by Ron Foster
Crick arrived at what he thought was a truckers rally point or a loading zone and tried to make heads or tails out of the aged and rain deteriorated signs in the dirt. Lots of traffic had been here at some time or another but what it all meant was quite a puzzle. Evidently who ever had been cutting trees out here had themselves some lunch and serviced some equipment he observed from the empty oil and hydraulic cans as well as an occasional sandwich baggie or fast food bag from Mc Donald’s but as to which way the road they came from to the right or left was a mystery. Even though the amount of litter left around by the work crews disturbed him immensely as uncaring lazy fools blight on the land he was glad to see it because it told volumes as to what it was he was trying to discern. The fast food bags were particularly intriguing as those items could only mean one thing. Civilization and town was closer than he expected and this was reassuring. No one sack lunches from happy meal land and because this type of work was normally done on a very brief lunch break, that meant he was within 10 minutes or so from a major thorough fare by car. Most roads around here run anywhere from 55 to 45 mph from the interstate so that put him how far by foot, he began to ponder before a voice startled him.
“What are you doing boy? Up to no good I bet.” A blue plaid shirted grizzled old man called at him from the wood line with a casually held shotgun pointing off handily in his direction.
“Uh, nothing sir. Got myself a bit lost and trying to find my way back home.” Crick said trying to sound friendly but not quite carrying it off with the sudden frog in his throat trying to strangle his voice.
“You lose something? What are you doing poking about on Mc Cloud land son? This land is posted boy.” The old man said slowly walking out of the wood line in his direction.
“I ain`t lost nothing my friend, I was just poking about in all this trash trying to figure out where the hell somebody got them a Mc Donald burger in this god forsaken place and how far it was to go get me one.” Crick said, trying to add some levity to the situation but not impressing the old cuss a damn bit.
“Damn pulp wooders got no respect for nobody leaving all that trash lying around and neither do you either by sneaking about in my woods. You some kind of hobo or backpacker or something looking for a place to crash?’” the old geezer said lowering his weapon a bit under one arm and touching one shoulder indicating Crick’s sling pack he had on.
“Neither, like I said I am just lost and needing directions to the main road. Highway, I mean, you mind doing me a favor and pointing that scattergun of yours in a different direction.” Crick said a bit imploringly.
“I might, just as soon as I find out what it is you’re actually doing poking around here.” The old goomer said covering the distance between them much quicker than Crick thought the gangly old sod buster could.
“Seriously, man I am lost. I ain`t doing shit but walking in the woods trying to find my home, if you would be kind enough to point me in the right , I would be much obliged.” Crick said nervously wondering where the hell Loomis was at the moment.
“Gave you a scare didn’t I? You were so damn intent on poking around in that trash you didn’t see me standing out here in plain sight ready to say how do you do. What are you doing out here, poaching? We don’t allow any poachers around here even though I know that times are hard.” The old man told him halting about 15 feet from him and still keeping the shotgun at the ready even though it wasn’t pointed in Crick`s direction.
“No I ain`t poaching, I am just passing through. I will be happy to get the hell out of here if you just let me and my friend pass...” Crick began before the old man instantly brought the shotgun back to bear on him.
”Friend! Whose with you and where is he at?” the old man said looking in back of Crick and then quickly looking to the right and left.
“If you just let me explain.” Crick began before Loomis called out from the same place the old man had come from.
“He is over here.”Loomis declared standing next to a knarled old oak with his 45 pistol leveled in a gunner’s stance in the old man`s direction.
“Now ain`t you a sneaky bastard! Come on over here cowboy and let’s parley a mite before we both do something we might regret.” The aged veteran said looking over his shoulder but not lowering his shotgun aimed at Crick an inch.
“I might, put up that old coach gun first, we mean no harm.” Loomis called out still in his 4 point stance with 45 auto cocked and locked on the center of a pair of patched overalls that looked as threadbare as the wrinkled old gnomes pate.
“I dunno Cowboy, seems we got us what used to be called back in Roy Rogers day a Mexican standoff. If you pull that trigger I am going pull mine and your friend here is history. Now seeing you ain`t got nothing but that pistol you are liable to miss my skinny ass and I might manage to get a shot off at you too and let me tell you Pa Pa don’t miss when he aims his gun !” The old codger said belligerently and went back to watching Crick’s every move because he was the closest.
“Come on old man, this ain`t necessary.” Loomis began before a gravelly sweet voice in back of him advised him to be still.
“I don’t like me no cowboys.” An old black woman said with a leveled 30-30 Marlin from the Muscadine grape patch off to his left.
“Oh Shit” Loomis said to the large white haired cotton dressed black woman looking at him with murder in her bloodshot eyes.
“HA! Sneaky Pete you just thought you had the drop on old Bowman, Bertha you ventilate his liver if he don’t put that pistol down nice and smooth. Now then, what’s your name son and you best really tell me this time what has got you traipsing around with the sheriff on Mr. Mc Clouds property.” Bowman demanded.
“Do what he says, Loomis.” Crick said trying to figure out how to get to his 40 cal pistol and save the day but soon giving up that notion.
“Look here, Bowman is it? My names Crick and that’s Loomis and like we said we don’t mean no harm. Our raft washed up on the shore about a mile and a half from here and we ain`t doing nothing but trying to make our way through these woods to get to a main road and bring some help back to our friends stranded at Deer Lick creek.” Crick said huffily.
“Caught you in another bald-faced lie you damn revenuer, what kind of song and dance you think I am going to believe about you and that damned sheriff riding a raft over here? Check his credentials, Bertha! Is he a state or Fed ABC man?” Bowman called back as Bertha secured Loomis’s pistol and removed his wallet from his back pocket.
“He ain`t got no badge of any sort, Clem, he just got a picture of himself and them credit card things you told me about.” Bertha bellowed back.
“Bring him up here and shoot him if he gets froggy, Bertha, might be one of them undercover types.” Clem aka Bowman said motioning for him to get to his knees before forcing Loomis to do the same before he examined everyone’s ID’s.
“They look ok, Bertha one of these days you got to get around to learning to read, comes in handy sometimes. Ok boys, you can stand up but keep your distance as we sort things out. Now what possessed you to get on a raft and sail the river?” Clem said laughing and then asked them and informed Bertha about his favorite book he once read called Huckleberry Finn.
“I remembers that Book Clem you told it to my sister’s son Jeremiah before but it makes no sense a fat cowboy and a country redneck decide to take them a ride on a homemade raft.” The old stand in dress silhouette sizer for a bottle of Aunt Jemima`s syrup said.
“We sort it out, let’s take them to the house and hear the rest of this tall story.” Clem said motioning for them to grab their gear and walk in front of them.
“You take them to your house, Clem. I don’t want no cowboys in mine.” Bertha said poking at Loomis with the barrel of her rifle.
“What’s up with the not liking cowboy shit” Loomis complained being guided down a hidden trail.
“Oh don’t mind her, you see living this far back in the woods we never got movin’ pictures and the one time I deci
ded to show her the town and carried her to the motion picture show a movie called Blazing Saddles was on and she thinks cowboys are more prejudiced than rednecks.”
“Want to make him sing?” Clem said laughing at Bertha who still eyed Loomis warily, referring to one of the more memorable parts of that particular movie.
“Doo Dah! “Doo Dah!”” Loomis sang hoping Clem was joking with a disarming smile that Bertha seemed to enjoy and his antics the sound of his voice singing the chorus of the song “The Camptown Ladies Sing This Song” cracked Crick and Clem up, laughing.
“I suppose it be alright to go to my place first but it don’t seem fittin that he got that hat on iffin it means he has got it in for black folks.” Bertha commented unsure as to the mans’ beliefs and intentions.
“Bertha, I done told you there has been many a black cowboy ain`t that right loonyness? I mean er excuse me fella, Loomis. Damn boy, you can’t sing worth a damn.” Clem said still having fun but humorously relaxing with his two captives.
“Oh yea, they even had buffalo soldiers in the Cavalry. The Indians called them buffalo soldiers because the hair on their heads reminded them of the revered animals.” Loomis said with a friendly smile.
“Did he just say I look like some kind of a reverted buffalo animal? Why I will shoot that pot belly right off him!” the 73 year old grandmother that probably outweighed him by 60 pounds protested while shaking a finger in his direction.
“No he did nothing of the kind Bertha, calm down old girl. He just sort of gave you a backward compliment but we talk about that later.. Now back to business, boys ain`t nobody run shine here since my pappy and her husband got busted for doing it back in the 60`s and them folks all are dead and gone and long buried. Me and Bertha live back in a couple old sharecropper shacks and watch over this land. 5 generations of share cropper and slave been through here and we are all that’s left to tell the tale and when we gone so is the memory of it all, bad and good times.” Clem Bowman declared, poking Crick in the side with his shotgun barrel and immediately calling a halt to the procession as it clinked the metal of his concealed pistol.
“Damn you trying to be some kind of a tricky Dick, search them better, Bertha!” Clem declared and both men endured a much more intimate search by the old black woman who pretty much seemed to enjoy her task more than either one wanted to recognize or acknowledge, although she did get a muffled protest out of Loomis.
“They didn’t have nothing more on them except for a couple of fancy pocket knives. The fat one had some chewing tobacco though,” Bertha said stealing her a chaw and offering Clem one.
“Fat one? Why you big walrus.” Loomis started to exclaim before Bertha`s rifle barrel reminded him he shouldn’t try insulting her further.
“I still want to know why you dumbasses decided to get on a raft what with all them rich folks riding power boats everywhere up and down the river. I would reckon that one of them would of gave you a ride if you asked them nice.” Clem said trying to wrap his head around this strange encounter.
“Damn Clem I been trying to tell you since we first met that we had no choice but to ride a raft over here after them f-wording terrorists blew the dams” Crick protested before getting a shotgun barrel poke from Clem.
“Look here sonny, she might be a white haired old mammy but that old mammy was my sons old mammy and her old mammy raised me and her mammy raised my Pa so you best be respectful and watch your language in her presence.” The old caretaker said of the old custom in some parts of the south to have a black dearly beloved maid raise many a white boy or girl as a nanny to the family and be protected like a bulldog guarding its bone while keeping those lucky children out of all kinds of mischief from cradle to sometimes grave.
“I meant no disrespect. I am sorry, Maam” Crick said apologetically. I had a wonderful mammy myself help raise me when I was young, rest her soul but I couldn’t think of a more descriptive word for whoever caused the chaos that sent us on this trip. By the way what have you heard about them terrorists country of origin?” Crick said marching along with his fellow prisoner Loomis.
“What they mean country? Nothing wrong with being country or from the county.” Bertha protested.
“You need to get out more, Bertha. Country as in foreigners.” Clem suggested to the beetle browed old woman.
“I think they saying somebody from another country exploded a dam. Was it the Russkies?” Clem asked, pausing their walk down the trail.
“I don’t know who the hell it was, all I know is the roads got cut to Deer Lick campgrounds and I am supposed to carry back a rescue party before they all starve to death.” Crick said ominously.
“Do what? Boy make some sense,. Some yahoo tried to blow up the dams? Why didn’t you just wait for the police or the Army? Now tell me what it is exactly you thought you were going to accomplish with all this rafting and hiking and mighty concrete dams blowing up and such.” Clem said rubbing his noggin in dismay and confusion.
“We been trying!” Loomis protested.
“I want to listen to this one here” Bertha said indicating Crick and motioning for Loomis to sit down on a fallen log on the trail.
“Ok it’s like this. You know them two dams they built that closed the rivers off and formed the lake? Well they are gone and that camp ground that was up on the bluff between the two rivers is now an island and it has a bunch of our friends stranded on it.” Crick said so Bertha and Clem could follow his story so far.
“And you rafted ya’ll selves over to here from that there island, didn’t you.” Bertha said knowingly, catching on and looking to Clem for approval, beaming her ‘I can be smart too’ look.
“And Al Quida terrorists blew up the dams.” Clem said knowingly, nodding at Bertha like he knew all about such things already.
Crick started to correct him and tell him it was pronounced Al Qaeda and he didn’t know if it was them or not but he decided that would only confuse the issue even more, so he carried on.
“Yea, terrorist criminals blew up the dams and we had to raft over to escape from the island. Then when we got to the shore on this side we walked several miles through the woods and bumped into you all and here we sit like bumps on a log.” Crick said watching Clem and Bertha glancing back and forth at each other and trying to form words to carry on further.
“Well you ain`t said what you planned on doing once you got over here yet. We already know you’re here and how you got here.” Clem said with feigned exasperation for Crick to get to the point.
“Yea we already knows why you here, we wants to know what is you doing next.” Bertha said scooting Loomis over and having a seat beside him on the log to listen better in the shade.
Loomis didn’t know what to do when the large women’s ample bottom started rolling in his direction and his first reaction was to try and stand up and make space for the lady. Well he got his butt about one inch over the log about the same time she put a little hip action into her scoot and Loomis and Crick ended up hugging and hanging on to each other in order to not go airborne off the end of it which tickled the hell out of Clem who was standing there watching the spectacle.
“Ha! Bertha, I ain`t had so much fun in a coons age. Crick I am going to sit down with you all; I believe your story but you got to finish it before me and Bertha feed you supper and send you on your way.” Clem said sitting down but still retaining Crick`s pistol in his belt.
“Well I am happy to hear that, Clem.” Crick said.
“Me too!” Loomis echoed before turning quickly to see Bertha appearing to be sneaking up on him if that was possible with her close proximity and rather wide girth.
“Now that we all friends, can I touch it?” Bertha said somehow managing to get her head half way over her shoulder and starting to reach with her far hand.
“Touch WHAT!” Loomis sort of shriek croaked while sliding Crick into Clem with his own bit of butt weight.
“Now Bertha, you know you can never touch a man’s cowboy hat!�
�� Clem said, regaining his seat and straightening it.
“Well, I asked him politely first real nicely, didn’t even touch when I had a gun on him. Did I Loomis? We friends now, Clem said so. Can I touch it?” Bertha pleaded.
“Now, Bertha, I told you when we was growing up that it was the code of the west never to touch another man’s cowboy hat.” Clem said reverently placing his hand over his heart.
Crick and Loomis both suppressed grins as Bertha acted like a child being scolded for approaching a hot stove and Clem acted like he had just said the most profound thing that had ever been said.
“She can touch it, it’s a special day, Clem.” Loomis said and doffed his Stetson and handed it to Bertha who received it like it was the holy grail itself.
“Wow, it’s kind of heavy and stiff!” she said examining it further. “Look here, it’s got a bow on its underwear!” she said peering inside of it.
“A hat has a liner, not underwear.” Loomis said wresting his hat back from the woman to Clem and Cricks hoots of laughter.
“Dang, you all are fun!” Clem said chuckling and motioning for them all to come on and follow him down the trail.
“Get back to your story Crick and leave Loomis alone Bertha.” Clem said as he led the way.
“I ain`t bothering him none,” Bertha called back from the rear of the column.
“His haid ain’t near as big as I thought it was.” Bertha commented which made Crick have to choke back a laugh.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Clem said chuckling and calling a halt to the hike.
“”Bertha you get up here and lead the way home. We ain`t going to make no progress with you talking to Loomis all the way home.” Clem said grinning at Bertha`s Aahwwww! look she couldn’t play with Loomis any more.
“Thanks buddy!” a relieved Loomis said.
“Watch out for the barn,” Clem whispered back to a “Oh shit” look from Loomis before telling Crick to carry on with what his rescue plan was supposed to be.
“Ok Clem, Bertha, on with the story. I only live about 15 miles from here I think and the idea was we basically find help and notify someone to get them folks off that castaway island. I don’t know whether or not phones work or not around here after that cyber-attack on the country’s grid.” Crick said starting to explain.