“That’s just the wind,” said Ears.
But you know, not one soul believed Ears, because them words weren’t even outta his mouth until we saw a shadow in the moonlight, and what was so scary was that nothing was there to make the shadow.
“Look, look, look!” everybody was screaming like a bunch of scared, outta-their- mind kids.
Sniffer was spinning like a dog shot out of a cannon in about two seconds, and I was about to follow him.
“Where’s Tiny?” I said, looking around.
“There he goes!” yelled John Clayton pointing downward, where we could see Tiny just flying away from Indian Hill. Heck, John Clayton broke first, then I followed him, and I knew durn well Ears wasn’t about to stay up on Indian Hill by himself.
Well, it was a stampede of boys running down Indian Hill, and, believe it or not, Tiny beat us back to my house, but Sniffer passed him at our barn and was back under the house before we even reached the barn. Ears came panting up, and I already had my hand out.
“Dang—what—what—what could have a shadow—and nobody be there?” stammered Ears.
’Course, nobody could come up with anything except an Indian ghost. Ears paid me the dollar, and after that scare nobody wanted to walk back to Norphlet in the dark, so they called their mommas and we all piled up in my room to sleep.
It was kinda crowded, but with me and John Clayton in my bed, and Tiny and Ears on a pallet, we settled in for the night. The last thing that flashed through my mind was tomorrow’s stakeout of the canebrake.
CHAPTER TEN
The Stakeout
Clang! Clang! Clang!
“Dang, that sorry alarm clock.” I dragged myself outta bed, and put on as much clothing as I could. I left the guys, who were still sound asleep, and walked outside into a strong north wind. It had turned really cold after midnight, and tramping around cold in the dark delivering papers was very last thing I wanted to do. But, heck, I didn’t have a choice.
“Come on, Sniffer, let’s go.” Sniffer crawled out from under the house and trotted up to me.
My gosh, Doc was in one of them bad moods, and after a really sorry excuse for being 15 minutes late, I started running the route. Boy, was I glad when I threw that last paper. I ran home just as Tiny, Ears, and John Clayton left for home.
“I’ll see you at church—wait outside for me,” I yelled to John Clayton. Of course, I still had to feed the sorry chickens and the danged mules before I could even eat breakfast, myself. Finally, I got to come in and warm up. Wow, Momma’s hot grits and butter sure tasted good. Daddy was sitting there drinking coffee, and he and Momma were talking about the weather.
“Sue, the long range weather forecast is calling for colder weather later in the week.”
“Colder than today?”Momma asked.
“Yeah, and it might stay with us for several days.”
That was just about the worst news any paperboy has even heard. Heck, my fingers were so cold I could hardly hold my spoon, and Daddy was talking about it getting colder. Well, I thought a little prayer, God, please don’t let it get any colder. Yeah, I was desperate.
I finished breakfast, and in a few minutes I’d dressed for Sunday School and church, and was headed back to town. I found John Clayton waiting outside the church for me to go in with him.
“Don’t forget this afternoon.” I whispered. We walked into our Sunday School class and kinda zoned out. You know, just sitting there with a blank stare thinking about something—but not church.
Sunday School and church went by quickly, and before I knew it I was pulling on my old pants back home, getting ready to head for the Swamp. A few minutes later, I heard John Clayton yelling at me from the front yard.
“Richard! Richard!”
“Momma, it’s John Clayton. We’re fixin’ to go down in the Swamp for a little while. We’ll be back ’fore dark.”
Momma nodded her head and we started toward the Swamp. Shoot, it was cold that afternoon, and as we walked down the highway toward Flat Creek Swamp the cloudy sky spit a few flakes of snow. ’Course, that excited us, but as much as we hoped and prayed, all we got out of that cold front was a cold north wind. The trees were bare and it was getting a little late by the time we reached the big canebrake.
“John Clayton, I smell smoke.” We peered through the broken limbs of a big tree top looking at the towering mass of cane, so dense it blocked out the dim sunlight of that cold December day.
“Yeah, Richard, somebody’s got a fire inside the canebrake, and, shoot, I don’t like the looks of this at all. Heck, it’s gettin’ late and you know what happened the last time we got caught here after dark.”
“Shoot, you don’t need to worry ’bout me stayin’ here after dark. You couldn’t tie me and make me stay here. Let’s wait ’bout 15 minutes and if we don’t see nobody, we’ll leave.”
“Okay, but that’s it. Not one minute longer.”
We crouched down behind the treetop and tried to keep warm while we waited. Ten minutes passed and we were just ’bout ready to leave when we heard rustling in the canebrake.
“What’s that? Did you hear that?” I whispered.
“Somebody walkin’ ’round and he’s comin’ out. Listen, he’s right over there toward the creek.”
A couple of minutes passed and then in the dim light we saw the cane part and someone stick out his head. He looked around for a few seconds and then slipped out, walking straight to the creek. He was very short, not even 5-feet tall, and he had a tattered blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His back was to us, but we could see a tangled mass of black hair hanging down his back. The rest of his clothes were as worn- out as the blanket. He bent down and, with his bucket, dipped up some water from the creek. Then he turned around and looked straight toward us, but we were behind the treetop, and he didn’t see us. We held our breath as he slowly walked back toward the canebrake.
“Oh my gosh, did you see his face?” whispered John Clayton.
“Yeah, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that.”
One side of his face was black, wrinkled, and just looked terrible. It was all puffed up to where it was almost twice the size of the other side of his face, which was white with a heavy beard. He just looked so god-awful you wouldn’t believe it in a million years. We could hardly breathe we were so scared.
As soon as he disappeared into the canebrake, we lit out for my house, running all the way. We were breathless when we collapsed in our barn.
“My gosh…… John Clayton…… there’s a freak, or a wild man, or somebody…… livin’ in that canebrake. He’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen…… We need to call the State Police!”
“Yeah, I can’t believe that thing is livin’ down in the canebrake. Heck, he’s just 15 minutes from your house. What if he comes up here in the night and kills everybody?”
Well, we talked about the man in the canebrake for a few minutes more, then we decided that we really did need to call the State Police.
“Uh, well, when we call ’em what are we gonna say?”
“Dang, Richard, just tell them how horrible he looks and everything.”
“Yeah, but the State Police don’t arrest people just ’cause they look bad. We gotta come up with something that’s against the law. You know, like tryin’ to kill us.”
“Uh, well, he really hasn’t done nothin’, and that first time in the dark I think if he’d wanted to he could have grabbed us right then and there.”
“You’re probably right, but even if the police don’t arrest ’em I think somebody better help him. He looked like he was freezin’ to death and heck, didn’t you hear him cough? It’s cold down there in that canebrake and even though he has a little fire that ragged old blanket sure ain’t gonna keep ’em warm. I heard Daddy say it was gonna get colder next week, and if it does, that guy ain’t gonna make it.”
“I know, I know, but we’ve told Daddy and a bunch of other people ’bout something in the canebrake and not one o
f ’em believes us, and they ain’t ’bout to go down there and prowl through that cane on a cold winter day.”
“Yeah, you’re right, but what can we do? I just can’t stand to think of that little man tryin’ to keep warm on a cold night like this with just that piece of a blanket.”
“Shoot, we can fix that. See that trunk over there. It’s full of my grandmother’s quilts, and since that’s all she has to do, we’ve got quilts out our ears. Tomorrow we’ll take a couple down there and leave them right in the path that he takes to get water.”
The next day me and John Clayton went by our barn right after school and picked out the thickest quilts. We walked down to the Swamp, slipped up by the canebrake, and placed the quilts right in a little trail where he went to get water. They were gone when we came back the next day.
“Well, I sure feel better knowin’ he at least has a couple of good quilts,” I said.
“Yeah, Richard, but two quilts ain’t gonna be enough to get through the winter. Heck, with that cough he’ll never make it.”
“Well, just what do you have in mind?”
“I think we should put some food down there every few days or so. Durin’ the fall and summer there’s plenty of stuff to eat right here in these woods and creeks. You know, fish, berries, and other stuff. But shoot, you know it’s gonna be hard to find anything to eat durin’ the winter.”
“Yeah, I’ll bring some ham from the smokehouse and some potatoes we keep in the barn. That’ll get us started.”
The next day after school, me and John Clayton picked up our food and another quilt, and then headed for the Swamp and the canebrake.
“Shusss, I think I hear him movin’ ’round,” I whispered as we crept up to the edge of the canebrake. In a few minutes, we could hear a raspy cough. Somebody sure sounded bad.
“Put the stuff right over here with the quilts.”
“Okay, Richard, but let’s get outta here. This place gives me the creeps.”
After leaving food that first visit, we started coming back every few days.
Just like the weatherman had said, the weather turned especially cold a few days before Christmas. We were in a hurry to leave the groceries and get back home, and we ran us to our usual spot, put down the food, and started to leave.
“Boys.”
“Ahaaaaa!” We screamed and almost jumped outta our shoes when he said that.
“Boys, please don’t be scared. I just want to thank you for helping me out.”
We’d started to run but when he said that we stopped and looked back. The man was standing behind a big pin oak tree, and all we could see was his shoulder.
“Uh, who are you?” I asked.
“Well, son, my name is Bill Pearson, and I’m just trying to stay away from people and live by myself down here in the woods.”
“Well, Mr. Bill, I don’t see how you can live down here in the dead of winter. Don’t you get cold?”
“I sure do, son, but those quilts really helped. I don’t think I could’ve made it without them.”
“Mr. Bill, why don’t you come into town with us? I know some church ladies that will help you get some good clothes and a place to stay,” I said.
“Son, I would like to, but you see, I’ve got a problem: When people see me they forget ’bout everything else, and they want to lock me up in an institution somewhere. That’s why I’m living down here in the canebrake. I can’t stand to be locked up.”
“Well, Mr. Bill, I don’t blame you, but didn’t you come from the circus? We saw a piece of a circus poster over at the edge of the canebrake.”
“Yes, boys, I did, because I got to where I couldn’t stand people looking at me any longer and I ran away. I was called the Wild Man from Borneo, and they put me in a cage wearing a hair shirt and a couple of gloves that looked like paws, and I was supposed to growl and roar and rattle the bars. I finally just got tired of people staring at me, and I ran off and started camping out down here—and boys I’m gonna stay behind this tree. You don’t want to take a look at me.”
“Uh, Mr. Bill, we’ve already seen you. A few days ago we slipped down here and waited for you to go get some water, and we saw you comin’ and goin’.”
“You boys saw me and you still brought me these quilts and all that food?”
“Yes sir, we figured you needed it,” explained John Clayton.
“Well, I sure did, but I can’t believe you saw me and still brought me that stuff.”
“Mr. Bill, you sound just like a regular man, maybe a Yankee, but you sure don’t sound like a bad wild man.”
Mr. Bill stepped out from behind the tree, and although we tried not to act upset, the sight of his face made us gasp.
“What happened to your face?” I stammered.
“Well, boys, I have a terrible skin disease that causes the skin one side of my face to swell and turn black. Of course, it just looks terrible and although it’s not going to kill me, it has disfigured me for life. I was born in upstate New York on a little farm, and I was completely normal until I was ’bout 25; then this skin disease hit me, and I’ve been that way ever since. I stayed isolated on the farm until someone in the circus heard about me and came to see me.
They offered me a lot of money if I would pretend to be the Wild Man from Borneo. Of course, I said yes and I left with them and traveled to Sarasota, Florida, where they made a hairy suit for me to wear, draped a leopard skin over me, put me in a cage for shows, and made and crawl around on all fours.”
Mr. Bill kinda grinned out of the one good side of his mouth, and then let out a small laugh.
“Well, I could sure scare some people. I’d lie there acting like I was sleeping, and when they got up real close to the bars, I’d jump up screaming and grab the bars right in front of them. Oh, you should have seen some people scream and jump!”
“Gosh, Mr. Bill, that sounds like fun,” John Clayton said.
“Yeah, I guess that was for a while, and you know I miss the circus sometimes. Now, boys I’m sorry if I frightened you when you were poking around the canebrake. I just wanted to scare you away, and I never would’ve hurt you.”
“That’s okay, Mr. Bill. We understand now, but, gosh, that first time on Thanksgiving night we were so scared we jumped in the bar pit!”
“I’m so sorry. You don’t know how I worried about you, swimming in that ice- cold water with your clothes on.”
“Heck, Mr. Bill, we’re great swimmers. Don’t ever worry none ’bout us,” I said.
Then I thought ’bout Indian Hill.
“Mr. Bill do you have a drum?”
“Well, no, why do you ask?”
“Have you ever come outta the Swamp at night—over to a big hill behind my house.”
“No, I don’t ever leave the canebrake except to fish or look for berries. I never leave at night.”
I looked and John Clayton and he nodded. The thing at Indian Hill wasn’t Mr. Bill.
We talked for another few minutes, and then Mr. Bill shook his head like something was bothering him.
“You know, after living down here in this Swamp for the last few months, the more I think about it the more I might like to get back to the circus, but I guess it’s too late now. The circus is long gone, and it’s sure not coming back to El Dorado any time soon.”
“Heck, Mr. Bill, maybe it’ll come close enough so you could catch a freight train to the town and rejoin ’em. Do you have any idea where the circus is now?”
“Oh, sure, they’re in Sarasota, Florida, in winter quarters, and they won’t be touring until May. It’s getting a lot colder than I figured, and I’m not sure I can hold out until then, but south Florida’s a long way from Flat Creek Swamp.”
“Shoot, Mr. Bill, we’ll bring you some groceries and some more blankets,” I said.
“That would be real nice boys. I’ve got a little shed fixed up in the canebrake that’s pretty warm, especially with those quilts you brought. I can catch a few fish and there’s plenty o
f nuts and berries. Maybe if you can just bring me a few things from the grocery store, I can make it.”
Sure, Mr. Bill, but we don’t have much money,” said John Clayton.
“Heck, boys, don’t worry about money. When I left the circus I cleaned out my saving account, and I have nearly a thousand dollars right here in this sack. Let me find a pencil and make out a grocery list—that is, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“No sir, we’ll come by nearly every day or so, run to town, and get whatever you have on your list,” I said.
Mr. Bill finished his grocery list, took $5 out of his sack, and handed it to us. “This should do it, boys, but if it’s not enough just let me know. And have a piece of candy on me.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bill,” I said, getting upto leave.
“Come on, John Clayton, if we run into town, we can have these groceries back to Mr. Bill ’fore dark.”
We started for town at a trot and after filling Mr. Bill’s grocery list and stopping by my house to get some ham outta the smokehouse, we rushed up to the canebrake just before dark.
“Mr. Bill, Mr. Bill, it’s, Richard and John Clayton!” I yelled.
Mr. Bill came out of the canebrake and took his groceries, and after thanking us, he tried to give us each a dollar.
“No, Mr. Bill, you don’t need to pay us just to bring you groceries,” I said. “But we gotta get home before it gets dark. Come on, John Clayton, let’s go.”
We headed back outta the Swamp just as the sun dipped down behind some big cypress trees that were up near the road. That was the first of the grocery store trips we made for Mr. Bill, and as the days passed he seemed to be doing all right. He did keep talking about getting back to the circus, and I promised him that if I saw a circus ad in the Little Rock paper, I’d tell him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Ghost of Indian Hill
’Course, we were kinda excited about figuring out what was in that big canebrake, and since Mr. Bill was so scared of seeing people, we didn’t tell a soul about him living down there. Heck, I’d have just felt terrible if me and John Clayton caused him to get put away in a place where they put people like that. However, I was more than a little worried about him because even if we did bring him groceries and blankets, he had a real bad cough and, shoot, winter was just getting started.
The Mystery of the Canebrake Page 7