But oh, my dear, dear friend, that is the trouble with unmeticulous perceptions.
The limestone rock Cooter's got ahold of should do the job neat. And from behind me, in the woods, above the calling cicadas and dancing black gum leaves, Billy's new boots are creaking fast my way. Keeper, being so brave about the lightning, will have fetched him. I've wheedled my hand to the back of my pants. The gun is greased and ready.
We got this good ole boy surrounded. He just don't know it yet.
At the Gallop
We're all standing over him, including Keeper, who pokes him in the gut with his snout to make sure the sheriff is done but good.
“That was smart, sneakin' in the ditch like that, Cooter. Excellent bushwhack.” If I had my leather-like I'd gold star him up but good. Where
is
my briefcase? In all the commotion, I . . .
“Gibby, could I have a word with ya?” Billy asks, with lips closed tight. Cupping his hand around my elbow, he guides me behind a tree. “What'd you
do
?”
“Whatta ya mean?”
“Last I heard”âBilly peeks around the bark at Cooterâ“he was in jail and you were on your way to the hospital and then comin' right back for me.”
“Ohhh . . . that's right.” I hadn't really thought out how I was going to explain all this to him. “Ya know good as me, if somebody didn't get Cooter outta that jail right away, instead of lyin' here, the sheriff'd be fitting him for a rope necktie right about now. Ya want that on your conscience, fine, but I have no intention of burnin' in hell for all eternity. I'm ascared of fire. So I broke Cooter out and
then
I went to the hospital.”
Billy kicks at a rock, sending it halfway to Madison County.
“I had to do it for Clever. You know how she favors him,” I say, waggling a finger in his face. “And for Miss Florida. And Grampa. What about the cowboy way?”
“I might could understand you breakin' him out,” Billy says, beginnin' to look basset houndish. “But what I
don't
understand is . . . why didn't you ask for my help?”
“ 'Cause Clever was right when she said you'd try to stop me on account a you being so righteous, and I couldn't let you do that.” I place my hands on his cheeks and make him look me in the eyes. “Ya understand, dear heart?”
Billy hooks my bangs behind my ear, sighs out in surrender, “Grampa all right?”
“Oh, my goodness, I forgot! What good news! You are not gonna believe where he's on his way to in a plane gettin' driven by your daddy andâ”
Cooter, clearing his throat to get our attention, says, “Ya think y'all could hold off on catchin' up on the latest news?” He toes the sheriff. “He ain't gonna stay out forever, ya know.”
“What you yappin' about, Smith?” Billy asks, struttin' toward him.
Now, to the best of my knowledge, these two haven't been spending time together in recent years. Not counting that night Cooter and Willard were chasing us through the woods looking for the treasure map, I believe this is the first time Billy's laid eyes on his old pal in a long while. Like I mighta mentioned earlier, Cooter used to hang out at Blackstone Cave with us in the old days. Georgie brought him around first, and then Cooter and Billy got pretty close, and then Clever and Cooter got even closer than pretty close. But nowadays, Billy's not what you'd call the social type. And even if he was, I believe Cooter grew up to be too much of a mischief maker for Billy's taste.
I'm back to staring down at the sheriff, who is NOT a sight for sore eyes. The rain's bouncing off his forehead, and the blood from where Cooter bashed him on the head is paling pink and flowing fast. “Boys?”
The both of them are too busy playing cocks of the walk to pay me any mind.
Cooter mumbles out to Billy, “ 'Bout the other night. Stealin' the map. Weren't nuthin' personal.”
"Y'all?” I got my two fingers against the side of the sheriff's blubbery neck, trying to find a pulse like I learned in the Red Cross First Aid Class. Don't know if I'm sad or glad when I find it beating like a tom-tom. “We should get him off the road, don'tcha think?”
Billy gives the sheriff a good long look and then commands Cooter, “Grab his other foot.”
Me and Keeper following behind, the two of them drag his body into the woods and down into a shallow ravine, Billy helping himself to the sheriff's sidearm before he buries him with fallen branches and damp leaves but good. Standing right there next to him, I swear, even
I
wouldn't know that beneath this pile of greenery lies LeRoy Johnson.
I give Billy a glowing look. How talented is my knight in shining ardor!
He gets my meaning and says shyly, “Special Forces.”
Indeed. Miss Lydia of Hundred Wonders will tell you there are ALWAYS special forces at work in the world. Never mind that we can't see them. They're there, guiding us, arranging for us to be in the right place at the right time. Gifting us when we really need a little help to get us through.
Look at Cooter, for instance. He didn't get drafted into the army the way Billy did. Miss Florida says it's on accounta his feet. “Flatter than an ironin' board.” See that? The special forces knew Cooter had to stay home and work night and day so he could help his gramma out.
From back down at the road, Deputy Boyd's voice rings out of the county car's radio. “Ya there? It's me, Jimmy Lee. Sheriff Johnson?”
“That there is the sound of reveille,” Billy says to Cooter. “Can you make it?”
Grimacing, Cooter tests his weight on his hurting leg.
Billy doesn't ask him again, just throws him over his shoulder like he's saving him from a horrible fate, which I s'pose he is.
All
my
nose is picking up on is the smell of green alfalfa hay and baling twine. I check with Keeper to see if he's sniffing up either hide or hair of Sneaky Tim Ray since my dog can whiff dubious intentions from an acre away. People can hide their badness from one another, but the scent of wrongdoing is pungent and unmistakable to our four-legged friends.
After Billy sets Cooter down gently on a pile of loose hay in Miss Jessie's loft, he takes out his army knife from his belt and rips through the muddy pants. Goodness. Cooter's leg is a rainbow of bruises. I touch my still tender ones.
“Could ya fetch that doctorin' kit from the tack room? And some alcohol,” Billy calls over to me.
“Sneaky Tim Ray's usually got some stashed up here,” I say, heading off toward where he beds down.
“Not
that
kind of alcohol, Gib, the
rubbin'
kind,” Billy says, further inspecting Cooter's leg, pressing here and there. “But now you brought it up, the other kind might do some good. I gotta adjust this knee. I think it's dislocated.” Sweat's waterfalling off every inch of Cooter Smith and his breathing doesn't sound regular.
Doin' like Billy asked me, I jump down the loft stairs two at a time, shouting over my shoulder, “Keeper, keep keepin' a snout-out.”
The barn is still and cool. Smells like it oughta. The stalls are picked clean and the water buckets brimming. Some twangy country tune I never heard before is coming from the radio that Miss Jessie always leaves on, “to soothe the savage beasts.” But there's something else . . . something like hushed-up talking is coming from around the corner near the wash tank. Must be Vern and Teddy, thank the Lord! Cooter will be happy to see his uncles, and I will, too. So in knowing those strong men will come to our rescue,
Surprise!
is on the tip of my tongue as I step into the open, and it sure as hell IS, because it is NOT my good friends the Smith brothers I hear yakking away over their aisle sweeping. It's Sneaky Tim Ray, hissing into the ham radio Miss Jessie keeps for when the phone lines come down after a storm, “I'm tellin' ya, Jimmy Lee. They's here! Turn your car around and get your dumb ass over here. And bring that reward money with ya.”
Frozen solid in fear, I can't even speak, until something cracks deep inside me, and “Biiilly!” comes spurting out.
Hearing me, Sneaky Tim Ray lets out with a hoot and charges my way. But not for long. Billy leaps down the hayloft stairs, wrassles him to the ground, and with one good punch to the jaw, Holloway's out cold.
“Ya there? Ya there?” Deputy Boyd is calling tinny out of the CB speaker. “Tim Ray, answer me.”
“He told Jimmy Lee where we're at,” I cry. “What're we gonna do now?”
Billy gives a thoughtful look, then throws open a trunk in the aisle and begins unwinding one of the flannel bandages they use to keep the horses' legs from getting nicked up when they go for a trailer ride. “I'm gonna wrap Cooter's knee best I can,” he says, sprinting to the loft stairs. “Pull out three of the horses. Get 'em ready.”
Not daring to question, I dash into the tack room, check the nameplates on the bridles and yank them free. No time for saddles.
By the time the two of them make it down the loft stairs, the siren sound is coming down Tanner Farm Road. I'm already on top of Peaches. Cooter yelps bad as he swings his knee over the back of Dancer. Billy grabs the mane of Sonny and is up clean.
“Goddamn it all! I just remembered something,” I say, sliding off the donkey's back.
“Whatever it is, we don't have time,” Billy says in an SOS voice. He's pressing his leg against the chestnut's side, heading toward the barn's back door. Cooter's on his tail with his temple vein running blue.
Halfway down the aisle, I shout back, “It's Cooter they're after. They'll string him up they catch him, ya know they will!”
Billy presses the reins against Sonny's neck, spins around and commands Cooter, “Go on without me.”
“No!” I holler. “Ya gotta help him, Billy. He's in no shape and doesn't know the trail. Go on. I'll be right behind ya. Sneaky Tim Ray must have the treasure map on him. I gotta get it for Clever.” I can see in his face that he's torn between abandoning me and keeping Cooter from getting strung up dead. “Ride, Billy, ride.”
“I'll get him pppointed in the right direction, then I'm comin' bbback for ya,” he calls, and the two of them charge out the barn, sucked up fast by the storm, Keeper out front.
Garnering my breath, I kneel down to where Sneaky Tim Ray's still passed out in the aisle and dig my hand into his breast pocket, just like he's done to me so many times. No treasure map there, but I steal back my locket. Maybe he put the map in his . . .
“Gotcha,” he rails, latching his fingers around my arm and struggling to sit up, so pickled he doesn't even realize he's been beat up. “This what you lookin' for?” His hand slides down the front of his pants.
“No, it is not,” I say, battling to break free.
“Ya sure 'bout that?” He pulls the map out from somewhere down there. Waves it in my face. “I got me a real good idea. What say me and you go fetch that treasure and take off for parts unknown, darlin'?”
This not being my first rodeo, thank Jesus, I know exactly how to handle this critter. I drop my tussling and put on an admiring tone. “Why, Sneaky Tim Ray, you really
have
repented. I'm so proud of ya for bein' willin' to share like that.”
“Thought I'd sweeten the pot, ya might come to your senses. Near impossible to resist ole Tim Ray
and
a treasure,” he says, giving me one of those shining smiles of his. “We could even get hitched, ya want.”
So sure of his charms, he eases his grip.
“Well, as temptin' as that offer is,
darlin'
. . .” I reach back and remove the .22 from the back of my pants.
Tires crunch to a sliding stop. Out the barn doors, Deputy Jimmy Lee is jumping outta the car, shouting and gesturing to a couple of men. Not the law. They're bounty hunters come speedy for that reward on Cooter.
I take aim at the zipper on Sneaky Tim Ray's caked jeans. “Unless you're wantin' your precious pecker to be in the same situation as your eye, I suggest you hand over that map nice and easy.”
Rain collecting in the brims of their black hats, the lanky bounty men are heading our way. I recognize the two of them, all right. They're well known for their tracking skills.
“I'm not foolin',” I say to Sneaky Tim Ray as I cock the gun. “Now.”
Instead of him begging for mercy like I thought he would, outta his mouth comes the same phlegmy laugh he lets loose whenever he's got me cornered. “Ya ain't got the nerve. You and me both know you're nuthin' but a scared little retard with real nice titties.” His hands shoot up to my double D's. Squeeze hard. “I got ahold a her, boys,” he cackles.
I'm looking him straight in the eye, when I pull back on the trigger.
“Halt in the name of the law,” Deputy Jimmy Lee booms down the aisle.
Plucking the map outta Holloway's fingers, I dash down the aisle and throw myself onto Peaches's back. “Git,” I shout, heeling her hard into the downpour.
Behind me, Sneaky Tim Ray is squealing, “She shot me. She shot me in the pecker!” And the deputy is yelling, “Stop, Gib, stop.” At the beginning of the trail, I spin Peaches around so I can see if they're coming after me. Jimmy Lee is kneeling down in the aisle, ministering to Holloway. But silhouetted in the barn door, those two bounty hunters are long and lean. And smiling at me like it's Christmas morning.
Hightailin'It
Farther down the trail, where the woods thin from oak to scrub, I can barely make out Billy coming toward me, that's how bad the rain is sheetin' down. I don't dare call out to him. Those black-hatted bounty hunters back at the barn? They're the Brandish Boys. And they got ears bigger than Peaches's. Well, one of them does anyways. Even as far away as Tennessee, they are legends. I heard a story about when the Boys were hunting a bail-jumping feller from two counties over. By the time those two dragged him into town, that poor man was missing an arm. Word was the Brandish Boys ripped it clean out and near beat him to death with it. Even Grampa, the least jumpy man I know, swallowed hard when he told me, “Wouldn't wanna be the object of one of those Boys' searches. They hunt for the fun of it. Reward money's just the pork in the beans.”