Everyone unloaded, eyes lifted to a steel-blue sky while the sun stared down at them, not a blink of a cloud anywhere to be seen. Del swatted about his head, neck, and arms, where armies of mosquitoes swirled, landing on any patch of exposed skin. Fires burned nearby using damp wood to increase the smoke, an attempt at keeping the biting insects away. Mostly, it contributed to the hacking cough they’d all developed. Del felt sorry for the mules, their tails twitching nonstop, skin rippled and lumpy with bites. He’d heard tell of a mule stung so bad during the night in the Florida Everglades, it died.
On this morning, as the air hung heavy, Ballard appeared to cough more than usual. He rode bent forward, as if he was having trouble staying upright on his horse. He drew a rag from his pocket, wiped his forehead, and Dell noted the man’s complexion was a gray, sickly color. Maybe he was purely worn-out, like they all were. Del entered the woods, grateful for the solace among the pines. There was a slight breeze out of the west, and it was as if the trees whispered a soft greeting. With the soothing sound filling his head, he began his work. The morning went along nice and quiet, and before he knew it, the dinner break bell rang. He didn’t see hide nor hair of Cobb among those who ate, and rested under the trees. Soon Del was back at it, chipping his catfaces at a steady pace, occasionally hearing the other men call out, his own voice chiming in quick and sure. Crow wandered by more than once, for no good reason other than to make some snide comment.
“Y’alls lower’n low. You and Cobb. Worser’n their kind. The both of you go against what’s intended. Hell. Least they stick to their own. Damn shame is what it is. Downright common, you ask me.”
Del had become adept at tuning him out, and eventually Crow moved on. At one point, the baying of hounds owned by a woods rider named Woodall rose above the men shouting their call names. It had to be some poor soul who decided to try their luck escaping. Close to quitting time, more shouts filtered through the woods. Taking a final swipe at the face of his last tree, Del stuck the tool in his waistband and headed toward the yelling, expecting to see one of the runners about to be whipped. Instead, a group of men stood around Ballard, who had collapsed and was stretched out on the ground. Cobb was nearby, his hand over the eye that still bothered him. Crow stared at the fallen man and believed he was dead, but then Ballard quivered like he was having a fit. He tried sitting up, only to collapse on his back again.
Del approached one of the workers. “What’s the matter with him?”
“Got the fever, I betcha.”
Crow said, “Dewdrop, get Gus, tell him to bring the wagon round and to hurry it up.”
Dewdrop took off running down the path, while Crow reflected further on Ballard. “Thought he seemed a mite puny these past couple of weeks.”
Ballard’s eyelids fluttered, his chest rose, sank, and didn’t rise again. Crow dropped to his knees, put his hand over the man’s mouth. Next, he laid his head on his chest. He straightened up, lifted Ballard’s arm, and let it drop. It hit the dirt with a dull thud.
He bent over, shouted in Ballard’s ear. “Hey! Ballard!”
He sat back on his haunches, elbows propped on his knees, gazing with a puzzled look at the body in front of him.
With a hint of wonderment, Crow said, “The son of a gun’s done died on us.”
Del had seen enough dead people to know what a body looked like after the soul fled, and Ballard was good as gone. Those who worked for the fallen woods rider spoke in low voices, clearly worried over what would happen. The kid appeared upset. He’d dropped the hand covering his eye, and Del winced at the sight. Gus Strickland arrived with the wagon, and the men grew quiet as he pulled alongside Ballard.
Somehow word had got to Peewee, who arrived right after Gus and he said, “I’ll be damned. He’s dead?”
Crow said, “He’s a goner.”
Peewee said, “Got a missus, them young’uns too. It’s a shame. Got to have me another woods rider. Somebody’s got to take over his work hands.”
Crow said, “Put’em under me. I’ll work’em better’n anybody else.”
Peewee said, “You can’t handle twice the men. Too much area to ride, too many to keep up with. Naw. Woodall, he done lost two today. They didn’t never find’em, and I can’t be having no more opportunities for’em to run.”
The work hands shuffled about, hearing the big boss man discuss men escaping. Del had heard of Woodall only a couple times. He had a pack a coon hounds used to hunt the ones who took off. Aside from the thick woods, there were areas of cypress waters a few miles to the east of the camp, and some had been led to believe they had a chance of escaping through them. Nobody ever heard back from those who made the attempt. This was either good news or bad. Del dropped his eyes to where Ballard lay and didn’t dare spare a glance at Peewee.
The silence grew, then Peewee said, “Butler. Why’nt you take Ballard’s job? You said you’d done it all when I hired you on.”
Crow made a derisive noise. “He’ll go softer on’em than Ballard did. He’ll hold’em by the hand, pat’em on the ass, let’em do as much or as little as they want.”
Peewee waved at Del to step away from the others. Crow paced, clearly agitated as they went out of earshot.
Under the shade of a tall pine, Peewee said, “Here’s the truth. I got to have someone keeping Sweeney in check. Every single one of them workers needs to do what we expect’em to do. Everyone liked Ballard. He could get these hands going and he did it without damaging the goods, if you get my meaning. Now, I know the new kid ain’t keeping up. I expect he’ll get better as time goes on. Sweeney, he’s heavy-handed, but I always hold out hope he’ll see it can be done different. Will you do it? I’ll up your pay. How’s a dollar a day?”
That was twenty-five cents more than what he was making. Del contemplated everything taking the job meant. He’d be in charge of workers all good at making their quota except Cobb, and he could worry about him when he had to. While he loved working the trees, being a woods rider won’t so bad, either. He would be equal to Crow. He studied his worn-out boots, the Hoover leather having been replaced many times over. A bit more money might allow him to buy some things he was needing. Pay off his commissary debt. The thing was, he remembered telling Crow he’d be better at it. If he took it, Crow was sure to remember, and he was the sort who’d make it his job to prove him wrong.
Peewee said, “A dollar twenty-five.”
He’d be a fool not to take it.
Del said, “All right.”
Peewee clapped his hand on Del’s shoulder, “Something tells me you’ll do real good.”
Del stuck his thumb over his shoulder at Crow. “Don’t let him know you think so.”
Peewee dipped in closer to Del. “Yeah, he can be tough to deal with. Him and Otis, they’s tight. Like to stir things up. Mean sons a bitches is what they are. It worries me sometimes when I see the two of’em together; they’re the conniving sort.”
Peewee had his hands full with such a big operation and probably needed help in more ways than one. They went back to where Ballard’s workers hovered around his body.
Peewee waved a hand toward Del. “This here’s your new boss man.”
The men under Ballard appeared both relieved and nervous. They didn’t know Del. He half expected Crow to run his mouth, but his only reaction was to snort and spit a stream of tobacco juice on the ground.
Peewee said, “Go on and get Ballard’s horse, there. You might have to work something out with the missus. I got to break the news to’em anyhow, tell’em they can’t stay, not unless they can work. I can’t see it happening, not with them kids and all. Why don’t you come on with me and we’ll see what she’ll take for this ole nag.”
Del went over to the mare. The horse stood close to her previous owner, head down, and near Ballard’s shoulder. Del led her away and ran a hand over the white streak on her nose. He hadn’t been on a horse in a while, but was familiar enough with them, and liked them. He continued rubbing her while those who’d worked for Ballard watched him with wary eyes. Del gathered the reins from where they hung, and faced his crew. He felt he ought to say something to them.
He said, “It’s gonna take some time to get to know you, and vice versa. I don’t expect nothing from any one of you more than an honest day’s work. I’m fair-minded, and you’ll come to see that in short order. Long as you do the work, we’ll be all right. Any questions?”