Winter's Refuge
Chapter Seven
Jed 'Kid' Curry
Lom, I tell you the heat is like that anger I was tryin' to tell you about. So hot you can't believe it. With the water the men weren't losin' weight like they were when I first got there. Come to find out they were losin' a man a week to dehydration. And dehydration ain't a pretty death to watch. We'd lost only one since they started lettin' us bring the water early in the water from the river. Heatstroke was always our enemy. Once in a while the guards even let the prisoners jump in the river. Sure felt good to be wet and cool for a minute. We was dry by the time we got back to camp.
I had found five pairs of gloves in the smithy when I got there. I kept the newest and thickest and let the men share the rest.
"Convict Curry, what are you doing giving the other convicts your gloves?" one of the guards had asked.
"Metal rails get mighty hot in this sun, so do the spikes. A man can slip from sweat on that ten-pound hammer and ruin a spike. Less spikes for me to repair."
"You need them for the forge?"
"Can't do the job without them," I answered. As I said, the guards and the overseer never entered the forge. They might come to the door, but the heat was too much for them. So, they come to take my word on anythin' involvin' blacksmithin'. The next week there was a new pack of a dozen work gloves on my bed after the requisition train came in. Wasn't sure who to thank so I just nodded to the guard on duty when I found them.
I was tryin' to explain to you, Lom, about the heat. It's not that you ever get used to it, but you come to accept it as the way it is. Can't even really remember when I wasn't so hot. And in the forge, it was hotter still, like the hell Gramma Curry used to warn Han and me about when we was kids. She'd wave the broom at us and say if we weren't good, we'd go to hell. Well, we didn't do good, broke some of those commandments she taught us, and I've lived in that hell for the last two years.
ASJ*****ASJ
Anyway, my plan was workin' and every man on that crew understood makin' two and a half miles a week meant enough water to drink for the next week and gloves to wear to protect our hands from the hot metal. We hit the goal for three weeks straight. And I knew it was time for the next part of my plan. Didn't tell the others about it yet. I hate to see disappointment in anyone, and I wasn't sure this was goin' to work.
The first part was easy. I picked a day when Senior Guard Mays was escortin' us to the river. Each of the two other prisoners carried two buckets and I carried three. Today, about halfway to the river, I stopped.
"Sir, look there," I said.
"What?" Mays asked, lost in his own thoughts as we walked.
"Those pink cactuses there, see them? Their short stems with spines make 'em look like hedgehogs."
"Convict, keep moving."
"Sir, those are hedgehog cactus, and they have the sweetest fruit. Easy to get at too. We ain't had nothin' but mush, beans and biscuits for near three weeks."
"Sweet you say?"
"Yes, sir. We could go over there and fill my third pail with the fruit. Would be a treat for the men with breakfast." I tried to convince him that I had just thought of this. Truth was the guards ate pretty good but all we ate was mush, beans and biscuits. We all craved a taste of that beef that the train brought and the cook fixed for the guards. That was my goal, but I started small. Never got any of that beef.
We quickly filled the bucket and one of the men instructed Mays how to slice the fruit in half and scope out the pulp and seeds. It was sweet and raw and didn't cost the railroad anything.
The guards carried knives and cut up a few of the hedgehog cactus, watchin' the prisoners eat first to make sure I wasn't tellin' them wrong and it was poisonous. I knew it wasn't. One of the younger prisoners, Gill, grew up around here and ate hedgehog cactus and prickly pear cactus all his life. He's the one that first saw the patch of hedgehog. When we moved camp twenty miles further down, he found prickly pear cactus and the cook used it to make a sweet drink kinda like lemonade.
When we each had a few, we filled the bucket to two thirds full and continued gettin' the day's water.
I went to work in the forge after gulpin' down my mush. If I started early enough, I sometimes got the last breaths of a cooler wind. By ten o'clock even I couldn't stay in there. The convicts and the guards had hedgehog cactus fruit with breakfast. The men and I made an extra effort that day to get track laid and succeeded. Any day we exceeded a quarter mile was seen as a good day by the railroad guards.
I worked in the forge as the sun went down, too, usually repairin' spikes that came flawed or ones that were mishit. One day, a few days later' we had just gotten a shipment of supplies for the kitchen. The smell of beans flavored with salt pork could be smelled for a mile away. It smelled so good I could taste it, but I knew our beans were plain. The salt pork beans were for the guards.
I walked to the entrance to the forge and took a long appreciative smell as Senior Guard Mays walked by. "Sir, a man could do more work with a little meat on his plate," I said to him. "Even if it were just salt pork in the beans."
"You're not men, you're convicts contracted to the railroad. Be glad you get two meals a deal. Our contract only guarantees one." His answer was firm, unconcerned.
"Maybe with better food, some vegetables and an egg or two, that goal of three miles might be possible."
"You saying you're holding back, convict?"
Afraid I'd pushed too hard, I looked down and answered contritely. I knew I needed to remember my place in the camp. They owned me and my labor. They could feed me just enough to stay alive. That was their right. "No, sir. We have a bit over two and a half miles again this week. Need to be stronger to go faster. Better food and more of it can help that."
He walked away, saying nothing. The guard outside the forge gave me a superior look as if to say eat what you're given.
That evenin' at dinner, my plate had beans with salt pork. I looked up and caught Mays' eyes and nodded my head. I had been holdin' back but now the pieces of my plan were fallin' into place. Soon all of us had salt pork in our beans when it was available and we laid more track.
Finishin' early in the forge the next mornin', I joined the work crew twenty minutes earlier. We were spreadin' the crushed rock from the last shipment to make a bed for the tracks. I started to calculate our supplies.
"Sir?" I asked Senior Guard Mays.
"Huh?"
"When are we gettin' our next shipment of crushed rock, sir?"
"I don't know, convict. Get back to work."
"Sir," I said again to get his attention. He waved me off like I was an annoyin' gnat but this was important.
"Better be important, convict," he growled.
"If we don't get more crushed stone soon, we ain't gonna make two and a half miles."
"Then, work faster."
"Can't lay track without the bed of crushed stone."
That got his attention. He walked over to where the pile of crushed stone had been dumped and ahead to the flag that marked two and a half miles. He watched closer as I shoveled the stone and the men spread it around.
"Can we spread it thinner?" he asked me. The men stirred and took sideways looks at me. A guard, a senior guard, had asked a convict for advice. I knew I had established the relationship I was tryin' to; to get him to look at me as a partner and not a slave.
"Too dangerous, sir." I was careful to be respectful. As I kept shovelin', I added, "Got an idea, sir."
"Convicts don't have ideas. You don't think, you just do as you are ordered." His voice was irritated.
I thought about what Heyes would say before I spoke. "Well, if we was ordered to hitch the horses and go down to the river and shovel that stone along the river into the wagon we might just be able to get enough stone."
"That stone's too big."
"Sir, if I was ordered to take a sledgehammer and pound those big rocks into stones, they would be usable in the track bed, especially if they were mixed in with this crushed stone."
"Convicts, stop work. I have decided that you," he pointed at me, "will get the horses and wagon and we will go down to the river and you will fill the wagon with stones. Bring them back here, crush them and mix them with what we have left of the crushed stone sent to us," Senior Guard Mays ordered.
In his mind it had already become his own idea. I didn't care, just didn't want to fall short of our goal. Havin' a back slashed by lashes makes the heat hotter. Just because we hit that goal didn't mean the lashes stopped. It gave the guards a feelin' of power over us, of superiority. The junior guards especially were quick with the whip.
We made the crushed stone, and you couldn't tell it from the other. We reached the two and a half miles and further that week. I had worked hard but the time lost to makin' the crushed stone prevented us from getting to the bonus goal. When the overseer came the next week, he brought two other men with him. This was not unusual, these two came every time we moved camp. They scouted the laid tacks and approved them. Then found a site about five miles further along the route. We would lose a day in each move and our goal was reduced by a quarter mile. This time, I thought somethin' was different. They studied the bed, wooden ties and rails closer. I was curious what was going to be discussed in the weekly meetin'. I got in place early. I heard voices but knew the guards weren't there yet.
"They made the two and a half miles?" I was sure that it was the railroad overseer's voice I heard.
"Yes, and more."
"But how? We didn't send them enough crushed stone. Did you check the beds laid for the tracks?" The overseer sounded upset.
"Everything is to standard or above. Maybe you miscalculated what you sent? Or maybe they had some left from the week before?"
It was quiet so I didn't think I'd learn more but then the overseer spoke in a growl, "All this means is Senior Guard Mays won't lose his position this week. You will have to wait to become Senior Guard."
I was in a quandary. (Quandary another word Heyes would use. I knew what it meant now.) If I warned Mays, he would know I had been listenin'. If he went into the meetin' and bragged about making the crushed stone, I didn't know how the overseer would react. I didn't think he would be happy.
Deciding to do the right thing, I stepped out of the horse's livery, really only a tent to store them and their hay out of the sun, and motioned to Mays on his way to the meetin'.
"Sir."
"Later, convict."
"No, sir, now," I said firmly, too firmly. I looked down and folded my hands in front of me to try and not sound threatenin'. He had to listen to me.
He walked under the tent. "What is it, convict? I'm going to a meeting."
"Yes, sir. I…um…just happened to hear them talkin' in there. Heard somethin' you need to know."
"Speak."
I watched him as he listened to me. I made it short; we didn't have much time. At first, his look was skeptical but when I finished, he believed me. I suggested softly that he not say where the extra stone came from.
"Thank you, Curry," he said. I was surprised he had used my name but we were alone. I saw thanks and a new determination in him as he left the tent. "You will be listening in again, won't you, convict," he said with a sly grin.
"Ah, Senior Guard Mays, we thought you weren't coming." The overseer greeted him coldly.
'Sorry, sir, I was delayed."
"We have determined that you again hit your goal. Good work. It is time to move camp. We will determine the new location tomorrow."
"Yes, sir."
"Here's your goal for this week and what you need to hit for a bonus."
"Sir, you forgot to figure the move into our goal. It says two and a half miles."
"That's right, Mays, your goal is still two and a half miles."
"But, sir…"
"That is your goal. Work the men harder or coddle them more as I've heard you've been doing," the overseer said with a sneer.
The Senior Guard did not answer. I imagined him giving him the blank look he gave the prisoners.
"Well, to show the men we are serious about the goal this week, each man will receive three lashes before we leave today. Mr. Pepiot here will administer the lashes."
"Where are the men now?"
"Heading to work on the rails two miles from here. They should be almost there."
"See that they are brought in promptly and Mr. Pepiot will complete the lashes so we can leave."
"We will lose more time, sir."
"That is your problem, Senior Guard."
"Yes, sir. Here is the requisition for the week. I have requested some extra crushed stone in case we can do more than our goal."
I hurried back to the forge then. I usually was not guarded in the morning. None of the guards cared to rise as early as I did. The night guard slept in the chair at the entrance to our tent. I waited in the forge for the inevitable summons. My back wasn't healed from the last beatin' I had received. I knew the lashes and a moving day would make it near impossible for us to hit the two and a half mile goal. That would lead to more lashes and less water, and weaker labor. I wasn't sure how Mays was goin' to react to the coddlin' comment from his boss. A boss he knew now was tryin' to replace him. I learned later that these private railroad guard jobs were prized. The guards made good pay and bonuses.
I reviewed my plans. I made new plans and rejected them. I knew there had to be a way to get two and a half miles. I was still thinkin' when the men returned and we were lined up and beaten. Pepiot's whip had a small sharp metal blade at the tip that tore into our flesh. I stood still, thought of other things and counted each lash, refusin' to make a sound. But the other men yelped and screamed. One of the older men, Aaron, collapsed to the ground.
"Leave him there!" ordered the overseer. And we had no choice but to watch him roll on the ground in pain as the burning sand hit his open wounds.
The overseer and his two men clapped each other on the back, smiling. Went to the tent and filled up their canteens and boarded the train.
As soon as the train was out of sight, we crowded around Aaron. Carrying him gently, I placed him face down on his bed. He had lost consciousness by this time. Surprised, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Mays handed me a tin of salve.
"Make it last. That's all I got."
I spread some on Aaron's back and then called the other men over and covered their open wounds one by one. Then, looking at the four guards watchin' us, I turned and I knew the determination in my voice might sound defiant to them.
"We're ready to go lay track."
"Curry," one of the prisoners asked me. "What about your back? I'll put it on for you."
"Ain't no more" I said, throwing the empty tin on one of the beds. I walked out the door and the men lined up behind me. The two junior guards watched over us as we walked to where we had left off on the tracks. Dark came late that day and we worked until we couldn't see. We trudged back to the camp exhausted and hurtin' to learn that Aaron had died. His death was unfortunate, the guard who had stayed with him told me. But silently to myself I called it murder.
Senior Guard Mays and one of the plow horses was gone when we returned. The cook said he left before we did, ordering beans with salt pork and a special treat, canned tomatoes for dinner for the convicts. We were so tired that we could barely lift our spoons to our mouths. But the beans tasted good, so good. And the tomatoes were an unbelievably delicious addition.
The men all slept well but I could not sleep. My back burned when my sweaty shirt stuck to the lacerations. And my brain was goin', thinkin', plannin'. I smiled realizin' how Heyes felt when he was plannin' a robbery. Sittin' up, I called the guard on duty over.
"Goin' to start packin' up. The forge is always the hardest to move."
He nodded, unlocked me from the bed, and shackled my ankles. I fired up the forge and reinforced the side of the wagon with iron straps, makin' them taller. Did the same to the bottom of the wagon so it could hold more weight. Did all the work I would have done the next mornin' and packed up the mini blacksmith shop I called mine. It was always the hardest part of the move. Any time saved was time the men could start layin' track. Losin' a day, with sore, bleedin' backs and now a man down that goal of two and a half miles seemed to be slippin' away from us. And with it any gains in our condition. I couldn't accept that. I kept plannin'. I was strong, the men would do as I asked. We would still hit the goal. Now I worried that Mays wouldn't come back with the horse we needed.
When I thought I was tired enough, I returned to the sleep tent. The guard was sleepin' soundly. I walked right by him and collapsed on my bed, sleepin' in my ankle shackles.
The camp was busy early, everyone preparin' for the move. The train would take everything as far as we had laid track. The wagon and horses would be in the first load. They would transport everything the rest of the way to the new camp. If I led the horses instead of ridin in the driver's seat, they would be able to take more weight. The goal was to move as quickly as possible.
ASJ*****ASJ
I realized I had eaten all the food. Lom had thought to get an apple and it tasted like the sweetest fruit I ever had. I stood and stretched and sat on my bed. I needed boots. The prison issue shoes were thick enough to mask the heat of the sand but stood out here in the city. "Need to get some boots."
"Tomorrow, Kid, before we catch the train."
I leaned back against the headboard and continued my story.
ASJ*****ASJ
The train was late and when it came it brought Senior Guard Mays and, to my relief, our missing horse. He was also accompanied by four men in suits. Seein' that all the preparations were completed, Mays nodded to me.
"Please line up the convicts. Get the cook and the other guard, these men have a few announcements," Mays told the guard nearby.
The tents had all been dismantled and we stood in the morning sun.
"Convicts," Mays started. "The railroad overseer and his team have been replaced." He turned to the men who had come with him. "These two men on my right own this railroad and your contracts."
I looked down. The concept of being owned still grated on me even though I had chosen this life.
"This man on my left is the new overseer for the railroad, Reginald Mays, and his assistant, Mr. Diggs."
We all stood quiet, interested in how these changes would affect us. Senior Guard Mays motioned to the new overseer. Lookin' at them, I knew they were brothers. From their shared looks, they were also friends.
Reginald Mays stepped forward. "Yes, we are brothers," he started. "My brother and I had an interesting meeting with the owners of this railroad. It has resulted in the dismissal of the previous overseer and his staff. The railroad is moving forward with charges of theft and misuse of funds against them."
He looked down the line of men standing in front of him, none of us making eye contact. "Things will continue to change around here. I worked directly with these men and the overseer worked for me. Until my brother came to me last night, I had no idea of what was happening. The first change is we are granting the convict Jed Curry the position of trustee."
A spontaneous cry of "Yeah!" went up from the men. I didn't want the position. I was not a leader like Heyes had been. I preferred to stay in the background.
"It is not something you can turn down," the new overseer informed me sternly.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," I said to the ground.
"My brother has seen good changes around here. Changes that have led to healthier labor and improved speed in laying high quality track. Starting today, those changes will become official. You may bring water from the river every morning before breakfast and have water breaks whenever needed throughout the day. The horses will also be given all the water they need. Wild cactus will be gathered and the cook will include it in meals for both the convicts and the guards. Salt pork will be added to all the beans. Eggs will be delivered by train when available. The beef and canned foods will still only be for the guards."
Lookin' around, I saw the men start to look up at the man talkin' then look at me.
"As for goals. Checking the records, I see you have been hitting two and a half miles consistently." He turned to the guards assembled there. "At this level, you all should have been getting bonuses every week."
I saw the guards looking at each other and then at Senior Guard Mays, who shrugged his shoulders. "The last overseer had decided that this bonus money was his to dole out and he doled it all out to himself. Going forward, your weekly goal is two miles which was your goal all along; you will get a bonus at two and a half miles. IF you lay three miles of track…" He stopped and looked at each man, waitin' until they finally raised their eyes and looked at him before he continued. "IF you lay three miles of track in a week, each man here, including convicts, will get a small bonus. We will give you a receipt and it will be given to you in full the day you leave."
He turned to his brother. "Since there is a move this week, your goal is one mile and three quarters. Seems like you are prepared already for the move."
Mays stepped forward to stand by the new railroad overseer. "The owners are here so you will know we are serious. I just learned that a convict died last night. His body will go back on this train, and he will be replaced. Now get back to the work you were doing. Convict Curry, we would like a word with you in private."
Looking at the men, they were in a state of shock, not sure what to make of this change. They quickly went back to the packing, a chore they knew how to do.
I followed Mays to the last table set up by where the food tent once stood. "Curry, you have impressed my brother," the new overseer said.
"Thank you, sir," I said softly, still trying to figure out what all this meant to my plan. "Don't want any part of disciplinin' the men."
"That's not part of your job. You already run the forge and take care of the horses."
"Yes, sir."
"And work with the crew laying track."
"Yes, sir,"
"But I'm told you never swing the hammer at the spikes." The overseer looked amused rather than angry.
"No, sir, I ain't much good at usin' a hammer of any size 'cept in the forge."
"You can be relieved of working on the track and instead help to guard the men."
"No, sir. I mean I'd rather not, sir. I want to work with the men. It's the reason we hit our goals."
The men in front of me exchanged knowing looks. "We are aware of that. We wanted to hear you say it. We have decided that you will be entitled to half of a guard's bonus going forward. Like we told the other convicts, we will give you a receipt and hold the money for you until your contract is up."
I was already gettin' paid a small amount for bein' the blacksmith. With this I would have even more money for a start when you got us pardoned, Lom.
That's how it's been ever since and brings us today. I done what I said I'd do. I learned a real profession. I'm strong. I ain't goin' let anythin' happen to those I consider family. That's Heyes, for sure, and you, Lom. Someday maybe a wife and children.
Lom gave me a look I didn't understand when I said this. Or maybe it was sleepiness hittin't and I was seeing things.
And I did like Ma told me and left things better than when I got there. Thanks to you, I'm a free man and I have some money in my pocket.
LOM
Kid turned down the lamp. Stretching out his legs, he winked at me. "Feels good to do that."
"Didn't look like those shackles stopped you much," I commented, knowing we were going to talk about one of the two topics I had avoided all day. Both were guaranteed to rile up the Kid and I needed him focused once we got to Colorado.
"The shackles are like the heat. You don't like 'em but can't do anythin' about 'em. Stronger I got, the less they held me back." He turned those blue eyes with that steady, gunfighter's gaze on me. It still brought a run of fear up my back, even now. "Why we gotta be in Colorado so fast? Heyes transferred there?"
I looked into the fire to avoid those eyes. I had told myself the time for lies had passed. "No, but we are going to get someone out of the Colorado State Correctional Facility," I answered, delaying telling him as long as I could.
"Who, Lom? One of the boys?"
I had to make him understand what was going to happen next, but I could not avoid answering his question. All our actions revolved around this answer and his response.
"No, Kid. Chrissy McWinters."