Lashed to a tree, Logan had a length of hickory bent into bow shape. By next winter the branch would be seasoned and set. Then he planned to carve it into the best Indian bow in all of Perry County.
When it came time to bring in the cows, Logan got into his real clothes, and he showed Mickey his pocket knife that had only one broken-off blade, pointed up, but not much left.
Mickey said, "Heck, Logan, yours ain't much, so you can use mine, if you need one."
He got out his Barlow and opened it with his teeth.
Their laughter reached clear to the houses. Mickey's snapped-off old blade wasn't a gnat's eye longer than Logan Dell's.
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1929 - Logan
Best friends do not compete, at least in most activities. To be best friends, one must lead and the other willingly follow. Logan Dell directed and Mickey Weston marched alongside.
Logan did easily the things that counted, like tree climbing, fire starting, and stone skipping. It was Logan who discovered adventures and planned campaigns. Logan Dell was certain about things and usually he was right. His best friend rose or fell with Logan's tides. Mickey liked it that way.
But Logan Dell's imagination sprouted in unlikely soil. Logan's father was interested only in making a living and getting in a lot of hunting. He worked his farm doggedly, with an eye out for more rewarding labor. John Dell wished to work for the county, but he had no skills to offer. To his son he preached the poor rewards of farming, and in Logan he found a ready ear.
More importantly, Dell taught his boy the arts of the hunter. The Dells poached without remorse, but so did most who lived out of town. Even among hunters, John Dell was noted as an exceptional rifle shot and as a man who came home with game. The Dell's, it was said, did not waste ammunition.
Logan disliked farming and vowed he would do something better. To Mickey Weston he proposed floating down the river to become pirates. At other times he suggested seeking gold in Alaska, or joining the Sioux, who, he said, lived wild on western reservations. Imaginings encouraged reading and the reading stoked new imaginings. After he punched Bart Ruby's nose, Logan thought he might be the heavyweight champion, when he got a few years older.
Closer to home, Logan knew that when he got into high school he would be the team's tailback. He would run, throw, and kick. His team might even whip the Carson Long cadets and that would be remarkable because the rich kids who attended the military school were always older, bigger, and stronger than the far fewer Bloomfield, Blain, or Ickesburg boys.
Carson Long boys were much in Logan Dell's mind. Saturday evenings they appeared in town with money and all dressed out in handsome uniforms. The cadets frequented the restaurant and examined local girls as closely as allowed.
Farmers too came in on Saturday. Families cleaned up and men shaved close. Mothers shopped and husbands visited on street corners. Girls paraded in pairs, holding hands and giggling, studiously ignoring, or cautiously flirting with patrolling cadets and spruced-up neighbor boys.
Younger boys, including Logan Dell and Mickey Weston, roamed. They appeared from alley mouths and they dashed along sidewalks. Some trees needed climbing and certain stores, like the hardware, required quiet reconnoitering.
Nonsense was not tolerated so they studied in hands-off silence the elegance of the racked deer rifles and sixteen and twelve gauge shotguns. The hunting guns had names that rolled like honey: Remington, Winchester, Iver Johnson, and Savage. The weapons were the stuff of dreams and demanded more than a single look each Saturday.
Candy, too, was important and usually a few pennies were available to invest with much care and choosing. The Carson Long boys had their week's allowance to spend and those sums could be envied by youths lucky to have a nickel.
Logan always watched the military school cadets. He admired their fitted uniforms, polished shoes, and jaunty caps. The cadets saluted their faculty officers who wore genuine army uniforms with gallant looking wide-brimmed cavalry hats. Cadets said, "Sir," a lot and sounded brave doing it.
When the wind was right, Logan sometimes heard bugle calls all the way out to their farm. Occasionally he was in Bloomfield for the Saturday morning parade. Most townspeople ignored the cadets but, when he could, Logan went up Church Street and eased close to the slanty field where the cadets paraded.
How grand they looked with flashing sabers and snapping guidons. Most flourished real rifles in leather and wood, cracking manuals of arms that made Logan's heart dance. At those times, Logan knew he was destined to be a captain and lead men into battle. That dream lingered when others were forgotten or proven wanting.
Thinking about soldiering encouraged Logan Dell's weapon inventing period, although a poorly planned watermelon raid initiated it
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"Just look at those melons, Mick. Which one do you want?"
"We can't get any, Logan. Major Clouser might be watching."
Logan wasn't listening. His mind was on the watermelons. "I can see a dozen ready for picking. Maybe we should each get two."
"I'm not trying it, Logan. We'll get caught sure."
"No, we won't. Major Clouser's likely taking a nap. He's real old, Mick. Old people always take naps."
Logan planned their approach. "We'll belly through the sweet corn, then we'll duck up against the house, right at the corner where there's no windows. When we're ready, we'll just step out and clip off a melon apiece. We'll be back against the house in a second."
"If the Major looks out while we're doing the picking, we'll never get away, Logan."
"Even if he sees us, he won't know who we are. We all look alike to old folks, Mick." He'll think we're Rubys; they're always into something."
"I don't look like no Ruby."
"Never mind that, just stay close and don't move any cornstalks. Pretend we're Injun fighters. I'll be Rob Shatto and you can be Jack Elan. The house'll be a Shawnee village and our melons will be Spanish gold."
Mickey snorted, "What would Shawnee be doing with Spanish gold?"
"Just pretend, will you?"
The Indian fighters clambered from their scouting tree. They slid into the corn rows, creeping on all fours.
The patch was small and carefully weeded. Looking over Logan's back, Mickey could see the dark of second story windows staring down on them. He quit looking and concentrated on staying close to Logan's thickly calloused bare feet.
Logan too saw the windows. He hadn't thought of them, but who would be up in a hot bedroom during an August day anyway? He figured they were still safe.
The hoed-over ground was dust dry, and a pair of horse flies harassed them in heavy droning flight. Boys called them circle flies, and although accustomed to the insects' wild orbiting, they gave them attention. The flies landed heavily, often on hard to reach spots, and their sting smarted.
Part way through the corn, Logan heard Mickey slap and thrash around. He knew just what had happened. A circle fly had lit on the back of Mick's bare shoulder, alongside the bib overall strap. Damned flies liked that spot. A man about twisted himself apart slapping at them. Logan supposed they should have coated themselves with mud so they would have blended with the ground and been hard to see.
Circle flies wouldn't have gotten at them either. They could have washed off in the creek after they put their melons in to cool. They would do that the next time.
The corn came close to the house and the boys laid themselves tight against the heat of the wood siding. No human sounds broke the silence, and Logan whispered close in Mickey's ear.
"Get your knife ready. When we're set, we'll pop out, clip the vine, and get back tight against this wall."
"Suppose the Major sees us?"
"He won't, but if he does, run hard and meet at the lookout tree."
Logan added, "Don't run straight up a corn row, Mick. Duck across them like a rabbit does." He felt Mickey's muscles jumping and added, "Don't worry, Mick. He couldn't catch us; we're fast as lightning." Logan saw they were ready and
he set his mind on the melon he wanted.
Major Clouser's watermelons weren't just old field melons. The Major had a special sandy soil patch for them, and each melon rested on a bed of straw. The old soldier turned his fruit regularly and cut off less than worthy specimens. A Clouser melon was said to be as sweet as sugar and packed full of juice. Neither Logan nor Mickey had ever tasted one. Bart Ruby claimed he had and even grown-ups talked about them.
Logan said, "Go," and they made for their chosen melons.
Logan knelt and reached for his vine. As loud as a church bell a voice commanded, "Don't either of you varmints move a muscle." A pair of gun hammers clicked to full cock and blew to the winds any courage either boy might have harbored.
Logan thought he heard Mickey whimper, and his own back crawled with fear of what a shotgun could do at close range. He could see the safety of the woods edge so close but still impossibly far, even if his legs could have moved him. Logan Dell stayed still as a statue. He wished Mickey would quit shaking—it might startle whoever had the gun.
After an eternity, the voice said, "All right, now you two stand up, slow and easy. Don't make any sudden moves, 'cause my old double gun is loaded for bear shootin'."
In rising, Logan turned toward his friend. Mickey's eyes looked like dinner plates. Logan hoped his weren't so flatout scared; it never did good to show fear. He'd read it a million times.
It was Major Clouser all right, and although his gun was pointed up in the air, the long barrels were purely menacing. The gun was at full cock, with the Major's finger at the front trigger. Logan heard Mickey's voice croak, "Dang you, Logan."
Major Clouser was a Spanish-American War veteran. Lean as a cane, with a face as wrinkly as a clutched paper, he marched in every parade. Logan figured the Major must be one hundred years old or maybe even more. Clad in his brown war uniform and wearing his sword and sash, Major Clouser merited respect. Looming over them, gripping a double barrel, and madder than a spat-on hornet, the old soldier turned youthful knees puny and started lower lips trembling.
"Get in line. Over there against the house where I can get a look at you." The melon thieves bumped together hurrying into position.
Gently, the Major eased his gun hammers off full cock and Logan breathed a mite easier. The old man glared closely at them in turn and Logan felt Mickey rearing back tight against the wall.
"Who are you two? You don't look like them thieving damned Rubys."
Sensing a chance, Logan jumped in. "I'm Rob Shatto and this here's Jack Elan, Major Clouser." Logan put on his most innocent look, trying not to hear Mickey's low groan.
The Major examined them as though they smelled bad. Then his features turned really sour and his thumb eared back a gun hammer. "You think I never read history, boy?"
Logan didn't wait. "Well, them are the names we use when playing, Major. I'm really Logan Dell and I almost live here in the borough."
Mickey got his voice going. "And I'm Malcolm Weston. I live next door to Logan out along Dix Hill."
After a bit, the gun hammer again lowered. "Uh huh, reckon I know John Dell and I heard a Weston moved in." The Major appeared to chew his cud, lanterny jaw circling while he thought.
"Best thing'd be to shoot you down like dogs, the way we did in the war. Most thieves got hanged in them days but I like lining 'em up and emptying a few Krag 30/40s into 'em."
Again the Major's glare raked them. "Not a one of them thieves we hung or shot ever stole again, so the punishment must of been about right."
Neither boy dared speak, and the old soldier seemed calmer. '"Course, I could turn you over to the sheriff and he could lock you up until your paps came for you." Logan suspected he'd almost as willingly be shot. His father would flog his behind all the way home, and he'd likely never get done the extra chores and lecturing.
Major Clouser had another course in mind. Holding the culprits with his eye, he broke his shotgun and removed a pair of red paper shells. "These're double-ought buck. Might go clean through." He pocketed the reds and came out with a pair of green shells.
"Now these I loaded up special for thieving, two-legged critters that come through the corn with stealing in mind. These're loaded with rock salt. Salt chunks will poke through skin and burn like hot pokers. Sort of melt flesh right off the bones if it gets in good.
"Only trouble with rock salt is it don't carry too far. So I have to shoot pretty quick.
"Seem' this is your first serious stealing, I'm inclined to give you a running chance. Likely you'll be laid up a spell with painful wounds but that's better than jail."
The Major drew a line with his toe and urged his villains to it. "I'm feeling kindly today or you might go through my corn husker and be used for fertilizer on these very melons."
His voice sobered even more. "Don't come again, boys. I'm giving you a five count from when I say 'run.' Then I'm letting you each have a barrel. You ready?"
Logan gathered his courage and said, "It's too far to the woods. Major, we'd ought to get a ten count."
Mickey said aloud, "Dang you, Logan!"
Major Clouser appeared almost disbelieving. Then he said, "All right, Logan Dell. You'll get your ten count." He laughed grimly. "I'll just count twice as fast."
Logan heard the gun re-cock and he got set. Mickey wasn't very fast and Logan hoped he'd remember to cross corn rows so he'd be harder to see. Logan bent low and intended to stay just low enough so his head wouldn't poke above the corn. The Major said, "Get ready ..." and Logan went.
Mickey was slower but he did his best. They had a step or two before the Major got to "Run!"
Logan went like the wind. He angled across rows, just hurtling along, but the count was awful fast and it reached ten way too soon to be safe.
The Major shouted, "I see you!" and the shotgun boomed. Logan's back cringed but no shot came close, and he tried not to be thankful that Mickey was getting it.
The Major called again, "Now it's your turn!" Logan ripped across corn rows with a strength he hadn't imagined. The shotgun bellowed, but again nothing touched him. An instant later he sprawled within the briary sanctuary of the woods and collapsed into cover.
Mickey crashed down beside him. From near the house Major Clouser hollered, "I see you layin' up there in the woods. Get on home or I'll come up and hunt you down with the red shells."
Mickey began scrabbling away and Logan said, "Lay still, Mick, he can't see in here."
Mickey didn't pause but he spoke over his shoulder. "Just shut up, and come along, Logan."
When they were safely away and hidden in a secret spot, Logan said, "Best way to get at those melons'll be after dark. I could Injun in and keep watch. When I give our bird call, you could snatch a good melon. That way, the Major couldn't sneak up on us."
Mickey looked at his friend in horror. "Logan, that old Major's a real soldier. Any plan you could think up he's seen a hundred times."
Mickey changed the subject. "How much salt did he get into you?"
"None, how about you?"
"Didn't hit me. Whew, we were lucky."
Logan Dell was silent in thinking. Then he said, "We know better than that, don't we, Mick? That old Major didn't really try for us. Heck, he probably shot way up in the air somewhere."
"Well, I'm not going back to find out, Logan. I've never been so scared in my life."
"He had you scared, Mick?"
"You claiming you weren't, Dell?"
"Me, scared of one old man with a shotgun? You're darn right I was scared! I was so scared I figure I lost years of living. I'll bet I'm at least fifteen years old. I'll probably start shaving tomorrow morning."
They fell to giggling in shared relief until Logan said, "Now, about that night raid, Mick. We could paint up with soot and...."
"Dang you, Logan, we ain't going to do it!"
The next week Logan showed Mickey his first military invention.
"What our army needs, Mick, is a submarine that can also fly. Don't kn
ow why they haven't thought of it. A flying sub could bomb the enemy then dive into a lake or river to hide. Or it could sneak up and torpedo a ship before it just up and flew away.
"Way I've drawn it out, the wings would fold alongside and fill with water for sinking. The same propeller out in front could pull the sub through the air or the water. A pilot would sit here, and pumps to push water out would be back here. I figure the sub should be made sort of thin, like a tin can is, so it would fly easier. How's the idea sound to you?"
Logan had sketched his flying submarine in various conditions. When airborne, it bristled with machine guns. Bullet paths were drawn as dashed lines and led unerringly into enemy trenches. Bombs fell from an open door and the only incongruous adornment was a periscope jutting from the craft's top.
Underwater, the submarine launched torpedoes and fish swam alongside. On the sea bottom a wreck lay with its German flag still hoisted.
Mickey saw the value of the flying sub and wished he had thought of it. Logan cautioned, "We've got to keep this secret, Mick. There could be spies around. The Germans used to have a lot of them and some might not be caught yet."
The idea of spies was titillating. Mickey questioned, "You really think any would be in Perry County, Logan?"
"Of course they could be here. Harrisburg has cavalry and cannon and stuff right at the armory. My pap told me. And Carlisle has a whole fort with all sorts of soldiers."
Logan had to consider for a minute to build an argument he had hardly thought about. "A spy could hide out up here, acting natural, maybe even living in the hotel, like a real person. Why, nobody would be suspecting and he could see what was going on up at the military school. They've got guns and everything up there, you know."
That spies might be close around provoked caution and Mickey asked, "How're you going to get your plan to the army, Logan? Spies might have a way of getting into mail marked for the army."
Logan had an answer. That did not surprise Mickey Weston. Logan always had an answer.
"What we have to do, Mick, is get the plan to a real soldier. We need one that no German spy would dare come up against. He'd know what to do with the plan. He'd likely take it to a general so they could start building a few right away."
Cronies (Perry County) Page 2
