Rock

By J.B. Patel

Nothing could erase the smile etched on the face of the convict named Rock. The heat of the summer Arizona sun beating on his bare back, blood trickling from the six-inch bullwhip gash on his back, the sound of a dozen mauls smashing rocks, the dust; all were testament to the deck stacked against him and reasons not to smile.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483587103

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The Pit at Yuma Prison.

The boredom of the dank adobe-walled cell in Arizona’s territorial prison at Yuma was preferred to being summoned to work in the pit. Not a cloud in the sky brought relief from the fury of the sun’s heat. The temperature was nearing one hundred-twenty degrees at ground level. In the pit below, no air moved, the heat intensified. Ten prisoners broke up gold ore hauled in by rail. The ore was brought in to the prison once a week from the railhead by wagons, courtesy of the warden’s brother-in-law. Above the pit four guards stood watch beneath makeshift lean-to shelters with sawed off shotguns, they wore gloves so they wouldn’t burn themselves if they accidentally touched the metal gun barrels.

One of the guards spoke across the pit at a man holding a sixteen-foot bullwhip, Hey Whip. Here comes Brady Lawson. He’s been gone for nigh onto two months. Wonder what he’ll say about your game with Rock.

The prisoner in the pit below called Rock heard the remark and glanced up with a grin, the man referred to as Whip snapped, Keep your nose down murderer. Don’t stop working or you’ll get another taste of this whip.

The prisoner chanced one more glance up at Whip, smiled and said, Yes sir.

The short and powerfully built Whip spoke quietly to the guard next to him, I’ll wipe that damn smile off his kisser if it’s the last thing I do. Zeb. Who is Brady Lawson?

Zebulon Trask cradled the forearm of the sawed- off carefully in his arm, cautious not to touch the hot metal, Brady has been here longer than most of us. He’s the straw-boss. I think Rock’s one of his favorites, although he would be the first one to tell you not to get close to any of the prisoners.

The guard referred to as Whip kept his eyes on the prisoner Rock, hoping Rock would slow down enough to give an excuse to put another gash on his back. The man called Whip snarled his question, How can he get close to any one of these men? They are all in here for murder. In Rock’s case, there was a double murder.

As Brady Lawson approached, Zeb shrugged as he drifted away to the opposite lean-to, distancing himself from the guard called Whip, I’ll let Brady tell you about Rock. Zeb smiled at what was about to unfold, Hey, Brady. Nice to see you back.

Brady Lawson stepped to the edge of the pit, Can’t say it’s nice to be back Zeb. But, a job’s a job.

Zebulon Trask figured he would toss a little fuel on the fire, Brady. New man here. He got himself a nickname already. The prisoners call him, Whip.

Brady nodded but didn’t hold out his hand, he stepped beneath the lean-to and looked down into the pit, How come Rock and Fresno have their shirts off?

The man called Whip spoke up, I’ve taken a liking to the one called Rock. I’m trying to wipe the smile off his face.

Brady Lawson showed no emotion, in the years he spent as prison guard, he figured he had heard and seen just about everything, For a new man on the job you’ve given yourself quite a task. Rock’s been smiling ever since he got here. I suppose you’re the one that put the wound on his back?

Whip smiled and proudly nodded, Caught him just right, must be six inches long and a half inch deep.

What did he do?

Nothing. Like I said, just trying to wipe the smile off his face.

What about Fresno? What did he do to deserve the bare back in this sun?

Spoke up for Rock. I figure he’s a damn murderer, he doesn’t have an opinion I’m willing to listen to. He should keep his mouth shut.

Brady still showed no emotion, the skin on the backs of both Rock and Fresno were bright red, Brady’s voice carried no emotion, Rock. Fresno. What are you trying to do; get a suntan? Get your shirts on.

The man named Rock stepped to the place where his shirt lay and slipped it over his broad shoulders and grinned up at Brady, Thanks Brady. It’s nice to see you back. Hope all went well at home.

Rock didn’t wait for a reply, he picked up his maul and went back to work. Brady Lawson spoke quietly to the guard beside him he knew only as Whip, I don’t expect you to like these boys, but you get rid of the whip and do your job. Maybe you’ll live a little longer. That is if these boys learn to respect you instead of hating you. Except for Rock, most of those men have nothing to lose. If they hate you enough they’ll gladly trade their lives to put you in a grave. They get an opportunity; they’ll kill you any way they can for no payment other than a cheer from the rest of the prisoners. I can tell you they have a ton of ways to kill a man and they have plenty of time on their hands to dream up a few more.

Brady called across the pit, Zeb. Why is Rock still here? He was due to be released a month ago?

Zeb grinned slightly and nodded toward the guard referred to as Whip, You’ll have to ask old, ‘Whip’.

Without qualms Whip stated, I held his release papers, I figure a two-time killer shouldn’t get out of prison until he wipes that damned smile off his face. I figure he’s a young man, convicted of two murders, we should keep him around as long as we can.

Brady’s head sagged in obvious disappointment. Brady figured some of the men on guard were as bad as the prisoners in the pit below. Brady was silent for some time, he wanted to figure some way to make an impact on the new guard called Whip. Lawson figured Whip may be around for a long time. Brady quietly related, I’ll tell you this because I don’t want to work with someone that may get me killed. Rock’s had that smile on his face ever since he came here about seven years ago.

The man called Whip didn’t like the idea of being lectured. He showed his resentment, His records said he was sent up eleven years ago?

Brady nodded, You did some studying. You are right. He spent his first four years in Kansas. Leavenworth.

It was time for Whip to shake his head in question. He asked, You mean to tell me he was guilty of murder in Colorado, was sent to Leavenworth, and then sent here to the Territorial Prison here at Yuma? What was the deal? Was he too hard to handle at Leavenworth?

Brady Lawson showed no emotion. He was thankful the new guard was smart enough to recognize the irregularity in the treatment of the prisoner Rock. Brady continued, Rock’s never been hard to handle. His record from Leavenworth stated he was a model prisoner. This whole thing with Rock has been a puzzle to me too. Only thing I figure, someone’s been trying to bury him. Whoever it was, pulled a few strings, got Rock’s sentence increased and had him transferred here to Yuma. About three years after Rock got here there was an attempt on his life.

Whip shrugged, They are always trying to kill each other. They are animals. We should let them kill each other.

Brady Lawson ignored the obvious prejudice and continued, The attempt on Rock’s life was more than a couple of prisoners trying to establish pecking order. The guy had his pockets filled with gold coins, enough to buy his way out of here. I asked the other prisoners who paid the guy off. I didn’t get any straight answers. Nobody even knew how he got into the prison in the first place. Usually I can get the information out of them, I figured they didn’t know. But, there’s been no more attempts to kill Rock since. The man that made the attempt is dead.

Whip asked, How’d he die?

Brady smiled, He came at Rock with a knife. Rock blocked the move, grabbed his wrist with both hands. The way the prisoners tell, they both fell over backwards and when Rock got up off the ground the knife was sticking out of the guy’s chest.

Rock killed another prisoner and he’s due to get out?

He killed two people while in prison. That one that tried to kill him and one while fighting.

Fighting? I can’t get him to quit smiling. I’d like to get him alone so I could beat the smile off his face.

Brady laughed mockingly at the prospect, I don’t think you’d last more than ten seconds with him toe to toe.

The man called Whip bristled, I’ve been in a few fights.

I doubt you’ve ever had to fight a man of his caliber. We used to have fights here once a month. Rock was our top draw. The Warden had a few betting men in to watch the fights. They tied two prisoners together by the wrist with a short rope so the fight wouldn’t last long and made bets on them. They went at it until one man refused to get up. Rock was never beaten. The last time he fought, about two years ago, he killed a man. The man swung at Rock, Rock ducked inside the punch, hit him in the chest coming in. The blow must have stopped his heart, the guy dropped dead on the spot. After that night, Rock refused to fight. The warden put him in max with Fresno, and gets him out here every day busting rocks, I think maybe in part to keep him quiet. The fights are frowned on by the territory’s politicians. Have you ever bothered to sit down in front of Fresno and Rock’s cell and play a little poker with them?

No. They don’t have anything to gamble with anyway.

"Neither one of them would need any money. They could start out with a toothpick as collateral and take your money away from you.

Fresno was a poker dealer, said to be one of the best in his trade. He can stack a deck and I dare you to be able to figure out how he does it. Fresno was accused of cheating by a General’s son. The young man came up with a pistol, fired a shot at Fresno, Fresno shot him dead with a short gun. So, the General’s son is dead and Fresno ends up in prison. Fresno taught Rock to handle cards. Rock has a pair of hands calloused like stumps, yet blindfolded he can tell a face card by the difference in the weight of the cards, he can deal you four aces in the order you ask for them.

Good skill for a prisoner to learn.

Brady Lawson shrugged, Just telling about him, he sets out at something he can get to be pretty good at it. When Rock first came here he worked fourteen-hour days building for the warden. Something he learned in Leavenworth and from his father. By the way, I don’t care to call you Whip. Someone may get the idea I condone the whip’s use. What’s your name?

Jimmy Collison.

Jimmy, I’ll tell you why Rock is in prison. When he was about twelve years old, he came home, his mother and sister were naked and dead. Both had been raped and beaten to death. Not a pretty picture. Rock didn’t go looking for his father for help, he grabbed his old man’s pistol and jumped on his horse. He saw the two men leave the place, he cut them off on the way back to town, came at them pistol blazing. Both men emptied their guns at him, missed him and his horse clean. He galloped into them, killed them both.

Jimmy Collison was visibly moved, You mean to tell me, for that they sent him to prison? They should’ve given him a medal.

Brady looked below at the men in the pit, I just do my job. Sometimes a guy can write a few letters. In Rock’s case, I’ve discovered doing nothing is perhaps the best thing for him. Someone with some pretty good connections wanted him right where he is, or dead. A letter or two may remind that someone that Rock is still alive.

Jimmy Collison tossed his whip aside and excused himself, Got something to do. Tell Rock his papers came through. Tell him to be ready for release in the morning.

Brady watched as Jimmy Collison strode off toward the main compound, he wondered what happened to cause the sudden reversal.

The following morning Rock stepped out the front gate a free man with a set of ill-fitting clothes and an overused deck of cards in his pocket. He looked up at the sky and smiled, it would be scorching hot but this sky was different than the ones he was used to for the past eleven years, the difference was the giddy feeling of freedom. He started down the road toward town with some trepidation but an excitement strange to him. A few hundred yards from the prison gate a rider approached from town, in a few moments he recognized the guard they had nick-named, Whip.

Jimmy Collison didn’t have a whip with him, he stopped the horse twenty feet in front of the grinning Rock and dismounted. Rock nodded and kept moving toward town. Jimmy Collison stepped toward Rock and handed him the reins of the horse, The horse is yours.

Rock took the reins and grinned, he spoke softly, Mine? When they turned me loose they said I didn’t get anything. I don’t have a penny to my name. I’ve got nothing but a deck of cards.

The horse is a gift from me.

A gift!? You been out in this Arizona sun too long? Are you sure you know what you are doing?

Yah. I figure I owe you some. That sun burn, the whip scar. And I held up your release papers for the past month or so.

Doesn’t matter. You don’t owe me a thing. A guard can’t afford to hand out these kinds of gifts.

I got plenty of money, I just decided you got a bum deal being here, and I went and made things worse. Brady Lawson told me about it. I’m just trying to make it right from my part.

Rock stepped toward the head of the chestnut, the horse jerked his head away. The man Rock knew as Whip stood back a few paces as he explained, He’s a bit head shy, otherwise I think he’s a good horse. He steps right out, got four good legs, the man said he likes to be on the move.

Rock took a hold of the bridle with both hands and slowly pulled the head of the chestnut firmly against his chest. At first the chestnut nervously attempted to pull away, Rock’s powerful grip held the horse’s head steady. Rock then slowly stroked his neck and ears, the horse sensed no danger and soon settled down. Rock stepped back slowly and gently stroked the velvety nose then got closer to breathe the smell of the horse. He smiled as he explained, Been a long time. What are you doing this for?

Told you.

I been in prison long enough to read people pretty good. There’s more to it than you want to tell.

Jimmy Collison stared at the grinning Rock for a moment then related, Like I said, I got plenty of money. Lost my parents and older sister when I was about fourteen. The judge sold the property and put the money in a trust. Folks were well to do, there’s a good plenty.

Rock continued to grin. Again, he took the bridle of the horse and pulled the horse’s head against his chest. He gently stroked the chestnut’s neck, the horse seemed less upset this time. Rock figured a couple days of his close presence to the horse’s face would settle him down. Rock smiled as he stroked the chestnut, Takes care of the cost of the horse, not the reason.

Jimmy Collison looked away uncomfortably; it was a question he didn’t want to speak of, Other part of the story about losing my family… A man tied me up and gagged me, made me watch what he did to my father, then my mother and sister. I got free and drove the kitchen butcher knife into his back about the time he finished strangling my sister. I’ve hated every killer ever since. That’s why I took the job here, so-as I could make life miserable for a few of them. Like I say, you got a bum deal being here. They should have given you a medal for what you did instead of sending you to prison.

Rock nodded, Don’t quite know what to say except you don’t have to do this. You don’t owe me a thing Whip.

My names’ Jimmy Collison. I spoke to Brady Lawson, I got rid of the whip. Brady also told me to give you some advice so you don’t end up back in this place or another one like it.

Did you want to listen to the advice or not?

You bet Jimmy. Always ready to learn.

That’s what Brady said. First, don’t be in a rush to get mixed up with people. Camp out for a while and get used to the feeling of being on the outside, free. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb if you are fidgeting, staring off into space, unable to concentrate and jumpy or cross at every word. Brady also said, don’t go running back home right away. They know you were due to be released, and are probably waiting for you. You make a mistake and you’ll be dead or back here busting up rock from his brother-in-law’s gold mine so the damn warden can make an extra buck. Brady says there’s a ranch north and a little east of Denver a day or two ride away. Ranch is owned and run by a man from the East by the name of Randolph. John Randolph. People up that way can give you directions. Brady told me John Randolph would take a man on if he’s a hard worker, behaves and doesn’t cause problems. He’s a mighty trusting and tolerant man. While at the Randolph spread, you could learn to fit in and get used to dealing with good people again. Just keep up with that damn smile of yours and you’ll do all right. By the way, what do you have to grin about anyway?

Rock’s smile broadened, he bowed his head in fond remembrance. He explained, Last words I heard my father say was, ‘Son, don’t ever stop smiling. They can take you away from home for six years but don’t let them get to your spirit.’ At first I didn’t know what he was talking about.

After I served my first four years I learned I was being sent here to Yuma and another five years’ time was added on to my sentence. It was tough to grin then. There’s times I figured I’d never get out of prison alive.

What happened to your father?

"After his last