Above the bank of thunder heads to westward, the Gulf night was clear, and heat lightning flashed across the firmament as if shot from the farthest bright clear stars of deepest heaven. That lightning shimmer would be followed in a day or two by a southwest blow, after which the wind would back around to the northwest. The winds came and went away again, with more wind at certain times of year, more heat and rain, but fundamentally the Island seasons remained monotone, as they must be, Lucius imagined, in the realms of purgatory.
The Cracker Belle headed south at dawn toward Lost Man’s River. Off to the eastward the sun swelled behind the night wall of coast jungle, and the rim of the coast forest was a band of fire.
Cryptic fins of porpoise parted a silken sea. The faint smudge of a freighter on the Gulf horizon was the only sign of man. “We’re comin up on Turkey Key,” Harden told Andy in a while. “I heard the clams was startin to come back behind Little Turkey.”
“Turkey Key, Plover Key, Wood Key, Hog Key,” Andy said, counting his fingers. “Don’t all of them islands have a high shell beach tossed up by storms? The pioneers chose these windward beaches because the sea wind kept the mosquitoes back in the bushes, and the shell ridge behind was higher ground in time of hurricane. I reckon the Hardens tried out every one!”
Whidden nodded. “Hardens liked being far away, farther the better, so the Great Hurricane never drove ’em from the Islands, it just scattered ’em. Earl rebuilt on Wood Key near his daddy, and Lee moved our bunch over to South Lost Man’s, and Webster went four miles upriver past First Lost Man’s Bay. After that nobody saw him much. Slim, quiet feller. Stayed up in the river. Made moonshine back in there and done some voodoo.”
Sally said, “Whidden’s mama told me that Webster lived apart because Earl made him feel bad about his color. She said Webster was dark but had good pointed features and straight hair, and was very handsome. Some men who work all of their lives out in the sun go very dark, that’s all.”
Andy agreed. “Some men just take the sun that way. My own cousin Harley Wiggins was as dark as Webster Harden, nobody never questioned Harley cause he was a Wiggins!”
“Back in the old days,” Sally said, “the Hardens gave a square dance once a week, and people came in from all over the Islands. Mr. Watson came, too, and he always sat with his back to the corner—had his place saved for him. If he went outside, he never came into the firelight where somebody might shoot at him out of the dark. That man was wary!”
Listening to his wife talk about his family, Harden winked at Lucius. “Yep, Harden men all played some kind of music,” he recalled. “Lee Harden called the dances, played the fiddle. He’d put a keg of moonshine on his elbow and throw it down. Uncle Earl picked the guitar but he couldn’t sing, and Uncle Webster played fiddle and mandolin. My pa’s favorite tunes were ‘Sugarfoot Rag’ and ‘That Dear Old Gal of Mine.’
“Pa burned his linings out so bad on moonshine that in later years he went all numb, didn’t feel a thing. He could take and lift a coffeepot right off the fire and drink black coffee right out of the pot, was famous for it. He never let moonshine get the better of him, the way most did, but he had that temper and he had that Injun in him and he wouldn’t take no nonsense, not from nobody. He was tough, all right, and so was Webster, but them two never turned mean when they was drinkin. I mean, they never killed nobody, not completely.”
“Not completely, no!” Andy smiled broadly. “Oh my, oh my,” he said with a happy sigh.
Sally contemplated the three men. “ ‘Oh my, oh my’ is right! This man’s father was supposed to be a famous killer, and this one’s daddy helped to kill him, and the third one’s brother was killed by my cousins—dangerous bunch here!”
Though her husband laughed, he was quick to change the subject. “My pa knew them men would be layin for Ed Watson because rumors traveled fast even in them days. He aimed to warn him. After the hurricane, Mr. Watson come back south, hunting for Cox, but the Hardens never seen him. If Lee Harden could have got to him first, he might not of gone back there and got shot to pieces.
“Pa always said that E. J. Watson knew a whole lot better than to return that day to Chokoloskee. He must of got tired of running—either that, or he had a purpose no one knew about. Said E. J. was just too darn smart not to suspect something. Them men was scared of him as well as jealous, and scared men are the most dangerous, and E. J. knew that.”
“Well, Mr. Watson never stooped down to their level,” Sally said. “He kept apart and they never forgave it. They were out to revenge that and make their name by killing a famous desperado. That’s why Lee Harden called ’em outlaws. Called ’em the mob.”