by James Still
Fester Shattuck knew to exercise caution with a mule. A mule’s reckoning was beyond human ken. He approached warily, entreating “Whoa, friend, whoa,” and, after cleaning its muzzle with a stick, rubbed its nose and patted its belly, imploring the while, “Old grandpaw, be good to me and I will to you. As certain as Glory is watching, I’ll treat you right.” A shiver rippled the animal’s flanks. Putting the jar aside temporarily, Fester leaned against the critter as against a wall and stroked the roach of mane, but he had enough of his wits not to nibble ears as he might a pony’s. The mule flushed its nostrils and stamped. “Stick to me, grandpaw, and you’ll see Brushy Branch and your master long before the sun hides. I swear it.”
Shaking out the saddle pad, Fester dislodged a ball of cockleburs and pressed it into the earth with a heel. Onto the mule’s back went the rig. The girth was adjusted, buckles fastened and tested, the animal circled to make positive everything was secure. Then Fester finished the whiskey. Springing into the saddle with newfound alacrity, he stiffened his spine, grasped reins between fore- and middle fingers, turned elbows outward, set feet lightly into the stirrups, angled his hat, clacked and commanded, “Get up, grandpaw,” and rode out of the hollow. He rode kingly.
The blacktop shimmered in the noon heat. Nothing had passed in either direction during the half hour past except the bus returning from Thacker. At the copse of gilly trees below town, Fester gave a long eye to a pony with white stockings tied up in the shade, but nobody was about with whom to bargain. He rode on, the bypath to the rear of the stores slipping his mind until he was in front of Meg Brannon’s boardinghouse and saw Lafoon Magoffin looming in the middle of the street. He slowed the mule, yet did not turn back. Had not Godey Spurlock declared, “I believe to my soul if I’d o’ called him by his nickname he’d o’ busted out laughing”? Fester went forward in the boldness of his drink and curiosity.
Lafoon Magoffin’s vigil in the burning sun had gone unrewarded, and his uniform was the darker for being sweated through. His jaws were oily, his chin dripped. The youngsters in the aged Edsel had not pressed their luck by returning, nor had he found occasion to clap hands on any person. Vehicles had been shifted into low gear at sight of him, folk on horseback hightailed to his order, pedestrians allowed him a wide berth. But what had he here? A man on a gray mule approaching, sitting stiff as a poker in the saddle, arms akimbo, heels angled, hat raked to a slant. Holding to the center of the road and veering neither right nor left, the rider jogged squarely up to him, drew rein, and greeted shyly, “Hey-o, baboon.”
Magoffin’s simian arm shot up even before he smelled the whiskey. His sleeves were skinned to the elbow. Grabbing a wad of shirt, he hauled Fester from the saddle. Down came the billy, up went the knee, and Magoffin’s breeches hiked to his shanks as he leaned for a purchase on Fester’s belt.
Brad Garner was a witness, as was Elvin Haymond, from Lairds Creek. Elvin had been one of the onlookers in Chicken Roost, having been informed by Brad of Riar Thomas’s loss of a load of peaches and urged to check on Godey Spurlock’s intentions with Riar’s critter. Brad rode the mule through to Brushy and had him in Riar’s barn by sundown.
The Run for the Elbertas
As Riar Thomas approached the Snag Fork bridge, the truck lights picked up the two boys sitting on the head wall. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was nearly one o’clock. He halted, pulled the cardboard out of the broken window, and called, “I’ll open the door from the inside, it’s cranky.” The boys sat unmoving. “Let’s go,” he said, “if you’re traveling with me. A body can’t fiddle in the peach business.”
Godey Spurlock began honing his knife on the concrete, and Mal Dowe got his out too. “Pay us before we start,” Godey said. “We hain’t going to be slicked.”
“What I say,” said Mal.
“My grabbies!” Riar chuffed. “You ever know me hiring anybody and failing to settle?”
“They tell you trade out of paying,” Godey said. “People didn’t name you ‘Tightwad’ for nothing.” Yet it wasn’t the money that made Godey stall. He was angling to help drive.
Mal said, “Doss and Wint Colley claim you skinned them the last trip.”
Riar snapped the clutch in irritation. “Nowadays,” he snorted, “you can hear everything but the truth and the meat a-frying.” And he said, “Why do you think I take my own help? To see I get the fruit I buy. Doss and Wint let the loaders short me a dozen bushels. Still I paid off.”
“Yeah,” said Godey, “in rotten peaches.”
“I’ve tried several fellers,” Riar explained, “and the shed crews stole them blind. I need fellers sharp to the thieves. They can trick you and you looking at them.”
“Not us they can’t,” Godey said. “We hain’t lived sixteen years for nothing.” He slid from the head wall, and Mal followed. “Settle now and we’ll guarantee you full measure.”
“You know us,” said Mal.
“Never in life have I paid for work before it was done,” Riar declared, “and I don’t aim to begin.” He waited. “Are you going or not? Make up your heads.”
Edging toward the truck, Godey said, “Promise to let me drive a dab, and we’ll risk you.”
“Risk me,” Riar hooted, slapping the wheel. “If there’s another person who’d undertake hauling you jaspers from Kentucky to South Carolina and back I haven’t met the witty.”
Godey insisted, “Do I get to steer after a while?”
Riar raced the engine impatiently, and the cattle rack clattered behind. “Crawl in,” he said, “I can’t fool. To deal in ripe peaches and come out you’ve got to run for them. It’s a five-hundred-mile round trip, and I’ll have to get there in plenty of time to make arrangements and load by sundown. We’ve got a splinter of Virginia to cross, a corner of Tennessee, and North Carolina top to bottom.”
“I’ll give you my knife to drive a speck. It has four blades and all kinds of tricks and things.”
Riar shook his head. “I’m gone.”
Godey saw Riar meant it and they got in. He warned Riar, “Anybody who beats us will be a-hurting.” And he said, “If you want to keep me acting pretty you’d better give me the wheel along the way.”
“Now, yes,” echoed Mal.
Though it was July the night was chilly. Riar said, “Stuff the board in the window or you’ll get aired,”
“I’ll not ride blind,” Godey said.
“When you begin freezing,” said Riar, “don’t halloo to me.”
Mal said, “Let me sit on the board. They’s a spring sticking me through the cushion.”
Godey laughed. “That makes it mean,” he said, and he sat upon the cardboard himself. The truck sputtered in starting, and he teased Riar, “What about a feller who’d hang on to a wreck?”
“She’ll run like a sewing machine in a minute,” Riar said.
“Too stingy to buy a new, aye? Can’t say farewell to a dollar.”
Riar said, “You knotheads know the cost of a truck? They’ll bankrupt you.”
“The fashion you scrimp, you ought to be rich as Jay Goo.”
Riar grunted. “Boys don’t understand beans,” he said, and in his truck’s defense, “I’ve had her repaired for the trip, though I couldn’t afford it: brakes re-lined, spark plugs changed, retreads all round.”
“Yeah,” Godey ridiculed. “Fenders flopping, windows cracked out. A bunch of screaks and rattles.”
“We heard your old gee-haw four miles away,” added Mal.
Riar said, “Doubt you not, she’ll carry us there and fetch us back—with two hundred bushels of peaches.” And he mused, “I used to mule in goods from Jackson. Occasionally my wagon would break down and I couldn’t fix it. I’d walk up the road and ’gin to whistle. Fairly soon it would come to me what to do.”
“My opinion,” said Godey, “the most you calculate on is how to dodge spending money.”
“Listen,” Riar said gravely, “I’ve barely my neck above water. Bought the tires on credit, w
ent into debt for repairs. I’ll have to make a killing this run to breathe. And if I am a grain thrifty it’s on behalf of my family.”
“They say,” plagued Mal, “you’re married to the woman on the silver dollar.”
“Let me give you some gospel facts,” said Riar.
“We can bear it if you can spare it,” sang Godey.
“I try to keep bread on the table and shoes on my young ’uns’ feet. And I treat the other feller square. I’m straight as an icicle.”
“What about the rotten peaches you put off on Doss and Wint Colley?” reminded Godey. “Preach a sermon on that.”
“The fruit at the bottom of the load was mashed shapeless and beginning to spoil,” said Riar, “yet the Colleys asked for them instead of pay. Claimed they wanted to plant the seeds and commence an orchard.”
“Idjits might swallow that tale,” said Godey, “but not us. You believe yourself they actually wanted the seeds?”
“I’ve come on different knowledge since.”
“For what? Tell me.”
“You won’t hear it from me.”
Mal saw light suddenly. “Just one thing they could of done—made peach brandy.”
“You reckon?” blurted Godey, his ire rising. “Lied to skip giving us a taste?”
“It’s plain as yore nose,” said Mal.
“By jacks,” Godey huffed, “we’ll work on their dog hides.”
“What’s the profit in revenge?” Riar chided. “Swapping ill with your fellow man?”
“You don’t know?” asked Godey in mock surprise.
“No,” said Riar.
“Then I’ll tell you. It makes you feel a whole heap better.”
Mal asked Riar, “Don’t you ever get mad and fly off the hinges?”
“I try to control myself,” said Riar. And he advised, “You two ought to get some sleep. We’ll have no pull-offs for naps along the road.”
Mal twisted on the cushion. “Upon my honor,” he grumbled, “this seat is eating my breeches up.”
Morning found them in the Holston Valley of Tennessee, and the sun got busy early. The moment the ground mist melted, it was hot. The truck was standing at a gasoline pump, the attendant hose in hand and inquiring, “How many?” when Godey woke. Godey’s eyes flew open. He said, “Fill her up to the wormholes.”
“Five gallons,” said Riar.
Godey yawned, bestirring Mal. He said, “I never slept me nary a wink last night.”
“Me neither,” fibbed Mal.
“You snore just to make the music, aye?” said Riar. “It was hookety-hook between you.”
Godey said, “Why don’t you fill the tank and not have to stop at every pig track?”
“Ever hear of evaporation?” asked Riar. “A lot goes away before you can burn it.”
Godey wagged his head. “Tight as Dick’s hatband,” he informed the attendant.
Mal said, “Saving as a squirrel.”
Directly they were on the road, Godey announced, “I’m hungry, Big Buddy, and what are you going to do about it?”
“We’re carrying food the wife prepared,” Riar said. “We’ll halt at the next black spot.”
“You expect to feed us stale victuals?” Godey complained. “Give us a quarter apiece to buy hamburgers.”
Riar said, “During my boy days a quarter looked big as a churn lid. Did a body have one he stored it. Now all the young understand is to pitch and throw.”
“The truth,” mocked Godey. “Saturday I was in town, and I hadn’t been there ten minutes when bang went a dime.”
“We have food in plenty, I tell you,” Riar insisted, “and any we don’t use will be wasted.”
“So that’s the hitch,” scoffed Godey. “Before I’d live like you I’d whittle me a bill and peck amongst the chickens.”
Riar halted presently in the shade of a beech and hurried out. Mal forced the cranky door on his side and jumped to the ground, and Godey made to pile after—but his breeches caught on the spring. He pulled and still hung. He had to jerk loose. His jaws paled, his mouth twisted to swear, yet he checked himself. He would make it pay later. He hopped down, and none was the wiser.
Mal cautioned Godey under his breath, “You’d better begin greasing Riar up if you’re expecting to drive.”
“I’ve already got him right where I want him,” said Godey.
Riar put a gunnysack on the grass and spread breakfast: saucer-size biscuits, fried ribs, a wedge of butter. He poured cold coffee from a mason jar into cups shorn of handles.
Godey eyed the meal sourly, keeping turned to hide the rip. “A dog wouldn’t eat a mess like that,” he caviled. Nevertheless he took a serving. With cheeks full he added, “I wouldn’t except I’m so weak I couldn’t rattle dry leaves.”
“You might do as well at your own table,” Riar countered, “but it’s not my information.”
Hardly were they moving again than Godey broached driving. “I’m ready to steer awhile, big buddy.”
Riar grunted noncommittally.
“Last night you let on I could.”
“I never made such talk. I promised you two dollars, and have them you will the moment they’re earned.”
Godey produced his knife. “I’ll give you this, and hit’s a bargain. Four regular blades, and an awl, and a punch, and a shoe hook, and—”
“All that play-daddle is fit for is to rub a hole in your pocket.”
“Then,” said Godey determinedly, “I’m going to have my wages now, cash on the barrel.”
“Are you making that cry again?” fretted Riar. “They said you were pranky, but I didn’t figure on all the mouth I’m having to put up with.”
“You heard me.”
“My opinion,” Mal joined in, “you’re not to be confidenced.”
Godey declared, “Fork over else we’ll allow the shed crews to steal you ragged. Even might help ’em.”
“Great sakes!” Riar exclaimed. “Two dollars not yours yet and you growling for them.”
“Why, you’re behind the times,” corrected Godey. “You’re paying me an extra three to buy a pair of breeches. Your old cushion has tore a hole in me big as outdoors.”
Riar sputtered, “I haven’t taken you to raise, mister boy.”
“According to law,” said Godey, displaying the tear, “I’ve suffered damage in your vehicle. I know my rights.”
“I’ll see you to a needle and thread.”
Godey had Riar going, and he knew it. He said cockily, “Want to satisfy me and not have to tip your pocketbook?”
“Deliver my life and living into your hands?” Riar chuffed, on to the proposition.
“Turn the truck over to me thirty minutes and I’ll forget the breeches. I may even decide to let you off paying me for a while.”
Riar groaned. “My young ’uns’ bread depends on this machine.” But he was tempted. Loading without watchers was a misery, and he couldn’t abide further expense.
“It’s me drive,” Godey said, “or you shell out five dollars.”
“Wreck my truck,” Riar bumbled, “and I’m ruined. You don’t care.” But he could see no alternative. “I get along with folks if they’ll let me,” he said, relenting. And he questioned anxiously, “Will you stay on your side of the road and run steady and not attempt to make an airplane of it?”
“Try me.”
Riar slowed and stopped, and he took pliers and bent the point of the broken spring. Godey slid under the wheel, face bright with triumph, and he asked, “Anything coming behind?”
The truck moved away evenly, the gears knuckling without sound. Watch in hand, Riar prompted, “Don’t ride the clutch,” and “She’s not tied up for speed,” and “She brakes on the three-quarter pedal.” But his coaching was useless, as Godey drove well enough.
Meeting a bus, Godey poked his head out and bawled, “Get over, Joab,” and he grumbled, “Some people take their part of the highway in the middle.” He reproved Riar. “Why don’t you quit wo
rrying? You make a feller nervous.”
“I can’t,” breathed Riar. “Not for my life.”
Before Godey’s half hour was through he inquired, “Have I done to suit you?”
“You’ll get by,” grudged Riar.
“How far to the North Carolina line?”
“Another hour should fetch it.”
Godey’s eyes narrowed. “Want to pet your pocketbook again?”
“What now?” Riar asked skeptically.
“I’ve decided to swap my pay to drive to there.”
“You’re agreeing to pass up the money, aye? And after vilifying me about the Colley brothers.”
“I aim to,” said Godey, “and I won’t argue.”
Riar shook his head. “I promised cash, and cash you’ll have. I’ll prove to you June bugs my word is worth one hundred cents to the dollar.”
Godey shrugged. “Made up your mind, big buddy?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well,” said Godey, “let’s see can we change it,” and without further ado he floored the accelerator. The truck jumped, the cattle rack leapt in the brackets. The shovel hanging from the slats thumped the cab.
“Scratch gravel,” crowed Mal. “Pour on the carbide.”
“Mercy sakes!” croaked Riar.
Godey spun the wheel back and forth. He zig-zagged the road like a black snake. The rack swayed, threatening to break free.
Riar’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. The veins on his neck corded.
Godey cut to the left side of the highway and sped around a blind curve.
Riar could stand no more. “All right,” he gasped. “All right.”
Godey slackened. Grinning he said, “Why, you break your word fairly easy. Get you up against it and you’ll breach.”
By early afternoon they had put western North Carolina behind and crossed into South Carolina. The mountains fell back, the earth leveled and reddened, the first peach orchards came to view. The sun beat down, and the cab was baking hot.
Riar charged the boys, “I’m expecting you to keep your eyes skinned when they load my peaches. The fruit goes on several bushels together, and the sharpers can trip you.”
