The Last Philosopher

A traditional lynching

After crossing a few fallow fields, Earl saw torchlight. It reflected off the underside of the tree canopy, turning the little hill in to a lighthouse in a sea of grass. Still, he suspected that up close it'd be more like a bonfire of the gobshites. Reigning in his mare, he walked up stopping at the edge of the light. A group of at least twenty men were surrounding something in a menacing manner. Nearby, a few more were trying to get a noose over a dead branch that wouldn't hold a the weight of a leaf.

"A traditional lynching," he whispered kicking the dirt with the heel of his boot. "Well, mobs aren't known for their originality."

He'd made no real secret of his approach, but outside the torchlight he'd been as good as invisible. People always thought there was safety inside the light, but it also meant they couldn't see what was watching from the dark. Passing the point of no return, he stepped forward and three men came towards him. Leading them was Ralph Traaker. The tall man that Rascal'd kept growling at earlier.

"Bailiff." Ralph lifted his hat in a mocking manner showing his white hair.

That one word was all it took. Earl knew there would be no easy fix to this mess. The bailiffs were thugs, hired by Stagna's judge on a case-by-case basis. They handled courthouse security, but mostly they were debt collectors. It was also an unflattering term for a marshal.

"Jus 'ead back ta town, me an' the boys can 'andle it from 'ere," the skinny degenerate said, drunk on newfound power.

Earl knew this man who looked like his bandle sized shirt was wearing him. He was a local bully and worse. He'd had the misfortune trying to talk some sense into him. Because Ralph's wife kept turning up with black-eyes, but there wasn't much he could do. Since Ruth kept claiming she was just clumsy. The way Earl's mother had when he was a boy. A lynching was a delicate situation, and this sly man was the kind that might push it all the way into disaster.

Without much hope, Earl attempted the voice of reason. "What happened at your farm that would give you cause to hang that man?"

"Mi lad saw 'im sneaking out of our 'en 'ouse!"

"So, you're going to kill a man over some chickens?" He regretted his tone as soon as it left his lips.

"Tha's no man, it's one o' them shifty Nontie, even dressed like one of 'em," Ralph hissed with enough venom to kill a horse. "An' ifin that ain't enough, he's a thief an' a pervert. So, if you're figurin' on taking 'is side, we may be havin' ta make a second noose!"

Earl leaned to the side, peering past Ralph into the circle of oafs. Curled up in a foetal position was what looked like a leathery sack with black hair. There was no way he could let them string someone up. Not while there was a chance of stopping them. And there was a chance, but he needed stall.

"Alright Ralph, you got me, dead to rights. But at least let me make sure it's done right. No reason to let the poor bastard suffer because your men can't tie a proper noose."

Earl faked a stretch and turned to peek the way he'd come. In the moonlight, he saw a dark spot moving towards them through the grass. Rascal never got tired, but his short legs couldn't keep up with a horse riding hard.

Ralph hesitated before he said, "if ya mean that marshal, then how 'bout ya hand over yar whip an' sword?"

The old man was the worst kind of bully, the kind that wasn't a complete moron.

"You can have my sword, but I'm not giving you my whip any more than I'd give you my hat."

"Fine, gi' us the sword, then we'll see 'bout the whip."

"Come on Ralph, what could I do against you all with a whip?

While reaching for the metal stick, Earl slipped his hand into the saddlebag and grabbed Rascal's rock.

"Oi! What ya got there marshal?"

"This? Eh, it's nothing, just a rock I picked up. It was jamming the blade in the scabbard," he smiled, daring the man to call him a liar.

"Jus' get on with it, will ya!"

He pulled the sword and threw it at Ralph's feet, making him jump back. As soon as the slim man recovered his courage, he stepped forward and picked it up. At that moment Rascal came running up and plopped himself down beside Earl. The timing was almost too perfect. A minute later and the men would've already rushed him.

"Wha' in damnation is tha' thing," the big man on Ralph's right blurted out.

"I can show you," Earl said cheerily, lobbing the rock he was holding into the circle of men.

"Rascal! Protect!"

The command was only for show, the dog gleefully ran off as soon as the rock left his hand. Going straight through the sturdy farmers like they were nothing but some more wet grass.

"What ar'ya playin' at," Ralph screeched.

"I'm betting you all heard the story of one-armed Harry?" The ones who were still on their feet turned to listen. "That dog right there is responsible for the one-armed part!"

"Ya're bluffin!"

But he wasn't, so he took his shot. Releasing the coil of his whip and snapping it in one fluid motion, it curled around the tall man's wrist. With a quick yank, Earl sent the blade flying back to him. In a showy manner he even caught the hilt in mid-air. The expression on the heavily wrinkled man's face was priceless.

"Now, listen, before you men do anything else, I'd recommend you test for yourself if I'm bluffing," he said over Ralph's head. "You see, whatever else happens here, you're not hanging that man! Because there's no way on Huom any of you are getting past Rascal!"

"Oh yeah?" Ralph's wit had left with his control of the situation.

"You don't have to take my word for it, go on, try to get to him, see what happens!" Earl raised his hands to gesture he wouldn't interfere.

The sack-like figure and Rascal were still surrounded. A few of the men took his suggestion and moved in. A low growl, that could only be described as an oncoming stampede of earthquakes, came rolling out of the circle. All of a sudden, several of the dopes remembered their wives and children were waiting at home. They'd be worried. It wasn't very nice to let them worry. Besides, back at the gaff there was probably something hot to drink, or even fresh biscuits. Between that and losing a limb, it wasn't much of a choice.

The real turning point came when one of the big men near the old bully, threw up his hands and said, "darn it Ralph, I ain't dyin' over no chicken stealer."

Soon after that, torches started going out as figures faded into the shadows. Even so, Ralph wasn't ready to admit defeat. Moving through the remaining mob, the codger was trying to shame the undecided into staying. If he'd slunk away with the others, Earl would've let him keep a shred of his dignity. With another snap, his whip was curled around the old man's ankles. He hooked the handle to his saddle and gave the mare a light smack on the rump. As the leader of the gobshites was dragged away, he turned his sword on the sturdiest of Ralph's remaining supporters.

"So, how about we talk this out like the uncivilised thugs we all are?" The big man looked around, but no one was coming to his aid.

"Go on then marshal, ya take the wretch, 'e'll 'ang just as ded in Stagna." With that exchange over, everyone except Nelson left.

"I'm real sorry 'bout this marshal, truly I am, who knew they'd start somet'in like this."

"Get me a torch! And next time, how about you try thinking before you start running your mouth!" He was in no mood to let him off easy.

Earl had faked calm while the threat was active. But now he could feel his heart pounding and his hands shaking. Still, he moved to check on this elusive thief. He wasn't prepared for what happened next. Rascal growled at him. When they'd first started training, the dog had been fiercely protective of its rocks. But it'd been a good long while since that bone-chilling sound was last directed his way.

Updated: 10.11.2023