I could see the posse standing about 50 yards away. Nobody moved. It was deathly quiet. Sam slowly stepped out in the field and moved toward the car. To get to the car Sam had to walk across the raised cotton rows, and after about 30 yards of walking, Sam was having a hard time pulling and carrying me and keeping the gun at my head all at the same time. I noticed that when he stepped off the top of the row and into the low part below, the hand that held the gun would move away from my head. He would flare out his fingers, holding the gun to steady himself, and then he would press the gun back at my head. I could see the car right ahead.
Sam was really struggling now, and the gun was waving out more each time as he stepped off the rows, and he was grunting and muttering under his breath. I just knew I was gonna be shot like some old dog in about a minute. Dang, I had to do something. If we made it to the car, I’d be as dead as a road-kill possum.
As Sam stepped off the top of the row, his thumb would be pointing at the side of my head and the barrel of the gun would, for just a few seconds, be pointed out in the field instead of at me. I waited for a few more steps, and then as he stepped off the top of one of the rows and steadied himself, I was ready. Yeah, I did say a little prayer because if this didn’t work, I was a goner. The next thing I’d see was the undertaker.
Please, God, help me! I silently prayed and then, when his thumb swung around again, I turned my head, and I got his whole thumb in my mouth. I bit down as hard as I could locking my teeth in a hard grip right behind the knuckle of his thumb, wrapped both arms around his arm and held on for dear life. Well, Sam jumped like a shot rabbit and tried to pull his thumb out of my mouth, but I didn’t care what he did, I wasn’t about to let loose, because he’d blow my brains out all over that cotton field.
“Ahaaaaaaa! Oooooh! You little bastard! Turn loose! Turn loose! Turn loose of my thumb! Stop! Stop!”
Boom!
The gun went off. The barrel was pointing out, so I wasn’t hit, but boy it was so loud I couldn’t believe it. It scared me so much I ground down on his thumb like nothing you’ve ever seen, and I held on like a tick on a hound’s butt.
“Ahaaaaaa! Damn it! Turn loose!” Another good thing about biting down on his thumb, heck, he couldn’t fire another shot because he had to cock the gun with his thumb, and now I had his thumb in a death grip with my teeth digging in through the flesh to the bone.
“Turn loose! Stop! Damn it!” Sam was swinging me around trying to pull his thumb out of his mouth, but I held on.
“Okay, take this you hard-headed little so and so!”
Sam slapped my head and face to make me turn loose. I still held on, but I knew I couldn’t last much longer.
“Get him!” I heard someone yell.
Wow, all of a sudden someone hit Sam with a rifle butt and Sam fell with me right on top of him.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” Sam was moaning. The blow to the head had almost knocked him out, and he’d dropped the gun.
“Get on him! Handcuffs! Grab that gun!” yelled the state trooper.
Daddy was right behind the trooper, and he grabbed me up just as I spit Sam’s mangled thumb out of my mouth. I heard that it took a whole bunch of stitches to sew it up.
Daddy hugged me as we walked to the car, and as he looked down at my neck and shirt he said, “Well, Richard you’re very fortunate. I’m sure glad you came out of this with only a few minor cuts and bruises. Your mother’s been crying ever since you turned up missing. We’d better get home and let her tend to you.”
I talked nonstop to Daddy while we were driving home, and after Mother had her crying, “I’m so glad you’re okay” fit, I talked about the kidnapping until bedtime. I crawled into bed and just lay there.
Then I thought about everything that happened the last two days. Wait until I tell John Clayton. Then it hit me: It’s Saturday night, and I didn’t get to go to the Ritz! Dang! For a minute before I went to sleep I thought about my friends, John Clayton, Ears, Tiny, and Connie, and oh, my gosh, Rosalie. What would she think?
I was so tired. I dropped off to sleep thinking about being Rosalie’s hero.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Return to School
I woke up before 5 without an alarm. Boy, I couldn’t wait to deliver them papers and read about the capture of the prisoners. ’Course, Momma never even thought I’d walk my paper route after all I’d been through, but before she knew it, I was gone and headed downtown.
I ran into the newsstand and Doc was holding up a paper.
“Look at this, Richard! Your picture’s on the front page.”
“Wow! Can you believe it, a picture of me, on the front page!”
On one side of the newspaper headlines was a story all about the capture of the two escapees.
“Hummm, poor old Jim didn’t make it out after the snake bite.” On the other side was a picture of me with the story of how I’d been kidnapped, and how I bit the escapee’s thumb and helped in his capture. I liked the story, especially the part about being wounded and beaten by the prisoner. I was off delivering papers for the next hour and a half, and I was just about to finish up when Daddy drove up behind me.
“Richard, your mother is having a fit because you’re out here delivering papers. Get in this car before she has a heart attack.”
“Okay, Daddy, there’s just three houses left, and it won’t take but a few minutes to finish.”
“Well, get in the car, and I’ll drive you to the last houses.”
In a few minutes we were finished and back home. Momma was beside herself.
“Richard, I can’t believe you delivered papers today! Get in this house right now, and I don’t want to see you do anything the rest of the day.”
I smiled at Daddy because I knew he’d be doing my chores.
“Okay, Momma, but I’m hungry. Is breakfast ready?”
Momma shook her head, and went into the kitchen to fix breakfast. I spent the rest of the day sitting around reading funny books and listening to the radio.
Monday rolled around, and I was up early again heading down to the newsstand to deliver papers and then back to the barnyard to finish my chores. If I didn’t feel like doing my chores, I wouldn’t feel like going to school, or so Momma would say, and boy did I want to go to school. I walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I admired my black eye and neck burn.
”Wait till Rosalie sees me!” I said. I practiced looking hurt and walking with a limp.
I walked into the kitchen to eat breakfast, and Momma took one look at me and shook her head.
“Richard, I can’t believe you delivered your papers and did your chores. Didn’t you hear me last night when I said you had to take it easy for a few days?”
“Yes, Momma, but I thought you meant to just not run or jump around. I walked the whole paper route and didn’t run a bit.”
“Well, Richard, I don’t care if you did do your chores and walk your paper route, you can’t possibly go to school today.”
“Oh, Momma, I’m okay. Look!” I did a few jumps and ran around the table.
“Richard, stop that!”
Daddy walked in, and I did my best job of begging. Daddy started laughing.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Richard is begging to go to school.”
“Daddy, please let me go.”
Daddy looked over at Momma and said, “Sue, the bruises and rope burns are just superficial, and the gunshot wound was just a scratch. He’s okay. He just can’t run like he usually does.”
“Jack, I don’t know. He just looks terrible. What will the teachers say?”
“Sue, he was a real hero, and he doesn’t want the black eye and the bruises to go away before all his friends see him.”
I acted like I was buttering my toast and didn’t hear Daddy, but what he said was exactly right.
“Please, Momma, I feel great! I promise!”
“Okay, Jack, I’m letting him go against my better judgment. But he can’t walk all th
e way to school. You drive him.”
Daddy drove me right up to the gate. He stopped the car, and before I got out he said, “Now Richard, don’t get too carried away describing everything. You have a tendency to exaggerate. Remember, you had enough happen just telling the truth will be exciting enough.”
“Oh, yes, sir. I won’t tell anything but exactly like it happened. I promise, cross my heart!” I got out of the car, hung my head, and slowly limped onto the playground.
John Clayton had been looking for me, and when he saw me come through the school gate, he yelled at the top of his lungs, “Richard’s here! Richard’s here!”
Kids stopped playing, and soon a crowd had formed around me. I stood there with a black eye, a rope burn on my neck, and even a gunshot wound. Everything looked a lot worse than it actually was, because before I left home, I’d checked the bandage that covered the pistol wound, and it didn’t look like nothing had happened. It was only a scratch, and it hadn’t bled since the first day I was shot. I’d slipped into the kitchen and doused a little ketchup on it.
“Now, it looks like a gunshot,” I mumbled.
I was standing there with kids crowding all around me when Ears said, “Let’s see where you got shot.”
Without saying a word, I pulled my shirt up for everyone to see the “bloody” bandage.
“Wow, look at that. It’s still bleeding,” said John Clayton. All of the girls except Connie and Rosalie walked away, but the boys crowded in closer for a better look.
“I can’t believe your Momma let you come to school bleedin’ like that,” Ears said.
Connie smiled at me and started to walk up, but just as she started to say something Rosalie rushed in front of her and said, “Oh, Richard, you were so brave!” And she stood there holding my hand, and talked nonstop until the bell rang. Connie finally walked away shaking her head as she walked over to talk with John Clayton. I walked toward our classroom with Rosalie right by my side. I couldn’t believe it. I was a real hero. My school day couldn’t have been better.
It was about time for the final bell to ring, and I turned my head to look at Rosalie one more time, but as my eyes drifted across the room they just seemed to lock into Connie’s. It was a look, so intense, that I jerked my head back. Connie’s face looked so sad, and there were tears in her eyes. Oh, my gosh, what have I done? What can I do? The dismissal bell rang, and I started to get up, when John Clayton, who was sitting right across the aisle, leaned over and handed me a note. I opened it. It said, “Don’t do something really stupid, Mr. White Trash.”
Mr. White trash? I wanted to yell. I was so mad. But then I thought, Maybe some people did think I was white trash before this stuff all happened. And now? What about now? I’m the same person I was before everything happened. Yeah! I dang sure am!
I stood up and slowly walked toward the door. My eyes followed Connie as she left her desk and walked out. Connie never looked at me. She just dropped her head as she clutched her books and left the room. I slowly started to leave the classroom, and there was Rosalie waiting for me right outside the door.
“Richard, here, let me help you with those books.” I walked right by her, and slowly limped into the hall, and without saying a word or even acknowledging Rosalie, I walked by her and started down the hall. There’s more to a girl than blue eyes, I thought. There about halfway down the hall was Connie. I reached out and took her hand as she left the building. Connie looked a little startled for a moment, and then she gave me the biggest smile you could ever imagine.
“Hey,” said John Clayton who was right behind us, “look at Richard!”
As we walked off the school ground, I thought, This is the best day of school I’ll ever have in my life.
Back at the Thanksgiving Dinner Table
”Richard, you’re daydreaming again. Finish your dinner.”
“Oh, Momma, I just couldn’t help but think of how glad I am to have Thanksgiving dinner with you and Daddy.”
“Well, Richard, we’re glad too, but remember try to stay out of trouble. I do believe that this last summer set a record.”
“Oh, Momma, don’t worry I’ve learned my lesson. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die.”
Thanksgiving dinner was almost over, and I’d just finished up my second piece of pumpkin pie, when I glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was almost 3 and John Clayton was gonna be in the front yard in 10 minutes for a special expedition into the swamp. Over the last several weeks, before the prisoners escaped, when we’d been in the deepest part of the swamp, we’d heard some strange sounds, limbs breaking, something or somebody running through the woods, and a noise or maybe a cry like we’d never heard before. There was something really strange going on deep in Flat Creek Swamp. Wednesday afternoon at recess we talked about it.
“Yeah, we were almost down to the second beaver pond, and it was almost dark, when something started moving in that big canebrake,” said John Clayton.
“You’re dang right something was moving, and when it coughed or snorted, I’ve never seen you run so fast,” I said
“Well, I can tell you one thing for sure. I sure ain’t going back in that swamp at night.”
“Heck, no, I’m not either, but what if we take Sniffer during the day and go back to the big canebrake to see if we can find any tracks?”
“Dang, Richard, are you sure we want to find whatever it is? Maybe it’s some crazy wild man, a bear or maybe a mountain lion.”
“Well, with Sniffer we would at least have a dog to help us, and anyway it’ll be daylight, and it can’t sneak up on us.”
“Okay, let’s go right after Thanksgiving dinner. I’ll see you at your house at 3.”
I walked back into class thinking, Dang, That canebrake is as big as a football field, and it’s so thick you can’t see 10 feet in front of you. Maybe this is a bad idea.
***
“Momma, this is your best pumpkin pie ever,” I said as I put the last bite in my mouth, and leaned back in my chair.
“Richard! Richard!”
“That’s John Clayton in the front yard calling for me. Momma, may I be excused? Me
and John Clayton are gonna take Sniffer and go down in the woods.”
“Richard!”
Dang, another grammar lesson, “Uh, John Clayton and I …”
“That’s better—Yes, you may, but it’s getting late. Just be home by dark.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I hopped up from the table and ran out the door calling for Sniffer.
“Sniffer! Sniffer! Here!”
Sniffer ran out from under the house, running ahead, and howling before he even got out of the yard. As we walked toward Flat Creek Swamp John Clayton looked at me.
“Hey, Richard, what do you think we’re gonna find down in that canebrake?”
“Dang if I know, but if it’s as big as it sounds, we might be sorry when we find it.”
Hummm, maybe this fall and winter are gonna be as exciting as last summer.
“Go! Sniffer! Go! Hunt! Hunt!”
Sniffer ran ahead of us, and soon he was out of sight.
We were deep in the swamp and all of a sudden, oh, my gosh, old Sniffer started going just hound dog crazy—you know—like he was about to really get after something.
"Hooooooooo! Hooooooooo! Hooooooooo!"
“Listen! Sniffer is on a hot trail!”
“Yeeeeee yaaaaaaa! Git ‘em! Git ’em!” screamed John Clayton and we started running after Sniffer.
“Dang! Look at that!” I yelled. Something was moving in the thick cane right in the front part of the canebrake just as Sniffer started in. And it sounded big. (Or something like: “And whatever it was… it was big.)
THE END
Read the next book in the series:
“I will drink your blood”
The Vampire-Werewolf of Flat Creek Swamp
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writers write because they have a story to tell. Sometimes those stories are fantasies w
here wild imaginations fill the pages, and other times stories come from seared memories so vivid the writer seems desperate to recount each fact. My own reasons resonate deep within me to portray a time when our country was much younger and boys roamed the creeks and swamps, especially in the South, to entertain themselves. It was a time before we became jaded with entertainment that each week had to be gaudier and more spectacular. I was a boy during those late ’40s and early ’50s when electronic media meant huddling by the radio to listen to a crackly voice recount a story.
I have two reasons for writing: First, just the joy of writing. But, to be honest, it’s more than that. Lifestyles in the 1940s and ’50s represented a time that has vanished from the memories of most Americans. If I can recreate some of those times, and reveal the struggles and joys of growing up during this era, it will have been worth it to create this novel.
As every writer knows, producing a published book is never the simple work of one man or woman. My wife, Vertis, has read and re-read every line I have ever written. Not only has she read them, she has given her considered opinion about their quality. And quite honestly, she was right…most of the time.
As I began my serious writing, Bettie Anne Mahony, an English professor at South Arkansas Community College, was essential. Without her input, the quality of my writing would have been severely reduced. Of course, editing, organizing, and promoting are essentials to any writer. Publicist Mimi Schroeder, and editor Peggy Shaw, have been essential in this endeavor. Others who have read, offered encouragement, and have supported my writing include Candi Nolan, Diane Alderson, Jannis Echols and Virginia White.
Lyin' Like a Dog, The Yankee Doctor, The Danged Swamp! 3-Volume set Page 55
