“I ain’t never stole nothing in my life,” Cob said miserably. He wished more than anything that his brothers would change their minds, and just head back to the shack. If they got some sleep, maybe tomorrow they wouldn’t be so gung-ho about turning outlaw. And wait a minute, what about the chicken bonus? Why, he bet they hadn’t even thought of that.
He was just getting ready to mention it when Cane said suddenly, “Come on, let’s go,” and they were hurrying across the open ground to the barn, stooped over like apes. Chimney unlatched the door quietly and pulled it open just enough for them to slip inside. They stood there for a minute while their eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then Cane handed Cob the shotgun. “Keep an eye on the house,” he whispered.
“No, I already told ye, I ain’t a-killin’ nobody,” Cob said loudly, trying to give the gun back.
“Jesus Christ,” Chimney hissed, “keep it down.”
“You don’t have to,” Cane said. “Just let us know if you see someone coming, that’s all.” Then he and Chimney set the machetes by the door and went feeling their way among the stalls, the horses now snuffling and stamping their feet nervously.
Inside the house, Thaddeus Tardweller was slouched in the parlor in his favorite chair when he heard a noise through the open window that made him sit up. His wife and daughter were spending the night at a cousin’s house on the other side of the county, and he had enjoyed a comfortable evening alone drinking brandy in the dark and idly thinking of all the women he had molested over the years. Almost like a man’s voice, he thought as he reached under the chair for his revolver. Draped in a long white nightshirt, he stepped out onto the porch and stood listening with his head cocked toward the barn. Goddamn, he almost wished somebody was out there, just to liven things up a bit. Only once in his life had anyone dared to steal from him, and he had made that whole pack of mulattoes pay for the one’s mistake. He had killed all the men and boys in a flurry, but then his lust got the better of him; and while he was fucking the prettiest of the wenches, the other three he had locked in the shack got away. It wasn’t until he was finished with her that he realized he should have made them dig their own graves first. Not being accustomed to labor, it had taken him two days to cover up all those niggers, and he’d nearly lost his mind, what with all the flies and the stink. When he was done, he told everyone that the fever had wiped them out, and, since the ones who escaped never showed their faces again, nobody even questioned it. Thank God for the memories, he thought. Sometimes they were all that kept him going these days. Staggering off the porch, he pulled back the hammer on the pistol and began crossing the yard, the hem of his nightshirt dragging through the dewy grass.
Cob, unfortunately, was much too tired for the task he’d been assigned. It had been, to his reckoning, the longest day of his life; and as soon as his brothers turned away, he had set the shotgun down, pressed one blurry eye against a crack in the siding, and promptly nodded off. As he dreamed of Pearl walking through clouds with a white napkin tied around his neck, Cane and Chimney finished choosing three horses from among the six in the stalls, two brown thoroughbreds and a gray Arabian. They had just started to bridle them when they heard Tardweller yell in a drunken voice, “Come on out now, you sonofabitch, and I’ll let you go.” A moment or two later he added with a snicker, “I give you my word as a God-fearin’ Christian.”
Dropping the bridles, Cane and Chimney hurried past a still sleeping Cob to the door and peered out. The Major was no more than a few feet from them, weaving a little as he awaited a response. “Goddamn,” Chimney whispered, as they bent down and picked up the machetes. If by some miracle they got out of this alive, he thought, he would strangle Cob with his bare hands. Cane should have known better than to trust him with anything. The stupid sonofabitch— Just then, one of the horses kicked against the side of its stall, sounding like a cannon going off, and Tardweller jerked the door open. “Well,” he said, as he started to step inside, “I give you a chance, you thievin’ piece of shit, but you—”