by Watt Key
To save the pieces of the deer that we weren’t going to smoke, I made a storage pit in a small shelter under the pine tree. I showed Kit how to line the inside of the pit with hot rocks so that the moisture was steamed out of the dirt. Leaving the rocks in place, we then lined the pit floor and walls with a thick layer of dried grass.
Into the pit we placed the deer’s eyeballs, which could be used for paint and to make glue. We also saved the brain to treat the hide, and the hooves to crush and boil to make waterproofing oil.
I covered the pit with cedar bark to keep away insects and worms. To disguise the scent, I put on another layer of strong-smelling pine needles. Finally, I laid a slab of limestone over the top to protect against pawing animals. What little that was left of the deer I wrapped in a scrap of hide and hung from a branch to use as trap bait.
The cold front moved out and the weather became warm enough so that some days we didn’t even need our jackets. Over the next week, we worked on scraping and drying the deer hide and smoking our jerky strips over hickory coals. It was pleasant work under clear skies, surrounded by the smells of hickory smoke and curing meat. We would work for a while and then have a meal of venison jerky and whatever vegetation we’d prepared for the day. With our stomachs full and our faces and hands streaked with soot and animal fat, we’d lie back and nap under the rustling leaves.
Sometimes we went for hours without talking, only smiling at each other and keeping our hands busy with shelling acorns or trimming jerky and rubbing the hide with the deer brains. Kit began to learn how things were done, and I had to show him less and less.
One morning we heard a plane and ducked into the shelter and watched as it passed overhead. It was the small, single-engine kind like Pap and I had sometimes seen flying over our shelter.
“You think it’s looking for us?” Kit asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
We heard it pass nearby two more times that day, and then we didn’t hear it again.
The next day I told Kit I was going to check on the hanging deer carcass to make sure that the squirrels weren’t eating the bones. I made my way back to the ridge, moving silently and watching for signs of game. When I came within a hundred yards of the place, I heard someone shout.
“Heyyy!”
I froze and held my breath. My eyes darted about and took notice of all the patterns that the branches and leaves made so that I could tell if anything was out of place. I knew the voice was Sanders’s and it set my heart to pounding in my chest.
I wasn’t going to move until I was sure that no one was watching me. I heard Sanders’s voice again from across the ridge, although I couldn’t make out the words. He seemed to be cursing loudly to himself. I slipped through the trees, careful to always have a large trunk between myself and the direction of Sanders’s voice. After a while, I saw movement in the place where we left the carcass. By lying on my stomach, I was able to wiggle close enough to watch. Sanders had cut the carcass from the tree and was pacing around it in circles. His uniform was torn on the jacket sleeves, and the front of his shirt and pants were soaked with sweat. His hair had pieces of straw and leaves clinging to it, and dirt was smeared over his face and hands.
“Sum-bitch,” he said while shaking his head. He kicked at the bones and finally flung the carcass off into the bushes, losing his balance and stumbling after it. I realized he was too tired to be very alert, so I stood and backed away until I was out of sight again. Then I turned around and ran to the top of the ridge, where I could watch him with little chance of being discovered.
Sanders sat near the carcass. After a while, he got up again and staggered down the ridge towards Deer Creek. He had not gone far when he stopped and leaned against a tree. He rested for a moment before yelling out over the valley.
“Hey! Anybody hear me?”
He was quiet for a few seconds, as if he was listening for something. Then, he kicked at the ground and hung his head. I watched him for what seemed like five minutes before I wondered if he’d fallen asleep. I began to get up slowly, keeping an eye on him the whole time. Just as I straightened my legs, I saw him pitch forward and scream “Ahhh!” As he tumbled down the hill, I spun around and ran for the shelter.
Kit was collecting firewood when I got back to the campsite. He watched me wide-eyed as I caught my breath.
“Sanders,” I said. “He’s out there!”
“Where?”
I pointed back at the ridge. “Not far from where we left the deer.”
“Did he see you?”
I shook my head. “No. He’s mad and tired and yellin’ for somebody to find him. Last I saw him, he was fallin’ down the ridge.”
“You think he’s been out all night?”
“Yeah, I think he got lost. And if he finds us, he’s so mad there’s no tellin’ what he’ll do.”
Kit’s hands fidgeted at his sides. He sat down on the log across from me. “Policeman can’t hurt you!”
“Pap says the government can do whatever they want to you if they get set on it. Sanders is a crazy constable. There’s no tellin’ what he can do.”
“You have any ideas?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“What?”
“Whip up on him.”
“Moon!”
I stood up. “Whip up on him good!”
“No, Moon!”
“Come on. I need your help.”
27
“What if he shoots us, Moon?” “He won’t shoot us. Even if we let him see us, he’s too tired to hit anything he aims at.”
“How are you going to whip up on a full-grown policeman?”
“We’ll have to trap him.”
Kit groaned to himself as we walked back to the ridge where I’d last seen Sanders. My mind raced with ideas as to how I would trap something so large. I imagined pits being dug, trees bent over with snare loops, logs made into deadfalls . . .
“You know you can’t kill him, Moon.”
“I won’t kill him, Kit. I never killed anybody.”
“I don’t see why we have to do anything to him. I say we just run.”
“I’m not runnin’ from him anymore.”
We reached the top of the hill, and I told Kit to crawl beside me on his stomach. We wiggled up to the edge so that we could see down into the valley where Sanders fell. We listened for a few minutes and didn’t hear anything.
“You think he’s hurt?”
“Maybe.”
“What if he’s hurt?”
“Then we’ll hog-tie him and think of some way to get him out of here.”
“You can’t tie him up!”
“Shhh! Yes I can. Pap let me practice on him before.”
Kit groaned again. I picked up a rock and lobbed it down into the trees below. We listened after it but heard nothing.
“If we just leave, then maybe he’ll never find us.”
I stood up. “Yeah, but we won’t get his gun, either.”
“What?”
“His gun.”
Kit stood up and began to walk back the way we’d come.
“Hey,” I said. “Where are you goin’?”
“I’m not taking a policeman’s gun, Moon.”
I ran after him and caught his shoulder. “We’ve got to have a gun, Kit. We can’t make it in Alaska without a gun.”
He kept walking.
“Kit, don’t leave me,” I pleaded.
Kit stopped and stared at the ground. “Why do you have to mess with him, Moon?”
“Because I need that pistol. He took my rifle from me.”
“What about your bow?”
“That bow won’t be near as good in Alaska, even with the deer sinew on it.”
“What about your pap’s rifle?”
“I don’t know how to get back to our old shelter.”
Kit sighed and looked at me. “It’ll be all right?”
“Yeah,” I assured him.
“I don’t want to get shot.”<
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“Don’t worry, we’ll trap him good. We won’t get shot.”
I told Kit to take off his shoes so we could walk quieter. We slipped through the forest until I heard Sanders moan. I looked back at Kit and raised my hand so he would hold still while I moved closer. He nodded, and I turned in my feet so that I stood on only the outside edges of them. After getting my bearings, I began to lift and place them slowly into the leaves, watching where each foot went. I ducked under branches and twisted around bushes like someone in slow motion.
When I had traveled about fifty yards, I saw movement ahead of me. I stepped sideways to put a large tree between myself and whatever it was. I looked back to check on Kit, but I couldn’t see him through the brush. Sanders moaned again, and I felt my neck hairs rise.
I reached the tree and peered around it. Sanders was lying on his back next to Deer Creek. His eyes were closed and his stomach heaved up and down. His clothes were torn and muddy and grass-stained from where he’d been sliding and rolling down hills. He was covered with scrapes, and a T-shirt that he had been using to clean them was beside him, stained with blood. He still had his gun belt on, and the pistol was snapped into the holster.
I stayed behind the tree for a few minutes, listening to him breathe and trying to figure out how to get the pistol. Once again I imagined snares and pits and rope swings and giant crashing logs. It wasn’t long before I had the perfect plan in my head. I turned around carefully and slowly made my way back.
Kit and I returned to the top of the ridge about two hundred yards down the valley. We then made our way to the creek again where it ran swift between steep banks. I found two long pieces of wisteria vine and worked with them for a while before Kit spoke. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Snare him.”
“How?”
I pointed at a large log lying a few feet away. “Roll that over here,” I told him.
Kit got behind the log and began pushing it towards me. I made a lasso out of one of the vines and placed it in a deer trail that ran the edge of the creek. I tied the other end of the lasso to one end of the log. Finally, I took the other vine and tied it to the log as well.
The two of us got under the log, and with all of our strength we stood it up against a tree near the creek edge, with the end I had tied the vines to in the air. I pointed to some bushes a few yards off the deer trail. “You get in those bushes,” I told Kit. “When Sanders trips on that lasso loop, you jerk hard on the other vine.”
Kit stared at me blankly.
“It’ll work,” I reassured him. “Just pull hard.”
I grabbed the end of the pull vine and put it in his hand. “I’m goin’ to get him. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Kit groaned and tightened his hands.
Sanders was still sound asleep.
I picked up a stick and poked him in the stomach. He didn’t wake, but his hand came up and slapped at his side. I poked him again. This time, his eyes opened and he stared at the treetops.
“Sanders,” I said.
“Hunh.”
“It’s Moon.”
Suddenly his eyes flashed in my direction. His face shot flame red and veins stood like tent ropes under his skin. “Ahhh!” he yelled. He rolled over and began to run towards me on his knees with his hands out in front. I turned and ran down the deer trail.
“Boyyy—you better stop right there! You’re dead, kid!”
I slowed after about a hundred yards and zigzagged and ducked easily along the deer trail. I heard Sanders crashing through the forest like a wild hog, and I imagined the stickers tearing into him. I jogged past Kit and looked at his wide eyes in the brush. “Get ready,” I said. “Here he comes.”
When Kit pulled the vine, I was crouched down the trail where I could see everything, but not so close that I couldn’t stand and lead Sanders away from Kit if things went wrong. Sanders tripped over the raised lasso and fell heavily into the leaves, just as I had planned. The giant log slipped off the tree and went crashing into Deer Creek below, jerking the lasso tight around Sanders’s ankles. His legs were yanked so hard that he spun around like a compass needle. He tore chunks of bushes and grass from the ground as the log pulled him towards the creek bank. Finally, he managed to grab a small clump of bushes that held, and he rolled over onto his stomach. The log bobbed and swayed in the creek, ready to pull him with it if he let go. I came running back up the trail until I was standing over him. He glanced at me briefly and then looked at his hands holding the bush.
“I whipped you good this time,” I said.
All he could do was yell, “Ahhh!”
I bent over and unsnapped his holster. I took the pistol out and jabbed it in my pocket. “I’d be fine if you hadn’t taken all my things,” I said.
“Kill you,” he gasped.
I stared at him. Suddenly, I felt myself getting angry again. “I’ll kill you!” I screamed. “You took me away to Pinson! Leave us alone!”
“Moon!” Kit yelled.
I stood there breathing heavily.
“Moon!” he yelled again. I looked over at him. “Come on,” he begged.
28
I told Kit that we had to wait a while before we shot the pistol just in case there were more people out in the woods looking for us.
“You think it’s loud?” he asked me.
“It’s gonna be loud. I’ve never seen a pistol this big.”
“You don’t think he drowned, do you?”
“No. Once those vines get some slack, they spring loose. I’ll bet he went ridin’ down that creek a ways, though. I don’t want him messin’ with me anymore, Kit.”
“Do you think he found his way out yet?”
“If he walked that creek, he’s bound to hit a road eventually.”
“Or floats down it.”
“That too.”
Kit sighed. “This is crazy, Moon. I’ll bet he’s going to have the whole police department after us.”
“Obregon from jail said he didn’t have any friends.”
“Maybe we should start walking towards Alaska soon.”
I shook my head. “It’s too cold up there right now. We’d do best to wait until spring. Stay here in our shelter as long as we can. Teach you more stuff.”
Over the next two weeks we made improvements to the walls of the shelter, piling on more pine boughs and anything we could find that kept off rain. Even though the venison seemed like it would last until spring, I made snares and deadfalls in the forest that brought us rabbits, possums, and a few raccoons.
The deer sinew was dry and cured. I twisted it into a thin cord and strung the bow with it. I finished it out by wrapping the handle with deer skin and carving a small channel for the arrow shaft.
Outside of patching our shelter, making weapons, and checking traps, there was still time to play. I made a vine swing across Kit Creek and stacked a mound of pine straw and magnolia leaves to land in. We made flutter mills out of twigs and leaves and had contests to see whose would last the longest. Kit liked these things, and it didn’t take much of them to get his mind off Sanders.
On some nights we’d lie up on the lookout platform and stare at the stars. Kit smiled when I talked of the fun we would have when spring came. How the creeks warmed and we could make spears and swim down in the clear water looking for bass and bream.
“What about Alaska?”
“We’ll load up on food and then we’ll head out. We can’t leave for Alaska without plenty of supplies.”
I told him how we could boil blackberries in the can to make syrup to pour over acorn cakes. I told him of catching frogs as big as our feet and of lying on our backs in kudzu with a full vine of honeysuckle and fresh eggs from duck nests that I would cook with bacon from a wild hog I would kill.
The only night sounds that came to our ears were from owls and coyotes. Occasionally we heard a bobcat. Sometimes we heard sounds that I couldn’t figure out, and I told Kit about the time Pap had seen a Bigfoo
t in Montana. Kit got scared about the Bigfoot until I told him that there weren’t any in Alabama.
I slept with the pistol beside me. Almost every night I would take it from under the marsh grass and turn it over in front of my face. The writing on it was the only thing I had to read, so I memorized the make and model and serial number.
COLT’S PT. F. A. MFG. CO.
HARTFORD CT. U.S.A
UNITED STATES PROPERTY
MODEL OF 1911 U.S. ARMY NO. 445309
One morning Kit asked me if he could hold the pistol, so I pulled it from under the marsh grass and gave it to him. He held it out carefully and studied it.
“You’re gonna have to learn to shoot it, you know,” I said.
“I will.”
“I can set up some targets for you.”
“What about bullets?”
“We’ll have to buy some more when we get money from things we sell.”
Kit gave me back the pistol. “We’ve been out here a long time, Moon.”
“Yeah,” I said, returning the pistol to its hiding place. “We’ve got everything we need.”
“We should look for some medicine.”
I looked over at him. “You sick?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t feel good. I think we should have some medicine ready just in case.”
“We’ll get some today.”
I knew of a place on the hillside where black willow grew, and we spent the morning pulling bark and grinding it into aspirin. We stored the medicine with the meat in the ground, where it would stay dry.
“Nothin’ to worry about now, Kit.”
Kit smiled and it seemed like he wasn’t worried anymore.
That afternoon we used the knife to scratch out patterns on the deer hide for two hats. Using twine I’d made from the inner bark of a cedar tree, I bound the pieces together and gave Kit the hat with the tail still attached. He wore it proudly, and we decided they were our symbols that we’d wear all the way to Alaska.