Slowmatch

By Shirley Wells and Verlue Jones

N/A

*no book description

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479733262

Shirley Wells

Shirley was born in the Cotswolds and lived in places as diverse as Cyprus and the remote Orkney island of Hoy before settling in Lancashire where the Pennines provide the inspiration for her mysteries. When she isn't writing or walking with her dogs, Shirley loves reading, photography, listening to music and drinking wine. She’s also a season ticket holder at Burnley Football Club. Find Shirley at www.shirleywells.com

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CONTENTS

Dedication

List Of Main Characters

Acknowlegements

Introduction

Prelude

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all of the many men, women and children whose lives were totally altered by the chain of events that took place surrounding the murder of William Tyland, as well as to anyone who is still seeking justice for wrongful doings to their loved ones. Whether or not we get to see justice take place, always remember that it will be served one way or another.

LIST OF MAIN CHARACTERS

William Tyland, murdered victim

Anna Tyland, wife of William

Stan, William and Anna’s only child

Chuck, Williams nephew

Koot Aspin, Anna’s brother

Buck Aspin, Anna’s brother in law

Sarah, Anna’s niece

Kemp Gartrell, brother of Lance, married to Nam

Nam, married to Kemp

Lance Gartrell, brother of Kemp, married to William and James sister Dee

Dee Gartrell, married to Lance, William and James sister

James Tyland, Brother of William

Callie Tyland, married to James

Dew, James and Callie’s oldest son

Boler, James and Callie’s second oldest son

David, brother of Callie

Daniel, brother of Callie

Ruby, Aspin, wife of Buck Aspin, previously shot to death, William and James sister

Isac Miller, James’s brother in law

Charles Rouden, James’s best friend

Harry Pearson, Charles’s brother in law and friend of James

Mr. Grimes, long time friend of William and James

Bennett Jolly, Forestry Agent

Bradford Mnllins, Foreman of the Fire crew for Jameson Lumber Co. and William’s Boss.

Grey Cannon, member of the fire crew

Tim Garrett, Sheriff of Cook County

Smiley, Jailer for Tim Garrett, Cook County

Bob, Deputy for Tim Garrett, Cook County

Tank Garvis, Sheriff Garrett’s Supervisor

Dahlonega, Sheriff of Groveland County

Mr. Ratliff, Solicitor

Tazz Blankenship, James’s mail carrier

Sammy, young black boy killed. Bo was Sammy’s father

Nick Hampton, and family, were victims of Sheriff Garrett

Alvin Renfro, victim if Sheriff Garrett

Julie, married to Alvin Renfro

Mollie, Williams mother

Monroe, Mollie’s father

Willa, Callie’s mother

Written by Mrs. Verlue T. Jones

Co-written by Mrs. Shirley S. Wells

Final Editting by Ms. Melissa K. Wells

ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

I would like to extend thanks to Shirley Wells, Melissa Wells, Rosemary Wells, Francis Mcintyre, Avis Thompson, Bob Goodman, Vesta Thompson and all of the family and friends that provided their continued support, information, and assistance, to Archie Turbeville, who provided a written firsthand account, and to the newspapers that published articles about this horrendous crime so that I was able to research it further.

INTRODUCTION

Death. What is death? Webster’s Dictionary describes it as the end of life, or a permanent cessation of all vital functions. Most dread it, while other see it as a blessing. The majority remain silent, showing no interest in knowing anything about it. Some people pray for it, others search for it, or make elaborate plans to celebrate it.

On the flip side of death is life. William Tyland was the kind of man who cherished life through hard work, visions and dreams. Someone stole his life and replaced it with death, in a cold and heartless act somewhere in the shroud covered state forest. Not for money or fame, but for a deep dark secret that men met in open fields or on lonely stretches of back roads, not even God knows where, to whisper into another eager man’s ear about death.

William Tyland was the kind of man that should have died in his humble wood frame farm house, from hard work and old age. Surrounded by his wife and children, with a big fire burning in the fireplace. Not in the forest he loved and struggled to rebuild, not by his fellow firefighters who beat, kicked, and shot him until his life was swallowed up by death.

There were no farewells or goodbyes, no warm arms to embrace him. Only the innocent creatures of the forest that shivered in the ugly dark shadows of a lone man’s struggle for life.

The depression was a beast that brought out the best in men or the worst. There were no compromising with children crying from hunger, or women searching the fields for late bearing peas or corn. They tore open the sweet potatoes rows with pitch forks and hoes, exposing every inch of the brown warm soil. Throwing even the smallest potatoes into the basket. Sweat ran down their faces as the hot summer sun bore down on their backs. Nothing could be overlooked, they must salvage every eatable thing.

Black winds swirled from it like a whirlwind, tossing people in all directions, leaving no choices or dreams, no avenues to explore. Their hopes were like fire crackers exploding with every turn in the path or bend in the road. Just another day, another man, another family prodding slowly down the road of life, searching for a foot hole to sink a root into. What were they running from?

Where were they running to? No one knew. There must be something farther south, just over the hill, or down the river bend. They would find it, they must try. It striped away the pride of man, challenging their integrity, turning neighbor against neighbor, even some into thieves. While others made and sold moonshine, others accepted a few dollars from the sheriff to betray them. Most men lived under a dark and personal cloud, hating themselves because their families were suffering from hunger. There was no work for anyone, only the farmers that grew their own food could trade vegetables for a sack of flour or five pounds of coffee.

The murder of the forest ranger disrupted hundreds of lives, leaving a bitter taste in their mouths for the law. There had been no justice, it was only served on silver platter for the ones that could afford an attorney, or was in the circle of friends that the law protected. Not only did the depression frighten them, but the mighty hand of the law twisted it fingers around their lives, forcing them to floundering for ways to survive and remain out of jail. The laws meanest was sprayed out all over the county.

This is the story of the dead man’s brother, James, who searched for justice, only to see it slip out of his hands and tucked away into the past.

Hidden by the forced confession of a innocent young man who had just been released from prison that same day. The young man didn’t know him and had no reason to kill William Tyland.

It was the times when men stood together to build a church, or settled the score by their fist. Other times, draining the last drop of moonshine from the bottle could hammer away at a man, turning him into a cruel, heartless monster, often beating the devil, so they called it, out of their wives and children. At the same time they could be gentle, warm and loving. Everyone worked hard and contributed his share to the survival of the family.

Where were the brave men that fought for the rights of all men to live in a country were justice for all was it’s semble? They were somewhere in the universe, sifting through the shambles of shattered lives and hopeless dreams, searching for anything that gave them a message of hope.

James’ searched for a balance of good and evil yielded no score for JUSTICE.

PRELUDE

On a bleak November morning in 1930, a stranger stood by his horse, listening to the wind whistled through the cracks of the barn like wailing ghost.

Tugging at the collar of his coat he buttoned it snug around his neck, hoping to equalize the small amount of body heat that had little effect on the early morning bite of the wind.

Automatically his hands plunged into his breast pocket, checking the deadly cargo of newly made slowmatches. Beside them lay the matches that would transform them into a bomb. For a moment his hands trembled. Maybe in another era, he thought, acts like this would not be necessary. Now men had to take what ever opportunity came their way to make a living. He asked no questions when a stranger approached him and his brother working in the woods and offered fifty dollars each, to burn hundreds of acres of land that had been raped by Jamison Lumber of it’s timber, then given to the state of Alabama for taxes.

Do this to protect your still, the stranger had said.

He shook his head as he thought of the consequences. If they were caught, it would mean time in jail, and a stiff fine. That would be devastating to his family. They could forfeit their home and spend the rest of their lives in some sharecropper’s shanty.

If his plans worked, they could move to Florida and start a new life. That thought excited him, putting purpose back into his life. Burning the woods had never been a crime. Farmers had done this every year for grazing purposes, but why would anybody pay them to do it?

He mounted his horse and rode slowly out of the barn, his shadow moving rhythmically like a black ghost over the white sand road. He was relieved when the forks of the road came into view. The shadow of a man on a horse moved noiseless toward him. His brother had waiting in the shade of a near-by oak, until he was sure of the rider. Then he approached him.

Did you see anyone? We shore can’t afford to git caught.

Nope.

We want to be finished when the fog moves in. Did you bring the matches?

Yeah, he answered, checking his breast pocket, I have everything we need.

Lets go, stay close behind me.

The two men rode east, beneath the canopy of towering pines, on the aging carpet of centuries old needles. Only experienced woods riders could find their way in the darkness. They rode in silence, knowing how their voices carried beneath the trees. They stopped frequently in the spotty patches of light, checking the direction of the moon.

Habitually, pigs squealed in protest as the riders startled them from their beds. If anyone heard the hoofs of the horses, they could not be sure they were anything but some of the hundreds of cattle that roamed the open range in search of food. Suddenly, the head rider slowed his horse.

What’s wrong?

Nothing, look at that moonlight ahead of us, I think we made it.

They rode toward the opening in the trees. Then the giant sea of grass lay before them. The bright moonlight beamed like a thousand lanterns, illuminating the vast acreage of knee high wire grass, swaying back and forth in the wind.

They were stunned at it’s beauty, but saddened at the vast area of wilderness, stripped of it’s pines and left to grow into a tumbled mass of briers and rotting woods.

Who does this belong to? his brother asked.

It belongs to the State of Alabama, it’s part of the forest that Jamison Lumber gave up for taxes. Now that it’s state property, nobody will torch it.

They shook their head in disbelief and thought about the acres of forest that the farmers had burned ever since they could remember. It was the only way to be sure of the survival of the farm animals in the summer, while the fields were planted and harvested.

Their fires did little damage to the trees. The succulent new growth gave birth to many varieties of wild flowers and berries, controlling the dreaded wire grass, keeping the animals from wandering the deep woods in search of food.

Are you sure you want to do this, it will take a lot of men to fight a fire of this magnitude? the lead figure asked.

Don’t worry, the other assure him, patting his horse’s neck. I’ll help if they need me. Better get going, that fog will be moving in soon. He dismounted and walked slowly toward his brother.

Give me the matches and lead my horse. We’ll walk along the edge of the forest until all the matches are placed. Then we’ll return home a different way. We’ll be at work in the woods, before any of these matches explode. I think that fellow will be pleased when he sees this fire.

In minutes the first slowmatch lay smoldering beneath a shelter of dried grass. The cold wet fog crept slowly over the woods, as the men made their way along the edge, carefully depositing their deadly cargo.

When the last match was set in place, they mounted their horses and disappeared into the dark woods.

*     *     *

The previous week in Montgomery, the Forestry Commission, worked diligently through stacks of applications, trying to find just the right men to complete the hiring of men for the new state forest.

The Governor accepted the job of chairman. While five other men through out the state served on the board. One in particular came from the small town of Lockybee. His name was, Tim Garvis, but because of his size, his friends called him Tank.

He was employed by Jamison lumber, but had interest in several small business’s in the neighboring town of Flowers. Most noticeable was the expanding furniture store on the outskirts of town.

The building sat isolated in the edge of the woods, away from the normal flow of traffic. The rough foot wide board siding was bleached by the sun, to the color of fading winter leaves.

It’s stock was an assortment of used tables and chairs, and the latest fashions of the new set-tees, and parlor furniture. In the depression, people were forced to sell their belongings for a small portion of their worth. Getting just enough money to feed their families a few days, or take to the road in search of a job. Many family treasures were sacrificed as they migrated in droves to the cities and towns of south Florida.

Garvis greeted his customers at the door. His black hair was parted in the middle. His greens eyes could prejudge most people before they spoke. He was tall and heavy set, the picture of health. His thriving business became flawed when certain customers followed him to the back room and left with a fruit jar under their arm. What can we do fer you today? He would ask in his low southern draw. The downcast look in their eyes was the dead give away. He knew they were here to sell and not to buy. Sometimes he plundered their wagons, taking the priceless heirlooms or just shrugging his shoulders and walking away. Such advert behavior became easy as the months of drepression dragged slowly by. He had little respect for the country people.

Won’t amount to nothing, their only shifters.

Garvis lived in the city and worked with his father in the local grocery. Married with a family, he held two jobs, but applied for a job with the foresty commission and was accepted as a member of the board.

The person hired for the agents job has to be one of substance. One with a degree of education. Records have to be kept, reports made, and payroll disbursed. Do any of you know this man Bennett Jolly? the Governor asked.

I met him once, Tank answered. He’s a land owner and farmer. He has hundreds of acres, some under cultivation, while a great part remains in timber.

He list his age in the late fifties, the chairman frowned, Why would a man that age want a job that takes so much of his time?

He has a bunch of children, maybe the depression hit him hard, and he’s trying to rebuild.

Did you ever meet him?

Yeah, he’s a big man, maybe six foot, white hair and a handlebar mustache. He talks slow and soft, with a deep southern accent. He’s smart enough, he’s had some schooling. If you ever meet him, you’ll never forget. He has soft blue eyes, like pools of clear blue water,

Then give him the agent’s job. Gentlemen, the chairman said, all’s left is the tower man. He’s the most important one. He must be a man who can take charge of any situation, a man with stamina. One who has the knowledge to reconstruct a forest after fire has destroyed it. He pushed his chair back and stood, Our time is up today, we will have to delay our choice until next week. Good-day gentlemen, thank you for coming.

*     *     *

William raced to the top of the fire tower and stood looking out the windows. Visibility was poor to the east, the fog remained dense in the low area, but somewhat scattered in the small rolling hills.

Immediately he picked up the phone, This is Tyland at fire tower number three. Anything going on?

Naw, it’s been a quiet night, the night watchman answered.

William paced back and forth, all the time keeping his eyes on the east, wondering if the Forestry Board had made a decision on his application for a job in the new forest.

As the golden rays of sunlight pierced the fog, he thought of the countless hours he spent as a boy, exploring the depths of the endless woods. He had walked the creeks, searching for just the right place to fish, or climbed the mulberry trees devouring it’s fruit. He remembered going with his father to check the beaver traps in the dead of winter. His feet so numb from cold they seemed distant and unresponsive.

He wondered what his life would have been like, had his family been city dwellers. What did they know about country life that gave them the air of superiority that seemed to appear in any encounter with the country people? Would he ever have the impeccable luck that seemed to surround them? The clean hands, the money and power. Was it somewhere in his future, could he handle it if it came?

By eight the fog remained, the mass seemed endless. He wondered if the heavy fog was hiding the smoke from new stills.

His hopes build as the clock ticked slowly toward nine.

It was going to be a good day. Unaware that he tapped continually on the desk with his pencil, his eyes never left the sky.

At nine, he sighed in relief as the fog disintegrated before his eyes.

Scanning the rest of the woods, no trace of smoke appeared anywhere in his viewing. He looked down at the carpet of tree tops that he loved so well.

He prayed silently that God would give him the chance to protect them the rest of h is life.

There was only a week left until the board convened and the final selection for a tower man was made.

He continued his pacing, straining his eyes, defining stray wisps of fog from deadly trails of smoke. The thought that someone else could occupy his tower, made him uncomfortable and left a angry feeling smoldering inside.

At the east window he lingered longer than usual. Shading his eyes from the sun, he could make out trails of smoke from the chimneys of people he knew. He looked longer at one in particular and wondered how the family was surviving since the father died. Only last week he took their corn to the mill, and helped look for their hogs in the forest. He knew he must go back and see if they were alright. That would be his last job tomorrow on his way home.

Still watching the east, a pencil trail of smoke appeared on the left side of the wire grass. Pressing his face closer to the glass, he watched spellbound, as the trail climbed higher and higher into the sky. That’s smoke, he shouted, throwing his pencil down on the desk. Within minutes the other nine burst into flames and the sea of wire grass was giving birth to the most spectacular fire the county had ever seen.

Never before had he seen the gray clouds of smoke billow upward in such anger. He picked up the phone, all the time planning his attack. There is the enemy, he thought, can I whip him. The challenge was exciting.

Bradford Mullins, his boss, answered the phone. We have a big fire over in the wire grass, better get some men and get out here, William shouted.

We’ll be there soon, he answered. Sounds like a big one. I wonder how Montgomery will vote when he can’t stop this one, he thought. We’ll see now who gets the job. Oh, well, he shrugged his shoulders, it ain’t our problem now.

Before leaving the tower, William, checked the progress of the fire. It seemed all the new forest was going up in flames. As far as the eye could see the bellowing gray smoke rolled like thunder in the eastern sky.

My God, he thought, If I can’t stop it there won’t be no forest left for anyone to have a job in. He flew down the stairs and jumped into the truck racing as fast as he could down the road. He whirled in the driveway at his house, the horn blaring.

What’s wrong with Uncle William?, asked Chuck.

We have a big fire over in the wire grass, I need your help!

Anna and Sarah rushed to the door clutching their jackets close around them. Anna’s face was almost covered with a faded flowered bonnet. The cold wind blew Sarah’s short naturally curly brown hair into a halo of red hues around her face. Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement as she waved goodbye to the truck speeding out of the yard.

Chuck turned to William with a smile on his young face, I shore do like that girl. Some day I’m gonna marry her.

Does she like you? William asked.

I think she has her eye on someone else right now. I don’t know who, she won’t say.

You’re both young, give her time, maybe she’ll get over him.

I hope so, Chuck answered, his voice trailing off in a whisper.

I don’t know why she wouldn’t like a fellow like you. Why you are good looking enough to catch most any girl. You have your mothers blue eyes and brown hair, that should attract every girl in this country. Have you ever tried to find someone else?

Naw, I don’t want jest any old gal, I like Sarah.

Maybe things will work out fer you and her, William said.

What’s the big rush, have we got a really big fire?

Bigger than anyone I’ve ever seen. If we can’t stop it, Groveland county will be nothing but black dirt and chard stubby trees.

What do you want me to do today? Chuck asked.

You take this truck and haul water for the men. Make shore they have plenty, I have a feeling it will be a long day.

*     *     *

Back at the cabin Sarah and Anna, hurried inside to finish cleaning the greens for dinner. Chuck shore wants to court you, Anna chuckled.

"Yeah, but I ain’t wanting to get hitched to anyone right now. I like Chuck but I ain’t in love with him.

You ought to marry him, there shore ain’t many to chose from. You’re twenty years old, if you don’t find someone soon, you’ll be an old maid, then no body will won’t you.

Sarah swished the green in the water. I don’t care, I ain’t gonna marry right now.

Speeding along the dirt road, his horn blaring, William shouted to each family, Fire in the east! Farmers waved him on as they raced to their barns; harnessing their mules to the wagons, loading their shovels, axes and plow’s, heading in the direction he had given.

When they arrived at the fire, it was more intense then he had expected.

The winds were blowing, fanning the flames upward, licking the bellowing smoke. It looked like an angry dragon from hell had broken loose, spewing their tongues of fire at the heavens, while it’s tail thrashed the ground, spreading the fire in every direction, leaving nothing in it’s path but ashes.

Damn! William exclaimed, as he buckled the legging around his legs, I hope I can do it.

Soon the roads were crowded with a vast caravan of wagons. Father’s and sons came prepared to pit their strength against the Gods of fire. Most of the men had dealt with danger all their lives, but few had ever encountered a fire of this magnitude.

Gray white thunder-heads of smoke, were streaked with black as tar laden branches of ageless pine exploded into violent flames, fueling the raging fire. William stood by his truck, passing out fire flaps as the men arrived.

Don’t go into the wire grass, stay in the forest! Keep it out of the woods! he shouted over and over.

James! William yelled, Take your plow and some men and cut a fire guard as close as you can get to the fire, jest be careful and don’t get hurt!

Satisfied that he had placed the men in the most important places, he grabbed the hose from his truck tank and poured a steady stream of water into the flames.

The fire had no direction, it was like an explosion, pushing it’s way across the acres of wire grass continually seeking it’s course.

Quickly he moved the men around the entire area. The wall of fire spanned the east boundary of the sea. It was so intense, it singed the men’s hair on the expose parts of their arms, and unprotected areas of their head.

Thrusting their shovels faster and faster into the earth, fighting against smoke filled winds and a ghost of a fire that fought back with a vengeance, they continued to prove their devotion to the man that helped put food on their tables and clothes on their youngun’s back.

The pounding of the fire flaps sounded like native drums, sending messages to the Gods of Fire, that they would never surrender until the last blaze was squelched and the fire retreated.

At noon it continued to rage. The men consumed gallons of water. It looked like hell had burst open and the devil himself ran rampant over the land.

The wind continued to blow, forcing the fire deeper into the grass.

Groups of men withdrew, as new arrivals took their place. William fought by their side. When water in the tank ran out he grabbed a fire flap and fought vigorously at the flames, his face burning, his hands tired and hot from the constant use of the flap and hose. The years of fire fighting had weathered his hands and face to the hues of autumn leaves.

Soon half of the sea had burned, but the danger lay ahead. If the fire guard wasn’t sufficient and the winds continued to blow, the neighboring farms could be in grave danger. William agonized over the damage the fire could do. Who had started the fire? Why did they want to destroy such a vast area. If he couldn’t stop it, his chances for a state job would be null.

By three the flames still roared. He decided to drive the old wagon-road through the trees, he surmised that at least two thirds of the grass had burned. In each of the men’s blackened faces and sweat stained clothes he saw an image of himself. Their fear of losing their homes and seeing their families suffer from hunger clouded their vision of the future, leaving a sad frightened look in their eyes. A days work will give them hope, and ease their agony for a few more days.

In a near-by area Garrett and Tank stood watching the fire. Man them fellows really did a good job. I don’t think anyone could stop this monster. It may burn all the way to the Atlantic ocean, chuckled Garrett.

Just wait until the fellows on the board hear about this. Tyland’s application will hit the trash can with a bang, Tank laughed. There ain’t nobody now but our man that will get the job.

Even in the cold November wind the men suffered from heat exhaustion.

As William approached each group, he gave orders, Take a break, move back into the forest and cool off, drink lots of water! From his own experience, he knew no man could survive the heat without plenty of water and fresh air. About four that afternoon the winds subsided, the heavens were filled with thunder heads of black smoke, laying weightless above the scorched earth. The dense smoke blocked out the sun and cast dark shadows over the forest that ordained a mysterious air of suspense.

Close to midnight the last fire was squelched and the soot covered weary men loaded their tools into the wagons to begin their long ride home.

Ya’ll go on home now, William ordered, I’ll have your money in a few days. I’ll stay here and make sure the fire is out. Maybe James will stay with me.

Monday morning in Montgomery the wind blew brisk and cold. The kind of weather that always brings cold rain and sleet. Governor Bill Miles, pulled his coat closer around his neck as he entered the office. He was anxious to complete the selection of a tower man and finalize the employees of the new forest.

The members of the board were gathered around the long mahogany table in the conference room. Chairman Miles took his place at the head and immediately began to speak. Gentlemen we have one other order of business;,this matter must be settled today. I have other duties that need my attention. How many men do we have that qualify for the tower job?

Five or six, someone answered.

Didn’t you have a big fire last week in the new forest?

Yes sir, we did, answered Tank.

Do you have a report on it?

Your secretary has it.

He quickly stood up, pulling down the vest to his gray pin stripped suit.

He took from the inside pocket a pair of eye glasses, and place them on the bridge of his nose.

Gentlemen, I will return shortly with the report.

Within a few minutes he returned. He was medium built with brown eyes and soft olive skin. His hair was fresh cut and shinny with oil. His hand were immaculate kept, long fingers that fumbled nervously with the report. Spit polished shoes that the toes sparkled in the glare of the overhead light.

"Gentlemen, for many months you have had twice the number of fires in that section of woods than anywhere else in the state. Very few people have been prosecuted or fined. Some months ago we sent an investigator to the area, hoping to determine who and why these fires started. Last week your county had the worst fire in our history. Tyland and his men put it out in less time than was possible. We don’t know who set it but I guess it was someone different than others.

Tank Garvis banged his fist on the table and shouted, You can’t catch’em, they’re using a slowmatch!

Mr. Garvis, would you please keep your voice down? the Chairman ordered.

I’m sorry, but you can’t catch those farmers. I’ve heard they developed a device call a slowmatch that totally destructs when it ignites, leaving no smell, or evidence that it was deliberately set. He ain’t the man you need. Mr Garvis insisted.

The room echoed with the voices of each man. You don’t need him. each assured the Chairman.

Gentlemen, you’re missing the point. This man has years of experience in the tower. He knows how the people have suffered these last few years. The depression had robbed the farmers of having a cash crop, money is needed to buy things like medicine and seed. Some of these families have as many as twelve and fourteen children. They fire only land that is usually burned every year, that’s where the stock grazes in the summer months. It’s been done for years by the farmers, but now they get paid for it. Then he sat down and closed the pages of the report.

He waited patiently while the men gathered their scrambled thoughts.

Tank Garvis heard the rumors that circulated by the men working for Jamison Lumber. Tyland had warned all the men in the fire crew, if they were caught making whiskey in his forest, he would arrest them.

No one took his promise lightly. He never let you into the war zones of his personality, but kept you guessing at his intentions. He fought for the rights of all men, and practiced his beliefs, that men who broke the law should pay.

Tank was helpless to do any more to prevent his being hired by the state of Alabama.

Gentlemen, did you every hear the story of Robin Hood? He stole from the rich and gave to the poor. It takes a man of deep convictions to do that. I think he is the man the State needs. Put him on the payroll and get him on our side.

Tank shook his head in disbelief. It wont never work, he mumbled to himself. I wonder what Jamison Lumber and Garrett will do now.

Mr. Garvis set up an office in Orland. I’ll have my secretary send notices to these men. As of today they are employed by the State of Alabama. Ask them to report to Bennett Jolly on January 1, 1931. Then he stood up, Gentlemen, we will adjourn until after the holidays. Thank you for coming.

*     *     *

James’ thoughts ended abruptly as a large clot of dried dirt slipped beneath his foot. He watched as it careened downhill, gathering a bevy of smaller ones racing behind. Most lodged behind larger ones, or wedged in crevices, or just crumbled to dust and disappeared before his eyes. The larger one continued to roll on a deadly path to the water. Suddenly it splashed into the stream and was quickly dissolved into a whirling mass of mud.

Did his dogmatic determination to be the best fire-fighter that cold November day in 1931, set into motion the destiny of William’s death? Would he still be alive if he hadn’t been chosen for the tower job? Had the state job been the tool that loosen the clot of dirt, blazing the trail for his death? James shook his head and started home, remembering the many good deeds that William had done for him and the neighborhood. Why did his life have to end so tragically?

CHAPTER 1

The tar-laden pine stump erupted into flames as William fought vigorously with the fire flap, sending burning embers into a spiral stairway of flickering lights. Suddenly, the angry flames licked at his feet. He whirled around and realized the area around him could quickly become a furnace of doom. If he couldn’t control the fire around the stump, the remaining paper-dry grass could explode into a raging fire, and a major part of the new state forest may feel its wrath. Confused about their origin he wondered if he should fire a shot, bringing the other men stationed around the area to his rescue. As he squelched the outer boundaries of flames, a figure darted quickly to a small fire up the dim road nearby. Good, he thought, some of the boys are already back, it won’t take long to bring this under control. Unaware that the dark figure was cloaked in mystery, he brushed aside the urge to call in his men.

As the flames were diminished, the forest was enshroud in darkness and the early morning fog rolled in. After a few minutes he heard foot steps cracking the dead twigs, heading his direction.

Who’s there? he called out. When no answer returned, fear washed over him like a giant wave. His hands gripped like a vice around the handle of the flap as he frantically fought the urge to pull his gun. Suddenly the moon broke through the fog and the image of a person a few feet away startled him.

Is that you, Buck?

The hard cold barrel of a gun jammed into his back, then a voice whispered, Stand still and keep your mouth shut, I’ll tell you when to move.

A hand quickly removed his gun, then the lights of a car pierced the fog, stopping in front of them. Get in the front seat, the voice ordered.

He climbed in the vehicle with the faceless drive. Glancing back as the other person jumped in the back seat, he saw a black hood with only slits for eyes.

What are you doing? he demanded. The cold end of the gun pressed hard against his head.

Shut up! You’ll find out soon enough.

The car moved into the smoke filled darkness and disappeared down the road.

As the night erupted into violence, the unchained fog continued to creep slowly into the area. After being attacked, William lay on the ground in a unconscious state, his body bruised and beaten. Suddenly the sound of an auto coming down the road, frightened his attackers.

"Ain’t that a car coming? We better git outta here! Yank the back seat out and throw him in. Then put it back on top of him. You fellows that ain’t got no