Hell to Pay: The Life and Violent Times of Eli Gault Read online

  Hadn't been in the Hickerson house but one day when Charlotte passed me in the hall. Gal grabbed me by the crotch and squeezed the hell out of it. I tried to grab hers, but she scampered away. God Almighty, from then on I wanted to put my hands in Charlotte's drawers so bad, I almost exploded every time that gal got near me. Lust-possessed she-devil knew it, too. Female spawn from Hell's deepest circle used to tease me something unmerciful.

  She'd catch me sitting at the table reading the sacred word of God, then lean down and stick her tongue in my ear. One time, whilst I was taking my weekly bath, she tiptoed into my room and before I knew what was happening, that gal had grabbed what she'd been after since the day I arrived. Held on like a Louisiana snapping turtle—'cept it felt real good. Then she must've heard something, 'cause she left me stewing in my own juices. I almost passed out.

  Charlotte's room was right next to mine. Had a nice-sized hole in the wall I could look through and watch her undress. Pretty certain she knew about that peephole. Hell, she might have even carved out that opening her very own self, for all I know. Wouldn't put it past her—given how iniquitous Pa said gals and women could be.

  Randy gal spent most of her conscious moments tempting me to give up my immortal soul and run with horned Satan. She made my blood run cold and hot—along with lots of other more indecent things that went on in my own drawers.

  Always got the feeling she enjoyed shedding her clothes for an appreciative audience. And that ain't all, by a long damned shot. Gal would fondle herself. Goddamn, her sinful behavior like to have drove me buggier than a horse blanket full of brown dog ticks. Made my relationship with God mighty difficult, and seemed to be pulling me closer to the Devil's work each and every time I took a peep at her nekkid flesh.

  Guess I'd been living with them for two months or so when Mr. Hickerson put me to cleaning out the hayloft of his barn. Charlotte snuck up from behind, grabbed me around my waist, and jammed her hand into my pants. Stuck her tongue in my ear and licked me till I almost passed out.

  Then she whispered, "You are one good-looking boy, Eli. All them sweaty muscles. And, God almighty, you're as hard as the head on a miner's pick. Makes me wet just looking at you. Bet you'd like to stick that sweet pecker of yours inside me, wouldn't you?"

  Gal scared the righteous hell out of me. I twirled around, dropped the pitchfork, and almost stepped on the thing barefoot. She had the front of her dress tucked up in her belt. Damned if you couldn't see everything Charlotte had, and that gal had plenty. She was staring wide-eyed at the bulge in the crotch of my coveralls. Seemed mesmerized like one of them chickens what gets charmed by a snake.

  My father's thunderous voice rumbled up from his shallow grave and cut through my brain like a hay sickle. Think that put a fear in me worse than Charlotte's brazen nekkidness. His bloody ghost bellowed, "You'll burn, boy. Satan is about to drag your dumb ass to the fiery pit. Betwixt that gal's luscious legs lies the juicy highway to a smoldering Hell. Beelzebub's gonna take uncommon joy when he roasts that evil appendage of yours over his everlasting inferno. Run away, boy, run away. The bonfires of Hell are licking at your heels." Think he might have meant some other area of my body, or maybe I just heard him wrong.

  Then, damnation, Charlotte started making these nasty hunching motions at me. Grabbed herself betwixt the legs, fell over backward into the hay, and went to moaning like she was dying. Shit, that scared me even worse. Thought I might have done something by accident—maybe poked her with the pitchfork and killed her.

  Boy, I was about as far off the mark as a poor ignorant-assed wretch could be. She sat up, motioned for me to come to her, and said, "Do it to me, Eli. I really need it."

  Now, I want it known here that I tried to heed The Book's teachings. Said a hasty, but silent, prayer and looked to Heaven for guidance. Couldn't see a damned thing but Mr. Hickerson's barn rafters. The Lord must have been busy with something more important in another county. But, hell, I waited and hoped maybe an angel would show up. If God sent one, it took him way too long to find the barn. Must of got lost up in Austin.

  After about a minute's worth of serious praying, I just couldn't hold back any longer. Don't know what got into me. Thought my head was gonna explode—amongst other things. Went totally bat-shit moonstruck nuts. Jumped on Charlotte's beautifully shaped nekkid ass like a rutting pig.

  We must have fornicated on every flat surface in ole man Hickerson's hayloft. Twice. Maybe three times. Think I might have gone completely crazy during the act. Felt like my entire body flew to pieces at one point. Strangest of all, the hair on my entire head vibrated like picked banjo strings for almost an hour. And from then on, till I had to leave town, Charlotte couldn't keep her hands off me. Girl was like an East Texas forest fire—unquenchable.

  At first, I really enjoyed doing the dirty deed, you know. So much to see and touch, and all that new stuff to learn. But, hell, after a while, the whole act got to be something akin to work. Charlotte was clawing at the front of my pants every time I turned around. Never cared much for school before, but I was actually glad when class took up that fall. She was a year older, attended the group ahead of mine, and had to leave me alone—at least during the daytime anyway.

  Like I said before, she was one fine-looking gal. Naturally, the other boys spent most of their waking moments sniffing around like a pack of dogs chasing a bitch in heat any chance they got. And, truth be told, she probably let some of them hump her, too. I didn't care all that much. So long as they didn't make a big deal out of doing the horizontal wiggle with her.

  But about halfway through the school term of my last year, she must have let Harvey Bryant get a little of that stuff on his pecker. Mouthy son of a bitch went and bragged to every other man and boy in three counties about it. Made me madder than I'd ever been in my entire life. Not even the night I killed Pa fired me up like Harvey's filthy bragging.

  Caught him behind the schoolhouse one day and said, "Harvey, you'd best keep your mouth shut when it comes to Charlotte. I hear any more nasty stories about her that I can trace back to you, and I'll kick your bony ass till your nose bleeds."

  Dumb son of a bitch laughed right in my face. Sneered at me like I was something green and gooey he'd found stuck to the bottom of his boot. Said, "Well, you can kiss my bony ass, Gault. You don't tell nobody named Bryant how to act or what to say. Bet you're humpin' her yourself. Damn near every man in McLennan County's had some of that nasty stuff. Dirty-legged slut would do it with a dog if she could find one big enough."

  I hit him in the mouth. Knocked all his front teeth out. Think he might have swallowed a couple of them. Got to choking and hacking so bad, I feared for a minute the loose-mouthed jackass might strangle to death right then and there.

  Thought that was the end of the disagreement, but about a week later, I walked into class and foot-tall letters written on the blackboard said, "Lookin' fer some damned good fun? See Charlotte Hickerson. La Honda's favorite town pump."

  Didn't have to work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency to figure that one out. Found Harvey standing beside our teacher—ugly, one-eyed woman named Hortence Skaggs. Harvey flashed his new snaggle-toothed grin at me like he felt safe. I stomped over and hit him right in the eye. Almost knocked the top of his head off.

  Miss Skaggs went to yelping and hollering like a kicked dog. Screamed, "Stop, stop this right now!"

  Harvey, silly son of a bitch, came up swinging a long-bladed pocketknife. Thought he would cut me to pieces before I could fish my own pigsticker out of a wadded-up vest pocket. Dumb bastard didn't know any more about knife fighting than he did about the regular kind. Made a lunge at me, and I stabbed him in the side three or four times, so fast he didn't even realize he'd been hurt for a spell.

  He kept at me, and went to bleeding pretty good. Soaked his shirt. Some slopped over the waist of his pants. Loudmouthed gal in the mob of kids watching us went to hollering, "Harvey's bleeding. Miss Skaggs, Miss Skaggs, Eli done went and stabbed Harvey."


  Well, the poor dumb son of a bitch looked down, saw all that blood, and dropped like an anvil pitched in a well. He got put in bed. I got put in jail.

  Marshal Tom Bankston told Mr. Hickerson, "The boy's a danger to the community. I cain't let him out and send him back to our school after he done what he done. I'm trying right now to see if the town can send his murderous ass to the Texas Boys' Reformatory. It's either that, or the penitentiary down at Huntsville. Bet, by God, a little stay in the state pen would teach him to stab folks."

  Mr. Hickerson argued that Harvey pulled his knife first. Dumb-assed lawman wouldn't listen. So I sat in my cell, bided my time, and watched everything going on around me for about a week.

  Charlotte came by to see me late one afternoon. Unbuttoned her blouse, glanced to make sure the marshal wasn't looking, then grabbed me by my crotch right through the cell door. Jesus, I had to figure out a way to turn the girl off—there were more important fish to fry.

  Felt her up as much as I could reach. Then told her to get me a tree limb, at least three feet long and no bigger around than a man's thumb. She brought it to me that night. Wouldn't turn it loose till after I'd spent almost an hour giving her another treatment through the window of my cell.

  Soon as the marshal left for his supper the next evening, I used the limb to fish his key ring off a peg on the wall that was situated almost exactly three feet from the last opening in my cell door. Unlocked myself, put the keys back, and blocked the door closed till he'd gone home for the night.

  Waited till about eleven o'clock before I made my escape. By then, pretty much everyone in town had turned in and been asleep for at least an hour or two. My getaway that fateful night was the beginning of a murderous journey through hell on earth.

  Stopped briefly on the way out of town for a quick trip to the local mercantile. Had little fear of being caught seeing as how the proprietor was a man whose wife had recently died. Reckoned the ancient old fart was so steeped in grief, he'd take little notice of me rummaging through his place of business. I should have done a little more reckoning.

  Pried the back door open, and went straight to the gun counter. Picked out a pair of matched, bone-handled '73 Colts, a Winchester Yellow Boy rifle, and a bowie knife. Went through the clothes rack, too. Dressed myself in a whole new set of duds. Nice black suit, white shirt, string tie, boots, and a fine-looking gray felt hat.

  Banged around in the dark some before I finally came across a case of .45-caliber ammunition for the pistols and .44s for the rifle. Even found a little metal box full of folding money hidden under the cash register. Hell, there was near five hundred dollars in that box. Couldn't believe anyone was so stupid, or trusting. Not much difference, far as I'm concerned.

  Loaded them pistols, and was about to make my final exit when Elroy Cumby, the owner, caught me in the act. Ignorant old bastard surprised the hell out of me. Hard to believe a man that old could hear well enough to be awakened by anything short of the Rapture and the Second Coming.

  Dumb son of a bitch stumbled down the stairs from his quarters above the store. Had a double-bit ax in his hands. Yelled, "What the hell you doin' in here, boy?"

  I snapped back, "Robbing your store, you bean-counting old bastard." Felt right proud of myself for the snappy comeback.

  Suppose he figured to make me feel bad when he said, "Thought you was already locked up fer attempted murder. Well, I'll just take care of you myself, you thievin' little son of a bitch."

  Stupid jackass ran at me and swung that ax like he intended to splatter my brains all over the wall. Blade buried up in the countertop less than a foot from where I stood when I jumped out of the way. Pulled one of them pistols I'd just stole, pressed the muzzle against his chest, and shot the hell out of him. Guess I must have fired two or three more times before he dropped to the floor in a heap. Think one round hit him in the eye. Most likely that one killed the ax-swinging idiot. Lucky shot really. If I hadn't been so close, probably would've missed his whole head. Wasn't a real gunfighter at the time.

  Noise from the muzzle blast inside Cumby's almost deafened me. My ears rang for a week. Must not have been much more than a group of popping sounds outside. Don't think a single soul in La Honda heard the blasting.

  Now, I must admit to feeling right bad about killing ole man Cumby. Hadn't planned it, didn't expect it, and was shocked right to my boot soles when I realized what I'd gone and done. But it's hard to hold back when someone comes at you with an ax. Hell, if I hadn't shot him, that old man would probably have chopped me up like a Sunday fryer.

  Bent over his still-warm body and said, "Why'd you do that? Hell, I didn't have any intentions to kill anybody. Stupid old bastard. You've done sealed my fate, sure as Lincoln freed the slaves. God Almighty, but it takes a damned stupid son of a bitch to bring an ax to a pistol fight."

  Peeked outside to make certain no one came running my direction. Slipped onto the boardwalk, and strolled down the deserted Main Street. Tried to act like I was on my way to Sunday school, and by God, it worked.

  Stopped out front of the Lone Star Saloon. Could hear female laughter and piano music coming from the place. Found a long-legged, dappled gray mare tied to the hitch rail. Animal carried a new saddle, too. Climbed aboard, and ambled out of town like I was simply taking a Sunday afternoon ride in the country.

  So, there you have it. In a matter of little more than two years, I'd gone from being the quietly handsome, pious son of a relatively famous traveling preacher, to an extremely dangerous man in my own respect. From the night I shot Cumby forward, damned few men lived who wouldn't eventually know of, and fear, Eli Gault.

  Folks have often asked me why the law didn't come gather me up for the hangman. Hell, they tried about every other week or so, it seemed. La Honda's city marshal, Tom Bankston, was the first.

  3

  "Thunderation commenced."

  I rode away from La Honda like the horned devil himself chased me, or maybe it was Pa's ghost. Headed for Waco. No special reason at the time, but I knew for a fact the company there tended to be most agreeable, the weather tolerable, and the town's location on the Brazos River quite beautiful at certain times of the year.

  Perhaps more important, I'd met a girl named Millicent Hatcher, daughter of the Reverend Josiah Hatcher, while visiting Waco during one of my father's soul-saving raids some years before. As I remembered, she was a good-looking gal. We'd only been about fourteen years old during my previous visit. Couldn't wait to see her again and try out some of the things I'd learned from Charlotte.

  Spent almost three weeks out in the briars and brambles wandering around like Moses in the wilderness. I feared going into all but the most out-of-the-way villages. Chose the smallest possible, most isolated of towns to buy food and supplies.

  Practiced every day with my new pistols. Did the majority of my deadly rehearsing with no ammunition in those big Colts, so as not to waste bullets. Damned bullets cost a nickel each. Shooting up a bunch for no good reason was the same as burning cash far as I was concerned. 'Course, I hadn't paid for them ones I'd stole from ole man Cumby, but I couldn't bring myself to squander any. Ain't Christian to be wasteful.

  Stopped at a wide spot in the road about a hundred miles north of Uvalde called Bandera. Found me a Mexican leather worker of some repute. No man in Texas made better saddles at the time. He worked me a fine belt and holster for the gun I carried on my hip. Fashioned a second one as a shoulder rig. Told him I wanted at least one of my weapons out of sight.

  Got to thinking on the need for more firepower, so, a few days later, I slipped into another one-dog community of stump jumpers called Alta. Stole me a four-barreled derringer I carried in my boot and another Colt I tucked behind my cartridge belt in a kind of cross draw. Felt right comfortable from then on.

  Must have made Waco about ten minutes ahead of Marshal Tom Bankston. To tell the righteous truth, I still don't know how that antique son of a bitch found me so quick. Reined in my dappled
gray out front of a watering hole called the Capitol Saloon.

  Place looked right nice from the street. Figured it had to be cooler at the bar than out in the dust and blowflies. Besides, I was mighty hungry. Figured anywhere men congregated to drink and gamble there had to be food.

  Hell, I'd just swallowed down my first mouthful of an ice-cold beer when I heard, "You've led me on a merry chase, Eli. But now it's time for us to head back to La Honda. You've got thievery and bloody murder to answer for, boy."

  Glanced up in the mirror hanging behind a bar that'd been shipped by steamer all the way from New York. Leastways, that's what the bartender bragged to this feller standing beside me who'd been nice enough to buy everyone in the place a drink.

  Marshal Bankston swayed from foot to foot, five or six steps behind me. Didn't appear agitated, upset, or anything. Just looked bone-tired. Like the poor old fool wanted nothing more in the world than to go home. Sit in his favorite chair. Suck on a glass of cold buttermilk.

  Kept at my drink. Refused to turn around. Right cheerful, I said, "Who the hell are you, stranger? Have we met before?"

  Bankston drew in a deep breath everyone in the place must have heard. Let all of it out before he said, "I don't have much patience left, Eli. Rode all over hell and gone chasin' you. Fell off my horse the other day and landed in a mesquite bush. Rattler spooked him. Got them damn stickers all in my left shoulder and hand. Ain't in no mood to bandy words with a pup who murdered a good friend of mine."