The Hanging of Samuel Ash by Sheldon Russell Page A

figured maybe more than his skull had been damaged, because Slope enjoyed the reputation as the meanest son of a bitch to work for in the southwest division. Moose Barrick had become his right-hand man. Between them, the turnover rate in the Clovis signal department rivaled that of the battle of Okinawa. Both Slope and Moose knew how to make men miserable and never passed up the chance to do just that.
    The crew stowed their gear and watched Hook walk across the yard toward them. They mumbled among themselves and turned their backs. Slope stood and pulled at his chin, which had accommodated his profile by banking skyward on the end.
    â€œSlope,” Hook said. “Nice morning.”
    â€œWould be if I didn’t have a stack of calls coming in,” he said.
    â€œBacked up, are you?”
    â€œThere hasn’t been nothing fixed on this line since the war started, and now that it’s over the brass wants it done overnight.”
    Hook looked around. “Your boys look a little unhappy this morning.”
    â€œMaybe they heard the news about Moose Barrick,” he said.
    â€œAnd what would that be?”
    â€œThat some bastard shut him down for exercising his American right to strike.”
    â€œMoose can strike all he wants long as he doesn’t block the line. It’s my job to see the law’s not broken, Slope. Simple as that.”
    â€œMost these lazy bastards should back up to their paychecks, anyway,” Slope said. “Up to me, I’d send them all to the county farm and start over with a new crop.”
    â€œI guess it’s your optimism what brightens the day for everyone, Slope.”
    â€œThere’s damn little reason for grinning around here,” he said.
    â€œI’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
    He pulled his pocket watch out and looked at it. “I’ve got men waiting, Runyon. Maybe another day.”
    â€œI can take your boys into the shop one at a time to talk to them, if you want it that way.”
    Slope’s nose reached for his chin. “I don’t know nothing about Moose Barrick, except he shows up to work and keeps these bastards away from the water bucket.”
    â€œIt’s not about Moose,” he said.
    â€œWell, make it quick. Some folks work for a living around here.”
    â€œYou ever heard of a man named Samuel Ash?”
    Slope took out his watch again, wound the stem, and then dropped it back into its pocket.
    â€œI heard of him.”
    â€œDid he ever work for you?”
    â€œI didn’t hire him, if that’s what you mean. Topeka sent him down. I figure the company smelled a strike and decided to beef up the workforce with scabs while they could.”
    Hook took out his knife and worked at another stone that had lodged in the bottom of his shoe.
    â€œHow’d he get along with the crew?” he asked.
    â€œScabs ain’t welcomed with open arms around here or those what take their side. You might remember that, Runyon.”
    â€œAnyone in particular find him disagreeable?”
    â€œEveryone in general, I’d say. Thing is, I couldn’t have that kind of problem brewing in the crew, so I pulled him.”
    â€œAnd did what with him?”
    â€œPut him on the road painting wigwag bases. I didn’t hear nothing back for a week, and then I get this call that the company truck had been abandoned at a crossing. I figure the son of a bitch cut and run. Wouldn’t surprise me if he picked up what he could before he left.”
    â€œHe didn’t get off with much, Slope, given I found him hanging from the wigwag cantilever out on the potash spur.”
    â€œDead? Too bad.”
    â€œI’m thinking one of your boys maybe gave him a ride to the top of the cantilever and forgot to bring him down.”
    â€œIt’s all I can do to put in a shift around here, Runyon. I make it a point not to know what these men do or don’t do