Read Totentanz for Free Online

folks
even heard him say words to that effect. He said, 'Life ain't worth
living without my boys, I can't see any use going on this way.' And
he just gave up on it. 'Course he didn't know you were alive and
all, none of us knew that. And that's the damn shame of it, because
that might have turned the trick. I really think it would have. He
loved you, son, always said you were his favorite. It's a damn
shame he didn't know you were safe."
    With any other man, he would have ended this
speech with a firm squeeze on the shoulder and then separation, to
be followed by a walk down the street and a light on a new
cigar.
    "Who shot him?"
    Again a line of sweat broke on the fat man's
brow. "Well, now, we never did find that out. Consensus was, it was
a hand he had working over there with him, named Lucius. Black
fellow. Ran away after the shooting, so we figured it must have
been him. Sheriff Deacon, he did a real good job trying to track
that boy down, but just had no luck. None at all. And couldn't find
any reason to think it might have been any other way. Unless of
course. . . ." The mayor caught himself before plunging ahead, and
then, feeling he had to complete what he had started, said in a
much lower Tm-real-sorry-for-you,-boy' voice, "Unless, of course,
your daddy took his own life."
    Eyes, blue-gray ice, turned on the mayor.
    " 'Course we ruled that out," the mayor
added. "Doc said there was definitely foul play. 'Course people
always will talk . . . But we're sure, we're all damn sure, that
black fellow did it."
    "I heard otherwise."
    "Did you?" The mayor feigned slight amusement
and reproach. Once again his hand reached out of its own accord to
grasp, to assure; once again the hand fell limp to crawl defeated
back into the mayor's pocket.
    "Like I said, I heard otherwise."
    His finger moved smoothly to the stock of his
rifle, felt the old use there, the tiredness, the defeat. With
practiced effort, his fingers sought to warm the rifle back to
life, put the spark of death back into it. "What I heard was, the
whole town murdered him." His voice stayed cool and even. "I heard
lots of things." Once again his eyes bored into the fat man. “Tell
me, who owns my father's land now?"
    The mayor's sweaty hands had nowhere to go,
nothing to hold onto and squeeze with falsehood. They played around
his pockets, his lapels, his watch chain, and finally his watch,
winding it so hard the spring inside broke with an audible
sound.
    "Town owns the land, of course. Your daddy
never did settle his claim on it."
    The other spit on the ground, not missing the
mayor's white shoe. "I saw what you did with that farm. Couldn't
wait to get your hands on it. The house and barn are already half
torn down."
    The sweat had disappeared from the fat man's
lips and brow. "Soon be ten new homes out that way, with ten more
planned next year."
    He brought his war gun up, but hands not the
mayor's were laid on it. His eyes swiveled to see that others had
come onto the darkening street.
    "I think we got us a suspect in that little
girl's death last week," the man who laid his hand on the rifle
said. He had a dull five-point star on his shirt. Firmly he took
the rifle away. "Shame about your brother at Gettysburg," he said.
“Heard he was a real brave boy." The sheriff grinned, a yellow,
dull, tobacco-stained smile. "And don't you worry about Lucius. Him
telling you all those stories. We know he was the one killed your
daddy. We'll catch him yet. Reckon we only got to look from where
you came." He said quietly to the mayor, "I fear we'll be having a
hanging, maybe two, before long."
    The mayor replied, his hands finally finding
safe passage on the lawman's shoulders, squeezing them, "I think we
best have one of those hangings before another sun gets high."
     
    In the night he heard quick hammers working.
Steel nails met and kissed wood, and at dawn, through the bars of
his cell, he watched them prove the rope tight and true.
    They led him up the scaffold and