“Sure, young man.” I stepped up again.
I looked out over the crowd and cleared my throat. Well, I had to do it, and I yelled out as loud as I could: “I want to give credit to the team member that found the big boiler, Connie Hays.” Then closing my eyes I reached over to give Connie a kiss on the cheek. However, Connie didn’t really want a kiss from me, and she turned her head. I kissed her right on the ear. I thought the rest of the team and the sergeant were gonna fall off the truck laughing. If I don’t get off this truck I’m gonna faint. The crowd yelled, cheered, and laughed, and the sergeant shook our hands. Then I looked out in the crowd. Oh my gosh—Rosalie! And she’s not smiling or yellin-Dang, she saw me kiss Connie!
Well, I was still thinking about Rosalie when we got down from the back of the truck and started through the crowd, and I was gonna go over and tell her why I kissed Connie, but she just disappeared before I could get to her. Heck, I forgot about her real quick because everyone was patting us on the back and congratulating us. The owner of the Red Star Drug store bought us each sodas and Doc gave us a funny book. My gosh, we had bunches of people giving us stuff and telling us how great we were. It was really something, but even with all that I couldn’t get Rosalie off my mind.
The next day after the drive ended me and John Clayton were sitting on the breadbox talking about the scrap iron drive and he said, “You know, Richard, we’re probably doing better gettin’ all this stuff than if we had kept the War Bond.”
“Yeah, we’re really something. Aren’t we?” (Momma finally had to have a little talk with me about my attitude.)
For a few days after the scrap iron drive, for the first time, I didn’t go to sleep just thinking about Rosalie’s blue eyes. Heck, I’d start thinking about Rosalie and then I’d see Connie standing there smiling and shaking her short blonde hair. But, heck, me and Connie are just friends, but you know… I guess we’re getting to be good friends. I’d think about Rosalie’s blue eyes for a few minutes, and then I’d wonder if kissing a girl on the ear really counted as kissing.
Then right before I went to asleep I thought about Sniffer. I was really worried. Heck, who wouldn’t be. There was no way on God’s green earth I could keep up giving them sorry guys food, and when I stopped I figured I’d hear a gunshot and poor old Sniffer would be dead.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Great Escape
Well, I kept hauling food down to them sorry, worthless criminals all the time we were having the big scrap iron drive. But heck, I was getting desperate toward the end of the week, and I knew I couldn’t keep up getting food for them. Pretty soon I was gonna run out of my measly paper route money and our garden was getting low on tomatoes and other vegetables. However, that morning when I was scraping the bottom of the barrel food-wise, something wonderful happened: Sniffer was waiting on me when I finished my paper route!
“Sniffer! Sniffer, come here, boy. How’d you get away? Come here let me see—yeah, you chewed the rope clean through. Yes! Good boy!”
Wow, I was so happy. Heck, I took off like a shot to tell Daddy what had been happening the last two weeks. ’Course, he didn’t believe me, so I said, “Well, come on and I’ll show you where they tied Sniffer to the tree—but you better bring the shotgun just in case they ain’t skedaddled.” Daddy was gonna just walk down there, but when I said that he kinda frowned and went back and got the shotgun.
“Richard, you better be telling me the truth, or you’re gonna get a switching. I’m tired of all these tales you and John Clayton come up with.”
“Daddy, this is the God’s truth, and when we get down to the swamp, you see.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
I led Daddy down through our peach orchard and into the edge of the woods where the prisoners had been keeping Sniffer.
“Daddy, we better be real careful and quiet. Heck, they may still be down there waiting for me to bring them food,” I whispered.
Daddy nodded and we slipped along until I could see the tree where they had tied Sniffer up. Nobody was there. They had took off when Sniffer escaped.
“Look Daddy! Here’s the rope where they tied Sniffer to the tree. And look at all this other stuff they threw on the ground.”
“Well, I’ll be. You should have told me about those guys, and I could have gotten the sheriff and the posse to catch them.”
“But Daddy, that man told me if he saw anyone coming toward them he’d shoot poor Sniffer, and then take off back into the swamp.”
“Hummm, well, Richard, I guess that doesn’t matter now. We’d better to call the sheriff.”
Well, Daddy believed me this time, and after he looked around a little more he headed back to our house to call the sheriff. Shoot, the state police, the sheriff, and four bloodhounds were at our house in not time a-tall. ’Course, the sheriff was kinda upset that I hadn’t told no one about them criminals back when I first saw them, but when I said, “You mean I should’ve let ’em kill Sniffer.? I looked real sad and then the State Police man said, “Well, let’s get them dogs on their trail. We’re wasting time.”
Heck, in a few minutes I heard one of the bloodhounds let out a big howl, and then all four of them dogs started howling and everybody took off after them. Yeah, I wanted to see them sorry men caught, and I was hoping that the bloodhounds would chew them up real good when they ran ’em down.
Well, the chase went on nearly all day, and it was almost dark when me and Daddy went down to the edge of our field, the one nearest Flat Creek Swamp, and listened to the bloodhounds howl as they tracked them escaped prisoners. Wow, it was just about the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. Heck, I could just see them worthless convicts scurrying through the swamp with a bunch of big bloodhounds right on their heels. I figured the posse and the dogs were getting real close, and any time we’d hear one of them sorry men scream when a big bloodhound bit into him.
I guess me and Daddy stood there for a couple of hours because the sun was getting kinda low in the sky when Daddy said, “Well son, they’d better catch up with them pretty soon, it’s almost dark. They’ll call off the dogs when it gets dark.”
Gosh, I thought, them sorry escaped prisoners will still be lurking down in the swamp, and they know where our house is. Then it hit me like someone had whacked me upside my head. Oh, my gosh! They know it was me that caused them bloodhounds to go after them! What if they don’t catch them? Will they come after me? Heck, I nearly fainted I was so upset.
Yeah, Daddy was right. In about an hour I watched as everybody came walking up out of the swamp. They didn’t have the prisoners.
“Lost ’em about a mile down the creek when they started wading—musta stayed in the water a long time,” yelled the sheriff to Daddy. “Y’all keep your eyes open and if you see any sign of them give me a holler.”
“I will, Sheriff,” said Daddy.
Gosh, I just stood there thinking about the state police, the sheriff, the posse, and the four bloodhounds all packing up to leave us with three dangerous criminals just lurking out in the swamp—knowing I’d turned them in again. Dang, what if they come up out of the swamp and shoot our whole family? Wow, you bet I was really worried.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Fourth of July
You know something? You can’t go around all the time worrying about something you can’t do nothing about. Heck, after a couple of days I just plum forgot about them sorry criminals. And before I knew it I was back during the same old stuff. However, that week did bring some real excitement, and it started real early in the week.
It was Monday morning, almost 9, when I finally finished my paper route, did my chores, and got back to the breadbox, where I met my friends. We leaned back against the brick wall of the store, trying to get out of the sun, while I told everybody about Sniffer being kidnapped and having to bring them food for two whole weeks. John Clayton, who had already heard me tell that story a bunch started whining.
“Richard, I’m sweatin’ like a sorry yard
dog just sittin’ here on this dang breadbox, and I’m tired of hearing about Sniffer and the prisoners. Let’s do something to cool off.”
About that time, the grocery store door opened, and old man Odom walked out, followed by Slim Echols. Heck, talk about a mean old farmer, and you’ve pegged that old coot. Heck, there’s more stories going around about that ornery old man than the devil. He weighs a bunch—a whole bunch, and his ragged-looking gray hair sticks out from under an old straw had. Well, when old man Odom started out the door, we kinda backed away where we wouldn’t get tobacco juice spit on us. Shoot, he never looks where he spits, he just lets fly, and after a trip to town you can trail him by the tobacco juice on the sidewalk. Old man Odom’s always a-bragging about how big his tomatoes is and how many beans he picked from one of his super bean bushes. Sure enough, he started in again, waving his hands and spitting a stream of tobacco juice about every thirty seconds.
“Slim, I want you to see them tomaters me and Effie growed. I swear, some of ’em is as big as dinner plates.”
“Now, Henry, that’s a big tomato. Big as a dinner plate?” said Slim as he shook his head.
You’re durn tootin’ they’re big. Do you know how much I fertilize them plants? I tell you, you gotta see ’em to believe ’em.”
Slim smiled and started back into the store.
“Wait a minute, Slim, I ain’t told you ’bout our special watermelon patch have I?”
Slim turned around, came back, and propped up against the breadbox where we were sitting.
“No, Henry, you haven’t. What’s so special about your watermelon patch? If I remember right, you grow watermelons every year.”
Old man Odom smiled, turned in a little half circle, put his hands on his hips, spit a stream of tobacco juice, and said, “Slim, not only have we done figured out how to raise the biggest melons anywhere around here, but we’ve come up with a way to have ’em ripe by the Fourth of July.”
Shoot, that got our attention. Watermelons around here were never ripe by the Fourth. Shoot, I could almost taste them as I sat there and listened to old man Odom tell about his melons. The old coot went on and on.
"Effie told she’d come up with a way to get a head start on growin’ melons without worryin’ ’bout frost killin’ ’em. You know, we got a big screened-in back porch. Well, Effie done planted our watermelon seeds in flower pots real early in the spring and sit ’em in the sun on a plank in the screened-in back porch. When I put ’em in the patch, they already had 3-foot runners and were startin’ to bloom.”
“Well, that’s real interesting, Henry, but I’d better get back in the store,” said Slim.
“Wait a minute, Slim. You ain’t heard the best part of this melon story. Not only am I gonna have watermelons by the Fourth, ’cause I got ‘em planted so early, but they’re gonna be the biggest ones you’ve ever seed.”
Heck, my ears just perked up when he said that.
“Well, Henry what’s going to make your melons any bigger than anybody else’s?”
“Shoot, Slim. We done got us a special way to grow them melons. Effie was a-listenin’ to the radio, and she heard that some Yankee up in Michigan had growed a pumpkin that weighed 600 pounds by puttin’ the pumpkin vines down in a trough of water and makin’ little slits in the vines. Them vines just sucked up that there water, and them pumpkins growed like nothin’ nobody had ever seed. Well, me and Effie, we talked ’bout it awhile, and we decided if some low-count Yankee could grow pumpkins like that, why not watermelons? After all, watermelons is mostly water.”
Slim nodded his head, “Henry, you may have something there. How’s the watermelon feeding coming?”
“Slim, you won’t believe it! We got a bunch of 50-pounders, and one that is gonna weigh out over 70. That’s my blue ribbon melon—State Fair winner for sure. Can you believe it? I’ll have a whoppin’ 70-pound watermelon by the Fourth!”
Well, that old farmer was really strutting around now, waving his hands and smiling like he’d done found a gold mine. He just kept a-bragging, he was so proud of those watermelons, and when Mr. Echols finally had to go back into the store, he started talking to us. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Mr. Odom,” I said, “if we had one of your big watermelons, we could all share it. That’d be a great way to celebrate the Fourth. How much do you want for one?”
Mr. Odom started shaking his head, “Boys, y’all can’t afford none of these melons. They’s way out of y’alls price range. I’m gonna sell ’em to folks with real money.” With that, the old coot spit a stream of tobacco juice, some of which splattered on John Clayton’s foot, and walked off.
“Dang, that sorry, worthless old man,” muttered John Clayton, “look at my foot.” He wiped the tobacco juice off his foot with a feed sack that was over by the door, and came back to the breadbox where we were still talking about the watermelons.
He was barely out of sight when Ears said, “I gotta have one of them watermelons. I don’t care what it takes to get one!”
Finally, I said what everyone was thinking, “The only way we’re gonna get one of those watermelon is to raid old man Odom’s watermelon patch.”
“Ha, you’re crazy!” hooted John Clayton. “He plants that patch right up close to his house. He’ll know you’re there in a minute, and he’s got a bunch of dogs that’ll chew you up, and if the dogs don’t get you, then just remember the Hicks boys.”
“Yeah, they got shot with birdshot, and Doctor Kennedy picked out over 50 pieces of shot from Daryl’s back,” mumbled Donnie. “That old codger is meaner than the devil himself.”
“Shoot, I think I know how we can get one,” said Ears.
“Well, Mr. Smarty, let’s hear it,” said John Clayton.
“Well, me and my daddy was out there at his house to buy some sweet corn last week, and I remember his corn patch comes right up to the edge of his watermelon patch, so all we do is crawl through the corn patch until we get right up to the edge of the watermelon patch, then we run out in the patch and get one before anybody sees us.”
“Shoot that might just work, Ears. Let’s do it,” said Donnie.
Well, I hate to admit it, but I didn’t feel a bit guilty about planning to steal that big watermelon from Old Man Odom.
“Wait just a dang minute, everybody,” said Donnie. “Gettin’ the watermelon will be a lot easier if just two of us go. After all, four boys make a lot more noise than two.”
“Good idea,” I said
’Course, no one volunteered, so we decided to draw straws.
“Ho, ho, looks like a short straw again,” I said. But, no, it wasn’t. John Clayton had drawn one of the long straws.
“Here, Donnie, draw.”
“Heck, I can’t believe it, another long straw. Well, Ears we don’t have to draw, because they ain’t nothin’ but short straws left. Are you sure we wanta go get those melons?”
Ears stood up and nodded his head. “Yep, we’re gonna do it. We’re gonna get that 70-pounder.”
“Heck, Ears, if we get that one, I’ll bet it’ll be right by his house, and if anybody looks out, they’ll see us. Shoot, old man Odom will be at our house even before we even get home. That is if he doesn’t shoot us first,” I said.
“Yeah, you’re right about that, Richard. Y’all got to do something so he won’t know who it is,” said John Clayton.
Finally, Donnie came up with a plan.
“Hey, we got a whole bunch of old feed sacks in the back of the store. Why don’t y’all just put one of them over your head and cut out holes to see and holes to put your arms through?”
In a few minutes, Donnie was back with two sacks. We cut out some eye and arm holes and put them on. We looked awful.
“I ain’t wearing this stupid feed sack,” yelled Ears.
“Well, don’t wear it then,” said Donnie. “and when old man Odom comes out just wave at him, and he’ll probably just give you the watermelon. Ha, ha.”
“Sho
ot, you’re right, but I’m not gonna put this sack over my head until I’m ready to run in the watermelon patch,” said Ears.
“Me neither, let’s go,” I said. You know something? Sometimes you just get sucked into doing something you really don’t wanta do? Uh, huh, well that’s what happened to me. Naw, that ain’t right—heck, I couldn’t wait to get into that watermelon patch.
We’d waited until almost noon, hoping everybody would be in the house eating dinner. Slipping through the woods and into the cornfield was real easy, and pretty soon we were crouched at the edge of the cornfield looking out over the biggest watermelon patch either of us had ever seen. Let me tell you something right now. I was kinda shaking, but heck, I didn’t wanta chicken out.
“My gosh, Ears, which is the big 70-pounder?”
“Heck, Richard, I can’t tell, but it looks like that one over on the edge of the patch by the house is the biggest.” “Yeah, and look, there’s the water pan beside that really big one, just like old man Odom said. Listen, Ears, I’ll run out and grab the melon and bring it back, and then we can take turns carrying it back to town.”
“That’s fine with me. Go ahead.”
“Put on the sack, Ears.”
We put the sacks over our head and stuck our arms through the side holes.
“Are you ready?”
“Yeah, go, Richard!”
I sprinted out of the cornfield and grabbed the melon to pick it up.
“Uh, uh—dang!” I found out real quick that a 70-pound watermelon can’t be picked up by a 90-pound boy no matter how strong he is.
“Ears, help. I can’t pick it up,” I hissed.
Ears dashed out and grabbed one end, and I held the other as we started out of the patch.
“Hoooo, hooooo!” Old Man Odom’s two hounds started out from under the house howling their head off.
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
“Run, Ears! Run!”
Then I heard somebody in the house start yelling, “Get the gun! Get the gun, Effie! Somebody’s in the watermelon patch.”
Lyin' Like a Dog, The Yankee Doctor, The Danged Swamp! 3-Volume set Page 48
