The Mystery of the Canebrake Read online

  ’Course, as the days passed, just the idea that we were going to ride a freight train to Little Rock had us kinda upset, and we talked for hours trying to come up with some way not to go. But every time we were ready to back out we’d think of Mr. Bill down in the Swamp and how he almost died last winter. We didn’t want to go, but we felt we had to.

  It was a couple of days before the trip, and, oh my gosh, I’m not kidding, we took a real close look at Mr. Bill, and I almost choked. Shoot, we’d been ’round him so much we hadn’t really paid much attention to how he looked, but now as I really checked him out I knew he looked like death warmed over, and there weren’t no way on god’s green earth that we could let him walk around Little Rock looking like that while we hunted for the fairgrounds. He’d left the circus without making any plans because all he had to his name was one pair of ragged pants, and his shoes were in terrible shape from walking around Flat Creek Swamp for nearly a year..

  We were walking back home talking about trying to find Mr. Bill some different clothes. I sure hate to tell you this, but after a day of trying to come up with a pair of pants and a shirt, we gave up and took a shirt and a pair of pants off Mrs. Davis’s clothesline. Heck, we figured the Davis’s could afford a little charity. We spent another day scrounging around town and managed to find him some old shoes John Clayton’s daddy had worn out and was gonna throw away.

  Shoot, as Saturday got closer and closer we started to regret waiting until the last day of the circus to bring Mr. Bill back. We knew the circus was gonna close after the show on Saturday night and head for St. Louis at 6 Sunday morning.

  “Dang, Richard we gotta be sure Mr. Bill’s ready. Heck, it we don’t get him there Saturday night then the circus will leave the state, and we’ll never get him back.”

  “Yeah, and when he finally comes outta that swamp folks will grab him up and he’ll spend the rest of his life locked up in some State Home for the Strange.”

  “I know, I know. Let’s go down to the canebrake today and be sure he’s ready.” After 30 minutes of walking down the trail to the canebrake we were standing out by the big pin oak log where we always met to talk.

  “Mr. Bill, Mr. Bill!” I yelled. Me and John Clayton walked over to the log and sat down. In a few minutes, Mr. Bill walked out. After spending nine months camping out in Flat Creek Swamp, he looked more and more like a real wild man. He had a heavy black beard and his black matted hair was straggling down his shoulders.

  “Hey, boys, how’s everything today?”

  “Oh, we’re fine, Mr. Bill. Here put these clothes and shoes on. They look a whole bunch better that what you’ve got.”

  Mr. Bill went back in the canebrake and in a few minutes, he came back out sporting his new clothes.

  “Gosh, these aren’t bad at all. I sure had worn out those old rags.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Bill, you look pretty good. You know we leave for Little Rock next Saturday?”

  “Well, sure I do. Look at this stick.”

  Mr. Bill held up a walking stick he was carrying that was notched all the way up.

  “What’s that Mr. Bill,” I said.

  “Richard, ever since you told me when the circus was gonna be in Little Rock, I carried this stick around and each day gave it a notch. Look here, just two more notches to go.”

  “Well, Mr. Bill, we thought that today we’d check out everything and be sure you’re ready to leave,” said John Clayton.

  “That’s a real good idea, boys. Come on back to the lean-to and let’s check everything.”

  We walked through the canebrake with Mr. Bill.

  “Okay, boys, look at this sack.”

  Mr. Bill had made him a carrying sack from a coon hide. It even had the tail hanging out as a handle to carry.

  “Remember when Sniffer caught that coon and you brought it down here for me to clean and eat?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one Sniffer caught in the garden,” I said.

  “Well, after I skinned it and roasted it over the fire, I tanned its hide and made this little knapsack. I’ve got my money and everything I own already packed away. I’m ready to leave this swamp. I’ll tell you one thing, boys. That circus is a lot better place to live than Flat Creek Swamp.”

  “Gosh, Mr. Bill, we were worried that you wouldn’t be ready. Heck, we could leave right now,” I said.

  We spent a little more time just sitting around talking to Mr. Bill, and then it was getting late and we needed to head for home.

  “Mr. Bill, if we don’t see you again before next Saturday, we’ll be here right before dark on Saturday night, and we’ll all head down the tracks to where the freight trains switches to catch that freight to Little Rock. Remember, that Mr. Perry, the cowboy hobo I told you ’bout? He told us which one to catch.”

  “Yeah, I remember. I’ll be right here waiting on you boys, and I sure do appreciate you helping me.”

  “Heck, Mr. Bill, it sounds like fun to ride a freight train up to Little Rock and then ride it back home the next morning,” said John Clayton.

  “We need to get going. See you next Saturday, Mr. Bill,” I said. We started walking back through the canebrake toward my house still talking about riding the freight train to Little Rock.

  Just as John Clayton headed down the road toward his house, he said, “Richard, I have the worst feeling ’bout what we gonna do Saturday. Heck, we’ve done a lot of stuff, but nothing like this. Shoot, you’ve seen some of them hobos that ride the freight. They ain’t all nice people like Mr. Perry.”

  Well, I wish John Clayton hadn’t said that because that was exactly what had been on my mind, but I just lied again and said, “Oh, baloney, this ain’t gonna be no big deal.”

  But I knew it was, and so did John Clayton. He shook his head, and I walked on up the lane to my house.

  I finished supper, went over to the radio and tuned in the Lone Ranger. Yesterday, he and Tonto had been trapped in an old mineshaft that the bad guys had just dynamited, and it looked like certain death for both, but when Tonto yelled, “Kemo Sabe, come quickly,” I knew Tonto had found a way out. Sure enough, in a minute, they had climbed through a secret passageway and were safe. When the last “Hi-Yo, Silver” had faded, Daddy and Momma came into the kitchen and tuned in Walter Winchell, and in no time we heard his familiar voice.

  “Good evening North and South America and all the ships at sea; let’s go to press… news bulletin… just in…” Military experts expect the German surrender could come any day…”

  Wow, it seemed like the War had been going on as long as I could remember. Now it was almost over.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Getting Ready

  It was only a couple of more days until we were gonna go with Mr. Bill to Little Rock, and I thought it was time to start getting my story ready. Daddy had already okayed my spending the night, but around our house you’d better clear everything with Momma. Momma was cooking supper when I walked in the kitchen.

  “Momma, Edwin Alderson, my friend from El Dorado, asked me to spend the night with him next Saturday and then to go with him to First Baptist on Sunday. He said his daddy would drive me home after Sunday dinner. Can I? Daddy said it was okay with him, if it was okay with you.”

  I knew Momma would be tempted since she wanted me to associate with some of the rich El Dorado boys, and going to big First Baptist Church would just about cinch it.

  “Well, Richard, are you sure it’s all right with his mother?”

  “Sure Momma. Edwin said so and Daddy talked to him.”

  “Well, it sounds okay, but I better call Mrs. Alderson.”

  I had a little panic when Momma said that but it was too late. She walked to the phone with me right behind her. I could tell by the conversation, though, that even though Edwin hadn’t mentioned it to his mother, she was telling Momma it was okay.

  Momma nodded when she put down the phone and said, “Mrs. Alderson was very nice, but since you’re going to First Baptist Sunday you’ll have
to wear your good Sunday clothes and shoes.”

  “Aw, Momma, no.” Gosh, the thought of riding a boxcar all the way to Little Rock and back in my Sunday clothes was just terrible.

  “It’s up to you, Richard. Sunday clothes and shoes or you can’t go.”

  “Okay, Momma.” I knew it was that way or no way.

  After Momma left the kitchen, I picked up the phone and called John Clayton to tell him to mention we were going to First Baptist when he got the final okay from his Momma. Later that night he called me back. John Clayton had been given the okay, and we were ready to take Mr. Bill back to the circus. You know, looking back on it, when I hung up that phone I had a little shiver go up my back, like, shoot, have we bitten off more than we could chew? Yeah, maybe we have. Oh my gosh, how did we get into this?

  The next morning I was downtown and I saw Naomi wave for me to wait for her.

  “Richard, wait up, I need to talk to you.”

  Naomi had told me just the week before that she’d found out who my mystery girlfriend was, but she had promised not to tell her name until the mystery girl was ready.

  I stopped and waited for Naomi and she smiled as she said, “Well, Richard, I’ve been talking with your mystery girlfriend…”

  “Who is it, Naomi?” I blurted out.

  “Can’t tell you, Richard, but you’re gonna find out Saturday.”

  “Saturday? Whata you mean?”

  “Richard, you always go to the Ritz every Saturday morning, and sit right down on the front row with John Clayton and the rest of your gang. This Saturday save a seat right beside you, and your mystery girlfriend will come and sit down beside you.”

  “You mean I’m not gonna know until whoever it is sits down beside me?”

  “That’s right, Richard. She said that’s the only way.”

  “Aw, come on Naomi, tell me. This is driving me crazy.”

  “Richard, I promised. You’ll just have to wait.”

  Naomi walked off, leaving me standing there thinking about who was going to come sit by me. Then I thought about the big ghost trick we was gonna pull at the Ritz, and after that we were leaving to take Mr. Bill to Little Rock. My mind was just swimming.

  “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh!” I started looking for John Clayton.

  After telling John Clayton about what Naomi had said and he shook his head.

  “Dang, Richard, with all we’ve got going on Saturday your mystery girlfriend is gonna be more than we can handle. What are we gonna do ’bout the ghost trick?”

  “Shoot, I’ll just sit down front in our regular seats until it’s time for the trick, and she’ll surely come in before the ghost trick starts. You can tie the balloon onto Joe Rel’s string. You don’t need me to help.”

  We argued back and forth, but since we couldn’t change nothing we’d just hafta make do.

  Well, Saturday finally arrived and after not being able to sleep much for worrying about taking Mr. Bill to Little Rock, me and John Clayton started walking down to the train station to catch the train to El Dorado. It had taken a whole lot of talking to convince our folks to let us catch the train instead of them driving us over. We’d decided that we might as well spend the day in El Dorado and see picture shows all day because the freight train we were going to catch didn’t leave Norphlet until 9 that night.

  ‘Course, we’d hafta hide out from the time we go off the train at 6 o’clock at the Norphlet station until we caught the freight train at 9 o’clock, and just thinking about what we was gonna do had us both all upset. John Clayton was whining as usual.

  “Richard, this may just be the very dumbest thing we’ve ever done. Do you realize what all you’ve got us into? Lying ’bout spending the night with Edwin and George, hiding out until it’s time to catch the freight train, and then actually gettin’ on that dang train with poor old Mr. Bill, who looks like a walking zombie. What if somebody sees us get on the train or sees Mr. Bill? I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

  “John Clayton, you are the biggest whiner ’round. Heck, this is gonna go so easy. We’ll just lie back in that boxcar and sleep while we ride to Little Rock, take Mr. Bill over to the circus and then ride back. How on earth could anything go wrong?”

  Well, I was sure acting like it was gonna be a piece of cake just riding over to Little Rock and back, but I was getting more scared every minute. I didn’t wanta remind John Clayton about maybe getting on the wrong train, or all those bums we’d seen riding the freight trains that came through Norphlet. Heck, a bunch of them sure looked as mean as a boatload of snakes.

  “Richard, you idiot, everything you get us into goes wrong. I can’t even imagine all the bad stuff that could happen to us.”

  You know, we should have just walked back down to that canebrake and told Mr. Bill that this was a stupid idea and that we’d hafta come up with something better. But, heck, it seemed we were just being sucked along and we couldn’t stop none of the stuff what was about to happen. Heck, it was like some carnival ride that you can’t get off of.

  We bought our tickets and waited on the train, and in a few minutes the big black engine sounded off as it crossed the crossing at Down’s Feed store and rumbled to a stop at the Norphlet station.

  Oh my god, this is it. The trip has started!

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A Train Ride

  I climbed on the first step to get into car, and I had to put my hand on my knee to keep it from shaking.

  John Clayton jumped on, hurrying to get a window seat, and I followed him, sitting across the aisle in one of the two end seats that faced each other.

  “Hey, how ’bout this? The best seats on the train,” I hooted.

  “Yeah, these are okay.” We plopped down and leaned back as we waited for the train leave the station.

  I looked up to see a lady struggling to get four small kids up the steps and into the coach car.

  “Here, ma’am, let me help you.” I took the smallest kid, who looked to be about three and pulled him in the coach.

  “Oh, thank you so much. These kids are a handful.” She pulled the last kid up the steps and into the car.

  “Here, sit by us and we’ll help you with the kids,” I said.

  “That would be just wonderful.” The lady and kids piled into the open seats beside us, and we leaned back ready for the 20-minute ride to El Dorado.

  The kids had no sooner sat down until the train lurched forward and rumbled outta the Norphlet station with a hiss of steam and a long, rolling whistle.

  “I wanta see out the window, Momma. I wanta see out the window.”

  It was the 3-year-old hollering to hang his head out the window—the one that John Clayton had dashed onto the train to claim.

  I could tell John Clayton didn’t wanta give up his window seat, and he wasn’t.

  “Hey, come here,” said John Clayton, “you can stand here on the seat with me and look out while I hold you.”

  The 3-year-old jumped up in John Clayton’s lap and struck his head out the open window just like some old dog riding in a pickup truck. Heck, that took my mind off of what we were doing for a few minutes, as the train rumbled and rocked as it crossed the O’Rear crossing heading for downtown El Dorado.

  Just then, I noticed the little 3-year-old started getting real quiet and he pulled his head back outta the window. He look over at his momma and said two words: “I sick.”

  Oh my gosh, you wouldn’t believe in a million years what happened next. Before John Clayton could move, the little kid vomited all over him, the seat, and the floor.

  “No, not on my good Sunday shirt!” yelled John Clayton. But it was too late. The kid had already splashed about a gallon of vomit right down the front on John Clayton’s freshly starched shirt. ’Course, I just cackled and almost fell outta the seat laughing.

  “Oh, I should have told you. Little John Robert gets sick every time he rides the train.”

  Well, that didn’t help John Clayton’s feelings very much, a
nd the little kid vomited on his shoes before he reached empty.

  I moved over across the aisle still snickering at John Clayton as he tried to wipe vomit off his shirt and shoes.

  Boy, did that vomit smell up the train car. It seemed to take forever for the train to finally arrive at the El Dorado station. We were off the train before it even came to a stop, with John Clayton moaning about his clean Sunday shirt.

  “What am I gonna do ’bout this vomit? I smell terrible!”

  “Hey, let go over and walk up Hill Street by the feed store. There’s a horse watering trough there. You can wash off your shirt in the water trough.”

  Well, since there wasn’t any other option but to wear a stinking shirt and shoes covered with vomit, we walked a block over from South Washington Street and soon we were standing there in front of the old horse watering trough.

  “Dang it, I can’t get that stuff off. It’s all down the front of my shirt,” grumbled John Clayton, trying to wipe his shirt with the same hand that he had dipped into the water.

  “Shoot, there’s only one thing to do. Take off your shirt and shoes and wash everything in the trough,” I said.

  “Are you crazy? Wear a wet shirt and shoes all day?”

  “Well, Mr. Whiner, just what do you have in mind? I’m not gonna sit beside you at the picture show if you smell like that.”

  John Clayton stood there for a few minutes looking at the dirty trough of water full of mule slobber, and them he slowly took off his shirt, dipped it in the water, and washed it.

  “Here, Richard, help me wring it out. Maybe if we can get most of the water out it’ll dry quicker.”

  I took one end and John Clayton took the other and we twisted and squeezed his shirt until most of the water was wrung out.

  “Go ahead and put it on. It’s probably dry enough.”

  John Clayton put his wet shirt back on, and now, after the vigorous wringing, it was wrinkled as heck.