Pursuit Of The Cygnus Thief

Chapter 4 - A Heaved Heavers

Chapter Four

A Heaved Heavers

     Officially, Scrub Peak was off limits because large rocks occasionally tumbled down from its top and killed people below. Unofficially, Scrub Peak was verboten because less reasonable minds in Assumption clung to the belief that it was the haunt of angry spirits. The ‘woo-woo’ factor probably had much to do with the violent history of the summit. Scrub Peak afterall, was the infamous scene of mob vengance and a series of lethal mishaps dating back from the founding of Assumption in 1877, until well into the Prohibition Era. The foremost legend concerned Sheriff Bob Heavers, who arrived in the then newly formed silver mining village to keep the peace. On his first day of duty, Sheriff Heavers witnessed an old dusty looking Indian clasp the hands of a white lady right in the middle of the main road. Eager to enforce the social conventions of the day and make a favorable impression on the villagers, the new lawman went into action. First, Sheriff Heavers learned that the man’s name was “Apache Dick.” Then, Heavers tracked the man down and beat him senseless before he arrested “Apache Dick” for assault and disorderly conduct. Under normal circumstances, the Sheriff’s behavior would have been lauded. Sheriff Heavers was in the Village of Assumption however; and had failed to ask a few pertinent questions before he’d taken action.

     In his zeal, the Sheriff had unwittingly committed a grave error, one later compounded when “Apache Dick” died in Heaver’s custody. In a turn that must have bewildered Heavers, the villagers vehemently decried the actions of their new Sheriff. Much too late to escape Assumption with his life, Heavers learned that “Apache Dick” was Mr. Rick McKee and the lady in question, McKee’s eldest daughter, Mrs. Audrey Barca. Mr. Rick McKee owned two silver mines outside of Assumption and scores of acreage in the surrounding area. “Apache Dick” was simply an assumed moniker that referenced McKee’s stellar military record throughout the Indian Wars in service to U.S. Army. In Heaver’s defense, years under the unmitigated western sky had left a dark haired “Apache Dick” with deeply tanned skin, while silver mining had left him with little concern for his appearance, except for the meticulous arrangement of commemorative eagle feathers prominently affixed to his hat. A mob gathered. The mob seethed. Then, the mob siezed Sheriff Heavers and took him up to the summit of Scrub Peak. A trial was held upon the summit. No fewer than seven McKees and two Barcas sat on the makeshift twelve-man jury. After five minutes, Sheriff Bob Heavers was declared guilty of murder. His sentence was death.

     Perhaps poetically or perhaps to underscore the dramatic irony of the entire situation; Sheriff Heavers was grabbed by his ankles and wrists, then heaved over the north face of Scrub Peak to his death. Thus, a man who had once made a living fighting Indians found his end in being mistaken for one. In addition, a man who’d been eager to impress and enforce the law, found his end at the hands of the incensed and lawless.

     An outside investigation revealed that the late Sheriff Bob Heavers had died while exploring Scrub Peak alone. It was a shame the people agreed; that Bob Heavers, bless his heart had disregarded numerous warnings about the loose rocks up on Scrub Peak. The mob in Assumption prevailed; the character of the village was cast and a closed power structure erected. It was no coincidence therefore; that all subsequent peace officers assigned to regulate Assumption, bore the surnames McKee or Barca.

     It was true. Any McKee or Barca was always more than happy to crow about the righteousness of their ancestors in the face of a corrupt lawman. The subtext was unsubtle: cross any descendant of these legendary heroes and face, the finality offered by the rocks at the foot of Scrub Peak. It was hardly an accident then that even in my day; well after the silver lodes had been tapped out that the McKees, Barcas, and more recently, the Abels, still maintained their chokehold on the people of Assumption.

     “Amelia. It’s almost four o’clock!” Ron was at my side and we were standing at the southern face of the summit. Almost directly below, lay the jumbled shacks and out houses of the Po’Court separated by a littered dirt path edged by rusted fragments of ancient machinery. Mrs. Parrish had once divulged that my mother; who had been an outsider, upset the social order of Assumption when she'd attempted to help people living in the Po'Court. The emergence of Ron Flay’s family from squalor was possible in part, through the efforts of my stubbornly crusading mother. This fact, had always rendered Ron Flay unable to look me directly in the eyes. I glanced over my shoulder at Galina as she tossed a cigarette butt over the edge of the summit. Ron’s two friends had retreated to the rocks some distance away to smoke cigarettes and exchange whispers.

“I’ll walk her back home. Don’t worry.” Ron knew better but he always needed a reminder of what had once happened. He could climb down the rocks with Galina and even walk with her, for a short distance, as long as no one saw him do it. It was simple however; Galina needed to be in my company when she got home.

“Can’t you just walk ahead a little? Wait for us by the speed limit sign?” Ron briefly turned his attention down to the Po’Court. A herd of children in faded clothing chased a black dog through the littered middle of the dingy settlement more than two hundred feet below. In profile,I watched as Ron’s mouth formed a nasty sneer. Ron Blay was related to all of the people down in Po’Court and in some ways that were clearly violations of the law. He despised them all and occasionally spoke of setting the entire place ablaze.

“You know I can’t. If Galina’s parents even think—“

“—Shit.” Ron’s skin reddened. The Markhams would want proof that nothing had happened to their daughter. We all knew it. We had all seen what could happen. If there was even an iota of doubt about her value; Galina’s own word would not be good enough. I’d witnessed the outcome of Markham skepticism before and so had Ron Blay.

“They treat her like a prized pony.” Ron kicked at a rock, perhaps he wished to loosen a few and start an avalanche that would demolish the Po’Court and wipe out his unwanted relatives with it. Or, maybe it was only in recognition of futility.

“Time to go.” Galina called out. She waved at Ron’s two friends and beckoned Ron and me with an arrogant gesture. We forgave her. For Galina had nothing; not even the most private of places, to call her own.

“Maybe you could wait here a little while and then come down.” Ron stared over my head at Galina as he spoke. I caught a furtive flicker of something pass between Ron’s two friends and instantly recognized the “go for broke” nature of it.

“Fuck no.” I threw down the butt of the Chantuese and popped a mint in my mouth. A second glance downward revealed that the children in the Po’Court had lost track of their quarry and had viciously turned instead, upon one another. Their yelps and screams rose up to Scrub Peak and sounded like the cackles of agitated chickens in an over crowded hen house.

“Amelia, you should really clean out your mouth. You’re not lady-like.” Ron admonished. I grinned.

Yes. I liked to curse. I still do. My ability to summon up a good revolting combination of words has saved my hide on occasion and...I can swear by that. I’d learned most of the swear words I knew from Matilda, a curious fact amongst many others that no one in Assumption would ever believe of my housekeeper. I wanted to hurl an extraordinary combination of words at Ron but decided against it. His doomed devotion to Galina and the disgust he felt concerning his origins were already sharply rendered.

“Who cares Ron? Let’s get out of here.” Galina urged.