The Young 'Un
A stooped, gray-haired elderly man, beaten down by life, slowly limped across the main street of the small, rural Illinois town and took a seat on a wooden bench across from the courthouse. A crew of men working under the auspices of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt's Works Progress Administration was just beginning to clear the ground for the construction of the new courthouse annex. America was in the midst of what would become known as the Great Depression. To the old man, the period of economic downturn in the Thirties that followed on the heels of the collapse of the stock market was not much different from the other decades of his life. He had always been poor.
After cordoning off the construction area to prevent bystanders from being injured, one of the workmen started a gas-powered chainsaw and walked toward the large tree that had stood in front of the courthouse for more than a century. A little boy, roughly ten years of age, covered his ears with his hands and sat down on the bench next to the old man.
"That thing sure is noisy!" he yelled over the din of the power tool.
The old man did not reply.
Maybe he didn't hear me, the boy thought.
There was a resounding crack, and the tree bowed forward and fell. The chainsaw was silenced, and a handful of WPA workers armed with handsaws began removing the branches.
"How long do you reckon that tree was there?" the little boy asked.
The old man looked down at the child, and the lad was surprised to see tears in his eyes.
"Oh, well before the War Between the States, I imagine," he replied. "Probably longer than that."
"Maybe as far back as the time of George Washington?" the boy asked with reverent awe.
"Mayhap it was."
"I can understand why it makes you so sad to see it cut down then."
"I know a story about that tree," the old man explained.
"Will you tell it to me?"
"It's not a happy story."
"Please."
The old man's reddened, tear-filled eyes turned back to the downed tree, and he proceeded to tell his tragic tale.
* * *
The old man's story began in the 1850s with a family by the name of Trundle who hailed from Reading, Pennsylvania. There were originally five boys and three girls in the family; however, sickness took all but two of the sons: the oldest and the youngest, who was just a baby at the time. The boys' father worked laying track for the railroad. It was hard, back-breaking work that did not pay well since, as immigrants began pouring onto eastern shores, there was an abundance of labor. Worst of all, Ephraim Trundle had to regularly uproot his family as the railroads headed further west.
This itinerant life was hard on the two boys. Not staying in one place for any great length of time, they never had a real home, never had much education and never formed close friendships with others their age. All they ever had was each other. Samuel, the younger son, worshipped the older one, Lucas, who in turn doted on his baby brother. Despite the difference in their ages, the boys were inseparable growing up.
Then in 1861 the Civil War began, and President Abraham Lincoln called for volunteers to fight the Confederates. Since Lucas had no luck finding a steady job, he figured he might as well enlist in the Army. He would be risking his life, but at least he would be paid regularly. Naturally, Samuel took the news of his brother's enlistment hard.
"Why can't I go with you?" the child demanded to know.
"'Cause you ain't old enough," Lucas replied, amused at the forlorn look on his brother's face. "Mr. Lincoln don't want no young 'uns joinin' up."
"Why do you always call me that?"
"Call you what?"
"Young 'un. It don't make you better than me just 'cause you was born first."
"Hold on now," Lucas laughed, tousling his brother's sandy hair. "Don't go gettin' yourself riled up. I ain't never said I was better. But the Army has rules, and one of them is that you have to be a certain age to fight. You think I want to go off and leave you? Hell, no! You're my kin."
Overcome with emotion, Samuel threw his arms around his brother's waist and hugged him.
"I love you, Lucas!" the child cried. "And I always will, forever and ever!"
"I love you, too, young 'un. And when I get back from this war, we're goin' to find us a real home, somewhere we can stay put. I promise you, no more movin' from place to place."
Samuel leaned back his head and looked up into his brother's face. He had complete faith in Lucas and never doubted what he said. No matter what the future had in store for the country, his brother would survive the war and come home to his family.
* * *
In the years that Lucas Trundle had been off fighting for the preservation of the Union, Samuel grew into a strapping young man. Although still too young to enlist in the Army, he was old enough to work and help support his widowed mother, Willa, after his father passed away in 1863, not long after his brother fought at Gettysburg. With most of the male population of the county off to war, Samuel was able to find steady employment for decent wages at a nearby sawmill and lumber yard. Although far from wealthy, he made enough so that he and Willa had a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs and food on the table.
Right around the time that General Sherman captured Atlanta in 1864, Samuel began courting fourteen-year-old Marjorie Hibbert, the daughter of the town's barber. The girl's parents, who had six unmarried daughters, heartily approved of the match. In their opinion, Samuel was a nice enough boy who worked hard, minded his manners, took care of his mother and treated their daughter with respect.
"I just hope the war ends soon before he's old enough to fight," the girl's father confided in his wife.
"So do I. God knows enough men have already lost their lives," Mrs. Hibbert replied, wiping the tears from her eyes over the loss of her own two sons.
Samuel's growing feelings for Marjorie gave him cause for concern. Although recent victories pointed to the North winning the war, who was to say what the future held? The South might gain a powerful ally. The fighting might continue for years before one side proved victorious.
It wouldn't be fair to marry her and then go off to battle, leavin' her all alone, he thought. And I can't very well ask her to wait until the war is over when no one knows how long that will be.
Then there was his mother to think about. Who would support her if he went to join his brother? Still, it was Lucas who was foremost in his mind. Every time Samuel lay down on his comfortable bed at night, enjoyed one of his mother's home-cooked meals, sat beside a warm fire on a cold winter's evening or took Marjorie in his arms, he felt the weight of guilt press down on him.
Why should my brother be the one to suffer, to risk his life for his country just 'cause he was born first? It ain't fair that 'cause I'm the young 'un I don't have to share his misery.
Samuel's mental torment came to an end in April 1865. After four long years of war, Robert E. Lee surrendered to Ulysses S. Grant.
"That means Lucas will be comin' home," Samuel told his mother when they heard the news of the war's end.
"Oh, thank God!" Willa cried. "I prayed each and every night that my boy wouldn't get hisself killed, and the Lord must have heard my prayers."
Samuel, who did not share his mother's religious beliefs, had never said a prayer for his brother's safe return. Even if he were a church-goer, it wouldn't have been necessary. Lucas had promised he would come home, and his brother's word was gospel to him.
* * *
Lucas stared at the tall, brawny young man who was helping his mother out of a wagon in front of a small but well-kept house.
That can't be my little brother! he thought with amazement.
When he had left four years earlier, the top of Samuel's head had not reached Lucas's chin. Now, the baby of the family looked taller than his older sibling.
"Howdie, Ma!" the former soldier called.
His family turned at the sound of his voice. Tears fell down Willa's face as she gave a silent prayer of thanks for her son's safe return.
"Lucas!" Samuel shouted with joy.
"Look at you!" the older brother said after the two embraced. "I almost didn't recognize you."
"That's because I'm not a young 'un anymore."
"Don't go gettin' cocky now. I'll always be the firstborn, and that still makes you the young 'un in my eyes."
"You must be hungry," Willa said, preferring to concentrate on the mundane subject of food rather than risk having a highly emotional homecoming scene.
"I sure am," Lucas replied and then followed his mother and brother into the house.
"We can bunk together just like the old days," Samuel announced, as he helped his brother carry his belongings into the bedroom they shared before the war.
"I can't believe you and Ma are livin' in the same house as before."
"This is our home," Samuel explained. "Things aren't like they was when Pa was alive. I have a steady job. There ain't no reason for us to move around no more."
"That's what you always wanted: a home."
"I also got myself a gal."
Lucas raised his eyebrows and smiled.
"You don't say? Now, don't that beat all! The young 'un of the family found hisself a gal before I did."
"Well, you was preoccupied, what with the war and all."
The two brothers washed their hands and took their seats at the kitchen table.
"Now tell me all about this gal of yours," Lucas said, feeling a tinge of envy for his brother's good fortune.
Samuel's face colored with embarrassment.
"She's the prettiest gal in town and the sweetest. Now that the war is over, I'm fixin' to ask her Pa for her hand."
"You wanna get married? When?"
"I figure we'll tie the knot once I save up enough money to add a room on this house. But enough talk about me. What about you? What do you wanna do with your life now that you're out of the Army?"
"To be honest, I never gave the matter much thought. I suppose I'll find myself a job and a place to live ...."
"You can stay right here," Samuel assured him. "This is your home as much as it is mine. And as for a job, there's plenty of work down at the sawmill."
"It seems you've already got my life mapped out for me."
Willa placed the food on the table and took the seat between her two sons. As Lucas reached for a biscuit, she gently slapped his hand away.
"I don't care if this is your homecomin' celebration," she said. "Before you put a morsel of food into your mouth, you bow your head and thank the good Lord for what he's given us."
Although both sons did as their mother instructed, their prayers of thankfulness were mere words since neither young man believed in a divine being to hear them.
* * *
Lucas wiped the perspiration off his brow with a damp rag. It was as hot as hell, and his shirt stuck to his sweaty torso. It was not just the heat that made him miserable. Every muscle in his body ached as well. While his years in the Army had not been a cakewalk, carrying a gun and marching long distances with a heavy pack on his back had not been as physically taxing as hauling heavy logs at the sawmill.
Honest to God, sometimes I wish the war never ended, he thought.
Samuel, on the other hand, did not mind the hard labor. Unlike his father's job laying tracks for the railroad, work at the sawmill was steady. He could provide Marjorie and whatever children they might have with a comfortable home and a secure future.
Although they still shared a close familial bond, the two brothers had grown apart in what they wanted from life. Samuel, who spent the last four years at home, taking care of his mother, had become domesticated whereas Lucas went off to war. He had seen and done things his little brother could not imagine. While serving in the Army, he met men from New York, Boston and Philadelphia and heard stories of what life was like in the big cities.
There's bound to be a place for a man like me back East, Lucas reasoned. If I only had some money to get me there and tide me over until I find a job ....
If he continued working at the sawmill, though, it would take him years to save up enough for such a venture. The despondent former soldier had just about resigned himself to a life of drudgery and unhappiness when he read about brothers Frank and Jesse James, former Confederate sympathizers, who were believed to have participated in the robbery of the Clay County Savings Association in Liberty, Missouri. Robbing a bank seemed more profitable than hauling lumber—with a lot less wear and tear on the body.
Lucas had no moral compunctions against such a robbery. A bank was a business. It was not like robbing a person. Still, breaking the law always involved a certain amount of danger, but it was absurd for him to worry about getting shot by lawmen after he had spent four years facing the enemy across a battlefield.
On the other hand, it would be even less dangerous if I had a partner to act as a lookout.
There was only one person he trusted enough with that role: Samuel. Yet the younger brother was content with his lot in life. He had a place to live, a steady job and a girl he wanted to marry. Why would he be willing to risk his life on such a foolhardy scheme?
'Cause he's my brother, and he'd be willin' to lay down his life iffen I asked him.
That night after supper, the two men went to the river to bathe in the cool water. After stripping off his sweaty, sawdust-covered clothing, Lucas waded into the river to stand chest-deep in the gentle current.
"Don't this feel good after a long day at the mill?" Samuel asked.
"It sure does, young 'un."
"When are you ever gonna stop callin' me that? Pretty soon I'll be a married man with young 'uns of my own."
This was the opportunity Lucas had been waiting for.
"It's gonna be mighty crowded in that little house, what with you, Ma, your missus and a passel of young 'uns."
"We'll make room. And don't forget you live there, too."
"I can't stay at home forever. Lately, I got a hankerin' to move to the city."
Samuel stared aghast at his older brother. It had never occurred to him that Lucas might leave the roost.
"I've been thinkin' a lot about my life lately," Lucas continued. "Now that the war's over, there's fortunes to be made back East. A man with some brains and a little money can end up a millionaire."
"Well, I reckon you got the brains, but where are you gonna find the money?"
"Where do you think people get money? At a bank."
"You think you can just walk in and ask for a loan, and they'll give it to you?"
"I'm not talkin' about a loan. I'm talkin' about takin' the money and not payin' it back."
"But that's ... that's ...."
"Robbery."
Samuel's look of shock soon faded, and he burst out laughing.
"You quit pullin' my leg, y'hear."
"I'm not jokin' with you."
"You know holdin' up a bank is against the law. Is that what you want? To lead a life of crime?"
"I wouldn't make a career out of it. Just one robbery is all I'm talkin' about. Just enough money so's I can set up in Boston or New York. Then I'll be an honest businessman for the rest of my days."
"Just like drunkards always say they only want one drink."
"I already made up my mind. I'm gonna rob the Hamilton County Bank," Lucas announced.
"Then why are you tellin' me? If you're so sure-fired stubborn, then go ahead and do it."
"I thought you might wanna help me."
"Why the hell would I wanna do that?"
"Wouldn't you like your wife and young 'uns to live in a nice house and not be cooped up in one or two rooms?"
"Marjorie wouldn't want me to rob a bank just so's we could have a nice place to live."
"She doesn't have to know where the money comes from."
"Now you want me to lie to the woman I love! What else? You want me to commit murder, too?"
"No," Lucas replied with defeat in his voice. "I just wanted you to help your older brother start a new life."
Samuel closed his eyes and dove underwater. It was in that cool, dark, soundless watery depth of the river that he made the fateful decision to help his brother rob a bank.
* * *
The robbery was easier than Lucas had imagined. He simply walked into the Hamilton County Bank with a bandana tied around the lower half of his face, drew his gun and demanded the teller give him all his cash. Once outside the bank, however, things did not go as smoothly. Not only lawmen but law-abiding citizens as well joined in the chase for the bank robbers. Lucas, who had come out of the bank running, got a head start on Samuel, who had been standing guard in the street, his eyes on the sheriff's office on the next block. By the time he mounted his horse, there was no hope of escape.
"All right, son," Sheriff Otis Cutterman said once Samuel was in custody. "Who were you workin' with?"
"I work at the sawmill."
"Don't play dumb with me, boy. Who was the man with the gun, who got away with the money?"
"I don't know what you're talkin' about."
"Look here. You ain't carryin' a weapon; that's in your favor. And you've never been in any trouble before. If we can get the money back, I'm sure the law will go easy on you. Just tell me who your partner was."
"I don't have no partner. I didn't do nothin' wrong. I was just standin' on the street, mindin' my own business. There's no law against that, is there?"
"You got an older brother, don't you?" Cutterman asked.
"Yup. He's been workin' with me at the sawmill ever since he got back from the war," Samuel replied, steadfastly loyal to his sibling. "He fought at Gettysburg, you know."
"Maybe the judge will be lenient on him seein' as he's a hero and all. But his fightin' for the Union don't give him no cause to rob a bank. He's gotta obey the law same as everyone else. Now, where is he?"
"I don't rightly know, sheriff. I ain't seen him all day."
Nothing Otis could say or do would convince Samuel to betray his brother. He was charged in connection with the robbery, tried, found guilty and sent to prison.
Meanwhile, Lucas, believing there was nothing he could do to help his brother, took his ill-gotten gains and fled to Chicago.
* * *
When Samuel Trundle was released from prison, he swore to Marjorie Hibbert that he would never break the law again. Despite his brief foray into crime, she had stood by him, and once he was free, they got married as planned. The barber and his wife were not exactly thrilled with having a former convict for a son-in-law. However, with six unmarried daughters and a shortage of eligible men due to the war, they gave their blessing to the union. Furthermore, since Samuel had always been a hard worker, the owner of the sawmill gave him back his job.
The only thing missing from his life was his brother. Neither he nor his mother had heard from Lucas since the bank robbery.
"I don't suppose he could risk sendin' us a letter," he told his new wife. "The lawmen might see the postmark, and then they'd know where to look for him."
Although Marjorie thought it had been disgraceful for Lucas to take off with the money and allow his brother to go to jail, she kept her opinion to herself.
"I know someday, probably when we least expect it, he'll either show up or send us a message. I got no doubt he's in New York or some other big city back East, on his way to makin' his first million."
As he had predicted, Samuel received word from his brother one year later. He and Marjorie were celebrating the news that they were about to become parents when a letter arrived from Chicago.
"I'll be damned!" he cried with joy after reading the signature. "It's from Lucas."
"What does he want?" Marjorie asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
"He wants me to go to Chicago."
"Whatever for?"
"It says here he wants us to live up there."
Marjorie's cheeks lost their normally rosy color. She was horrified at the thought of leaving her family.
"You're not considerin' it; are you?"
"No. Much as I'd like bein' near my brother, this here is our home."
What Samuel failed to mention to his wife was that Lucas included a name and an address where he could be reached. Without his wife's knowledge, he replied to his brother's letter, telling him that once the baby was born the couple might travel to Chicago for a visit.
Three months later, a tragic accident occurred at the lumber yard when several tons of thick, un-split tree trunks broke through the ropes that had fastened them together and crashed into a group of men. Two of the men were crushed to death, and the other one, Samuel, was seriously hurt. Although his injuries were not life-threatening, damage to the nerves in his shoulder resulted in partial paralysis, which caused him to lose the use of his left arm.
"I'm just so glad you're alive!" Marjorie tearfully exclaimed when she visited her husband in the hospital.
"I suppose I ought to be thankful it's only my arm and not my legs."
Although the right-handed man still had full use of his one good arm, it was physically impossible for him to perform his duties at the sawmill with only one arm. In the years before Workers' Compensation laws came into effect, such an injury often meant financial disaster. Samuel was a man with no formal education and few marketable skills, one who had always relied on his physical strength and dexterity to earn his wages. Now he was faced with having a mother, a wife and a child on the way all relying on him for support.
The night he got out of the hospital, once his wife was in bed asleep, he wrote a letter to his brother in Chicago.
* * *
"I'm goin' to visit Lucas."
It was a statement that left no room for argument.
"Why now?" Marjorie asked. "The baby's due in a month. I'd feel so much better knowin' you was nearby."
"I'm sorry, but it can't wait. We're hurtin' for money, and he's goin' to find me some work. Don't go worryin' your pretty head, now. It's only temporary. I'll be back soon, hopefully before our young 'un is born."
"What kind of work is it?" his wife asked, wary of her brother-in-law's bad influence.
"Factory work that I can do with only one hand. I'll be fillin' in for one of the regular workers who's got to tend to a family emergency in Pennsylvania."
Marjorie's initial instinct was to beg her husband to stay. She knew if she tried hard enough, she could convince him not to go.
He's not goin' for Lucas's sake, she chided herself. He's a good man who's doin' his best to provide for his family. What kind of a wife would I be if I tried to stop him?
When the day came for Samuel to leave, Marjorie fought her tears and forced a smile.
"You be careful now," she advised, hugging him tightly.
"I'll be fine. It's just a factory job. It's safer than workin' at the sawmill."
He took a step back and looked down at her stomach.
"I'm real sorry if I miss the birth. I pray everything goes smoothly."
"You do?" Marjorie laughed. "Considerin' you're not a church-goer, I don't know how much weight your prayers carry. But don't worry. Between your mother and my parents, I think we have the whole prayer thing covered."
After one final lingering kiss, Samuel mounted his horse and rode away. When her husband finally vanished from her view, Marjorie went into the house and cried.
Four days later, as she was helping Willa prepare a simple dinner for two, the expectant mother heard a knock on the front door.
"I wonder who that could be."
When Marjorie opened it, she was surprised to see Sheriff Cutterman and his deputy, Jedediah Hartsfield. A sudden fear caused her to shiver despite the warm temperature of the day.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"We come to see your husband," the sheriff announced.
"He's not here."
"Where is he?"
Marjorie had to think of a quick lie. She could not very well tell the two lawmen that Samuel went to visit his brother who was wanted in connection with the robbery of the Hamilton County Bank.
"He went to look for work. He lost his job at the sawmill after ...."
"We know all about his injury," Otis said, rudely cutting her off. "Just the same, I think I'll have a look for myself."
Without being invited inside, he pushed his way through the door.
"What's this all about?" Marjorie asked, upset by the sheriff's gruffness and the growing fear that Samuel was in trouble.
"Your husband appears to be up to his old tricks again," Otis replied. "It seems he and his brother robbed another bank."
"No!" the pregnant woman moaned, falling back into a nearby chair.
Willa went to her daughter-in-law's side to offer her comfort as the two men pulled the house apart, looking for any clue as to where Samuel might be hiding.
"There's nothin' here," Jedediah declared.
The sheriff was losing his patience. He stood threateningly over Marjorie and shouted questions down at her, interrogating her as though she were the suspect.
"Where is your husband?"
"Out lookin' for work."
"When is he due back?"
"I don't rightly know."
"You expect me to believe he left you here in your condition?"
"We need the money."
The questions kept coming. When did he leave? Where has Lucas been living? When was the last time Samuel heard from his brother?
"Leave the poor girl alone!" Willa cried as her daughter-in-law collapsed on the floor, sobbing. "Can't you see she doesn't know nothin' about a bank robbery?"
"Maybe she does, and maybe she doesn't," the sheriff argued. "Maybe she's as stubborn as her husband is. He went to jail rather than tell us where Lucas was. I can tell you one thing. When we catch him this time, the judge won't be so lenient. He might even sentence your two boys to hang!"
Promising to come back again, Sheriff Cutterman stomped out the door with Jedediah trailing behind him.
* * *
The gnawing hunger in his stomach woke Lucas Trundle from an uneasy sleep. Through the dim morning light, he saw his brother standing in front of a broken window, looking out.
"See anything?" Lucas asked.
"Nope."
"Maybe I can go rummage for some berries or nuts to eat. I might even be lucky enough to get us a squirrel or rabbit."
"How long you plannin' on stayin' here?" Samuel asked.
Since fleeing the scene of the robbery, the two brothers had been hiding in an abandoned warehouse more than twenty miles from the bank.
"Until I feel it's safe for us to leave."
"We been in this place three weeks already! Ain't no one come lookin' for us."
"Didn't I tell you we'd be safe here?"
"I didn't know you was plannin' on stayin' here so long. I got to be gettin' home. Marjorie's gonna be havin' the baby any day now—iffen she hasn't had it already."
"Are you crazy? The law is lookin' for us. That's the first place they'll go."
"But they may not even suspect us," Samuel argued.
"Do you want to take that chance?"
"Damn it! Why'd I let you talk me into this?"
"Because we both needed the money," Lucas answered, even though his brother's question was rhetorical.
"I can't stay here. I got to see my wife. She'll be expectin' me to come home soon. I'm sure she's wonderin' why I haven't even written to her."
"Just wait a little while longer, another week or so. That money won't do either of us any good if we're in jail."
Lucas pulled on his boots, picked up his hunting knife and, after making sure the coast was clear, went in search of food. Samuel waited roughly fifteen minutes and then followed him outside.
Sorry, brother. I can't wait any longer.
He stealthily crept through the woods, careful not to make any sounds that might alert someone to his presence. Not only did he want to avoid any lawmen, but he also wanted to steer clear of his older sibling. He walked the entire day, stopping only for brief periods to drink water or rest his feet. While passing by a farm, he was able to help himself to apples from a tree. They weren't quite ripe yet, but despite their sour taste, they eased his hunger.
After four days, he neared his hometown. He waited until the sun went down before attempting to draw close to the house. Under cover of darkness, he went not to the front door but to a rear window. He opened it and crawled inside, hoping he would not startle his wife or mother. The bedroom was empty; Marjorie had not yet gone to bed. Samuel opened the door a crack and saw his mother sitting in the parlor, alone.
"Ma," he whispered.
"Oh, sweet lord! You nearly scared the life out of me!" Willa cried.
"I came in through the bedroom window. I didn't know if anyone was lookin' for us."
"It's true then. You and your brother robbed another bank."
"I was desperate," he admitted. "I had no job, no money and a baby on the way."
Willa's eyes immediately filled with tears.
"What's wrong?" Samuel asked.
"It's Marjorie," his mother sobbed. "The poor girl was so upset after the sheriff and deputy left that she went into labor early. Neither one of them made it."
Samuel's immense sorrow was compounded by anger and guilt. It was his fault his wife and child were dead. His and Otis Cutterman's.
* * *
When Samuel returned to the abandoned warehouse, he was not surprised to find his brother there, still in hiding.
"Where did you run off to?" Lucas demanded to know.
"I went home."
Samuel's voice was flat, completely lacking in emotion.
"Is anyone lookin' for us?"
"Yup. Sheriff Cutterman. And now I'm goin' to go lookin' for him."
"Why the hell would you want to do that?"
When Samuel told him what had happened to Marjorie and her unborn child, Lucas tried to talk some sense into his brother.
"Do you think she'd want you to get caught and spend the rest of your life in prison?"
"Twice you asked for my help to rob a bank. Now I'm askin' you for your help. With all the money we stole, I want you to take care of Ma. She's got no one else to look after her."
"What about you?"
"I'm fixin' to shoot the man responsible for my wife's death."
"Killin' is a hangin' offense."
"I don't care. I got nothin' left to live for."
"I don't suppose you'll listen to reason, so I guess I'll have to go with you. I don't want you to get yourself killed before you find Cutterman."
With Lucas by his side, Samuel once again made it back to town. Just before midnight, the two brothers stood across the street from the sheriff's office.
"You better go now," Samuel said. "You might get caught if you stay in town."
Lucas knew he should remain, but he did not share his brother's keen sense of family loyalty.
"I reckon you're right. I wouldn't want anything to happen now. Ma will be countin' on me."
Samuel crossed the street and walked into the sheriff's office. Deputy Hartsfield looked up, surprised at the unexpected visit.
"Where's Cutterman?" the outlaw demanded to know.
Lucas, although eager to leave town, had to take shelter in a narrow alley when he saw a second deputy headed his way. Silent and still, he watched the lawman enter Cutterman's office. Knowing his brother was outnumbered, he feared the worst. Two gunshots confirmed his fears.
Foolish young 'un! he thought. He never had a chance.
Suddenly Samuel came running out of the building, gun in hand. Jedediah staggered out the door behind him but fell into the street moments later. The sound of the shots woke the sheriff and brought him out of his house—right into the path of Lucas Trundle, who was running in the direction opposite the one his brother had chosen.
"Well, well!" Otis said once he felled the bank robber by hitting him in the head with his pistol. "Look who we got here."
The sheriff led his prisoner across the street where he locked him in a jail cell. Then he checked on his deputies, both of whom were dead.
"Looks like you and your brother got yourselves in a heap of trouble this time."
"It wasn't me," Lucas announced, wiping the blood from his temple with his shirt sleeve. "It was my brother. He shot the deputies. He come lookin' for you, wantin' revenge for his wife's death. I didn't have anything to do with killin' your men. I ain't even carryin' a gun."
"That's true enough. Course, it don't matter much. You're still wanted for the two bank robberies. But," Otis said slyly, "the judge just might be persuaded to send you to prison rather than the gallows. Iffen you're willin' to cooperate, that is."
"What are you askin' me to do?"
"It's only a matter of time before we find your brother. When we do, we'll need your testimony to convict him."
"Why would I want to do that? Iffen I keep my mouth shut, you got no evidence against him. But iffen I go into court and say Samuel killed your deputies, the young 'un will hang for sure."
"Look at it this way: it's either him or you. You talk; it's him. You keep your mouth shut; it's you."
* * *
After agreeing to testify against his brother, Lucas was moved to a holding cell at the county courthouse where he would stand trial for the bank robbery.
"Don't think you can get out of our deal," Otis warned as the guard locked the prisoner in his cell. "There ain't no statute of limitations on murder. Lessen you testify against Samuel when we catch him, you'll both be charged. And we got you leaving the scene."
After the sheriff left, Lucas lay on the cot in his cell. For the first time in his life, he wished he was a religious man. If he were, he would get down on his knees and pray to God that the lawmen never found Samuel so he would not have to betray his brother.
Two hours later, he finally managed to fall asleep. He was woken by the sound of a commotion in the street below.
"Where's the prisoner?" one man shouted angrily.
"He's locked in his cell," the guard replied. "Why do you want to know?"
"'Cause we're all friends and kin of the two deputies he killed. We come here to see justice is done for them."
"You know you can't take the law into your own hands."
"Why not? We was told the prisoner isn't even charged with their murder," the angry man replied.
"They was both young men," a second voice called out. "Married with small children."
It was clear that the guard's sympathy did not lie with the prisoner. Still, he had his job to consider.
"I can't let you inside," he said, barring the door to prevent the mob from entering. A rock was thrown through a window. Moments later, a second window was shattered.
"Stand back if you don't want to get hurt," the angry speaker warned as a group of men began battering the door with a long, heavy piece of metal pipe.
With his own life possibly in danger, the guard stood aside and let the vigilantes enter. Three men raced down the stairs with the guard's keys in hand, unlocked the cell door and dragged Lucas out to the street. There, a length of rope was thrown over a branch of a tree. The other end was placed around the prisoner's neck.
In his final moments, Lucas Trundle stared wildly out at the faces in the crowd. Not one person showed a hint of mercy. When the hanged man finally stopped twitching and the body was still at last, the guard cut him down and carried him back into the courthouse. Meanwhile, the men who had served as judge, jury and executioner, cut off pieces of the rope to keep as souvenirs.
* * *
As the workmen from the WPA continued to remove branches from the downed tree in front of the courthouse, the little boy stared with rapt attention at the old man, waiting for him to finish his story.
After several minutes of silence, the lad prompted, "What happened then?"
"Nothing. The prisoner was dead, and his body was buried in a pauper's grave not far from here. When she learned her son's fate, his mother died of a heart attack."
"But what about his brother, the young 'un? Did they hang him, too?"
"No. He was never seen again."
"You think he's still alive?" the boy asked excitedly.
"I reckon we'll never know. That was almost sixty years ago."
"Whew! He must be dead! Nobody lives that long."
With the old man's story at an end and the tree down, the little boy scampered off to play with his friends. The old man put his right hand inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a well-worn piece of rope, approximately four inches in length.
Almost sixty years! You're wrong, young 'un. Some people do live that long, he thought, recalling the astonished look on Lucas's face when he realized his younger brother was one of the vigilante mob in front of the courthouse.
It was just as Sheriff Cutterman had said: it was either one brother or the other. And young 'un Samuel Trundle had decided it would not be him.
This story is inspired by the lynching of Edward Maxwell in Durand, Wisconsin, in 1881. Ed Maxwell and his brother Alonzo allegedly killed two deputies while searching for the sheriff who had questioned Alonzo's pregnant wife. (She later died after delivering a stillborn child.) Ed was arrested and taken out of his cell by an angry mob and lynched. No one knows what became of Alonzo.
If Salem ever gets arrested for robbery, it won't be for robbing a bank!
