates stepped out of the cells and turned facing down the walkway. L1314 took two shuffling steps forward and put his right hand on 151313's right shoulder. The prisoner line advanced down the iron walkway as the guards continued to unlock cells; inmates stepped out, turned and locked arms onto shoulders.
The dining hall echoed with the footsteps of inmates entering in lockstep from the south and north entrances. The prisoners lined up in front of long wooden benches. The Captain of the Guard, Munch, tapped a bell from the front of the room. Inmates dropped their arms, turned in unison and sat at the long battered wood tables. They kept their heads bowed. A tin pint cup, small pan, dull knife, bent fork and a tin spoon was before each man. Munch tapped the bell again and the men started to eat. Kid noted hash and a slice of bread in the pan and coffee in the cup, a welcome change from the grits, and water he had been getting. No sound was heard in the hall except the scraping of utensils on plates and cups thumping back onto tables. The bell was tapped a third time and the prisoners rose from their seats, reformed the line and marched out when the bell rang a fourth time.
Curry sat staring across his cell, determinedly keeping his mind as blank as the wall. Kid almost wished it was a workday, as the unrelenting physical toil kept his body occupied and the resulting utter fatigue prohibited prolonged inner debates at night. Just as there were cracks in the wall, thoughts kept threatening to create cracks in his determination. He stubbornly refused to give in to what if, if only, and I wonder. The distinctive sound of a key in the lock caused Kid to turn. Riggs, O'Reilly and an inmate he didn't recognize stood at the cell opening. Riggs moved in and bent to unlock the Kid's leg irons. The inmate passed a new set of uniforms and linens in.
"Laundry detail's here L1314. Change clothes, strip and remake your cot, and then stand at attention. You have earned an additional privilege for successfully completing the probationary period of your imprisonment. A brown ticket is for tobacco use. Do you chew tobacco?"
Kid looked up at Riggs. "No, Sir," he replied. He couldn't believe how good it felt to utter two words without fear of punishment and he'd only been here four days. O'Reilly did not hang the brown wooden ticket on the little rack of hooks mounted to the right of the cell door.
Riggs went on. "You can earn a yellow ticket, which is chapel choir privileges, and the last of the ticket privileges. Wyoming Territorial Prison has an excellent chapel choir. There are only a certain number of prisoners allowed in the choir. We have two openings now. The warden allows the reverend to audition all new inmates when openings occur. The choir practices on Friday night and Sunday after breakfast until service."
After Kid changed, leg irons back in place, and his cot remade, the guard led him out onto the walkway and down to join a prisoner at the other end by the cellblock entrance.
An all-purpose room on the first floor in the main part of the prison was set up with benches in rows. A small wooden alter was placed at one end of the room with an old upright piano off to the right. A short pudgy young man in cleric's clothes, seated at the piano bench, stood to greet the incoming line of seven inmates.
"Gentlemen, I am Reverend Dewing, the prison chaplain. I perform Sunday services, and in addition manage this institution's choir, of which I am very proud. I provide a Bible study group after services and am available as needed for counseling." With this last remark, the reverend glanced at the guards somewhat apprehensively.
"Warden Hardston has graciously allowed you to audition for the chapel choir, an activity the participating inmates find uplifting as it eases one's road to redemption, and is enjoyable for more obvious reasons. Each one of you will take a turn to sing us any selection with which you are familiar. Then we shall sing scales together. Who would like to go first?"
Curry was last in line.
"Ain't it hard to stumble.
You've got no place to fall.
Ain't it hard to stumble.
You've got no place at all.
In this whole wide world I've got no place at all.
I'm a stranger here.
Stranger everywhere."
His voice quieted, faltered to a stop, paused, and then, taking a deep breath as a large crack in his determination appeared, started again softly, tremulously:
"'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,'
Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain'd, To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come round right."
Curry's eyes focused inward as his tenor voice shook with emotion, and then steadied until it filled the room with warmth that was almost tangible. The reverend, an able judge of character, perceived that the inmate was living in another time and place. The song evidently meant a great deal to this man. The reverend noticed the introspective expression of almost all of the inmates as L1314 fell silent, the song finished. He could not reconcile his expectation of Kid Curry, infamous gunslinger, Fastest Gun in the West, notorious bank and train robber, with the young man before him.
Monday morning in his well-appointed office, Warden Hardston sat behind a large mahogany desk sipping a cup of coffee. Captain of the Guard Munch sat in one of the two burgundy leather chairs in front of the desk.
"Tell me about Curry. How has he adjusted?" asked the warden as he played with a piece of paper on his desk.
"So far, Curry's been no trouble. He does what he's told to do when he's told. We have him working in the fields at the moment. I've always heard he has a hot temper but he's keeping tight control of himself. We've been prodding him physically but haven't been working too hard on his mental state yet. We'll need to step that up. He knows that he's being scrutinized by the guards and the other prisoners." Munch paused, looked out the window for a moment, frowned and then went on.
"He's still too self-assured, too in control. Although, you can see in his eyes and in the way he tenses up, it won't take much more to push him over the edge."
The warden put down the paper and stood up to walk around the desk and stand before the window. "The good Reverend Dewing has requested permission for Curry to join the choir," the warden stated mockingly.
He continued forcefully as he strode back and forth before the desk, "Permission denied! I want him broken quickly. With his reputation, he can be a dangerous influence on the other prisoners. I want everyone to see that the big famous gunslinger is merely another worthless piece of human garbage. Put him on night pot duty. Get him wallowing in shit to get the idea he is shit. Have your guards keep a very close eye on him, let nothing slide. We'll see how long he can keep control."
Munch nodded as he left the room, "He'll break soon, they all do."
