The Truth of the Matter (18 page)

“There’s an old shotgun, but we ain’t got any shells.”

“Where at?”

Claude pointed to the farmhouse’s one other room.

Roebuck went into the room that contained a battered bedroom set with twin beds and saw the shotgun leaning in a corner. He checked to make sure it was empty and carried it back into the main room.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said to Ellie, and he left the house to walk a short distance into the woods where he buried the shotgun beneath some leaves.

When he returned Ellie and Claude were setting the table while Iris sat in the armchair and watched.

“I’ll tell you where the gun is when we leave,” Roebuck said, and Claude nodded silently.

“Why don’t you and Claude go out and pump some water and pick some vegetables,” Ellie said, “and I can get the best meal you ever tasted on that woodstove.”

“Okay,” Roebuck said. “You bring the bucket, son.”

By the time they’d finished a delicious supper of hamburger, corn on the cob and baked potatoes it was dark outside. Roebuck made sure all the shades were pulled before turning on the lights.

“How come you don’t have a telephone?” he asked as they were sitting on the worn furniture after supper.

“No real need for one,” Iris said. “And they cost money.”

“When do you do your shopping, on weekends?”

“Usually. When my husband comes home. There’s a pickup in the garage behind the house, but it ain’t running right now.”

The thought that they might get the pickup truck running and leave occurred to Roebuck, but he knew that Claude would make the mile to the nearest neighbor and a phone before they could get very far. Of course they might be able to tie the boy and his mother so it would take them a while to get loose.

“What’s the matter with the truck?” Roebuck asked.

Iris coughed violently. “Lord knows.”

“We can look at it in the morning,” Roebuck said.

They sat talking guardedly, feeling one another out, until well into the evening. Then Claude and his mother went into the bedroom to sleep while Roebuck sat in the armchair where he could watch both beds from the living room. Ellie slept on the couch with an old alarm clock set for two
A.M
., when it would be Roebuck’s turn to sleep.

They were both still tired when morning came, but Roebuck felt considerably better after stripping to his shorts and washing in the cold water from the pump. He watched Iris fry the eggs for breakfast while Ellie and Claude carried in buckets of water for Ellie’s bath in the ancient and useless bathroom tub.

During breakfast they learned that a doctor had told Iris she might have tuberculosis, but that she had received no treatment and had refused to go to a sanitarium.

“What does your husband say about that?” Ellie asked.

“He says a sanitarium costs a lot of money, and he’s right.”

Roebuck looked across the table and saw Claude stuffing a last bite of egg into his mouth, staring straight ahead.

“This might be as good a place to rest as a sanitarium,” Roebuck said. “You’ve got quiet and a nice garden out in back, not to mention Claude’s medical attention.”

“The garden ain’t much,” Claude said soberly.

“It is, considering the soil,” Roebuck said. “It looks like rocky Arkansas soil, but it’s surprising what can be grown on it if you know what you’re doing. And judging by the garden, somebody knows what they’re doing.”

“Were you ever a farmer?”

“Once.”

“Before you were in the army?”

Roebuck smiled. “I grew up on a farm. When I hit basic training I could shoot better than anybody in the company.”

Iris stood and began to clear the table.

“I’ll help you,” Ellie said, standing and placing her cup and silverware on her plate.

Roebuck pushed back from the table and stood. “Turn on that radio, Ellie, and keep listening for the news while I go outside and look over that pickup truck.”

“I’ll show it to you.” Claude quickly left the table and followed Roebuck out the door.

They opened the rotted double doors of the barn-like garage, one of which was supported crookedly by a single rusted hinge. The smell of grease and stale air wafted out at them from the high-ceilinged darkness.

“This is it,” Claude said proudly.

It was an old red Ford pickup, battered and faded, with rusting fenders that looked as though they’d been sledge-hammered.

“How long since it’s run?” Roebuck asked.

“Oh, ’bout two weeks. Last time me an’ Ma tried to go into town it wouldn’t start.”

In the dim light Roebuck saw a can of gasoline among some tools at the other end of the garage. He checked the truck’s gas gauge and saw that the needle was broken. “Get me that gas can,” he said to Claude.

Claude brought him the can and he poured its contents, about two gallons, into the truck’s tank. He opened the squeaking door again, released the emergency brake and put the gearshift lever in neutral.

“You get in back, son, and we’ll push it out into the light where we can look at it.”

The truck looked even worse in the sunlight. Roebuck got in, sat on the ragged upholstery and pressed the starter. Nothing happened. He flicked the one knob on the dashboard radio and turned it all the way to his left.

“This old radio work?” he asked Claude.

“Sometimes.”

Roebuck climbed down from the cab and slammed the door. “Well, it’s not working now.”

He walked to the front of the truck and raised the hood. Everything looked greasy, but nothing seemed out of place. The battery was a mass of corrosion.

“How old is this battery, son?”

“Real old.” Claude stood up on the dashboard and peered down under the hood at the engine. “Do you think you can fix it?”

“I was a pit mechanic at Indianapolis,” Roebuck said, playing with a wire. “After my nerve went and I couldn’t race anymore.”

“What caused you to lose your nerve?”

“The accident.”

Roebuck slammed the hood.

“Wha’d’ya think?” Claude asked, looking up at him.

“Hit the lights.”

Claude reached into the cab and pulled the headlight switch. The lights barely glowed.

Roebuck nodded and Claude pushed the switch back in.

“It might start with a push.” Roebuck crossed his arms and looked about him. “Do you have a hammer and some nails?”

“Might have,” the boy answered, surprised. “Why?”

“We might as well fix those front steps before your mother has an accident.”

They went back into the garage and found a hammer and a box of nails.

“There’s some boards in the pump house,” Claude said, as they were walking toward the front of the house. “I’ll go get ’em.”

As Claude danced away Roebuck patted him gently on the back and gazed up at the sky. “We better hurry. It’s clouding up.”

They’d barely finished replacing the rotted boards when a sudden deluge of rain fell, smashing against the tin porch roof in a monotonous roar.

Sheriff Boadeen stood behind his office window in Danton and watched the heavy rain flood over the glass.

“It looks like they might ’a slipped through,” Will Clacker, his part-time deputy, said behind him. Clacker was a small, potbellied man with only one arm. He’d lost the other arm in Korea and was drawing a nice government pension.

“That’s what the State Patrol’s starting to think,” Boadeen said, still staring out at the rain, “but it’ll take another day or so to make up their minds.”

“What do you think?” Clacker asked, striking a book match deftly with one hand and lighting a cigarette.

Boadeen rubbed his smooth-shaven chin. “Could be they’re still in the area, holed up, that they never even tried to get past the roadblocks.”

Clacker nodded. “Patrol’s probably thought of that. If they’re still hereabouts their car’ll be spotted sooner or later.”

Boadeen walked over and sat on the corner of his desk. “Probably later.” He touched the sore spot on his head where the heavy reel had struck him.

“You got something on your mind, Sheriff?” Clacker asked.

Boadeen jutted out his lower lip and nodded. “Surely do.” He walked to the wall map of Clark County. “Seems to me that if they didn’t get by one of the roadblocks that they’re holed up somewheres in here.” He traced an invisible circle with his capped ball-point pen. “Now, in a day or two the State Patrol figures to give up on the roadblocks and search the whole area.”

“And?”

Boadeen gave his crooked smile. “I figure we’re gonna beat them to the punch.”

“It would be better than just waitin’ for news,” Clacker said, “but that’s a pretty big area to search.”

“Surely is,” Boadeen said, “unless those two are holed up in a house, and we know where every house in the county is and the quickest way to get to it. We can figure out a route and watch the woods while we’re following the side roads.”

“You’re the boss.”

Boadeen nodded, still smiling. He didn’t really like Clacker, but the man posed a minimum threat to his job. There weren’t many one-armed sheriffs.

“When do you want to start?” Clacker asked.

“Soon as the rain lets up.”

“It’ll take a good while,” Clacker said. “You sure we ought’a just drop everything else and do this without the Patrol’s authorization?”

Sheriff Boadeen looked hard at him. “You’ve got my authorization.” He walked to the bulletin board and stared at Roebuck’s wanted poster, now pinned neatly in the upper left hand corner. There were still four sharp creases in it where it had been folded to fit in his uniform shirt pocket.

“We’ll find those two if we have to cover every house in the county,” Boadeen said. “After all, I’m the one that let ’em slip away.”

Outside the rain began to slacken.

The rain passed quickly, the dark scudding clouds moving away to the east. Within a few hours the sun had erased all traces of moisture from the baked earth around the farmhouse and the only sign that it had rained was the fresh coolness coming from the surrounding woods.

Roebuck spent the rest of the day with Claude, repairing small things around the farm, mixing a bucket of pitch and sealing the roof where it had leaked during the rain.

All that day Ellie listened to the radio, but there was no new announcement about them. The State Patrol still had their roadblocks up, and it was believed impossible for anyone to have slipped through. They were admitting now, however, the slim possibility that the net of roadblocks hadn’t been put up in time, and that the fugitives may have been well away before their route was closed behind them.

Let them believe that
, Roebuck thought, sinking into the worn armchair after supper.
Let the bastards believe it and pick up their roadblocks and guns and go home
.

He slept that night, better than he’d slept in a long time.

It was four o’clock the next afternoon, and Roebuck and Claude were outside trying to find the trouble with the water line, when Ellie called to them from the farmhouse.

“I just heard something on the news!”

Roebuck could tell by her voice that the something had alarmed her. He jabbed his shovel into the ground and walked toward the house with Claude trailing behind him.

“What was it?” he asked as he stepped into the comparative coolness of the house and the screen door slammed behind him.

“The State Patrol’s giving up on their roadblocks,” Ellie said, “but starting tomorrow morning they’re going to make a careful search of the whole area.”

Roebuck heard Claude come into the house behind him.

“You sure that’s what you heard?”

Ellie nodded.

“Damn!” Roebuck began to pace. “Damn! The bastards won’t let up on you!”

“What now?” Ellie asked, as she had asked before.

“Haven’t I always thought of something?” Roebuck shouted.

“Don’t yell, Lou.”

Roebuck hooked his thumbs in his belt and drew a deep breath. Iris was sitting at the table clenching her wadded handkerchief, and Claude was behind him, staring wide-eyed at him.

“We’ve got a little time, anyway,” Ellie said.

“Yeah.” Roebuck walked to the door and leaned there, looking outside. “They did give us that.”

“You gonna make a run for it?” Claude asked in a small voice.

“I don’t know,” Roebuck said. He could feel things pressing in on him, as if the woods, the sky, the sun, all were drawing closer, shrinking around him.

“We can’t stay here,” Ellie said. “That’d be just waiting for them.”

Roebuck had to agree to that. “How do you get to Ironton from here?” he asked.

“You take that road there,” Claude said, pointing out the door to the rutted, dusty road from the farmhouse. “It runs for about three miles till it hits Highway R. Then you make a right on R and go about another five miles or so.”

“It takes about a half hour,” Iris said in her straining voice. “It ain’t a good road.”

“It’ll have to be good enough,” Roebuck said. He knew also that they would have to trust Claude and his mother, for he would need them to help push the truck to get it started. If the truck would start.

“When we going to leave?” Ellie asked.

“Tonight, just before it gets dark.” That seemed to Roebuck the ideal time to make their run for freedom. Not only would there be less chance of being seen in the pickup truck, but they would arrive at Ironton at night and could steal another car when it was dark.

“I’ll get our stuff together,” Ellie said, smiling her broad and wistful smile. “Seems like I’m always getting our stuff together.”

Roebuck held the screen door open for Claude. “We might as well finish trying to find the break in that water line.”

The sun was hovering over the horizon when they said goodbye to Claude and Iris Mulhaney.

“I sure hope your throat gets better,” Ellie said to Iris as they were walking toward the pickup.

“It will, ma’am.”

“Your shotgun’s under some leaves by that big rock up the bluff,” Roebuck said to Claude. He felt he could trust both these people now, felt they were on his side. They were all battling odds, and people battling odds had an affinity for one another.

Roebuck opened the squeaking truck door and tossed the suitcase into the cab. He turned to Iris. “We trust you not to call the police on us, Mrs. Mulhaney.”