A Far Piece to Canaan (16 page)

The tent looked like the pictures I had seen of circuses, with a pole up the middle and shorter poles around the sides so people could set out toward the edges. It must have been awful old because the canvas was full of little tears and some of the seams was split. You could see lantern light shine through in lots of places.

When we pulled up, Fred was off the bike in a hurry. “Come on, hun'ney,” he said. “Th' preachin's gonna start soon. Come on!”

Inside was maybe a hundred people. Only half of them had chairs and the rest were standing. Most of those were in the back near the opening, and it didn't look like we were going to see anything until Fred began wriggling between people. The preacher saw us and said, “Let them young'uns up front.” It was a great spot. We could see everything. The only bad part was a fat lady behind us that kept farting. Right in the middle of “Old Rugged Cross” she let a whopper. Finally, the singing was over and the preacher started. He was a big man in a brown suit and he had a white handkerchief in his hand that he kept wiping his forehead with. He wiped it a lot too, because it was hot in the tent, and all crammed together like we were it was sweltering. Nobody seemed to notice though because we were all listening. The preacher talked slow at first and I could tell he was warming up like Fred had told me he would. Then he speeded up some. A lot of the time he was looking right at me, and his eyes were big and I began to feel a little shaky. It was like he was reaching inside me and moving stuff around.

“Jesus wept! And when you read the Gospel it ain't hard t' see why. Each of us knows what he said when he was alive, yet we keep on doin' what we're doin' like it don't mean nothin' 'cept in church. But that ain't what he asked of us; he asked that we do right like he taught us t' do right all the time. How many of us are gonna go home t'night, right after this meetin', and start doin' th' same things we been doin' before we came here?”

He stopped talking and looked around and I guessed nobody thought it was a question. When he started again it was like that made him mad because he come at us like a mean bull. He talked about living like Jesus said. He didn't want us to live any lies, he wanted truth!

“You can't go 'round keepin' th' truth inside you and lyin' on th' outside. That's sin! Sin just as sure as tellin' it!” he shouted at us.

I thought about the crazy man and us knowing and not saying nothing while bad stuff was happening to peoples' stock. I looked over at Fred and I could tell he was a little shook up by what the preacher said too and figured it was probably that.

But the preacher never let up and I could hear a few folks talking out loud and then all of a sudden Fred punched me in the ribs and I looked to where he was nodding. There, across the open space in front of the preacher, stood Mort Thomas and right next to him was Bert Raney. Bert was saying lots of “Amens” and “Yes, Lords.”

The preacher was getting to going good now, and more people was talking. The loudest voice of all come from the fat lady behind us. It got higher and higher and louder and louder. Suddenly, she grabbed Fred and me by our shoulders, throwed us aside, and staggered into the little clearing, where she fell down jabbering like a fool.

Nearly everybody was talking now, especially Bert Raney, and several were using words that didn't make any sense and falling down, knocking over chairs, and praising Jesus.

All at once, there was this high-pitched scream like a blue jay, and Mort Thomas fell in a heap. He started twitching and quivering all over. Then the quivers turned to jerks, and he began slobbering at the mouth. The more he jerked, the more everybody went crazy, calling and babbling in tongues and flailing their arms and legs with the preacher going strong.

Then somebody hit the center post. I saw it tilt and so did Fred and he grabbed my arm.

“Hun'ney, let's get outta here,” he said, but the way out was blocked with people falling and flailing all over the place. Just then, the center post was hit again and slowly tipped sideways. Fred headed for the only canvas we could reach, flopped down on his belly, and tried to squeeze under. He wudn't making much headway until I grabbed the edge and yanked. We were at a seam and it ripped and gave enough room to get through. We got out just as the center post went down. Folks was crashing and yelling, then the sides began to give way, and people started crawling out of everywhere like cockroaches from a breadbox.

Fred and me jumped on the bike and I took off, him hanging on behind. We started laughing so hard, I thought we'd die. It was so bad that a couple miles down the road we had to stop. We were still laughing when I dropped Fred at the Mulligans' and headed home.

While I was pedaling, I got to thinking about the revival. What the preacher said about the truth was right and I knew it and we were lying like mad about the crazy man. I wondered what God was going to do to us unless we told. The strangest thing though was the preacher's eyes and the way I couldn't get away from them and the jiggling feeling they made inside me. The revival was really different from what went on in shul. Everything we did was kind of mournful. The Holiness people had a lot more fun than we did, but they were really scary about all the fire in hell and how if you didn't do what the preacher said, you were gonna burn in it. That really got to me. I figured I'd had enough of Holinesses. I was just gonna be a Jew.

I
was wore out by the time I got to our gate and couldn't wait to go to bed. As I pedaled up the lane, I got the feeling something was wrong. All the lights were on, and I could make out Bess Clark's pickup in the barn lot.

When I pulled into the yard, a wave of people come out to greet me. Mom and Naomi kept saying, “Thank God! Thank God!” but nobody would say what they were thanking him for. The third or fourth time I asked, Bess Clark answered.

“We had a little excitement t'night . . . matter of fact, your pa and me was 'bout t' come lookin' for you.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Come on in, and we'll talk about it,” said Dad.

We went in the kitchen and the men sat down at the table while Mom and Naomi started making coffee and putting baked stuff on the table. Dad leaned toward me. “Samuel, did you and Fred have any trouble tonight?”

I thought about how the meeting ended and told what had happened. Soon, everybody in the house was laughing, especially Bess Clark, who doubled up when I got to the part about Mort's fit and the tent falling.

“Any other problems?” Dad asked, when things calmed down. “Did you and Fred see anything strange on th' way home?”

“No, sir. Wudn't anything strange that we saw. Why?”

“Just after you left, Mr. Clark found the carcass of one of his bucks,” said Dad. “It was in the field next to Shackelford's and had been hacked up like the other one.”

“Its male organs and eyes?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Yeah, tongue too, this time. It was a pretty bad sight,” said Dad.

“Hit was a awful sight!” said Bess.

There was a rap on the kitchen door, and I heard Mr. MacWerter say hello to Naomi.

“Hello, Morse,” Mr. Mac said as he come to the table. He was wearing a slicker which I thought was odd because it wudn't raining.

“I got t' worryin' after you checked for Samuel at our house and decided t' come over. Good t' see he's home,” and he put his arm around my neck and squeezed and something hard pressed against my head. He opened the slicker to sit down and pulled the longest barreled pistol I ever saw out of his belt and laid it on the table. “What all's happened?” he asked.

“Another sheep killin', George,” Dad answered. “By th' time Bess got here, it was pretty dark. We grabbed our guns and lanterns and picked up Ed and his dogs, but by th' time we got there it was pitch black. The sheep had been dead for about a day as best we could tell, but th' dogs were goin' crazy. They cut right through Shackelford's place, then seemed t' lose th' scent at Cuyper Creek. Whatever or whoever did th' killing knows how t' fool a dog.”

“Movin' toward th' river, wudn't he,” said Mr. Mac.

“Oh yeah,” said Bess. “Ain't no doubt 'bout that. Headin' toward them cliffs. He's got t' get outta that stream someplace, though, and that's when we're gonna find where he went.”

“Better do it t'morrow early or th' trail's gonna be cold,” said Mr. Mac. “Only thing you're gonna have left t' follow that long after th' killin' is some tracks. Unless you had a bloodhound. Ordinary dog won't pick up a human scent after two days.”

“Sheriff's bringin' three of them tomorrow,” said Dad.

“Sheriff's goin' out with ye?” said Mr. Mac, and his eyes lit up.

“Sheriff, Morse, Ed, me, 'n' Rags,” said Bess. “Wanta join us, George?”

“Hell yes! Whoever's doin' this is closer t' me than he is t' Rags! What time?”

“Just before dawn,” said Dad. “Meet here at th' house.”

“I'll be here 'n' have old Betsy,” said Mr. Mac, and he patted his pistol.

“Doubt there'll be a need for guns,” said Dad. “Hope no one gets an itchy trigger finger.”

I could tell Dad was trying to cool things down before the crazy man was shot to pieces. Mr. Mac nodded that Dad was right, but Bess didn't. He sulked awhile, then looked at Dad with his eyebrows raised. “Morse, y' know this old boy coulda done th' same thing to Samuel there he done t' that sheep,” and he pointed his chin at me. “You was worried a few minutes ago when he wudn't home. I say we got t' do somethin' 'bout this old boy 'fore hit's too late.”

“You're right,” said Dad, strong. “The only thing I don't want is a killin' unless we have no choice. If he came for me or mine or a neighbor, I'd shoot him if I had to, but so far, he's only killed stock, and no matter how terrible th' way he did it, it's not enough t' shoot him. I've seen too much killin' in my life, Bess. I don't want to see any more of it unless it's life or death.”

Bess got up from his chair and stretched. “Wouldn't even go along with a little tar 'n' feathers, huh, Morse?” and we all laughed.

As soon as all our company was gone, I started thinking. What I had to do was go with the posse and lead the dogs to the cliff bottom. Soon as the men saw the cave, and the dogs started going wild, they wouldn't have any trouble figuring out where the crazy man was and we wouldn't have to tell about that day at the Blue Hole. Boy, did I wish Fred could go, but it was already late and if I asked to go over to Fred's now, Mom and Dad would think I was crazy. Besides, I wudn't about to go out alone again tonight! That meant I was going to have to handle it myself. I just had to get Dad to take me along. I decided to wait until the next day to ask about going so that Mom wouldn't have all night to talk Dad out of it. With a little luck, I thought as I crawled into bed, Fred, Lonnie, LD, and me was out of trouble.

I didn't know how long I had been asleep when something woke me up, then I heard the telephone ringing, Dad's footsteps, and then his sleepy voice.

“Yeah . . . yeah . . . okay . . . g'bye.”

The phone hung up and there were more footfalls and a squeak as Dad got back into bed. Then, kind of foggy-headed, I wondered why somebody was calling in the middle of the night. Something else was wrong too. There was a sound like bacon frying. Rain!

I come full awake in a flash, flung off the covers, opened the door that went out onto the screened-in porch, and dang nigh went sprawling on the gut-slick, water-soaked deck. Rain by the bucketful was pouring down. The telephone call was probably the sheriff. Hard as this rain was falling, all the scent would be warshed away. Even deep tracks would be gone. The posse'd been rained out! Nobody would show up because they would know it was a warshout.

I set up and thought for a while and listened to the danged old gully-warsher. The only thing that kept coming back time after time was a new meeting with Fred, Lonnie, and LD. That meant I had to talk to Fred tomorrow since the best place to set up a meeting would be when he saw Lonnie and LD at church. As soon as I figured out what I was going do, I felt better and slid back under the covers. The covers smelled musty and good, and the patter of rain on the roof and slosh at the side of the house drained the wake out of me and in a few minutes, I was asleep.

I
t rained hard all the next morning. I didn't want to rust my bike so I walked to the Mulligans' and got soaked. Fred laughed when he saw me. I must've been some sight standing at the front door draining all over the place with cockleburs hanging here and there.

“What you doin' all wet, hun'ney? Don't you know 'nough t' stay out th' rain?”

“Had t' talk t' you,” I said.

“Must be mighty important,” he said, and laughed again, but I didn't, and he looked behind him and stepped outside and closed the door. “Somethin' happen?” he asked soft.

“It ain't good,” I answered. “Where can we talk?”

“Can't inside,” and I could hear voices. “We can sit in th' shit house . . . or walk.”

“Why don't we walk.”

We went down the road to where we could watch the Dry Branch pour over the blacktop. The water was moving fast and making an awful noise.

“Some rain, wudn't it?” he said, as we watched.

“Yeah,” I answered. “Few minutes was enough for us. Crazy man killed a buck night before last over on Bess Clark's. They found it just after we left for th' meetin'. Dad and Bess and a bunch of others were supposed to meet th' sheriff and have bloodhounds and everything this mornin' and track him down but the rain warshed out the tracks and scent. Wouldn't you know it, I could've led them to th' cliff and we'd've been out of trouble.”