Fire in the Ashes

The miner looked at the judge. “Can I talk now, Your Honor?"

The judge rubbed his aching temples with his fingertips. He sighed. “Well, I suppose so, Mr. Raymond. I must say, though, in all my years on the bench, I have never seen such a sight in any courtroom. Did you and ... your friends come here to fight, or to see justice served?"

“Justice has been served, Your Honor,” Mr. Raymond replied. “My friends just come along to see that it stays served."

“Incredible,” the judge said. “By all means, Mr. Raymond, do speak."

“Well ... like I tole the sheriff yesterday, me and my friends was gettin’ damn tired of these federal cops a-struttin’ around, actin’ bigger than God; actin’ like they was better than the rest of us. But we figured we'd just look the other way when they come around—long as they left us alone.

“Now, judge, you know how it is in the hill country. You was raised up not twenty miles from where you're sittin.’ You know there are unwritten laws as well as them you have in all them books I seen in your office. You don't steal from a man; you don't put hands on a man; you don't cheat a man; you don't insult a man; you don't badmouth a good woman; and you damn sure don't take a man's guns. And there ain't no son of a bitch takin’ my guns.

“Now there was four of them young smart-mouthed cops come to my house. My house, your honor. My house. And that there is the key words. My house. Me and that woman sittin’ right there.” He pointed. “That house belongs to us. Accordin’ to the constitution of the United States, and I reread it ‘fore I come here this morning, a person has the right to be safe and secure in his person, papers, houses, and effects against unreasonable searches and seizures. Ain't that right, judge?"

“You're talking about the Bill of Rights, Mr. Raymond. But yes, you are correct in that."

“Well, those federal cops come up to my house, just struttin’ like they was the Lord God Almighty. I was out back in the field, tendin’ to the garden—God knows there ain't no work in the mines no more.

“I heard my wife screamin.’ Chilled me. I had a pistol hid in the shed out back; grabbed that on my run to the house. One of them cops had hit my wife, knocked her down on the floor, dress all hiked up past her hips. Them federal cops standin’ around, laughing at my wife's nakedness. Then one of ‘em kicked her. I shot him in the stomach and he went down. Just then my brother Rodney—he lives right across the road—come in the house just as the other cop was pointin’ a pistol at my head. Rodney shot him and then we whipped the other two in a fair, stand-up fistfight. Did a pretty damn good job of it, too, wouldn't you say so?"

The judge looked at the badly mauled ex-federal cops (both of them had resigned prior to this hearing). “Yes, Mr. Raymond, I would say that is the truth."

“Well, judge, you see, ‘bout a year ago, me and about forty-fifty other boys around here joined up with the Rebels come out of Tri-States after the government stuck their goddamn nose where it don't belong—as usual. I understand from radio broadcasts the Rebels are comin’ out of the Smokies like ants toward honey—so we figured this was as good a time as any to make our move.

“So, judge, you ain't got no more federal police in this county. We got ‘em locked up over in the jail. The boys that was the law before the government federalized the police is back as the law. And me and mine and my friends is gonna bow out of the lawkeepin’ business and let them that knows a little something about it tend to it. But we'll keep our guns, just in case.

“Now, your honor, I'm gonna take my wife, my kin, and my friends, and we're gonna leave this courtroom. I don't expect to be back ‘cause I don't expect to break any laws. Especially the new law that we're going to put in effect in this county. And you know what that law is, don't you, judge?"

The judge lost his temper for the first time that morning. “Ben Raines's law, Mr. Raymond—the law that was used in the Tri-States? The law of the jungle."

“Well, I could stand here and argue with you, judge; but I ain't gonna. I will say the Rebels’ law is not the law of the jungle—it's more ... a common sense law. But I don't expect a lawyer or a judge to understand that. You people are like lice: if a dog don't get the first one, he ain't gonna get another."

“I resent the hell out of that analogy!” the judge snapped at the miner.

“I don't care,” Mr. Raymond said calmly. “It's true. You're not interested in really punishing the guilty; you're not interested in what is right or wrong. Not even before we come under a police state. I'm not gonna argue about it. Your kind of law of fancy words and deals and blamin’ crime on society is over. And I think it's time—past time.