Uncle Sagamore and His Girls (18 page)

“Sure,” I said. “There was 18. Why?”

He bit his lip like he was thinking. “... and two ... plus four more ...”

Then I saw Pop and Uncle Sagamore. “Murph! There they are!” I jumped out of the car.

“Wait—” he says. But I was already breaking into a run.

You’d hardly recognize the truck. There was a big “
MINIFEE FOR SHERIFF
” sign stuck up on it, and a lot of smaller ones with Curly’s picture on them, and paper streamers. And four barrels of something. When it went on past I saw another sign. “Free Ice-Cold Lemonade.”

I lit out after it. It stopped just above the barn, near the back of the crowd. People was staring at Pop and Uncle Sagamore and the “
MINIFEE FOR SHERIFF
” signs kind of puzzled, and muttering and nudging one another. Pop jumped out and began opening big cartons of paper cups. People crowded around, looking kind of suspicious but wanting some of the cold lemonade. I tried to push through to him.

“Just help yourself, folks,” Pop was saying, grinning at everybody. “Compliments of Curly Minifee, our next Sheriff.”

“Pop!” I yelled. “I got to talk to you.”

He saw me. “Later, Billy. Get yourself some lemonade.”

I got close enough to grab his arm. “You got to listen, now!”

He waved at somebody in the crowd. Then he says to me, “What’s that? Oh. We’ll talk about it later. The rally’s goin’ to start in just about a minute.” He headed up the hill.

“
Pop! I got to tell you—!
”

I ran after him, but lost him in the crowd. I whirled around, to catch Uncle Sagamore, but he was gone too. Then I caught sight of him going toward the house. I lit out after him, but people kept getting in my way. When I got there, he wasn’t in any of the rooms. I ran out the back, and caught just a quick glimpse of him going along through the parked cars near the barn. He was carrying something against his side. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it was something long, and he seemed to be holding it that way so people wouldn’t see it. It seemed like he was headed for the timber beyond the fence. I tore out again, wondering if I’d ever get one of ’em to listen. It was beginning to look hopeless. When I got through the fence I thought I saw something moving off through the trees, and headed for it as fast as I could run. It seemed funny he’d come out here, but by now nothing made any sense. I couldn’t find him. I stopped and listened for footsteps in the leaves. There wasn’t any. Then I heard the crowd begin to roar behind me.

“
Minifee! We want Minifee!
” “
Let’s go, Curly!
” He was stalling as long as he could, and they seemed to be getting impatient, wondering what the delay was.

I ran on, yelling, “Uncle Sagamore!” every few steps. He didn’t answer. It wasn’t any use, I thought; I must have gone past him. It’d be better to go back and try to head him off on the way to the platform. I turned and ran back, beginning to feel winded now. Just as I got to the fence, I heard Curly’s voice over the loudspeakers. “Ladies and gentlemen—!” There was a big cheer that drowned him out. I couldn’t see anything at all, so I climbed up on top of one of the parked cars, and then I could see everything, and I was too late.

All the way from the barn up to the platform it was just a sea of people jammed together like sardines and waving their arms and cheering. Curly was on the front of the platform by the microphone, holding his hands in the air to the cheers, and in back of him on one of the benches was Pop and Uncle Sagamore. They had big silly grins on their faces, and looked proud as anything. It was awful, I thought. Curly had them right where he wanted ’em. They didn’t have a chance.

While I was climbing down from the car, I saw the Sheriff. He was over by the shed, all alone. He was sitting on one of the disconnected boilers with his face slumped down, listening to the big roar of cheers for Curly Minifee, and for a minute I felt sorry for him too, even if he had tried to put Uncle Sagamore in jail so he could be re-elected. There was a kind of war went on between the two of ’em all the time, but at least it was an honest war, and the Sheriff wasn’t a mealy-mouthed, underhanded sneak like Curly Minifee.

The cheers began to quiet down a little while I was running up the side of the crowd, and Curly began to talk over the loudspeakers, some of his whopping lies about how glad he was to be here, and how happy it all made him, and how their reception made him sort of choke up and brought moisture to his eyes.

“—as we all know, tomorrow’s election day, and this is my last speech of the campaign. And win, lose, or draw, the thing that I’ll be proudest of is that I’ve waged a clean fight without mud-slinging and underhanded tactics. As my old daddy used to say, God rest his soul—”

It was enough to make you sick.

Then I was up near the front. I cut over by Murph’s car, and climbed in. “Couldn’t you catch either one of ’em before they got up there?” I asked.

He didn’t pay any attention. “Listen, Billy,” he says, “are you sure there was just 18 of those jars?”

I couldn’t figure why he wanted to talk about that now. “Sure,” I says. “I counted ’em.”

“Well, look—I don’t suppose you remember what kind of lids they had?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure they was all the same. And they was sort of brass-colored.”

He nodded kind of slow, but he didn’t say anything. “What is it?” I asked.

But it didn’t seem like he even heard me. He just went on staring out through the windshield, while Curly’s mealy-mouthed lies kept coming over the loudspeakers. Then he took out a cigarette. He flipped the lighter, but just held it in his hand like he’d forgot about it.

“The poor son of a bitch,” he said.

“Uncle Sagamore?” I asked.

“No,” he says. “Curly.”

“M
URPH—” I SAYS. “WHAT
is it?”

“Shhhh.” He nodded toward the platform. “Listen.”

“And now,” Curly went on, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, “before I go any further, I’d like to thank the Noonan boys, Sagamore and Sam, for bein’ kind enough to allow me to hold this rally on their place. A little later on I’ll tell you the reason I wanted to make my last speech of the campaign here on the Noonan farm, and I’m sure you’ll understand perfectly when you learn it, but right now I’d like to introduce them. Ladies and gentlemen—two of our esteemed fellow citizens, and my very good friends, Sam and Sagamore Noonan!”

“He sure is butterin’ ’em up,” I says.

“Shhh!” Murph waved a hand for me to be quiet.

Curly turned a little so as to face them too, and clapped his hands. Pop and Uncle Sagamore stood up with big sheepish grins on their faces. A few people clapped once or twice, but most of ’em just looked kind of puzzled and suspicious. They was about to set down again when a car shot through the gate up by the road and came flying down the hill in a cloud of dust. Curly saw it, and I could see him having trouble keeping his face straight. It was Harm’s car, all right. He’d found the still.

It slid to a stop close to the platform with a big screeching of tires, and turned around, and Snookie McCallum jumped out. You could see she sure was in a hurry. The crowd all watched while she ran up the steps of the platform. Curly came over, and she spoke to him real low, and he nodded once or twice.

He swung back to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to excuse me for a few minutes. I’ve just got word the Governor’s office is trying to reach me on the phone—”

While he was explaining, Snookie McCallum was fidgeting first on one foot and then on the other like she was wishing he’d hurry up, and she kept looking up the hill toward the gate. I had that feeling again that I’d seen her before, and all at once it hit me. It was Mrs. Horne.

“Murph!” I pointed. But he was already staring at her. Then he says, “Well I’ll be goddamned!”

“But, why—?”

“Billy,” he says, “will you do something for me? Just be quiet the rest of the afternoon. I don’t want to miss any of this, because the chances are we’ll never see anything like it again. If you do recognize somebody from time to time, it may be a miracle, but don’t bother to point it out. Just keep your eye on the stage.”

I didn’t know what he meant. I looked back at the girl. It was crazy, but that’s who she was. Her hair being put up that way made her look younger somehow, and of course it was black now instead of blonde, and she was dressed different. But what was it all about? She was still jittering around, sort of nervous, and glancing up at the gate.

“—not over ten minutes at the most,” Curly was saying into the microphone. “And I’m sure my good friends the Noonan boys would be glad to say a few words, or play a record or two.”

He clapped Pop and Uncle Sagamore on the back. “You boys take good care of my friends out there. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Sure,” Pop says. “We’d be proud to help any way we can.” He stepped up to the microphone, with a sheepish grin on his face, and says, “Well, folks, I shore didn’t expect I’d have to make a speech when I got up on this here platform—”

Everything seemed to happen real fast then. Snookie McCallum—I mean, Mrs. Horne—had already run across and got in the car and was motioning for Curly to hurry. He trotted over, and just as he was getting in on the other side, another car whizzed in at the gate and came to a stop a little to this side of them, and almost at the same second Mrs. Horne got in gear and took off up the hill like a scared antelope, throwing up a big cloud of dust They went through the gate and out of sight.

Everybody was staring at the second car. A big red-faced man piled out almost before it stopped sliding. He looked mad as everything, and had a pistol stuck in the waistband of his pants. He yanked a girl out of the car and went charging toward the platform, kind of dragging her along by the wrist. Then he pulled out the gun and pointed it at Pop, and roared, “All right, come on down from there, Curly Minifee!”

The girl was trying to jerk loose. She yelled, “That ain’t him, Paw!”

“It ain’t?” the man barked, kind of puzzled. Then he pointed the gun at Uncle Sagamore, standing near the back of the platform. “Don’t tell me it’s that old bald-headed bastard!”

“I tell you it ain’t neither one of ’em,” the girl snapped. “He ain’t here.”

She seemed to be about 15. She was barefooted, and had on an old patched cotton dress that was way too short for her, but she was kind of pretty, with coal-black hair and blue eyes, even though her hair could stand a little combing. Then I began to have that funny feeling again.

“Says Curly Minifee right on that there sign!” the man barked, pointing at it with his pistol. He was about half-way up the steps now, still dragging the girl, and he roared at Pop, “I want that goddam Minifee! Where you hidin’ him?”

The whole crowd was just staring, with their mouths open. Pop had been absolutely flabbergasted at first, and scared, with that gun pointing at him, but now he’d got over it a little. He walked over toward the man. “Look here, mister,” he said in a loud voice, “I don’t know who you are, but if you’re some kind of a criminal that’s come here to start a ruckus at Mr. Minifee’s rally, I can tell you right now it’s a lucky thing for you he ain’t here.”

“Criminal!” the man roared. “Ill criminal you—!”

The girl looked around at all the crowd watching, and tried to yank her arm loose. I stared at her real hard, beginning to wonder if I’d gone crazy.

This one was Baby Collins.

“Mur—!” I said. He didn’t even tell me to hush this time; he just clapped his hand over my mouth. He was staring, absolutely fascinated.

“All right, where’d he duck out to this time?” the man barked at Pop.

“Mr. Minifee just happens to be talkin’ to the Governor of this state on the long-distance telephone,” Pop says. “An’ you’d be smart if you got back in your car with your young lady friend—”

Baby Collins gave another yank, and yelled, “You’re hurtin’ my arm, Paw!”

“An’ I’ll tell you somethin’ else,” Pop cut in, real quick, “Mr. Paul whatever-your-name-is. If you’ve kidnaped that there young girl, it ain’t goin’ to go easy with you—”

“
Kidnaped?
” the man roared. “This here girl’s my—”

Pop held up his hand and interrupted him. You watch your language, mister. I don’t care what kind of a word you’ve got for it, but there’s ladies present. An’ you ort to be ashamed of yourself, at your age. Why, that girl’s young enough to be your daughter.”

Uncle Sagamore had come over now. He pointed his finger at the man’s face, and says, “You ort to be horsewhipped right out of this county, that’s what you ort! A innocent young girl that prob’ly ain’t even 14 yet—”

“An’ when Curly Minifee takes office as Shurf of this county,” Pop warned him, “there sure won’t be no more of your kind of goin’s-on around here, I’ll tell you that!”

The man was almost purple-faced now, and pop-eyed, like he figured he’d wandered into a band of lunatics. He said a loud cuss word and charged back to his car, still dragging Baby Collins by the arm. They dusted up the hill and out of sight.

“Well sir,” Uncle Sagamore said. “It’s jest enough to make a man shudder. Place fillin’ up with white slavers—”

Pop nodded. “You sort of wonder what things are comin’ to, when a decent woman ain’t safe on the street. But I reckon that’s what comes of not havin’ any law-enforcement.”

“Oh, sweet and merciful Jesus!” Murph says, sort of strangling. He pulled a bottle of whiskey out of the glove compartment and had a drink. The crowd was buzzing and whispering. Uncle Sagamore came down from the platform, and Pop started to turn around to the microphone. And just then another car came down the hill and stopped. Everybody looked at it. I did too, but I was trying to keep an eye on Uncle Sagamore at the same time. He stopped, though, to see who was in the car.

I was positive I didn’t know this one. It was a kind of skinny man with a big red nose. He was dressed in a white suit, and he walked real straight, and sort of stiff-legged, like he was afraid he’d break if he bent anywhere. He went right up on the platform and shook hands with Pop and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure sorry to be a few minutes late,” he says. “So I guess I’d better start right in, don’t you think?”