The Mystery of the Canebrake Read online

  The Mystery of the Canebrake

  by

  RICHARD MASON

  The Mystery of the Canebrake

  By Richard Mason

  Published by BWM Books at Smashwords

  Copyright Richard Mason 2012

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Other titles by Richard Mason

  Visit www.rharpermason.com

  The Richard, the Paperboy series by Richard Mason comprises six books:

  - The Red Scarf

  - Lyin’ Like a Dog

  - The Yankee Doctor

  - The Danged Swamp!

  - “I will drink your blood” The Vampire-Werewolf of Flat Creek Swamp

  - The Mystery of the Canebrake

  - Plus a 3-Volume eBook comprising Lyin Like a Dog, The Yankee Doctor and The Danged Swamp

  3-Volume Set available for $7.99

  Reviews:

  (August House, 2008) 11 five star reviews from reviewers. Recently selected as the Summer Reading Program book for 317, 8th grade students at Barton Junior High SchoolThe Red Scarf

  This review is from: The Red Scarf (Hardcover)

  This novel has some of the same feel as a couple of highly acclaimed novels set a hundred years before - Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. This one is set in Norphlet, Arkansas and features 11 year old Richard Mason and his sidekick John Clayton Reed. Much like Mark Twain's characters, Mason and Reed are young adventurers who deal with a wide variety of situations that are great fun for the boys as well as the readers.

  Although I am certainly not trying to 'dis' an American legend like Mark Twain, this book is almost as good as his two classics. If the story were expanded a bit, it just might top Twain's best. A Book for all Ages!, October 28, 2007

  This review is from: Lyin' Like a Dog (Paperback)

  'Lyin' Like A Dog' is a well written and highly entertaining story of young boys growing up in the South in the 1940s….This novel has some of the same feel as a couple of highly acclaimed novels set a hundred years before - Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.

  The Yankee Doctor "But as much as I loved the first one, The Yankee Doctor is far more exciting. I could not put this one down." Review by Betty Dravis, Silicon Vally, CA

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Encounter

  Thanksgiving Day, 1944, Norphlet, Arkansas

  Well, I just know you ain’t gonna believe this in a million, million years, ’cause sometimes things like what happen to me and John Clayton just sound so plain outta this world, that nobody ever believes us. So, if you just throw back and laugh, I won’t blame you, ’cause nearly everybody does after they hears one of our stories.

  Shoot, wait’ll y’all hear about what happened last year. We was almost killed twice! Yeah, no kidding. We’re lucky to be alive.

  All that danged stuff started right after last Thanksgiving, and listen, it’s the god’s truth so help me, Jesus. Dang, after all the stuff we got into during the summer, I’d sure as heck figured that fall was gonna be real quiet. Well. I was as wrong as a backwards goose ’bout that.

  The whole durn thing really started last Thanksgiving Day when John Clayton came by… uh, wait a minute, y’all don’t have any idea in the world who John Clayton is do you? Naw, I didn’t think so. Well, he’s about my age, 13, and he’s my best friend. I guess he weighs around 10 pounds more’n me, but that ain’t no big deal ’cause I’m as skinny as a rail, and even though I’m tall for my age, nearly everybody in my class weighs more than I do. Yeah, tall and skinny— skinny, just like my momma.

  Well, anyways, I remember that day just like it was yesterday. It all started right after we’d finished eating a big Thanksgiving dinner. Me and John Clayton had cooked up a plan to go deep into Flat Creek Swamp, you know, that big swamp down in South Arkansas. Heck, my house is just a couple of hundred yards away from the edge of the Swamp, and we was gonna check out something we’d heard blaming and snorting around in a big old canebrake way down past the second beaver pond. Sniffer, my scrawny, old mixed-breed hound was gonna go with us to run out whatever it was in that thicket, but I can tell you this right now, we didn’t really think this thing out. If we had, we’d have gone in the opposite direction.

  This is how the stupid, little expedition got started. A few weeks before Thanksgiving, when we were way down in the Swamp just fooling around, we passed a huge canebrake, and it was really big. Heck, it’s a solid, tall canebrake bigger than a football field, and when you step inside, it’s dark, gloomy and kinda spooky. Well, that day, after hearing a bunch of noises way back in the brushwood, we’d made this dumb plan to check it out right after Thanksgiving Dinner.

  Shoot, I can remember sitting there at the table waiting for John Clayton to get to my house and holler for me. We’d decided to meet that afternoon at 4 to head down to the swamp and explore. Heck, I remember I was just sitting there with a blank look, just thinking about our trip into the Swamp.

  ”Richard, you’re daydreaming again. Finish your dinner.”

  “Oh, Momma, I just couldn’t help but think of how glad I am to have Thanksgiving dinner with you and Daddy. Everything you cooked was so good.” Well, that weren’t what I was thinking about, but you gotta say things like that just to keep your folks happy.

  “Well, Richard, we’re glad to, but remember to try and stay out of trouble. I do believe this last summer set a record.”

  Yeah, last summer was crazy. Like some wild rollercoaster ride that wouldn’t end. But, heck, that’s all behind me know, and besides that scar on the back of my head, I came out of that mess in good shape.

  “Don’t worry, Momma, I’ve learned my lesson. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die. I am gonna stay out of trouble, no matter what.”

  Heck, Momma gave me one of those, “I don’t believe you looks,” and Daddy shook his head, like “We ain’t that stupid.”

  Thanksgiving dinner was almost over, and I’d just finished up my second piece of pumpkin pie when I took a look at the clock on the wall. It was almost 4 o’clock, and John Clayton was gonna be in the front yard in 10 minutes.

  “Momma, this is your best pumpkin pie ever.” Heck, I was telling the truth for a change, but Momma always liked you to tell her what she cooked up was real good. I’ve found out she’ll let me do more stuff if I butter her up, too. I’d just put the last bite of pie in my mouth, and leaned back in my chair when I heard John Clayton hollering.

  “Richard! Richard!”

  “Momma, that’s John Clayton in the front yard calling for me,. May I be

  excused? Me and John Clayton is gonna take Sniffer and go down in the Swamp.”

  “Richard!”

  Dang, another grammar lesson. “Uh, John Clayton and I are…”

  “That’s better—Yes, you may, but it’s getting late. Just be home by dark.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I hopped up from the table, ran out the door, and starting calling for Sniffer.

  But dang it, before we even got outta the yard, Daddy called me back in the house and made us listen to a special Walter Winchell newscast about the War. Shoot, that’s all I hear, but I guess with our soldiers fighting across France and them sorry Germans bombing London with rocket bombs, I’m gonna hear a lot more about the War before it’s over. Daddy said he thought we’d whip them stinking Germans before this time next year.
<
br />   Well, you might just know, having to listen to Walter Winchell caused us to get a late start on going into the swamp, and I’d forgotten how quickly it gets dark in the winter. Dang, it was a little after 5 and in swamp with all them big trees it was already getting spooky dark, and I knew durn well that in another 30 minutes it’d be black as pitch. Heck, just the thought of being down in that danged swamp with something growling in that canebrake in the dark made me really nervous as all get out. I’ll tell you one thing for danged sure, going in that canebrake at night wasn’t something I wanted to do. But as I left my house that Thanksgiving Day, I forgot all about it getting dark early, and I was hollering for Sniffer before I got off the front porch.

  “Sniffer! Sniffer! Here! Here!”

  Sniffer ran out from under the house, running ahead and howling before he even got outta the yard. I took a good look at that skinny hound as he trotted out in front of us.

  “You think that dog has worms?” I asked Josh Clayton. “Shoot, Sniffer eats everything in sight and he still looks like a walking sack of bones.”

  “Yeah, he sure might. Next time you’re in El Dorado, go by Henley’s Feed Store and buy some of that worm medicine. One dose of that will clean out old Sniffer like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

  “Okay, after we go to the Ritz next Saturday, we’ll go down to Henley’s and buy some.”

  As we walked on toward Flat Creek Swamp John Clayton looked at me. He looked a little worried.

  “Hey, Richard, whata you think we’re gonna find down in that canebrake?”

  “Danged, if I know, but if it’s as big as it sounds, we might be sorry when we find it.”

  Heck, I was just mouthing off. I figured we’d find an old hog or something real ordinary. Wrong, wrong, wrong! I could tell John Clayton was thinking about all the snorting and grunting we’d heard a few weeks back. But you know, right then I wasn’t worried one little bit.

  We’d walked about a mile into the Swamp, and I figured it was time to start our little hunt. I clapped my hands and got after Sniffer, “Go! Sniffer! Go! Hunt! Hunt!”

  Shoot, that dog was off like a shot running ahead of us, and soon he was outta sight. It didn’t take us long until we were really deep in the swamp—at least a couple of miles—and we could see the big canebrake right ahead of us. Then, all of a sudden, oh, my gosh, old Sniffer started going just hound dog crazy—you know—like he was about to really get after something.

  Hooooooooo! Hooooooooo! Hooooooooo! Hoo! Hoo!

  “Listen! Sniffer is on a hot trail!”

  “Yeeeeee yaaaaaaa! Git ’em! Git ’em!” screamed John Clayton. Heck, we started running after Sniffer, yelling like wild Indians.

  Hooooooo! Hoooooooo! Hoooooooo!

  “Dang, John Clayton, listen to Sniffer! He’s durn sure after somethin’!”

  “Eeeeeee, yaaaaaaaaa! Go git ’em, Sniffer!” I yelled.

  “Wow, he’s on a hot trail, let’s go!”

  Well, we ran like the wind, and in a few minutes, we spotted Sniffer circling the canebrake just howling to beat 60. Heck, he looked like he was scared to go in. Dang, I thought, what’s wrong with that hound?

  “Get ’em, Sniffer! Get ’em!” I yelled. “Get after that sorry hog!” Well, right then I sure figured it was a hog, or maybe several hogs. Shoot, they wasn’t no doubt he smelled something right at the edge of that big canebrake, and he was just going plain dog crazy, howling and jumping round, because as we got closer to the canebrake we could hear something kinda growling and making funny noises. Right then, I stopped thinking it was a hog. And about that time, I saw something.

  “Dang! Look at that!”

  Something was moving in the cane right in the front part of the thicket just as Sniffer—with me just siccing him on—started in. Well, me and John Clayton got all caught up in the howling and stuff, and we started stupidly going in right behind him. Wow, was that a durn big mistake, because it was so dark and gloomy I couldn’t believe it, and we weren’t but a few feet inside the canebrake. Then we saw a little trail and dumb John Clayton started just hauling it, heading into the thickest part. ’Course, I about had a little conniption fit every time something moved, or Sniffer howled, and I yelled for him to stop.

  “Wait up, John Clayton! You’re gonna dang sure wish you had been a little more careful if you run into something.”

  “Come on you, chicken—Sniffer’s really after something! It sounds like he’s about treed,” yelled John Clayton.

  Hooooooo! Hooooooo! Hoooooo! Hoo! Hoo!

  “Richard, hurry! Sniffer’s stopped, he’s got something treed!”

  “Hold up, John Clayton! I can’t hardly see in this dang canebrake!”

  “Rorrrrrrrrrrrrr!”

  “Holy catfish, what in the Sam Hill was that?” said John Clayton., backing away. Heck, a limb snapped and I whipped around like nothing you’ve ever seen, just as John Clayton nearly ran over me. I was yelling like some wild man.

  “The heck if I know, and I ain’t ’bout to find out! Get out of here! Run!” Wow, I started hightailing it outta that canebrake like the devil was after me, but then I stopped because the whole danged thing started to just get totally outta hand, and it sounded like Sniffer was tangled up with something.

  Hoo! Hoo! Hooooooooooooo!

  Sniffer’s howls had changed, and I knew that dog was in a heck of a lot of trouble.

  “Whoa, hold up, John Clayton! Sniffer’s in trouble!”

  “Sniffer, Sniffer, here, Sniffer! Come outta there!—John Clayton, something’s a-holt of Sniffer!”

  Then the dangest howling and growling came from deep in the canebrake, and we started making tracks. Heck, I know we should’ve tried to help old Sniffer, but we was so scared we couldn’t do nothing but run. I figured it wouldn’t do any good to get grabbed by whatever was in that canebrake just ’cause we tried to help him.

  “Run, John Clayton! Get movin’!”

  Then, before we could get out of the canebrake, things just went haywire. In that narrow trail, we were bouncing off of each other like ping-pong balls. Then, we stopped to listen, and what we heard made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up.

  “Oh my god, Richard, something’s comin’ and it’s really big!” Heck, it was breaking cane and barreling right toward us.

  Then, Sniffer’s howls got really wild because something had grabbed him, and a fight was going on. And from the sound of it, Sniffer was sure as heck losing.

  “Sniffer, Sniffer, here, here!” We were both screaming, and, shoot, all we could see was a dark, gloomy canebrake as we listened to Sniffer wailing at the top of his lungs. We heard more cane breaking and something growling. And then suddenly Sniffer bolted outta the dense cane coming straight for us as fast as he could, still a-wailing and with his tail tucked between his legs., And oh, my god! Something was coming after him, breaking cane and roaring like nothing you’ve ever heard.

  “Oh my god, run, Richard, run, run!”

  “Ahaaaaa! Ahaaaaaa!”

  “Roaaaaaaar! Roaaaaaar!”

  Hooo! Hoooo! Hooooo!

  Lemmie tell you something right now: I ain’t never heard nothing like that in all my born days. Sniffer just nearly ran over us getting outta that canebrake, and we was yelling like death was gonna get us. Shoot, them woods just echoed with the roar from the canebrake, howls from Sniffer, and screams from us.

  Right then is when we made a durn big mistake. We started running to get away from whatever was roaring, and didn’t pay a bit of attention to which way we was going. Heck, as we dashed headlong through the canebrake we were just trying to get out into the open woods, and we didn’t care a whit about where we were. But every step we took was taking us deeper into the spooky canebrake, and on top of that it was almost dark.

  Soon, we couldn’t find our way out because all the trails looked the same, and instead of going out they seemed to take us deeper and deeper into the Swamp—and all the while something was getting closer as we went p
lumb crazy pushing through the dense cane. Then I saw a ray of light ahead.

  “Yes, we’re out!” I screamed. We broke clear of the cane into open woods.

  “Run for the road, John Clayton. Run for your life!”

  We ran like nothing you’ve ever seen through the big open pin-oak flat, getting as far away from the canebrake as our legs would take us. After a couple of hundred-yards, we stopped to catch our breath.

  “Richard… we’re on the other side… of the canebrake from the road… we’re gonna hafta to go around it...”

  “Yeah…. Shussss… I hear something… It’s moving this way!” I whispered as I jumped to my feet. “Run, stupid, it’s behind us and its gettin’ closer.”

  We took off again going deeper into the Swamp with every step. John Clayton was so scared he was shaking, and Sniffer was just a-whining. ’Course, I was so frightened I was about to die.

  “Dang, Richard, it’s dark. I can barely see, and now whatever’s out there is between us and the road. How in the heck are we gonna get outta these woods? Oh my Lord, we gotta go back right past that canebrake to get to the road, and that thing— whatever it is—will be waitin’ for us. What in the world are we gonna do?”

  “Oh, my gosh! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

  “Listen, Richard! Shussss.” A rumble and a snort echoed through the dark woods from the direction of the canebrake, and Sniffer let out a howl.

  “Dang it, Richard, shut that stupid dog up! He gonna give us away, and that thing’s gonna come slippin’ through these woods…” hissed John Clayton.

  “Shusss, I hear something…” Sure enough, when we were real still, we could hear leaves crackle and little limbs breaking.

  “We gotta get outta here, it’s gettin’ closer,” whispered John Clayton.