Cool Hand Luke - Donn Pearce [86]
He moved closer. The guard flinched, drew nearer, hesitated. He swung his shotgun down from his shoulder and got a tight grip on it, hitched the pistol holster forward. Then he slowly reached out and took the dipper, looking right into Luke’s face. Luke stood there without moving, patiently holding the bucket.
After the Free Men the whole squad was served a drink. And after that day, if Rabbit and Jim were busy doing something else, Luke was often sent for the water bucket. He was even sent ahead of the Bull Gang to move up the red warning flag as we advanced along the road.
At first we were flabbergasted that Boss Godfrey should let him go that far off without holding his rifle on him. Then we thought that two sets of chains would surely make a difference. But we were forced to admit that there were other reasons. There was an entirely different attitude in Luke’s behavior. He was even becoming obsequious to the Free Men; agreeing with their opinions, laughing when they laughed, walking and talking in such a way as to admit that he was merely a stupid country boy who only got into trouble because he didn’t have good sense. And if they made any references to his former escapes and rebellions he began to whine out a feeble excuse, shuffling his feet on the ground with embarrassed humility.
One morning Boss Godfrey strolled over.
Luke. Ah’m gonna make you a Jack. But you’ll have to keep them chains on though. Ah asked the Captain to take ‘em off but he said no. But ah told him you were gonna jack for me anyhow. But hear me out, Luke. If you ever run from me again ah’m gonna kill you. You hear me? Ah’ll kill you dead.
We had to turn our heads when we heard Luke saying,
Don’t worry Boss. I ain’t gonna run no more. I done got my mind right.
A gloom hung over the whole camp, a despair, a lack of the lustiness and the gaiety of former times. We knew what had happened. The Free Men’s revenge for the night of July the Fourth was now complete. They had captured and chained and punished the culprits. They had broken them down in order to prove to the rest of us what would be the inevitable results of defiance. Then they had taken the greatest rebel of them all and rewarded him to show us the fruits of obedience. And just for good measure they even began to use Dragline as a part-time Jack—even though he had just had his parole turned down flat. The Parole Board said that his record had too many former arrests for drunkenness, assault and disorderly conduct; too many bad character references such as the one written up by the detectives in Miami who had investigated his case.
So when it happened no one was prepared for it. No one at all. It was a cool, dreary Monday afternoon. We were totally immersed in our labor and in our fantasies. Dimly we were aware that Dragline was sharpening tools on the edge of the road beside the tool truck and that Luke was carrying back the water bucket after giving us all a drink. Rabbit was down the road carrying up the red flag. Jim the Trustee was goofing off, shooting the bull with Boss Brown.
Suddenly there was the start of a motor, a roar, a prolonged, clattering crash, shouts and curses and the firing of guns. We dropped our tools and dove face down in the ditch as a frantic barrage of pistols and shotguns went off all around us.
Luke and Dragline had leaped into the tool truck, started the motor and driven off, pulling the lever which raises the dump body and spilling out on the road behind them a littered trail of crashing shovels, yo-yos, bush axes, water barrels, tarps, lunch buckets, bean pot, bread box, the whole god damned works—
Boss Godfrey didn’t move. He just stood there, leaning on his Walking Stick.
But the guards went hysterical, letting go with everything they had, their pumpguns booming until they were empty and then their pistols cracking out until the hammers clicked on dead cartridge cases in the cylinders. Bullets whined and whizzed, lead thudding out an entertaining melody against the body of the truck which had been raised