*Author's Note*
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Who Fears The Devil?
Devil Anse POV:
I was sittin' at the table, smokin' my pipe and readin' my mornin' copy of The Logan Banner whenever a knock sounded at the door. I just gave Levicy a look from over my paper, silently tellin' her to see who it was and to let them in if they weren't the enemy. My wife just nodded, wiped her hands off on the dishtowel she had hung up by the sink, and went over to the windows that I had boarded up save for the open cross in it to allow for a rifle and a peek.
While lookin' out the window, Levicy told me, "It's two men at the door. I think they're the ones you sent for Anderson since one's got a camera box and trifold wit' 'im and the other's in a fancy bowler hat and suit that's too nice for a bushwhacker."
"Let 'em in, but pop your head out the door crack and take their names first." I instructed my wife, turnin' the page in my paper.
Levicy just nodded 'fore doin' as she was told. Her syrupy voice filled the hair as she greeted the men thru the cracked door, "Hello, who're you and why're ya'll here?"
"I'm Asa M. Merriweather, the journalist from The Examiner and this is my counterpart Larry Greves, the photographer." I heard one of the men tell my wife.
Ah, so the newspaper men finally arrived for my interview. I was expecting them since Shaw stopped by yesterday to say that he ran into them, but I wasn't expectin' them at 7 o'clock sharp in the goddamn mornin'.
"I'm Levicy, Anderson Hatfield's wife." Openin' up the door and steppin' aside, Levicy told the men, "Please come in. My husband's been lookin' forward to your interview."
"Thank you, Ma'am." One of them said 'fore they entered the house.
The men made their way over to the table while Levicy shut the door and went to grab them some coffee. I put down my paper right as the man in the bowler hat took a seat at the table. "What's the M in Asa M. Merriweather stand for?" I asked the man I knew was the reporter while the photographer was settin' up his photography equipment.
"Merlin." The man told me as he removed his hat. I let out a chuckle of disbelief. Who the hell would curse their child wit' the middle name of Merlin? Instead of lookin' embarrassed or irate at my reaction to his outlandish an' mythical middle name, he simply cocked his head and asked me, "Why are you called Devil Anse?"
"There's many reasons why someone gets a nickname, but I'm not tellin' ya why I got mine."
"Would you like a biscuit?" Levicy asked Asa, settin' a cup of coffee in front of him.
"No, thank you, Ma'am." He shook his head, causin' Levicy to just nod 'fore goin' over to the photographer and handin' him over his coffee.
"Are the claims that Mister Randall McCoy made against you true or false?" He asked, officially startin' the interview as he took his pad an' pencil out of his pocket.
Well, this reporter sure does get down to business. Hell, and I thought he'd try to butter me up by makin' small talk.
I took a deep puff off my pipe before remarkin', "Ole Randall's throwing feathers, hoping they'll stick to some tar."
Asa quickly scribbled down my remark as the photographer took a picture of me sittin' at my kitchen table, smokin'. Well, looks like this is gonna be a long mornin'.
A FEW DAYS LATER:
The Examiner- Friday, March 16th, 1883
Who Fears The Devil?
By: Asa M. Merriweather
I've been a journalist for nearly twenty years, ever since I left college early to pursue my passion for writing, and I've never encountered sunch an enigma of a man- at least until now. When my editor sent me all the way to a small town in West Virginia, that most people have never heard of before, I never thought I'd be meeting a man so hardened like steel with a devilish attitude. I was sent to Mate Creek to get this man's side of the story about the bloody feud featured in an issue of last week's New York Globe, but I never thought I'd feel sympathy or empathy for a man that proudly went by Devil Anse. Well, I was wrong and I bet after reading this the rest of you will find, very much like I did, that Devil Anse Hatfield, despite his characterization in the New York Globe, is as human as anyone.
The day after I arrived in Mate Creek, I went to the Hatfield cabin with my photographer, Larry, in order to interview Devil Anse. I must say, the man truly is a lumberman by trade since his log cabin's very large and intricate looking. The best-looking cabin I've ever laid eyes on during my travels in the rural back hills Appalachian region.
Well, after being greeted by Mrs. Hatfield, I sat down at the kitchen table with Devil Anse to conduct my interview. He looked both regal and intimidating while smoking his pipe at the head of the table. I felt like I was speaking to a king holding court rather then interviewing a mere man by how his hard and commanding presence rolled off of him.
After exchanging some quick pleasantries while his wife was fetching me a cup of coffee, I started the interview with the simple question of, "Are the claims that Mister Randall McCoy made against you true or false?"
"Ole Randall's throwing feathers, hoping they'll stick to some tar." Devil Anse dryly remarked as smoke billowed out of his mouth like a smokestack from a chimney.
"So, his allegations aren't entirely true?" I asked since that was the idea I got from his metaphoric remark.
"Not entirely since those boys we executed stabbed my brother over and over 'gain then shot him; killed him."
"So, Pharmer and Bud McCoy alone with Bobby Belcher murdered your brother and that's why your family and friends took them prisoner and executed them?"
"Yes, but we took them from the law cause we knew the Sherriff wouldn't do nothing. He'd let them go once Judge Wagner told him too since that judge's in that skunk Lawyer Cline's pocket. Not to mention Lawyer Cline's got a senator on his side to help him rig trials too if he wanted."
"The law's corrupt in Pike County, Kentucky then?" I asked since that's the conclusion I was coming to from his words.
Devil Anse removed his pipe from the corner of his mouth and scoffed, "Law? Hell, there is no law in Kentucky. At least not when it concerns Hatfields since Perry Cline controls the law as far as I'm aware."
"Well, then what happened would be vigilante justice. That's usually something done in the Midwest, not in Appalachia. Do you not agree?"
"Don't patronize me." Devil Anse said with narrowed icy eyes. "You're not from these parts so ya don't know how hard life in these hills can be. Many of times vigilante justice is the only way to get justice." Slipping his pipe back into the corner of his mouth, chortled, "Hell, the things that go on in these hills are just as bad if not crazier than those out west. Goddamnit, back in '78 Randall McCoy sued my cousin, Floyd, over a damn pig."
I didn't have anything to say to that. All I could do was blink and look dumbfounded. Never in my entire life have I ever heard of anyone in their right mind sue over a pig. I mean only the village idiot would do that. A pig suit is unheard of, for the rightful reason that only someone who's gone plum crazy would want to go to court over a pig.
Now, it seems, that a chink in Randall McCoys armor has just been revealed. In my opinion, which is most likely the popular opinion, the man's a fool for suing over a pig. If he foolishly did that then what else did he rashly and foolhardily do? Perhaps place bounties on the heads of the Hatfield clan; give an interview to the New York Globe?
Devil Anse took a large puff of his pipe and told me in a steady as a rock tone, "All this that's happened is cause Randall's upset over how I served in the war paired with his misguided notion that my Uncle Jim killed his brother. I assure you that Uncle Jim did no such thing, he swore upon God that he didn't."
Swearing upon God, in my humble opinion, means innocence. A man would not dare swear on the name of our holy father is he did in fact commit the sin he said he didn't commit.
"So, you mean to say that this feud erupted over a man's mere misunderstanding?"
"Yes, the feud between my family and Randall's is cause of a rift between us that grew and festered into something ugly and infectious that has taken over the Tug Valley like a wildfire." Shaking his head, the stern man that was known as Devil Anse revealed to me, "Our families were once friendly, but after the war ended in '65 Randall came home untrusting and paranoid. He killed our friendship by planting bitter seeds in the hearts of his family; turning folks against me and mine."
It seems that Randall McCoy holds a grudge from something long ago only to fan the fames of the feud by allowing his kin and friends to wreak havoc on Devil Anse Hatfield and his clan. It seems that a grudge has turned into a feud, one that has sadly proved deadly for all sides for circumstances that were entirely unforeseen and shocking. It seems that Devil Anse isn't who should be feared, but perhaps Randall McCoy for any man who could turn hateful and vengeful on a former friend is a silent danger to all.
Perhaps the Devil is a man who's just gotten a bad reputation, but for a good cause. All Devil Anse did was what the justice system wouldn't, make sure his brother's murderers paid the proper price. It seems that Randall McCoy and his skunk of a cousin, Lawyer Cline, are twisting things for their benefit. From my words with Devil Anse I've concluded that he's not as bad as he seems, but his adversary might be.
For who fears the Devil, but the man that owes him a life debt for sins committed.
Tolbert POV:
I was in Forth Worth, one of the many stops of Zeke's cattle drive, walkin' 'round the dusty Cowtown after helpin' herd the cattle into one of the large stockyard pens whenever a paperboy on the corner caught my 'tention by shoutin', "Extra! Extra! Read all 'bout it! The Examiner claims Devil Anse Hatfield's not to be feared, but Randall McCoy! Extra! Extra! Read all 'bout it! Eastern Devil not to be feared, but his rival instead!" My blood ran cold as his words rang thru my ears.
Goddamnit, the Hatfields got the San Fransico paper to do an article on 'em. An article I'm sure'll make folks pity 'em an' go after McCoys. God, bet I'm gonna be havin' people askin' me if I know anythin' 'bout the feud once they learn my name's McCoy. Sweet Jesus, why in the fuck did reporters have t'get involved for? They're blowin' this feud up into somethin' bigger than it should be. Backhills scrabbles turned deadly ain't meant to be broadcast nationwide.
'Fore I could even think 'bout it, my feet were takin' me ov'r to the newspaper boy. I was makin' large, rushed strides til I came up to the corner the boy, no older than 12, was standin' on- shoutin' an' wavin' his San Fransico printed paper in the air for all t'see. A crowd was formed 'round him as people tossed their nickels at him; eagerly snatchin' papers to read. Me included.
After gettin' my copy of The Examiner, I squeezed thru the crowd an' found a barrel in front of a nearby store corner t'sit on. Once I was seated, I unfolded the paper only to scoff an' roll my eyes at the article title- Who Fears The Devil? Right under that damned title was a photo of Devil Anse sitting at the head of his table, smokin' a pipe while the fire place 'hind 'im roared wit' a large fire. Hmm, I bet that fire was lit for dramatics cause I know it ain't cold 'nough for it right now since it's Spring an' damn near Easter time.
I was lost in readin' the damn paper that I nev'r even heard Jose Luis 'proach me. Well, not till he stood in front o'me an' stated in his heavily accented voice, "Oh, Senor Tolbert, this article's no good for your family."
I looked ov'r my paper an' up at him an' asked, "Ya read it?"
"Si, I did." The Mexican cook nodded his sombrero covered head. "And it don't make your Padre look too good, Senor Tolbert. In fact, makes Devil Anse seem as he was just doin' eye for an eye."
Shakin' my head an' roughly pointin' to the paper in my hand, I gruffly spat out, "This article's only gonna make things worse. Gonna keep puttin' targets on my woman an' son's backs as more an' more folks start sidin' wit' one family or the other."
"Si, I agree that the more publicity your family feud gets the more danger Senorita Jessa an' Lil Senor Endor are prone to getting tangled up in."
I folded up my paper and sighed, "If only Zeke'd let me go back t'get 'em."
"I'm sure he would if he could, but it's spring cattle drive season so he's got no choice, but to make you work the drive."
"I know, Jose Luis, but that don't mean I like it." I stood up from the barrel, stickin' the rolled-up paper under my arm. "I can't help, but feel like these rival newspapers are gonna be puttin' kerosene on the feud's fire wit' all their competitive articles. I just know it, these papers are gonna be printin' more an' more horse shit only to flare up fires; endangerin' Jessa an' our son." I told Jose Luis as we walked 'way from the store corner an' down the dusty tumbleweed covered street towards the saloon, White Elephant, where we'd be gettin' drinks an' rooms for our short stay in town.
"Your gift's telling you this, Senor Tolbert. It's not just a feeling, but a knowing sense that cannot be ignored."
Noddin', I told my friend, "I plan on goin' back for Jessa once the drive's over."
"I'll go with you, mi amigo." Jose Luis declared as we reached the large buildin' that was the White Elephant Saloon.
AN:
Well, seems like Asa's article makes Devil Anse look less like the villain that T.C.'s article had him painted as. Poor Tolbert, stuck reading about the feud while on a cattle drive. Do you think he's right about the feud being blown up and made worse by the newspaper articles?
Next up will be a counter article by T.C. Crawford. Also, Parris' gun telescope finally arrives by push-pull too.