Lyin' Like a Dog, The Yankee Doctor, The Danged Swamp! 3-Volume set

by Richard Mason

  Well, John Clayton was just pulled back in his seat as the Bullet made another swoop and that was about the funniest thing you ever did see. He looked green and wild-eyed, and you could see his neck just a-blobbing. Shoot, I ducked down with my head between my legs and looked up just as everything broke loose. John Clayton let go again and this time just as he vomited up his toenails, all the vomit from the other side of the car can swooshing back on Freckles and him.

  “Yuk! Ahaaa! John Clayton! Stop! Ohoo! Ahaaa!” yelled Rosalie.

  Rosalie had ducked, but that didn’t help because when the car turned upside down the full force of it hit her bent over and when she looked up vomit was dripping off her like she’d been dipped. About that time the furry dog zoomed off the top of the little car, along with another load of throw-up, whapped her, and sprayed another load of vomit all over her. Good Lord! She let out a scream like nothing you’ve ever heard.

  It was the most horrible thing you’ve ever seen, because now both Freckles and Rosalie were screaming their heads off, vomit was sloshing around, first in the bottom of the little car, and then, when we looped, everything went to the top and a big furry dog flew around that car like a buzzard, and I was beginning to feel real funny after watching John Clayton. Oh, God! No! Please don’t let me throw up! Please! Please!

  Yeah, it was another unanswered prayer. I couldn’t hold it any longer, and I turned loose of the furry dog and let fly.

  “Bleaaaaaaaaa!”

  We were upside down when I vomited, and the vomit and furry dog went straight up to the ceiling, and then as the car looped back, the two dogs hit us first followed by more vomit than I’d ever seen in all my born days.

  “Stop the ride! Stop the ride!” Rosalie and Freckles screamed at the top of their lungs, while me and John Clayton added to the vomit—about every two seconds—and now the dogs were so wet they hit you with a splat, and if you haven’t been hit with a furry dog covered with vomit, you haven’t had the worst thing in the world happen to you.

  The girls waved out the window for the carnival man to stop, but the man just laughed and cranked it up faster. The higher speed pulled us back in our seats while the vomit sprayed over us like a garden hose. ‘’Course, after a few more circles, me and John Clayton was totally empty, but there was about two inches of yuck in the floor of the Bullet, and every time when we were about to loop I prayed again for us not to turn upside down, but, heck, I nearly lost all my religion when we looped, and little bits of vomited-up hot dog, candy apple, and cotton candy juice rained down from the floor on our heads. The ride went on and on; we thought it would never end. Heck, I think the carnival man just kept us looping and looping because we were yelling so loud. Then with one final high speed loop, the ride slowly stopped.

  “Thank God! Thank God!” screamed Rosalie. “Let me out of this stinkin’ car!”

  The four of us got out, vomit dripping off of everybody, and the two vomit-covered dogs just slid out of the little car onto the ground.

  “Oh, my God! Benny, bring the hose and wash out this car,” yelled the carnival man running the ride.

  “You two low-count, worthless, little rats!” screamed Rosalie, “Look at us!”

  I glanced at Rosalie and turned my head to keep from laughing. Rosalie’s long, dark red hair had little bits of hot dog and candy apple tangled all through it, and blue cotton candy and Coca-Cola was dripping off her nose. John Clayton looked over at Rosalie and started laughing.

  “Laugh at me, will you!” And with that Rosalie grabbed one of the big furry dogs off the ground and took off after John Clayton. If I hadn’t been so sick I would have laughed watching Rosalie whap John Clayton with that wet, slick dog. Finally, with a scream you could have heard 10 miles away, she threw the furry dog as far as she could and pointed her finger at me, “I hope both of you die! You white trash!”

  “Come on, John Clayton, let’s get out of here. Head for the livestock barn, where we can wash up in one of them waterin’ troughs.”

  We grabbed up our dogs, ran out of sight, and shook the vomit off our clothes.

  “Well, at least we got our dogs back.”

  “You dang fool. Sure, we got these stupid, stuffed dogs back, but now Rosalie is so mad she’s never gonna even look at us again much less speak to us.”

  “That’s okay with me,” said John Clayton.

  After scraping off the pieces of hot dog and candy apple from our shirts, dipping our heads in the water trough and washing the furry dogs we went back on the Midway to take in the rest of the fair. Well, it was kinda strange, cause when we would walk up to one of the games or a ride, people would just turn their heads up and walk away, kinda fast. Heck, even Ears backed off after waving at up and running over to talk with us. When we walked down the Midway I felt like Moses parting the Red Sea. At 9 we met Mr. Reeves at the front gate and hopped in his car for the ride home.

  “What in the world is that I smell?” said Mr. Reeves.

  “Oh, we were over at the livestock area, and I guess we stepped in something,” John Clayton said.

  I sniffed my dog and shook my head. Dang, that dog stunk to high heaven.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Prisoners on the Loose

  When I got home that night Daddy took me out in the back yard and hosed me down, and then Momma made me take a hot bath while she put my cloths in a bucket to soak. Daddy made me tell him what happen, and he laughed so loud and hard it made me mad. Finally, I got in bed and pulled the covers over my head. It had been the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to me.

  The next morning I just took off heading for the newsstand, trying to keep from thinking about the Bullet. Heck, I was only 10 minutes late. Not enough for Doc to even fuss at me. As I delivered them sorry papers all I could think about was Rosalie. Heck, I don't think I've ever seen anybody that mad. John Clayton had laughed about it all the way home last night calling it “the big throw-up,” and I figured Rosalie was never gonna speak to me again. But, heck, I didn’t blame her because that sorry John Clayton spotted her leaving the fair and ran over and made throw-up sounds, and she’d given him a ”go-straight-to-hell-and-don’t-pass-go” look which made him belch. Then she mumbled, “White trash!” again. ’Course, John Clayton said throwing up on the Bullet ride just got us even ’cause she had called us white trash.

  “I don’t care how sick we were and how much stuff we had on us, Richard; it was worth it to see Rosalie get out of the Bullet covered in vomit. Didn't you think her hair looked good with candied apple in it?”

  Then John Clayton let out one of the old mule hee-haws, and we both laughed until we were just plain silly. Heck, I know I should have forgotten about her, but shoot, them blue eyes just had my head spinning. Well, it was funny, but maybe she’ll forget about it and start speaking to me again.

  After finishing delivering papers, I headed back to my house and before I went in, I walked down in our pasture and looked out over Flat Creek Swamp. Some fog was kinda rising up, and I could just imagine all them snakes slipping around in that murky water. Then I thought about the three escaped prisoners who were out there somewhere trying to hide out from the law, and about our farm being the closest place to the swamp. Dang, they could be watching me right now. I wonder if they would recognize me from the train? I wonder if one night they’re gonna slip up here and kill us all?

  Shoot, when I thought that little thought, a shiver just went straight up my back, and I took off back to the house running as fast as I could. I couldn’t wait to tell Daddy about them prisoners escaping, since I was right there, and I could’ve been killed, dead as a sack of hammers. And instead of having breakfast with my folks, I’d be laid out down at the funeral home. Well, I went over every little thing and of course, I might have added some stuff, but heck, it made a better story when I added the part about the man with the gun pointing it at me and saying, “I’m gonna shoot you and anyone else who moves!”

  Daddy had been listening to the radio
and he added, “Richard, they said on the radio this morning, three bloodhounds from Tucker Prison had arrived, and they’re hot on the trail of the escapees.”

  “I sure hope they catches ’em, Daddy. What if they don't and one night they slip up from the swamp to our…"

  Heck, Momma's eyes started to get open real wide, and Daddy held up his hand and stopped me in mid-sentence.

  “That's enough, Richard. Don't worry your mother with that kind of talk.”

  Well, I didn't say nothing else but I sure thought some things, Yeah, Daddy, your thinking the same thing I am. Them worthless criminals is just lurking out there and they could show up on our front porch any minute.

  Well, they didn’t catch them that day or the next even though the police set up roadblocks on all roads, and a posse of over 50 men was deputized to hunt for the escapees. Shoot, you would never believe how exciting that was, but that weren’t nothing compared to what was about to happen.

  ***

  Heck, things were a little different around our house. For the first time ever, Daddy got locks fixed on our doors, and he told me no more fishing down in Flat Creek Swamp. My gosh, downtown, all anyone talked about were the danged, escaped prisoners, and since I was a real witness, I got to tell everybody my story of how they escaped. That Monday morning after the Saturday escape, I got a good-sized group of kids around me and I stood on the top of the breadbox down at Echols Grocery. Man, I really went into it, hand waving and all…

  “I was just sittin’ there, ridin’ the train to El Dorado, all by myself…” I finished up the story with a jerk of my head showing everybody how I dodged the bullet that broke out the window. When I started the story, I noticed Rosalie had walked up to the back of the group. I walked by her later she smiled and said, “Hi, Richard.”

  “Hi, Rosalie.” I tried to think of something smart to say, but I couldn’t think of a word. I finally just mumbled something and walked over to talk to John Clayton. Gosh, I was tickled to death that she had started talking to me again.

  “Hey, did you hear that? Rosalie is talkin’ to me again.”

  “Richard, ‘hi’ is not talking to you. She probably said “hi” and then “white trash” under her breath. Ha, ha, ha!”

  “Shoot, you’re just jealous she’s not talkin’ to you.”

  “Baloney! I’ll have you to know I’m not talking to her.” We were just mouthing off when Connie walked up.

  “I guess if you two are that excited, you must be talking about Rosalie.” I turned red and started sayin’ “Uh, Uh, Uh,” while John Clayton threw his head back and let out a huge laugh.

  “Richard, sometimes I’m amazed that you would have anything to do with Rosalie. Can’t you see how she treats everybody?”

  “Dang it, Connie, I don’t care nothin’ ’bout Rosalie,” I lied. Heck, that sure didn’t convince them two, and I was glad when the bell rang so I could hightail it out of there.

  ***

  Well, there was one good thing about being a witness. Old Doc just wanted to hear every little thing about the escaped prisoners. Heck, the first morning after the big escape I was 20 minutes late, and I couldn’t think of any excuse. Heck, I just couldn’t get up. Finally, I’d rolled out of bed and made it downtown.

  “Shoot! I’m really late today,” I muttered as I trotted up to the newsstand. “Doc’s probably gonna deduct 50 cents for sure.” I walked in and headed for the papers sitting beside the door. Doc was holding up a paper with big headlines.

  “Look at the headlines, Richard! Can you believe it? We’ve got three escaped prisoners running around in Flat Creek Swamp?”

  “Heck, yes, Doc. I was there when they escaped.”

  “What? Are you kidding?”

  “Nope, Doc, I was ridin’ the train to El Dorado, and it happened right in front of me.” Well, Doc was so interested in the escape that he forgot I was late. The next couple of mornings I took my time getting to the newsstand. “Heck, old Doc will just want to talk about the escapees again. I like starting at 5:30 anyway,” I mumbled to myself. However, after a couple of days, Doc had heard all the talk he wanted to about the escapees, as you might guess, someone had complained to Doc about my late deliveries.

  “Richard, I’ve been easy on you all week, and you’re getting later and later each day. Mr. Cheers called yesterday and complained his paper wasn’t delivered until after 6 o'clock. I’m deducting 50 cents from your route money, and if you’re late again this week, I’m gonna deduct a whole dollar.”

  “Oh, Doc, my clock must have been off. I can’t believe it’s 5:30. Let me have one more chance. I won’t be late tomorrow.”

  “Richard, that’s the worst excuse you have ever come up with. Now get busy and roll those papers and you better get Mr. Cheers’s paper on his porch on time, or it’s another 50 cents from your route money.”

  There was no use arguing with Doc. The clock story was pretty dang sorry. The paper route took less than an hour. I’d just finished the farm chores, and sat down for breakfast when I heard Daddy calling me, “Richard! Come here! Hurry up! Come out here and listen!”

  I jumped up from the breakfast table and ran out of the house to our front fence where Daddy was standing.

  “Be quiet, Richard! Listen!” Then I heard it—the long, deep, baying of a hound and then another. It was coming from deep in Flat Creek Swamp.

  “It’s the bloodhounds!” I yelled. “Wow! Listen to ’em! They’re sure hot on a trail! Gosh, do you think they are about to catch—“

  "Boom! Boom!"

  Shots rang out, echoing through the woods.

  “I’ll bet they got ’em, Daddy!”

  “Well, I don’t know, Richard, but we’ll find out pretty soon. There’ll be a news update in about an hour.”

  I couldn’t wait to tell everybody downtown about hearing the bloodhounds. I stood on the top of the breadbox and told my story, “Me and Daddy was standin’ in the front yard, and all of a sudden—Boom! Boom! Boom! And you should have heard ’em scream. They got ’em. I know they did. They probably killed at least one of ’em.”

  Naturally, I’d added to the story, and when the newscast came out we found out they really hadn’t shot any of the escaped prisoners. They’d spotted them running across an old field and the posse had fired a couple of shots. Didn’t hit anybody, and they’d gotten away in the swamp.

  Rosalie was there listening again, and when I finished, she stayed around until the rest of the kids had left. I smiled at Rosalie, and she smiled back and said, “Gosh, Richard, I still can’t believe you saw those men escape. Weren’t you scared?”

  “Heck no, Rosalie. It all happened so fast, and I was down on the train car floor scrambling for the gun not even thinking about being afraid. If I could have just grabbed that gun I could have stopped the whole escape.”

  “Ha! What a bunch of baloney!” It was John Clayton, who had walked up while we were talking.

  “Richard was so scared he crawled all the way under the train seat!”

  “I did not!”

  “Yes, you did! You told me you did!”

  “Well, yeah, but that was after the prisoner took the gun outta my hand and started shootin’!”

  Rosalie started shaking her head as she pointed her finger at John Clayton, and said, “I believe Richard, and I sure don’t believe you, Mr. White Trash.” I held my breath. John Clayton looked surprised and then he started turning red. He was so mad he could hardly see.

  “White trash? White trash? You’re calling me white trash?” he screamed at Rosalie.

  “Yes, I am! You worthless, stupid, dumb idiot! I had to go home from the fair covered with vomit, and it was all your fault!”

  Well, they’re speaking to each other again.

  “Well,” screamed John Clayton, “at least I don’t think I’m better than everybody else, Miss Uppity Uppity!”

  “Humph! I am better than a bunch of white trash!” With that Rosalie walked away.

  “Can you be
lieve it?” said John Clayton. “She called us white trash again!”

  “Uh, well, actually, I think she just called you white trash.”

  “Are you crazy or just stupid, Richard? She even said she was better than the rest of us!”

  “Well, maybe she was just mad at you and didn’t mean it.”

  “If I’m white trash, then you’re white trash!”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “Yes, you are! She said ‘A bunch of white trash!’ You’re part of the bunch!” Heck, we were just waving our arms and yelling at each other.

  “Well, I saw you boys talking to Miss Rosalie again.” It was Connie.

  “Uh, well, she just said hello,” I said.

  “Liar! yelled John Clayton. “She called us white trash again!”

  “She did not! She just called you white trash!”

  “And she said she really was better than the rest of us.”

  “Richard, I can’t believe you’d stand there and let Rosalie call John Clayton white trash. She’s a bitch!” said Connie. She turned and walked away leaving us there in shock.

  “What? Did you hear what Connie said?” I looked at John Clayton.

  “Yeah, I heard her, and she’s right. Rosalie is a bitch!”

  I shook my head as I thought, She may be a bitch, but she has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “Shoot, Richard, she's just puttin’ you on. The only reason she said she likes you is because you saw the prisoners escape and all the kids think that's a big deal.”

  “You're just jealous!”

  “Jealous? Jealous? Of what? She’s called us white trash a whole bunch of times. Don't you remember when we got off the Bullet? I'm your best friend and I guarantee you that Rosalie is a big phony, and you know she thinks she's better than anybody.”