Justin Bass

By Barry Ray

Very few who didnt know their family backgrounds could tell these southern youngsters apart, and indeed, their coincidental similarities were almost frightening. Both had lost their mother at birth, and this after both women had successfully delivered three older boys. In 1855, they were both fifteen years old, dark complexioned, with rich brown curly locks. Both were big for their age, and each had been doing mans work since they were ten. Their features were even similar: large nose, generous lips, wide-set blue eyes, and strong, protruding chin.

Although both of these boys shared a genius for getting into mischief, neither of them was dominant. When one had an idea, the other just naturally went for it. They lived for their shared competition, and one would win as often as the other would.

Their only bone of contention, and again based on sharing, was their professed love for the same girl.

When they grew up, it was a different matter entirely. They went in completely different ways. One turned good. One turned evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504967242

Barry Ray

Look for these books also by Barry Ray: Farrago, Hidden Valley, Cully and B A D. Barry and his wife Dee now reside in Southern California.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

VERY FEW WHO didn't know their family backgrounds could tell these southern youngsters apart, and indeed, their coincidental similarities were almost frightening. Both had lost their mother at birth, and this after both women had successfully delivered three older boys. In 1855 they were both fifteen years old, dark complexioned with rich brown, curly locks. Both were big for their age, and each had been doing man's work since they were ten. Their features were even similar. Large nose, generous lips, strong protruding chin, wide set, blue eyes.

Although both of these boys shared a genius for getting into mischief, neither of them was dominate. When one had an idea, the other just naturally went for it. They lived for their shared competition, and one would win as often as the other would.

Their only bone of contention, and again based on sharing, was their professed love for the same girl. They were both learning an interesting thing about a young man's first love, though frowned on as puppy love by most adults; it has the ability to outlast every and all other emotional firsts. If there was a difference between these boys, it would have to be that Justin Bass was a smidgen more serious about life, than was Michael Campanion.

Sara Kelly at fourteen, was in possession of a great deal more good sense than either of her suitors, and she waited patiently for them to wrestle to their inevitable draw so as to determine who would swim that day with her and who would have to leave.

I keep waiting for one of you blockheads to demonstrate a little gray matter, she commented quietly.

With Justin's thumb in Michael's eye, and Michael gnawing on one of Justin's ears, they both ceased grappling to hear further what Sara had to say. She stood and walked over to the two boys, and while looking beautiful and disgusted at the same time, placed her hands on her hips.

Nobody ever wins when you two wrestle, and I want to swim sometime today. Why don't we just all three swim together like we did as children?

The two embarrassed youths untangled from each other, and while Justin looked sheepish, Michael ran and jumped into the clear pond. Justin and Sara exchanged knowing looks, laughed, and ran to join Michael.

The Bass, Campanion and Kelly plantations bordered one another, and these families had been neighbors for more than two generations. This triad was located two hundred miles north of Atlanta, in the proud state of Georgia, and as the Campanions and the Kellys were both in lower, lush valleys, they raised cotton, while the Bass plantation was higher up in the mountains, with a multitude of trees, water and luxurious foliage that lent itself better to the growing of grass and the rearing of fine, blooded horses.

Because of these three children's proximity over the years, and the magnificent steeds bred and nurtured by the Bass family, all were master equestrians. And because of the rivers and lakes on this same Bass land, the children were strong swimmers and fine athletes.

All three families owned slaves, and only the Kellys treated them badly, and this only because of a vicious and vindictive overseer. An in-law that old man Kelly could not bring himself to discharge. The Bass and Campanion families were accused by the local aristocracy of being nigra-lovers for treating their blacks more like family, than the slaves they were.

Four years later, the boys had matured into strapping young men, and Michael came up with their wildest idea of all, when he suggested to Justin, Let's run Buck Baker the hell outa' this country.

Buck Baker was the man in charge of all the slaves on the Kelly plantation, and a more vicious overseer never lived. Justin looked at his friend.

You think we can? he asked.

Michael flinched, then responded in a curt tone, Either one of us could almost whip him by ourselves. Together, I have no doubt.

Alright then, stated Justin Bass, building on his friend's suggestion, he hangs his slaves by the angles in the old barn while he's whippin' 'em. Let's catch him in the act, take away his whip and hang him up in the nigra's place. Then we'll hand the whip over to the slave and let him have his turn at doin' a little whippin'.

We could take along some of our slaves, suggested Michael. Hell! They'd love it.

No! countered Justin. If it don't work out, and you and I get caught, we'll be in serious trouble, but if we take slaves along and it don't work out, our neighbors'll tie 'em to posts in the town square and whip 'em to death.

With their decision made, they rode over to visit Sara Kelly. They knocked at the front door of the main house like two fine gentlemen. A sweet old black woman that had been in charge of the manor for years answered it, and both young men knew her well. She led them to the sitting room and Sara soon joined them.

They had discussed at great length, as to whether or not to let Sara in on their grand scheme, and finally decided that the fewer who knew, the better. They talked quietly, played some cards, and much earlier than usual, made their excuses and left the company of Sara Kelly.

This young lady was brighter then these two put together, and reading their collective minds as usual, knew they were up to no good.

She walked with them from the great house and said her goodbyes while Justin and Michael rode off. Then she reentered the house and rushed through to the back door, and while passing through the main kitchen, saw Mawdy weeping while washing pots and pans. This woman had literally raised Sara, and ordinarily they could discuss anything, but on this occasion, the old black slave flatly refused to inter into conversation. This just capped off an already strange evening, and Sara continued through the kitchen and out the back door.

She was never privy to the beatings that Buck conducted, but had heard the gruesome stories. She walked the almost quarter of a mile separating the main house and the huge old barn. There was a multitude of buildings between these two structures, and she stopped short as she recognized the two Bass horses tied to the rail outside the barn. There, she heard the pathetic wail of a woman she suspected was being punished by Buck Baker.

From her view of the barn, Sara could see Michael enter the front, while Justin went around to the back door. She walked quietly up to the front, and watched through the barely left open door.

Michael walked straight up to Buck Baker.

Got yourself a recalcitrant nigra that needs a little education, do ya'? he asked conversationally.

Buck was not fooled. Though he had no idea what the younger man had said, he did know, and had for sometime, how the Campanions mollycoddled their slaves, but while looking suspiciously at this youngest of the Campanions; he missed the approach of a Justin Bass with a cocked right fist.

When Buck Baker finally did register Justin's presence, he spun around just in time to receive a giant, balled fist, right on the tip of his unprotected chin. His eyes went glassy as he dropped to his knees, and then closed as he fell on his face. Michael looked on in wonder.

Damn, Justin, you must pack a better punch than you've ever used on me.

With his big whip and his murderous attitude, the cruel devil has a glass jaw, Justin said, as he shook his head in amazement.

While Buck lie unconscious, the boys looked up at the naked black woman who hung above them from her ankles with her head a good six feet above the filthy floor of the old barn.

My God! exclaimed Michael in disgust. Look at all those old whip scars.

Justin only shook his head as he untied the rope and lowered this poor victim gently to the ground. They both spun around as they heard retching at the front door of the barn. Sara was bent in two, while losing her dinner to join the already horse manure strewed floor of the old barn. They both rushed to assist Sara, but as they reached her, Buck Baker began to stir, and an infuriated Justin Bass returned to the man's side in time to boot him alongside the head and return him to unconsciousness.

Buck Baker was no little man at six feet two inches tall and two hundred and thirty pounds, and probably that was why it took the two notorious renegades as long as it had, to correct a situation of which they'd both been aware for years, but what, wondered Justin, was Sara's excuse, and now delivered with vehemence upon his only female friend.

Are you going to tell me you didn't know anything about this? Good Lord! Look at that poor girl's back.

Sara appeared stricken, and Michael came to her defense.

Leave her alone, Justin. She didn't know anything about this.

Justin was inclined to let it go, but in his mind, he knew, nobody could live that sheltered a life. And Sara was bright. She had to know exactly what was going on here.

He busied himself with replacing the shackles on the ankles of Buck Baker, and then hoisted him aloft. He reached up and literally ripped the man's shirt from his body, then looking at the female slave, knew she would not have the strength to propel the whip, so took it upon himself.

In his fury, Justin beat on Buck Baker until he could no longer raise either arm, and Justin Bass was an extremely powerful young man, with the stamina of six. When finally he was too weary to continue, he lowered the man, who by this time had bloody ribbons over his entire back, and even his pants were torn off, while his rump was as bloodied as his back. Sara could not bear to look.

Now there's a man that won't sit a horse any time soon, Michael said quietly.

For the first time in his life, Justin was beside himself, and mentally alone in the world. He did not hear Sara's gasps, or Michael's snide remarks. He picked up the bloodied remains of what he considered to be the only totally justified beating he had ever been involved with, and carrying the debased figure to his horse, threw him across the saddle and mounted behind the cantle.

Sara was not with Michael Campanion when he caught up with his friend, and they simply rode together in silence as they approached the unpopulated county line. Buck was awake when Justin dumped him to the ground, so he knew exactly what the young man was saying.

Come back and I'll kill ya'.

He and Michael turned their mounts to retrace their steps, and both could hear the threats being thrown at them from the poor, almost butchered derelict lying on the ground wreathing in pain, while casting aspersions.

The two gentlemen agreed to meet in the morning, while Michael rode back to Sara, and a depressed Justin Bass rode toward home. Justin walked into his room in the big house, lit one of the ornately decorated gas lamps, and was about to strip, when he saw seated in the corner, and in his only chair, a grinning figure he hadn't seen since he was twelve.

Rufus had been a favorite on the Bass plantation before he ran away. He was the biggest and the blackest man Justin had ever seen. Hell! He had even taught Justin to ride. Taught him to swim, and taught him how to fight, and now there he sat bold as you please.

You always were an uppity slave. Just what the hell are you up to now? was all Justin could think to say.

Rufus ignored the comment, and the question.

Damn, boy, he said instead, you've grown. Can you still outride anybody but that young upstart Campanion?

Nobody really knew just how old this man was, but he did not have a hair on him that wasn't pure white. Justin sat on the edge of his bed, cocked his head in what was a familiar position to the old slave, and asked, You just passing through, or did you come back to be posted and whipped to death?

The giant black man laughed and stood, and then walked to Justin who stood also while they embraced. The big black man pushed Justin away, while still holding him by the shoulders and looking him over from head to toe.

You've grown, boy. Hell! You're damn near as big as me.

Justin was doing a little sizing up himself, and noticed the gun rig at Rufus's hip, his worn at the heel boots, and the western appearing garb he sported.

Where the hell you been, old man? Out west?

Very perceptive, youngster. Texas, actually. Out there, they think I'm a free black man.

Oh yeah? questioned the young man. Then continued, Now, where do you suppose they got that notion? Couldn't have been from you, could it?

Rufus laughed with pure joy, then sobered, and asked, How's your old man?

He's fine. Misses you. Hell! He never even turned you in as a runaway. If that ever got out, it'd sure go hard on him.

I've been walking free for seven years, boy. Let's go wake him up, I want it in writing.

Justin turned away and began to pace, while stating to the room, That won't be necessary. I run everything now. Dad just kind of sets back, and my brothers aren't interested in any form of paperwork. Let's go down to the office and I'll hand you your title.

Tomorrow's soon enough, stated Rufus, as he returned to sit in Justin's only chair. Let's you and me get reacquainted.

Wrong! exclaimed Justin. Best do it now. Tomorrow, all hell's gonna to break lose. The big black man looked at him in confusion, and Justin went on to describe the night's activities.

Rufus laughed loud and long, a thing that Justin remembered well about this giant of a man, and when he finished, he stated abruptly, I've got the answer to all our problems, but your pappy, bless his heart, is going to have to go back to tending his own business. Which reminds me. Where are your useless brothers?

Gone off to join the Confederate Army, Justin's said, with no further explanation.

As they sat in his father's office, Justin did the necessary paperwork, and then slid the parchment across the smooth surface of the walnut desk.

How you going to solve our problems? Mine and Michael's.

The old man grinned, and replied, With the Pony Express, son. Out of Saint Jo, Missouri. And them damn fools are fixin' to pay us a hundred and fifty dollars a month.

Just what is it we have to do? Justin asked.

Carry the mail to California.

I thought the Overland was already doing that, queried a curious Justin Bass.

That's true, but we'll do it in less than half the time. The old man became animated, as he continued, Think of it, Justin. We'll be carrying the mail two thousand miles in just ten days. Through some of the damndest, wildest country this world has to offer.

Justin was sold, and knew well that Michael Campanion would relish the idea of leaving, and this Pony Express had all the earmarks of an adventure that would suit him to a tea. Justin woke his father, and they spent the remainder of the night in discussion. Justin told him everything except that Rufus had returned and been freed. At the end of this discourse, the elder Bass could but agree that his youngest son should disappear.

Come back when the coast is clear, was the elder Bass's candid statement, and Rufus and Justin rode over to sell the idea to, and collect an ultimately reluctant Michael Campanion.

Michael's concerns were different than those of Justin. He was afraid he'd miss Sara, while Justin was more concerned about a forthcoming war that he doubted could be averted.

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