No Time For Sergeants

by Mac Hyman

  But anyhow, both of them said they was going to stand on that and there wouldnt be no more change about it, and they called back and forth a little bit longer with both of them getting staunchier and staunchier about it, until after a while they had it all settled that way. And then Roy shook hands with Pa and then Pa walked out to the wire and a couple of them came over to shake hands with him, and then Roy went over and shook hands with McKinney, and some of the others did too, and then there was a big to-do about getting Pa and McKinney to shake hands with everybody patting everybody else on the back and everything. So I watched a while and finally went out to shake hands with somebody myself, but about that time they started getting in their cars, waving and everything, and I kind of hated to see them go. I hadnt rid in a new car in my life, I dont think, and I didnt care a thing about having to walk no twenty-seven miles into Callville when there were three cars headed right that way, but I never said anything about it. I guess it was better me walking than having people getting their heads blowed off all over the place, so I never mentioned it; I went on out and started untying the dogs and chickens and getting up the wire and things.

  4

  The way it was, I was supposed to be down at the courthouse in Callville before five o’clock that afternoon and so I had started out just as the sun was coming up because it was a pretty long way and I knowed I would have to keep at it steady to make it by that time. I had fixed me some biscuits and meat in a sack so I wouldnt have to waste no time stopping to eat, and I figgered to stop by the Corners for a drink and then head on to town. They had a store there with cold drinks and things and an old pool table in the back, and a gas tank outside, so there was a chance that I might catch a ride on in the rest of the way. But that morning there warnt any cars or wagons there. There warnt nothing but two men setting on the front playing checkers and two others standing around watching, and some hens strutting around, and some dogs, so I went on in and got me a big grape drink and set on the steps outside and et my biscuits and meat and rested. And then I talked with the fellow that runs the place a few minutes, and by that time it was nearly eleven o’clock, so I got up and was just ready to head into town when I seen Bart Glovers coming up the road.

  I seen him and he seen me, and he was a good way down the road, but I would have knowed him a mile off, I guess. I started to go back in the store and out the back and circle on around and maybe miss him that way, but there warnt no chance in it; he had already begun waving his hands at me, so I stood there on the steps waiting for him and waved back. Then he waved some more and begun trotting a bit and come up to the store grinning with his teeth poking out the way they do, bobbing his head up and down. It warnt that I didnt want to see him; I had knowed him a good while, but I was in a hurry and didnt have the time to fool with him. He stuttered a good bit and he was real touchy about it and always had the idea in his head that didnt nobody want to talk to him none because he stuttered and didnt nobody like him for it, and he kept on about it all the time until it was pretty near the truth. But there warnt nothing I could do, so when he come up whooping and hollering, I whooped and hollered back, and he punched me in the stomach and I messed up his hair a little bit and then he begun kicking at me some and then we rassled around a little bit, and before it was over, I was right glad I had run into him after all. I hadnt seen him in a long time but me and him used to go hunting together a good bit and I always liked him fine for a little bit at a time, only he was hard to stay around for long because he was so awfully ignorant and so touchy and all over his stuttering; but anyhow we rassled around a little bit, and then he stood back blinking his eyes real hard the way he does and said, “Well, I be danged, Will.”

  And I said, “I aint seen you in a coon’s age.”

  And he said, “What in the dog are you doing here?” grinning and blinking his eyes at me. “I be danged. I sure as danged didnt expect to see you.” That was the way he took on all the time. He was the worst fellow at trying to cuss I ever did see and I guess he’d been at it for ten years and still hadnt learned. I mean he would say things like, “What in the dog are you doing here?” and never know it made no sense at all. But that was the best he could do and I never did hold it against him none because I had known him a long time and I could make out what he was getting at most of the time anyhow.

  I said, “You old devil, you.”

  And he said, “You old dang,” and we hit each other a few more times; and then we went on talking about this and that until he asked me what I was doing, and I told him about the draft and all, and he got real excited about that. “Are you really, Will?” he said. “How is it they ever come to ask you?”

  So I told him how it was, and he stood there blinking his eyes a little bit, so I could tell he was trying to figger out why it was they asked me, and didnt ask him. Then he asked me who it was that wanted me for the draft, and I told him it was some fellow named McKinney, and then he begun nodding his head up and down. “I know ’em,” he said. “He’s the one, huh? I’ll tell you about him sometimes. Me and him dont get along so good.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “Didnt you know? I been living in town for about two years now.”

  So I asked him what all he had been doing and had he been doing any hunting lately and why hadnt he been out to see us and all like that, and finally he perked up some and we talked of this and that, and after a little while, he said why didnt we go in and shoot a game of pool. Well, I started to say I didnt have the time, but I seen he was watching me and blinking his eyes, and then I knowed I would pretty much have to shoot one with him. Because if I had said something about being in a hurry because of the draft, he would have thought I was throwing that up in his face, and wouldnt have liked it none. So I said I would. It seemed like the best thing I could do was just shoot a quick one and get it over with that way.

  And that ought to have been easy enough on the table they had. It was setting in the back of the store along with a bunch of feed sacks and it had these big ridges in it and wore out places going right toward the pockets so you had to be practically blind not to make two or three balls on it every time you shot, and it warnt no trick at all to run the whole table with about four shots, so there ought not to have been nothing to it. But Bart didnt shoot pool like most people you’ve seen. He made a pretty big thing out of it and was always talking about it taking brains to do this and brains to do that, and made out it was the main thing about pool too, and I guess he done it because he was so ignorant; and he always has to figger and measure, and everybody has to be quiet and all like that. He gets down and eyes along the balls and he wont do it just to the cue ball neither—he gets on the other side of the table and eyes them from that direction too.

  So I seen soon enough it warnt possible to shoot no quick game with him. I busted them up and he started getting lined up for his first shot and he was even worse at it than he used to be. I guess it took him nearly fifteen minutes to get around to shooting. He eyed around and then he felt the weight of all the cues and then he went around testing the bounce of the cushions with his finger everywhere he expected the ball to hit; and then he stared at the table for a while, and leaned over real slow aiming, and then he got up and shook his head and went over and set down on a bench next to the table and started rolling himself a cigarette. And then he set there, studying it some more, and smoked most of the cigarette up, still staring at the table, and then he got up and measured some more, and I thought he never would shoot. And when he finally did get around to it, he had figgered it out somehow that he was going to hit three different sides of the table before hitting the ball he was after; and of course that warnt even possible on a table that had ridges in it about half as deep as the ball; so, even though I wouldnt have believed that nobody could shoot on that table without making at least two balls, he managed to bound all over it and not even hit one.

  I knowed what I had to do then, though. I knowed if I run all the balls on the next shot, he wou
ld just want to shoot another game, and he would keep on that way until he had won one himself, which could have taken all day the way he shot, so I figgered the easiest thing to do was go ahead and make sure he won that first one so he would be satisfied, and I could head on into town. But I found out that was a pretty hard thing to do on that table. I mean if you just come within an inch of a ball and the breeze wobbled it going by, it would roll over and get in one of those gullies and head straight for the pocket like it had a string on it. So I started trying to figger a way so I wouldnt make a ball, and I never shot such a game in my life. I got to figgering just about as hard as he did. I had to figger the gullies and the ridges and all like that, and before I got off my next shot, I was about all wore out with it. But I managed not to make a ball and felt pretty good about it, and then it was his time and we had to wait around another fifteen minutes for that one. Anyhow, we went on that way for over an hour, I guess, before Bart finally come fanning close enough to one of the balls to set up a little breeze and blow it down one of the gullies to the pocket, and after that he got right cocky and shot without figgering no more than a couple of minutes, and run the whole table on me.

  I was mighty glad to see it too. I got up and put up my cue and told him he was just too much for me and I warnt going to take him on again without a lot more practice, and it worked out all right. He kind of chuckled and took on and patted me on the back and tried to cuss a little bit but got it all messed up so it come out, “I hell nearly missed that last ball, didnt I, Will?”

  Anyhow, I still figgered I could make it by running a mile and walking a mile, but when I was ready to start out, Bart said, “Well, I’m ready any time you is,” and I mean that kind of got me. Because I guess Bart was about as slow as any man I ever seen when it come to walking. He didnt really walk nohow. What he done was kind of lean forward until it looked like he couldnt stay up no longer without falling on his face and then his legs started moving to keep him from going down, but they was the only part of him that did move. His arms just dangled straight down by his side and his head bobbed up and down, and it looked like the only way he ever got from one place to another was just by pointing himself in that direction and leaning forward until his legs started moving, and falling his way there.

  Anyhow, it was past noon when we finally got going. I tried to hurry him up some but he tired right easy and he always had to stop and look at things along the way something like a dog stops and sniffs, and we didnt make much time no matter how I prodded him. One time we run up a covey of quail out of the ditch along the side of the road and they fluttered up and lighted back in some wire grass, and wouldnt nothing do then but we go out and try to point them. That was one thing Bart could do pretty good, though, and he was right proud of it, and I couldnt blame him much about it. Course, he had practiced on it a good bit but it warnt all just practice—I think myself that he had about as good a nose on him as anybody I ever seen because I’ve seen him point just like a bird dog with his eyes closed, and not many people can do that if they practice all their life on it.

  Anyhow, he said he had been in town so long that he didnt know whether he could do it any more or not and wanted to see if he still could, and he got down on his knees and closed his eyes and raised his head up, sniffing the air, and then begun crawling through the grass with me behind him. He done pretty good too; he pointed two of them right off and knowed just how close he was and everything and didnt stir them up but held his point until I called out, “Rush, boy!” and he give a leap forward and the bird come fluttering up. It was a pretty good thing to be able to do and I guess it is about the best way I ever seen to train a bird dog. I mean you can try everything you want to with a dog and he might not point right, or might not hold his point and things like that, but then you get Bart out there and let him get down that way and go sniffing along until he gets a scent, and then point and everything the way he does, and I mean it does something for a dog. I’ve seen dogs that never was the same afterward, once they seen Bart do that.

  Anyhow, we wasted a good bit of time that way because I got interested in it because I always have liked to watch Bart smell out quail, and I nearly forgot the time. But when I did think about it, I made it right clear to Bart that I had to be getting on into town, and for the next three or four miles, we made some pretty good time. But then he got wore out with the pace and when we passed this mule and wagon along the road, wouldnt nothing do but we hitch a ride for a while for him to get rested up. There was an old gray-headed nigger driving it and he said we could go along and we got on, but I dont think I ever seen anything slower in my life. I guess the mule was about as old as the nigger was, and they looked something alike too, and we just barely moved along, it seemed like. So after I decided I couldnt stand it no longer, I got down, and told Bart, “You just ride on in if you want to, why dont you? I’ll see you in town later on.”

  But he come climbing down right after me and followed along because by that time he had decided to go see about the draft himself. He said, “I sure as dog dont see how come they aint said nothing to me about it, do you? It’s that fellow McKinney, I think. We aint ever got along so good.” And after a little while, he had his head so set on it that there warnt a chance on earth of trying to talk him out of it.

  He said he was going right in and ask McKinney why they didnt ask him too and he was going to get an answer one way or the other. He begun blinking his eyes talking about it, and kept on with it until I begun to feel right bad about it myself. I didnt figger there was a chance in the world he would ever make it, though. He couldnt read and that was probably the reason they hadnt asked him in the first place, but course I couldnt tell him that. If I had, he would have gone around after that telling everybody I was bragging and everything, and never would have forgive me for it. So I didnt say nothing, but just listened to him fussing about it, and agreed with him that they hadnt acted right to keep him from feeling any worse about it than he already did.

  The more he thought about it, though, the more he blamed McKinney, and before we got to town, he was good and mad about it. He took on about it and cussed and ranted, or at least tried to cuss and rant, but he warnt no good at it, but anyhow he flipped his teeth up and down and talked real loud, and I couldnt calm him down a bit. So when we got there and it was nearly dark and we seen that the courthouse was all closed up, I didnt feel too bad about it because it didnt seem like we would get to see McKinney nohow. I said, “Well, Bart, looks like aint nobody here. I didnt quite make it after all.”

  But then he said, “You just come with me, Will. I know right where he lives. Dont you worry about it. I’ll tell him why you’re late and I’ll fix it up so I can go along too. Dont you worry about it.”

  And then I think he kind of halfway got it in his head that McKinney had gone and closed down the office just because he knowed he was coming by, and that made him all the madder. He come about as close to real cussing about that time as I ever heered him. He took off stomping down the courthouse steps, heading down the street waving his hands and taking on, and there warnt a thing I could do with him except follow him along and calm him down as best I could. It was dark and the street lights had come on, and he kept trying to find the house; we went down this one street and Bart stopped and said, “No, I believe it is up this way,” and then he turned and went up that way, and then stopped and said, “No, it’s down yonder, I think,” and was off again looking from house to house. And then he decided it was on the other block and we went over there but we couldnt find it there neither, only he thought he had one time and went up and banged on this door, yelling, “McKinney, you come out here,” except that it warnt McKinney at all, but a little old man with glasses on who locked the door and turned out all the lights and peered out the window at us.

  So then we went back to the first block again, and this time Bart stopped and looked at the house across the street and said, “By hell, Will, there it is right there. We done passed by it two times.�
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  “Well, look,” I said. “Why dont we . . .” but he was already headed across the street, moving fastern I ever seen him go before, leaning so far over that his legs just went lickity split trying to keep up with him. He stomped up the steps and drawed his fist back and went to beating on the door so that you could hear the windows rattling. Then you could hear people inside jumping up and running around the house, and calling to each other, and some women saying, “What on earth, what on earth.” And then Bart opened his mouth to bellow, only it warnt much of a bellow because he got to stuttering right in the middle of it, and said, “McKinney, you come out hyer or I’m coming in and b-b-bring you out b-by your ha-ha-hair!”

  You could hear it all up and down the street, too. I heered some doors open and seen people sticking their heads out, and then Bart took to beating on the door again. And about that time, the light went out inside the house and I seen McKinney running across the living room to the front door where he turned the lock, and then running back again. And all that time this woman was going, “What on earth,” and Bart kept on beating and yelling, “By your ha-ha-hair!”

  You couldnt do a thing with him. I said, “Bart, come on. You can see him tomorrow maybe,” but he banged away on the door again and said, “By dog, dont you hear me?” and wouldnt quit for nothing.

  I said, “He aint coming to the door, Bart. Why dont me and you just go on and maybe you can come in the draft later on.”