The Rock Hole

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  “Japs.” They laughed.

  O.C. reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn billfold. He passed a couple of bills across to Ned. “Here. Either give it to them poor folks or buy them something to eat if you don’t want to give ’em cash.”

  Without commenting, Ned folded the bills and put them in his shirt pocket beside a pack of Juicy Fruit chewing gum. He and O.C. had been through this same routine for years and the only people who knew were those they helped along the way.

  Ned sat quietly for a moment. “Say, they’re having a dance up at the gym tonight. Cliff Vanderburg and a few other boys are gonna start making music about eight o’clock. Y’all need to come out.”

  O.C.’s eyes lit up. “Good idea. I might take you up on it.”

  “Good. I’ll see you tonight. Bring Catherine if she’s feeling strong enough.”

  “Okey dokey.” Both knew she’d never get out of the house. O.C. returned to the mountain of paperwork on his desk as Ned softly closed the door behind him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Uncle Cody drove us past Grandpa’s cotton field. The opened bolls reminded me of melting snow. Dressed in faded and patched clothing, the colored hands spread out across the rows, dragging long canvas cotton sacks over one shoulder. The younger and less experienced workers pulled up the rear with sacks their own size.

  The best hands worked faster and set the pace.

  The Lightfoot clan was scattered back of the colored hands, not quite keeping up, but they made up for it through sheer determination.

  The sun was rough. A couple of people straightened up and shaded their eyes, watching us go past, but I couldn’t tell anyone apart except for Mrs. Lightfoot. Her thin cotton dress was stuck to her sweaty figure, and I looked away, embarrassed because I could see places where she pooched out.

  Several of the smallest children played on pallets in the shade of a big tree. The smallest ones napped on a half-full cotton sack. Cody slowed to keep the drifting dust down. I waved at the little ones. A skinny teenage girl with a dirty rag wrapped around one foot kept an eye on the kids.

  Once past Grandpa’s field, the drive took us almost to the creek winding through the cool, dark woods. Getting closer to Visor Creek, things got pretty tight a couple of times when Cody squeezed us through trees growing close to the dirt road.

  He drove us right up to our campsite in what was once the back part of Camp Travis during World War II. We called it the Army Camp.

  In no time at all we set up camp right at the edge of a tiny clearing surrounded by tall pecans, red oaks, hackberries and white elms. Grapevines thick as my arm grew up the trunks, sometimes in thick groupings so dense we could barely force our way through.

  We helped Cody pitch his moldy canvas tent that weighed more than a Brahma bull. While he held up the umbrella frame on the inside, we passed him the aluminum legs. Once the six-foot tent was up, Cody showed us how to tuck everything in tight on our cots to make army beds.

  While I gathered wood for the campfire, Pepper took the bucket down to the spring to get water that bubbled up into a pocket of green ferns and moss. Tiny frogs hopped in all directions when anyone approached. While she was down there, Pepper pulled a few wild onions growing nearby in the damp ground.

  Cody was mixing cornmeal to cook in his Dutch oven when she got back. “I’m gonna make some cornbread, and y’all know that’s good.”

  “What are we gonna do then?” Pepper put the heavy bucket on the ground.

  He lit a match and touched it to the stacked kindling. I had piled up leaves and small sticks, so the fire caught quickly. “We’re going hog hunting.”

  Somehow he read my mind. I’d wanted to hunt hogs since I’d read Hound Dog Man. Our trip already reminded me of the adventure described in the book. I even brought a big knife, like the kind the kid carried in the story.

  You never knew when you’d need a knife.

  It took a while for the fire to burn down. When the coals were right, we rolled the dove in flour and fried them in about an inch of Miss Becky’s hog lard. The cornbread was ready at the same time, and we ate it from the Dutch oven, loving the crunch and clean taste of the wild onions.

  Cody finished and leaned on one elbow and picked his teeth with a little cedar stick he shaved to a point with his pocketknife. “I’ve always liked this little camping spot. When I was a kid your Grandpa Ned used to bring me down here. He liked to hunt squirrels when the leaves were falling. A couple of times he brought along Mr. Epp Parker. Did y’all ever hear tell of him?”

  I looked at Pepper, but she shook her head and we turned back to Uncle Cody. “Well, Mr. Epp must have been way up in his nineties when I was about your age, and he was pretty spry. He didn’t live in any one place. He drifted from one family to another, staying when someone offered a pallet beside the fire.

  “He told a lot of stories to us kids, but the one I remember best happened when he was around fifteen and lived with his family on the Llano. A bunch of Comanches came through and burned them out. They killed his mama and papa and took Mr. Epp captive. They planned to kill him, but he got loose from being tied up and ran away in the dark.

  “He ran down the riverbank with the Indians not far behind. He could hear them screaming and carrying on and knew he couldn’t outrun them so he headed for a holler log he knew of. He barely beat them there and crawled inside. Since it was dark, they figured he’d kept going. He lay there and counted thirty-two Comanches as each one put one foot on the log to jump it. Once they passed by, he slipped out into the river and floated downstream all night until he found a family of settlers who took him in.”

  A whippoorwill called nearby and we lay there for a while, enjoying the night. Cody and Pepper cleaned up what dishes there were, and I took one of the lanterns and filled another bucket of water from the spring.

  Back at the fire, I found Cody loading a rifle I recognized from war movies on television. “That’s a carbine.” For a moment I thought he’d decided the whippoorwill was a real Comanche about to lift our hair.

  He nodded. “This clip holds fifteen shots and it has open sights. It’s what we need for hunting hogs in the dark. Where’s your pig sticker?”

  “Right here,” I put my hand on the hilt of my knife. It had been on my belt from the time we’d set up camp.

  “I wish I had a knife to carry.” Pepper sighed to make her point.

  “Well, I know. Everybody needs a pocket knife.” Cody reached into his back pocket and brought out two Old Timers. “Here’s one for each one of you. Y’all keep them sharp and they’ll serve you for years.” Pepper squealed and hugged his neck.

  I opened the razor sharp blade.

  “Each one of you give me a penny.”

  “What for?” I dug in my pocket.

  “Don’t ever give anyone a knife. Sell it to them for a penny so they don’t have to pay in blood. A free knife will cut you.”

  “All right.” Cody traded us a couple of ’toe sacks for the coins. “Here, girl. I want you to hold these and the lantern so we can see. Top, you carry the flashlight and if the pigs are down by the creek, we’ll put the sneak ’em and shoot us a fat sow.”

  Pepper stuffed the burlap bag deep into her back pocket to keep her hands free. The remainder hung nearly to her feet. “What are these ’toe sacks for?”

  “We may be able to catch a few little piglets for Miss Becky. I reckon it’ll be easier to carry them in a sack.”

  We followed the sandy road through the meadow. It ended at the timber lining the creek. Our tiny group startled a big owl once. It thrashed through the limbs and flew away in the moonlight.

  Pepper jumped. “Shitfire. That scared the piss out of me.”

  I didn’t admit it, but the owl scared me, too. The talk earlier of Comanches made me jumpy. We didn’t need Pepper’s lantern once the moon was up. She blew it out and we walked a while longer. I couldn’t tell where we were, but Cody soon stuck out his hand to stop us.

  He s
poke quietly. “Hold it, troops. We’re almost there. Now, here’s what we’ll do. Top, you walk in front of me real easy and I’ll follow you. Pepper, keep one of those wooden matches in your hand, and as soon as I shoot, you stop and light the lantern.”

  “Why can’t I shoot? I’m a good shot.”

  “Not tonight you ain’t.” Cody scratched her head with his fingertip to ease the sting of his words. “Wounded hogs can be dangerous, so I’ll have to do the shooting. All right, let’s go and be quiet.”

  The trail was bright and I could see Cody when he held his hand up and whispered. “Listen.”

  Soft grunts louder than the crickets told us hogs were rooting nearby. I imagined we were creeping up on wild Indians. My pretending ended abruptly when I suddenly heard a deep, much louder grunt.

  The entire moonlit meadow was full of hogs. I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck and jumped when Cody put his hand on my shoulder.

  He whispered in my ear. “We won’t need your flashlight. I’ll shoot the one right there with the little ones.”

  The rust-colored sow rooted in front of us, surrounded by her young shoats. She stopped to test the wind with her nose, and then went back to work. The grass roots tore with a ripping sound every time she pushed deep with her nose.

  Cody reached out, took Pepper’s arm and pulled her up beside us. “All right. They’re close enough to catch two or three of them shoats once I shoot the mama. When she’s down them little ones won’t know what to do. They’ll stay close, so when I holler, y’all start grabbing them. This’ll be like the pig scramble at the rodeo.”

  Pepper stared at him with shock. “You’re gonna kill their mama? Them little things will starve to death if you do.”

  Cody bent his head close to her ear. “No they won’t. She’s weaned them already. See them? They’re eating the same things they’re mama is turning up. Now, close your eyes until you hear the shot and then don’t take off running until I tell you she’s down for sure.”

  “I ain’t standing here with my eyes closed.”

  Cody sighed. “The muzzle flash will blind you when I shoot. Close your eyes so you guys will still have your night vision.”

  “You gonna close yours too?”

  I could see Cody’s white teeth when he smiled. “Sure will.”

  “Then how are you going to shoot?”

  I sighed like Uncle Cody. “He’ll close his eyes before he pulls the trigger, stupid.”

  “He’s right. But they’re gonna hear us if we stand here talking like a bunch of old women at a quiltin’ party. So you two shut up and get ready.”

  Cody took a knee and aimed. I closed my eyes. The shot split the night and I could see the muzzle flame even through my eyelids. He whooped. “Got her! She’s down! Get them pigs!”

  Pepper must have listened because she acted like she could see pretty good when she opened her eyes. The shoats scattered at the commotion. One ran straight at me and it was nothing to reach down and pick it up, only I grabbed mostly squeal and wiggle. It was worse than anything I’d ever held onto.

  Beside me, another one started squalling. Pepper had it by the back leg and was holding on for dear life.

  “Hold what you got!” Cody laughed big at the noise.

  My squealer kicked as I dragged him over to Pepper. She pulled one of the ’toe sacks from her back pocket and held her own piglet with one hand. I finally got my pig’s head inside the sack and pulled it over him like I was putting on my pants. He quieted right down, but Pepper was still in a fight, so I grabbed her pig’s other back leg. We lifted the shrieking thing up and sacked him pretty quick. Another shoat darted between us. Pepper fell on it and they rassled in the dirt. Cody was on the other side of the dead mama, waving his arms and hollering, and keeping things stirred up.

  Pretty soon the third shoat joined the others in the ’toe sack and we tied the end. We giggled hysterically from nervousness and the piercing squeals shooting right through our heads.

  Suddenly Cody fired two quick shots. “Goddlemighty!”

  I couldn’t see him very clearly in the moonlight, but something in his voice let us know something wasn’t right. We turned and saw Cody running away from us like the Devil himself was chasing him.

  “You kids run for those trees, now!”

  I’d never heard that tone from him before. All the squealing had aggravated a mean old boar to the point that he had every intention to eat whatever was causing the commotion. Four hundred pounds of mad hog erupted through the brush, white tusks glinting and popping in the moonlight. The coarse hair along his backbone stood up like a mad dog’s hackles.

  We froze in absolute fear when I realized the the boar might turn on us with his razor sharp tusks, especially if the sacked pigs started in with their squealing again.

  “Goddlemighty!” Cody waved his arms shouted to draw the boar’s attention, and it worked. “Hey hey hey!!!”

  The boar ducked his head and charged. Cody shot again at the boar, but its neck, armored with a layer of gristle and thick hide, turned the shot and it plowed the dirt off to the side. Cody must have wounded the boar with the one of his shots, though, because it didn’t run right. He crawfished after Cody on three legs, but it didn’t slow him at all, because he was mad.

  Cody ran directly up to a tree with low growing limbs and jumped. His left boot caught enough purchase on the rough bark for him to grab a branch with his free hand. Somehow he kept hold of the carbine, squirreled up on the limb, and started shooting. I was amazed at how fast one man could shoot a semi-automatic rifle.

  After using one bullet on the sow and three more on the boar, he still had eleven shots left. The boar attacked the tree, slashing at the tree with his sharp tusks. Cody emptied every last bullet into the furious hog from above in a quick, rolling stream thunder, and the boar finally went down. Everything was quiet for a few minutes. I heard Cody eject the clip and slap another into the rifle.

  With the danger past, Pepper knelt down to light the lantern so we could see. “Shitfire! Snake!” She jumped up ran off without the lantern and her sack of piglets.

  Following her lead, I took off in the other direction. “Water moccasin!” I hadn’t really seen the snake, but it had to be a moccasin.

  “Goddlemighty!” Startled and halfway out of the tree, Cody fell with a thud in the soft sand beside the boar.

  His moving shadow made me think the boar wasn’t dead after all and was attacking Cody. I grabbed my big knife out of its sheath and gave it an overhand, backward throw as I ran off, in case I might get lucky and slow the boar down.

  The hilt of the knife thumped off Cody’s cheekbone, instantly raising a mouse big enough to earn the name.

  “Goddlemighty, boy!” I was halfway down the meadow when I heard him laughing behind me. People usually don’t laugh when wild boars are eating them, so I slowed down to listen. “Hold it! Hey, kids! Come on back.” He snorted some more. “I saw your snake when we went past a minute ago and it was only a chicken snake.”

  Pepper stomped back down the dirt road, working up a pretty good mad. “Shitfire and save the matches! You coulda told us there was a damned chicken snake in the road. You know how I am about snakes! They can make me hurt myself.”

  “I never saw such.” Cody laughed. “You had five hundred pounds of mad boar hog not twenty yards away while y’all stood there like a couple of stumps, and you’re more afraid of a little ol’ snake.” Cody rubbed his mouse and looked thoughtful. “Besides, I was more concerned with y’all getting hurt. Watch your language and tell me how many pigs you caught.”

  “Three.” I tugged at the heavy sack.

  “Miss Becky will be tickled to death with all this meat.” Cody examined the hogs with the flashlight. He looked sad. “Well, now we’ve gone and done it. We can’t leave them laying here. We’re gonna have to gut them so they’ll cool and then take everything up to the house.”

  Pepper stomped around for a while longer, working off her mad.
Gutting hogs wasn’t at all what I wanted to do, either. The idea of a hog hunt had been great up to the point where we had to do something with them. I wanted to go back to camp, poke the fire, and sleep on my cot, but we were committed to the meat.

  Cody checked the safety and put the rifle on the ground. “Here, Pepper. Bring your lantern over here so I can see what I’m doing. Top, go find your butcher knife and let’s see how sharp it is. I’m gonna teach y’all how to field dress wild game.”

  None of us was squeamish about blood and guts. We’d been part of hog killings ourselves. But this was the first time we’d ever been elbow deep in the job. Usually at hog killing time, we mostly watched and fed the fire.

  Hog killing began by shooting them right between the eyes while they were still in the pen. After bleeding them where they fell, the men drug them out, hoisted them up by their back legs and lowered the carcasses into a stained clawfoot bathtub full of near-boiling water to scald the hair off. Then they hoisted the carcass up again and gut it before someone cut them up.

  It was different in the field. Cody started by slitting the sow’s belly from her tail to her neck. With Pepper holding the light, Cody reached inside and cut everything loose. Then we rolled her over and pulled out the innards.

  The boar was worse. His hide was tough as leather and he stunk. Cody showed us how well he was armored with a layer of gristle, even under the sharp knife.

  “Look here at all these scars. He was a fighter.” Long hairless scars crisscrossed the bristly chest and sides.

  Cody showed us how the boar’s tusks locked together and sharpened themselves each time he closed his mouth. A long line of spit dropped onto the sand from its open mouth. Ugly beyond belief, I didn’t want to touch the nasty thing, but Uncle Cody had other ideas. He handed me his own skinning knife after sharpening it again on a whit rock he carried in his pocket.

  “Now, you saw me clean the last one. This one is yours.”

  Pepper held the light. “Glad I’m not a boy.”

  Uncomfortable but game, I made the first cut through the chest and had to really bear down to get through the skin. The knife slipped and I cut too deep, nearly getting into the stomach and the edge of one intestine.