asked a constable where he was, and, with a good bit of throat clearing and foot shuffling, the lawman allowed as how Tom could not be found, and that he was believed to have lit out for Tennessee.
The justice of the peace was uncommonly annoyed by that information, and he remarked that things certainly did look black for Tom, given the facts of the matter. With a look of sour displeasure on his face, Mr. Carter made out a warrant for Tom’s arrest on suspicion of murder. He ordered copies of that warrant to be sent to the towns up the mountain, even over into Tennessee, where everybody figured Tom had gone.
The quickest way to leave Wilkes County from Reedy Branch is to follow the old buffalo trace that goes alongside of Elk Creek westward and up the mountain into Watauga County. If Tom followed the trail until it met up with the wagon road to Zionville, he could cross over the Tennessee line without delay. There were a lot of murmurs of place-names and speculation about where he might have run off to, and who he might know in Watauga County that he could hole up with.
The meeting was adjourned then, and everybody who didn’t know any better went away thinking that Tom Dula had murdered Laura Foster; the trial would be delayed until they caught him, but the verdict was already in. Nobody seemed interested in trying to figure out why he would have bothered to do such a thing. As far as they were concerned, his absence was proof of his guilt. I wasn’t about to tell them any different, neither.
“It won’t do no good to send warrants after him,” said Ann, when we got away from there. “He’ll be in Arkansas before long, or at least out west in Kentucky.”
He wasn’t, though. If he had any sense he would have been, but I think he was bound to Ann by some invisible thread-his heart strings, maybe-and he could not get far from her to save his life.
PAULINE FOSTER
Tom’s disappearance was a nine days’ wonder in Happy Valley. People hardly talked about anything else, and it pretty much settled the matter of his guilt as far as the settlement was concerned. Ann was wretched, listening to the talk about Tom, and worrying over what had become of him. I thought that if she ate any less she would waste away to a shadow long before Christmas, whether he came back for her or not, and if it would put an end to her moping and complaining, I’d be glad to see it happen.
As it was, though, he didn’t stay gone until Christmas. Just past mid-July, he was brought back hog-tied by two local lawmen. We were able to piece together where he went and what he did from the tales told by Jack Adkins and Ben Ferguson, the two busybody deputies that Pickens Carter sent to search for Tom and bring him back to Wilkes County. Once they had fetched him back, and seen him safely locked in the stout brick jail in Wilkesboro, the two of them high-tailed it back to Elkville to regale folks with the story of the capture of that dangerous fugitive, Tom Dula. Oh, they were full of themselves about their exploits, but the truth is that Tom’s capture had nothing to do with them. They just went and collected him as if he had been a parcel.
I heard the tale the day after Adkins and Ferguson got back. They were ensconced on the porch of Cowle’s store, surrounded by curiosity seekers, eager to hear about their apprehending the bloodthirsty criminal. It was as if the neighbors had that soon forgotten that Tom Dula was a lazy, amiable young man they’d known all his life. Now suddenly they would believe he was a monster. I slipped in amongst the onlookers, to hear the story.
“He went right where we figured he’d go,” Jack Adkins said, pointing westward toward the blue haze of mountains. “He took that Elk Creek Road to Zionville, and we reckon he laid out somewhere in Watauga County for a couple of days.”
“Where’d he stay?” somebody in the crowd called out.
Ben Ferguson shook his head. “We never did find that out, and he wouldn’t say. We’re only going by when he showed up over the line in Tennessee.”
“That was about two weeks ago,” said Jack Adkins, taking up the tale again. “He turned up, near as dammit to barefoot, and calling himself by the name of Hall, on the farm of Colonel James Grayson in the community of Trade.”
I put my hand over my mouth to cover my smile, for I was remembering what Tom had said about a colonel being a captain with money. When I thought to listen again, Ben Ferguson was telling how this Colonel Grayson had hired Tom as a field hand, and said he’d worked long enough to buy himself some new boots with his wages.
“We reckoned he’d go up the mountain to Watauga, and over the line into Tennessee, so we just rode up through Deep Gap, and started asking around up there if anybody had seen the fugitive.”
Jack Adkins took up the tale. “It took us a couple of days to work our way up to Trade, but when we finally did, we talked to Colonel Grayson, who told us right off that he had engaged a new farmhand that sounded like the man we were looking for.”
“He must have seen us coming,” said Ben. “For when the colonel went to look for him, he was gone. So he set off with us, tracking Tom Dula along the road that leads to Johnson City. He didn’t get that far, though. We ran him to earth in Pandora. He was on foot, so we were able to overtake him without too much trouble. We caught him soaking his feet in a creek there, and before he could get up, Colonel Grayson hefted a rock and ordered him to surrender.”
“What did he do then?” asked one of the onlookers in an awestruck whisper.
“Well, he give up,” said Jack, shrugging. “He wasn’t armed, y’see, but the colonel had a big old.32 Deermore on his hip, so I reckon it was not so much the rock as the pistol that made him decide to surrender. Besides it was three of us against one of him, so he let us take him, and he came along peaceable. I’ll give him that.”
“He came along peaceable right then,” said Jack. “But not the whole way back he didn’t.”
“Well, no,” Ben allowed. “We took him straight on back to Grayson’s farm, and they barricaded him in the corncrib for the night, with all of us taking turns standing guard outside. When we started back to Wilkes County the next morning, we put Tom up behind Colonel Grayson on his horse, and we tied Tom’s feet underneath the horse’s belly, so’s he couldn’t jump off and run away.”
“He tried, though,” said Jack. “Every now and again, we’d stop to give the horses a rest, and one time, Tom managed to loosen the ropes some. If the colonel hadn’t noticed it, I reckon he’d have been off in to the woods before we knew what hit us.”
“We watched him like a hawk after that, but he didn’t give us no more trouble. We delivered him to Sheriff Hix yesterday evening, and they’ve got him locked upstairs in the Wilkesboro jail. They’d better keep a good watch on him, though, ’cause if they give him half a chance, he’ll run.”
“Did you ask him what he done with Laura Foster?” somebody called out.
Ben and Jack looked at each other and hesitated. Finally Jack said, “We didn’t like to ask him anything about that. Our orders were just to bring him back on a fugitive warrant. I reckon it’s up to the lawyers and judges to decide what happens next.”
They all started talking at once then, but I stopped listening. If Tom was in jail and in fear of his life, there’s no telling what he might say to whoever questioned him. I reckon he’d try to pin Laura’s murder on anybody he could think of. Except, of course, his precious Ann. That’s what I would do, if it was me in jail. Muddy the waters all I could. There was no love lost between me and Tom, so I figured it might not be long before he started trying to make people believe that I had something to do with it.
I decided it was high time I left Wilkes County.
Remember that.
That night I stuffed my three faded dresses, some cold biscuits left over from supper, and what little else I had in to an old blanket, and stashed them under my bed. Then I lay down and closed my eyes, waiting for morning. I didn’t bother to tell the Meltons I was leaving. They might have tried to argue about it, and there was no point in us having words over it, for nothing they could say would change my mind. Or else they might not even care at all that
