Secret of the Satilfa

by Ted M. Dunagan

  After I told him I asked, “What about you?”

  “I got me a dog!” he proudly announced.

  “A dog? What kind?”

  “He gray wid blue specks all over him. Got big old long ears. I can lap ’em over his head and cover his eyes, or even his nose. Plan to make a squirrel dog outta him, and wuz hoping you would let him hunt wid yo’ dog, Bill.”

  “I would be proud for your puppy to hunt with Old Bill. After Christmas we’ll get my brother Ned to take us. Ain’t a better squirrel dog in the county than Old Bill. What did you name your dog?”

  “I just calls him Blue. He already come to me when I calls him dat.”

  Except for the pork curing in the smoke house, which would be divided up later, the rest was split up, packed on ice, and folks departed with it. After eating my fill of pork chops that night, I went off to our room to go to bed while everyone else was still gnawing on the bones.

  I kept my special things under the bed. Among them were two cigar boxes. One of them contained the beards from wild turkey gobblers my daddy had shot. The other one contained my arrowhead collection.

  What I wanted to do was place the one my brother Ned had given me inside the box with the others.

  When I reached under the bed for that box something rough scraped my arm. Bending down, I looked beneath the bed to see what foreign object had invaded the space.

  It was a rope. Evidently a long one, because it was coiled up in a bundle, and when I felt of it, it felt damp as if it had been submerged in water.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Back To Square One

  I didn’t ever remember seeing that rope before. And what was it doing underneath the bed? My brother Fred had to have put it there, and I intended to ask him about it as soon as he came to bed.

  All kinds of impossible thoughts were racing through my head as I snuggled underneath the quilts waiting for my brother to come to bed and give me some answers. Unfortunately, Ned was with him when he came in, and I knew I would have to wait until he went to sleep before I could whisper an inquiry to Fred.

  They must have been exceedingly tired from the long, hard day at the hog killing, because they both went to sleep and began snoring in unison almost as soon as their heads hit the pillows. Now I would have to wait until tomorrow.

  I must have been tired, too. I figured with all the questions floating around in my head I would toss and turn all night, but somewhere between a toss and a turn, I fell dead asleep.

  The first thing to pop in my mind when I awoke the next morning was to see what Fred had to say about the rope. But when I sat up and looked around, the room was empty. I also noticed, while I slipped on my clothes, that it wasn’t as cold as yesterday morning. There was no ice in the water bucket on the front porch. Fred had been correct; it was getting warmer.

  After I washed up I rushed into the kitchen expecting to find my brothers, but no one was there except my momma. After a proper greeting to her, I inquired as to the whereabouts of Ned and Fred.

  “They have gone to cut and haul more firewood with your Uncle Curvin,” she answered.

  “Again? We got plenty of wood.”

  “I believe they plan to sell a load or two today.”

  “So are they gonna be gone all day?”

  “I expect so,” she said as she slid a plate in front of me.

  It had a fresh pork chop on it, fried up with a crusty, brown coating, along with a fresh fried egg, a biscuit, and syrup from the syrup-making. I ate it all up and thought about what a fortunate boy I was to receive such a fine meal. I told Momma how good it was, too.

  “What you got on your mind today?” she asked.

  “Uh—nothing, yet,” I answered as I sopped my plate clean with the last remnant of my biscuit.

  “Good, because I need for you to go to Miss Lena’s Store to get me a box of salt and five pounds of sugar.”

  “You need me to go right now?”

  “No, just sometime today.”

  Her request was welcome to my ears because I wanted to go over to the store and see if I could hear any news. And I wanted to talk to Poudlum and get his observation about the rope under the bed. While I put my plate in the dishwater pan, I told my momma, “I’ll go right away, but I may be gone awhile ’cause I want to go over to Poudlum’s house.”

  “Why you want to go all the way over there?”

  “He got a puppy for his birthday, a bluetick hound from over in Mississippi, that he’s planning on making into a squirrel dog. I want to go see his new puppy, and I might take Old Bill with me just so he and the pup can get to know each other before they hunt together.”

  “All right, but don’t you let Old Bill be fighting with no other dogs.”

  “I won‘t,” I told her, knowing all the while there wasn’t any dog hereabouts that wanted to get into a scrap with Old Bill. He was a black and tan hound. He was getting on up in years, and I could remember him as a puppy from back when I was in the first grade of school. Old Bill had a reputation as the best squirrel dog around, plus he was extremely smart for a dog, and would obey most anything I told him to do.

  On one occasion I had seen him clamp down on a rattlesnake with his jaws and sling it around so hard that he popped that snake’s head clean off, and there wasn’t a critter in the woods he wouldn’t take on, so it was a comfort to have him accompany me when I departed toward Miss Lena’s Store.

  I had to shed my jacket about halfway there, and I noticed Old Bill as he trotted along beside me had his black-marked tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. Yep, it was definitely getting warmer. When we rounded the corner from Friendship Road onto Center Point Road, I was elated to see Poudlum sitting on the steps of Miss Lena’s Store licking on a grape Popsicle, the same color as the spots on the puppy nestled between his legs.

  When we got there Old Bill went over and lay down under the big oak tree next to the store. I nodded to Poudlum and he let Blue loose. We watched as Poudlum’s new puppy trotted over and started sniffing around Old Bill’s head. My dog ignored the puppy at first, but finally raised his head and licked Blue’s little face, and we knew he had accepted the puppy.

  “You think dem dogs can communicate wid each other?” Poudlum asked. “I don’t mean talk like we does to each other, but maybe know what each other is thinking?”

  I sat down next to Poudlum on the steps as we watched the two dogs and told him, “Yeah, I figure that. What do you think they would be saying to each other if they could talk?”

  Poudlum observed for a few moments and said, “I think yo’ dog is saying ‘Hey, little dog, I likes you and think you might could be a good hunting dog,’ dat’s what I think.”

  “What you think your puppy is saying?”

  “He saying, ‘Hey, big dog, I wants to be a good hunter like you.’ Yeah dat’s what he saying.”

  Enough dog talk, I thought, and said, “I’m glad you came over this way, because if you hadn’t, I was gonna walk over to your house and see if you heard anything about the money.”

  “Naw, I ain’t heard nothing. Has you?”

  I told him about the rope under our bed and he caught his breath, and said, “You think yo’ brother Fred pulled dat money out of de creek?”

  “That’s what I was thinking. Where else would a wet rope come from? But I haven’t had a chance to ask him about it. I’m gonna get me a Popsicle, you want another one?”

  I went into the store and got us both a lime Popsicle and we went over and sat down under the big oak tree with the two dogs. In between licks, Poudlum said, “It looks like besides being rich, yo’ brother wuz right about the weather. It’s getting a lot warmer.”

  “If he found that money, I think he’ll share it with us. Let’s just meet right here after church tomorrow and go fishing with him and see what he’s got to show us.”

  “You
think he gonna show us de money?”

  “Well, he did say he had a surprise for us. What else could it be?”

  My brothers didn’t get home until long after dark that night and I barely remembered them coming into our room and getting into bed. The next morning we all had to get up and get all spruced up for church, so I still never had an opportunity to be alone with Fred. Finally, I resolved to say nothing to him and just wait and let him tell us about the money.

  As soon as Sunday dinner was over Fred and I lit out to meet Poudlum. On the way we stopped at our hideout and collected the food we had hidden up in the rafters of the cotton house.

  Poudlum was right on time, and the three of us began walking toward the creek, bathed in warm sunshine, once again headed for the Cypress Hole.

  After we set up camp and stacked up some firewood, Fred said, “Y’all remember I told you I had a surprise for you?”

  Poudlum nudged me and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Here it come.”

  Fred reached into his pack, and with his arm submerged deep within it, he said, “It’s just three days until Christmas so this is kind of like birthday and Christmas presents for y’all.”

  Poudlum and I grinned at each other because we knew he was going to pull out big rolls of money, so when he pulled out two books, we were both dumbfounded, stunned, and moved to complete silence.

  “They are both a little bit worn,” he said. “But they still in pretty fair condition. I bought them at the library in Grove Hill yesterday. I heard a while back they were having a used book sale so I got Uncle Curvin to stop by it on our way to deliver a load of wood. I used some of the money I earned selling firewood to buy them for y’all.”

  We sat like two people made of stone as he handed a book to each of us. “I’ve read both of them,” he told us. “Y’all are going to really like them. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer is for you,” he said to me.

  “And that’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn for you, Poudlum. Both them books reminded me of y’all, especially the one about Huckleberry Finn. He helps his friend Jim escape down the Mississippi River like y’all helped Jake escape across the Tombigbee River. When you finish reading each one you can trade with each other. What y’all think?” he said as he sat back and observed us.

  I looked at Poudlum and Poudlum looked at me. We didn’t know what to say or think.

  “What’s the matter?” Fred asked. They were both written by Mr. Mark Twain and take place over on the Mississippi River. I thought y’all would really like those two books.”

  I could see the disappointment and the hurt in his eyes, so I said, “The books are great. Thank you very much.”

  “Something’s wrong, though. I can tell it. What is it?”

  “It’s just that we thought you were going to give us something besides a book.”

  “What?”

  Poudlum couldn’t stand it any longer. “Ain’t you got de money?” he blurted out.

  “Huh?” my brother said with a bewildered look on his face.

  “Where’s the money?” I demanded.

  “What money you talking about?”

  I still wasn’t sure my brother wasn’t messing with us, so I said, “Why the money the bank robbers stole and hid in the creek, of course.”

  “Why in the world would y’all come to the conclusion I had that money?”

  “Because of the rope,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “They’s a big coil of wet rope under our bed. Now don’t you try and tell me it wasn’t the rope attached to the bag of money hidden in the Cypress Hole by Jesse and Frank, the bank robbers.”

  “I-I found that rope!” my brother stuttered.

  “Where?” I demanded.

  “I found it beside the road on Center Point Road close to Miss Lena’s Store. I figure it fell off somebody’s truck, and it was a perfectly good rope so I brought it home and stuck it under the bed.”

  I could tell by my brother’s voice he was telling the truth. A glance at Poudlum and I could tell he thought the same.

  “Y’all both know I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that,” my brother told us. “I might fib to you about something not real important, and kid with you, but what I told you is the truth.”

  I looped my arm up around his broad shoulders on one side and Poudlum did the same on the other side. “We believe you,” I told him. “It’s just that now we’re back to square one.”

  “Yeah, we knows dat, Fred,” Poudlum said. “It was mighty kind and thoughtful of you to get dem books for us to read.”

  “Let’s just get us a fire going, do some fishing, and forget about that,” I told them both.

  The creek was flowing softly and the fish were biting hard. We had forgotten about bank robbers and everything outside of our small world. Fred was cleaning the fish while Poudlum and I caught them. Darkness was almost upon us when we pulled in our poles and gathered around the fire, ready to drop our fish into the hot, sizzling grease. That’s when the ruckus started.

  At first we thought it was a bear or something crashing through the woods, but then we saw the headlights through the woods. It was a vehicle rumbling down the trail through the woods toward the Cypress Hole.

  Poudlum’s eyes grew large, I gasped, and Fred stood up and said, “What in the heck is going on?”

  A moment later we were bathed in the headlights of a car and a rough voice called out, “You boys just hold it right there where you are!”

  I recognized the voice. It was Sheriff Crowe. “Don’t y’all try running now, you hear?” he called out.

  Poudlum and I cringed, but my brother wasn’t easily intimidated. “We got no reason to run anywhere. What you want with us, sheriff?”

  The sheriff ignored Fred as another car came flying up behind his and two of his deputies piled out. They all walked up close next to our fire and they were mighty imposing with their big pistols on their hips and their shiny badges on their chests.

  The sheriff spit tobacco juice on our fire, and while it was sizzling, he said, “What you boys up to?”

  Still unfazed, Fred responded, “We were fixing to fry us up some fish when y’all came busting in here. What can we do for you, sheriff?”

  “You hush up, boy,” Sheriff Crowe said. “I’ll ask the questions. You sit down there on the ground with your little brother and y’all’s little nigger friend.”

  Reluctantly, Fred sank down protectively next to Poudlum and me.

  The sheriff hitched his pants up over his ample belly, spat into the fire again, and said, “I didn’t come way out here to waste my time. I’m looking for some information and I expect y’all to give it to me.”

  Still not intimidated, my brash brother said, “We have already asked you what you wanted.”

  “Boy,” the sheriff said as he stared hard through his beady eyes at Fred, “I don’t like your attitude. You keep up with that mouth of yours and I might have one of my deputies dip you in the creek.”

  I nudged Fred and whispered out of the corner of my mouth, “Don’t say nothing else!”

  The sheriff’s deputies had spread out around us by now and we all knew there was no escape from them.

  The dusk had faded to dark and flames from our fire licked up and cast shimmering shadows all around while the sheriff said, “Like I told y’all, it’s way past my supper time, and I don’t intend to tarry here long. Now which one of y’all wants to tell me where the money is?”

  I finally found my voice and said, “If you’re talking about the money the bank robbers took, then none of us have it nor know where it is. Talk is that it washed on down the creek, or the robbers hid it somewhere else and told you a big fat lie, sheriff.”

  He acted like he hadn’t heard a word I said, leaned over toward Poudlum and said, “How about you, little nigger, you know where t
hat money is?”

  “Naw, naw, sir, I ain’t got no idea where dat money is.”

  One of the sheriff’s deputies piped up and said, “Let me dip ’em in the creek, sheriff. I bet they’ll talk then.”

  My brother took exception to that threat and stood up. Fred was almost fifteen years old, six feet and three inches tall, and solid muscle. I had no doubts he could whip any one of those three fat officers of the law, but they had guns and they were the law. I tugged on his britches leg, and when he looked down I said, “Uh-uh, don’t.”

  “Put ’em in the car,” the sheriff instructed his deputies. “We’ll see what they have to say from a jail cell. Watch that big’un.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Incarcerated

  I was scared and I knew Poudlum was too. He sat in the middle between Fred and me in the back seat of the car. I knew he hadn’t lost his sense of humor when he said, “Seems like we can’t never finish no fishing trip. Either outlaws or de legal law keep messing dem up.”

  They had put us in the back seat of the deputies’ car and the sheriff led the way in his. They weren’t saying anything in the front and we got real quiet, too. There were no inside door handles and we were locked inside the car. It had gotten real dark outside, but I knew we were still on Center Point Road from the sound of the car’s tires on the dirt road.

  The vehicle came to a stop, accelerated, and then a smooth whining sound came up from the road, which told me we were on Highway 84 heading toward Grove Hill.

  “What y’all think dey gonna do wid us?” Poudlum whispered.

  “Don’t be scared,” Fred whispered back. “They’re most likely just going to try to scare us ’cause they think we might know something about where the money is. When we don’t show up home tomorrow our folks will come looking for us.”

  When the deputies’ car slowed down and made some turns, I knew we were in Grove Hill. “You all right, Poudlum?” I asked him.

  “Naw, and if I can just get out of dis police car, den I’ll never complain about going to church again.”