turned up weren't too bad. I checked them out without too much trouble. At the third one I took one look, pulled the Ford off the road, and changed into the boots. I didn't have enough daylight left to do much, but I wanted to get the feel of it. I found out I had a bull by the nose in the first hundred yards. Clouds of gnats and mosquitoes dive-bombed me. I lunged through knee-deep brush, chopping steadily, streaming perspiration. Only a few signs of recent car traffic lured me on to the end of the track. When the faint ruts petered out by an abandoned tarpaper shack, I turned around and slogged my way back to the road.
I emerged from the brush to find a two-tone county sheriff's cruiser pulled in behind the Ford. Kaiser was showing a handsome set of fangs to a uniformed man trying to look into the front seat. My brush-crackling progress had announced me, and the uniformed man turned to inspect me.
"Deputy Sheriff Franklin," he announced curtly. "You'd better keep that damn wolf on a leash." I said nothing. Franklin was a stocky man with a red, weathered face. His gray trousers had red piping on the sides, and his khaki shirt was open at the throat. "What's your business out here?" he asked me.
"I'm a timber cruiser," I said.
"You're a what?"
"I'm scouting the area for a stands of second-growth black maple I heard is in here."
He scowled. "We're two hundred miles too far south for black maple. If you know your business, you know that." He glanced at the weedy-looking trees in an area that had obviously been viciously slash-cut.
I made my voice firm. "I had a drink with an old-timer who told me they took a million feet of black maple out of here fifty years ago. If the slash hasn't been burned over, then-should be a buck in it today for the guy who finds the right spot." Franklin was studying me, frowning. "I'm also working for Mr. Craig and Judge Carberry in town," I added.
Whatever Franklin had planned to say, the names stopped him. He wasn't the type to bow out gracefully, though. He swaggered to the rear of the Ford and made a production of writing down the license plate number. "We keep an eye on these badlands," he said gruffly and stalked back to his cruiser. He backed out on the road at fifty miles an hour and roared wide open down the road.
I changed back to my cordovans, put boots, machete, and golfclub back in the trunk, then patted Kaiser's scarred head when I got back into the Ford. "Good dog," I hold him. He rrrrrrr'd deep in his throat, then nipped at my arm. I had a feeling Kaiser and I understood each other about uniforms.
It was full twilight by the time I got back to the motel.
I began to make a habit of eating my evening meal at the Dixie Pig. Jed frequently joined me, and we'd sit over a drink and talk. When the bar wasn't busy, Hazel sat in, too.
Jed was a complete extrovert, like most salesmen I've known. In a roomful of people he'd crawl onto Hazel's lap and talk babytalk to her. He had a high-pitched, infectious laugh that turned every head in a room. But he was still a sharp-witted kid who looked both ways before crossing the street.
Between them Jed and Hazel knew every living soul for fifty miles. I'd get them started and then listen while they rattled family skeletons past and present. I didn't Know what I was listening for. I just hoped I'd recognize it when I heard it.
Early in the game I introduced the subject of the post office. They both shook a few feathers loose from that bird, but I couldn't find anything meant for me. Lucille Grimes was the postmistress, widow of a postmaster deceased five years. Jed said the town wondered why she didn't remarry, since she didn't lack for suitors. He also said zestfully that she was a tall, leggy, cool-looking blonde.
Hazel had her own idea why the beauteous Lucille hadn't remarried. She hinted that the favored suitor already had a wife. Since Hazel, minus her usual spade-is-a-shovel outspokenness, failed to name him, I deduced that he was a
I emerged from the brush to find a two-tone county sheriff's cruiser pulled in behind the Ford. Kaiser was showing a handsome set of fangs to a uniformed man trying to look into the front seat. My brush-crackling progress had announced me, and the uniformed man turned to inspect me.
"Deputy Sheriff Franklin," he announced curtly. "You'd better keep that damn wolf on a leash." I said nothing. Franklin was a stocky man with a red, weathered face. His gray trousers had red piping on the sides, and his khaki shirt was open at the throat. "What's your business out here?" he asked me.
"I'm a timber cruiser," I said.
"You're a what?"
"I'm scouting the area for a stands of second-growth black maple I heard is in here."
He scowled. "We're two hundred miles too far south for black maple. If you know your business, you know that." He glanced at the weedy-looking trees in an area that had obviously been viciously slash-cut.
I made my voice firm. "I had a drink with an old-timer who told me they took a million feet of black maple out of here fifty years ago. If the slash hasn't been burned over, then-should be a buck in it today for the guy who finds the right spot." Franklin was studying me, frowning. "I'm also working for Mr. Craig and Judge Carberry in town," I added.
Whatever Franklin had planned to say, the names stopped him. He wasn't the type to bow out gracefully, though. He swaggered to the rear of the Ford and made a production of writing down the license plate number. "We keep an eye on these badlands," he said gruffly and stalked back to his cruiser. He backed out on the road at fifty miles an hour and roared wide open down the road.
I changed back to my cordovans, put boots, machete, and golfclub back in the trunk, then patted Kaiser's scarred head when I got back into the Ford. "Good dog," I hold him. He rrrrrrr'd deep in his throat, then nipped at my arm. I had a feeling Kaiser and I understood each other about uniforms.
It was full twilight by the time I got back to the motel.
I began to make a habit of eating my evening meal at the Dixie Pig. Jed frequently joined me, and we'd sit over a drink and talk. When the bar wasn't busy, Hazel sat in, too.
Jed was a complete extrovert, like most salesmen I've known. In a roomful of people he'd crawl onto Hazel's lap and talk babytalk to her. He had a high-pitched, infectious laugh that turned every head in a room. But he was still a sharp-witted kid who looked both ways before crossing the street.
Between them Jed and Hazel knew every living soul for fifty miles. I'd get them started and then listen while they rattled family skeletons past and present. I didn't Know what I was listening for. I just hoped I'd recognize it when I heard it.
Early in the game I introduced the subject of the post office. They both shook a few feathers loose from that bird, but I couldn't find anything meant for me. Lucille Grimes was the postmistress, widow of a postmaster deceased five years. Jed said the town wondered why she didn't remarry, since she didn't lack for suitors. He also said zestfully that she was a tall, leggy, cool-looking blonde.
Hazel had her own idea why the beauteous Lucille hadn't remarried. She hinted that the favored suitor already had a wife. Since Hazel, minus her usual spade-is-a-shovel outspokenness, failed to name him, I deduced that he was a
Similar Books
