stopped him. Captain Lige claimed he was one of the men who got that knife away.
When Watson drew that knife under Santini's jaw, in that split second before the blood jumped out, he looked as careful as a man slitting a melon. That, Lige said, is what scared folks the most. But when they grabbed his arm, he about went crazy, hollered out that nobody weren't going to lynch Ed Watson, took four or five of 'em to rassle him down to the floor. By the time they got that knife away, he had started laughing. 'I'm ticklish,' that's what he said, and laughed some more.
Somebody run quick and fetched a doctor, and it was known that Dolphus had survived it by the time the news got back to Chokoloskee, though he carried a thick purple scar for life.
At the hearing Watson raised up his right hand, swore on the Bible that he never meant to kill Mr. Santini. If he'd meant that, why it stands to reason that he would have done it. He said this looking real sincere, and everybody laughed, and he grinned too, grinned right at Dolphus, who looked like he was strangling in all them bandages.
Dolphus's boy Lawrence told me once that Watson struck his father without warning, just reached around him from behind and cut his throat. That may be true but it ain't the way Lige Carey told it.
At that time there was no law down here, men settled their differences amongst themselves, and a killing was not what you might call uncommon, though the Islands never was so bad as outsiders make out. But Key West had some law, so Ed paid Dolphus nine hundred dollars in hard cash not to take the case to court, and that was that. We never thought too much about it.
But Key West was getting tired of Ed Watson, and Sheriff Frank Knight liked to use his telegraph machine, so he sent around to see if Ed had any record, got word this man was on the dodge, just like Dolphus said. Telegraph said a Edgar A. Watson was the only one was ever charged with the murder of Belle Starr, Queen of the Outlaws, out in Indian Territory back in '89. There was a prison escape from Arkansas, and a killing in north Florida some years back, and another in Arcadia on his way here.
Watson explained all that away. Said Edgar A. Watson was a well-known polecat, he had knew him personal, but Edgar J. Watson was a solid citizen and a fine feller. By the time the word come to arrest him, ship him back to Arkansas, Edgar J. was way back in the rivers.
The man killed in Arcadia was named Quinn Bass. Our family homesteaded in Arcadia awhile before we drifted south to Turner River, and my pap knowed the dead man as a boy, and he thought Quinn Bass was better off deceased than not. Sheriff O.H. Dishong up there must of thought so too, cause they let Ed Watson pay his way out of that scrape, same as they done in Key West with Santini. Only difference was, Quinn Bass never sat up to count his money.
So word got out that in Arkansas, maybe north Florida, too, Ed Watson was still a wanted man, which was why he come down here in the first place. Well, naturally, folks begun to worry. They was used to drifters and backcountry killers, not well-dressed famous desperadoes who was wanted all over the Wild West.
But nobody put no questions to this feller. If lawmen was hunting him across four states, it was not our business. That was his own responsibility, and he took it. If any man could of used a change of name, it was Ed Watson, but Ed was always who he was, come hell or high water, and you had to like that. Cepting Mr. Chevelier, we
HENRY THOMPSON
Mister Watson told me he had family someplace, but he never said too much about it, not in front of Henrietta Daniels. Henrietta-he called my mother Netta-come to keep house for Mister Watson and brought Tant with her. Tant Jenkins was her young half brother, not much older than me.
That day Mister Watson come back from Everglade so darn excited, Tant was plume hunting back in the rivers. He snuck off every time Mister Watson went away, left the work to me. Henrietta is setting there on the front stoop with Minnie hitched up to her bosom, and Mister Watson ain't hardly tied up before he hollers all the way from the boat landing, 'Netta honey, you better start thinking about packing up, I have my people coming!' He shows me a letter from a Mrs. Jane D. Watson of north Florida, and in it was a brown picture of three kids in Sunday best. Young Eddie and little Lucius wore white high collars and black knicker suits, and Miss Carrie in her prim white frock with a big ribbon bow and buckle shoes was the prettiest little thing I ever saw. On the back was written, 'Rob was shy, he would not sit for his picture!'
'Rob's not shy,' Mister Watson said, 'Rob is so sore at his daddy that his tail's sizzling like a rattler!' I don't know why that struck him funny but it did, and he laughed some more when he seen that I weren't laughing. 'Well,' he sighed, 'I don't believe that Mrs. Watson would have got in touch with us if her husband was such a terrible bad feller, what do you think, Henry?' And he chuckled some more, that's how tickled he was by the way his life was working out. Before leaving Everglade, he said, he telegraphed money for their tickets, and expected to meet 'em at Punta Gorda toward the end of the month.
Mister Watson was so overjoyed he clean forgot about our feelings. So there I am down at the landing helping with the boat, and I don't know where to look, that's how ashamed I am, for me and my mother both. I got on good with Mister Watson, and after two years, his place was my home. This was the first real family I ever knew, cause Mister Watson was kind of a dad to me, and let me think so, that's how good he treated me. Now I'd have to head out, too, with no idea where to go and start all over.
When my mother first come to Chatham Bend, I been out on my own for a few years, and she seemed more like some noisy older sister. I never known my father, never laid eyes on him, he was a English sailor at Key West that came and went. I got borned there back in 1879. Had a younger brother, Joe, called him Thompson, too, but Henrietta left Joe behind with our uncle John Henry Daniels at Fakahatchee, hardly seen him one year to the next.
Well, Henrietta was good-hearted, never mind her loose bosom and loud ways, and with her and Tant there, we made a family at the table, I got to feeling I belonged someplace. So I hated the reckless way that Mister Watson was fixing to toss her out like nigger help, and his own infant, Minnie, along with her. I was feeling all thick and funny in my heart and chest, ready to fight somebody. When he swung that crate of stores to me off of the boat deck, I banged it on the dock so hard that a slat busted.
That bang was somewhat louder than I wanted, and the sharp noise caught him by surprise, cause he crouched and dropped the next crate to the deck, that's how fast his hand shot for his pocket. Then he straightened slow, picked up the crate, carried it across himself and set it carefully on that dock longside the other.
'You look like you swallowed a frog, boy. Spit it out.'
He was hot, but I was hotter, and I set my hat forward on my head and spit, not too close and not too far from them Western boots he always wore when he went up to town. I was scared to talk for fear my voice was pinched or all gummed up, so I just give him a sideways look like a mean dog and put my hands on the next crate, to let him know I'm here to do my work, never mind no questions.
