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

by Richard Mason

  Gun! Oh no, not a gun!

  Shoot, we were scrambling through that cornfield about to die, carrying a huge 70-pound watermelon with two dogs after us, howling their heads off. Scared? You bet we were.

  “Hey, you two! Get out of my watermelon patch!”

  Dang, I could hear Old Man Odom just a-cussing. I glanced back over my shoulder to see two danged big hounds gaining on us and old man Odom running right behind them with his double-barrel shotgun in hand.

  Boom! Boom!

  He fired both barrels at us, and I figured, if I didn’t drop dead of a heart attack, I’d be full of holes any second. If you ain’t never had nobody shoot at you, then you’ll never know how scared we was.

  “Oh my gosh, Ears, run faster, faster!” I screamed.

  Little pieces of birdshot began to rain down around us, rattling the corn leaves and bushes and Ears started screaming.

  “Oh, oh, I’m shot!”

  “Get in the woods! Faster! Hurry!” I yelled.

  Old man Odom reloaded, and the second blast of the shotgun echoed across the field. More birdshot rained down on us just as we made it into the woods. This time he was right on target and although we was nearly out of range the shot just peppered our bare backs and we yelled like crazy. The shot stung, but we were so far away it didn’t break the skin.

  “Richard, I can’t carry this danged watermelon any longer! I’m about to drop it, and look, here he comes!”

  I looked back, and, sure enough, the old coot and his two hounds were running across the field getting closer every second, and he was reloading.

  Oh, my God!

  “We can’t outrun them danged dogs or even old man Odom, carrying this stupid watermelon!” screamed Ears.

  “No, we can’t, but look, there’s a bunch of bushes that are real thick! Let’s hide it in there!”

  “Okay, but hurry! Them dogs is almost to the woods!” said Ears.

  We lugged the big watermelon into the bushes and covered it with leaves just as the first dog approached.

  “Get your slingshot out, Ears!”

  We jumped out of the bushes with slingshots in hand, and after we whacked them sorry dogs with a couple of rocks they headed back home. Old man Odom stopped at the edge of the woods and screamed at the top of his lungs, “I’ll get you two! You’re not gonna get away with this!”

  After the dogs hightailed it back home, we pulled off the sacks and ran through the woods as fast as we could. About 20 minutes later, as we ran past my house, we turned in and stuck the sacks under the house. It wasn’t long until we were back at the breadbox, where we dashed up, breathless, blurting out our story.

  “…..and look at my back! See them red welts?”

  “Yeah, yeah, but what about the watermelon?” asked John Clayton.

  “Watermelon? Watermelon?” screamed Ears. “We was nearly killed, and you ask about a stinkin’ watermelon?”

  Well, Ears finally calmed down, and we went into the details about the big watermelon and how we’d hid it in the bushes.

  “I’ll tell you one thing for sure, I ain’t going back for it today,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Ears, “we’ll all sneak back over there in the woods and get the big melon on the Fourth, after everything has calmed down. Let’s go eat dinner, I’m hungry.”

  We were just back from a late dinner, sitting there on the breadbox talking about how we were gonna enjoy the big watermelon when we looked up the street and around the corner ambled old man Odom. Shoot, you could see him growling and swinging his hands like some wild man from across the street.

  “Oh, oh my God in heaven above,” I whispered, “remember, we’ve been here all mornin’.”

  When old man Odom saw us, he started a-shuffling a little bit faster, heading straight toward us, and by the time he got to the breadbox, he was almost running. He was shaking his finger at us, and yelling.

  “By God, you little thieves ain’t gonna get away with stealin’ my watermelon! Slim! Slim! Come out here a minute. These boys done stole my big watermelons! Get on the phone and call Curly!”

  “But, but… no, sir, we’ve been right here,” I lied.

  “Hell you have, boy. I seed you runnin’ out of my watermelon patch not more than an hour ago!”

  Mr. Echols walked out the door, “Henry, what’s this all about?”

  “Slim, these boys has been in my watermelon patch. Right about dinner time, I heard my dogs a-barkin,’ and I looked out just in time to see ’em runnin’ out of the patch with my big 70- pound watermelon.”

  “Well, Henry, was it all of them? Did you recognize them?”

  “Uh, well, hell no. It was just two of them, and they had damn sacks over their heads, but I knows it’s them.”

  Donnie, who had just been sitting there real quiet finally said something, “Daddy, we were right here. Remember you called me in the store to carry out groceries for Mrs. Marsh?” Slim nodded his head and looked at old man Odom.

  “Henry, Donnie is right. These boys were here all morning. They haven’t left except to eat a little dinner.” Well, old man Odom didn’t buy that, and he stood there and puffed up like some old toad, but since Mr. Echols kept saying it could have been some other boys, he gave us one of them “‘go-to-hell” hard looks and walked off, still muttering some really bad cuss words.

  By late that afternoon, the whole town was really talking about someone stealing the big watermelon. Old man Odom had told everybody who would listen how these kids with feed sacks over their heads had stolen what was probably a world-record watermelon, one that would have made Norphlet famous, and how he was gonna find them and have them arrested if it was the last thing he ever did.

  I didn’t wanta go home for supper because that sorry old man didn’t miss any of our daddies, and I knew when I came to the supper table, it was gonna be the third degree. Sure enough, I’d barely sat down when Daddy started in on me.

  “Son, Henry Odom stopped by and told me about someone stealing his prize watermelon. Did you have anything to do with it?” As Daddy said that he got close to my face and looked me right in the eyes. It was his way of seeing if I was telling the truth. Well, Jesus was gonna hafta come to get me to confess, so I got this, “I’m so upset you don’t believe me” look and I even sniffed a little bit like I was gonna cry.

  “No, Daddy, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. I was downtown with Donnie. Just ask Mr. Echols.” I thought that little lie would do it, but I was wrong.

  “I did ask Slim,” said Daddy, “and he said he saw Donnie and John Clayton, but he couldn’t remember seeing you and Ears.”

  I almost stopped breathing and choked on a piece of chicken, when I heard that. Then I took a deep breath and said, as sincerely as I could which my voice kinda quivering, “Oh, Daddy, you know how we run around downtown and go in the back of the store. I’ll bet we were in the back helping Donnie stack feed. I promise—go get the Bible and I’ll swear on it.” Swearing on the Bible was always my last line, and if that didn’t work, I’d usually just start my little pre-switching whining. Heck, I could see a gleam in Daddy’s eyes and I knew he weren’t buying none of my denials.

  Daddy still hadn’t nailed me yet, so he kept after me on every detail of my morning. He had me wavering and confused after a few minutes, and I was about to choke when Momma said. “Jack, Richard is too little to carry a watermelon that big. I’m sure it was some bigger boys. Here, pass Richard some chicken.”

  That was just what I needed, and Daddy, who probably believed I had something to do with stealing the watermelon, just shook his head and passed the chicken.

  ###

  The next morning it was the Fourth of July and all the stores were closed; so after meeting down at the breadbox the four of us headed down to the Army camp to visit with the soldiers, and kill a little time before we headed out to pick up the watermelon. We were pulling our wagon for hauling the watermelon back into town. Going though the Army camp was a short cut, and t
hese soldiers sure didn’t have any idea the big watermelon we were about to haul back through camp had been swiped. We stopped at the first group of soldiers we came to, and after a few minutes we were all talking about the War, food, and the Fourth of July.

  “What are y’all gonna do to celebrate the Fourth?” asked John Clayton.

  “Nothing, absolutely nothing,” one of the soldiers said. “We’re stuck here; can’t even go to town and buy a beer.”

  After we talked a little longer, we left to go pick up the watermelon. As we walked along, everybody felt bad about the soldiers just having to sit there and not celebrate the Fourth.

  “Shoot, that ain’t fair. They’re going over there to fight for us, and nobody does nothin’ for ’em on the Fourth,” said Donnie. That kinda made us feel bad, but we just kept walking.

  In a few minutes we were in the woods behind old man Odom’s watermelon patch.

  “Come on guys, it’s right over here… and be quiet, The old Codger may still be prowling around,” I said. “Here it is!”

  “Hey, that’s one dang big watermelon,” said John Clayton.

  It was about all we could do to get the big watermelon in the wagon. Well, the four of us rolled the wagon along, staying off the road until we reached the Army camp. While we were walking along, I’d been thinking about all the lying we’d done and stealing a watermelon, even if old man Odom sorta deserved it. I was feeling kinda guilty, and as we walked and pushed the wagon the laughing and kidding slowly stopped. I could tell we were all thinking the same thing.

  “Wait a minute, guys. Something’s botherin’ me,” I said.

  Nobody said a thing for a minute.

  “Okay, this is it. We’ve been lyin’ like a bunch of yard dogs and stealing for the last two days, and those soldiers have been stuck in camp not being able to even celebrate the Fourth while we have this big watermelon that we’re gonna go feast on. Does that bother y’all?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  Then Ears said exactly what we were all thinking, “Hey, let’s take this watermelon into the camp and share it with the soldiers.”

  Well, we all agreed, and off we went pushing our wagon into the camp. Sure enough the same guys we’d talked with this morning were sitting under a big open tent.

  “Hey, fellows, do any of y’all want some watermelon to celebrate the Fourth?” shouted Donnie.

  “You bet we do!” they yelled.

  A crowd of soldiers rushed out to help us eat the watermelon. One of them picked it up and carried it to a table, and another pulled out a big knife and cut it. Everyone gathered around the table and before long the probable world record 70-pounder was gone. On the way home we talked about how many soldiers got a piece of the watermelon and how good it was.

  “Hey, let me tell y’all something,” I said. “We lied a few times, and we sure did steal old man Odom’s watermelon. I guess we lied five maybe six times, and we stole one watermelon. That’s seven. But we shared our watermelon with at least 20 soldiers, so we’re way ahead in the sinnin’ category. If fact, we got 13 free lies to tell.”

  Well, everybody hooted and laughed.

  We were just about home when Ears started laughing again. “Ears, what in the world are you laughin’ ’bout?” said John Clayton.

  “I was just thinkin’,” said Ears. “Me and Richard done pulled off the perfect crime. Nobody will ever catch us because the soldiers ate all the evidence.”

  “Yep, Ears you’re right,” I said. “No evidence, and we had feed sacks over our heads, so nobody knows who it was that got the watermelon.” I’m only 13 years old, and I’ve pulled off the perfect crime. I was smiling just thinking about it when I walked into my front yard.

  “Richard, get around here, right now!” It was Daddy out in the backyard, and from the sound of his voice, I knew trouble was brewing, and probably for me.

  What can it be? He can’t possibly know about the watermelon. Maybe it’s something I was supposed to do. I rounded the corner of the house, and my heart almost stopped. Daddy stood there holding the two feed sacks.

  “Oh my good Lord in heaven above!” I whispered under my breath.

  Evidently Daddy had looked under the house for something and found the feed sacks we had thrown there when we finished the watermelon patch raid.

  This is gonna be horrible. Just absolutely horrible!

  I started to try to come up with some wild story about the feed sacks—you know like I’d found them on the road and was gonna use them when we went frog gigging, but Daddy looked at me, as mad as I’ve ever seen him. He pointed his finger straight at me and said, “Don’t say another word. Cut me a switch!”

  I slowly walked over to the willow tree, took out my pocketknife, and started to cut a little switch. “No!” Daddy thundered.

  I moved over to a larger limb, and as I cut the switch and stripped off the leaves. So much for the perfect crime.

  I handed Daddy the switch, and he reached for my wrist. Then, I thought of something. Yes! Yes! “Wait Daddy—we got the watermelon for the soldiers—yeah—we did—I promise.”

  Well, Daddy was almost in mid-swing when he stopped. “You did what?

  “Yeah, Daddy, we did get the watermelon, but we got it for the soldiers to celebrate the Fourth. We gave it all to the soldiers. I promise! They didn’t have nothing to celebrate the Fourth.”

  “Richard, are you telling me the truth? You know what’ll happen if you’re not.”

  “Oh, Daddy, it’s the Gospel truth, I promise, I promise! Come on, let’s walk down to the camp, and I’ll prove it.”

  I couldn’t wait to get to the camp. Me and Sniffer ran out in front, and by the time Daddy had reached the camp, I had a bunch of soldiers thanking me for the watermelon. I made sure Daddy heard.

  As we walked back home, Daddy said, “Son, don’t bother your mother with that watermelon story. She might not understand, and, listen, don’t you even think of doing that again.”

  “Oh, Daddy, I won’t, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Daddy just shook his head.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Bully

  I know y’all are wondering about them escaped prisoners, but right then, after a week when nobody had seen neither hide nor hair of them, I figured they was long gone. Heck, everybody in town was talking about how the dogs and the posse had run ‘’em clean out of the county. I went to bed that Sunday night kinda feeling funny. It had been a great summer and I hated for it to be over, but seeing old friends at school, especially Rosalie, made the thought of school a little more pleasant. I saw Mrs. Smith downtown, and she told me she’d been moved up to the seventh grade this year. With Mrs. Smith, my favorite teacher, teaching me again, school might actually be more fun this year.

  However, it started off terrible. That sorry Homer Ray really had it in for me. Hitting him with an ice ball from the balcony of the Ritz Theater and winning the scrap iron contest had him just wild to beat up on me every chance he got. After only a day at school I dreaded going back. It was always run, run, run, or, if I didn’t see him coming, get slugged before I could get away.

  Heck, last year Daddy told Mr. Parks if Homer Ray didn’t stop picking on me, he was gonna have Mr. Parks’s hide. That made everything okay for a while until Daddy and Mr. Parks decided us boys needed to work things out instead of the grownups getting into it, Shoot, it was just like open season on me, and Homer Ray just went crazy bullying me. It didn’t take but a day or so before I started to dread walking onto the school ground. That morning things finally started coming to a head. It started after I ran out in a sticker burr patch to get away from Homer Ray. I was sitting there picking stickers out of my pants while I talked to John Clayton.

  “Richard, you gotta do something to get even with that bully. Heck, since your daddy told you it was up to you to take up for yourself, that danged Homer Ray has been all over you.”

  “
Yeah, but what?” Then as I picked out stickers and wished they were stuck to Homer Ray, I had a thought. I’m gonna start to get even.

  “Hey, John Clayton, watch what I’m gonna do.” I walked out in the sticker burr patch and picked eight long stalks of stickers. The stalks each had six to 10 stickers on them. Boys are always holding the stem and throwing them at each other. It don’t hurt when they hit your clothes, in fact you can’t even feel them, but if they hit bare skin they really sting.

  I walked back on the playground holding the stickers behind my back and waited for the bell to ring. The bell rang and worthless Homer Ray, as he always did, pushed his way to the front of the line with me right behind him. As he was pushing some little kid aside, I threw the stickers against the seat of his pants. Homer Ray wears ugly, baggy overalls and a t-shirt to school every day, and he didn’t feel nothing when the stickers stuck to the seat of his pants. We marched into class and everyone stood by their desk.

  Since that sorry Homer Ray had pushed to the front of the line, almost everyone in our class knew he had a bunch of stickers on the seat of his pants, and I could hear snickering and almost everyone was looking at Homer Ray waiting for him to sit down.

  “Class, be seated,” said Mrs. Smith.

  Well, stupid Homer Ray never just slips into his seat and sits down. Every day he flops down so hard that it shakes his desk. Every eye in class was watching as Homer Ray sat down. He made a big flop and hit his seat so hard it shook, and the stickers went right through his overalls.

  “Ahaaa! Oh! Oh! Oh! Stickers! Somebody put stickers on my pants!” he yelled. The class broke up in rolls of laughter, as Mrs. Smith rapped her ruler on the desk.

  “Class, stop that laughing, or you’ll all be staying after school.”

  We calmed down, but most of the class was looking over at me nodding their head like “Way to go.” It didn’t take long for Homer Ray to figure out I did it. Ears even whispered, kinda loud, “All right, Richard.”