The Frontiersmen

Ansil and I were bored to tears and Pa sensed it.

“Boys, how’d you like to take a trip to an Indian burial ground?” he asked, from his rocking chair on the front porch.

“How we gonna get there?” Ansil replied.

“Shanks’ mare, I suppose!”

“Who’d be going?” Ansil asked.

“I reckon you and Row, unless you want to ask Gwen,” he said, carving the edge of a hickory laying across his lap.

“Where’s it at?” Ansil asked.

“I’ll show you. It’s on an old map,” he said, walking into the house.

Ansil and I exchanged glances and were thinking “Too good to be true!”

Pa came out carrying a scroll that was wound tight with a piece of string. He untied it and then sat down next to Ansil and me.

The map had the texture of linen cloth, and was splotched and frayed and chestnut colored.

“This has been in the family over a hundred years and was made by your great, great, grandfather. See the initial T.A. McKiddy in the corner? It stands for Titus Anthony McKiddy.”

The date in the corner said July 2, 1838.

“How come you never mentioned it before?” Ansil asked.

“It’s a secret, not to be revealed unless the man using it is able to go and return on his own. It’s a family tradition.”

“Has Ed and Leonard seen it?”

“Yep, they’ve both been there on their own?”

“When did you go Pa?” I asked.

“When I was a boy about Ansil’s age, maybe a few years older,” he said, without looking up.

“How far away is it?” Ansil asked.

“I reckon about forty miles?”

“How long’s it gonna take to get there?”

“Depends on how fast you walk, but I guess about three days if you don’t mess around too much. There’s also something else you need to know. All you’re allowed to take is a rifle with six bullets, some fishing line, hooks, a knife, a hatchet and a flint-stone.”

“No food?” Ansil asked.

“None.”

“The items are shown on the left. My dad gave me the map just like I’m giving it to you. First you need to make a sworn oath on blood that you won’t tell anyone about it.”

Ansil’s eye was twitching more than its normal speed.

“Row gets to go?” Ansil asked Pa.

“Of course.”

“When can we leave?”

“I reckon now, if you’re ready to take the blood-oath.”

“We’re ready,” Ansil said, without looking at me.

“Go round and gather up the things I said you can take and meet me back here.”

When Ansil returned, we sat back down around the map.

“I need the palm of your left hand,” he said, pulling his knife from the scabbard.

We did this and Pa cut a small nick on each, and then did the same on his hand.

“Place em here together. We all got to touch blood or it ain’t a blood oath,” he said, with his hand out.

“Accordin’ to the blood oath were taking on this here porch, we all swear on the blood of our forefathers that we won’t reveal the secret of the map to no-one, no-how, unless they’z  blood related to the McKiddy’s and they agree to the same conditions. Do you swear?”

“Yes,” we both whispered in the solemn ritual.

“Now listen carefully. On this hike, you’re headin north over a mountain, through a valley and then to the top of another small mountain. Always be aware of landmarks in the distance like a ridge or hill-top, or even a tall tree and continue to reposition so you always know north from south, and east from west. Do you follow me? At night, you’ll look for the North Star and use that to confirm your directions, by matching it against the outline of hills and other landmarks you see. On this trek, if you get lost for any reason, your best bet is to either retrace your steps, or if you’re closer to the second mountain, continue north. This will lead you to the Cumberland River where there’s always traffic. If the going gets too rough, your next bet is to head east where you’ll eventually run into roads within seven or eight miles. Are you boys paying attention?”

We nodded in silence.

“Do not head west. That country is hard and dense and meant to be crossed by specific trails which are hard to find. If you get lost heading west, you’ll be in a pickle, that’s for sure.”

“So the trail we’ve been calling the Indian trail all along, is actually an Indian trail?” Ansil asked.

“Sure as shootin and it’s been called that by frontiersman long before our time,” he said.

“I’ll be damn!” Ansil said.

“Watch your mouth!”

If you don’t return within a week, I’ll have to send out a hunting party, so follow the signs and don’t waste your bullets. Y’all ready to go?” he asked, rolling up the map and handing it to me.

“Whooo Hooooo!”

“Then off you go.”

We setout north on the Indian trail. Ansil carried the Springfield, and I carried the ax and knife.

The wind was at our back and blew in snorts.

The sky was streaked with dark clouds set against a gray, ruffled blanket. Rain was coming, but for the time being, it was only bragging its intent.

“Forty five miles! I ain’t ever walked that far,” I said, on Ansil’s heels.

“I ain’t never been much above the fishin hole come to think of it,” he replied.

“How much ground we gonna cover today?” I asked.

“Let’s get over the first Mountain,” he said.

The trees started getting knocked around and we began to feel spits of rain.

“Can you make a fire with a flint-rock?” I asked.

“Pa showed me once, but I prefer matches, which is why I snuck some out. We ain’t cavemen Row. This is the twentieth century.”

We covered about six miles as the trail climbed through forests of ancient hard-woods and pines.

I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’m getting hungry,” I said.

Ansil reached into his pocket and pulled out a Clark Bar.

“Here you go nephew. You didn’t think I’d leave home without a few back-up supplies,” he said, throwing the wrapped candy bar over his shoulder.

“How many did you bring?” I asked.

“Twelve!”

“Twelve?”

“I keep em under the mattress in case of an emergency, like getting grounded.”

“Twelve?”

“You ain’t whistling Dixie, and that ain’t all. I tore a few pages out of Gwen’s diary that talk about some of the nastiest words on the planet, and how they’re to be used,” he said.

“Where’d she get her information?” I asked.

“In Kentucky, they teach cuss in the sixth grade.”

We stopped where the ridge crested above a deep, sunken gorge.

“Let’s take a look and find out where the hell we are,” he said, climbing to the rough edge of a granite slab that acted as an archway above the trail.

I climbed up and sat next to him. The sky was still churning, but we could see for miles in every direction.

“Row, I ain’t never heard you cuss much, why is that?” he asked, with a serious tone.

“So I don’t get a strap laid on me, or have to eat a bar of soap,” I replied.

“Fuck, bitch, asshole, tits, shit! You see Ansil, I know em all, and I’ve even heard em strung-together in the same sentence. I just prefer not to use them.

“Row, I’m glad you shared that information with me. I thought city life was turning you into a big marshmallow.”

“Are you calling me a marshmallow?”

“Well I weren’t going to push the issue, but after carefulconsideration, Yea, I think that sums you up quite well.”

“You loading for a fight you big-mouth hillbilly tic,” I said, with a fuse as short as Ansil’s own temper.

He didn’t hesitate and punched me in the face as blood spurted from my nose.

Tic wasn’t a good choice of words. In hindsight, he was pitching for a fight no matter what I called him.

“You calling me thick or tick? Be careful Row, because this answer might be your last.”

I charged him and pushed him over the ledge where he fell ten feet down, into a thicket of tap-root. The gun went off and the ricochet echoed for miles through the rocky gorge below.

I stood on the ledge looking down with my fists clenched, spitting fire.

He was stuck.

“Well durn it Row, help me out a here. I wasn’t serious, and I’m glad to see you got verve. I like that in a feller.”

“What’s verve?”

“It’s the same as nerve, now give me a hand before another thorn tears into my butt.”

I pulled him out and we each had a candy bar, sitting under the outcrop, licking the wounds of our near-mortal combat.

Then the rain turned serious.

“Might as well stay under this granite,” he said.

“We also need to get some brush and branches and deadwood before the ground gets too wet.”

In minutes we had a nice fire thanks to the matches. We tried messing with the flint-rock, but just ended up scraping our fingers raw, like they’d been rubbed with a cheese grater.

We sat under the granite roof with a blazing fire as the rain started coming down in torrents.

Ansil pulled two folded-sheets from his pocket, and we each started in on a third candy bar.

“What’s the nastiest word in the English language?” he asked.

“I guess fuck.”

“It’s what I would have thought, but fuck means hurt. When a man says fuck-you, it’s the same as throwing a sharp-edged rock at you. It becomes more magnified when used along with the middle finger,” he said.

“I’ve always wondered why the two go together like that,” I replied.

“The middle finger’s just a form of sign language, and think about it, if a man says aw-fuck, it’s usually because he hurt himself.”

“Leonard must have been hurting himself a lot under the car the other day.” I said.

“Now look at a word like shit. Obviously it’s associated with what drops out of our bottoms, but it’s ranked like this according to Gwen:

1. Shit is a good, general, all-purpose cuss word.
2. Bullshit refers to the authenticity of a statement and is not an insult. When you tell a person they’re full of  bullshit you’re saying they’re not authentic.
3. Crap is considered a harmless cuss.
4. Poo is a safe word when discussing shit.
5. Poo-poo is what a child says.
6. Number two is what you say to your parents or strangers or old folks.
7. Butt-Fudge is when you need to take a wet rag to your backside.
8. Nut Rocks is when the poop out like the texture of coal.
9. Mud Puddle is when it runs like pee from your bottom.

“What do you think asshole means?” he asked.

“I never thought about it. I guess you’re calling a person a butt,” I replied.

“To be technical, the insult is used to call a person ugly. Have you ever looked at your butt in the mirror from your mom’s purse?” he asked.

“What?”

“You heard me. Ain’t you ever used a mirror to see how ugly your butthole is? It ain’t a pretty sight. What do you think calling someone a pussy means?” he continued.

“I’ve never really understood that either,” I said.

“It’s the same as calling someone soft, because cats are soft, and no man wants to be called soft.”

“Do the pages say what cump means?” I asked, remembering the word Dad used in his last fight with Mom

He ran down the list with his finger.

“Ain’t nothing in the diary for cump, and if it ain’t here, it ain’t an authentic cuss. Gwen also lists some other useful information about cuss words.  Twat is short for “to what” and is misinterpreted as a cuss. It could be used to say “twat do I owe the pleasure of your company? Go to Hell is a moderate insult. Burn in Hell is an evil insult. What the Hell is an acceptable cuss when one is confused?  Son of a bitch can be used if you’re hurt, or as a mild insult because a bitch is a female dog. When insulting a boy, call him a pussy. When insulting a girl, use bitch. Bastard is a moderate, general cuss used to strengthen a group of cusswords. For example, go to hell, can be strengthened by saying “You fucking ugly bastard, go to hell.”

Gwen also makes an entry in her diary about the worst of the worst,”

The rain continued off and on through the night. I couldn’t get Mom out of my mind. I was worrying about her being alone and so far away from the family. The thought of her by herself hadn’t occurred to me until that night, of how much I missed her and knew she was missing me.

We woke to a thick mist, and the sun looked like an egg yolk as streaks of sunlight leaned across our path as we started out. We were headed downhill into a steep v-cut gorge and once we found the stream, we were to head due east until we saw an ancient white oak with a distinguishing L-limb that would lead us to another trail heading north.

We were down to one Clark Bar each. The trail to the valley floor moved down steep granite steps that were slippery and pooled with water in several spots. It seemed like the descent took forever. We could hear the rapid movement of water, but the going was slow because we were barefoot.  When we reached the stream, we just stared at each other. The rain had turned what would have been mild flow into a raging rapid, almost thirty feet wide.

“Tarnations Row, this ain’t gonna be easy,” he said, walking out a few feet into the rapids.

“Here, hold the gun, it don’t look that deep, I‘ll see if I can wade across.”

“I don’t know Ansil, it don’t look good.”

“You city fellers are…..Oh shit!” He screamed, as he slipped and fell, hitting his head against a large rock. He seemed unconscious as he disappeared down a narrow chute to our right. I threw down the gun and climbed my way down the south bank, heading east as quickly as I could among the huge boulders that bordered the stream. The flow gained in intensity with every yard. I lost view of the water several times trying to climb around the rocks and trees.

I came to a large pool at the end of long cascade and scanned the churning water for any sign of Ansil.

I screamed his name several times. Nothing. Then I saw one of his arms flapping near the limb of a fallen tree on the opposite bank.

I couldn’t cross at that point, but was able to run downstream about fifty yards where I  jumped across a narrow chute. I then made my way back up the north edge of the shore and  swam to the point where he was trapped.

“Row! I’m stuck, my foot’s caught on somethin!” he screamed, spitting out water.

“Hold on Ansil!” I screamed, above the roar.

I moved-in from behind and dove under the log where he was stuck.

“Careful Row, the bottom’s full of pot-holes. I can’t feel my left foot, I think it’s broken. Can you see what it’s stuck on?”

The current under the tree wasn’t as strong as the channel, so I went under water again tugging on his leg. It wouldn’t move.

“I can’t get it out; it’s caught under a rock,” I said.

“Go find a straight branch and try to wedge it off a bit so I can at least move! I can’t hold here much longer,” he said, with a panicked look in his eye’s I’d never seen before.

I hurried back to shore and found a large, straight limb about three inches in diameter and hacked it off with the hatchet. Then I ran back to Ansil and slipped back into the pool. I put one end of the limb under the rock and tried to wedge it off by pulling down on the other end of the limb. “Now! Lift!” I screamed.

He held fast to the limb that was keeping him above water and shouted, “Not yet, not yet, it ain’t moving. I can’t hold much longer.”

I ignored him and tried again. Nothing. He was barely hanging on. He began to lose his grip. One hand let go and he tried to claw back, but to no avail. Then he let go. The current pulled hard on him and stretched his thin frame down-stream, but he was still stuck tight. He had a strange look in his eyes, more confusion than panic, and I thought I saw him smile.

I dove down again and tried putting more weight on the limb. Not even a budge.

I tried again. Nothing

I dove in again and instead of pulling, I tried turning his foot. It worked! By divine providence, he was free. I held tight to his good foot and was able to guide him to the shore where he began choking when he reached the bank. He threw up in several giant heaves, but was able to turn on his back. His face was white and a gash in his head was pouring blood.

He started laughing.

“Whew, that was close, I thought I was fish bait. What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing. I just went after it from a different angle and the current practically dislodged it on its own. That was close!”

His ankle was turned inward in a grotesque hook shape. We both stared at it in silence.

“Anz, it’s bad! It’s broke real bad.”

“I can’t feel a thing, least not yet. Let’s get to some higher ground where it’s dry,” he moaned.

“Aw shit, now it’s hurting. It looks like the bone snapped where the ankle meets the foot.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“First I gotta put something on this gash,” he said, feeling the wound above his left ear that was oozing blood.

He reached into his pocket and tossed me his pocket knife.

“Cut me some strips off your shirt and we’ll use it as a bandage.”

I took off my shirt, and cut and ripped three sections of cloth and then tied them together. He then wrapped it around his head as a bandage.

Tears were welling up in his eyes, but he was acting brave and he started taking control.

“We’re probably thirty miles in. Pa said if we got in trouble after the first mountain, to either continue north to the Cumberland River or head east where we should hit a road in about eight miles. Seems like the shortest way is east, but we don’t know the ground. If you keep north, you should hit the river in about ten miles, but it’s over a known trail.”

I started crying.

“Well shit little nephew. We’re just having fun. Stop that nonsense. You think we’re the first pioneers to ever break a leg? Hell, we’re tough stock. This ain’t nothing. But I’m gonna need some help. Aw shit-fuck, it hurts!” he screamed, as he leaned in against me.

The bone was snapped clean at the ankle and the foot was being held in place by tendons and skin.

“There’s no way I’m walking. You’re gonna have to do it alone. Where’s the rifle?”

“Up stream about a quarter mile.”

“Okay, go get it and we’ll make plans.”

A half hour later, I returned with the rifle and Ansil was sitting with his back against a pine tree in a bed of needles and leaves. He was somewhat recovered in spirit.

“Okay Row, we gotta make a decision. As I see it, the surest route is north along the trail….”

“Ansil wait, would you look at that,” I interrupted, pointing to an ancient Oak where a massive, bottom limb had been artificially bent down into an “L” shape with the bottom of the “L” pointing north.

“Tarnation Row, that’s it. Go check it out. If there’s a trail-head there, then providence has just spoken.”

“There’s a trail Ans,” I shouted, after climbing about twenty yards above the marker.

I ran back to his side.

“Okay, here’s what we gotta do. You head north and try for the river. Take the gun. I’m gonna rig me up a camp here and haul me in some fish and make myself at home. I’ll keep the matches, hatchet and knife. You take the last Clark Bar. You okay?” he asked.

“Yea, you’re the one who’s all messed up,” I replied.

“It only hurts when I move it, so setting here, dropping a line in, sounds mighty fine to me,” he said, with fake confidence.

“What you gonna use for bait?” I asked.

He took the knife and dug a shallow hole in the soil. “This ground’s full of worms” he said, holding up a two-inch night-crawler.

“Okay Ans, I guess I’m off,” I said heading down the trail towards the “L-Tree.”

“Take your time Row; I think I’ll finally get to enjoy some peace and quiet. You’ve been talking my ear off.”

“You’re full of shit Ansil.”

“I know, but ain’t it fun sometimes,” he shouted back.

The trail was steep, as I headed north out of the valley. As I looked below, I realized it was a good choice because the canyon to the east looked rough steep and it would have been six or seven miles over unknown, rocky ground, versus maybe ten over a known trail. There were several hoofed tracks that crossed the trail which looked like deer.

The air was starting to warm-up which meant I’d also need to watch for snakes which began to show when the sun fell on the slopes. Further in, the mountain bulged upward as if taking in a mighty breath before sagging back towards the Cumberland Valley.

At the second mountain crest, the view seemed to stretch forever in every direction. About three miles further north, the downhill trail became less steep and I emerged onto the grassy shelf of a meadow. At the northern edge of the clearing, about a hundred yards away, were two men sitting by a smoking fire. As I approached, I could see a mound that wound about fifty yards from east to west like a giant serpent. The camp was strewn with trash and there was a cast iron pot boiling something that smelled good, hanging over the fire.

The older of the two was bald, with rotting teeth and a gut that sagged over his belt. He was unshaven and shoeless and his stained green shirt was unbuttoned to the waist. The younger man was about Leonard’s age, pencil thin with a splotchy, red complexion, full of pock marks and scabs. He was shirtless and wore a faded, green Winn-Dixey cap, sweat-stained at the rim. The older of the two stood up, and walked towards me.

“Well lookeeyere,” he said, spitting a brown gob of tobacco juice to his side.

“If it ain’t a young-un cum waltzing outta the hills. What do you think your doin young-un just waltzing into our camp?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just out hunting,” I lied, as the hair on my neck was bristling like a porcupine.

“Where you from?” the younger man asked, taking a swig from a jug.

“Jellico Creek.”

“Jellico who?” he asked.

“That’s creek,” I replied.

“How far is it from here?” he asked.

“It’s about five miles over that hill, just south.”

“Five miles? Well I reckon we walked at least ten miles over that hill and didn’t see no Jellico Creek,” he said, standing up, un-steady.

“I ain’t a good judge of distance,” I said.

“Delbert, leave him be. Son, what’s yur name? I’m Frizell and this here’s Delbert,” he said, extending a dirty hand he’d just wiped across his mouth.

“I’m Ralph Rowland. People call me Row,” I said, offering him a handshake.

“Well Row, why don’t you pull up a seat and we’ll give you a cup of the best squirrel stew you’ve ever “et.” It’s got prime, Kentucky bush-tail and wild tators and onions and a bit of salt and Jim Beam just to give it a kick. Delbert what kind of a goddamn host are you. Would you please get Row, Row, Row yer boat a cup for his stew?”

“Naw mister, I gotta just be on my way.” I said, backing away.

“No, I won’t have none of that. You grab yourself a seat goddamnit, and have a cup of stew with Delbert and me. You see, I reckon we ain’t had no visitors in likely over a year. Ain’t that right Del?”

“You drink whisky Rowey Towey?” Frizell continued.

“No sir.”

“Bullshit, your kin probably runs the world’s biggest still this side of Tennessee.”

“No sir, we’re just farmers.”

“Row Boat, you a Tee-Totler?” Delbert asked.

“What’s that?”

“It means you don’t drink or smoke?”

“That’d be me.”

“You gettin sassy with me Row Boat?”

“No sir.”

“Then shut your mouth and have a drink and some stew.”

“Can I just get going? I ain’t gonna tell anyone you’re here.”

“Well I agree Row, you ain’t gonna tell anyone we’re here cause you ain’t goin nowhere. You know, we’ve seen bear signs the last few days and it ain’t safe for a young-un like yourself to be out here in the woods on your own. What kind of gentlemen would that make us, just sending you off? No sir, until it’s safe to go, you’re gonna stay right here with me and Del. By the way, anyone ever call you big ears? Why they’z as big as Dumbo!” he said.

I turned to run and Delbert dove on me and started punching me on the head.

“That’s enough Del!” Frizell yelled.

“Okay Dumbo, for your own protection, we gonna tie you to a tree and put a gag in your mouth so you don’t alert no bears.”

I tried to kick Delbert in the balls but missed and he backhanded me hard across the face. Next I remember, I was tied to a tree with a dirty rag in my mouth.

It was mid-afternoon when I came to.

“Hey look Friz, the little man woke up.”

“Good, I’m tired a diggin. Row, it’s your lucky day. While you were sleeping, me and Del decided to hire you as a digger. You see, the truth is, I gotta bad back, and Del here, well he just hates to dig. See that mound over there, where we been workin? I need you to take this shovel and start diggin, but you gotta be real careful cause it’s full of Indian antiques, and they’re worth a pretty penny if they ain’t all chopped up. Just to be on the safe side, I’m gonna tie you to this leash so don’t get any stupid idea’s. Oh, and if you do get any stupid idea’s I’m gonna let Del here shoot you.”

After tying me at the waist, he threw the shovel towards the spot where they were digging.

“Go on Row Boat, get to it, we ain’t operatin on your schedule here.”

The afternoon sun was hammering down and the humidity was thick. The meadow was full of mosquitoes from sitting water and I was getting stung on my neck and arms.

The dirt was packed tight, and I wasn’t making much progress. It was like digging cement.

“Let’s just blow a fucking hole in it!” Delbert yelled.

“Yea, and every hillbilly this side of Knoxville’ll know where we are. No, we got all the time in the world, although it looks like our hired help is slacking off a bit. Would you get a load of that little putz? Hey Row Boat, either get moving or you’re gonna get a strap across your back you ain’t likely to forget.”

“Mister, I need somethin to drink, I’m about as parched as can be.”

“Parched as can be? What are you, some kind of namby-pamby, mama’s boy? Dig the goddamn hole, and I’ll tell you when you can drink. Parched my ass, I give you the job of a lifetime and all you can say is you’re thirsty?”

After about an hour of digging I hit something solid.

“Mister,” I yelled at Frizell, “You might want to take a look at this.”

He was wobbly getting up and staggered a crooked line to my side. Delbert was asleep with his chin resting against his chest under a tree.

Frizell burped an acid, whiskey-bomb, and knelt down at the hole and then brushed at something red and sold.

“I’ll be damned,” he said, as he burped again, followed by a leg-lifting fart. He took a Bowie Knife hanging from his belt and scraped the area around the object.

“Looks like pottery. Okay Row Boat, it’s time to take a little break. Go on get yourself a drink of water and sit under the tree. Leave the shovel there.”

I walked over to the tree and sat down. My shirt clinging to my body in sweat. All I could think about was Ansil. Pa said he wouldn’t come looking for a week, and Ansil wasn’t going anywhere. The only thing in my favor was that the men might get drunk enough to allow me to escape. In the back of my mind I was thinking they were gonna kill me no matter what, so I decided on a new strategy.

“Hey Frizell, I was just starting to get in a rhythm, when can I get back to it?”

He ignored me.

“Delbert, wake up, we hit pay-dirt, this shits worth thousands. Get your lazy ass up,” he said.

I continued, “Hey mister, this is exciting work, I’d rather do this then go home. I love digging.”

“Pesky little feller ain’t you?”

“I just wanna help.” I said.

“Okay, get over here, my backs killing me, all bent over like this. See if you can dig around enough to loosen it up a bit. You be careful. You break it, and I’ll dice you up and throw you in the stew-pot. You hear?”

“Yes sir.”

I chiseled for another two hours and started to work-loose a clay-bowl, about two-quarts in size. There was a thin strip of artwork running along the rim and mid-section, like an Indian design in red an orange. I pulled it out in one-piece.

“Hey mister, I got it out, what do you want me to do now?”

He opened one eye from where he was setting and then jumped up.

“Why that’s my boy. Good work!”

“Delbert!” he yelled, throwin a rock at his stomach.

Delbert woke up.

“What the fuck?”

“Look at this, you lazy dull-wit. We gonna be rich!” Frizell yelled.

“That’s the biggest piece we seen so far Friz,” Delbert said, then burped.

“I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’m ready to cash it in with Jay-Bob and get a steak, and some more of this Kentucky Mash,” Delbert said.

“What we gonna do with pip-squeak?” he continued.

“Hell Dell, he done volunteered to be our official digger not two hours ago. I say we tie him up to the tree, gag him, and then clock back in tomorrow afternoon. That okay with you Row Boat?”

I nodded, “You gonna leave me somethin to eat and drink?”

“Jesus Christ, what kind of perks you think we’re handing out here. Times is tough with the war and all. We give you a job and all you can do is ask for benefits?”

He spit a brown gob of juice on my forehead. “Don’t push me Rowey.”

They tied me to a pine with a rope around my chest and waist, and then stuck a gag in my mouth.

“So long partner, we’ll see you tomorrow, nice work today!” Frizell said, as they headed north towards the Cumberland River and I assumed the town of Corbin which was the nearby.

The rope was tight and all I could do was blink my eyes. There was a patch of red ants, a foot over and I was praying that they didn’t come closer. I had to piss so I let it flow where I sat, soaking my britches. I had a hard time swallowing because I was so parched and thirsty.

I began to feel a strange calm. I’d been through tough times with my parents; surviving alone in the city and being scared shitless, so I just imagined I was putting the fear in my britches and peeing on it. It made me madder with every squirt. I pretended it was Frizell’s face getting watered, then Delbert’s. I couldn’t wait for a shit to come, but it was still hard as rocks so I stopped being too concerned about its progress. I pictured Uncle Ed, in mud, and blood and guts and his friends getting blown up around him, and how good I had it compared to that. I was sitting in a fine Kentucky meadow and knew help would be on its way and lord have mercy on Frizell and Delbert when it did.

Then I sobbed for an hour and fell asleep. I was back with Uncle Ed in Okinawa.

“It was coal black, like the times in Confederate-cave turnin off the lantern with Leonard. Several men were groaning nearby. Couldn’t tell if they Nips or our boys. My ear stung and blood was rolling down my neck from the wound but otherwise I was okay. I instinctively reached for my 45. It wasn’t in the holster but a found its comforting grip near my feet. I pulled a clip out of my jacket, reloaded and then pulled the zippo from my chest pocket and lit the flame. The space was littered with our boys and at least fifteen dead Japs. One was trying to crawl towards the direction of the opening which was sealed shut. I walked over the mangled corpses and put a bullet in the back of his head. I shot another Nip who was laying on his back and sticking his arms up in the air, probably praying to that fucking little puppet emperor they worshiped. I sat against a rock and contemplated the situation with a calmness I hadn’t felt in some time.

Ain’t no rain gonna be pounding me for a while, and ain’t no Japs gonna be trying to kill me. It was just me and my little den of death. The cigarette tasted good, and I drew on it deep and long. I figured I’d dig my way out, but not before enjoying a fine course of C-shit and bourbon that I knew Gunny kept in a flask in his chest pocket. Between my dead platoon, I figured I had enough rations to last for a few weeks and plenty of water which was seeping from the ceiling like a backwoods spring, so aside from the heap of flesh, and guts, and dead bodies, things weren’t too bad. I lit a small fire from pieces of the table and then dragged the dead bodies as far back into the cave as I could muster. I had about fifty cans of C-Shit and twelve zippos from our boys. A few of the Nips had small bags of dry rice which I also confiscated.

I figured I was either gonna have to dig my way out or head deeper into the cave and hope for another opening. The sound of artillery from the howitzers and 15-inch navel guns was pounding the area in a furry unlike anything I’d ever heard or seen to date, so I sat back and took a swig of bourbon and then closed my eyes.

I woke to the same mist as Ansil and I had the day before. Insects were darting in and out of the cover. Crickets and Frogs and dragonflies began their morning chorus. I was hungry and the thought of a Clark bar in my pocket was driving me crazy. I couldn’t get Uncle Ed out of my head. It was like my eyes and ears were his, and vice versa. On the south side of the meadow two deer stood in the high grass lounging on an early breakfast. I watched them closely. They were smooth and beautiful and comforting, sort of like God’s way of patting me on the head with a gentle hand.

As the mist began to burn off, the sun fell on the meadow and it felt like it was gonna be another hot, humid day. Every now and then the deer’s heads would spring up as if a warning were going off. I tried not to think about a bear.

I was out of pee, so I couldn’t piss on the fear either. I figured it was close to noon when the shadows disappeared and I heard the sound of voices coming from the north. I was hoping beyond hope it was Pa, but the vulgarity and cussing told me it wasn’t. Frizell and Delbert were each carrying a ruck-sack and arguing. I pretended I was asleep.

When they got to the camp, Delbert walked over to me and gave me a kick in the side.

“Hey stupid! Wake up!” He smelled like whiskey and a garbage-can mixed together.

“Howdy Row Boat,” Frizell said, kneeling in front of me, his breath as rank as his body odor.

“It seems like Del and I are at a bit of an impasse with regard to you partnering with us. You see, I want to keep you on the payroll, but Del here don’t want no partners and thinks we ought to shoot you or at least cut out your tongue so you can’t do no talkin. I don’t want to kill you. That seems like bad business, but I also don’t want some country hick running round with no tongue. Folks round here might take offense at that, and the last thing I want is to inflame the local citizenry.”

He walked over to the fire ring and began unloading the goods. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Delbert pull a knife from his scabbard and walk towards me. I tried to make noise, but Frizell was ignoring me. When Delbert stood above me, I looked him in straight in the eye. I was full of hatred, and anger.  In my mind, I’d just drawn the line. If I was going to go, so be it. I’ll meet you in heaven and I got strong suspicions God’s on my side. The story of Daniel in the lions den flashed through my mind. “Go ahead you worthless piece of white-trash, you want to kill me, then get it done!

He saw the hate in my eyes, and I saw confusion in his. No matter, he was half drunk, so I figured I was done. He smiled like a sick clown and in a squatting position raised the knife above his head.  A shot rang out from across the clearing hitting his knife arm, nearly blowing it off. He tried to stand up and another shot hit his chest below the left shoulder.

“PA!”

Frizell ran behind the tree where I was tied, and put his Bowie knife too my neck using the tree as cover. He was breathing hard, and I felt the sharp steel edge just below my adam’s apple.

He screamed across the field. “Whoever you are, I got a knife at this boy’s throat and I’ll slice his head off if you don’t throw down your guns.”

Two more shots exploded, one connected, nearly severing his knife-arm. He tried to grab the knife with his other hand but it was too late, another shot hit him square in the right shoulder. Two men came charging out of the woods at the far end of the meadow. It was Pa and Uncle Leonard! Delbert was trying to crawl away, but Leonard got to his side and started pummeling him with kicks. Pa cut my ropes and gag and lifted me up. “Row, Row, you hurt son!” he said, with a frantic look in his eyes.

“No Pa I’m okay,” I said, hugging him.

“Leonard that’s enough, son, he ain’t going nowhere.” Leonard stopped and spit on him.

“They hurt you Row! They even touch one of your hairs!” he said, with eyes blood-red on fire.

“Naw, I’m okay, but Ansil’s hurt! He’s about ten miles back in the gorge.”

Pa just smiled.

From across the meadow, I could see the twig frame of Ansil limping towards us, smiling and leaning on a crutch Pa had fashioned out of wood. His ankle was wrapped in cloth.

Pa stoked the fire and had used the flame to cauterize Delbert and Frizell’s wounds. Both were groaning and their faces were white like the color of fresh bleached sheets.

“How’d you find us?” I asked, wearing a pair of Delbert’s britches and chewing on a piece of smoked-jerky Pa had brought.

“Easiest trail we ever followed, we just looked for the candy wrappers and smashed up bushes. A couple of Elephants would have been harder to track,” he said smiling. “The darndest thing happened. Carrie got a call last evening from your Mom at work saying she had this bad feelin about you. You know how we kin view those things, and Ansil and I headed out just as the sun went down, around 8:30. I reckon we covered thirty five miles last night. When we found Ansil he was already sleeping. He was stuffed from a fine dinner of rainbow trout, cooked on a spit. He’s been riding on me and Leonard for the last six miles. I set the bone and fixed a tunicate with my shirt. We came down the ridge just as these two were coming into your camp. I saw you tied-up through the spy glass. We both had clear shots, but wanted to make sure we knew what were up against before we opened fire.”

I walked over to Delbert who looked up at me in a weird grin and I stomped him in the mouth, detaching several of his teeth.

Pa and Leonard and Ansil just stared at each other.

Leonard tied the two outlaws to a tree in the same condition they left me, and was quick to point that out to both of them.

“If you’re lucky, we’ll find your boat at the river and take it to the drop-off above the falls. I suspect me or Jimmy Dixon, the Sherriff in Corbin will be back sometime later today. I truly don’t hope neither of you bleed out! A bear or two might be interested. Folks around here don’t take kindly with people who mistreat children, so men, you’d better be setting things right with God.”

“Row, you go anythin more you need to say to these two,” he said, winking at Leonard.

“I ain’t gonna waste a word.”

“That’s just fine.”