No two ways about it, I’ll kill a man if he’s outta line with me. I’ll kill him, ‘n siddown on his chest ‘n eat a bowl a stew. Use the motherfucker for a stool. That’s all there is to it. I won’t let nobody fuck with me. I don’t fuck with nobody, ‘n I ‘spect the same from them. I spent fifteen years in San Quentin for killin’ two men. Fifteen fuckin’ years, ‘n them fifteen years didn’t change my mind one way er the other. I’d kill them same two men if it was ta happen again.

I got outta Quentin in ’65 ‘n got on the railroad. Hadn’t been out thirty days b’fore I was picked up again. I was up in Wyomin’, holed up in this sand shack, mindin’ my own business. It was a big shack, way at one end a the yards, a barn-like place filled with piles a sand. The railroad uses that stuff durin’ the winter, but in summertime don’t nobody go over there. It was a good place ta git in outta the heat. That sand was nice ‘n cool, ‘n I’d lay back on a sand pile ‘n drink wine. I was layin’ there, all stretched out on the sand this one day, ‘n I see this big Indian standin’ in the doorway. He comes walkin’ toward me, slow like, n’ he had one a them yella handled fish knives in his hand. It was one a them knives with the saw ridges on the back, ‘n he was runnin’ his thumb over the ridges, sayin’, “What’cha got for me white man?” He sez, “I’m gonna kill yer white ass.” I never laid eyes on the son of a bitch b’fore in my life, ‘n he sez he’s gonna kill me.  He had the meanest goddamn look on his face ya ever wanna see. I figgered I’m in trouble, ‘n there wasn’t no way a getting’ out of it. I didn’t have no weapon on me, on account a my record.  Couldn’t afford ta risk getting’ picked upon a weapons charge ‘n getting’ sent right back ta prison. Still don’t carry nothin’.

I was lyin’ there with my back ta the sand, watchin’ him feelin’ that knife, ‘n I sez, “Got me a hunnerd ‘n fifty dollars,” ‘n pulled out my wallet ‘n peeled off the bills ta show him. His eyes lit up like a couple light bulbs at the sight a that money. I tossed the wallet next ta the jug a wine down by my feet. I sez, “Here, take my money ‘n the wine, ‘n leave me alone. Jus’ don’t stick me with that knife.” The motherfucker was grinnin’ from ear ta ear, thinkin’ he’s got himself some kinda easy prey. I laid back with my hands b’hind my head like I was givin’ up. He kept a steady eye on me while he was crouchin’ down getting’ ready ta make a move for the money.  First, he reached out ‘n picked up the wallet ‘n then made a move for the jug. Soon’s he grabbed the jug, I scooped up two handfuls a sand from b’hind my head, ‘n threw it in his face. He had the jug ‘n the knife in one hand, ‘n the wallet in the other. Right-a-way I reached out for the knife hand. Got hold of his wrist with both my hands, ‘n started twistin’ ‘n pullin’ with all I had.

Gettin’ that knife away from him was all I could think of. The jug fell ta the sand, but he had a grip on the knife like a vice; wouldn’t leggo for nothin’. We was strugglin’, ‘n he dropped the wallet ‘n started beatin’ on my face with his free hand, poundin’ me ‘n gruntin’ like an animal. I was takin’ a beatin’ ‘n figgered I might not hold out much longer, so jus’ ta get him ta stop, I yanked back with ev’rythin’ I had ‘n pulled him on top a me. Right then he went limp.  I was layin’ under him, ‘n his blood started gushin’ out, soakin’ inta my shirt. I pushed him off, rolled him over ‘n felt his pulse. Nothin’, that big motherfucker was gone. When he fell forward on top a me, the knife musta been stickin’ straight up. It drove deep inta his chest, right b’tween the ribs. Went in, handle n’ all. Only had a little piece a yella handle stickin’ outta him. The butt end made a good size dent in my own goddamn chest. He was a big son of a bitch. His own weight’s what killed him.

I figgered I wasn’t gone get too far with this dead man’s blood all over me, so I hiked it ta the yard office n’ called the law. They come by, ‘n I told ‘em my story, ‘n they took me ta jail.  I wound up doin’ twenty months for manslaughter. Twenty months, ‘n I wasn’t out ta kill the motherfucker. Jus’ wanted ta get that knife away from him.

73.