Skinner Letter 1

The following letter was written by Isaiah Skinner to his mother in the days immediately after the incident at the Knudsen farm.

Letter
My dearest mother,

By now, I am certain you have heard through the grapevine about that nasty business up at the elder Knudsen place involving Lord Worthy's finest. I am not certain what you have read in the papers, but I think Lector Douglas once said that enemies carry a report quite different from the original. Well, I was there at the farm. I am not certain that what I have to tell you will set you at ease or chill your blood; I don't even know whether I will send this letter. But I feel obliged to write out the details in my own hand, for my own peace of mind if not for yours. I still think about that night, and often.

The fact is that Old Man Knudsen owed Lord Worthy a lot of money. He knew that someone would be calling to collect on that debt. He expected us, Ma. He and his sons and wife were all armed. He was willing to gun us down in his own home rather than pay Lord Worthy what was owed. He would not listen to reason. None of them did, Ma.

Jack, the dog, and I were outside, near the outhouse behind the Knudsen home, while the others went inside. I could hear the old man's voice rising, and the Sergeant's as he attempted to reason with the fool. I then saw several muzzle flashes through the windows, and the report of shotguns going off. Ma, I was frightened for my fellows. I know now that the first shotgun blast was fired by the old man, and came damn near to blowing off half the Sergeant's face. The second blast was fired by his son Charles directly into Zed's gut. How he survived, only the One knows, blessed be He who protects the just.

After the first gun blasts, I was startled by noises coming from the outhouse. After a moment, Rance Knudsen came bursting out, shirt-tails streaming behind him, with a wicked-looking pistol in his hand. Jack went after him with hardly a word of encouragement and knocked him over, but instead of giving up, Rance got back up on his feet, got to the front door of the house and threw it open, with me right behind him.

I did it, Ma. I shot him in the back. I emptied my pistol into him because I knew he would empty his into the backs of my friends.

I laid eyes on the inside of that house and it was an abattoir. The three Knudsen boys, dead. Ma Knudsen screaming, smacking and pushing the Sergeant. The thick cloud of gunsmoke burning my eyes. That memory will stay with me for a long time.

The Sergeant none-too-gently escorted the old man off his property by throwing him bodily out the front door while avoiding being stabbed by the knife that the old man was trying to stick in him. The idiot dropped the knife as he fell and was trying to retrieve it. I told Jack to stop him, but Jack grabbed the wrong arm as that wretch grabbed for the knife. So I put an arrow through his throat.

Yes, I did it. And I am not sorry, Ma. What I am is angry. That damned old coot. Because of him, there are three dead men, three widowed and orphaned families, and his wife penniless and in jail, and she may well hang for this before it is all said and done. The arrow I put through his throat is the one I wish I had put through father's. Ultimately, both men will face the same judge, and will suffer similar fates. That is the only justice we can hope for now; they are beyond what we poor men can dole out on this side of the grave.

I feel right sorry for the Knudsen family, but I would spit on that old man's grave if I had the chance. It would not have come to this if he would just have knuckled under, but he just could not swallow his pride. I believe that the Judge used me as His instrument, and that is the honest truth. That I do not regret his death is probably the most disturbing fact to ponder.

I hope that if read this letter you will still be able to look upon me with affection, and you will still accept my own, after what I did and how I feel. Whether you do or not, at least you will know the truth.

Isaiah.