by Bobby Akart
“We’re lookin’ for some folks,” started Junior. “Have any strangers approached y’all in the last several days?”
“Nope,” Jake curtly replied.
“Well, now, don’t you want me to describe them to you?” asked Junior as he approached the gate. Jake took a step forward while Stubby inched his hand closer to his 1911. “Better yet, how’s ’bout you let me take a look around. They may be hidin’ out on your land, Mr. Allen. You can’t be too careful.”
“Listen, Sheriff. I’ve already said we haven’t seen any strangers.”
Junior removed his hat and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. Despite his diminutive frame, he stood tall and walked with confidence as he approached Jake’s towering body.
“Here’s the thing, Mr. Allen. We followed these folks north out of town and learned they crossed over the river into Saltillo using this old man’s ferry. We plan on visiting Percy to discuss this, but we were down your way today and thought we’d check around here first.”
Jake, unruffled, stood toe-to-toe with the law. “Seems to me, Sheriff,” he said sarcastically, “that you’re lookin’ in the wrong part of the county. Last time I looked, Saltillo is way up towards Jackson.”
“Mr. Allen, you leave the investigation to me. We intend to pay those folks a visit as well to see what they know. But we’ve got an eyewitness from the other day placing a Jeep Wagoneer that matches the description of the fugitives’ vehicle crossing 64 and headed in this very direction.”
Stubby decided to intervene before Jake’s temper got the better of him. A physical confrontation with Junior and his men wouldn’t end well. It would also bring the wrath of Ma Durham to their front door.
“Okay, Junior,” started Stubby, “we appreciate your concern, but I can assure you we haven’t seen any strangers, fugitives, or Jeep Wagoneers. I didn’t think cars ran anymore. This big old Chevy is quite a sight.”
“Stubby, these people are dangerous. They shot up my town and tore up a bunch of the county’s property. Fella said his name was Joshua Dalton. We don’t want to make any trouble for you or the Allens, but I ain’t gonna stop lookin’ until I find this guy and the two women ridin’ with him.”
It didn’t take much of a conversation with Junior for Stubby to recognize that he had a burr in his saddle. From the Rymans’ recounting the events in Savannah, they’d embarrassed Junior and the boys a lot. Stubby also knew that if he couldn’t convince Junior, the next group of visitors might be led by Ma and a dozen men. He decided to give Junior something with the hope that it would deflect attention elsewhere.
“Okay. We had an incident yesterday over on the Wyatts’ farm. A man attacked one of the Wyatts’ steers with a machete and tore it up like some kind of crazed maniac. We helped the Wyatts track the guy down.”
“What happened?” asked Junior.
“One of our guys, and I’m not sayin’ who, found the fella over at the old cabin on the back road to the bridge. He went for the machete and our man killed him.”
Junior studied Stubby and asked, “Was the man alone?”
“No, there were others, but they ran off before our people could catch them. We didn’t even get a good look at ’em.”
“Women?” asked Junior.
“Don’t know. They took off through the woods and then up the gravel drive. Do you know the old cabin I’m referrin’ to? It’s the old Skelton place from years ago.”
Junior nodded his head. “Where’s the body?”
“We left it to rot. We’ve got no use for strangers, especially cattle killers.”
Junior studied Stubby and Jake for a moment before returning to his car. As he entered the driver’s seat, he shouted, “Who shot him?”
“Now, Sheriff, we’re not giving up our people over a cattle rustler, and it seems to me that you’ve got plenty to deal with runnin’ all over hell’s half acre chasing your fugitives. We’ll keep our eyes open. You can count on that.”
Junior backed the Chevy Wagon up the driveway and drove off through the tree-lined entry. As soon as he was out of sight, Stubby pulled the men around him.
“Javy, take a man up to the Skelton cabin and keep an eye on Junior. If he crosses the fence onto the ranch, come find me. Jake, let’s ride up to the Wyatts’ place and let them know about this little get-together. Alex was up there yesterday, and a slip of the tongue could cause us a lot of trouble with Ma and Junior.”
Stubby was raised knowing that you couldn’t run from trouble. Eventually, it’d catch up to you.
Chapter 12
2:00 p.m., October 4
Lick Creek
Shiloh Ranch
The western half of Hardin County was primarily rich bottomland broken up by several rivers and streams feeding the Tennessee River. Its history stretched back to the days of the Mound Builders, inhabitants of North America from thousands of years ago, who constructed large earthen structures as a tribute to their gods. Several of these platform mounds dotted the landscape of Hardin County and were used by Union soldiers during the Battle of Shiloh as observation posts.
One of these structures was built near the confluence of Lick Creek and the Tennessee River, where the old homestead of J.J. Fraley stood. The Confederate Army occupied the Fraley home as a rear command post and first aid station. As the Battle of Shiloh turned for the worse for the boys in gray, the Fraley house and yard became full of wounded men and the blood of dying soldiers.
Local historians wrote about the blood of the Confederate soldiers soaking into the ground and mixing with the remains of the Mound Builders. As the story goes, Lick Creek, which created a distinctive serpentine shape as it wound its way through the fields, was haunted with the blood of the dead.
“Hey, Alex, do you remember this place?” asked Chase as he led his hunting party consisting of Alex atop Snowflake and three bluetick coonhounds.
“I sure do. Is the rope swing still here?”
“Yep,” said Chase. “Go on, guys, take ya a swim. The water’s not that cold yet.” The coonhounds, an athletic and hardy breed, didn’t need to be told twice. In addition to being an outstanding hunting dog, their obedience and ability to stay happy made for a great pet. Their love of swimming was rivaled only by the Labrador retrievers.
Alex dismounted and laughed as the dogs flew off the bank into the small lake. Their deep voices echoed up and down the creek for the second time that day. The first was when they’d treed a raccoon, whose life was saved by Alex’s insistence. The critter was cute and she wanted to convince Chase that he didn’t have to kill everything because he could.
“How did you come up with their names?” asked Alex as she found a large rock to sit on overlooking the pond. The rock served as the launching pad for the rope swing they used years ago. The rope still hung over the lake, frayed from weather and use.
“My oldest, Smokey, is the big guy with the tan muzzle and the bluetick blaze across his head. I named him for the most famous bluetick coonhound of them all—Smokey, the mascot of the University of Tennessee.”
“What about that one?” asked Alex, pointing to a completely bluish-black dog with the distinctive bluetick markings on his mush.
“He’s Huck. You know, short for Huckleberry Hound the cartoon character.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Huckleberry Hound cartoon,” said Alex. “You have a girl in the mix too.”
“The third one’s named Ol’ Red. There’s an old George Jones song that mentions her. Blake Shelton did a remake of it a few years ago. She’s unusual because her ears and face lean toward a brownish red. I usually just call her Red.”
Alex sat quietly for a while and enjoyed the frolicking of the dogs in the pond. She had had a heated conversation with her parents the night before regarding her outings with Chase. Her mom was concerned for her safety, naturally, and insisted that Alex stay closer to the main house from now on. Her activities with Chase had escalated from breaking into a home to shooting a defenseless man.<
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Her dad was a little more understanding because he had seen the other side of Alex when they scavenged through the homes of Harding Place. Alex confided in her dad that Chase meant well, but he needed guidance. She understood enough about teenagers to know that if his parents tried to rein him in, the exertion of control would either break his spirit or cause him to rebel. Colton presumed the latter would occur, so the Rymans agreed to keep their opinions to themselves.
Alex received permission to continue working with Chase on security, scavenging, and hunting because they trusted her level head. She also promised to talk to him about the events of the last few days and establish some ground rules. Alex opined that Chase wanted to hang out with her and would check himself in order to continue.
She picked up a few stones and tossed them aimlessly into the water. The dogs came out of the pond in unison and shook water all over the banks. They took up positions behind Alex in the sunshine. They were a team.
Chase, who was always restless, removed his shirt to enjoy the above-average temperatures. He was very handsome and well built. Chase was not as tall in stature as his father, but stood six foot one nonetheless. While they made small talk, Chase practiced throwing his knife into the trunk of an oak tree.
At first, Chase positioned himself around fifteen feet from the tree. He’d turn his left shoulder in line with the target and step forward with his left leg toward the tree. He threw it hard and it stuck each time. The entire technique looked like a baseball pitcher winding up and throwing a pitch.
Thump!
“The key, according to Stubby, is you gotta throw it so hard that the tree’s ancestors feel it.”
Chase took the knife by the grip and threw it again. Each time, he’d step a little further from the tree to make the toss more difficult.
“You’re good at that,” said Alex.
“You wanna try it?”
“Maybe, in a minute,” replied Alex. She gathered up the courage to broach the elephant in the room. “Listen, about what happened at the cabin …”
Chase retrieved the knife and wiped the blade off on his jeans. He rolled his head on his neck and shoulders. “Alex, before you say anything, let me explain. I wasn’t going to take any chances with those guys. I didn’t want them to get away and I certainly wasn’t going to give them a chance to get a jump on us.”
“I know,” started Alex. “I don’t disagree, but—”
Chase interrupted again. “We were in a tough spot and I wanted to make sure you were safe. If I took out the guy with the machete, I figured the other one was unarmed. It turns out that I was right.”
Alex shifted uneasily on the rock. She didn’t want this conversation to be confrontational, but she had to assess Chase’s attitude. If he didn’t take it well, she’d pull herself out of the situation and stay close to the main house. It wasn’t the best way for her to contribute to the group, but it was the safest.
“A lot of things turned out right about the other day,” said Alex forcefully. “They didn’t have guns. They didn’t have friends inside the cabin. The other guy tucked tail and ran. All of those things could’ve gone the other way.”
“But they didn’t,” interjected Chase. He went back to throwing his knife, but this time with sufficient force to wake the dead for miles.
Alex decided to finish her point and hopefully diffuse the situation. “Chase, neither one of us asked for this crappy world, and a month ago neither one of us contemplated killing anyone. Now we both have a notch in our belt.”
He stopped at the tree and thought for a moment before dislodging the knife from the trunk.
Alex continued. “We’re partners now. We’ve got to have each other’s backs, which means you and I are equals. We make decisions together, including whether or not to go in guns blazin’ or simply walk away. Sometimes a situation might be too dangerous. I need you to agree with me, or I’m gonna have to be stuck at the house like my parents want.”
There was an awkward silence as Chase fiddled with his knife.
GGGGRRROWWWWL!
The dogs began to utter deep growls. Their alarm turned into full-blown anger as they began to bark uncontrollably. The three hounds scrambled off the bank and charged toward Alex. She instinctively pulled herself into a ball as they stumbled down the embankment.
Ol’ Red lunged first and caught something with her mouth. She yelped and rolled down the bank as Smokey took a turn.
“It’s a copperhead!” exclaimed Chase as he scrambled towards the fray.
Alex remained still on top of the rock. She couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the snake’s lunge.
Huck grabbed an end and bit into the snake’s torso. Smokey followed suit as the two coonhounds yanked and pulled at the hissing copperhead with the intent of pulling it apart. As the five-foot snake was pulled between the two growling animals, Chase threw his knife, cutting it in half.
Smokey shook the fanged end of the copperhead back and forth before flinging it into the pond.
Alex jumped off the rock and rushed to Ol’ Red’s side.
“Was she bit?” yelled Chase.
Alex was frantically checking her skin for puncture wounds. She couldn’t find any blood and there was no sign of swelling. Ol’ Red was panting heavily, so she was in some type of distress.
“C’mon, honey,” said Alex into Ol’ Red’s ears. “Let’s try to get you on your feet. Chase, can you bring us some water?”
Alex helped the dog on her feet and she seemed to stand okay but was favoring her left front paw. Alex felt around her leg. Ol’ Red didn’t flinch as Alex felt for a broken bone. Alex continued her examination and one of the coonhound’s paws revealed the source of the pain.
“Look at this splinter,” said Alex, showing Chase the wound. A two-inch piece of wood had pushed its way between the pads of her paw. “It must’ve caused her enough discomfort to let go of the snake.”
Chase rubbed Ol’ Red behind the ears. “I think you’ll live, old girl. This looks like a job for Mom and Bessie.”
“Thank goodness,” said Alex. “They saved my life, Chase. There’s no way to treat a snakebite wound out here. The hospital in Savannah is even less safe for us.”
Alex collapsed back into a seated position on the ground. Her eyes began to well up in tears as the emotions of the last few days took hold.
Chase sat down next to her and wrapped his arm around Alex’s shoulders, pulling her head to his chest. He whispered into her ear, “Alex, I promise you. I’ve got your back.”
Chapter 13
8:00 a.m., October 5
Main House
Shiloh Ranch
“We’re gonna try somethin’ new today,” announced Bessie as she came out of the kitchen, followed by Maria with several plates of breakfast fixin’s. “Maria wanted to try out a new venison recipe using some of her garden specialties and cheddar cheese. Take a deep breath, everybody. We’re callin’ this dish Deer Holler.”
Each plate had an open-faced biscuit with quarter-inch slices of deer meat. Melted cheddar cheese and fried pickles covered the top. The dining table was set for ten this morning. Javy, Maria, Stubby and Bessie joined the Rymans and the Allens at Stubby’s request. There were some developments to discuss.
“I don’t know, y’all, but this looks good,” said Jake. “I’m so hungry I could eat the north end of a southbound goat.” Jake fixed his serving like a sandwich and took a big bite. He began to chew and then his eyes started to water.
The table burst into laughter as, apparently, the joke was on him this morning. Colton slid the pitcher of water in Jake’s direction to refill his glass.
“Here, Colton,” said Stubby as he slid a farm bottle of fresh milk down the table, “give him a glass of milk. It’ll give him some fast relief.”
Jake finally recovered and glared at Stubby on the far end of the table. “Look at you, grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet tater. You know what they say about payback.”
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��I hear ya.” Stubby laughed. “We’ve been gettin’ even with each other for a lotta years now. You’ve gotta get up early to get one up on me.”
After the laughter died down, nobody was eating. Finally, Bessie encouraged everyone to get started. “More of Maria’s habanero peppers found their way onto Jake’s plate somehow. Y’all are good to go.”
Hesitantly, the rest of the morning breakfast crowd dug in and Maria was rewarded with lots of accolades—every chef’s dream. After some small talk, Stubby explained the reason for getting everyone together.
“I talked with John Wyatt and Lizzie Hart, who owns the farm on the other side of Federal Road from the Wyatt place. They’re both concerned about the increase in refugees coming on their land. Lizzie said two men broke into her chicken coop and stole eggs the other morning. They tried to catch the chickens, who led them on a chase through the briars. She found torn shreds of clothing on the stickers.”
Chase glanced toward Alex and added, “It serves them right. Is she alone up there?”
“She’s got her twenty-three-year-old son, who made his way home from Memphis. He apparently walked the whole way, which was a miracle ’cause the boy’s pushin’ three hundred pounds.”
“Can he protect the place?” asked Jake.
“I dunno,” replied Stubby. “He may have bigger problems. He’s got diabetes, and he’s out of his medicine. Lizzie’s scared for him. His vision is failing, and his feet are causing him problems.”
“Those are classic signs of untreated diabetes,” said Emily. “He needs insulin, which is only available at the hospital in Savannah.”
“They tried that already,” said Stubby. “The Wyatts loaned them a couple of horses and a wagon to travel into town. When they met Junior’s men at the other end of the bridge, they were turned away.”