Chapter 3

I proceeded along the highway to Demopolis. Demopolis was settles by the French, and had some French families still living in the area. I was riding through an area of black clay soil. It was my first experience with shrink and swell clay. A small rain shower fell and my horses and I could barely walk for the "friendly" soil building up on our feet.

We stopped and waited for a day for the conditions to get better. I was able to shoot a turkey with the rifle and supplement my supplies. The stock was able to graze on the lush grass.

I picked some wild plums that afternoon and enjoyed the change from what I had been eating.

The next morning the road was passable so we started out again. As we got closer to Demopolis I saw big flat fields that were growing cotton that was blooming. I always liked seeing the cotton bloom.

I rode into the town of Demopolis on a Thursday afternoon. I put op my stock in the livery, and was walking down the street to the local restaurant.

I saw a man who was having trouble with a wagon he was building. I stopped and helped him out. Once he got the boards attached I told him good luck and was heading out to the restaurant again.

"Thanks, Mister... ?" he said.

"Evans, James Evans from Dublin, Georgia," I introduced myself.

"I'm Richard Wright, I build wagons and a few other things, but I'm mostly the blacksmith here."

I was a carpenter before I started west, I hope to be a farmer, or rancher.

"I have an order for four freight wagons, this is the first one. Would you be interested in helping build them. I could pay you $ .75 per day plus your room and board."

I thought about it for a minute.

"My wife is a very good cook," he enticed.

"How long will the job take?" I asked him.

"I think it will take about three weeks," he answered.

"Alright, you have a helper," I told him. Home cooking was sounding mighty good.

I put my stock out in his pasture, and put my gear in the storage room.

Mrs. Wright called us to dinner about then. She was a very good cook. Her family was descended from the French settlers in this area. She was very tiny and talkative in contrast with Richard's big frame and muscles, and quiet demeanor.

I told her all about my family back in Georgia that evening before I went to bunk in the storage room.

Richard brought me a plate for breakfast in the morning.

We got started and I built the boxes and seats while Richard worked on the wheels, works and suspension (what there was of it).

Richard showed me how to build wheels, and how to weld the rims on. He also taught me how to shoe mules and horses. I reshod mine while I was there.

After I had been there about two weeks, the Sheriff came up and asked if I was James Evans. "Yes sir, I am."

"Do you know a man named W. O. Bradley?" He asked me.

"Yes sir, I do. He and a man named Jim Davis attacked me on the road from Montgomery to Lowndesboro. I managed to kill them, before they got me. Davis shot my mule, you can still see the scar on his shoulder. I told all this to the Marshall at Lowndesboro. He considered it self defense and turned me loose."

"I have heard of Jim Davis, you are fortunate to have gotten out alive. Why did Bradley attack you?"

"He tried to bully me in the middle of the street in downtown Montgomery. He was drunk. I backed him down, and he was humiliated. His pride must have been pretty bruised up over it," I told the Sheriff the unvarnished truth.

"I have received a letter that says that Bradley's brother has brought charges against you for murder," He said.

"Revenge is more like it," I answered. "Write the Marshall at Lowndesboro, he will tell you what happened. I am working with Mr. Wright for another week or two anyway."

"Okay, Mr. Evans, you seem like a straight forward man, and honest. I will do as you suggest."

Richard and I continued to work on the wagons for the next couple of weeks. When we finished up, the Sheriff still hadn't come back to contact me. I saw him a day or two later. "Have you heard back from the Marshal at Lowndesboro yet?"

"Not yet," he answered. "I need for you to stay for a while longer until I hear from him."

Later that day Richard said, "James, I got some bad news today. The man that I built the wagons for only wants two of them. I can't afford to pay you what we agreed."

"Will you be stuck with them?" I asked.

"No, I will eventually sell them, probably in the spring," he figured.

"I need to stay around for another week or two until the Sheriff straightens the Bradley mess out. How about you let me stay in the store room and keep feeding me and let me build a wagon of my own, not as big as the freight wagons, but a two mule wagon all the same."

"That's a deal," he said extending his hand.