Now I was standing there all alone listening to my best friend cry so loud everybody in the church could hear him, and I was supposed to say something. Then for some reason I just felt like I should go over closer to Uncle Hugh if I was gonna say something about him, so I moved over until I was right beside the casket, and I looked down at Uncle Hugh lying there just like he was sleeping with his worn-out old Bible resting on his hands. He looked so peaceful that I forgot for a minute that I was supposed to be talking about Uncle Hugh. I reached over, patted the Bible, and then I heard Brother Dover clear his throat. He nodded his head to me like “get started” and then I just started talking, and I can’t even exactly remember some of the stuff I said. Something about how good Uncle Hugh was and how happy he was living in that little house with no electricity, no running water and then I remember saying that if I get to heaven I’ll probably just have a little house like Uncle Hugh lived in here, but I betcha Uncle Hugh’s gonna live in one of those big mansion places.
Then I thought about last Christmas when me and John Clayton brought Uncle Huge some new glasses where he could read the Bible again. After I told that story of how Uncle Hugh had carved out some whistles for me and John Clayton and then how we’d sang Christmas carols in front of his fireplace—I couldn’t keep talking ’cause I missed Uncle Hugh so much. Then I reached over and squeezed Uncle Hugh’s hand for the last time, and I started crying just like John Clayton, who was still sobbing. I sat back down by John Clayton and Brother Dover started his sermon.
’Course, it was Matthew the 25th chapter, and his deep mellow voice just reverberated through the church: “When ye have done it to the least of these, ye have done it unto me.”
Brother Dover took a long time to preach the funeral. He finally finished up and after a long prayer he motioned for the pallbearers to come pick up the casket. But before they picked it up, he walked down and took Uncle Hugh’s Bible outta his hands and nodded for me and John Clayton to come forward.
“Here, Richard, you hold Hugh’s Bible out in front of you, and you and John Clayton follow the casket,” he whispered.
Brother Dover walked down front and as the men carrying the casket walked by he motioned for me and John Clayton to follow them. We walked behind the casket and followed along as they carried it outta the church and around back to the cemetery where they sat it down on a little pile of dirt beside the open grave. Brother Dover took Uncle Hugh’s Bible from me and read a little more of Matthew 25, and then he handed it back to me.
Then one of the men put the top on the casket and nailed it down while four more men put ropes under it and proceeded to lower it into the grave.
“Boys, y’all’s our honored guests and you were Hugh’s bestest friends, so take this shovel and throw the first dirt on the casket.”
Well, I handed Brother Dover Uncle Hugh’s Bible and one of the men handed John Clayton a shovel. Gosh, that was even sadder than the church. When John Clayton’s shovel full of dirt hit the top of Uncle Hugh’s casket he burst into tears again and so did I. Between sobs I managed to throw my shovel of dirt on the casket and we turned to leave.
“Boys, y’all forgot something.”
We turned around and Brother Dover handed us Uncle Hugh’s Bible. I tucked it under my arm and we slowed walked outta the cemetery. By the time we got home we had cried so much our eyes were almost swollen shut. I took Uncle Hugh’s Bible in my room and put it by my bed, and just as I was about to walk back outta the room I looked down and saw a piece of paper sticking outta the Bible.
I pulled it out and on the top it said;
To Richard and John Clayton
Boys, since you have my Bible, I know someday you will find this note. Maybe I didn’t tell you enough while I was alive, but I’m writing this to you because both of you have been so good to me. I can remember so many times when I’d not see nobody all day and then you boys would come walking up the lane, and it would just make my day. Of course, I’ll never forget last Christmas. You boys made it the best Christmas of my life, and you won’t ever know how much better my life was because y’all got those glasses for me. Boys, I know y’all really liked to listen to me tell them ghost stories, but it was me that enjoyed it the most. Just sitting in that rocking chair and telling my bestest friends stories in front of the fireplace was so special.
Now boys, I didn’t write this letter to make you miss me and cry a bunch. You know what I told you last Christmas about being ready to go? Well, I’m just sitting at my little kitchen table writing this letter knowing the angels are on their way to come get me. Y’all have been such good friends to an old man, and I know the Lord is going to bless you for giving me all the joy from just being around you. Of course, I’m going to miss you and you will miss me, but one day we’ll be together again and I’ll have some new stories to tell you. Until then just remember me every once in a while, maybe when you walk by my little cabin. I know I won’t be here much longer. I feel it deep within me, but I’m ready. … Uncle Hugh went on for a little longer about how we’d cared for him and how we were such good friends. I thought I was through crying but I wasn’t. Momma found me later that day still clutching Uncle Hugh’s note crying in my pillow.
“Oh, Momma, Uncle Hugh was such a good man, and we’re gonna miss him so much,” I sobbed.
Well, they ain’t nothing like a momma when it comes to holding you and making you feel better. Momma put her arms around me and just let me cry a little longer, and then she took me into the kitchen where she gave me some cookies and milk.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Danger in the Swamp
I guess if I live to be a hundred I’ll never forget what happened that next day. We decided to head back down to Flat Creek Swamp and spy on the moonshiners. Shoot, we were ready to do anything to forget the funny book mess, all those dang bee stings, and of course Uncle Hugh’s funeral. Well, that trip to the swamp sure did it.
Heck, we knew old Curly, who was getting paid off, sure wasn’t gonna do nothing, and we’d decided that if we had more evidence we might could go to the State Police ourselves.
We’d marked a trail from the O’Rear’s Road down to the moonshiner’s shed, and we’d gotten to where we could make it down to where the moonshine still was in about forty-five minutes. Them last one hundred yards was what we called the Indian scout part.
After about ten minutes of walking from the main road, I whispered, “Get down and start crawlin’.” We crawled along until we came to some thick bushes right by the shed, hunkered down, and stared watching.
John Clayton had brought his Big Chief tablet and his school pencil, and as I whispered stuff to him, he’d write it down. Heck, from watching those detective picture shows, we knew just how to do it.
“Black truck―two men is gettin’ out―one is real fat, and the other is kinda short and he’s wearing a hat,” I whispered.
“Slow down, dang you. I can’t write that fast,” mumbled John Clayton.
“Black truck, license number―Arkansas 1284-JK. Look at that! The man wearing the hat is giving Swampy some money, and they’re loading some barrels in the truck!”
Well, John Clayton whined about me talking so fast, but he did get a lot of stuff written down, and we even counted how many barrels of whisky each truck loaded up and wrote what the men looked like. After about an hour of loading barrel after barrel of moonshine, Swampy started complaining about all the work he was doing.
“Damn it, my back is killin’ me, Jake. How many barrels do we have left?”
“Hell, Swampy, we’re down to our last three. Tony and his bunch will be here pretty soon, and he’ll want twice that much.”
“Yeah, take them three barrels and cut ’em with water where we can fill his order.”
“Damn, Swampy, we’re gonna get in trouble with that bunch if they ever finds out we’re cuttin’ their whisky.”
“Ah, Jake, you worry too much. They ain’t got a clue we’ve been selling ’em watered-down whisky.
Hell, we’ve been doing it so long, they wouldn’t know the real stuff if they tasted it.”
“I just hope you’re right, Swampy ’cause that’s a mean bunch. Hell, they runs Hot Springs, and I think they may be part of the mob.”
“Jake, you’re just like some little old lady. Hell, this is Flat Creek Swamp, not Hot Springs, and I run this operation. If they don’t like it, then they can just take their asses back to Hot Springs.”
Well, Jake started pouring water, and soon he had six barrels of water-cut whisky. We’d seen enough, and we were about ready to leave when this big Buick drove up, and four men got out. Swampy walked over and started talking to the man who looked like the boss.
“Hell, Tony, I don’t think we can get your six barrels in the trunk. You should’ve brought your truck.”
Tony was picking his teeth, and he walked over to where Swampy was standing, and he just looked at Swampy, not saying a word, until I could tell Swampy was getting real nervous. Then his head kinda bobbed, and he grabbed Swampy by the front of his overalls.
“What!” yelled Swampy?
“Been waterin’ our whisky, haven’t ya?”
“No, Tony, I swear to god, I ain’t.”
The six barrels was sitting there that Swampy and Jake had fixed for Tony, and Tony looked down at them nodding his head.
“Matt, check out them barrels.”
Well, let me tell you something right now, old Swampy looked real nervous. Heck, he was just squirming around like nothing you’ve ever seen, and he’d was already talking like those barrels wasn’t supposed to be for Tony.
Matt yanked off the top of one of the barrels, dipped up a little cup of the whisky, tasted it, and then spit it out.
“This stuff’s been cut, Tony. Just like the last batch we got.”
Wow, I thought Swampy was gonna have a fit. He was trying to explain to this Tony fellow how it was just a mistake, and he’d make up for it. Shoot, Tony acted like he didn’t even hear Swampy, and he just nodded to one of them men standing beside him. The man standing beside Tony yanked out a gun and before Swampy or Jake could move, he shot both of them. Heck, I thought I’d stopped breathing I was so scared, and me and John Clayton flattened out on the ground like two pancakes.
All I could think about was that we’d just seen two murders, and if Tony knew we were watching, they’d be two more. It didn’t take five minutes for Tony’s men to throw Swampy and Jake in the trunk of that Buick, but before they left, Tony told one of the men to stay there and wait on someone who’d be coming to run the still. As soon as the man that Tony left behind walked over to the shed, we hightailed it outta there.
“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! They killed those two men!” I whispered to John Clayton as we slipped through the wood, “and we saw everything! We’re the only
We got back to my house and went out behind our barn to try and decide what to do about what we had seen. ’Course, we thought about Curly, but heck, that was a waste of time.
“Yeah, Richard, this is big-time stuff, so we can’t tell nobody but the State Police.”
“But how on earth are we gonna tell a state trooper? Heck, they have a state trooper in El Dorado, but we sure don’t know how to get in touch with him.”
Then I had a thought. “Wait a minute. We do know a state trooper. Remember the officer that caught us pullin’ that fake billfold off the road with a string, and he sent a note to our daddies, and we got switched?”
“Yeah, I remember. It was one heck of a switchin’.”
“Well, I remember his name.”
“Really?”
“Yeah: It was Sergeant Morrison. We gotta call him. Heck, not only are they runnin’ a moonshine still down in Flat Creek Swamp and payin’ off old Curly, but now they’ve killed two people.”
***
The next morning when I met John Clayton down at the breadbox we started talking about calling the State Police.
“Richard, if it was just moonshinin’ we could just let it go, but, dang, two murders? You know we ain’t got a choice. You gotta make that call.”
“Me make it?”
“Yeah, you’re the one who remembered the state trooper’s name.”
Well, I grumbled about having to make the call, but, shoot, John Clayton wasn’t about to call no state trooper. I was gonna have to do it. I finally got up the nerve to make the call to the State Police number in the phone book. (I’d waited until I knew my folks were away from the house and they wouldn’t know I was calling.)
“Hello, yes, ma’am…could I speak to Sergeant Tom Morrison?”
In a few minutes I had Sergeant Morrison on the line.
“Sir, my name is Richard Mason. You probably don’t remember me, but last summer me and my friend John Clayton was makin’ cars stop by a pullin’ an old billfold off the road down under the Flat Creek Bridge. You remember us?
“Yes, sir, we did get a good switchin’. Why am I calling? Well, sir, me and my friend spend a lot of time down in Flat Creek Swamp, and we know just about everything ’bout that old swamp. Awhile back a man stopped us and ran us off when we were way down in the swamp. Heck, he shot a gun over our heads to make us run… .” Then I told Sergeant Morrison everything we’d seen, and I finished by telling him about that man named Tony who had Swampy and the other man shot.
Well, of course, Sergeant Morrison wanted to come over to my house and talk to me and have me tell him exactly where the still was located, but I knew that since Daddy had probably been one of Swampy’s customers, I couldn’t let a state trooper come driving up in our driveway to ask about a still down in Flat Creek Swamp. Finally, I said, “Sir, it’s hard for me to tell you exactly where the still is located, but if I can meet you in Norphlet then me and my friend can take you down to the swamp and show you how to get to the still.”
I don’t think Sergeant Morrison wanted to do it that way. In fact, he kept telling me he had to come to my house, but, finally, when I refused and was just shaking the phone I was so upset, he agreed to meet me in Norphlet and let me and John Clayton show him where the still was. We set up the meeting, and I said, “Uh, Sergeant, there was several men with that man, Tony, and he told them they were gonna start runnin’ the still, so I’ll bet there are three or four men at the still now. I don’t think we should go down in that swamp without a bunch of men.”
Well, Sergeant Morrison said he’d bring plenty of men and then I hung up the phone and went into a worry fit.
***
The next day me and John Clayton was standing down at the depot, the place where I’d set up the meeting with Sergeant Morrison, when a State Police car drove up, followed by a sheriff’s car and two more State Police cars. My gosh, I nearly had a heart attack I was so excited. Well, me and John Clayton ran over to the first car, and Sergeant Morrison was driving.
“Sergeant Morrison, I’m the boy who called you. I’m Richard Mason, and this is my friend John Clayton Reed.”
“Boys, get in the car and let’s talk a few minutes.”
Well, another state trooper came over and got in.
“I’m Captain Fuller, boys. Sergeant Morrison told me you’ve seen some very suspicious things down in Flat Creek Swamp.”
“Yes, sir, we sure have,” I said. Captain Fuller nodded and then we answered every question in the world, and after we finished, the Captain said, “Sergeant, I believe these boys have some good information. Alert the team. We’re going to bust that still.” Wow, Sergeant Morrison ran back to all the cars that were waiting, whirling his finger around in the air, and then jumped back in the car.
“Get in the front seat, boys, and tell me where to go.”
In a few seconds me and John Clayton was sitting up there in the front seat beside Sergeant Morrison, and then the whole bunch of cars pulled out with sirens wailing and lights flashing.
“Go towards El Dorado and after you cross Flat Creek, I’ll show you where to turn off!” I yelled.
My gosh, me and John Clayton was just
pulled back in our seats as that car whizzed down the highway, and a few miles later we crossed the first bridge at Flat Creek.
“Boys, tell me when we come to a turn.”
“Yes, sir, just keep going until you come to the O’Rear’s Cutoff.”
Shoot, we zipped passed that last bridge before I knew it, and then I saw the O’Rear Cutoff Road right ahead. Sergeant Morrison began to slow down, and he cut off the siren and the flashing lights. Well, the three State Police cars and the sheriff’s car slowed way down, and all of them turned off their sirens. Gosh, the closer we got to the road that went to the bootlegger’s still, the more nervous I got. Heck, I wasn’t the only one nervous. John Clayton was about to bite his lip off, and he was gripping the front of the seat like a he was about to die.
I spotted the road leading to the still, and I grabbed Sergeant Morrison’s arm. “That’s it! That’s the road to the still!” I yelled as we approached the dim little
road.
“Hold on, boys; we’ve got to get to the still as quickly as we can, or they’ll have time to run.”
Wow, before I knew it, we was just roaring through them woods heading down that little road, bouncing in mud holes, and sliding around like nothing you’ve ever seen. I was hanging on trying to figure out how far we had to go, when I heard a noise and then the windshield just busted all to heck. Glass sprayed out at us, and I was just sure we were dead. John Clayton hollered so loud you could have heard him back in Norphlet, and I ducked down below the dashboard.
Lyin' Like a Dog, The Yankee Doctor, The Danged Swamp! 3-Volume set Page 17
