The Ridge: The Whisper of the Leaves - Chap. 23

Saturday, March 13

When Marshall awoke the day after stopping at the camp in Little Rock, he found that Woodie had already left. For Marshall, it was just as well because he had decided during the night that he was going to Texas as he had planned. He might get to California someday, but not just yet.

As it turned out, though, Marshall would have had better luck hopping a ride that day if he had gone with the singer. He didn’t realize that the train traffic at that spot was so sporadic and not another freight stopped or even slowed down there that day. So, he decided that his best chance if he was going to catch a freight at that spot was to get up early. That is exactly what he did the next day, a Saturday, and hopped a freight about 6:00 am when one stopped for water.

The Scoggins family also had not left yet so they decided to go out on the same train and got in a car together again. The train slowed and stopped more often than they liked, but Saturday at midnight, they came to a stop in the railroad yard in Fort Smith.

They all slept till daylight, then Marshall decided to leave the train to get something to eat. He took his things with him just in case. He found a diner not too far from the tracks where he ate a substantial breakfast of eggs, bacon and biscuits.

Afterward, at the train station itself, he bought a picture post card and sent it home to the family. He noticed that a couple of railroad employees in the station eyed him suspiciously and whispered something between themselves. Not wanting to press his luck, he wrote the note and posted it at the railroad post office then quickly left the station.

“Gotta match?”

Marshall didn’t notice the man standing outside the door of the train station leaning against the wall. He was probably a little older than his brother Thomas, but it was hard to tell from the amount of road dust on him.

“Don’t smoke, sorry.” Marshall said glancing at the man as he kept walking, slowing only slightly. He thought it was odd that the man asked for a match and yet had nothing to smoke in either hand. It was odd enough that Marshall turned to look back at the man.

It was fortunate he did because the man was now just a couple of feet behind him, his arm raised over his head, a 2x2 club prepared to smash Marshall’s head. Fortunately, Marshall turned so quickly, the man hesitated giving Marshall the chance to connect with a right cross to the stranger’s cheek. The blow knocked him to the ground, but he quickly scrambled up and ran around the corner of the station and out of sight.

Marshall didn’t give chase or even yell at the man just seeing that he needed to be more careful. He then realized his hand was hurting and he saw there was blood on it. But it was not the man’s blood. The punch had been hard enough it had cracked the skin on all the fingers of his right hand. He pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped the wounded hand then kept walking.

Marshall guessed it was about 10:00 a.m. and was learning that it was much better to try to hop a freight in the dark either early or late. But, of course, the bulls knew that as well, do that’s when they were most on the lookout for hobos and transients. But even though the danger was greater, he decided to chance the bulls and wait until after dark.

Of course, dark was a good seven hours away so with time to kill, he decided to get a newspaper to see if there was any stories about what had happened in Wynne. He slipped back into the station long enough to go to the news stand and buy two papers: The Memphis Press Scimitar and The Arkansas Gazette. He figured if there was a story, it would be in one or the other of these regional papers.

He tucked the papers under his arm and walked down the southbound tracks a couple of hundred yards and came to a city park situated a hundred feet away from the tracks. He saw no one there so he walked to a gazebo under some huge oak trees. From here he could wait in relative safety and yet still see the tracks and almost all the park at the same time.

In the Gazette he found only a small reference on page eighteen in the “Police Reports Around the State” section. It gave only the bare bones information, date, name, place, etc. Other than that, there was no mention of the incident. The Press Scimitar was another matter altogether. At the bottom of the front page a headline read, “Wynne Murders May Be Connected.”

March 9

WYNNE, ARKANSAS - Authorities investigating the March 6th murders of Al Lawrence and Bill Prichard have decided that these two murders may relate to the March 3rd murder of James Bentwood.

Wynne Police Chief, Homer Lampkin, stated that they now had evidence linking the three murders. While Lampkin would not release any information to this reporter concerning this link, personal investigation uncovered that at least two people are being sought for questioning.

One of these individuals, Marshall Bentwood, brother of James Bentwood, has not been seen since Wednesday, March 10, the day of his brother’s funeral. This coincidentally, or not, also happened to be the day Lawrence and Prichard were killed.

The second person being sought is Gerald Borden.........

“Gerald?” He said aloud then looked up to see if anyone was there to hear him, but he was still alone.

“What did you run for, buddy?” Marshall whispered then returned to the article.

The second person being sought is Gerald Borden, who, it is told, is a close friend of Marshall Bentwood. He was last seen Friday, March 12, two days after the murders.

Officials would not release any information as to why these two youths are being sought, nor why they are considered to be important to this case. Speculation among the Wynne citizenry, though, is that this may have been a revenge killing.

The story went on to give other information and while Marshall read it, he was only interested in the disappearance of his friend.

I told him he didn’t have to worry, Marshall thought. But he knew his friend and knew Gerald was a worrier. But even knowing that, Marshall wondered what it was that had caused him to bolt, if that was indeed what he had done.

Possibly, it was more sinister than that. Even though Marshall did not know Lawrence that night in the pool hall, he did know of Cubby Lawrence. He knew him by reputation and had seen him once at the sale barn outside of town trying to auction off some hogs. But, he didn’t remember that much about him - other than his size.

What if this man or someone in the Prichard family has done something to Gerald, Marshall thought? He had no way of knowing just how many people, if any, knew about the money Gerald owed to the pair of moonshiners or the fight at the pool hall or anything else for that matter.

Marshall’s immediate inclination was to go back and try to find Gerald. But he realized going back probably would not accomplish anything but to get him caught. So, he simply pushed that thought from his mind and settled in to wait until dark.

Gerald was stumbling through the woods of the Ridge toward the west. It was about noon and he was hungry, thirsty and a disgusting mess. Good to his word, Lawrence had let him go that morning when they found him alive.

“Them sows must like ya, boy,” He said when the woman called Katie brought him outside to see that the sows hadn’t bothered him. “They musta done started weanin’ them pigs o’ theirs or you wouldn’t still be breathin’, I can promise ya that.”

Gerald noticed the other woman, the one who got him out of school, had come out with them as well. She was standing back a distance, though, and seemed uncomfortable.

“Well,” Lawrence said with a measure of irritation. “He got our word, so let ‘im go. We know what we need ta do now anyhow. He ain’t no more use to us.”

“But, Daddy,” Katie continued her protest from the previous night. “He’ll talk for sure.”

“Girl, I told ya last night, he ain’t gona be talkin’ to nobody. He don’t want a soul knowin’ that he done told off on his pal. He’s a coward and we know it, but if he talked, the whole town’d know it, too. So just do what I told ya ta do and I ain’t sayin’ it again.”

Lawrence said these words as much for Gerald as for his daughter. As Lawrence had told his children before, “It don’t hurt a bit ta grease the wheel some.” Katie didn’t protest any further but came through the gate and when she got near put her hand over her nose.

“Boy, you smell worse’n these hogs,” She said and reached down toward Gerald, knife in hand. She slit the ropes on his wrists and then his ankles. “Okay, ya heard what Daddy said, now get ya tail outta here.”

“Why don’t’cha let ‘im wash up and give him some clean clothes, Daddy?” Sally Lawrence said as her father walked past her. He stopped and looked at her hard causing her to flinch.

“He leaves like he is.” His tone invited no response, and she gave none.

It took a few moments, but Gerald struggled to his feet and staggered off into the woods below the hog pen. He did not look back because at that point, he didn’t really care if one of them changed their minds and shot him dead.

But no one shot him and so some four hours later, Gerald found himself still in the woods trying to find his way home. He knew his house was about six miles away as the crow flew. But he was no crow and the six miles he was going to have to traverse was anything but hospitable.

At that point, he was possibly two miles closer to home, but he guessed he had walked at least five miles to get that far. Between the ravines, streams, felled trees, impassable brush, barbed wire fences and other things the forest had to offer, he was making no more than half-a-mile an hour.

At this rate, if he got home that day it would be well after midnight and considering the night he had had, as well as the past four hours, he didn’t think he would last more than another hour. So, he decided to take a rest right where he was. He dropped down under an ancient oak tree and pulled some leaves together to make a bed. Then he laid down for what he thought would be a catnap of thirty minutes or so. He miscalculated just how tired he was, though.