A Far Piece to Canaan (29 page)

Halfway up the back side of Cummings Hill I could hear dogs barking from the direction of LD's house. That was rotten luck because it meant I had to circle an extra quarter mile down toward the hollow to keep from being seen. It was going to cost me time. I began running and finally dropped into a low place that was shielded from view. It was harder going now because I was in the middle of an elm thicket and trees were closer together than the oaks and there was more brush in between. Finally, I come to a fence I knew. I smelled some kind of stink, real strange, and thought about going further down to cross but I was in a hurry. I unwrapped the fish from my hand, slung them over to the other side, then put my pole next to them. As my foot touched the bottom wire to start climbing, I raised my head. Standing uphill, ten foot in front of me, was a wild-headed giant. He looked half a foot taller than Ben and the stuff he was wearing was falling off. His eyes somehow glistened in the moonlight, and his chest billowed in and out. I froze. Slowly, he raised his arms, then I knew what it was. The four-armed man! His dangling rags looked like the two more arms I saw near the sweet apple tree, and there was this big knife in his right hand. I tried to scream, but couldn't.

“Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord!” he roared, and staggered toward me until his whole body towered over my head. Then he must of tripped because he come crashing down across the fence and the knife blade buried to the hilt in the ground next to my foot.

Screams come out of me I didn't even try to yell, and my body turned to jerks, leaping this way and that way until my legs started running, just pumping away on their own and me screaming like I'd gone crazy. I didn't know where I was going until suddenly there was a clearing and two dogs bounding toward me in the moonlight. I swerved as they come, trying to get out of their way. Then, all of a sudden, giant arms were around me and I was fighting, and kicking, and thrashing, but the arms had me tight. Then I smelled stale hog meat.

“It's okay, Samuel . . . it's okay, Samuel . . . you're all right . . . just relax . . .”

Something hot and wet wiped across my face and the voice said, “Go way, Abel.”

I was back at Ben's. I opened my eyes and there he was, his long face just a few inches above my nose in the moonlight. We were about fifty feet from his cabin. Every part of me that could move had an arm or a leg wrapped around it. I wriggled and the coils relaxed.

“You okay, son?” he whispered, and I turned my face into his chest, put arms around his body, and bawled. I must've cried five minutes, Ben just stroking my back. When I stopped we went to the cabin and I told what happened, much as I remembered anyhow, and drank coffee while he filled .30–30 clips.

“Hit's our ole buddy from th' Little Bend,” he said. “Your gettin' away was a miracle.”

“Yeah,” and I shuddered when I thought what the crazy man done to the bucks.

Ben laid the clips on the table and came over and gripped both my arms. His hands was so strong they hurt and his eyes were wide and scary and his voice was hoarse. “Samuel, you got t' tell your pa. You got t' tell him tonight! Understand?”

Fear went through me. “What about Lonnie?”

Ben rolled his head. I never seen him do that before, and he kind of shook my shoulders and his voice rose to almost a shout. “How long you figure hit'll be before that maniac kills somebody! Hit could be Lonnie! His whole family! They're only three, four mile from that cave!”

Fear shot through me again. “Yeah, I . . . I know.”

Ben turned away from me, picked up the .30–30, then turned back, put a clip into the rifle, threw a shell in the chamber, set the safety, then stuffed the other clips in his pockets. Then he stared for a few seconds like he wudn't sure what to do and said: “Samuel, th' next thing th' crazy man kills could be your mom or dad or sister.”

Suddenly, his face got real hard, and he shoved it only a few inches from mine. “You got t' tell, Samuel!” he said real loud. “You gotta forget this thing about Lonnie and tell! T'night!”

I was shaking when I nodded, and then I thought of something. “Suppose'n nobody believes me. Crazy man ain't done nothin' for a long time. They'd believe you. You're a grown-up.”

I was trying to get him to come in the house with me because I was too scared to tell by myself. I hated myself for being a coward. Still, there was some chance they might not believe me, and he was considering it. He run one hand through his hair and looked at the door, then at me, then reached over and picked up his big flashlight.

“I'll think about it,” he said. “Come on before your folks go outta their heads.”

We took the lane to where it turned to blacktop, then circled behind Pers Shanks' house and crossed Rags Wallace's place. About a hundred yards below Dillard's, just about where Fred and me had set the deadfalls, we crossed the road into our field and headed for the stock barn. We'd noticed a glow in the sky, but it wudn't until we come over a rise that we could see what it was. The MacWerters' barn was on fire.

We started trotting. I could see Ben's eyes shift back and forth in the moonlight. His finger was on the trigger guard of the .30–30 and his thumb was lying on its safety. When we got to the hog lot we hugged the barn until we come to its gate, then scooched down and looked at the house. Three people were standing in the dim light of the kitchen porch. I could tell two of them were Naomi and Mom from their size, but the third was a man. It couldn't be Dad because the man was too tall. There was something in his hand. Then he turned sideways and I could see a long-barreled pistol.

“Mr. Mac,” I whispered.

Ben put his hand on my shoulder and I jumped. “Listen,” he said soft but strong. “You go in there and you tell your folks what happened. Th' whole thing! Don't leave nothin' out except about me. You got t' do it, Samuel, and you got t' do it now! People's lives depend on this! No more stuff about Lonnie, y' hear?”

“You ain't coming in with me?”

“Not t'night. If they won't believe you, come see me tomorra and bring your pa. Just your pa! Nobody else! Get him t' promise he won't tell about seein' me, okay.”

“But Ben, I thought you were goin' t'—”

“I can't, Samuel. I just can't.”

“All right,” I said, disappointed.

He knelt down and squeezed me 'til I was almost crushed, then leaned back and said: “When all this is over, we'll get in some huntin', do lots of stuff t'gether, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, and started to reach for the gate.

Ben's hand grabbed my wrist. “Whoa! You don't walk up on a guy in th' dark when he's holdin' a gun and his barn's just been fired. Start callin', and as soon as your ma or sister recognize your voice, go. I'll wait here until you're inside th' house.”

“Okay,” I whispered. Somehow, I didn't realize he meant for me to start calling right then and I kind of just stood there.

“Go on and call!” he said, and his voice was a little mad.

I yelled as hard as I could. “Mom . . . Mom . . . it's me, Mom!”

Everybody's head turned toward the barn and Mom started to move. Mr. Mac grabbed her arm and his pistol pointed toward where he heard my voice.

“Samuel!” Mom yelled.

“Yeah, Mom . . . it's me, Mom!”

“Samuel . . . Samuel,” and it was Naomi's voice.

I could see Mr. Mac's gun point down and I began climbing the hog lot gate.

“Bye,” Ben whispered. “I . . . I love you, Samuel.”

I started to say I loved him too, but somehow I just couldn't. I ran. When I reached the yard, Mom's arms wrapped around me squeezing so hard I almost smothered.

“Where's Dad?” I yelled, then I remembered the flames shooting up from Mr. Mac's place. “Your barn's on fire!”

“Too late for th' barn. Almost too late for me,” said Mr. Mac, and he pulled back a flannel shirt that I recognized was Dad's. There was white gauze all over the left side of his hairy chest and up toward his neck. Blood was soaking through in places making little patches of red.

“G . . . gosh,” I stammered.

“Your father's out looking for you,” said Mom. “So is Edwin. Mr. MacWerter is guarding us while they're gone.”

“Terrible things have happened tonight,” Naomi gasped.

“There's a crazy man out there! He tried t' kill me!” yelled Mr. Mac.

“He . . . he . . . tried to k . . . kill me too!” I stammered.

“What!” Mom screamed. “Oh my God!” and she started breathing fast.

We went inside the kitchen, Mr. Mac holding Mom up. He grabbed the first chair he come to and pushed it under her. She flopped down, white as a sheet, then leaned forward and put her arms and head on the kitchen table.

“Get some of your dad's whiskey,” Mr. Mac snapped at Naomi.

Naomi seemed to spring in the air and suddenly there was the bottle.

Mr. Mac got out the cork and started to push the pint to Mom's lips, then stopped. “Get me a glass,” he snapped again, and it was there in a flash. He poured some whiskey in the glass and put it at Mom's white lips. “Drink some, Liz,” he said, and she took some in her mouth and swallowed, then coughed and waved her hand over her chest and head. Mr. Mac pushed the glass toward her again and she shoved it away.

“I'm all right,” she gasped.

Mr. Mac looked at the half-full glass, wrinkled his forehead, then downed it in one gulp. “What happened t' you, Samuel?” he rasped.

“I was comin' home from fishin' and started to climb a fence near Cummings Hill when this great, tall, raggedy man screamed, ‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth th' Lord' and staggered out with a knife maybe two foot long and tried t' stab me. He tripped and fell before he could do it. Just missed me. I took off runnin' before he got up.”

“My God!” said Mom, turning pale again, and Mr. Mac reached for the pint. “No, I'm okay,” Mom said, raising her hand.

Just then I heard the yard gate squeak and the sounds of a bucket being kicked. Mr. Mac turned white and cocked the pistol he was holding in his shaky hands. “St . . . stand and identify yourself or be kilt!” he boomed in a quaky old voice.

“It's me, George . . . Morris,” Dad answered, and Mr. Mac uncocked the pistol.

“Come on in, Morse!” Mr. Mac called.

Dad came in carrying the old 12-gauge. His eyes were wide, and his short, big-shouldered body filled the entrance. Mom shot out of her chair toward Dad. “He's home, Morris,” she yelled just as her body slammed against his chest.

I had moved beside the kitchen stove and Dad saw me for the first time. He come toward me dragging Mom with him. With his free hand, he took my head and squeezed it against his cheek. “Thank God!” he croaked, and it sounded a little like he was crying but he wudn't.

“He almost got killed,” said Mom.

Dad's head jerked back but before he could say anything I yelled, “Crazy man tried t' kill me with a knife!”

Dad's hands were shaking as he propped the 12-gauge against the refrigerator.

“Where's Babe?” asked Mr. Mac.

“Warning neighbors who can't see your fire and don't have a telephone. Only four, five families can see your flames down in the hollow. God knows where that nut's headed next!”

“Fine place,” said Mom. “Four telephones between here and Harper's Corner, and three of them within a mile of each other. Fine place!”

Dad lifted his hands a few inches, let them flop against his thighs, then set down in a chair, his legs sticking straight out. Suddenly he looked at me. “What happened to you?”

“I was climbin' a fence by Cummings Hill and th' crazy man stepped out of th' bushes and tried to stab me with this great long knife. He fell and missed and I run off.”

“Where were you, anyway?” asked Mom, and she was getting hot.

“I went fishin'.”

“Where?” asked Dad.

“The Big Bend bottoms.”

“Big Bend bottoms!” said Mom. “That's miles from here!”

“Where you, Bob, Alfred, and Fred ran that trot line?” asked Dad.

“Yes, sir,” I answered.

Dad opened his mouth to ask another question when the telephone rang. He jumped to his feet, ran into the living room, and lifted the receiver off the wall box. When he answered his voice was almost squeaky. “Hello . . . he's home, Edwin. Crazy guy almost killed him, though . . . yeah, he's okay too . . . yeah, many as you can and tell 'em t' move their families together quick as possible. Split up th' work. Get Shackelford t' warn people down toward the Millers. Get Rags t' work on down th' Dry Branch. You and Bess cover Cuyper Creek Pike toward Harper's Corner. That bastard is on a rampage and this time it ain't sheep. Have one man guard each group of people and all th' other men assemble at my house . . . Sure they need to bring a gun. I'll call the sheriff. We got to make plans tonight. If this goes wrong, and we don't find him, he'll get another crack at us, and I'll guarantee next time somebody's gonna get killed. G'bye, Edwin.” Click.

The room fell quiet, then Dad lifted the receiver again. “Operator, get me Sheriff Wilkers. This is an emergency.”

While Dad was talking to the sheriff, I thought about Ben. There had to be a reason he wouldn't come forward. He was scared of something, most probably the sheriff. That meant he had done something wrong sometime or other and was worried about being put in jail. I already told that I was fishing on the Big Bend bottoms, and that the crazy man had tried to stab me coming back from there. They'd search the Big Bend, maybe Ben's cabin. The sheriff might recognize him. Somehow, I had to keep the sheriff away from the Big Bend bottoms.

I
stopped at the crest of the hill during my walk from the hickory and locust thicket to my car, and looked back. There was an area I hadn't explored. I hesitated, but it was as if some invisible force were drawing me. I moved by instinct through some of the wildest briar-, thorn-, mosquito-, and tick-infested land in Fayette County. Vines grabbed at my feet. Wild blackberry briars were so thick as to be impenetrable; they were, however, loaded with berries. The briars demanded tribute for their fruit and received it in the form of my ripped skin.