The Adventures of Jack and Billy Joe

by A. Jeff Tisdale

  “Any sight of them?” Jack said from equally winded lungs.

  “Not yet, keep digging,” Billy Joe said.

  Both boys heard the roar of the pickup truck coming from some distance down the old road.

  “I think it’s quite a distance away,” Jack said. “I think we can make it before they get to the bridge.”

  “Have your gun ready just in case,” Billy Joe said.

  “You mean you would shoot them?” Jack asked, rather surprised. He hadn’t even considered shooting back. As a matter of fact, he had forgotten they had the guns.

  As they neared the old bridge, they could hear the roar of the pickup, but because of the high bank on that side of the creek, they couldn’t see where it was.

  From the time they had heard the truck, the boys had forgotten how tired their arms and shoulders were. They were digging in like the Yale racing team.

  They went by the bridge area in a hurry but just as they got past it, they heard a booming voice. “Hey, y’all come back heah.”

  They exchanged a quick glance then paddled faster.

  Again, shots rang out, this time whizzing over the boys’ heads. They crawled lower in the boat.

  The creek took a bend to the left in about fifty more feet. “Maybe the current will take us around the bend before they shoot us full of holes,” Jack said.

  They heard the sound of the rifle. Crack—pause—crack—pause—crack—pause. Jack realized that only one of the moonshiners had a gun, and because the shots weren’t coming in more of a staccato, the one gun they had was a lever action. He had had to jack another shell into the chamber before he could fire again. That’s why the pauses.

  “Point your rifle in their general direction and fire without exposing yourself,” Jack said.

  “Why, we can’t hit ’em?” Billy Joe asked.

  “Just do it!” Jack demanded.

  Both boys held their guns up over the sides of the boat and fired in the general direction of the moonshiners. They had to manually reload after each shot but the frequency of shots fired at them decreased.

  They rounded the bend and were safe again—at least for a while.

  “We’ll be okay when we get to Old Augusta Road, won’t we?” Billy Joe asked.

  “Not really,” Jack said. “We’ve been goin’ a lot faster than we meant to so my mom won’t be there. If we slow down and get there after dark, I don’t think my mom will scare those two away, do you?”

  “What are we gonna do then?” Billy Joe whined.

  “Assumin’ the moonshiners will try to beat us to Old Augusta Road bridge, I think the best thing we can do is get there as soon as possible—unless you want to try to paddle back upstream to the US11 bridge.”

  “What good will it do to get to the Old Augusta Road bridge before them?” Billy Joe asked.

  “First, we don’t have to go all the way to the bridge. We can stop about a quarter to a half mile from the bridge and pull the boat ashore. Then we’ll follow the game and hunter paths out to the road. If we get there before they do, we can set up some surprises for them.”

  “How?” Billy Joe asked. “Their one gun is more than equal to our two pop rifles.”

  “We can add surprise to that and don’t forget, I have the four-ten shotgun on my rifle,” Jack said with more confidence than he felt.

  That positive tone seemed to pick up Billy Joe’s spirit. They were the good guys and the moonshiners were the bad guys and everybody who watches movies knows how that turns out. The good guys always win.

  The boys resumed paddling, figuring they had about seven or eight miles to go to the bridge. They didn’t have to paddle as if someone was shooting at them anymore but they did need to keep up a steady pace. They rested one at a time and kept up a good speed.

  The woods were different as they got closer to Old Augusta Road in the larger stands of trees. The undergrowth along the creek bank thinned out as the tall trees filtered out the sunlight, denying it to the smaller growth.

  “We’re just about where we want to be,” Jack said softly, as if he could be heard by the moonshiners. “Let’s pull into this place on the left. We can pull the boat up under that clay bank and tie it to that tree limb. Take your gun and your shells only. We won’t need the other gear for a while. If you’re hungry, get something to eat now. We won’t be back for a while.”

  Jack had assumed the command role and Billy Joe followed Jack’s instructions.

  “Let’s go,” Jack said, moving off on a hunter’s trail leading toward the bridge.

  After about fifteen minutes, Jack held up his hand to stop. He listened intently for the sound of the pickup or voices. Billy Joe was quiet for a change. No voices or sounds of the pickup were heard. They were ahead of the moonshiners.

  “Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” Jack said. “You get in the ditch right over there.” He pointed to a deep place just south of the bridge.

  “Where are you gonna be?” Billy Joe asked.

  “I’ll be just a few feet from you,” Jack reassured him. “You take out the front tire on this side and I’ll take out the back tire on this side.”

  “What do we do then?” Billy Joe asked. “You know they’ll jump out and get us—shoot us probably.”

  “Nah. They won’t expect us to be ready for them,” Jack said. “They’ll hesitate for a few seconds, then they’ll get out to look at their tires.”

  “Then they’ll shoot us,” Billy Joe said with more panic in his voice.

  “Calm down,” Jack told him. “They won’t have time to shoot us. After you take your shot, you immediately jump up and run back into the woods. The minute you’re out of their sight, turn left, south, and go at least a quarter of a mile before you stop. I’ll be somewhere close to you then. We’ll go back out to the road, hide in the ditch and stop the first car or truck that comes by.”

  “And where will the moonshiners be all this time?” Billy Joe wanted to know.

  “They’ll still be searching the woods around the creek for us,” Jack explained. “They won’t realize that we’ve doubled back to the road.”

  “What if I don’t hit the tire?” Billy Joe asked.

  “One of us will hit one of the tires. You shoot the front one and I’ll shoot the back one so we will hafta get one of them,” Jack assured him. “If we don’t, run like the devil anyway. We can still make it.”

  Billy Joe started to say something, but then clamped his mouth shut and just nodded.

  They reached the bridge and walked across to the south side and a few yards further.

  “Over here.” Jack pointed to the ditch on the side of the road where rushing water had washed out a niche and the weeds had grown over its edge.

  Jack positioned Billy Joe in the ditch and made sure he couldn’t be seen from the road but still had a good, clear view of where the truck tires would be. He then positioned himself to see the same. They were not ten feet apart.

  Jack talked to Billy Joe constantly while they were waiting for the truck to make sure he didn’t panic and run.

  Soon, they heard the drone of a vehicle of some kind. Jack couldn’t say for sure if it was the old pickup but it did sound like it to him.

  As the truck came into sight, Jack said, “This is it. Stay calm now and don’t forget to aim a little in front of where you wanna hit.”

  The pickup slowed as it neared the bridge. The two moonshiners were looking in the woods for the boys and completely overlooked the ditch along the side of the road.

  As the truck came close, both boys raised their heads enough to see the tires.

  At the exact same moment, both boys fired and both tires went immediately flat.

  Jack looked over at Billy Joe, whose mouth was hanging open in shock—he’d hit his mark.

  Then the boys jumped up and ran into the woods as was planned.

  The moonshiners got out of their truck and checked their tires. The fat one threw his hat on the ground in disgust.

  “What d
o we do now?” the skinny one asked.

  “We go into the woods and get ’em,” the fat one said. “We can catch two boys real easy. Besides, they got single shots and they didn’t have time to reload. We got a gun and they don’t.”

  “Where in the woods?” slim asked.

  “They’ll stick to the creek,” fatso answered. “They would be afraid not to. These are city young’uns.”

  Both moonshiners moved off into the woods.

  Jack and Billy Joe were now about a quarter of a mile south of the bridge.

  Jack stopped and called out just above a whisper, “Billy Joe?”

  To his surprise, Billy Joe answered in the same tone from about ten feet away. “Yeah, what?”

  “Let’s go out to the road and find us a nest. There should be a car or a truck along soon.”

  “I don’t know, there’s not more than ten cars or trucks by here in a day. I’m not sure one will be by before the moonshiners figure out what happened to them,” Billy Joe said.

  “They’ll be in there ’til dark.”

  “Listen,” Billy Joe said. “There’s a car coming.”

  “I don’t hear it,” Jack said, straining to hear.

  Then they both heard it. It was coming fast and it was a pickup truck.

  “Be ready now,” Jack said excitedly. “We need to wave them down.”

  When the truck got within about fifty yards, both boys jumped out on the road and started waving with both arms.

  The truck immediately slowed, letting its own dust cloud catch up with it. It pulled up beside the boys and the man driving stuck his head out of the window and said, “What’s happenin’, boys?”

  Jack told him about their hair-raising adventure in the swamp and explained how they had fooled the moonshiners into chasing them into the woods but had backtracked to the road.

  “Get on the running boards, boys, and hang on,” the man said.

  As they approached the south end of the bridge, the truck rolled to a stop and the driver and another man got out holding hunting rifles.

  “This is my boy, John. He just got back from the Pacific. He was a marine,” the man said. “We’ll have a little discussion with these moonshiners.”

  The man walked over to the moonshiners’ pickup and looked at the two flat tires. “You boys did that, huh?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack admitted.

  “Good shots, boys,” he praised. “And you did it with those toy rifles. I’d say those were real good shots.”

  Another shot rang out from the woods, hitting the side panel of the moonshiners’ truck.

  “Take cover behind the truck, boys,” the man commanded, but they really didn’t need the urging. They moved.

  “They’re not gonna come out on their own, Dad,” John said. “We’ll have to go in to get ’em.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” the man said. “We’ll run across the road and into the woods. You bear left and flank them. I’ll follow the creek. They only have one rifle so we should be able to get the drop on them somewhere.”

  He turned to the boys and told them, “Now you check to make sure those pop guns are loaded. Stay behind this truck but watch for the moonshiners to come out. If they do, shoot ’em. Don’t wait to be fair. They won’t.”

  “Yes, sir,” both boys said together.

  “Just make sure you don’t shoot us if we’re the ones who come out,” John said.

  “No, sir,” both boys said.

  The father and son entered the woods warily, crouching low and using whatever cover was available.

  The boys waited, listening, expecting to hear shots from the woods at any moment. None came. They waited.

  Billy Joe was the first to see any movement. He punched Jack with his elbow and whispered, “There.”

  Squinting where Billy Joe was pointing, Jack saw the movement.

  Two men came out of the woods. It was the moonshiners. Billy Joe made a little whimper like a kitten in distress but stood his ground.

  As the moonshiners came up on the road shoulder, a voice from the woods said, “Hold it right there. We’ve got you both in our sights. One more step and you’re dead men.”

  The moonshiners stopped, hesitated and slowly raised their arms over their heads. The fat one still held the lever action rifle in his right hand.

  “Throw that rifle behind you into the ditch,” the voice demanded.

  The fat moonshiner hesitated again but, after some thought, tossed the rifle over his shoulder.

  The father and son came out of the woods slowly with their rifles at ready.

  “Move over to your truck, lean over and put your hands on the truck,” John said forcefully.

  “Get some rope from our truck, John,” the father said.

  John walked toward their truck while the father held his rifle on them. Jack and Billy Joe watched in amazement as the good guys took over.

  “Tie ’em up, John, and put ’em in the back of our truck,” the father directed.

  That done, the father said, “You ride up front with me, boys. John, you ride in the back and watch these waddies.”

  They drove into town and found the sheriff, finally, in the pool hall.

  The sheriff called the boys’ mothers and told them where they were. The boys gave statements concerning their adventures on Rocky Creek to be used later in court.

  “Good job, boys,” the sheriff said. “But in the future, why don’t you leave the law enforcement to the grown-ups? You coulda gotten yourselves killed.”

  The boys nodded but accepted the praise with pride. Jack looked over at Billy Joe, who was beaming, and he knew they’d done the right thing. The bad guys were locked up in jail and nobody was hurt.

  Chapter Two

  The Fire Tower

  It was nice to be considered heroes for a while but the boys soon tired of it. They avoided all talk of it when they could. The town found other things to talk about and the boys moved on.

  Today, they were engaged in their favorite literary activity, reading comic books in Jack’s bedroom.

  “Hmmmm,” Jack said, rubbing his chin in thought.

  “What’s happening in your pea brain now?” Billy Joe asked.

  “The new Sears Roebuck catalog came today,” Jack declared.

  “Yeah, ours did too. So what?” Billy Joe said, indicating he thought Jack had made a worthless statement.

  “Well, for one thing, we need to start making our list of fishing tackle from the new book. A hundred assorted hooks cost thirty cents this year. Last year they were only a quarter. I don’t know if Momma is gonna let me order as much this year.”

  “If she won’t, she won’t,” Billy Joe said. “We can make do with what we have.”

  “Actually, fishin’ gear was not what I was talkin’ about,” Jack explained. “I was thinkin’ about the old catalog and what good airplanes it will make.”

  “What are you talkin’ about now?”

  “Don’t you remember when Mr. Edwards took us up in the fire tower on Tawanta Hill?” Jack reminded him. “I said at the time how good paper airplanes would fly off of it. Well, now we have lots of paper in this catalog.”

  “You gonna ride your bike all the way down to Tawanta Hill—what’s that, five miles—just to fly paper airplanes?”

  “You got a better idea what to do? I don’t,” Jack said. “We ride further’n that with nothin’ to do.”

  “Yeah, I guess, and I bet the paper airplanes would sail a long way. That tower must be two hundred feet and it’s on a hill that must be a mile high,” Billy Joe exaggerated. “When did you want to go?”

  “I was thinking about tomorrow mornin’ early,” Jack said.

  “Okay, I’ll go as long as we don’t have to leave at five o’clock in the morning like you always want to do.”

  “Nah—no need to rush. We can pack some lunch and make up a quart each of Penny Drink. That and the catalog won’t be too much to carry,” Jack planned.

  “Okay—where y
ou wanna meet?”

  “I’ll meet you at the place where the road from the junior college crosses Highway 11 at seven in the morning. That’s a good place so neither one of us will have to double back,” Jack said.

  “Yeah—that’s good and I like it that we each make our own Penny Drink. The last time you made it for both of us, you put in too much sugar and I couldn’t hardly drink it,” Billy Joe complained. “I think you got sugar diabetes or somethin’.”

  “Naw I don’t. I just like things sweet, that’s all,” Jack explained.

  Both boys went home to have their supper and listen to The Shadow and Inner Sanctum on the radio, before turning in early.

  At six AM, Jack’s clock rang loudly, causing him to sit up in bed with a start. He had been dreaming about crossing Tallahala Creek on the rickety old swinging bridge at Bynum’s Bluff. For once, he was happy the clock had woken him up. That bridge was dangerous and if you fell from it, it was a long way down. The power company had built the bridge under its high-powered transmission lines so they could maintain them without having to drive around the creek to a car bridge miles away.

  Jack quickly regained his composure when he realized it was just a dream. He pulled on his blue jeans, a striped pullover, athletic socks and his high-topped tennis shoes and headed for the kitchen.

  “Mornin’, Momma,” Jack greeted her as he entered the kitchen through its swinging door.

  “Mornin’, Jack. You goin’ with Billy Joe this morning down to the fire tower, you said,” Jack’s mother remembered.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What do you want in your lunch?” she asked.

  “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I guess, with a few cookies and a quart of grape Penny Drink in a fruit jar,” Jack said.

  “I’ll put in an apple, too. You don’t get enough fruit,” she noted. “You make your own Penny Drink. I don’t ever make it sweet enough for you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” Jack said as he took a quart fruit jar from the pantry shelf.

  Jack’s mother served him sausage with buttered biscuits and honey and a glass of orange juice. He ate it watching the clock to make sure he wasn’t late meeting Billy Joe.