Dancing on Air

Mammoth, Arizona

1888

Mayor Cash Ridley gazes out of his second-floor office window at the carriages and horses navigating through Mammoths’s dusty streets, speaking with his back to Deputy Mayor Stephen Sharpe.

“We’re going to execute Cynthia Greenstock.”

“We’ve never hung a woman before,” Stephen replies. “People are going to be angry about it, particularly the women.”

“Women don’t vote. At least not yet.”

Appearances are important to Cash, who wants people to see Mammoth live up to its name. Broad-shouldered, with a large, blonde waxed mustache, Cash dresses the part of Mayor, wearing a tailor-made suit sporting a gold watch and chain. Stephen is equally well-groomed and is physically indistinguishable from Cash, except his hair is grey. Cash and Stephen are law partners and the most successful men in town. The thirty-six-year-old lawyers own two saloons, a silver mine, a livery stable, a funeral home, and a beauty parlor run by their wives.

“Greenstock murdered her husband and two sons. She stabbed each of them over twenty times.”

“Sounds like the act of a mad woman,” Stephen replies.

“I wish she was insane. Then we could have had her institutionalized. But she admitted under oath that it was a premeditated act.”

“I still think the punishment is too severe,” Stephen says.

“It doesn’t matter what you or I think. Twelve of her fellow citizens declared her guilty. I want this to be a spectacle. I want people in New York, Paris, and London to read about it. They’ll come by horseback, by the wagon load, and they’ll jam the trains to get here. They’ll come to Mammoth to see where Cynthia Greenstock met her maker, and they’ll stay in our hotels, shop in our stores, and drink our liquor.”

“So, you aim to profit from her death?”

Cash grins greedily. “You bet, partner. We’re going to turn Cynthia Greenstock into an industry that’s going to support Mammoth for years to come…I want Exodus to hang her. He’s theatrical and meticulous. He says his victims go ‘dancing on air.’”

“To say Exodus loves his job is an understatement,” Stephen replies. “He’s sent over two hundred criminals to justice. I heard he hanged five men at one time and never flinched as they shot through the trap.”

“He’s going to be in Payson in two days to execute the Bowdre brothers. I want you to watch Exodus at work to make sure he’s the right person for the job.”

Stephen’s expression sours. “I don’t find watching a man’s eyeballs pop out of his head as he soils himself a useful form of entertainment.”

“Did I mention this execution could make us millionaires?”

“I’ll pack a bag.”

***

Buffalo and Bacon Bowdre are led toward the gallows.

Buffalo looks up at the cloudless summer sky. As he passes the crowd, he turns to a comely woman holding a baby, saying flippantly, “Good day for a necktie party, ain’t it, Ma’am?”

Shaking, tears running down his rosy cheeks, younger brother Bacon wails, “We’re innocent! We didn’t do it!”

“You can pitch a fit all you want,” Sheriff Hooter Huff says to him, “I’ll bet my new choppers that you done plenty in yer short life that warrants hangin’.”

The brothers’ contradictory behavior entrances Stephen. An onlooker yells, “POLE CATS! MURDERERS!” Stocky, bearded twenty-eight-year-old Buffalo’s response is to spit at him.

His slight, light-haired nineteen-year-old brother has to be dragged through the sand, crying a trail of tears to the gallows.

The Bowdres were convicted of killing Sheriff Huff’s two young deputies and a twelve-year-old boy during a holdup of Payson’s First National Bank. Four of the robbers got away, but Bacon’s horse was shot out from underneath him. Buffalo was wounded in an attempt to rescue his brother and still carries the bullet in his side.

“Gonna be a scorcher today, Hooter,” Buffalo comments.

“Of all the things you got to worry about, it’s the weather that concerns ya?”

Buffalo glances at the hangman. Small in stature, with dark, piercing eyes and a fair complexion, Colden “Exodus” Fish’s grim appearance is dominated by his long, hawk-like nose.

Buffalo huffs. “Well, if’n it ain’t the Grim Reaper, with his face lookin’ like a dime’s worth of dog meat. Come to collect your thirty pieces of silver, Fish?”

“You have some nerve quoting scripture at me, Beauford.”

“Name’s Buffalo.”

Buffalo moves under the dangling noose. Surveying the crowd below, he says, “Bunch of chuckleheads come to see me dance!”

Exodus cracks his knuckles. His fingers make a crunching sound akin to a person’s neck snapping.

Bacon continues to whimper as Exodus places the noose over his head.

“WE’RE INNOCENT!”

A priest steps toward Buffalo. “Where was you when the Sioux butchered my wife and chile? Move on ta somebody who’ll swallow your guff.”

Bacon continues to scream his innocence as he receives the sacraments from the priest.

Sheriff Huff reads the charges, turning to Bacon.

“Any last words? I betcha I know what they are.”

“WE’RE INNOCENT! I done wrong in my life, fer sure, but I ain’t never shot anyone… I do hope ya’ll forgive me, though, for the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“How about you, Buffalo?”

“Goodbye, Bacon. I love ya, brother."

The Bowdres are fitted with black hoods.

Exodus springs the trap door. The Bowdre brothers' bodies jerk and dance.

Bacon dies instantly.

Buffalo gags, choking. His body jerks and dances for three minutes, entertaining the awed crowd.

Stephen takes note of Exodus’s contented smile.

***

The following morning, Stephen and Exodus board the train together to Mammoth.

Dressed in a black suit topped off with a new Stetson hat and embroidered cowboy boots, Exodus counts his money as he listens to Stephen’s offer.

“I’ve been doing this for twenty-five years,” he says dryly. “I’ve never exacted justice on a woman. But this one deserves it.”

“So, you’ll do it?”

“As long as she repents.”

Stephen gives Exodus a puzzled look.

“We’re born innocent. I believe that when we die, we should meet our maker in the same way, free of whatever sins we’ve committed.”

“Buffalo Bowdre didn’t follow that belief.”

“That’s why he’ll be separated in death from his brother. And that’s why I made him suffer.”

“You intentionally…”

“Loosened his rope? Yes. He refused to repent. No one spits in the face of the Lord on their judgment day.”

***

Stephen and Exodus head to the Mammoth Hotel. A boy is playing with a hoop in the street. It gets away from them, spinning toward Exodus, who kicks it aside.

The boy retrieves it, sticking his tongue out at Exodus.

“Watch it, Mister. This here’s my birthday present.”

“You want to see another birthday? Then, keep your garbage away from me.”

Gasping, the boy runs away.

“Making friends already, I see,” Stephen mutters.

“My father taught me manners. If I sassed him, he’d leave me outside in the snow, holding buckets of feed, or he’d take away my food. I learned that I had to tend to the horses, work the fields, and, above all, do my homework. All I had to do was follow his rules, and I’d get a piece of candy or a dime novel. I expect my fellow men to live by the Lord’s rules, but they consistently fail to do so. And when they do, I provide the ultimate punishment.”

Stephen accompanies Exodus to his room. Opening his lone suitcase, Exodus pulls out another suit, looking at it with reverence as he puts it in the closet.

“It’s my hanging suit.”

Stephen is taken aback by the other objects in the suitcase. Blood-stained strands of rope, swatches of cloth, belt buckles, stick pins, and dentures line the bottom.

“What’s all that?”

“Souvenirs. Proof of my work.”

Rifling through the suitcase, Exodus produces a small bottle containing a mixture of water and sand.

“Bacon Bowdre’s tears.”

Exodus finds a paper bag. He shows Stephen its contents.

“A tongue!”

“That’s Bison Bowdre’s smart aleck tongue. He won’t need it where he’s going. How about some dinner?”

***

Cash, Stephen, and Marshal Micah Moon watch Exodus finish his second plate of steak, eggs, and potatoes.

Known for his bluntness, Micah rubs the stubble on his chin, uttering, “You may be the size of a weasel, but you can still pack it in, Colden.”

“Call me Exodus. I have to be fortified to send God’s children home clean of sin.”

“Spoken like a true boogeyman,” Micah returns. “You ever take a likin’ to anythin’ ‘cept yourself?”

Exodus’s hawk-like features soften.

“…My daughter, Beryl… I let my feelings toward her mother ruin the love I had for her…One of these days, when I hang up my rope… No pun intended… I’m going to find Beryl and give her the type of life she deserves.”

Micah’s laconic stare focuses on a scruffy-haired, anxious young man standing in the doorway.

The man pats his gun. Taking a deep breath, he advances toward their table.

He draws a wobbly bead on the back of Exodus’s head.

Micah’s voice bellows throughout the dining room.

“You pull that trigger, boy, and it’ll be your last act.”

“My name’s Bourne Bowdre. My brothers was innocent, Exodus, and you hung ‘em.”

“Shooting me will guarantee that you’ll follow your brothers to the scaffold.”

“Real smooth, dude. That’ll get him to drop his iron,” Micah grumbles.

Cash calmly takes a sip of his coffee. Putting down his cup, he says, “Instead of shooting Exodus, why don’t you sue him? You can file a wrongful death suit against him.”

Bourne scratches his head with the barrel of his gun. “First off, I ain’t got no file in my toolbox. Second, I hear just fine, and third, I ain’t got no suit, just workin’ clothes.”

“If you sue Exodus, he may have to pay you money to compensate for your brothers being killed in error. Now, why don’t you put your weapon away?”

Bourne holsters his gun. “You makin’ this up?”

“No. It’s a new law that was passed last year,” Cash says. Pulling out a business card, he offers it to Bourne. I tell you what, stop by my office later. I know a lawyer in Payson who can help you.”

Bourne backs away, looking at the card. “Thanks, mister!”

Exodus's brow crinkles, making him look more like a skulking vulture.

“Can he really take my money?”

“Not if you pay my friend to throw his case. Besides, you were following a court order to carry out the executions. If anyone’s liable, it's the judge and the jury.”

A young boy trots up to the table, handing Micah a telegram.

“Jehoshaphat!” he comments, passing the telegram to Cash.

“Four men were captured this morning near Preston Pass. They were carrying the twenty thousand dollars they’d stolen from the Payson First National Bank. Two of the men admitted they killed the two deputies and the young boy.”

“Guess Bacon was telling the truth,” Stephen says. “What about the bottle with his tears in it?”

Exodus smirks. “Might be worth something someday.”

***

The trio of men watch Exodus strut down the street, whistling happily to himself.

“There ain’t a shred of good in that man,” Micah says. “He pretends he’s so dadgum pious. He don’t care about savin’ people’s souls. He stretches people’s necks ‘cause he likes it. Thirty years ago, he and I lived in Goshun, about a hundred miles from here. I rode shotgun for the stagecoach line. Hard to believe now, but he was a preacher. He was pure as a blanket of Dakota snow back then. He had a little girl he worshipped.”

“What turned him?” Stephen asks.

“The real father of his daughter turned up. Then he turned up dead. The finger pointed at Colden, so he left his wife and daughter behind. He got a job buildin’ gallows, eventually graduatin’ to the job of hangman. He never sent his wife a nickel. Her and the little girl took in laundry for a livin’. He come back to Goshen when his wife died of cholera…”

“To pay his respects?” Stephen asks.

“To spit on her grave.”

***

Micah grumbles as Exodus enters the jailhouse the following morning.

“Somethin’ you want, dude?”

“Normally, I don’t visit the condemned…,” Exodus begins.

“But morbid curiosity is pushin’ your feet toward her cell.”

***

A thin, pale woman, dressed in a grey dress, with her brassy, yellow hair pulled back into a ponytail, peers up at Exodus.

Exodus notices the woman’s most notable characteristic is her aquiline nose.

Her voice is quiet and forlorn. “You the hangman?”

“Yes. I’m the man who’s going to send you to your maker. But I’m troubled by all of this. You seem like a good woman. How did you end up like this?”

“My husband, Gunner, wasn’t always a bad man. When we was first married, he’d pick daises for me, bring me to town, buy me clothes and toys for the kids. He was a farmer, and a good one. Then, one day, he was changin’ a wheel on the wagon. He asked the boys and me to help him. We couldn’t hold it in place. It moved, crushin’ his arm. He couldn’t make a livin’ no more, less it was stealin’ or rustlin’. Worse, he started teachin’ our boys to be no good like him. They stole my weddin’ ring, then the rest of my jewelry, and pawned them. The only piece I have left is this brooch my mother gave me. She said my father bought it for her when they was married. He deserted us when I was five. I don’t have no memory of him, except for his eyes. They were sad, like yours.”

Exodus moves closer to the cell.

“I gave my wife that broach…Is that you, Beryl?”

“I knowed you was my Daddy the moment I saw ya. I always knowed we’d meet again someday.”

“…I couldn’t live with the shame, Beryl…”

“You not only deserted Mama. You left me, too.”

“Why did you kill your family?”

“Gunner kept me a prisoner, and when he weren’t around, he made sure one’a the boys was. It wasn’t the back of his hand; it was his words that hurt the most. He said I was too ugly and stupid to be his wife, that he’d kill me for the sport of it and he’d get away with it, ‘cause if my daddy run away, then there was nobody who’d care about me. But I fixed ‘em. There’s an old sayin’, ‘Don’t mistreat the folks who handle your food.’ I put some herbs in the stew one night. It knocked him and the boys out.”

“You should have let them live.”

“Gunner always said he’d chase me to hell and back if I ran. So, I made sure he couldn’t. Did you know lots of people have signed a petition to have me set free?”

“I’m here to set you free, Beryl. All you have to do is repent.”

“The only thing I’m sorry for is that I didn’t kill ‘em sooner.”

***

More than 8,000 curious spectators flood Mammoth. The hanging takes place on a Saturday afternoon, allowing more visitors to attend.

As Mayor, Cash sanctions the building of bleachers. Families bring picnic baskets to sit and eat while awaiting the moment. Concession stands sell a steak sandwich named after Cynthia. An enterprising out-of-towner hawks a doll in her image hanging on a stick.

***

Micah opens the front door to the jailhouse.

He’s met by a group of women carrying signs, chanting, “FREE CYNTHIA!”

“If you biddies’ brains was dynamite you wouldn’t have enough to blow yer nose. Step aside!”

***

Cash and Stephen study Exodus as he climbs up the scaffold.

“He looks paler than usual,” Stephen notes.

“Can’t blame him. He’s probably worried people will find out Cynthia is his daughter, Beryl.”

“You’d think he’d be more worried about her than his reputation.”

Her wrists strapped behind her back, Cynthia is placed over the gallows trapdoor.

Cynthia glares at the priest, who halts his prayer.

Exodus tries to cover her head with a hood, but Cythia refuses it.

“We can still be together in the hereafter,” Exodus whispers. “Please, repent.”

“I’ll see you in hell, Daddy.”

Exodus cracks his knuckles. Pain shoots through his fingers.

Exodus’s hands shake as he tightens the rope around her neck. He pulls a lever, and the doors open with a bang.

The fall severs Cynthia’s head from her body. Her headless body stands erect for a moment, dances aimlessly, then pitches forward.

***

Cash walks into Micah’s office, looking around fearfully.

“Have either of you seen Exodus?”

“I went up to his room to take him some food two days ago, but he told me to go away,” Stephen replies.

“Maybe he lit out under the cover of darkness,” Micah suggests. “That’s what low down prairie dogs do.”

“I’m worried about him. I heard he’s been drinking steadily since his daughter’s execution.”

“You think if the boot was on the other foot, he’d worry about you, Mayor?” Micah asks.

Cash coaxes Stephen and Micah into following him to the hotel.

“Any noise the past few days?” Cash asks the desk clerk as he slips the key in the doorway.

“Wish all our guests were as quiet,” the clerk says, pushing against the door. “How ‘bout that? It’s stuck.”

Stephen and Micah lend their strength, opening the door.

Exodus’s body is kneeling on the floor, suspended by a rope hanging from the hook on the back of the door.

“Looks like a painfully slow way to die,” Stephen notes.

“I think he planned it that way,” Cash replies. “He forced others to repent but couldn’t do it himself…Do we still have his daughter’s body at the funeral home, Stephen?”

“I was going to have her buried later this afternoon.”

“Dig two graves side by side. That way, they can finally be together.”