that’s your right. Birds, huh. If I was you, I’d keep an eye out for wolves. Got a pack of four moved into the region—wiped out my rabbits.”
“My dad and I, umm, we found a nice tree right here,” said Mallory, edging her way out from behind Osborne and pointing. “All ready to cut down. We’ll be out of your way in a few minutes … if that’s okay.” She gave Osborne an anxious look.
“Don’t bother me none. It’s those damn kids I don’t like. You see ‘em, you tell ‘em keep those goddam machines of theirs on the trail—I’ll shoot ‘em if they come back here again. I will.”
“You mean to tell me they’re riding off trail—right through the woods here?” Osborne looked around. He didn’t see any snowmobile tracks. The old man must be losing it.
“Not through the woods, up and down my streambeds. I got traps laid around the beaver dams back in here—and I don’t need them messed up. This is my living. You just ask Ray, he’ll tell ya.
“Hell, last week, I caught two of ‘em back in here. Some young fella and his girlfriend. They got stuck, see. Coupla nincompoops. Didn’t know that the ice over the springs back in here don’t freeze solid. Wouldn’t ya think they’d know that? Anyone who lives up here knows that.
“So middle of the night I hear all this hullabaloo. I go traipsing on over and come to see one of their machines is frozen halfway into the ice, doncha know. Prob’ly goin’ deeper without my help. So I go get my pickup with the winch and chains I use when I break a beaver dam and pulled ‘em out.” Clyde paused, giving his teeth a good suck.
“That was nice of you,” said Osborne.
“Not fast enough for the little lady—pretty nasty that one. Not one word of thanks. You’d a’thought they’d give me five bucks … something. Wouldn’t you?” Clyde’s voice cracked with anger.
“They sure shoulda,” said Osborne. He wanted to humor the old guy, get the tree and get out of there. Ray might think Clyde was a wizard when it came to fishing hard water but Osborne had limited tolerance for backwoods hermits. They tended to have bad teeth, bad breath, and conspiracy theories that begged logic.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” said Clyde, punching at the air with the stock of his gun. “I get that gal unstuck and next thing she’s accusing me of poking holes in the ice to make it happen. It was a
beaver
hole for chrissake. Tried to tell her that but, man, she yelled at me.”
Clyde shook his head. “The mouth on her—worse’n an old girlfriend of mine.” The craggy old face made a strange move, which Osborne recognized belatedly as a wink.
Oh, no, he prayed silently, please dear God—don’t let this be a story longer than one of Ray’s.
Encouraged by Osborne’s blank look, Clyde chewed and sucked, then said, “That old girlfriend—she was a hooker come up from Chicago and wanted me to marry ‘er. When I said, ‘no sirree, gal,’ you shoulda heard
her.
But that lady the other night—she was something else, I tell ya. You ask Ray. I gave him a rundown of the language that gal used. But—” Clyde gestured towards Mallory, “not when the young lady’s around. Men only for that kinda talk.
“I let her know I don’t intend to see her and that goofy boyfriend of hers back here no way, no time. If I do, so help me Jesus—boom! Won’t use no shotgun neither—might try my deer rifle on those two.” Clyde cradled his shotgun as he rocked back on his heels, content now that he had a plan.
“Oh, I doubt they’ll be back,” said Osborne. He couldn’t imagine anyone being that stupid. Clyde was scary enough
without
a gun.
“So you know my buddy Ray, huh,” Clyde stepped closer, and Mallory moved back. “Now there’s a boy knows fish. Did he tell ya we got a mess of walleyes other night? Got an even dozen, smallest one three pounds.”
“Yep, he sure did, Clyde. Showed me some real beauties—n-i-ice fish.”
“You betcha
“My dad and I, umm, we found a nice tree right here,” said Mallory, edging her way out from behind Osborne and pointing. “All ready to cut down. We’ll be out of your way in a few minutes … if that’s okay.” She gave Osborne an anxious look.
“Don’t bother me none. It’s those damn kids I don’t like. You see ‘em, you tell ‘em keep those goddam machines of theirs on the trail—I’ll shoot ‘em if they come back here again. I will.”
“You mean to tell me they’re riding off trail—right through the woods here?” Osborne looked around. He didn’t see any snowmobile tracks. The old man must be losing it.
“Not through the woods, up and down my streambeds. I got traps laid around the beaver dams back in here—and I don’t need them messed up. This is my living. You just ask Ray, he’ll tell ya.
“Hell, last week, I caught two of ‘em back in here. Some young fella and his girlfriend. They got stuck, see. Coupla nincompoops. Didn’t know that the ice over the springs back in here don’t freeze solid. Wouldn’t ya think they’d know that? Anyone who lives up here knows that.
“So middle of the night I hear all this hullabaloo. I go traipsing on over and come to see one of their machines is frozen halfway into the ice, doncha know. Prob’ly goin’ deeper without my help. So I go get my pickup with the winch and chains I use when I break a beaver dam and pulled ‘em out.” Clyde paused, giving his teeth a good suck.
“That was nice of you,” said Osborne.
“Not fast enough for the little lady—pretty nasty that one. Not one word of thanks. You’d a’thought they’d give me five bucks … something. Wouldn’t you?” Clyde’s voice cracked with anger.
“They sure shoulda,” said Osborne. He wanted to humor the old guy, get the tree and get out of there. Ray might think Clyde was a wizard when it came to fishing hard water but Osborne had limited tolerance for backwoods hermits. They tended to have bad teeth, bad breath, and conspiracy theories that begged logic.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” said Clyde, punching at the air with the stock of his gun. “I get that gal unstuck and next thing she’s accusing me of poking holes in the ice to make it happen. It was a
beaver
hole for chrissake. Tried to tell her that but, man, she yelled at me.”
Clyde shook his head. “The mouth on her—worse’n an old girlfriend of mine.” The craggy old face made a strange move, which Osborne recognized belatedly as a wink.
Oh, no, he prayed silently, please dear God—don’t let this be a story longer than one of Ray’s.
Encouraged by Osborne’s blank look, Clyde chewed and sucked, then said, “That old girlfriend—she was a hooker come up from Chicago and wanted me to marry ‘er. When I said, ‘no sirree, gal,’ you shoulda heard
her.
But that lady the other night—she was something else, I tell ya. You ask Ray. I gave him a rundown of the language that gal used. But—” Clyde gestured towards Mallory, “not when the young lady’s around. Men only for that kinda talk.
“I let her know I don’t intend to see her and that goofy boyfriend of hers back here no way, no time. If I do, so help me Jesus—boom! Won’t use no shotgun neither—might try my deer rifle on those two.” Clyde cradled his shotgun as he rocked back on his heels, content now that he had a plan.
“Oh, I doubt they’ll be back,” said Osborne. He couldn’t imagine anyone being that stupid. Clyde was scary enough
without
a gun.
“So you know my buddy Ray, huh,” Clyde stepped closer, and Mallory moved back. “Now there’s a boy knows fish. Did he tell ya we got a mess of walleyes other night? Got an even dozen, smallest one three pounds.”
“Yep, he sure did, Clyde. Showed me some real beauties—n-i-ice fish.”
“You betcha
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