All The Gold

FOREWORD

“All the gold in California is in a bank in Beverly Hills in somebody else’s name” is a line from a Country and Western song that was popular a number of years ago. That song inspired me to write the following story. As you begin reading, you may wonder what “All the Gold” has to do with the story, but keep reading. I could have called it “The Perfect Crime”, but someone else has already used that title.

We are the Greenleaf family; Father, Mother, my older brother Steve, my younger sister Amy and me, Daniel; not Danny, Dan nor Danny-boy, just plain Daniel. We lived in a nice house at the end of Cedar Street completely surrounded by large Oak and Cedar trees and many flowering shrubs and bushes. The trees were usually filled with song birds and the squirrels playing all about. This small North Georgia town seemed like a nice place to live, and it was for most people.

Our parents worked outside the home and made a good living, but gambled and drank and wasted much of their money. They were very abusive toward their children,

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especially me, because I objected to their treatment more strongly than Steve and Amy. It seemed that one of the three was always getting a beating, mostly during the weekend. I don’t remember ever hearing a kind word from either of them. I made good grades in school, but they didn’t seem to care. I was good in basketball and baseball, but they never attended any of the games. They actually discouraged me from playing; said it was a waste of time. The same was true with Steve and Amy, except Amy played softball in lieu of baseball.

When Amy was about nine years old, Father was beating her because she forgot to feed the cat. I jumped in to rescue her and landed in the hospital with a concussion and missed school for a week.

Several months later, Father was beating Steve so viciously I thought he would kill him, so I jumped on his back and tried to put a choke hold on him, but it didn’t work. I suffered three broken ribs from that fight and missed more school. I guess I was just plain hardheaded. I hated the beatings more than anyone. There never was any laughter nor fun around our house.

Eventually, we learned to leave home and live deep in the woods from Friday afternoon until Sunday evening.

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That’s when most of the beatings, rough talking, drinking, gambling, etc. happened.

Our house was where the “trash” gathered for their weekend fun. As we grew older, the “trash” began making passes at Amy. Mother and Father thought it was amusing, but we didn’t. I think the “trash” is what prompted us to leave home during the weekends. We built a lean’to for comfort during inclement weather, and we got along pretty well.

One Friday afternoon, Father came home, drunk, and there were no kids to beat, so he slapped Mother across the face and down she went. He attempted to kick her, but she rolled out of his path, quickly sprang to her feet and cracked his skull with an iron skillet. It’s good that we had hospital insurance, as it was used often. Father never struck Mother again. He saved it for us.

We could never have friends over and we were forbidden to visit in their homes, but sometimes we did anyway. And when we were caught you can guess what happened. During early high school years I became good friends with a very poor boy, Charlie Ritz. He invited me to go home with him one Friday after school. I told Steve and he said he would take care of Amy.

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Charlie lived in a small shack on the “wrong side of the tracks” with his five year old brother, his mother and father, who was confined to a wheel chair. Mr. Ritz was injured on the job and was drawing a very small pension. Mrs. Ritz took in washing, ironing and sewing. Charlie did small odd jobs occasionally, and picked up a bit of change, and they squeezed by unless some extra expense came along.

As we entered the shack, Mr. Ritz met us at the door and with a big smile, asked of Charlie, “How’s my man today? And who is your friend?” Charlie introduced us and at about the same instant, little Ronnie came bounding into the room and gave Charlie a big hug. Shortly, Mrs. Ritz entered and Charlie hugged her and told her how nice she looked. Then to me he said, “Daniel, don’t you think I have the most beautiful mother in the world?” I agreed with him, and I really thought she was pretty, for an older lady. She must have been pushing thirty-four or thirty-five. I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears. They were laughing and talking and seemed so happy. Charlie told them about his day in school. They talked about the cute little things Ronnie said and had done. They also included me in their conversation and asked me to stay for supper. We had peas, from the garden, cornbread and a glass of water.

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After supper, we three boys were sitting on the porch and I overheard a conversation between the parents. Mr. Ritz said, “Well, we made the rent this month, but I don’t know what we’ll use for money when it rolls around again.”

“Maybe I can take in more washing and ironing. That extra medical bill threw us off schedule.”

“No, you can’t take in more work. You’re already overloaded. Maybe the landlord will give us a break.”

They asked me to stay the night, but I told them I must go. En route to the woods to join Steve and Amy, I thought, “The Ritz family has nothing, yet they are so happy. It was such a pleasure just to be with them. Look at us. We are not a family and we have everything we need; except love.” Of course we three kids loved each other, but that’s as far as it went.

During the wee hours of the morning, while everyone was asleep, I quietly went into the house and took two dollars from Father’s wallet and the same from Mother’s. I continued this for the next three weeks and when I had collected sixteen dollars, I took it to the Ritz house, late in the night, and slipped it under the door. That solved the house rent problem. I thought, “Father and Mother would just spend it on whiskey and gambling, so I might as well put it to some good use.”

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Charlie was good at basketball, but the coach objected to his brogan shoes; said they would damage the floor. Neither was he allowed to play barefoot, in that his feet could be injured by other players. I thought about the house rent money, so I decided to help Charlie again. Two weeks later he was the proud owner of a new pair of basketball shoes. In order to persuade him to accept the shoes, I told him they were a birthday gift.

About a year later, Mrs. Ritz died of cancer and Charlie dropped out of school and found a “piddly” little job to help support the family. A few months passed by and tragedy struck again. Charlie was away from home and Ronnie was attempting to start a fire, with gasoline, in the cook stove. There was an explosion and the house was quickly engulfed in flames. Ronnie tried to get his father out of the burning building, but failed and they died a horrible death. And Charlie was left all alone. He said goodbye to me, then disappeared and I lost contact with him.

Meanwhile, things were not going well at our house, which was not unusual. Father was getting pretty rough with Steve lately, and Steve was just about fed up with him. One Friday evening Father came home, drunk, and was slapping Steve around when suddenly, Steve busted his nose. At age seventeen, Steve was a big

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strong fellow and could deliver quite a blow. Father, with his face covered with blood, fell to the floor and remained unconscious for half an hour. I was not about to help him; neither was Amy. Mother was not home yet, and Steve was busy packing a bag with clothing and a few personal items. He hugged Amy, shook hands with me, and hit the road, ready to seek his fortune. Amy and I gathered up some food and headed for our weekend hideout, deep in the great forest.

Father always called me “dumb, stupid, ignorant, moron, idiot, fool” and a few other names that can’t be printed. But I believe he was wrong, and I say that because I graduated number two in our high school class of one hundred seventeen. A teacher said I could have been number one had I not missed so many days. Those were days I spent in the hospital or at home recovering from beatings I received from Father. When questioned about our injuries, our parents would lie and say we were fighting with other kids. The children’s side of the story was ignored.

Meanwhile, Steve married a young widow with a small daughter. Her husband had been killed in a training exercise with the Marines at Paris Island, South Carolina. They soon added another daughter and son to their family. I kept in touch with them through a mutual friend.

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Monday after graduation, after Father and Mother departed for work, I packed my bag, awoke Amy and told her I was leaving. She became very upset. “I’ll be left alone to take all the beatings and I can’t handle that. They’ll probably kill me.” And she began to cry.

“No, they won’t. Give me a few days and I’ll come for you, sometime, late in the night. You must be ready at all times. Pack your bag and store it underneath your bed. When I come, we can’t tarry; we must leave immediately, and there’ll be no turning back. If you are not for this, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“I’ll be ready. I can hardly wait.”

“I must go now, but I’ll return soon. I love you, little sister.” She was fifteen and I figured that’s old enough to make that decision. I vowed if I was fortunate enough to have a wife and children, there would be no beatings, drinking, rough talking, etc.

The following Thursday, at the stroke of midnight, I tapped lightly on Amy’s bedroom window. Very slowly, she opened the window and slid her bag out to me, then I helped her through the opening. We walked two blocks, climbed into Steve’s car and headed for his home in Savannah, Georgia. Finally, the beatings were over for the three of us. Steve and I took turns driving

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through the night, stopping only once for gas, and rolled into his driveway at 7:00 A.M. Mission accomplished. This was to be Amy’s new home and I would help with expenses as soon as I could find employment. Steve’s wife, Darlene, didn’t mind another mouth to feed. In fact, she welcomed Amy with open arms and they grew to be very close friends as time went on.

I looked high and low for a job, but none could be found. Then I noticed a picture of Uncle Sam, pointing a finger at me, with the following printed message, “Uncle Sam needs you.” So the Army needed me and I needed a job. At that time a seventeen-year-old could enlist in the military service with parent’s written consent. I was not quite seventeen but I went to see the recruiting Sgt. anyway and told him I was seventeen. He gave me the consent forms and Steve and Darlene forged my parent’s signatures and I was in the Army for three years.

I spent the first eight weeks of military life at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, learning how to be a soldier, and the next eight weeks at Camp Gordon, Georgia, in Military Police School. I visited Amy, Steve and his family for three days, then shipped out to Ft. Hood, Texas.

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Things were rolling along pretty smoothly at Ft. Hood. I made friends with several of the young men, was enjoying Military Police Duty, no more beatings and was getting paid every month. I kept a few dollars for myself and sent the greater part to Steve, with instructions to use what was needed for Amy, and if there was a surplus, I told him to put it in a savings account for me.

Fourteen months later, I was notified that my services were needed in the Far East to help win the Korean War. I was granted six days leave, so I went back to Savannah for a visit with the family. Time passed all too swiftly and my six days were gone. I said goodbye to the family, caught a plane at Camp Stewart, near Savannah, and flew to Fort Lewis, Washington. Another five days passed and we boarded a ship bound for Korea, where I would spend the remainder of my military time.

Our three week cruise ended at Pusan, Korea. We left the ship hurriedly, and on the third day were in battle. At about the same time, the First Marine Division landed at Inchon and came in behind the enemy, and we began pushing hard from the South. We had them in a squeeze and the war was turning in our favor. Eventually, we pushed the North Koreans and Chinese

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back across the 38th parallel and I went to work as a Military Policeman.

Things were a mess. Buildings were badly damaged, others were completely destroyed, and one just had to figure out where some of the streets were. Most of the vegetation and trees had been ripped from the mountains. The bare mountains reminded me somewhat of Copper Hill, Tenn. After the enemy was pushed back, South Korea began cleaning up and rebuilding. Later, people would ask if I had seen any action. Well, I certainly did. I was right in the middle of it for several weeks. And did I kill anyone? I probably did, but I had just as soon to forget about that. I didn’t have nightmares or anything, I just didn’t want to dwell on it.

One day, while on patrol, I observed two Korean men burying something underneath the rubble of a destroyed building. Upon completing the task, they climbed into their truck and quickly drove away, and I went down to investigate. I uncovered a metal box, opened it and what I saw really frightened me. I counted thirty gold bars, weighing one pound each. Now what should I do? I knew the gold was stolen, but from whom? I gave it lots of serious thought and two minutes later I reached a decision. I had just come from the laundry, so I dumped my clothes on the rear seat of the jeep and put the gold bars in the laundry bag. I dropped a few stones

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in the box and buried it in the exact location from whence it was found and drove to the carpenter shop. A Cpl. was coming from the building so I shouted, “Hey, friend; would you build me a wooden box about so big?”

“I’d be glad to, Sarge, but I’m going off duty, now. I’ve been here almost fifteen hours. I’ll do it first thing tomorrow morning.”“How about if I do it myself?”“Sure. Go ahead. Just lock up when you are finished.”

The box was built so that the bars fit snug inside, with no shifting, moving around or rattling. I sealed it with steel bands and addressed it to Steve, with a fictitious return address and name. I stored it underneath my bunk and never slept a wink throughout the night. I must get that box, and its contents, out of the country very quickly.

Early next morning, I took it to the post office and filled out a bill of lading indicating the box contained brass candle holders, ash trays, picture frames, etc. That seemed to satisfy the postal clerk. I also sent a letter to Steve, asking him to put the box in a bank vault in Savannah, and don’t ask questions nor talk to anyone about it. I also asked him to destroy that particular letter after reading it. He would receive it in six days

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and the box would take about three weeks to make the trip. I raised the hood of the jeep and pretended to check the engine until I saw the box loaded onto the mail truck. That was the perfect crime. I did everything right and all bases were covered.

Four weeks went by and I was feeling mighty fine. I had just been promoted to Sergeant First Class. Spring was in the air and my tour of duty would be complete in six weeks. Suddenly, I began to notice a stranger that seemed to be watching me. Everywhere I went, he was not far away. He followed me for three days, dropped out of sight and another took his place. The gold! I was under suspicion, and just when I thought I was in the clear, something went wrong, somewhere.

I was summoned to the office of Captain Valdez, a member of the Criminal Investigation Department. They said I was spotted in the vicinity of the box, but so were two other M.P. jeeps. Therefore, they were not sure which man took the gold. In fact, they didn’t know if either of the three was guilty; they were just fishing. Of course I didn’t know anything about it; neither did the other two guys, and they were telling the truth. I learned that the gold belonged to the North Korean army and was stolen by South Korean spies. It was bound for Taegu, but went to Savannah, Ga. I didn’t feel bad about stealing the gold since it belonged to the enemy.

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A week passed and things were looking pretty good and then I was invited to visit Capt. Valdez again. There were several rough looking guys in the office and I could see the handwriting on the wall. Valdez pulled a pistol from underneath his coat and two of his men handcuffed me. We went out the back door and they tossed me into the bed of a ¾ ton truck and climbed in with me. The other man drove with Valdez by his side. We traveled about five miles and stopped at a building that appeared to be some sort of jail. I was lashed to a chair with leather thongs and questioned at length. I was the number one suspect and the Counter Intelligence Corps got involved with the interrogation. Two hours later the handcuffs and thongs were removed and I agreed to take a lie detector test. I passed the test; the C.I.C. believed me and departed. Valdez slapped me across the face, but before I could react, two of his goons grabbed me and shoved me into a “ratty” cell, locked the door and left. I guess they thought I was a bad boy. I was sent to bed without dinner. Except there was no bed in my cell, no blanket, nor drinking water. There was nothing but the rats and me. How was I going to get out of this mess?

About mid-morning Valdez and his henchmen returned and he greeted me with a sarcastic, “Good morning, Sgt. Greenleaf. Did you sleep well?

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“When do I eat?”“When you tell us about the gold.”“How about a drink of water?”“Sure. Just as soon as you tell us about the gold.”

They lashed me to a chair and Valdez asked the same thousand questions over and over. Occasionally, he would walk over and deliver a blow to my mid-section or slap me across the face. As the day dragged on I began to wear down, but I didn’t want Valdez to realize it. I sure could use a drink of water. Just a few drops would help. Finally, they removed my bonds and shoved me into the cell where I spent another restless night trying to sleep on the filthy concrete floor. The gold was safe in Savannah, but I sure didn’t feel very safe. I was tired, sleepy, hungry, thirsty and in pain. I knew that once they got the gold, I’d be a dead man.

Next morning they returned and began the same practice and I was about ready to give up and take my chances. Valdez was in a big way of slapping me around when the door burst open and a colonel, and two majors walked in. The colonel demanded, “What’s going on here?”

Valdez answered, “Sir, we’re just interrogating this man.”

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“No, you are torturing him and I want it stopped, now. And to me he said, “Son, how long have you been here?”

I think this is the third day, Sir.”

“Cut him loose, clean him up, feed him and take him back to his company, with a letter to his commanding officer explaining his absence; and it had better be convincing, otherwise, you will be demoted to private. Major Thomas, you remain here, temporarily, and see that it happens. Valdez, remember, it’s a long way from captain down to private, but I can do it, with the stroke of a pen. I’m sorry about this, Sergeant; we just don’t do things this way. If you have any more problems, feel free to contact me at the port commander’s office.”

Three days later I was back on duty and told my friends that I had been on a special assignment. During the beatings I thought of my parents, occasionally. You might wonder if I ever forgave them. I don’t know that I did; I just put them out of my mind. While at Ft. Hood, I visited a shrink on a weekly basis for thirteen months and he helped me to get rid of the hatred.

The next few weeks went by without any problems; except for the last few days in Korea, I noticed

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someone following me. I guess they thought I would take the gold with me, but I didn’t worry at all. It was safe in Savannah, Ga. I thought about the song that contained the following words, “All the gold in California is in a bank in Beverly Hills in somebody else’s name.” I began to sing the song to myself with a few changes; “All the gold in Georgia is in a bank in Savannah in my name.” At that time it was illegal to own gold bars in the state of Ga.

I sailed back to the State, caught a plane from Ft. Lawton, Washington to Ft. Jackson, S.C. and said good bye to the Army. I enrolled in college under the G.I. Bill and took a part time job with Murphy Pharmaceutical as a salesman. I bought an old used car with my savings and rented a room in a run down house near the campus.

Well, what about women? Man, I didn’t have time for them. I “kept my nose to the grindstone” for the next four years. I arose at 5:30, was on the road three days each week, attended all my classes, did homework, research and other preparation, and usually retired after midnight. And there was repair work on my car. Seems that there was always something that needed fixing. Why did I hustle so? Because I really intended to make something of myself. Even as a part time salesman, my sales were more than some of the full time guys. One of the fellows made the statement,

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“Greenleaf could sell ice cubes to Eskimos in January.” I don’t know about that. I never tried it.

Occasionally, I noticed someone following me. They were still after the gold, so I just let it remain safe in the bank vault. I had all the gold, but what would I do with it? I could sure use some of it for better transportation, but not now.

Four years later, I graduated on Friday night and went to work, full time, on Monday morning, for Murphy Pharmaceutical. I bought a new pick-up truck, my most prized possession, and rented a nice apartment. Then, I was ready to start really living.

For the past year or so, no one followed me. One of the other men that was under suspicion suddenly disappeared and they assumed he was the guilty one. I think he just got tired of being followed and slipped away during the night. Anyway, I was in the clear, but still, I let all the gold remain untouched.

A few weeks passed and I was named “Salesman of the Month”, with more sales than anyone on staff, and I kept that title for twelve months. Then, Mr. Murphy said it was time to move up, and I was promoted to Sales Manager, with my own private office and secretary.

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The first day on my new job, I walked into the front office, said hello to the receptionist, and noticed a young attractive red head way over in one corner. Usually, I don’t care much for red hair, but I believe that was the prettiest hair I had ever seen. I walked over, gave her a big smile and said, “Good morning. How are you today?” I suddenly realized I had plenty of time for women. She just sort of turned up her nose and looked away and said nothing. With that red hair and green eyes, I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the state of Georgia, but not very friendly.

I was just getting settled into my new office when there was a knock at the door. “Come in “, I answered; and Mr. Murphy entered with the red head by his side.

“Daniel, this is my niece, Amelia, your secretary.” We chatted for a few minutes and he left the office, and we were alone.

Just as the door closed behind Mr. Murphy, Amelia spoke. “Mr. Greenleaf, let’s get something straight right now. I don’t make coffee nor empty ashtrays and I don’t shop for gifts for the bosses wife and children, nor run personal errands of any type.”

“Well, Miss Murphy, that’s just great. I think we’ll get along fine. I don’t drink coffee nor smoke; I have

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neither wife nor children and I take care of my own personal errands. Now, let’s get something else straight, just so there won’t be any mis-understanding. You’re the secretary and you don’t make the rules. I do. You will get rid of the habit of telling me what you will or will not do. Now, get busy and start doing what you think secretaries are supposed to do.” Suddenly, she didn’t appear to be so beautiful anymore; just another person and I put her out of my mind. The shrink at Ft. Hood taught me how to do that several years ago.

I had never met anyone as cold as Amelia. She only spoke when it was absolutely necessary and she was always a smart aleck. I asked Mr. Murphy for another secretary, but he refused and I was stuck with her. Then he told me something I really needed to know. Her mother passed away when she was a young child and her father died a few weeks ago. She came to her uncle for a job, fresh out of college, and expected to join the company as a top executive. He informed her that she must start at the bottom and work her way up, and she was bitter.

One of the few things I did in my new position was to check the sales records for the past few years. The only increase amounted to the sales I brought in during the previous year. The company was just crawling along,

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but I knew I could make it better. On the first day of the month, I called a meeting of all sales people and offered a one thousand dollar bonus to the person making the most sales in one month. They jumped up and left the building like a cat with its tail a-fire! One thousand dollars was a lot of money in those days.

Did it work? You can bet your boots it did. The sales doubled over the past month. Three months later, I made the same offer and sales doubled again. Then we were rolling and not crawling. Speaking of money, I was really wishing I could do something with all the gold. But the time wasn’t right, yet.

Meanwhile, the red headed secretary was warming up. She was talking to everyone and smiling, and she had a beautiful smile. One Friday afternoon she asked if I would go to dinner with her Saturday night.

At first I was shocked and finally answered, “Sure, When shall I pick you up?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll meet you at the Seaside Restaurant at 7:00.” I arrived a few minutes early and waited until 8:30. Hunger overtook me, so I ordered, ate and departed at 9:15.

Monday morning I asked, “What happened to Saturday night?”

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“Oh, I forgot. Sorry.” And it wasn’t mentioned again.

Someone was following me again. I could spot a tail a mile away since I had plenty of experience. He looked somewhat like Valdez, but I wasn’t sure. I had never seen him in civilian clothes and sometimes that makes a difference. Now, why was he hanging around?” I felt reasonably sure that everyone had given up on all the gold; especially since one of the suspects had mysteriously disappeared.

A few weeks passed and Amelia asked me to dinner at her apartment for the following Saturday night. I asked, “Are you sure?”

“Of course. I’ll expect you at seven.”I arrived at five minutes till and rang the door bell several times. I noticed her car was missing, so I drove back to my place and attempted to call her on the phone a half dozen times, but no answer. I told myself, “That’s the last time I’ll fall for that foolishness.”

Monday morning she came bounding into the office with a big smile on her face and full of chatter. Throughout the day, I noticed she kept glancing toward me; probably waiting for me to mention Saturday night,

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but I ignored her. Finally she said, “Did you come to my place Saturday night?”“Yes”“Would you like to know where I was?”“No. I really don’t care. Don’t you have work to do?”“My boyfriend from out of town was here and we took in a movie.”Without further comment, I left the office.

A month later, she asked “Would you like to go to dinner Saturday night?”“No, not with you.” Then very quietly I added, “you made a fool of me twice. It won’t happen again. So forget it.”During the next few months she asked me out several times, but I ignored her, and she finally gave it up. She turned out to be a very good secretary, but other than that, I had no feelings toward her. She was beautiful to look at, but beauty is only skin deep, as they say.

I held the position of sales manager for just over a year. The company receipts were five times greater than they were twelve months ago, and Mr. Murphy said it was time for me to move on up. He was planning to retire and offered me the position of company manager.

Next day I walked into my new office and guess who the secretary was? The smart aleck red head. I thought I was rid of her. I asked her if she wanted to be the

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sales manager. I knew she could do the job, but she said, “No. I’d rather be your secretary.” A substantial raise in pay went with the job, so wasn’t that a dumb thing to do; rejecting my offer? So I gave it to my brother, Steve, who was a “top notch” car salesman.

On a Saturday night I left the theater and was walking across the parking lot, headed toward my truck, when suddenly a man stepped from behind a car, blocking my path. A closer look revealed the face of my old enemy, Valdez, and he was pointing a gun four feet from my chest. Then he began to speak. “Sgt. Greenleaf, we meet again. The C.I.D. gave up on you, but I haven’t. I’m retired from the military, now, and I know you have the gold and I intend to get it. Just suppose your new truck was demolished, or your business was burned to the ground. Your family members or friends could be injured or killed, one by one. Your red headed secretary could just disappear. I can make it happen. Think about that. Is the gold worth all that? No one else knows about it, so maybe we could make a deal.”

I kicked the gun from his hand and it slid underneath a car. Now he was unarmed and I could have some fun, working him over. I thought of the beatings he gave me while we were in Korea. The scrawny little runt should have known better than to tangle with me. I was six foot four, weight two thirty, was pretty well trained in

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martial arts and in very good physical condition. Before I could make a move, someone strong, grabbed me from behind and Valdez delivered a blow just above my left eye. Very quickly, I kicked him in the mid-section and gave the man behind me a good hard elbow to the rib cage and he let go. I spun around and delivered a judo chop to the throat and hit him up side the head, my favorite, and down he went like a ton of rocks and out like a light. Then I gave Valdez my undivided attention. I was tossing and slapping him around and practicing some of my favorite moves when he drew a knife from underneath his coat and lunged toward me. I stepped aside; he tripped over his fallen goon and fell to the ground, plunging the knife deep into his heart. And Valdez was no more.

Meanwhile, Amelia and three of her girl friends had left the theater and were walking across the parking lot when they noticed three men fighting, near her car. They saw the entire fight and Amelia recognized me. She yelled, “That’s my boss. Someone call the police.” And they did, but it was all over when the police arrived.

We all went down to the police station and gave our statement, and I was surprised to learn that Amelia was on my side. Then, I almost went into shock when she said, “Come with me. We need to clean you up. My

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apartment is not far away. The girls can take my car and I’ll drive your truck.”

I figured she was planning some sort of trick. I didn’t really trust her, but I went along anyway and hoped for the best. Her apartment was small but very clean, neat and orderly; like something one would see in a magazine. I kept waiting for the other shoe to fall, but it didn’t. She bathed my face, examined the cut over my eye and decided I needed stitches, so she drove me to the hospital. I thought about her washing my face and what a good feeling it was. Her touch was so soft and gentle and there were kind words; so unlike the Amelia that I was accustomed to in the office everyday. Maybe she was human after all, but I wasn’t getting my hopes up.

I held the position of company manager for one year when Mr. Murphy approached me and said, “Well, Daniel, another year has passed and it’s time for you to move on up.”

“But where would I move to? I’m already at the top.”

“In order to be at the top, you must own the company. Pay me $250,000 in cash and it’s all yours. I like you and you’ve done an outstanding job since coming here.

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I know the company is worth much more, but I have plenty of money and no children to leave it to.”

“How about Amelia?”

“When my wife and I pass on, Amelia will inherit the remainder of the estate, but I want you to have the company.”

Sometime ago, I saw an article in one of the newspapers about a party in Canada who was paying $1000 an ounce for gold, and there was a phone number. I called the number and a man agreed to meet me on the front steps of the main post office, in Detroit, at 12 noon, in three days. I picked up the gold from the bank, took it to my apartment and transferred it from the box to a canvas bag. I believed no one was following me, but I took no chances. I changed rental cars five times between Savannah and Detroit, and carried a .45 automatic under my coat and a .22 strapped to my right calf.

I met “The Man” at the appointed time and place and suggested we go to a very upbeat restaurant that I knew wouldn’t be crowded, just two blocks away, and he agreed. We were seated in an isolated corner with our backs to the wall. After lunch was served and dishes cleared away, I counted the money, $324,000 good old American dollars, while “The Man” examined the gold

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bars. When both parties were satisfied, we walked back to the cars and I watched him drive away. Five minutes later I got into my rental car, did a U turn and headed east for a few blocks, then north, west, and finally south toward Savannah, Ga. Now, all the gold was gone and I was relieved, but in a strange sort of way, I felt as though I had parted with a good friend.

I was moving along at a pretty good clip, when I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw a police car following with his red lights flashing. I thought, “What will happen if he sees the money?” I knew there would be many questions, but I had no choice but to stop. “Sir, you were exceeding the speed limit by 15 mph. May I see your driver’s license?” He looked in the back seat and said, “Step out of the car and open the trunk, please. You don’t mind if I examine your luggage, do you?”

“No, of course not. Just look all you want.” He went through my clothing and reached for the smaller bag, the money bag, when he received an emergency call on the radio. He returned my license, did a U turn and took off like a scalded dog. I continued driving south as fast as the law allowed, but careful not to exceed the speed limit. I changed cars in the next city. As a matter of fact, I changed cars four more times before reaching Savannah. Now, since all the gold is gone, we

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could end the story here, but I would like to go a bit further and tell you what transpired during the next several months; which might not have been possible without the gold.

I returned the rental car, got into my truck and drove out to Mr. Murphy’s home. I gave him $250,000.00 and he handed me a receipt for $1,000, paid in full”. We did it that way in order to fool the I.R.S., and it worked. He and I were the only ones who knew about the money and he didn’t know where it came from, and didn’t really care. All the gold was gone, I owned the company and everything was great.

Remember Charlie? Well, I do. I had been so busy for the past few years, I had almost forgotten him. I hired a private investigator to locate him and it was no problem. Charlie had returned to our hometown and was employed as a janitor at the local high school. I paid him a visit and he was still living mighty close to nature, in a little shack down by the tracks. I offered him a job with our company, doubled his salary, and he accepted. Charlie proved he could do much more than sweep and mop, so he became our maintenance man. He was probably the highest paid maintenance man in the city. I made certain he was in decent quarters, then left him on his own.

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About a year after I became the owner, I figured it was time to move up again and decided to check into opening a branch in Canada, the city of Calgary. The company had a large surplus of money and I still had $74,000.00 of the “gold money” and that was enough.

I was beginning to get awfully busy and realized I needed help, so I created a new position, executive assistant. I gave the position to Amelia, with a large increase in salary and hired her little sister, Amy, as my new secretary. Finally, I was rid of that red headed secretary. Anyway, she was better qualified than anyone else for the job.

The new branch seemed to be getting off to a new start and I was already thinking of another branch, in Houston, Texas, maybe in a year of so, when Steve walked in and sat down and made himself right at home. I told him of my plans, which he ignored and said, “Daniel, when are you going to settle down and get married? You know, you’ll soon be pushing thirty and you’re still single.”

“Well, wait just a minute, big brother. First of all, I’m only twenty-eight. And about getting married; I will if I ever meet the right woman. She just hasn’t come into my life, yet. Maybe I’ve been too busy to even think about marriage.”

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Then, he said, “You can slow down, now. Everything is going well. Have you heard the song, “I overlooked an orchid while searching for a rose”?“Yes, many times.”“Well, that’s you.”

“And who is this orchid that you think I overlooked?”“You see her almost everyday. When you are in the building, she’s your shadow. Wherever you go, she’s close by.”“Are you talking about Amelia? Man, she doesn’t even like me.”“Then why is she always hanging around with you?”“Business. She’s learning all the ropes so she can become a manager some day.”“Look, Daniel, I know what I’m talking about. Don’t pass up a good thing. She may not wait forever. I have work to do. See you around.”

A few days later, I asked Amelia if she would manage the branch in Calgary. I really needed someone up there, full time, and she was well qualified. She wasn’t interested. Then I asked, “If I go to Calgary, will you manage the home base?”

“I had rather be your executive assistant. ‘Whither thou goest, I will go.’” I could feel my face turning red and

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she smiled and said nothing else. It was time for me to go home.

Eventually I found a manager and spent three weeks in Calgary training him. When I felt that he could do the job, I called Amelia and asked her to have one of the guys pick me up at the airport at 7:00 P.M.

We landed in Savannah, on time, and Amelia was there, waiting for me. She said, “All the guys were busy, so I had to come.” Then she put her arms around me and kissed me, a long passionate kiss. Man, I had never tasted anything as sweet as those lips! I had kissed two or three girls during my life time, but it was nothing like that.

Finally, she spoke again. “Several years have passed since I’ve asked this question, so I’m asking again. Will you have dinner with me at the Seaside Restaurant?”

“I gladly accept your invitation”, and we walked over to my truck. She always drove my truck when I was out of town. She didn’t ask, she just did it, but I didn’t really mind, just as long as it was where it was supposed to be when I needed it, and it was always there.

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After dinner, we drove to her apartment and she asked, “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes. Sounds like a good idea to me.”

We stepped inside; she locked the door, turned the lights down low and turned on the stereo. The first song we heard was “I Overlooked An Orchid While Searching For A Rose”. I figured I had finally found the orchid. She said, “I’ve loved you for almost two years and you didn’t even know.”

“But I know now.” We embraced and kissed; a long passionate kiss. And the rest is history, as they say.

AFTERWORD

Daniel and Amelia married, bought a large house, hired a maid, gardener and nanny and had five children in ten years. True to his word, Daniel never struck his wife or children. He opened a new branch every year, in a major city, for twenty years. He ran the company for ten more years and retired at age fifty-eight and left the business to the children. Daniel and Amelia built a summer home near Calgary, where they spent four months each year. During that time, they had many visitors from the States, family members, friends, etc.

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From their patio, one can look west and view the beautiful snow capped Rocky Mountains.

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The Return Of Valdez

FOREWORD THE RETURN OF VALDEZ is a sequel to ALL THE GOLD. While serving as a Military Policeman in Korea during the war, Daniel Greenleaf stole a shipment of gold that was intended for the North Korean army, and shipped it to his brother in Savannah, GA. Captain Valdez, of the Criminal Investigation Department suspected Daniel of taking the gold, but couldn’t prove it.

A few years later, Daniel turned the gold into American dollars with assistance from a Canadian, and bought the company he worked for. Shortly afterwards, Valdez, a civilian at that time, came into Daniels life again. He demanded a share of the gold, a fight broke out and he was killed with his own knife.

Amelia and I walked out the door, across the lawn to our seventy-nine acre private park and began our regular morning stroll. It was near the end of October, and even though the

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West wind was blowing; the weather was still pleasant in and around Savannah, GA, provided one was wearing a light jacket.

The leaves were showing fall color and the forest floor was covered with new fallen pine needles. A few white clouds floated across the sky, which added to the beauty of the day. We observed a dozen wild geese arriving to make their home in our area.

An eight foot trail circled the entire park and there were twelve gardens scattered along the way. Horses grazed on a six acre plot just inside the gate. In the southwest corner of the property there was a five acre spring-fed pond stocked with catfish, bass and bream. A large picnic shelter stood just a few feet from the pond which was used often for family gatherings. Many small animals and birds lived there and occasionally one could catch a glimpse of deer bounding through the woods.

A full time gardener and part time helper, usually a high school or college kid was employed to care for the park and the lawn around the house. Since my retirement, Amelia and I helped with special projects, such as bridges, fences, etc.

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Amelia broke the silence with, “Daniel, thanks for my 65th birthday party last night.” “Oh, you’re welcome. I’m just glad all the family was there.” “Yeah, even little Lucy all the way from California. By the way, she should be halfway home by now.”

During the girl talk between the two of you, does she ever mention marriage? Not that I’m rushing her. I just wondered”.“I think she’s married to her job. She enjoys over seeing the branches in San Diego, San Francisco and Los Angeles. She’s really crazy about California.”

As we were nearing the picnic shelter, we noticed Louis, the gardener, staring at the ground in deep thought. We walked a few more steps and realized someone had paid us a visit, recently. A flower garden was completely demolished. Every plant was either up-rooted or trampled beyond recognition. Louis said, “This happened during the night. I was here until sundown and everything was okay. This was the prettiest garden in the park. Well, there goes two day’s work, just wasted.”

Amelia walked on toward the pond. “Don’t worry about it, Louis; I’ll help you do the repair and we’ll finish in no time at all. Go to the nursery and get everything that you need and call me when you return. I’ll be changing

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the oil in my truck.” Amelia walked on toward the pond. “Yeah, I know, Mr. Greenleaf. You’re always messing with that truck. You could hire somebody to do that. Course, that ain’t none of my business. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Oh, I almost forgot. I found this in the middle of the wrecked garden. I didn’t want to mention it while Mrs. Greenleaf was here. Thought it might upset her.” He handed me a sheet of paper with the following message scrawled on it: “This could happen to you”. “Thanks, Louis” and I folded and slid it inside my jacket.

That really got me to thinking. I didn’t believe I had any enemies, but one never knows what is lurking in a man’s heart. I overtook Amelia and we completed our morning stroll in silence. Back at the house, while working on the truck, Amelia joined me and asked, “Daniel, what do you make of this ordeal?” “I don’t know. It’s got me stumped. I called the sheriff and he’s sending one of his deputies. I’m more concerned about the written message than the damaged garden. I felt sorry for Louis because that seemed to be his favorite work of art. He was really proud of that one.” Then I told her about the written message.

The deputy came, looked around, made a few notes and said, “Mr. Greenleaf, I don’t think it’s anything

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personal, just random vandalism. It could happen to anyone.” “But it didn’t happen to just anyone It happened to me”.

“Yes, Sir. I understand.”

Deputy Roberts took the written message, said goodbye and went on his merry way. I didn’t believe the intruder entered the park through the front gate by the house in that we had a good watch-dog. Nothing ever got past him. He was not a dangerous dog, just a good one that was always alert.

A week later, after the destruction of the garden, Amelia and I were walking in the park. As we were turning a curve, we spotted two dogs lying on the trail. I approached and upon examination, learned they had been shot between the eyes with a small caliber gun, probably a .22. Amelia was both angry and frightened. She exclaimed, “Why would anyone want to kill those poor dogs? Use some other method of scaring people rather than destroying innocent animals. If I could find the guilty party, I think I would shoot them on the spot!”

I responded with, “You had better be careful. If for some reason, the person or people were shot and you were overheard making threats, the law could come for you.”

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“Yeah, you’re right, but it just burns me up. Hey, what’s that under the white dog’s paw?”

I knelt and retrieved from under the dog’s front paw, what appeared to be a piece of a brown paper bag, and on it was a written message. “What?” she asked.

“You’ll never guess. It says, ‘This could happen to you’. It was probably the same person who destroyed the garden last week.”I called the sheriff on my cell phone and he and a deputy were there within fifteen minutes. They took pictures, took notes, took the brown piece of paper, took the dead dogs, did lots of looking around, and asked a few questions.

As they were leaving, Sheriff Tate said, “If we find anything, we’ll let you know.” “Well, Sheriff, I just hope you find them before I do.” “Whadda you mean by that remark?” “I mean if I find them before you do, we won’t need you. We’ll need the coroner”. “Now, see here, you better watch it.” And he drove away.

A few days later, Dan, (Daniel Jr.) our oldest son and CEO of the company, approached as Amelia and I were returning from our morning stroll in the park. “Hey, how ya’ll doing this fine morning?”

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Amelia answered, “We’re fine and how about you? And I know you’re up to something, otherwise you wouldn’t be out here at this hour of the day. Is something wrong? You look worried.”

“Actually, I’m here to see Dad. Dad, I realize you’re retired, but I need a big favor.” I knew he wanted me to go to work somewhere. “Okay, let’s have it. I’m listening.”

“Well, I want you to go to Philadelphia. The manager quit without notice and his assistant doesn’t have enough experience to take care of it and it’s in a big mess, and I’d like you to fix it.” I’ll fly you and Mom up there and she can shop all over the city while you are working. I’m really in a bind and I need you.”

“Why can’t one of the other family members do it?” “We’ve bought up several small companies lately and they‘re all busy with that.”“Don’t you have anyone else on staff who can take care of it?” “No, sir. They don’t know how. We usually don’t have any trouble. I really need you.”“Okay, when do I leave?”

“How about tomorrow?”

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Things went well during the next two weeks. The new manager was very good and proved to me that he could take care of the branch. While I was there, he selected a bright young man for his assistant, whom I felt good about. So Amelia and I were ready to go back to Savannah. Amelia shopped for two weeks and we enjoyed our stay in the City of Brotherly Love, until the very last night. Along about 11 o’clock, the phone rang. I answered and the caller said ”You can run, but you can’t hide.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to be running and hiding.” And he hung up the phone.

Amelia was asleep and didn’t hear the conversation, so I just kept it to myself.

Next morning, while airborne, I told Amelia about the phone call and we had a lengthy discussion about the entire situation. She asked, “Did you make some one angry while working at the branch? Maybe they didn’t like an outsider coming in and telling them what to do, even though it is a family owned business.”

“I don’t think so. Everyone seemed to like me and we got along fine, even the assistant manager, with his lack of experience, who, by the way, is now the manager. He seemed willing to learn and thanked me many times for

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‘showing him the ropes’. In the back of my mind, I kept wondering if it was connected with the garden and the dead dogs.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. But how would the same person know we were in Philadelphia, and how would he know which hotel we were in? Daniel, I’m frightened. What are we going to do?”

“I’ll start some detective work and probably hire a professional if I don’t get some answers pretty soon. Meanwhile, let’s just enjoy the flight and not worry about it.”

Back home, I asked Louis, “Has anyone been asking of our whereabouts since we left for Philadelphia?” “Yes, Sir. A couple of days ago, a man with a Spanish accent came by the house while I was working in the yard and asked to see you. I told him you were in Philadelphia on business. He asked what hotel you were staying in, plus a bunch of other questions which I didn’t answer. I pretended not to understand his speech, thinking he was up to no good. Finally, he got angry and left. Did I do wrong, Mr. Greenleaf?”

“No, Louis. You did exactly right and I thank you.” Now, I began to think. The man on the phone spoke with a Spanish accent, so did Louis’s visitor. Was he one and the same?

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I believed he was. I didn’t know many Spanish people, and certainly none that would cause me harm. That night about nine o’clock, Amelia received a phone call that went something like this: “Mrs. Greenleaf, you need to get out of that marriage. I have no quarrel with you but things are gonna get really rough and you could get killed. I won’t hold back, so consider yourself warned. Leave that man as soon as possible”, and he spoke with a Spanish accent. Needless to say, she was extremely upset.

Next morning, Amelia and I were relaxing from our stroll in the park, and enjoying our second cup of coffee for her and hot chocolate for me, when Dan rang the front doorbell, and I answered. My question was, “What’s wrong, Dan? I know you have something on your mind.”“How would ya’ll like a trip to Los Angeles?” “That’s fine, but why would we go?” “You know Lucy. She, being the baby of the family, needs a bit of attention once in a while. No, just kidding. The people are talking about a “Wild Cat” strike if certain demands aren’t met. She and the branch manager can’t seem to get them under control. She was in tears last night when she called and said, ‘Please send Dad out here to help me. I know he can fix it.’ “

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“Okay, okay; I’ll go. When do I leave?” “Well, today’s Wednesday and the walk-out is supposed to take place Friday noon, so you know how much time you need. Travel safely and I’ll see ya when ya get back.”

Amelia and I arrived in Los Angeles mid-morning Thursday; and I was at the branch office bright and early Friday morning. The manager, Edgar Franklin, called all the employees into the meeting room and introduced me as the main speaker.

I barely said good morning when a young smart aleck jumped up and yelled, “Old man, we’re gonna shut you down and break the company, then I’m gonna personally take you down a notch or two.”

I asked, “Young man, what’s your name?” “Rodney, if it’s any of your business.”

“Okay, Rodney, none of these you mentioned will happen. First of all, I’m not an old man. I’m only sixty-nine.” I heard a few chuckles from the crowd. “You won’t shut this branch and it’s impossible for you to break the company. I don’t believe you realize the size of this corporation. As for taking me down a notch or two, I didn’t come here to fight. I came to talk and see if we could reach some sort of agreement.

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“May I remind you of some of the good things about the company you work for? You have excellent hospital coverage and thirteen days sick leave per year, which you can carry over. Some of you get six weeks vacation which you can also carry over, and twelve paid holidays. You make more money than anyone else in your field and you also get Christmas bonuses and a cost of living increase every year. Now, you think about that for a few minutes.”

Rodney yelled, “I still want to shut you down, and we’ll do it!”

I asked, “Why, Rodney?”

“I just don’t like big shots.”

I could see Rodney was losing part of his following and I also realized he was not very bright. Later, I learned Edgar had hired him because he felt sorry for him, but as time moved on, he became too much of a problem, which affected a few of the other employees. I said, “Okay, folks, here’s the deal. You get your Christmas bonus within a few weeks and your cost of living increase the first of February. Everything stays the same. If you still want to shut us down, be my guest. We have many locations all over the country and Canada. We also have a fleet of trucks. If I give the

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word, we can load up and be out of here within twenty-four hours, and distribute material and property to other locations. I’m going to disappear for a few hours and when I return, at one o’clock, I want to see everyone either working or walking.” As Lucy and I were walking toward the office, I heard a woman ask Edgar, “Can he do that?” “You better believe it. He may be retired, but when trouble comes, he’s the boss. He can do anything he wants with the company, so if I were you guys I’d be working when he returns.”

While inside the office, I overheard another conversation just beyond the door, which was partially ajar. It was Mr. Trouble-Maker himself and two of his buddies, and he was saying, “You guys keep Miss Lucy and I’ll take care of the old man. This ought to be real easy.”

One of his friends replied, “Are you crazy? He’s got a black belt. Why, he could kill you with one blow! I ain’t messing with that man, or his daughter. Man, we’ve been licked.

I got a good job, waitin’ for me. I’m leaving, now; and if you’re smart, you’ll do the same.”

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A little past one, Lucy and I returned from lunch, walked into the empty break room, through the entire building and noticed that everyone seemed to be working. I asked, “Edgar, how many people did you lose?” “Well, when you left the building, so did about half the work force, but when the one o’clock bell rang, all returned except three. So we lost three, who can be easily replaced.

This afternoon I’ll call in some new people. We have a waiting list a mile long. It seems everybody wants to work here, except Rodney and his two pals.”

Amelia and I spent the weekend with our daughter, Lucy. We toured the city and dined in some of their fine restaurants, and just enjoyed being with our youngest off-spring. Monday morning Lucy drove us to the airport where we boarded a plane for Savannah, Georgia and she took off for San Francisco to inspect the branch there. She called out, “Thanks again, Dad. It was good to see you, Mom.”

A few days later, as we were walking in the park, we noticed an object attached to a low hanging branch, directly over the trail. As we drew nearer, we realized it was a partially skinned cat. Amelia screamed and

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almost passed out. I helped her to a nearby bench where she slowly recovered. There was a note tied to a front paw, which read, “There is more than one way to skin a cat. You may be next.” I called the sheriff and a few minutes later, Chief Deputy Roberts arrived, and his first words were, “Mr. Greenleaf, we’re getting kinda tired of this. I don’t know what you expect us to do if we catch ‘em.”

“Well, now, you hold on just a minute! If that’s how you feel, we won’t call again. As a matter of fact, you can leave now. You don’t appear to be doing anything anyway, so I’ll handle it from here.”

He took a few photos, asked some dumb questions and departed in a “huff”. My thoughts were, “Maybe he’s right. The sheriff’s department has more important things to do, other than our “piddley” stuff. They need to be chasing burglars, robbers, crooks, etc. and making the county safe for us. I almost felt like apologizing for bothering them.” Two days before Christmas, Amelia and I were busy with last minute decorations when the phone rang. She answered and a few seconds later I noticed her face was somewhat pale as she slammed down the receiver. “That was the same idiot with a Spanish accent, and he said, ‘This is your last warning. Leave that man, now.

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If you think there’s been trouble in the past, you ain’t seen nothing, yet. Merry Christmas.’”

I replied, “Try not to worry about it. I hired a private investigator today and he’ll help us figure it out. He’s coming tomorrow to tap the phone line. His name is Tracy Martin, and some of the old timers call him Dick Tracy, from the famous comic strip, ‘Dick Tracy, by Chester Gould’. They say he’s very good.”

During the big Christmas celebration at our house, there was a lot of small talk about the progress the company was making, how well the grandchildren were doing in school and who the culprit was that was harassing us. The young children always wanted to hear a story of long ago about Christmas. Amelia usually took care of that, since I had such an unhappy childhood, and never celebrated in any way. Our holiday break was in two weeks, and I could hardly wait until it was over and I was back in school.

I was deep in thought, when Dan approached and said, “Dad, I was just wondering; would you be our official trouble shooter?”

“That depends on the amount of trouble there is. Tell you what. I’ll come to the office Monday morning and

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we’ll talk about it. Let’s have another cup of eggnog and enjoy.”

“Sure, Dad.”I thought about Dan’s offer for the next three days. I had been retired for eleven years, developed a nice seventy-nine acre park out back of the house, traveled all over the world, done everything I wanted to do, so why not settle down and do a bit of work, occasionally. I arrived at the office early Monday morning. Dan’s secretary wasn’t in yet so I knocked on his door and was invited to enter and was greeted with, “Hi, Dad. What do you think of my offer?”

“I’ve given your offer lots of consideration, and decided to take you up on it; as long as it doesn’t turn into a full time position. I suppose you already have somewhere for me to go.”“As a matter of fact, I do. As you know, our fiscal year ended November 15. All the reports are in and Chicago didn’t show a profit at all. They came up with a loss of twenty-one thousand dollars. Now, you know something’s gotta be wrong because they’ve always made lots of money; up until last year; when the new manager took over.”

“Do you think the new manager has his hand in the till?”

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Then he answered with a sly grin, “I don’t know. I think someone needs to check him out.”

“Okay, I get the picture. I wish it were summer-time instead of the dead of winter. I can’t think of a colder place to be in January. I’ll make the best of it and have you an answer within two days. Put three accountants on standby in case I need them. They need to be there, like, right now if I call.”

Amelia and I arrived in the Windy City, by plane, on the second day of January. As we were walking across the parking lot to the car rental agency, facing a strong east wind, blowing across Lake Michigan, I thought that was the coldest I had ever been. We stopped by the hotel that Dan had reserved for us, dropped off our luggage and went on to the branch office. Eric Wilbanks, the manager was on the phone with Dan. The secretary was away from her desk, getting coffee for her boss, so we just walked in.

We heard him say, “You didn’t give me much notice….. Yes, they just walked in……What’s going on? ……..No, everything’s okay, you just caught us at a bad time……No, I’m fine. I just don’t like surprises……I don’t have a choice, do I?………Yes, I understand. Bye.”

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Then he spoke to us, “Good morning Mr. & Mrs. Greenleaf. Welcome to our fair city. Hope you enjoy your stay while you’re here.”

I replied, “Good morning, Eric, and thank you. We need to go right to work. I’ll have a look at all your files for the past two years. Just go ahead and unlock all file cabinets and go about your normal duties.”

Amelia is an artist. Usually when she accompanies me on trips, she paints pictures and writes poetry and shops, but that particular time, she helped me. We learned that about half the workers were not on the job, the other half appeared to have a hangover, probably from New Years Eve parties on the night before. Eric kept getting in the way, and asking questions, which we mostly ignored. Along about mid-afternoon, we began to discover mistakes; too many. Eric left the office for a few minutes, and I used his phone to call Dan. “Dan, your hunch was right. We’re finding all sorts of mistakes. Send the accountants up here, now. Instruct them to come to the office before going to the hotel. One will go to work when they arrive, one will go on duty at midnight, and the third will be ready to start at 8:00 a.m. I want a man, or woman, in this office every minute, until the inspection is complete. Your mother and I will wait here for their

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arrival, so tell them not to poke along. They can decide who takes which shift while they travel. Man, is it cold up here! If I ever get back to Georgia, I’m gonna nail my feet to the ground. That’s a direct quote from a book I read a few years ago by a Georgia writer.”

“They’ll be in at 6: 00 p.m. They should be in your presence by nine. I booked them in the same hotel with you.”

I instructed Eric not to remove nor shred any documents. He could see the handwriting on the wall, but said nothing. He appeared to be as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Our helpers arrived on time, while I was catching a quick nap and Amelia was reading the Ladies Home Journal. I gave them instructions and everyone left the office, except Earl Goodlet, who was replaced at midnight by Tim Everette. Amelia and I arrived at the Chicago branch office at nine the next morning and found Gordon Samples busy digging up dirt on several of the company officials. After the usual good mornings, how are you, etc. Gordon said, “Man, this is really bad. Did they really think they could get away with such crookedness? They should go to jail.”

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I answered, “They will.”

Eric and his people were doing a good job of staying out of our way; finally.

Occasionally, some one would come to the door, which was just across the hallway from Eric’s office, and ask if they could get anything for us.

About mid-afternoon on the forth day, I called Eric, his assistant, a secretary and the receiving clerk into the room that we had been using. I said, “The four of you are fired and you are also under arrest for embezzlement. You guys stole $240,000 last year, and you are going to jail.”

Eric was in shock. “What! I don’t know what you’re talking about! We’ve done nothing wrong and you can’t arrest us.”

“Maybe not, but they can. Come in fellows.”Amelia opened the side door and four uniformed policemen, a policewoman and a plain-clothes detective walked in. The detective read them their rights, and they were whisked away; amid all sorts of screaming, yelling, cursing, etc.

I called Dan and brought him up to date on the latest proceedings; and added, “I’m sending the accountants

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home, and Amelia and I will stay here until the thirteenth. She’ll train a secretary and a receiving clerk while I train a branch manager, so I need someone here, now. We’ve had enough of this Windy City.”

‘Dad, I’ve got just the man in mind. He’s the assistant manager in Dallas and doing a real fine job, but I don’t know if he would consider leaving there and going to Chicago.”

“Double his salary and get him up here within two days. He can go back later and take care of personal business.”

“But, we usually increase the salary by fifty per cent for such a transaction.”

“Dan, you just said he might not want to make the move. The extra money will help him make the decision quickly. If he hangs back too much, get another candidate. I’m not staying up here on this ice burg forever. I’m just a trouble-shooter. I found the trouble, solved the problem and now it’s your move. Just don’t poke along.”

Jarrvis Johnson arrived in Chicago at the appointed time and immediately went to work.

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He proved to be very efficient and intelligent and willing to learn. Five days later, Amelia and I boarded a plane for Savannah, Georgia; and a warmer climate.

The first night home, there was a knock at the back door at around nine o’clock. It was Lewis, the gardener and a man in handcuffs that looked exactly like Cisco Valdez. Lewis said, “Mr. Greenleaf this here is Diago Valdez. Me and my sons caught him sneaking up on the picnic shelter, with three dead crows in a sack. He’s the one who’s been messing with the park, and was up to something tonight, with them dead crows.”

“Lewis, I’m glad you caught him, but how did you get him to confess?”

With a sly little grin, he answered, “Well, ya see; my boys have a way of gittin thangs done. Just don’t ask too many questions.” Then DiagoValdez spoke, “They nearly killed me. They almost broke both arms and both legs, tried to drown me in the lake, smothered me with my jacket and cut off my hair with a hunting knife. I’m going to the law about this.”

I said, “Well now, Valdez; none of this would have happened had you not been on our property, would it? You can’t prove any of this; just like I can’t prove any

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of that stuff you did in our park. So, I guess we’re about even. Well, almost.” I walked up to him and slapped him across the face with all the strength I could muster. He would have fallen had Lewis not been hanging onto him. “That’s for scaring my wife, you slime ball. Take the cuffs off and let him go, Lewis. Don’t ever cross my path again.”

“Oh, but you’re going to see lots of me, Mr. Greenleaf. Cisco Valdez was my father, and you killed him forty years ago and took his money. I was just three months old, but my mother told me all about it. I intend to avenge my father’s death and get the money you owed him, but I won’t use the same methods he used. We’re going to do this right; by the law. I’ll have the best attorney money can buy.”

I replied, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you have your facts all wrong. Your father and two goons attacked me. He lunged at me with a knife and I stepped aside; he tripped over one of his comrades and fell, plunging the knife into his heart. He died in just two or three minutes. As for the money, there was none. Your father accused me of stealing a shipment of gold from the North Korean Army while the two of us were serving in the military there. The only hunch he had was the fact that I was seen in the area of the hidden gold on the day it disappeared; but so were several

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other M.P. jeeps. I was interrogated and tortured by your father and his men for several days. I couldn’t tell them anything because I was innocent. However, your father didn’t believe me, so he came looking for me several years after we were discharged from the army. That’s when he met his untimely death. Now, that’s the true story, and you can put it in your pipe and smoke it.”

A few days later, Diago Valdez, along with two other men, approached me on a street in downtown Savannah. One of the men said, “Mr. Greenleaf, you’re under arrest for murder and extortion. Come with us.” I asked, “Do you have a warrant?”

“No, but we can do that later.” And he grabbed my arm. I didn’t believe he was a legitimate policeman.

I jerked free and gave him a judo chop across the bridge of the nose. His buddy came rushing in and was welcomed with a swift kick in the throat followed by a good solid blow to the bread basket. With his friends on the ground, I turned to face Valdez, but he was backing away with his hands up. “Mr. Greenleaf, I don’t want any part of this. These men are private detectives and just didn’t understand. I promised to beat you without using violence and I intend to do just that.” And there I was, pushing seventy and still fighting. One would think a man of my standing would

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know better. I guess I could just let people push me around, but then, that wouldn’t be me. Go figure.

Next day, my picture was on the front page of the morning paper under the following caption, DID THIS MAN ATTACK AND BEAT THESE TWO INNOCENT CITIZENS? And there was their picture, lying in hospital beds. Needless to say, I received many phone calls because of that incident, but that wasn’t the end of it.

I was sued for a million dollars, went to court, lost the case but kept the money. The judge said, “I think Mr. Greenleaf is guilty, but I’m not going to award you the million dollars. The defendant is rich and wouldn’t miss the money at all, but I have something else in mind, something that would benefit the city. It’s called community service. For a period of five days, beginning next Monday, during the hours of 8-5, I want to see the courthouse grounds completely free of all types of litter; and you will work alone. One of my bailiffs will be watching you. Is that clear, Mr. Greenleaf?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

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“No more fighting; and you guys can remove the bandages and discard the wheel chairs. Case dismissed.”

A picture of me on my new job was on the front page of the morning paper, with the following words: DOES THE PUNISHMENT FIT THE CRIME?

The first day on the job went pretty well, but Tuesday was a different story. During the night, someone dumped loads of kitchen garbage on the parking lots and lawns. I spent six hours removing the extra litter. Wednesday morning was just as bad, so I decided to do something about it. About nine o’clock Wednesday night I drove into one of the court-house parking lots, and immediately the police gave me a parking ticket for being in the lot after hours. Thursday and Friday were just as bad. The judge gave me an extra day because I didn’t clean the grounds fast enough. I was beginning to think people in general were against me. It seemed I was going back in time to my unhappy childhood days. Both Amelia and I were receiving threatening phone calls, day and night. We obtained an unlisted number, but nothing changed. She said it was my fault and I was to blame for the whole mess. In a way, I guess she was right. She seemed to be more upset with me than with those making the phone calls.

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About a week after the garbage detail, as I returned from my walk in the park, alone, I was arrested for murder and embezzlement by two F.B.I. agents and hauled off to their office for questioning. After hearing my story, they checked the local police files of forty years ago, and determined that I was telling the truth about the fight and the death of Cisco Valdez. As a mater of fact, Amelia, along with three of her friends, witnessed the entire fight. And there were others who saw it from beginning to end. Still, there was the matter of the gold. They were taking me to court on that one.

The following day my picture was on the front page of the morning newspaper with: DID HE GET AWAY WITH MURDER? For some unknown reason, the paper was against me. They always put their accusations in the form of a question. That way, I can’t sue them; yet they get their point across to the public. I was certainly losing friends and making enemies because of their tactics. I knew Valdez was causing my problems. He was very intelligent and had a way of enticing people to see things from his standpoint. For more than fifty years, I possessed that same talent, but now, it seems to have disappeared.

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One week was used in selecting a jury because most people either knew me or knew of me, and Judge Hooten didn’t like that. The prosecutor, Robert Mote, hauled in two old Korean men, who looked to be past eighty. And there was Valdez and a half dozen of his goons and two F.B.I. agents and Dean Algood, my attorney.

Judge Hooten read the charge and my lawyer entered a plea of “not guilty” and the trial was underway. I would have enjoyed this had I not lost so many friends.

During the trial, Mote asked the Koreans if they recognized the prisoner. Both answered affirmatively. Dean asked were they sure, and had my appearance changed, at all, during the fifty years since the incident. They assured him nothing had changed and they would recognize me anywhere. That brought a chuckle from the jury box, and the judge called for order.

Dean passed a photo of me, as a young man, to the jury. Several more chuckles and the judge called for order, as he banged his gavel on the podium and said, “This is no laughing matter. One more outburst and I’ll find you in contempt. Does everyone understand? Now, let’s get on with it.” And it dragged on for several days.

To make matters worse, Amelia confronted me with, “Daniel, I think you did it. I think you stole the gold.

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You’re as guilty as can be. I’m tired of this trouble. I can’t take it anymore, and I want a divorce.” .“We’ve been together all these years, and now, when the going gets rough, you’re pulling out. I can’t believe this is happening. Being married is easy when things run smoothly, which it did during our marriage, but when trouble comes, you’re ready to call it quits. Is this final? Are you sure?”

“Sure as shootin. I’ve already hired a lawyer, and the dog stays with me”. I knew it would do no good to argue with her, and I sort of had the feeling that it was coming. So I packed up, said goodbye and moved into an apartment.

At the trial, finally I was called to the stand by Mr. Mote and asked, “Mr. Greenleaf, did you remove a gold shipment from a location in Korea?”

“No”“Do you know who did?”“No”“Do you know anything about the gold?”“No”“Why are you being accused?”“You tell me.” The judge yelled, “Don’t get smart, Mr. Greenleaf!”

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“Your honor, he asked a stupid question, I merely gave him a stupid answer.”“I’ll decide which questions are stupid. Anyway, I want to see you go to jail.”“I gathered that from the start.” The prosecutor asked, “Mr. Greenleaf, who owned the company that you worked for before you retired?” “I owned it.”“And how did you acquire such a great corporation?”“It wasn’t a great corporation when I bought it. I paid Mr. Murphy $1,000 for the business”. “Do you expect us to believe that?”My answer was, “I have a bill of sale as proof.” And I passed it to my lawyer and the two lawyers and judge examined it for a period of several minutes.

Finally, Mr. Mote said, “The judge and I believe it’s a fake. Here’s what I think happened: You stole the gold from the Koreans, laid low for a few years, cashed it in and paid Mr. Murphy the entire amount. Too bad Mr. Murphy has passed on. He could have cleared up this mess. Now, Mr. Greenleaf, isn’t that the way it happened?”

“Of course not. There’s not an ounce of truth in your silly theory.”

The judge piped up, “Watch it, Mr. Greenleaf.”

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The trial was such a joke, but it dragged on for another five days, then the case went to the jury for six hours. The jury returned a “not guilty” verdict, which the judge overturned. He said, “I thank the jury for the time spent here, but I think you’re wrong. The man’s guilty and he’s going to prison for a long time.”

Dean, my lawyer, appealed the case and won, and I was out of jail in less than two months. While in prison, my lawyer was my lone visitor, and he only came on business but it was good to see anyone from the outside. The news media turned most of my friends against me, and Amelia worked on the family. She even managed to convince Lucy, Daddy’s little girl, that I was the bad guy. Amanda could just about make any one believe anything, but I thought Lucy would always stick with me. Amelia knew I didn’t kill Valdez, since she witnessed the fight, but she thought I stole the gold. I returned to my apartment, to find it had been ransacked and the furnishings completely destroyed. My only possession left untouched was a two year-old truck, which the landlord was holding for back rent. Man, I felt so alone!

I paid the rent, and when I stepped outside, something like a sledge hammer hit me in the chest and I remember falling. Three weeks later, I awoke in a hospital and tried to figure out where I was, and what

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happened. A nurse came into my room with an explanation. “You had a heart attack, under went surgery, and went into a coma. For the past two weeks you would snap out of it for a few minutes, then drift away again.”

“I vaguely remember waking up several times and giving the hospital permission to treat me, file insurance, etc.”

“That’s not right. You did that when you first arrived. Something’s wrong somewhere, but don’t worry about it now. Just concentrate on getting well”.

“Did you notice any visitors coming and going while I was ‘out of it’?”

“Yes, there was an older woman with red hair and a young man carrying a brief case. Sometimes the woman wore dark glasses and a veil, but I knew she was the same person. I recognized her voice and her walk. Their visits were always very brief. Once I approached her and she claimed to be your wife, but I had my doubts. She never asked about your condition, so I knew something wasn’t right and I was told to mind my own business by the head nurse. Something else; I don’t know if this means anything, but the young man always entered the room first, then she went in a few seconds later”.

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“Thanks. You’ve been a great help.” The name plate on her uniform indicated her name was Carol. I didn’t get the same attention from other staff members as I did from her. They knew my name and ignored me as much as possible. After the nurse left my room, I wondered what Amelia and her lawyer were bringing in for me to sign I was really worried about what they may have pulled over me while I was semi-conscience. The doctor came by and said I probably could leave the hospital within the next three or four days. I couldn’t wait three or four days. I needed to go now and see what’s been going on behind my back.

Two days later, I was feeling stronger and could get around in the room okay, so I made my move during the three o’clock shift change. I looked in the closet and my clothes and shoes were still there. I dressed quickly and joined a group of visitors as they passed by my door. I could barely keep pace with them as it had been some time since I had walked more than a few steps. When we reached the lobby, I sat and rested for a few minutes before continuing my escape.

I stepped outside the hospital and enjoyed the warm April sun on my body. It seemed like ages since I had felt the fresh air. Slowly I walked through an alley toward a taxi cab stand. Just before emerging from the

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alley, I stumbled and fell. Suddenly, I had a terrible headache and couldn’t move a muscle. I tried shouting, but could only whisper. I could see people passing by but couldn’t get their attention. Finally two young men spotted me and approached, and I thought, “It’s about time someone was coming to help me.”

They stared for about two minutes and eventually, one of them broke the silence. “Aw, that’s old man Greenleaf. Let’s go. Somebody else can worry about him”. And they walked away.

Several people glanced up my way, and a few would make such remarks as, “some old drunk or an old wino sleeping it off.” And they moved on; time dragged by and I was about to pass out, when a young woman stopped and looked into the alley. She came closer and asked, “Sir, are you alright?”

I whispered, “I think I’m having a stroke. I’m Daniel Greenleaf. You might not want to help me.”

“I don’t care who you are.” She removed a cell phone from her purse and I heard her say,” Send an ambulance to the alley behind Red’s Hardware. This person is having a stroke. Hurry!”

The ambulance arrived, with red lights flashing and the siren screaming. It came to a screeching halt; two men

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bailed out, loaded me into the vehicle and were gone in a flash.

One man drove and the other rode in back with me. He inserted an IV into my arm and put an oxygen mask over my face and contacted the ER by radio. I realized we drove past the hospital, and I looked at the E M.T. He knew what I was thinking and he said, “Yes, I know. We just passed the hospital, but we’re taking you to one downtown that specializes in stroke victims. I just hope we’re not too late.” As we sped along, he shot medication into my veins several times.

I was confined to the hospital for almost four weeks, undergoing physical therapy. The stroke really took its toll on me, in that I was so long in getting treatment at the beginning. I had difficulty in moving my left arm and my left leg, which was just about useless. My face was crooked and my speech was slightly slurred. Otherwise, I was in good shape. One afternoon a candy striper brought a neatly wrapped package into my room. “Shall I unwrap it for you?” she asked. “Yes, please.”That’s strange. A note inside says,’ This is better than you deserve.’ Someone’s idea of a sick joke. How rude. The box was packed with dried weeds and underneath was a small glass jar containing a dead mouse. She

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screamed, dropped the box and ran from the room. I never saw her again.

During the third day at the hospital, Ginger Rainey, the woman who found me in the alley, came by for a visit. That was worth a million dollars. She was the only friendly visitor I had during all my hospital and prison days. She also sent get-well cards every week, and that was another “first” She was a very attractive woman and seemed to like me, but I don’t know why. I was forty years her senior, plus I was all messed up by the stroke.

Things were beginning to look up, but it didn’t last long. On her third visit, Ginger came rushing into my room with a frightened look on her face. “I’ve been warned to stay away from you and threatened with bodily harm if I come again.”. “A guy that speaks with a Spanish accent and looks like a snake?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“He’s my number one enemy. He’ll do anything to hurt me, so you had better stay away. Just keep the get-well cards coming, and we’ll meet again; I promise.”

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One day I was feeling very low, when I had another visitor to drop in, Charlie Ritz, a friend from boy hood days. He exclaimed, “Daniel, what in the world are you doing in a dump like this? You needn’t answer. I know all about it. My wife and I just returned from a year in Europe and I’ve been catching up on things. Had I known you were in trouble, I would have been here long ago. You know, I have been in Savannah and could have helped you, and still can. I’ve done lots of homework and know what happened. Amelia, along with her crooked lawyer and crooked judge took you to the cleaners. You don’t own anything except your truck and it’s at my place for safe-keeping. I beat ‘em to it this morning. You don’t even have a place to live.”

Thoughts were running through my mind. That’s what all the paper signing was about while I was half asleep in the hospital. Why, that dirty rat! After all those years together; how could she do that? Suddenly, she developed a way of controlling people’s minds, the wicked witch of the west. Then I said, “Charlie, I can sleep in the truck.”

“You don’t need to do that. I own almost two hundred rental properties in and around the city. There’s a vacant three room cottage down on the beach and it’s

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yours, rent free for as long as you live. I’ll pay the taxes and insurance and you just live there and enjoy.”

“Now, Charlie, why would you do that?”

Well, Daniel, it’s like this: Remember when we were kids in high school? You stole money from your parents while they were drunk and asleep and paid our house rent for one month, which kept us from getting thrown out. Then you gave me a brand new pair of basketball shoes, which allowed me to play on the varsity team. Later, as young men, you found me working as a janitor in the high school. You gave me a job in your company and doubled my salary. Each year following, you gave me huge increases in salary, way more than I was worth. I married a woman with a good job and we bought houses with the extra money, and here I am today. Why, you’re the best friend I ever had. I’d do anything under the sun for you and enjoy every minute of it. Now, will you accept my offer?”

“Okay, I’ll accept until I get back on my feet. This is very strange; getting help from someone else. I’m usually the helper. Charlie, you’re a true fiend and probably the only one.”

Charlie was semi-retired, and came by for a short visit everyday, and to dispose of the junk and notes from Valdez. Finally the time came for me to leave the

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hospital. My face was still crooked, my speech was just about normal and I had full use of my arm, but had difficulty with my leg. I could walk slowly, with crutches. About mid-morning, Charlie arrived to take me to my new home. Ginger came from the supermarket where she worked and they talked for a short while. I had not seen her since Valdez frightened her.

At that time, I had wondered if I would ever see her again. Charlie climbed into the truck and we drove out to the coast. The cottage was located right on the beach and contained a kitchen, dining and den area, two bedrooms and a bath, just what I needed. The house was furnished and the pantry and refrigerator were well stocked.

Charlie visited for a while, and as he was leaving, the phone rang. It was Ginger, “Don’t worry about dinner. I get off work at five and will be there at six with food for the two of us.”

How could I refuse such an offer? I wondered what a nice woman like her saw in a guy like me. I was pushing seventy, couldn’t walk worth a hoot, had no money or property, and was living in a small rent-free cottage, on eight hundred dollars a month Social Security. There she was thirty-eight years of age, had

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kept her school figure, soft black hair, clear brown eyes and a smile that just lights up a room when she walks in, and a personality that goes along with it all. Her husband died from injuries sustained in a construction accident two years ago and she never became interested in men since. She said her marriage wasn’t all that good, anyway. I read between the lines that her husband had an eye for the ladies. I thought about asking what she saw in me, but decided to “let sleeping dogs lie”. Hey, why mess up a good thing?

Charlie usually dropped in by ten o’clock for a few minutes, sometimes for a couple of hours, and Ginger would show up around six for dinner, which she prepared in my kitchen. She would usually visit for an hour or so before departing for her home.

One day I decided to try to locate some of my property that Amelia might have overlooked. I hobbled out to my truck and drove downtown to Charlie’s office for the use of his computer. He said, “Fine. Help yourself.” And I did. I looked in every nook and cranny, and there was nothing but a Dodge pick-up truck. I looked into my bank account and found $137.29 and zero savings. Charlie said, “Are you sure you looked everywhere?”

“Charlie, my body may not be worth a flip, but my brain is sharp as ever. By the way, who are those rough looking guys, playing cards, in the next room?”

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He summoned them to his office and said, “Daniel, meet my rent collectors, Leo, Buster and Slick, and the smaller one is Weasel. Since these guys have been on board, I haven’t lost a single dime in rent money.”

I could understand why. Even as a young man I would not have enjoyed meeting those guys in some dark alley.

One night just as I was about to retire for the day, I heard noises out front. I switched on the flood lights, opened the door and caught a glimpse of a car speeding away. I wondered what that was all about. Next morning, as I stepped outside for the newspaper, I noticed broken eggs on my truck and the front of the house. Ginger called to say her car was ‘egged” sometime during the night. Then I knew exactly what was going on. Valdez had figured out where we lived and probably hired a group of teen age punks to harass us. Around noon, I received a phone call with this message, “You can run, but you can’t hide. Have you heard that before”?

“Valdez. How did you find me?”

“Easy. Followed your girl friend. Like I said, you can run, but you can’t hide.”

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Things had been running pretty smooth for the past several weeks, but then the idiot was back in the picture. I should have killed him while I was still physically able. Now I’ll have to contend with this foolishness for the rest of my life.

At one a.m. the phone rang and I wondered who in the world could that be. I had only two friends and they would be asleep at this hour. I answered and shouldn’t have.

The voice on the other end of the line said, “How do you like your eggs, scrambled, sunny side up or broken and scattered?” Then there was that silly little laugh and the caller hung up. It was Valdez. The phone rang again at about three, but I ignored it.

Next morning as I was cleaning the fresh “egging” from the truck and house, Charlie stopped by and asked what was going on. I told him about the “eggings” and phone calls. He made no further statement, just climbed back into the truck and drove away.

While eating lunch, the phone rang and it was Valdez. “You lost and I won, Greenleaf. I told you I would win and I did it with help from your ex-wife.” I said, “Valdez, did you get the gold?” “No, but” “Did you get the money?”

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“Well, no, but..” “How do you figure you won? You have neither the gold nor the money, and that’s what you came for.” He responded with several phrases in Spanish, which, I’m sure, were not printable. My truck and house received the third and final “egging”.

I noticed in the “Savannah Early Sun” there was some sort of brawl in the rough section of our fair city, down by the water front, and Diego Valdez was missing. A week later, after a terrible storm, his body washed ashore, two miles south of the city. He was handcuffed and gagged. Salt water was found in his lungs, so it was determined that he died of drowning. Two unidentified male bodies, with broken necks, were latched together and found close by. It was easy to figure exactly how the crimes were committed. Personally, I didn’t consider it a crime. I thought it was good riddance. Maybe I could live in peace after all.

Later, while Ginger and I were enjoying a fancy dinner and drinking champagne, in celebration of our freedom from Valdez, there was a knock at the door. She answered and two policemen walked in, identified themselves and asked, “Are you Daniel Greenleaf?” “I am.” “We need to ask you some questions. Do you know Diego Valdez?”

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“Yes”.Do you know he’s dead?”“I read it in the newspaper” I said with a big smile.“Why are you smiling? Are you glad he’s dead?”“I certainly am. That’s the best news I’ve heard in two years. That’s why we’re celebrating here and now.”“Did you kill him?”“No”.“Do you know who killed him?”“No”, I lied. I knew it was Charlie and his goons.“Why are you glad he’s dead?”“I’m sure you’ve noticed our names linked together for the past couple of years if you read the Savannah Early Sun”.“Suppose we don’t read the Sun?”“Well, you should.”

“Mr. Greenleaf, you need to come with us to the station for a few more questions. We’ll wait in the car while you finish your dinner for ten minutes.” I thought that was strange. I was not accustomed to people being nice to me for the past two years.

At the station I answered the same questions plus a few more for the D.A. I asked for a lawyer and they sent a young kid, Jason Jones, who had never tried a case. This was a Pro Bono case, but he tried anyway, and won. His argument was, “Gentlemen, no one is going to believe a man in his physical condition and age could

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commit such a crime. Why, it’s close to impossible. You don’t have a case and you’re wasting the tax payer’s money. You’re going to look foolish taking this to court.” Finally, they agreed with him and I was free to go. Jason was elated at winning his first argument without even going to court. I was just as happy that Valdez was out of my life.

My happiness didn’t last very long. During the past several days, I experienced chest pains, excessive coughing, shortness of breath and my condition appeared to be growing worse. I went for a check-up and the doctor said, “Mr. Greenleaf, you have lung cancer and it’s inoperable.”

“Okay, Doc, how long do I have?”

“I’d say maybe six months. Sorry to break it to you like this.”

Ginger and Charlie were devastated upon hearing the news. I said to Ginger, “You’ve been so kind and I have nothing to leave you. As a matter of fact, I have nothing but the truck. You can have it if you like.” “I love that truck, but let’s not talk about dying right now. Let’s talk about living your life to the fullest for the time you have left. Tell me about yourself before I came along. What was it like, being rich?”

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“You’ve heard the phrase, ”from rags to riches”. Well, it happened the other way around for me, “from riches back to rags”. I bought the company from a good friend for a fraction of its real worth and worked hard and built it into a large corporation. More than a thousand people worked for me, and billions of dollars passed through my company each year. I took care of those who worked hard and did a good job. Others were fired.

I had friends all over the country and across Southern Canada. I traveled all over the world and did everything I wanted to do. I was one of the richest men in Savannah. I gave hundreds of thousands of dollars to hospitals, churches and schools and never asked for anything in return. I was asked to serve as Mayor, Governor and U. S. Senator, and turned them down each time. Politics just didn’t appeal to me.

About two years ago, trouble came along. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. First there was harassment from Valdez, then the divorce, which hurt most of all, the trial and jail sentence and the heart attack. Then Amelia and her crooked lawyer and judge robbed me of all my earthly belongings, followed closely with the stroke and cancer with only a few months to live. I never figured out what went wrong with Amelia.

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Some said the devil got into her mind and there was no cure for it. Two hundred years ago, she would have been burned to death in a public place. I lost all my friends and my family turned against me though no fault of mine. Yeah, Ginger, I had it all and lost it.

All was quiet for a few minutes, then Ginger said, “How sad”. Now I wish I hadn’t asked.

AFTERWORD

Daniel lived only one month in lieu of three.

Seventeen-year-old Poncho Valdez, son of Diego Valdez, Grandson of Cisco Valdez, came to town to avenge the death of his family members. One night, when Daniel was home alone, Poncho came to the front door of the cottage with a home-made bomb. He was not familiar with the apparatus, and it exploded before he could get it planted, “blowing him to bits”. The building was demolished, but the truck sustained no damage at all.

Daniel had just stepped out back with a bag of garbage when the explosion occurred. He was struck by a flying

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timber and died a few hours later in the E.R. of one of our hospitals with no one at his side except Carol, the nurse whom he had met some time ago. So, Daniel was gone, but so were the Valdez men, three generations.

There were only three guests at Daniel’s grave-side funeral, Ginger, Charlie and Charlie’s wife. And there was a Baptist Minister, the funeral director and the grave diggers.

Lucy regretted having listened to her mother. Oh, how she regretted not maintaining a relationship with her father! She stood on a small pine-covered knoll in the county cemetery, and viewed the proceedings from afar and wept bitterly as her father’s body was lowered into the cold ground.

The company went bankrupt and lost everything within a few years. It was too large for Amelia and the children to manage. They didn’t have the “know how” and the man who could fix anything was in his grave.

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Where The Coyotes Howl And The Wind Blows Free

FOREWORD

This story took place in Texas at the XXX Ranch. Uncle Ernie taught me how to be “the best” cowboy out there and how to be a successful rancher. The name XXX was given to the ranch after Uncle Ernie passed away. I hope you enjoy reading how this story all came about.

The lettering on the door read, JOHN WILLIAM MONTGOMERY & ASSOCIATES, Attorneys At Law.

J.W, as he was well known, was my father and probably the best lawyer in the state of Texas. When one was in serious trouble, J.W. was summoned' and the check book had better be ready. I've known him to charge as much as $100,000.00 and he almost always won his case. I knocked on the door and a voice from within bellowed, "Enter".  I did and said, "Hi, Dad. What's up?"

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"I think you know what's up. Have you seen your desk this morning?" Did you know that Earnest named you his attorney? Also, did you know that he left the ranch and almost all his belongings to you? I don't believe it's legal, in the state of Texas, for a nephew to handle his uncle's estate. I just don't believe a twenty-six year old kid can handle a ranch the size of the XXX.

Why, I just think you're not smart enough for the job. What about your responsibility here as a lawyer?"                             

"Now, wait just a minute, Dad. You might want to give a little more thought to the word 'smart'. How many times did you go before the bar? Was it two? And how about your older son, Big Al? Was it three? I've never boasted about my single trip, but I think you get the message. And about my job as a lawyer, you’ve never given me anything but Pro Bono cases, and I've won them all. I feel as I'm wasting my life just hanging around here".   Dad’s secretary, Alice, walked in with coffee and a bright smile, “Coffee, Gentlemen?”

My reply, “Alice, you sure make a good cup of coffee. I should have married you a long time ago.” “Henry, I was married to someone else and you were too young.

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But you're not too young now, and it's not a long time ago anymore."

"Alice, that sounds like a proposal, but I came in here for work, not marriage. I guess I had better back off, since I'm the one who started this. Dad is sitting over there giving us a dirty look."

She left the room and Dad said, “Well, are you going to cause trouble with Ernie's property, or do we go to court? Son, you know I'll win. I always do. On your desk, you'll find an invitation to Judge Kluger's court. Henry and I are very good friends. Don't that tell you something?"

"Yes, sir. It tells me that I can look out for a bunch of crookedness."Now, you look here, young man, I'm your father."    Kluger, several on-lookers and I were gathered in a small court room; small, because the case was just a formality, so they thought.

The judge walked in and said, "Sit down. Now, J.W., suppose you tell me what this is all about and don't drag it out. I'm a busy man and don't have time to waste. Of course I want to see justice done, no matter the cost nor time. Go ahead, J.W.”

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"Your Honor, it's very simple. My younger son, Henry, is trying to take my land, the land that's been in the family for several generations. My great grandfather fought the Indians over this land, my grandfather fought the Spaniards, my father fought the cattle thieves, and now my own son is trying to take it away from me.”

I spoke up “Objection. Your Honor, It’s not his property, and I have the documents to prove it.”

“Alright, bring it up here and let’s see what you have. As I’ve already stated, I don’t have time to waste. This had better be good.” Short pause, then, “The court will adjourn until one o’clock. I had no idea young Mr.  Montgomery was serious enough to make an issue of this thing.”

Court convened at one o’clock in a larger room filled with people. It seems that a lot of the citizens were trying to figure how J.W. would win this case, since he seldom lost a battle.  Others said there was no way the boy would loose. It was signed, sealed and in black and white. It was the law. Eventually, the discussion outside got out of hand with the yelling and screaming. Why, one would have thought the trial was with the crowd. It was approaching riot time, so the judge sent several law enforcement officers outside to quiet the crowd, but

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they only grew louder. All the city police and all the reserves were called in.

The judge could hardly be heard when he shouted, “Court stands adjourned for two days. We will reconvene Friday morning at 9:00 a.m.”

My father said to me, “See what you’ve done”.

“What? You’re the one who started this mess, trying to take what Uncle Ernie left for me. If he had wanted you to have it, he would have said so. His will is as plain as day.

Dad, you’re going to lose this case and some friends along with it. Don’t you see how stupid this looks? By the way, what does Mom think of all this foolishness?”

“You leave your mother out of this. Of course she would stick up for you because she doesn’t have all the facts.”

Well, she worked in your office for several years; I thought she might have an opinion”

“Look, how did she get into this? Let’s just drop it. Okay.” “See you, later, Dad, and may the best man win.”         

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Friday morning at 8 a.m. I arrived at the courthouse and noticed the town was covered with the National Guard. Two young guardsmen rushed up to the car and ordered me out. “What’s your name, Mister?”“Henry Montgomery “ “Let’s see your Driver’s License.” “Hey, he’s one of the Montgomery’s” “Yeah, the one we’ve been rooting for. Let him go. Sorry we bothered you. Shucks, man, we’re on your side. We hope you win.”

As I drove away, they came to attention and saluted me, like I was some big military wheel.

The court room, the largest room in the building, was packed. There were at least thirty policemen inside the courtroom. I really couldn’t understand why there was so much fuss over our problem. I checked around and found that people were tired of the little guy being pushed around by the likes of Judge Kluger. It seemed that the judge was leaning heavily toward the big guy, my father.

Along about eleven o’clock, the judge was ready to make his ruling. “Gentlemen, I rule in favor of Mister J.W.  Montgomery. Court’s adjourned.”

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Before the crowd could get wound up, three men, in the rear of the courtroom, stood and one said, “Hold, it Your Honor”. We have something to say. Three men, dressed like someone, and six Texas Rangers, marched down the aisle, right up to the judge and one said, “We are Judge Ellis, Judge Hayes and Judge Rainey and we’re here representing the Circuit Court. We’re overturning your decision and hope this is the end of this so-called trial. Now, you can say, Court’s “adjourned.”     

J.W. walked up to the car as I was getting in and said, “Young man, you’ve not heard the end of this. You know I always win and this is no exception. It’s a little unusual but I’ll get over it and, by the way, you’re fired. You can clean out your desk tomorrow. I’ve hired a smart young lawyer and I’ll be needing the space.”

“Dad, can we at least be friends?” “You’re no friend of mind, so you can forget that.” “Well, do I have a pay check coming?” “I’ll mail it to you. Alice is pretty busy, so it may be a while.” “So long, Dad. I wish you the best. May I visit you and Mom, sometime?” Without a word he just turned and walked away.

On my way out of town, I stopped by the apartment for a few things and headed for the ranch, fifty miles away.

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I had always wanted to be a rancher, but I liked being a lawyer. Now, I must make a choice. When I was just a young boy, Uncle Ernie taught me to ride and as I grew older, he taught me other duties as a cowboy, and finally the “ins” and “outs” as a successful rancher. Harold is a retired foreman, and stays on, because he has no other family. He was a good worker and the family loved him as one of them. He kept a few chickens for eggs and two or three pigs.  George Tillman was the foreman and his wife, Sally, did the cooking. Many times, their niece, Sara, helped out in the kitchen. George was an excellent foreman and Uncle Ernie paid him a little above the going price. The XXX was one of the largest in the county, twenty sections in the original plot, plus three more purchased by Uncle Ernie just about two years ago. The ranch became Uncle Ernie’s when our grand father died. My father wanted no part of ranching, but he did accept a cash settlement, leaving the ranch to his brother. Uncle Ernie and Aunt Bernice had no children; Aunt Bernice passed away four years ago and Uncle Ernie passed away six months ago and that’s how I got the XXX. Now, I hope I can run it. I’ll need a wife to bare sons to carry on the tradition, and that may not be so easy. First of all I couldn’t think of one I would care to spend the rest of my life with. Now, my mother could find a half dozen right quick. I’ve said, “No thank you, several times. I’ll do my own hunting”.

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I was hardly out of the car when George came hurrying up to meet me. “Hey, Boss. Who won?” “Now, George, who do you think won?” “Well, come on. Come on. Who won?” “George, settle down and think about it. Have I ever lost a case?” “Naw, but you were up against your Daddy and he don’t lose.” “He did this time.” “Boss, I hate to bring this up, but we got a little problem. Over on the new land that Mr. Ernie bought a couple of years ago, we found the remains of two nice size steers. Looked like a hurry-up job. In fact, it was recent; the buzzards had not yet begun to circle.”

“George, we’re gonna make some plans. I want you to go all over the county and buy four or five hundred head of cattle, good animals, but not too high. Now, who do you think would make a good assistant foreman?” You’ll need some help. Think it over carefully.” “Already thought about it. ‘Happy’ gets along with everybody, does his work well, knows how to get others to do their work and is just a good all round guy.” “Ok, who keeps the books?” “Sally does most of it at night. I help some.”

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“Alright, I’ll hire a part time secretary, and we’ll put everyone to work in their proper place. We’ll have this ranch up and running in no time at all. How many head will be ready for market this fall?” “bout two hundred, not counting what we pick up from our neighbors.” “Eventually we want to increase that number to eight hundred, so let’s get busy.”Bright and early, next morning, dressed in my very best, I walked into one of the biggest banks in the city and, in a very business like manner, asked to speak with Mr. Yarboro, the president.

The secretary said, “Have a seat, Mr. Montgomery. He’ll be with you in just a moment.” The moment was more than too long. Finally, I heard him very softly say into the microphone, “Give us about two minutes and then get him out of here.” Then to me, “Well, my boy, what can I do for you?”                                           “I need fifty thousand dollars to operate on for a couple of years.”

“Can’t do it. Too big of a risk.  You haven’t been in the cattle business long enough to know what it’s all about. My advice: forget the cattle business and go back to playing lawyer.” Then there was a silly little giggle as I walked out…

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When I drove into the driveway, I could tell George had a problem. “Boss, somebody rustled a whole herd. A couple of the boys rode in about an hour ago with the news. It looks like they just cut the wires and drove them out across the government land. I sent six guys over there to see what needs to be done. They took the dogs. Might need ‘um. Well, you coming?”

“Yeah, man. Let’s go. You drive.” And we took off like a blue streak. The dogs George referred to were border collies, Shep and Las, worth their weight in gold

Upon our arrival at the crime scene, I saw a cloud of dust coming from the west and I knew it was the stolen cattle. The tracks indicated they walked away slowly; and were not driven away hurriedly. So they were not stolen. The fence was cut in several locations and the cattle just went exploring at will. Some nut was having fun at our expense.

It resulted in another trip to the sheriff’s office and a plan which I didn’t like. Here it is: “I’ll swear you in as special deputy and you solve the case. You’ll work on that one case and don’t get involved in anything else, unless you want to. My men are spread so thin, we can’t do much for you. Come on, Henry. It’ll be good for the both of us.”

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“Look, man, I don’t know a thing about sheriffing. I’d be like a fish out of water.”

“You graduated from law school. You know everything there is to know about law”

“You got a point, Sheriff. But, I don’t know when to arrest a person, crack his head or just let him go.”

“No problem. A few days ago I received a shipment of brand new Sheriff’s Manuals, and here’s one for you. It will take you two hours to read it cover to cover. You will be as good, or better, than any deputy I have. There’s really nothing to it.”

George thought it was a great idea. “I never thought I’d be working for the sheriff.”

“Now, hold on a minute. Everyone don’t need to know about this. We need to keep it quiet. Believe me, George, it’ll work better this way. If there’s any head cracking, I’ll let you do it. How does that sound?”

“OK, I guess.”

Two weeks had passed since I tried to borrow money from that smart aleck banker. Maybe I should try another source. I put on my “Sunday Best” and walked

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right up to the lady whom I thought was somebody in the First National Bank in the heart of the city, and asked, “May I see Mr. Roy McKee?” 

“What’s your name?”“Henry Montgomery, Ma’am.” “My father owns a large Law firm down the street a couple of blocks. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”“Mr. Montgomery, did I ask about your father? I was under the impression we were talking about you. Do you have an appointment?”“No, Ma’am. I think I’ll come back later.” “Just a minute. We have a cancellation in an hour, if you don’t mind waiting:” “I’ll wait.”  The hour turned into two hours, then three hours and I was beginning to get irritated. I arose and started toward the door and said, “Ma’am, I’ve got to go.” “Sure. The rest room is the second door on the left.” “No! No! That’s not what I mean.  I’ve got to leave here and go somewhere else.”Just then Mr. McKee came through the door and with a loud voice said, “You must be Mr. Montgomery. Sorry to have kept you waiting. What can I do for you?” “Mr. McKee, I’ll come right to the point. I need fifty thousand dollars to operate on until I can get going. I’ll repay you within two years.” 

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“Nope. Sorry. You are too big a risk. Maybe in a few years, when you’ve been in business for a while, we can help you.” “In a few years, I won’t need you.”Upon my return home, which is the XXX, George really made my day. “Hey, Boss, guess what.” “Now, George, I can’t guess “what if “ if I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Two ranchers came by this afternoon and they want to start something. A picnic in the spring and another in the fall, and it includes the whole county. We’re invited and we’re the largest spread in the county since Mr. Ernie bought those three sections. We’re going, aren’t we? You might meet a young woman that you like. As a matter of fact, I’ve already found one. Well, we are going, aren’t we?

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. When do we go?”“Next Friday. I thought you, Sally, Sara and I could use your fancy car, and you do the driving. Might make an impression. OK.” “Yeah, That’ll be fine. You’ve got me worried about this girl. Sometimes these blind dates don’t work out.”    “Man, you’ve got yourself a deal. All I need to say is “No” Let’s start looking.” We strolled by the portable dance floor and I noticed a young woman dancing with

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a man, while the band was getting tuned. We stopped momentarily, to admire the beauty. I Asked, “George, who is that girl? That’s the best looking woman I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s Maria Sanchez.  She works part time for Sam Perkins, real estate, down in the village, and she is a part time school teacher. She rents a small apartment also in the village.”“Is she married or engaged? Don’t worry about the “engaged” part. We can take care of that.” “There’s a young squirt, Raymond Jasper, who works for Perkins that tries to go with her, but she doesn’t seem to be interested.”  “That’s all I need to know.” I walked right up to the couple and boldly introduced myself. “You are Senorita, Maria Sanchez.  May I have this dance?” “Why, yes, but the dance floor is not ready, yet.” “That’s quiet alright, Miss Sanchez. To dance with you would seem like dancing on the clouds.”Suddenly, Raymond got into the conversation, “Come on, Maria. I need to see some people. You can see this bag of wind later. If we stay around here, I might take him down a notch or two.”My response was, “Raymond, if on down the pathway of life, you want to try your luck with me, then “let her rip”. Then, George made his appearance known,” Well, my friend, looks like I won the bet.

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“What bet?” she asked. “I’ll tell you sometime” was George’s answer to me, “Now would be a good time for you to go your way and I go mine and I’ll see you at the food table.”As Maria and I strolled, she remarked how poor they were.The sun was sinking low in the west, and Maria asked, “Are you staying the night?”                                           Next day, mid afternoon, Maria, her parents, two younger sisters and two younger brothers drove over to the lot where I was checking the oil in my car. I said ”Hi, Mr. Sanchez, what can I do for you?”

“You can stay away from my daughter. She’s only twenty, now, not grown, and besides, she’s Mexican and you are American.”     You must learn to speak Spanish and she must learn English. “I ignored that last remark and gave my full attention to one of our cowboys, Jerry, who met us on the road and flagged us as we drew near. “Hey, Boss. Somebody stole every cow in the south pasture! They ain’t a single cow left. What are we gonna do? The fence was down in about twenty-five places. “We’ll get the cows back and punish the rustlers. Go to the ranch house and get the dogs and all the help you

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can find and bring some horses. I’m going on to the crime scene.”

Upon my arrival, I noticed a familiar set of tire tracks, the same as two weeks ago. Then about a week ago, I was at a gas station, re-fueling my car and I noticed an old beat up truck with one mud grip and three bald tires. The truck was hauling three rough looking guys. Eventually, four cowboys and two dogs arrived. Darkness was almost upon us; too late to bring the cows home. “Alright, guys, let’s try to keep them bunched until morning, then we’ll have more help. It’s almost impossible to move them in the darkness and in this wind”.

While watching cattle throughout the night, I gave Maria a lot of thought. I wondered what would have happened had I not left the picnic early. It didn’t take long for Mr. Sanchez to make his feelings known, but his feelings don’t mean “zip” to me. I’ll just try again. I have more pressing matters now, the cattle rustlers. If we get the cattle back, it’s still rustling and against the law and punishable by jail time and a fine. I know the truck and pretty soon I’ll get the guys. This was my first case as a deputy and I aimed to solve it.

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During the wee hours of the morning, I heard coyotes and the next sound was our dogs answering their warning, and all was quiet except the wind.

At the crack of dawn, six more cowboys with fresh horses, and breakfast joined us and the job was complete by noon. I tried to think of a good reason to leave the work-site and find something better to do, then I’d feel guilty and stay until the job was done. I really need to find the Langly boys.

On Monday, after the picnic I had a twofold purpose in driving over to the village and one purpose was to find the Langly boys and have a little talk with them. Ralph and Earl followed in one of our trucks. I drove to the gas station where I had first spotted them, clipped on my badge, strapped on my .45 and asked the attendant if he might have an idea where I could locate them. “Yeah, Deputy. I just left the diner as they were coming in. Watch ‘um. They are tough. I know you’re here to arrest them. Do you need some help?” “No, thank you, but, I appreciate the offer.” “Something else, Deputy. If they ain’t in the diner, check the pool hall.” “Thanks”.I waited until three loud mouth guys came from the diner, then said in a loud voice ”Cecil Langly, Marvin

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Langly, and Myron Langly you are under arrest for cattle rustling. Stop moving and put up your hands.”Cecil’s response was, “Man, you ain’t no sheriff. We don’t have to do anything you say.” Then, laughter came from the group. “Come on, boys, let’s go. He ain’t nothing.”

Then, he made a mistake. He took three quick steps toward me and took his best shot, but it wasn’t good enough. He swung and missed. Before he regained his balance, I grabbed him, threw a hammer lock on him, put him to the ground and cuffed him before he realized what happened. We cuffed the other two, put them in the truck bed, and chained the three of them together.

“Ralph, drive the truck around behind the livery stable and keep an eye on them. I need to see Perkins for a few minutes.”I saw them grinning like a possum. And Earl said,” You mean school teacher, don’t cha?” “Ya’ll just mind your own business.” And I drove slowly down the street and stopped near the front door of the small unpainted building. I knocked on the door and a boy, of about twelve answered. “Ma’am your boy friend is here and there was laughter coming from within the school building.”

A female sounded, “Alright, Gerald. That’s enough from you. Step back inside and close the door. Lucille,

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you take names if it becomes necessary” and to me, “Did we finish our conversation last Saturday, or did my father frighten you away with his rough talk?” “I’m here, am I not? I don’t frighten very easily. I had business that I felt necessary to care for. You’ll understand things like that when we’re married” “I enjoyed being with you, but I didn’t say I’d marry you.” I paused at the door for a moment and listened. I heard a girl’s voice say, “Are you going?”     We drove around to the city jail and I asked the town Marshal. “Sir, could you hold three prisoners for a couple of days?” “No.” “How about overnight? I’m a deputy sheriff, you know.” “Can’t help you.” “Why?” At that point my temper was getting pretty short. “I peeped out the window as you drove in and saw whatcha got.  They’s a mean bunch. To tell you the truth, I’m scared to death every time they come around. You see what I’m talking about, don’t cha?” “Yeah, I see. I’m writing a report on you tomorrow.” Then to my men, “Alright boys let’s go home. I’ll follow just in case they try to get out. Just drive on to number four barn. We’ll question them there and take them to the city tomorrow.”          

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We drove on to number four barn, and I did the questioning. They didn’t cooperate at all. Earl said, “Boss, find something else to do, and send Raze and Harry. Tell them to bring the black box and you stay away until we call. Yeah, bring a roll of masking tape. And, Boss, there’s a good reason you must stay away.”At the big house, there’s a quick shower, a delicious meal and a phone call from Maria. “Mr. Montgomery, Why don’t we just start over? I like you, a lot, and I know you like me, so we can go from there. There’s no need to beat around the bush. I think that’s something that your people came up with.” “First, don’t call me ‘mister’. I’m Henry. I just don’t like the idea of a woman calling her husband ‘mister’. Now, may I call on you next Saturday?” “Yes. Seven o’clock. Bye.”

At about 7:30, Raze came by the big house for me and we drove on to number four hay barn, where I observed three punks who looked half scared to death. The younger one seemed to have been shedding tears. I used an hour with my line of questions. Many times the name, Spike Robertson, came up. My four helpers wrote all this down.My orders to the three, “You will follow instructions to the “T”. When your sentence is complete, you will reside at least 100 miles from this city.  Remember the black box.

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A week later, the trial was about three hours and it was over. They put the blame on Spike Robertson. His lawyer, my father, took the case and won, with lack of evidence. “The Langly brothers moved their operation to the village. They didn’t have an honest occupation. They would do almost anything for a price. It was rumored that they received a thousand dollars for the rustler job. They were on trial for murder, once, but my father got them off. They had an old rundown farm, inherited from their mother, that went to my father for payment, then he rented it back to them. George approached me with a suggestion, “Let’s look at the new land your uncle bought.”  “Let’s go. I’ve never been there. I guess I’ve been too busy.”We hitched a trailer to a pick-up truck, loaded two horses aboard and drove out to the new land. Man, what a mess. As far as I could see were nothing but gullies, canyons and ditches. Whatever made Uncle Ernie buy such a worthless piece of land, almost three thousand acres of nothing? George could see the disappointment in my face and said,” Look, Boss. Wait until I tell you the “rest of the story. Now, we need the horses. You’re gonna like what you see and hear.”

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We spent more than two hours crossing the forbidden land admiring the new found treasure. There were about a thousand acres in good grass bordering government land. The catch was one couldn’t drive cattle across the terrain that we had just crossed.George continued, “You can hire a bulldozer to build a road and put in a dozen culverts, plug some of the smaller ditches and create a hundred acre lake which will also act as a reservoir. The government will help pay for a reservoir and call it soil conservation. It’s one of the new programs FDR came up with to help the farmers and ranchers.     “George, you’re talking about a lotta money going out and none coming in.”

“Boss, you ain’t heard the rest of the story. Let’s get on the horses and ride all the way to the line.At that point, your land backs up to government land. As we ride along, just, look at that grass, so green and thick. We could either, cut it for hay or drill a well and run several hundred head of cattle on it. Why, this is the best piece of land you’ve got.You could put in a few trees and some shrubs and flowers down by the lake and a picnic shelter and have a nice little park.    “How did Uncle Ernie get his hands on this property?” “The government had an auction and nobody had any use for it. Mr. Ernie had an eye for seeing how things would turn out (on down the road). He bought several

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ranches and sold them at a later date and made a profit on each one.  During his latter years, he made more money on real estate than he did on cattle. By the way, how’s your love life?” “Fine. Got a date with her Saturday night. Told her I was going to marry her, but she didn’t believe me.” “Boss, that ain’t the way you do it. You go slow. Take your time. Give her time to think about it.” “Well, George, I’m not going to worry about it. I know we’ll marry, I just don’t know when.  So, we had better head home.  Crawley can get the figures on that project. Betcha he can get within five hundred dollars of the final price.” Saturday night, my date with Maria went well. She laughs and talks a lot, which is good for me, because I’m a bit shy in the presence of young women. Anyway, we got along fine.It was time for me to try again to borrow money from one of the big banks in the city.  At about ten o’clock I walked into the office of the First Savings Loans of Texas. I approached the secretary, Miss Carter, and asked to see the president, Mr. Barhill.”She smiled and said, “What is your name?”“Henry Montgomery”. I have an appointment.She fumbled with an appointment book for several seconds, then finally said, with a big fake smile, “Ah, yes. Here we are”. The fake smile slowly faded away.

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“Mr. Montgomery I’m afraid you’re a day late. You should have been here yesterday. We’ll just try again and hope you don’t forget”.Man was I steaming! I had never been late or missed a meeting in my life, but decided to let it slide this time. “Montgomery, you need to be here tomorrow at ten sharp.” In these modern times, young people feel they can just drag around and show up when they feel like it, but they’ll learn.” I was so angry; I just walked out saying nothing.  

Next morning at nine forty five, I walked into the office of the great Mr. Barhill. He greeted me with an out stretched hand and a fake smile.      “Henry, I can’t lend you that amount of money just like that.  You see, there’s a board of men who meet once a week and they look at these applications and talk about them and drink coffee and smoke cigars and each one tries to tell the biggest fish lie. I’m just a manager of sorts. As a matter of fact, they meet at one today. We should have an answer by Friday.”

“Do you think they will accept my proposal?”               “I don t see any reason why they wouldn’t. Looks good to me.”I could hardly wait, but my lucky day finally arrived. The bank was in a large building where many people were employed, naturally I recognized no one.

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Eventually, the door to the conference room opened and I was ushered in by Miss Carter. Everyone said their “good mornings” and “How are you” etc.

Mr. Higgins, Chairman, spoke with a slow drawl ”Mr. Montgomery, I’ll be brief. After careful consideration, we voted to reject your application, mostly for your lack of experience. We had rather reject the loan than to accept it and repossess later. We don’t like to take a man’s home after he’s paid on it for several years.     Suddenly it hit me like a bolt of lightening. My father was behind all my troubles. He’s big buddies with the bankers and I believe he’s behind the mischief at the ranch.”“Do you really think so? Why, he’s your father. Surely you must be kidding.”“Think about all the mischief that’s been going on here on the ranch. It wouldn’t benefit anyone but him; and I get a note in the mail box asking if I want to sell the ranch.  A few nights later, as Happy and I were on guard duty, at the water tower, I smelled smoke and it was close by. Happy, who had been dozing, exclaimed, “look, Boss. Toward the north, just over the hill, looks like a fire.”

“It is a fire. Hit the siren on the tower and that should bring in some helpers. In the meantime, let’s drive back over the hill and see what we can do. The grass was dry

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and short, but easy to control, since the wind was blowing in our favor. We had help from about twenty people, including neighbors. Scattered about the ranch were five, fifty foot towers with windmills and twenty-five windmills that pumped water around the clock.The wind blew all the time, so there was no problem. We had three windmills that generated electricity. 

As we were  preparing to leave the burnt-over area, and saying our good-byes and thank-yous, we realized the siren had stopped  screaming and was emitting three short blasts, a pause, and then another, which was an emergency, a top priority. As we came roaring up the driveway, we saw three men desperately trying to prevent the house from being engulfed in flame. They had attached a two inch water hose to the tower tank, fifty feet from the house, and were wetting down the house as well as the surrounding area. The tank had a two thousand gallon capacity, but I didn’t how much more water would be required, so I started the water pump. It seems that the arsonist had set fire on the other side of the hill in order to draw attention while he burned the house. It almost worked. Two of our men were just coming in from dates and two more were in the bunk house, sleeping off a drunk. The four got things going while a dozen more joined. But there’s more. George and Johnny came rushing up the driveway, blowing the horn, whooping and  hollering,

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with three men in the bed of the truck,  all bound up with hay baling wire.

“Boss, me and Johnny spotted ‘em just after they set the main fire.  We gave quite a chase. We took off after them just about two minutes after they lit the match.  I shot out two tires and that’s when they came to a screeching halt. They jumped from the truck and started running in three different directions. This one turned to fire at us and I got him with a load of buck shot from my .410. Didn’t hurt him much. He was just far enough away to get stung pretty good.  Say! You ain’t seen our catch yet.We walked over and looked in the bed of the truck and I exclaimed, “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle, if it’s not the infamous Engler brothers, all wired together. I thought you were supposed to stay away from here by a hundred miles. Ya’ll can tell the little black box all about it, then you can tell us who sent you, then some jail time. By the time that has passed, you will have learned to behave yourselves.”

The younger one began to whimper, “Sir, I don’t want no part of that little black box. I’ll tell you what you wish to know. I’ll tell you everything.” “All right, men, take the wire off and snap on the cuffs while I take care of paper work.

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George take five men and the little black box to barn four. There’s a sheet of paper, a list of questions and a blank space for the correct answer for each of the two older boys. If the answers don’t correspond with the questions, you know what to do.  Happy and I are leaving as you once suggested. When you finish with them, take them to the new Marshal in the village and take the rest of the day off.”

The High Sheriff said our question and answer session by George and the boys was not legal since they were not sworn deputies, so we had to let them go. The youngest boy told us that a man gave them a thousand dollars to burn the house, but we had to be careful about what we could use. Not all was lost. I was given the authority over all other deputies, promoted to the rank of Lieutenant, and given the power to swear in other temporary deputies.

Sheriff Robertson remarked, “The County is just too big for one sheriff, but we can split it this way and get by with it, for the time being. Now, can you handle this job, along with the ranching? You know, you have the biggest spread in the county, and about to marry the most beautiful woman in the country” and grinned like a monkey.

The trial came up and the “bad boys” went scott free. Guess who their lawyer was? Why, the best in the state,

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my father. As I was walking toward my car, the great attorney stepped from a bar and very loudly spoke, “Hello, Son. Looks like I won again. Why don’t you just sell the ranch to me and get rid of all your troubles? I’d pay you a real good price.”“Dad, you know that’s not going to happen, but I’ll tell you something that will happen if your boys don’t straighten up and stay away from the XXX.  Some one’s going to jail and it could be embarrassing.”“I don’t have any boys. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Son, you’re just talking in riddles. I gotta go.”Next day I received my invitation to drop everything and report for military duty within three days, or explain why not. I felt I had a pretty good reason.  “Alright, Mr. Montgomery, tell us why you don’t want to fight for your country.”“Sir, it’s not that I don’t want to fight for my country, I just don’t have time. You see, I raise beef for the government, mostly the military and I believe I can serve the army best by raising beef than killing the enemy. I’m not against killing the enemy, but like I said before, I don’t have time. Two years ago, I shipped 500 head to the army, last year it was 700 head, this fall it will be close to 1,000, and that’s a lot of beef.”Two huge rough looking M.P.’s stepped forward and one asked, “Sarge, shall we run him in with the other draft dodgers?”

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“No, I wouldn’t classify him as a draft dodger. I think the country will be just as well off if things are left as they are.”“But, Sarge, what about the big shot in the new green Buick?”Then I spoke, “Yeah, what about the big shot in the new green Buick?”

One M.P. answered, “You see, we were just hanging around, doing nothing, talking, smoking, minding our own business shooting the breeze, you know, when this guy in the new green Buick pulls up and gives us this piece of paper with your name on it and it said you were just dying to get in the army, but don’t know how to do it. That big shot must really be somebody around here.”“Yeah, he’s somebody, alright. He’s my father and a nut.”The other MP spoke up, “You might as well hear the whole story. We also received a letter in the mail. The letter talked about how your ancestors were great heroes in the army and how you want to get in, but just don’t know how to go about it.”I’ve never heard such bull in my life. So long, fellows.”I drove back to the ranch and as I entered the driveway, I recognized the little banker’s car parked near the house. As I drew near, he bounded from the car before I could say “good morning.”

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He almost yelled, “Mr. Montgomery, we have a problem. The state examining board was here and they raised much stink because you haven’t made a payment on your note. They threatened to close me down if I didn’t get my books in order within thirty days.“I was under the impression that the bank was yours to do as you please.”“Only to a point, for example: They would not insure the money. You’ve seen on the side of bank buildings the following words, ‘Insured for up to $100,000.’  I can by-pass most of their rules, but some are iron-clad. A case like yours, I can get by with interest for one year plus ten per cent on the principle. Do what you can and hurry.”Next day George approached me with an unusual offer.

“Boss, I know about your problem. My wife and I have saved a small amount of money each year, and we now have ten thousand which you can use until things work out. Look around. You might discover friends that you don’t realize you have.” George was quiet for a few moments, then he continued, “Man, have I got news for you! Remember Maria?  Ya’ll were supposed to get married, but she found something she liked better. I saw her, talked with her, and spent about an hour with her.”“Why are you telling me all this? You know I’ve tried to forget her. Let’s just talk about something else.“

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“Okay, Boss. She’s gonna be in the city tonight, The Western Paradise, and she wants you to be there.”Are you going?”“You bet your bottom dollar. My wife’s going, too. You’ll have plenty of moral support, so don’t spoil it. Hurry up, we need to leave here before five o’clock.”

We arrived at The Western Paradise at just the right time. While George was talking with the maître d', I spotted her coming across the floor, toward us. First she was walking, then she broke into a run and actually leaped into my waiting arms. She was both crying and laughing and her first words were, “my make-up is a mess.”My response was “A beautiful woman like you needs no make-up.”  I finally got a conversation started, Well, long time, no see. I’ve missed you.”Suddenly, George said to his wife, “It’s been a long time since you and I danced. Let’s give it a whirl.”Maria broke the ice, “Henry, you’re right. It has been a long time and I’m glad you came here tonight. I was afraid you wouldn’t. I would like to tell you a story, if I may. As you know, the elected Miss Mexico was kicked out early in the game for using and selling drugs. Being the first runner-up, it became my duty to fulfill the vacancy. I‘ve been everywhere, seen my face plastered all over the country and a few foreign countries, was the leading lady in a movie filmed in

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Paris, was in a play in New York that ran for twenty-one nights, and traveled with a singing group which may be my final performance tonight. All of this and still, I wasn’t happy. Something was missing, and then it came to me in a dream. All I needed to make a perfect life for me was to marry an American cowboy. I had that opportunity, but I blew it. I’ve spent many hours thinking about a land where coyotes howl and the wind blows free. I wrote letters, but they came back unopened.”“That was a good story. I once loved a girl, a beautiful girl, but she found something she liked better. I, too, heard the coyotes..and the wind..

“I have an idea. We have a cowboy and a beautiful girl, so why don’t we get them married before something gets in the way.”From somewhere close by, behind a door came the sound of George’s voice,” Don’t mess it up, Maria.”Maria’s response, “George, I think I saw a J.P. sign just inside the door. Why don’t you get things lined up?He did and we did.    I said to George, “You and the missus go on home when you’re ready. Send someone from the ranch to pick us up tomorrow around 11 a.m.”Upon our arrival at the ranch, the new bride was greeted by those who were not working.  On Saturday afternoon, there was not much work going on, and

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almost everyone was there.  Maria was excited about her new bedroom and new office, since she would be doing the office work. Every day someone comes from the equipment company or the machinery company to write down the serial numbers in preparation for repossession. My new wife knew about the financial problem, so she put almost all her money in, but that didn’t solve the problem. I asked Maria to go across the “badlands” with me to check the driller, who seemed very slow. The way it was supposed to work, he would drill on our field when he couldn’t find work elsewhere. So we went over to check him out. There didn’t appear to be any movement.     

“Sir, I believe we’ve struck oil, not water.”“Are you kidding? There’s no oil in this part of Texas.”“There is now. You’ve had a lot of bad luck and the way things are going, someone will sneak in here and destroy the works. I’ll leave, now, round up my helper, get my stuff together and be here tomorrow and start making you rich. Will you stop by the house and tell George to come and bring two men?”“Yeah, will do.”After the driller departed, Maria asked, “Will we really be rich, or was he just kidding around like most Texans?”  

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“Let’s put it this way, we won’t starve; we can’t buy a new car every week; we’ll be stuck in there somewhere.”Half the company wanted to see what was going on, but I told them there was nothing to see, so go back to work. Little did they know how much time they would spend guarding the work-site. Maria said to me one morning, “Henry, I think George is jealous of me, spending so much time with you, so I’m going to back off a bit. After all I have plenty to do, like decorating the new bedroom and new office plus the regular work that comes to me.            

A few days passed and the oil well was producing. George and I were sitting under the picnic shelter, watching the pump when, suddenly the old man with the brown bag was standing behind us. We were startled, to say the least. After we said our good mornings, hellos, etc., he asked, “Sir, would you like another oil well?”I almost went into shock. “Why sure, if it’s not too much trouble.”He moved to the north end of the table, opened a bag, removed several items and placed them on the table. Occasionally, he would stop moving and write something on a yellow pad. Finally, he said, “Henry, come over here. Do you see the little red rock? It’s exactly one mile from here and it’s not so small. Find

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the center of the rock and drill. The rock is very thin and will not damage the bit.”

At the end of the day, George and I returned home and I was greeted by my new wife and some satisfying news. “From what I’ve heard, you’re gonna like this. Three bankers came, congratulated me on our good fortune, said they made a financial mistake a few months ago, would like to make things right by lending you any amount of money you desire, and left. They also left business cards.”

Then I told her about the new drilling site, and asked, “Do you think you could plan a picnic, just for our people to celebrate our good fortune? You can probably get plenty of help just by asking. They like you and will cooperate with you.” “Sure. I will be happy to do so.”Meanwhile the Langly boys were having their day in court. They went free on the charge of rustling since the cattle were returned. There was a cost involving the return of the cattle, but it was ignored. Then there was the case of wrecking the windmills. Marvin and Myron Langly received a twelve month sentence with no time off.  Cecil Langly, being a minor, received a twelve month sentence, which was suspended. My father was their lawyer and was expected to free all the boys because they were hard workers and a credit to the community. Now, the way I saw it, that was nothing but

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hog-wash, even though many people  believed him because he was J.W. Montgomery and might run for congress in the up coming election.The picnic was a success, but we had six uninvited guests, who came by two’s, on the pretense of looking over the ranch and putting a bid on it They seemed shocked when I told them it wasn’t for sale.

One man said he got his information from a Mr. Montgomery. And he continued, ”We learned this was the Montgomery place and assumed this was the ranch in question.”My reply was, “There is no ranch in question, nor for sale, nor trade. I don’t know where you got your information, but you’re way off base.”

“Look, Mr. Montgomery. We came all the way from Fresno, Ca. and we intend to buy some land. You are making a big mistake and then they began to advance toward me and as they did, nine of my men stood with drawn pistols. They also saw my deputy badge.

“Alright, boys. You’ve had your little fun and played your game. Now you may eat with us, if you like, then you had better make tracks out of here, unless you plan to stay in our jail for two weeks, no kidding, nor joking. Now, get in your cars and hit it.”

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As a special deputy, I was authorized to deputize other men or women to serve in that position for no more than thirty days, so six men rotated, six hours on and six hours off.George and I were checking the new well when suddenly, as before, the little old man with the brown bag, appeared from a nearby briar patch, and we got right down to business. “My friend, would you like another oil well?” “Yes, Sir”, I really would.” “Listen closely. I don’t have time to repeat it.”Get a transit, go to your picnic shelter, set up in the center of the table and follow a line to the second oil well, stop halfway between the two wells and drill. Good luck.”“Thank you, Sir. Can I do something for you?”“Yes. Later. This is your last free well. Good luck” and he was gone.George was first to speak, ”Boss, what do you think of that?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure gonna keep my mouth closed about the subject. I suggest we don’t talk about it unless we know beyond a doubt that we cannot be overheard. George, I’ve got something to say and I’m going to say it now, while I’m good and sober. I don’t see you as just a foreman, but as a good friend, so now, I don’t have to say anything else good about you.

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He didn’t say anything and I glanced over at him and noticed a little tear had trickled down his cheek. Nothing else was said.

Two days later, we encountered a big problem. Maria was missing. We checked every foot of the ranch, three times. We talked to everyone who might have talked with her. I thought about bringing in the FBI, but they would just mess it up.

Finally, we got a lead. The voice on the phone said, “I’ll trade you a wife for a ranch.” She’s in good shape, now, but I don’t know how long she will last. You know, Hostages don’t come out too good, sometimes, especially young pretty women, who always lead soft, easy lives. Sometimes the hostage is killed after the ransom is delivered. Not saying that will happen, just saying it does happen sometimes. I might just keep her for myself. When this is settled, we might sell the ranch and go to Mexico and live happily ever after” He figured he was upsetting me and he was.

“O, you probably would like to know how we’re going to handle this. Well, I would like to know too. You sleep well and we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Maria says good night and pleasant dreams.” That was the end of our conversation.

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Next morning, I made a quick trip to see my father and. told him what had happened.“Dad, do you still want the ranch? ““Yes. Of course. What changed your mind? Just can’t handle it, huh.”“I didn’t say anything about changing my mind. What are you willing to pay?“Well, I don’t know” and he him-hawed around and mumbled and finally quieted down.“Dad, how about this: If I sign the ranch over to you, will I get my wife back, safe and sound?”He jumped from his chair, almost swallowed his cigar and began screaming and yelling at the top of his voice, “What is the matter with you, Boy! You crazy or something? I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is a serious accusation you’re making. Get out of my office”  “Okay. You’ve been properly warned. We’ll throw the book at the guilty party. You had better get out while you can.”As I came down the driveway I observed George talking with the little old man with the brown bag, who was speaking, “I may have a lead for you. It’s just a slim feeling. You know that old shack on government land, way past your boundary?”“Yes, I know about it”

“Well, I have a strange feeling that someone, either a woman or child, is being held there against their will.

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It’s just a feeling, you know I wouldn’t bet my life on it, but I would check it. Good luck, my friends.”“George, round up eight men. You know them better than I. They need to be well armed. Take two trucks and the station wagon. I’m going to the office and have a look at the maps. Leave Happy here. Some one needs to be in authority here while we’re away.”Thirty minutes later, we were rolling. We crossed a corner of the XXX and took a chance onto government land. The sun was sinking low in the western sky and our time was running out. I broke the silence with, “everyone stop. I need two men right here. No one passes by, except our three vehicles.”“Emmet spoke up, “Sonny and I will take it.”“Alright, the remainder of you follow me, we’ll walk the last mile. We approached the shack and heard Maria scream. I noticed the front door was cracked about two inches. I peeped through the crack and saw a large circle drawn with chalk, and Maria standing in the center of the circle, crying. There were two men with leather whips at the edge of the circle, facing Maria. It was a little like kids playing dodge ball. They would try to hit Maria with a whip and she would try to stay out of range without stepping over the line. There was a man all over the floor whom they called referee.  Sitting on the edge of a table within reach of a .45 was Hook Robertson. In another corner was a woman, Anna, who was pleading for Maria.

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“Stop it. She’s never done nothing to you. She’s a good woman. Let her go. Kidnapping is a serious crime.”

Quickly we made our plans. “Tim, you cover the woman, just in case things aren’t as they seem. We have them out gunned. Just use your head. Don’t shoot unless it’s necessary. Already, I knew I must shoot. Hook almost has his gun in hand. I kicked the door open and yelled, “Police! Hold your fire” and immediately Hook came up with his .45, as if he knew our plans, but I got them with my .410. No one else fired. They realized they were covered. One man looked at his gun, standing in a corner, too far away. I said, “Go ahead. Make my day.” Seem as I had heard that quote somewhere long ago. Very quickly Maria was in my arms. And I asked, “How many times did they strike you?””Nine times”.“Okay. After we leave, give each whipper 18 strikes and the referee ten strikes.A few minutes later, we heard a car headed for the road. Our outpost Guards will ‘get them. Pretty soon we heard gunfire, something like a heavy duty deer rifle.“Someone needs to care for Hook’s injury. Anna volunteered. “It’s his good hand.  Looks like he will probably lose three fingers. If you have a First Aid Kit, I can fix him up until tomorrow, then he should see a doctor to kinda get it trimmed and shaped up”Anyway, go ahead, Maria”.

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“That’s about it. You know the rest. My hero and his men…   We cuffed five banded ones together, tossed them in the back of a truck and headed home. We stopped at our outpost to pick up our other two guards and their captive, but the captive never was a captive. He gave our boys the slip. He just wouldn’t stop. He got away with about a dozen bullet holes in his car. Our boys got his tag number and a good description of the car. We’ll trace it tomorrow. Now, we’ll have the whippings I promised earlier. Use that fence post for an anchor.    “Maria, how did this happen?”“I was riding my horse, on our own land when this covered truck pulled up beside me and asked which way to the XXX and I told him he was there now. He laughed and said something about home and I was part of it. I didn’t know what he was talking about.          I was bound and gagged and tossed in a truck and we went a long way, or it seemed. We stopped and picked up another woman, an older woman, who was to be my maid.   

An hour later, and after traveling across some very rough roads, we stopped at an old barn where they beat me and you know the rest. My hero and his men rushed in and saved me.

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Everyone involved went on trial and was found guilty and served time.  My father runs for the State Senate from his jail cell.  He wins about fifteen votes.  I’ve been sheriff for twenty-two years and plan to continue for three more years. My cowboy/deputies cleaned up the county during our first two years in office. There is no cattle rustling, no auto theft, no trespassing. We just won’t allow it. Once in a while, we would swear in more cowboys. I thought of these things as Maria and I strolled, hand in hand, beneath the shade of the pale moon. And that wind-it’s always blowing, with the sound of the howling coyotes, not far away.      “I don’t want to talk about this any more. They’re all in prison now and I hope they rot there.  I’ve served as Sheriff for twenty-two years, and plan to serve three more.

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Trouble In The Wolf River Bottoms

FOREWORD

This story took place in the great depression in the Wolf River Bottoms. There were nine kids to feed, a dog named Bones, one cow, some mules and ten pigs. This story took place in the 30’s.

It was the summer of 1932, and I was sixteen years old, old enough to legally drive a car. We lived in a six-room house in the Wolf River bottoms, on an eighty acre rented farm.Just about a hundred yards from the Wolf River swamp, sat a group of men who were cursing, griping, growling, and complaining about their losses the past year and felt this year would be just as bad. My father wasn’t concerned about the cotton crop and the boll weevil. After all, that was just a “front” for his main money crop. We only raised three acres of cotton, when most farmers with that amount of land would have a fifteen-acre crop. Now, corn was another thing. We raised a huge amount of that commodity, which contributed toward my father’s occupation. The

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country was in the middle of a great depression and the neighbors wondered why we were not hurting financially, as most people were. My father made and sold bootleg corn whiskey, and there was always money for our needs. During the winter months, he used his spare time hunting wild game, and there was fishing in the summer. We kids did all the farming and helped my mother with the vegetable garden and other chores.

We were the Jones family, a large family. There was Mama and Daddy, three daughters, six sons, Grandma, and Aunt Nancy, an old maid who cared for Grandma and helped Mama with the housework. My name is Clifford, the oldest child, and they call me Cliff.

Daddy called all us kids together for an announcement. As we began to gather around, our hound dog, Bones, joined us. Everywhere I went, he was my shadow. Back during the winter, on our walk home from school, we came upon a bad situation. Several dogs had an old hound down and were preparing to tear him to shreds, when I intervened with a baseball bat. He was so thin one could count his ribs, just “skin and bones,” hence the name “Bones.” My father had said the dog wasn’t very old, just neglected. So I fed, petted, and groomed him for several months, and he became a nice-looking dog and my friend for life.

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When we were all assembled, Daddy spoke. “Ya’ll, I’ve got something to say. I’ve been thinking, you kids have been doing a lot of work picking cotton and everything, so I think ya’ll should have the cotton money. Cliff can divide it up fair and square. You can buy your own clothes and whatever you need, and you must save enough for fertilizer and seed for next year. And, Prince, you can buy your own smoking tobacco and quit stealing mine. You didn’t think I knew, did you?” Prince was the second son and fourteen years of age. He dropped his head and said nothing, which was the right thing to do.

Back in the thirties, it was customary for farm kids to stay out of school during the fall until harvest was complete, and unless they were very smart, they fell behind in their studies. I said, “Daddy, while we’re all here, may I make a suggestion?”

“Yeah, Cliff, go ahead.”

“It’s about the harvest. There’s no need for us to miss a month or month and a half of school. There’s only five of us kids who are old enough to really do field work, so we could take Thursday and Friday from school, plus Saturday, which would be three days a week to pick cotton. We would be done in three weekends. Then, Prince, Chester, and I could help you with the corn on

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Saturdays. That way, we wouldn’t get behind in our school work.”

“Son, that sounds like a good idea, but right now, there’s lots of weeds and grass in that corn field. You and Prince hitch up the mules and go to plowing and the rest of you’ll grab a hoe and go to work. I gotta go catch some catfish. Somebody tell your ma I’ll be back about sundown.”

My father was a likeable, easy-going fellow who was always doing favors for his neighbors, if it didn’t require too much manpower. I believed he was allergic to hard labor, but he dearly loved his family, hunting, and fishing. Even though he made whiskey, he never drank it. One of his friends always did the tasting. There was a large barn located about sixty yards from the rear of the house. Attached to one side of the barn was a shed that housed a corn sheller, a corn grinder, and a one-cylinder engine that turned both machines, which, when used correctly, produced corn meal, an ingredient in Daddy’s corn whiskey. He also ground corn into meal for some of the neighbors and accepted no pay. The neighbors repaid him by keeping quiet about his profession when the “Revanoors” came snooping around.

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My father had many visitors who never stopped at the house, but drove past and stopped out behind the barn, where all sorts of “wheeling and dealing” went on. That building was “off limits” to all the kids except me; and I was only allowed in there to feed and care for the livestock. My mother knew and understood my father’s occupation, but said nothing for fear of losing some of the nice things that he had bought for her.

My father’s helpers were his cousins and best friends, Roy and Clyde Washington. Roy was widowed, with no children, and Clyde was living with a woman who was not his wife. Both men liked children and would usually park their car behind the barn and walk back to the house and pet some of the younger kids, who enjoyed the extra attention. Finally, Daddy would come out of the house, and the three men would saunter off to the barn, load the mules with crushed corn, empty glass jars, several bags of sugar and disappear into the swamp, sometimes for a period of two or three days. Once, I followed them to the still and watched, from a safe distance, for several hours as they went about their tasks, but didn’t understand everything I saw, and realized that type of work was not for me.

Upon their return, they would unload from the mules, many half-gallon jars of bootleg corn whiskey into our 1928 one-ton Ford truck and cover the load with a tarpaulin. This, of course, happened out behind the

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barn. When darkness fell, Daddy and Roy would leave for Memphis, and Clyde would drive his car back home. Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, the two men would return from the big city and park the truck, with a load of empty glass jars and several bags of sugar, behind the barn, and the process would begin all over again. Daddy knew his good luck wouldn’t last forever, so he “squirreled away” as much money as he possibly could without depriving his family of their needs and sometimes Mama’s wants.

My father took the family to Memphis twice each year, once in the early fall for school supplies and clothes, then again around the twentieth of December for Christmas shopping. That was where and when we spent our “cotton pickin” money. During each trip, we took in a movie and stayed in one of the cheap hotels. Those were some of our happiest moments.

That was the summer that several unforgettable events occurred. We had just finished supper, taken our baths, and retired for the day, when we heard a terrible squeal coming from the pigpen. My father, brother Prince, and I rushed out the back door toward the swamp. The pigpen was located a short distance from the barn and just at the edge of the swamp, which usually contained about ten pigs that lived mostly on sour mash from the whiskey still. During late autumn or early winter we

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slaughtered and dressed four pigs for family use and sold the remaining six or whatever was left. Daddy realized almost a hundred percent profit from the sale of the pigs, in that the sour mash was free food for the swine, which otherwise would have been dumped into the Wolf River. Upon arriving at the pigpen, Daddy switched on his flashlight, and we saw blood on the ground near the fence, and the pigs were cowering in the far corner of the pen. One was missing. Daddy said, “Looks like the work of a wolf. I heard they’re bad this summer. Well, we’ll just have to do something about that. You boys get some rest tomorrow. We may be up late tomorrow night.”

Prince asked, “What if the wolf don’t come back tomorrow night?”

Daddy answered, “Then we’ll wait till he does come back. He enjoyed eating that young pig so much; he just can’t afford to stay away, so we’ll be here when he returns.”

Next day, as darkness fell, the three of us picked up two shotguns and a rifle and walked out to the pigpen. Neither Prince nor I had ever seen a wolf. Of course, we had seen pictures and knew they looked somewhat like a large dog. At the scene, my father said, “Let’s stay behind this clump of bushes and when I say ‘Fire,’ step out and let ‘em have it. Until then, no talking nor

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moving around”. We waited until two a.m. and nothing happened, so we gave up and went home. At daybreak, I went out to the barn, milked and fed the cow, fed the mules, walked out to the pigpen and saw fresh blood near the fence and counted only eight pigs.

So, the wolf came back and took another pig after we left. Man! Was my father upset! One could hear him yelling and cursing all over the county. Well, maybe not quite that bad. We spent the next night near the pigpen, and all was quiet, but the third night we got lucky. It must have been around nine o’clock, when we heard a rustling in the leaves nearby, and I knew it wasn’t Bones. He was tethered to a front porch post and was as quiet as a mouse. A first quarter moon was shining, which gave just the right amount of light. Very slowly, a large gray wolf appeared near the front side of the pen followed closely by another, not quite as large. Daddy whispered, ever so softly, “Ya’ll take the first, I’ll take the second.” Suddenly, the wolves stopped and listened, as if they heard something unusual. Wolf number one put his feet on the fence, raised his nose, and sniffed the air for danger signs. We knew he couldn’t detect our odor since we were upwind from him. Prince and I had a good bead on him, but wolf number two was standing mostly behind a large oak tree with only the hindquarters visible. As our wolf was clearing the fence, Daddy yelled, “Fire!” Quickly,

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Prince and I stepped from behind our bush and, with shotguns, blew him away. He was dead before he hit the ground, but I was wondering about Daddy and his wolf. Even though he couldn’t get a clear shot, he fired anyway, his rifle bullet striking the wolf in the hindquarters. His target disappeared before he could get off another shot.

The pigs were squealing and grunting, and my father was cussing and raising sand over the one that got away when I said, “Well, we got one of ‘em. The other one may be lying out yonder somewhere.”

He added, “I just wish I could have gotten a better shot. I had to fire then ‘cause ya’ll had the other one in your sights and I knew you couldn’t miss. Tomorrow, ya’ll drag him off, way over in the swamp, far enough so we can’t smell him from the house. Don’t bury him. I want the others to see what happens if they decide to leave their territory.” As we slowly walked back to the house, I noticed the pigs had settled down, Daddy had stopped cussing, and all was quiet, except for someone’s hound dog baying in the distance. I loosed Bones from the front porch and we called it a day, a good day!

Next morning, after the chores were done, Prince and I were dragging the dead wolf deeper into the swamp when we noticed blood on the leaves and ground, so we

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followed the bloody trail. Finally, we came upon the other wolf, which was “dead as a doornail.” So, we got both wolves after all. My thoughts were, “Daddy will be elated to hear the good news. Now we can sleep peacefully at night and not worry about losing the pigs.”

It was a hot, muggy morning when Mama said, “Your daddy left for the swamp, early, and said for ya’ll to work in the cotton field today. Cliff, Prince, Chester, Maggie, and Sara Jane, ya’ll eat your breakfast and go to work. Nora, you watch Lester, Henry, and Guy. Let um sleep as long as they want, and when they git up, feed um some breakfast. Now, ya’ll behave yourselves and stay away from that swamp. Them cottonmouths are bad this year. I don’t want nobody gittin snake-bit. I’m taking some food over to Mrs. Maxey. She’s been feeling poorly since the baby was born.” And she climbed into the truck and drove away in a cloud of dust that just hung there in the still morning air. About mid-morning I said to Maggie, “How about going to the house and get us a jug of water. That’ll give you a nice little break; but don’t stay too long.” The sun was really bearing down, the wind velocity was zero, and there was a small puff of dust each time our hoes struck the dry ground, and I wished I was somewhere else. Maggie returned with a jug of fresh water, and the five of us walked to the edge of the field and took refuge

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from the hot sun in the shade of an old pine tree. After we cooled off a bit, I asked Maggie, “What’s going on at the house? Is Nora watching the kids?”

“Looked like she had been reading. There was a book on her lap, but her eyes were closed. She woke up when I stepped on the porch. The kids were playing in the sand under the tree, and everything seemed okay.”

An hour later, we saw the truck roll into the yard. Within a few minutes, Nora came rushing across the field yelling at the top of her lungs, “Mama said come home! We gotta find Guy! I’m in a lotta trouble.”

At the house, Mama said, “Aunt Nancy, will you watch Lester and Henry? Prince, you crawl under the house and see if he’s there, and the rest of you scatter out and find that baby.” Then she turned to Nora. “What’s the matter with you? A thirteen-year-old girl is supposed to have sense enough to care for a toddler. You had better hope that baby’s okay or you’re gonna be in serious trouble.”

No one thought to look in the outhouse, since he wasn’t old enough to use it alone. I found him a few feet beyond, in a small field of tall weeds, and he was lying very still. His leg was badly swollen and turning purple, and I could see marks of a snake just above the knee. A cottonmouth, very poisonous, had struck my

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little brother. I grabbed him up and ran toward the house.

Mama took one look at him and said, “Get in the truck and let’s get him to the doctor! Hurry! The rest of ya, behave and do what Aunt Nancy tells you.” During my haste, I flooded the engine and had a problem getting it started. The engine coughed and sputtered and finally fired and we were ready to move out to Dr. Clark’s office, five miles away. So we went tearing down the road at break-neck speed and roared into town at sixty miles per hour and skidded to a stop in front of the doctor’s office.

Dr. Clark examined Guy and looked at me then at Mama for, it seemed like, several minutes and finally said, “Miz Jones, your little boy is dead, but something puzzles me. From my office to your house is about a ten or fifteen minute drive. This baby has been dead for at least an hour. Now, something’s wrong. Why did you wait so long to bring him in? I probably could have saved him had I seen him when it first happened. I must file a report, and I need to hear the whole story. The sheriff may want to do an investigation. I don’t know, so let’s hear it.”

“I went to visit a neighbor and took some food and left my daughter, Nora, to look after the little ones. The

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older kids were in the cotton field and my husband was off fishing. I think Nora fell asleep and Guy wandered off, and it was just too late when we found him.”“How old is Nora and the other little ones?”“Nora’s thirteen; the other two are three and five.”“Seems Nora is old enough to assume such responsibility. I guess it could happen to anyone. She needs to be made aware of the mistake she made.”Mama said, “Don’t worry. She’s gonna know about it.”“Miz Jones, the undertaker is just around the corner. And the sheriff don’t need to know about this.”

I knocked on the door of the undertaker’s parlor, and a tall man of few words, in a black suit, answered. He gently took Guy from mama’s arms and said, “I’m sorry about your loss. I’ll have the body ready tomorrow at ten. That will be fifty dollars and you furnish the burial box, or I’ll do the whole thing for a hundred twenty-five and you dig and fill the grave. So, which will it be? Or, you want to think it over? Do you need to talk to your husband?”I thought, “Man, he gets right down to business. He looks kinda creepy.” I made a point to stay near the door.Mama said, “No, I don’t need to talk to nobody. You do the whole thang.”“Okay, I’ll have the body at your house around ten-thirty tomorrow, and you can pay me then.”“We don’t have a church, so where can we bury him?”

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“About two miles south of here, there is a small brown church, just at the edge of the woods. The preacher will let you bury him there for two dollars, and if you want him to, he’ll preach the funeral for another two dollars. He lives near the church, on the other side of the road.”“Thank you. We’ll be going. Come on, Cliff.”We climbed into the truck and Mama began crying, and she cried throughout the trip home. As we turned into the driveway, I felt a tear trickle down my cheek.

All the family members were hanging around the front porch, and so were Roy and Clyde and Clyde’s woman. Daddy walked up to the truck as I was leaving, and within a few minutes I heard Mama say, “Claude, we need a hundred and twenty-nine dollars for the funeral. Do you have it?”“Yeah, but that seems like a lot of money just to bury one little boy.”“Well, I want him to look nice.”“When do we need the money?”“He’ll be here at ten-thirty, tomorrow.”

Next morning, Mr. Undertaker arrived with Guy, in his big black hearse. The casket was unloaded, the money was collected, and he talked with Daddy for a few minutes and went on his way. Daddy, Clyde, Roy, and two other men left, in the truck, to dig a grave and talk to the preacher. Many people came throughout the day,

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bringing food, visiting, eating, hugging Mama and us kids, and crying; and I was wishing I had gone with Daddy and his friends. Prince and I assumed the responsibility of keeping the visiting kids away from the barn. We didn’t get any argument when we told them about Guy dying from a snake bite and that the snake was still in there.

The funeral was at two-thirty Sunday afternoon, and the little church was overflowing with people. The preacher spoke for two hours, and he said many of us were going to hell if we didn’t mend our ways. He talked on and on about going to hell and frightened a few young people so badly they ran out of the building. I thought he would talk about Guy going to Heaven, but it seemed he got more excited talking about hell; and it was a long two hours. Four men, using ropes, lowered the coffin into the grave and covered it over with dirt. People did lots of crying, and Mama almost fainted. I didn’t know if it was caused by the heat or from losing Guy. Anyway, we finally went home and she was okay three days later.

The crops were laid by, school was not yet in session, and time hung heavy on my hands. I needed something to do, so I asked Daddy if I could go with him to Memphis some night, with a load of bootleg whiskey (moonshine).

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“Cliff, are you sure you want to get started in this business?”“I want to go along for the ride, just until school starts. I don’t want to make a career of it.”“Okay. If that’s what you want. We leave tomorrow just after sundown.”

After dinner was finished, Daddy and I walked out behind the barn, climbed into the truck; he pressed the starter button, switched on the headlights, and we were off, headed for the big city. We were enjoying the cool night air and the ride, still on the dirt road, when we noticed a set of headlights through the dust behind us. The gap between the two vehicles was getting shorter. Daddy eased over to the right side of the road, giving the other car plenty of passing room. As they pulled up alongside of us, we noticed by the markings on the door that it was the county sheriff. A deputy, sitting on the front seat with the sheriff, motioned for us to stop. Man! Talk about stopping; my heart almost stopped. I was thinking, very strongly, of bailing out and running for my life, when the deputy asked, “Have you guys seen a young couple within the last half-hour or so, about fifteen or sixteen years old?”My father answered, “No, sir, ain’t seen a soul.”The sheriff asked, “Whatcha hauling?”“Corn meal. I have a grinder at home and I take care of several customers.”

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“Where you going?”“Memphis.”“Gittin a late start, ain’t cha?”“Had truck trouble, and that held us up.”“That yo boy?”“Yeah, Sheriff. This is my boy. Do you mind if we move along? We’re already running late.” I could tell; my father was beginning to get irritated.“Yeah. Go ahead. If you run into that young couple, don’t pick um up.”“Okay.” But we did pick them up, twenty minutes later. They were on their way into Collierville to get married. The girl rode up front with my father, while the young man and I sat on the tailgate. We dropped them off at their destination and continued our journey.

Finally we arrived at one of many cotton warehouses on the bank of the mighty Mississippi River. A man stepped from the shadows and said, “Who are you?”Daddy answered, “The north wind blows.”“Okay. Enter.” He opened a large door, we drove the truck inside the dimly lit building, and the door closed. By then, I was “shaking in my boots.” I definitely didn’t want to follow this line of work as a career. Three young black men quickly transferred the merchandise from our truck to three cars, then reloaded our truck with empty half-gallon glass jars and several bags of sugar, under the watchful eye of a heavily armed guard lurking back in a dark corner. When the

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unloading/loading was complete, a man dressed in dark clothing and wearing dark eyeglasses stepped from behind a cotton bale and gave my father a roll of five dollar bills and a slip of paper containing the pass word for the next meeting. We drove forward, left the building through a different door, made a right turn and headed home, and I began to breathe more easily. I found it rather strange that not a word was spoken during the entire transaction, except for the password.

During the ride home, my father asked, “Well, Cliff, what do you think about it?”“Kinda scary; and I sorta liked it, but I wouldn’t do it for a living. By the way, how much money did he give you?”“I thank they’s two hundred dollars in that roll, and you’re not to say anything about this to anybody.”“But you didn’t count it. He might have cheated you.”“He didn’t.”“That’s a lotta money for one week’s work.”“I give Roy and Clyde their share, twenty-five dollars each, there’s gas for the truck, twelve mouths to feed, and other expenses; and I try to put back a hundred from each load, for hard times. Right now, we’ve got a pretty good ‘nest egg.’ Now, you keep quiet about this.”

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A week later I approached my father. “Daddy, I’d like to go with you again, to Memphis. I was too scared to enjoy the trip last week, and I’d like to try it again.”“OK. You know what to expect.”

The family finished dinner early and the adults sat on the front porch and talked about the hot weather and mosquitoes, while the younger children played in the yard. As darkness fell, my father and I mounted the truck and drove by the Washington boys’ home to tell them they had the night off. About fifteen minutes on the road, we spotted the sheriff’s car parked in a driveway, ready to give chase, and he did. We switched off the main highway on to a crooked dirt road and headed south to Mississippi.

The truck was not very fast; however, it kicked up so much dust, the sheriff had difficulty following us. I noticed his headlights appeared to be getting farther away, so the gap between us was growing. Then suddenly, one light was much higher than the other, which indicated the car had left the road and taken a ditch, thanks to poor visibility. A few miles into Mississippi, we made a ninety-degree turn right onto a paved road and continued our drive west, at a safe speed, for more than an hour, and finally, north to Memphis.

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We stopped near a warehouse door and a huge black man, who must have weighed three fifty and been seven feet tall, stepped up to the truck and asked, “Who are you?”Daddy answered, “Boll Weevil is bad for the cotton crop.”“Alright, enter.”We drove forward a few feet and another man, apparently the boss, rushed up to the truck and yelled, “You’re an hour late. What happened?”“Now, you just hold on a minute. Don’t come out here yelling at me.”“Okay, okay; I’m sorry. We’ve had a bad day. So, what happened?”“Had trouble with the Fayette County Sheriff.”“Did he stop you?”With a big grin, Daddy answered, “Naw, he couldn’t catch me.” Then he told the entire story, bit by bit. I could see he was really enjoying himself.The man was deep in thought for a few minutes and finally said, “Don’t use the truck anymore until further notice. Can the boy drive?”“Yeah, he’s a good driver.”“Good. I’ve got a brand new ’32 Chevrolet sedan parked just around the corner. Take it to a mechanic that you can trust and have him put an extra leaf in the rear spring, remove the rear seat, and you can use the car for hauling. Here’s the keys. Get going.”

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We arrived home just before daybreak. I really enjoyed driving the new car, but decided to get out of the moonshine hauling business.

A few days later, I was replacing a decaying board on the front porch, when a U.S. Government car rolled into our driveway and stopped just inches from my worksite. I knew they were “Revanoors,” and I knew they were there to destroy my father’s still and put him in jail for making and selling illegal whiskey. A short bald man and tall man with curly hair got out of the car, and “Baldy,” who appeared to be in charge, asked, “Boy, you live here?”“Yes sir.”“What’s your name, Boy?”“Sir, my name’s Clifford Jones and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop calling me ‘Boy.’ I’ve been a man for more than three years now.”“Curley” started walking toward me and said, “You’re trying to be a smart aleck. I know how to fix little punks like you.”“Baldy” stopped him with, “Leave him alone. We have work to do. So, Mister Clifford Jones, where is your father?”“Gone fishing.”“Where?”“I don’t know.”We walked out to the barn where they searched and found a case of half-gallon fruit jars filled with

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“moonshine,” partially hidden beneath some loose hay and two jars in the corncrib nearby. “Baldy” happily exclaimed, “We’ll need this for evidence.” As they stored their treasure in the car, “Curley” picked up a shotgun and “Baldy” armed himself with a rifle and side arm, probably a .45.“Baldy” asked, “Who owns these cars?”“I don’t know.”“You just don’t know much, do you?” “I slept late this morning and the cars were here when I got up.”“Well, do you know who the truck belongs to?”“It belongs to us.”“Curley” made a suggestion. “Let’s search the house before we go into the swamp. We might find what we’re looking for in there. You know, some bootleggers make it right in their kitchen.”

I thought of Daddy and the Washington brothers and how they were about to be caught. I had better warn them while the house was being searched, so I quickly ran out toward the barn and the trail into the swamp. “Baldy” yelled, “Mister Clifford Jones, where do you think you’re going? You come back and wait right here with everyone else.” They really ransacked the house from top to bottom, from one end to the other. They turned over and poured out everything, furniture, clothing, food, even ripped pictures from the wall and

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stomped them. Mama, Grandma, Aunt Nancy, and the younger children were frightened half to death.

Finally, they picked up their weapons and left the premises, our house in shambles, and everyone in tears. Grandma, usually quiet, spoke up, “This reminds me of when I was a young girl, during the Civil War, when the Yankees came to our house. They took everything they could use and destroyed the rest of our belongings, even broke out all our windows and set the barn a-fire. They probably would have taken me, except Mama saw them coming and hid me in the loft. Well, don’t laugh. I was seventeen and a right pretty girl. I would have been a prize for them. If you think this is bad, you should have been around in those days. You see, things could be lots worse.”I saw them take a trail into the swamp. I went by the truck, picked up the shotgun and followed at a safe distance. Bones wanted to come along, but I sent him back to the house, thinking he might bark at the wrong time. I could hear the shouting before I reached the still and knew my warning was too late. The gun battle began just as I came on the scene, and was over within seconds. “Curley” shot Clyde in the left thigh with a 30:30, and at the same instant took a full blast from Roy’s shotgun, and he was history, with a hole in his chest the size of a man’s fist. Meanwhile, “Baldy” had his rifle turned on Daddy, with his finger on the trigger and was yelling, “Okay, Jones, I gotcha now. I’m

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killing you for murder, resisting arrest, and boot-legging.”“I shouted, “Hey! Don’t shoot. He’s unarmed.”

He swung around, facing me, his finger still on the trigger, and I fired the old twelve-gage shotgun, blowing his face and half his head away. His head, or what was left of it, snapped back then forward. He stood for two seconds then fell to the ground, “dead as dust.” What a bloody mess! And I was a part of it. It seemed like a bad dream, or a nightmare. The birds hushed their singing and all was quiet in the swamp, except my vomiting. I was sick as a dog and wishing I was somewhere else. There was no breeze, and the odor of burnt gunpowder and sour mash from the still hung heavily in the air. I was beginning to feel light-headed, when my father walked over with water in a fruit jar, and said, “Here, Son, take several swallows, then run on back home. I don’t want you involved in this. Leave the shotgun here and stay away from your mother as much as possible, otherwise, she’ll figure something’s wrong. It’s written all over your face. Find work around the barn or shed or somewhere away from the house, and not a word of this to nobody. Now, run along.”

Daddy backed the truck into the swamp as far as he could go. The remainder of the trail was too narrow to

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accommodate the truck. He and Roy loaded Clyde aboard and drove to the Washington home where Clyde’s woman, Myrtle, removed a bullet from his thigh. She was accustomed to such as this in that she always lived in the shady side of the law. It was rumored that she was once a member of a notorious gang of bank robbers, who was also in the extortion business, in Chicago. She tipped off the law for a large sum of money then came south to save her life. A few years ago, Clyde picked her up at the Memphis bus station, brought her home with him, and she’s never gone to the city since, not even for shopping. She was a right nice-looking woman when fixed up; thing is, she seldom “fixed up.” But, there was something about her eyes that just gave me the “creeps.” I stayed away from her as much as possible. Anyway, she did a good job fixing Clyde’s injury.Roy drove the government car with my father following in the truck, to a lake twenty miles south, where they pushed the car into the water, which was eleven feet deep.Occasionally, during extremely dry weather, the water level dropped to nine feet, but still, that was deep enough to cover the evidence. The two men returned to the swamp, wrapped the bodies of the dead Revanoors in burlap bags, loaded them onto a truck, along with a rowboat, covered their cargo with a tarp, and drove ten miles to another lake. They slid the boat into the water, with “Curley” on board, and rowed out to the middle of

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the lake, where they attached several stones to the dead body and dropped him overboard. “Baldy” received the same royal treatment, and the two “bad boys” returned home. Roy remarked, “That’ll be enough turtle food for a long time.” When I heard the story, I vowed to never eat turtle soup again.

I helped Roy and my father disassemble and hide the still. Daddy said, “Fellows, there’s bound to be an investigation, so I’ll do the talking.” I knew, sooner or later, more government men would come snooping around, and I didn’t intend to be there when that happened. I kept thinking of the man I had killed, and the only way I could get peace of mind was: it was the Revanoor or my father. I thought I would never forget that horrible experience, even if I lived to be a hundred years old.

Two days later, three government cars, with twelve men stopped in our driveway. I figured it was time for me to “hit the road,” so I made my way out the back door and hurried across the fields and through the woods to the Washington’s home. Roy answered my knock at the door, and I asked him to step outside. “Roy,” I said, “The Revanoors are at the house. They’re all over the place. There must be at least a dozen. I need to go to Memphis in a hurry. Will you drive me and not say anything to anyone?”

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“Sure; hop in and we’ll take off right now.” And to Myrtle, “Ain’t trying to run your business, but if I was you, I’d put on them “old lady clothes” and make-up. The F.B.I. might recognize you when they come snooping around.”“Thanks. Hadn’t thought of that.”

Within two hours we arrived in the big city, said our goodbyes, shook hands, and I added, “Roy, I’m not coming back to the Wolf River Bottoms, not for a long time, but I’ll return someday. Wait three days and tell the folks. Also tell them not to look for me, because they’ll never find me. I’ll be okay.”“Alright, young friend; take this, and good luck.” And he pressed a ten-dollar bill into my hand. “This will help tide you over till you can get settled.”

My first night in Memphis, I slept on a park bench overlooking the Mississippi River. Just about the crack of dawn, a policeman awakened me. “What’s yore name, boy?”“Frank Carter, Sir.”“Whatcha doing here in the park so early in the day?”“Waiting for my daddy. He’s coming in on one of them boats.”“Let’s me and you go down to the dock and see if you’re telling the truth. You know what happens to boys who lie?“No Sir.”

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“We strip off their shirt, tie ‘em to a tree, and give ‘em a whipping with a bull whip.”At the dock, while the policeman was talking to one of the boat captains, I slipped away in a group of dockworkers who happened to be walking by. I surely didn’t want any part of that bullwhip.

While exploring downtown Memphis, I came upon an interesting sight. There was a large bus with the following information painted on each side: “Join the Navy and see the world.” And there was a picture of a sailor and a pretty girl smiling at him. At that exact moment, I knew the Navy was for me. A man sitting at a small desk near the bus said, “Young man, do you want to joint the Navy?”“Yes sir.”“Most of the guys I talked with today were rejects. Looks like you might make the grade.” He asked many questions and said if I lied I would go to jail. He gave me an application to be signed by a parent, stating that I was eighteen years of age, along with several other questions. I paid a railroad bum fifty cents to write a name in the correct space. I returned it to the man, and he said, “The bus leaves tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Don’t be late. That’s one thing the navy will not tolerate.”

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I spent the night in a cotton warehouse, which was much better than a park bench and the policeman. I arose early the next morning, ate a twenty-five cent breakfast, and boarded the bus for San Diego where I became a member of the U.S. Navy, name of William Lee Shroud, and never used Clifford Jones again.

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Cabin In The Wilderness

FOREWORD

This story took place high in the mountains. When you traveled around the crooked dirt road you would eventually come to the highest point in the mountains which was given the name “The Rock”. This is where you will see “The Cabin In The Wilderness”.

I was not a happy camper, as I trudged through the three-day old snow, bucking a strong December wind, en route to the Dodge-Plymouth dealership where I was employed as a mechanic. I could usually cover the two mile distance in half an hour when the streets and sidewalks were clear, but that wasn’t the case on that particular day. To make matters worse, that was the day that the divorce was final. My wife of five years had fallen for an insurance salesman, and said she had never really loved me anyway. I was heartbroken, because I had loved her very much. She was a pretty girl and was my childhood sweetheart, and I thought it would be forever. We owned a nice little house and had made plans for our own auto repair shop. She would handle the phones, paper work and other office

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duties and I, along with several helpers, would do the auto work. All our plans were shattered. I was devastated, and felt that I would never recover. She took the car that was debt free and left the house and mortgage payments for me. She wanted me to pay alimony, even though we had no children and she had a good job with an insurance company. The judge denied her request, and she hated me with a passion. I never understood why she was so bitter toward me. I had been the best husband that I knew how to be. Oh, well; that’s water under the bridge, now.

When the latter part of January rolled around, I had saved up enough for a down payment on an eight-year old car. The car had several problems, but since I was a mechanic, I knew how to make it well again. Three days later, I was the proud owner of a very good car.

One Saturday morning I was enjoying a late breakfast when the phone rang. I answered and the caller said, “Mr. Tom Blackstone, you have won the state lottery, worth ten million dollars, to be paid out over a period of twenty years”.

I figured it was a prank and almost hung up on him, but decided to play along. That way, the joke would be on him instead of me, so I said, “Hey, I can hardly wait. When do I get the money?”

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“At noon, someone will be at your door with the first payment and documents for you to sign. Be there. We will make only one attempt to contact you. If you miss it, the money will go to someone else.” Then he verified my house number, street name, city and state and hung up.

I had no intention of hanging around. There were errands to run, business to take care of and people to see. A few hours later, everything completed, I was relaxing and listening to some good country gospel singing when there was a knock at the front door. I glanced at the clock on the wall; twelve o’clock, straight up. I thought, “This can’t be happening. It must be a neighbor wanting me to start his car, or something.” After all, I usually bought only one lottery ticket each week, mostly from habit.

Before the purchase was made, Mr. Swartz and I drove up to look at the property. Forty miles west of the city, we left the highway and took a secondary road. At that intersection, there was a large building that housed a general store, restaurant, gas station and Post Office, and was referred to, by the local citizens, as “The Store”. Twelve miles further, we turned onto a narrow, crooked dirt road (which seemed more like a trail) that took us high up into the mountains, and we stopped at the Taylor place. Then we were on an old logging road

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that hadn’t been used in several years. We traveled another half mile and came up on a washout in the road, parked the truck and walked the last mile and a half.

The place was bounded by the Comanche River on the north, Raccoon Creek on the south and the logger’s trail on the east. On the west side there was solid rock, and a canyon that varied in depth, two to three hundred feet. The canyon was the boundary. About a quarter of a mile from the south west corner of the property, there was a small mountain of rock that was the highest point on the place and I named it “The Rock”. From there, one could look across the canyon and see mountains and beyond, larger, higher mountains, where the snow never melted. Just about in the center of the woods was a good spring which flowed into Raccoon Creek. I really liked what I saw. As a matter of fact I fell in love with the place and we closed the next day.

I paid a bulldozer operator six thousand dollars to repair the road from the Taylor land to my place. He also put in several culverts causing water to run under the road instead of over the road, therefore eliminating washouts. I bought a twenty-five foot trailer for living quarters, temporarily, and parked it fifty yards from the spring. Also, I purchased a sixty-five horse power tractor with a twenty foot boom, snow blade and dirt scoop, a ton and a half truck, flatbed trailer and

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generator (to furnish electricity). I used the tractor to remove snow from the road, help build the cabin and clear a few trails through the woods and repair the road.

Before starting to work, I decided to spend a week or so, relaxing, taking it easy and exploring my new home. I thought, “My, what a beautiful place!” There were hundreds of thousands of trees, all sorts of animals and birds and several breathtaking views, especially the west and south sides. You talk about wilderness, I was there. The only sounds I could hear were the sounds of nature. On a cloudy night, it was so dark I couldn’t tell whether my eyes were open or closed, but on a clear night, one could look up and see billions of stars. Sometimes I would just sit and relax for hours. Now that was really living. I liked being alone, so I guess one would call me a loner.

I recall one particular day when I wished I wasn’t alone. It was a fine day and I was strolling through the woods, about a quarter of a mile from camp, when about sixty yards ahead, I spotted a mama bear and her cub coming toward me. Immediately, I stopped and the bear didn’t. It wasn’t supposed to work that way. The bear should stop, but she didn’t, so I thought the safest place for me was in that big old tree nearby. Up I went, but that wasn’t good enough. She came up, too. There was one thing in my favor. The branches were so close

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together, she was having difficulty in squeezing between them.

I was about to panic, as I neared the top of the tree, with the bear only four feet from me, when there was a terrible scream from below. A mountain lion had discovered the unguarded cub, and there was about to be trouble. My number one enemy went down that tree so fast, she stripped away half the branches. She fell the last twenty feet, rolled around on the ground for a few seconds, jumped to her feet and headed for the mountain lion. By the time she got into high gear, I was halfway down the tree. I hit the ground in a dead run and never slowed down until I reached the trailer and my .30-30 rifle. I learned a valuable lesson that day; never stray from the camp unarmed. I don’t know who won the fight. I told Mr. Swartz of my experience and he said the cub might have been slapped around a bit, but there was no doubt about the winner. It was the bear. I hope it really did turn out that way. I rooted for the bear after I left the scene. Speaking of mountain lions, they can sure make a terrible sound during the night when all is quiet.

I was anxious to start construction on the cabin, but first, I must build a shelter for the trucks, tractor, equipment, etc. The big truck and flat bed trailer were

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put to good use in hauling building material from the city.

Five weeks later, the shelter was complete, along with a wood shed and an outhouse. Then I erected two windmills on The Rock, for generating electricity. I ran the power line down to the camp and connected it to four large storage batteries, and built a shed for them.

Every two or three days, I would go for a stroll through the woods and admire the beautiful autumn colors, especially the aspens. From The Rock, I could view some of the most gorgeous sunsets, ever. Sometimes a whistling sound could be heard. It wasn’t really a tune, even though I recognized four notes; B, C, F & G, and maybe it was music to someone or something. I searched for hours, several different days but couldn’t locate the source. September was gone and I was busy cutting and hauling firewood, for later, and enjoying the fine weather, even though it was quite chilly. I heard someone coming up the driveway and recognized Mr. Taylor’s truck. He asked, “Hey, neighbor; are you planning to spend the winter up here?”

“No. I thought about staying a couple of weeks longer, then go down to Helena. I can work as a mechanic at the service station on the corner of 7th and Cardinal and stay the winter there. Mr. Danner said I can use the

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room over the station as my living quarters. Then I’ll return in the early spring and build the cabin.”

“Tom, I wouldn’t wait two weeks. Did you notice that new dusting of snow on the western slope? This is a warning that we could have a blizzard almost any day, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a couple of weeks, but you can bet your boots it’s not far away. Sometimes they last for several days and form drifts as high as six feet. If I were you, I’d leave soon.”

“Thanks. I’ll put away my things, load up and leave tomorrow.” I locked down the windmills, put the trailer, tractor, big truck and other equipment under the shelter and closed the doors. I was in the process of transferring items from the trailer to the pickup, when I heard an unfamiliar vehicle approaching. The truck stopped near me and two scruffy looking characters got out and introduced themselves as J.D. and Rufus.

J.D. asked, “Will you sell this place? It’d bring you a lot a money.”“It’s not for sale.”“Our boss would pay top dollar fer it. You ain’t agonna do anythang with it, but just hang around.”“Well, that’s my business.”“You being here alone could be dangerous. Spose you was attacked by a bear or mountain lion, or shot by a

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hunter. Man, you could die up here and nobody would never know.” He glanced at Rufus and grinned.“Forget it.”He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off with, “Look fellows; I’m busy. You need to leave.”

After mumbling between themselves for a couple of minutes, they got into their truck and as they drove away Rufus yelled, “We ain’t fergittin this. We’ll be back. You better think about that.” I could see trouble brewing with those two, and the logging company. I knew they would return. The wind was getting stronger and I could hear the whistling, but I didn’t have time to search for it. I needed to get off the mountain before the storm overtook me.

Mr. Danner’s station was a busy place. I worked ten hours a day, repairing engines, driving the tow truck and doing whatever needed to be done. The first anniversary of the divorce rolled around on the 15th of December and I was feeling sad, but then I began to concentrate, almost nonstop, on the cabin that I would build the next year. The station was located on a very busy corner and two weeks went by before I could get a good night’s sleep.

About the middle of May, I drove up to the mountains and the road was clear of snow all the way to Mr. Taylor’s place. My neighbors had a unique way of

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keeping the road passable during the snow season. Mr. Westbrook would clear our road from the secondary road to his driveway. Mr. Zimmer would take it from Mr. Westbrook’s to his own driveway, etc., including the Wheeler’s, the Reynolds, the Shoptaws, to Mr. Taylor. Since I was the only party that lived beyond the Taylor place, it was my responsibility to clear the last two miles to my property. I had an advantage. I could move the snow whenever I wanted to, or I could just wait. There was also a disadvantage. There could be a lot of snow on a two mile stretch. The same system was used with the U.S. Mail.

I parked the truck at Mr. Taylor’s driveway, donned my snow shoes and walked the last two miles. I climbed up on the tractor, hit the starter button and the engine fired. The next day and a half was spent pushing snow from the road. I cut and hauled firewood and piddled around the camp during the next two weeks, then the first of June arrived and it was time to build the cabin.

The foundation and chimney were in place when two large trucks arrived, loaded with logs and trusses; along with four young strong men. Before the day was over, the material was in place and it was my responsibility to complete the job. There was the decking, roofing, porches, and inside there was the floor, ceiling, partitions, insulation, plumbing and electrical wiring.

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Did I know how to do all those jobs? Sure I did; along with help from several books I had purchased earlier. The task was not all that difficult. I would work for a few hours, then read for a while and it went pretty well. Occasionally; mostly during morning hours, but not always, I could hear the whistling, and sometimes I would go searching for it.

Almost every day, I would take a break from my work and go for a stroll in the woods; either searching for the “whistler” or just walking and thinking. One day, while walking by the river, I thought I heard someone calling. Must be my imagination. Then, as I continued my walk, I heard it again, more clearly. As I rounded a bend in the river, about seventy-five yards down stream, I spotted a man up to his neck in the water, holding onto a low hanging tree branch, ten feet from the river bank. I shouted, “Can you hold on for twenty minutes? I must run back to camp for some rope.

“I’ll try. The current is very strong. I’ve probably been here for hours; waiting and shouting for someone to come along.” Later, he figured he had been stranded for about an hour. I returned and secured one end of the rope to a nearby tree, in case the current tried to snatch us away. I knotted the other end and tossed it to him several times. He was afraid to let go of the branch. Finally, on the fifth throw, the knot landed 6

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inches from his chin; he grabbed the rope and I reeled him in.

That was one happy man! He had long white hair, said he was a retired school teacher and was sixty-seven years old. He had decided to go canoeing alone; a bad decision especially in that stretch of the river. After he sort of caught his breath, he said, “Thanks, young fellow. My name is Alton Davis and I’m sure glad you came along. I was just about ready to give up. You must be my guardian angel.”

“I’m Tom Blackstone and I have a camp about a half mile through the woods. Let’s get you into some dry clothing and get something to eat. My clothes might be just a little loose fitting on you, but they’ll do while yours dry.” While he changed, I made sandwiches for lunch.

Upon finishing the meal, my guest said, “I would like to stay and help with the cabin. I really like this type of work, even though I made my living teaching school. Maybe I can repay you in some small way for pulling me out of the river. But first would you drive me to the river bridge to pick up my car and boat trailer?”

Sounds good to me. Let’s go. But won’t your family or someone miss you?”

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My wife died three years ago and the children moved away. My home is in Helena and the neighbors are accustomed to my being gone for several days at a time. So, I’m ready to begin work on your cabin.”

Mr. Davis was a hustler. He worked more like a twenty-five year old and not like a sixty-seven year old. I remember hoping that I would be that tough when I became his age. He was a good conversationalist. I enjoyed listening to his stories for many hours. Ten days later, we had the porches completed and decking and roofing on the entire structure. The outside was finished, and Mr. Davis said, “Well, Tom, it’s time for me to go home. It looks like we’ve got it in good enough shape so you can finish it and get it in before cold weather gets here.”

“Mr. Davis, I hate to see you go, but I know you must. I’ve really enjoyed you working with me. It’s been a real pleasure and I thank you. Come back and visit me sometime.”

The inside work went up pretty fast. There was a large den, with a cooking and eating area in one corner, bathroom, bedroom and a half loft that I planned to use for sleeping during extreme cold weather, and for storage. Sometimes during the night, just prior to retiring, I would step outside the cabin and listen to the

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whistling and wonder, “Where is it coming from, and what is it?”

The middle of October was upon us and the cabin was completely finished and ready for winter. I suddenly remembered the snow warning from Mr. Taylor and realized I must hustle along. The woodshed was full of good dry firewood, but I had one more task to finish. I drove the big truck into town and spent two days buying furniture, a refrigerator, freezer, washer, dryer, electric cook stove and oven, electric water heater, wood burning heater, food and supplies for the winter.

As I backed the truck up to the front door, I noticed the thermometer reading was 20 degrees. Darkness was closing in so I flipped on the lights, quickly unloaded the heater and food, installed the heater, and started a fire.

Dinner was finished, dishes cleaned and put away and I opened the door to finish unloading the truck when I saw that a few snowflakes had fallen. A cold north wind was blowing and the mysterious whistling could be heard. It gave one such an eerie feeling. Sometimes, it seemed far away, yet at other times, it sounded very close by, as it did that particular night. I quickly finished my job and drove the truck under the

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shelter. At that point, the snow was coming down faster.

During the night, the snow stopped falling and the next morning we had seven inches on the ground. A week later, it was gone, except on the north side of buildings, trees, etc., so I spent some time cutting and splitting firewood for the next winter.

On the fourth of November, we had a nine inch snowfall and it didn’t go away, and there were many more snows throughout the winter. One might wonder if I got lonesome on the mountain alone. Well, at first I didn’t. I subscribed to two weekly newspapers, four magazines and was a member of a book club. And I enjoyed listening to music on the stereo. Sometimes, I would don my snow shoes and go for a stroll through the forest, and occasionally walk up to “The Rock” and admire the beautiful sunset. When I wanted to be with people, I would take the tractor, remove snow from the road, drive the pick-up, which was a four-wheel-drive, down to the store and catch up on all the latest gossip and pick up a few fresh grocery items.

On the twenty-eighth of December as I was returning from a trip to the store, I spotted what appeared to be a person lying in the road, just a few yards beyond my driveway, almost completely covered with snow. I parked the truck at the edge of the deep snow and got

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out to investigate. I discovered an unconscious young woman, clutching a canvas tote bag. I didn’t know if she was dead or alive. A strong north wind was blowing and the temperature was five below zero. Quickly, I put her and the bag into the truck and drove up to the cabin. I laid her on the sofa, stoked the fire in the heater and added more wood. Then I removed her boots, socks, mittens and parka and covered her with warm blankets. She was alive, but her breathing was very shallow and her pulse was slow. I massaged her hands and feet, hoping to prevent frostbite. I was a pretty good mechanic, but not much of a doctor and I didn’t know what to do to make her well again. I just did what I could and prayed that she would live through the ordeal.

I ate a cold sandwich and drank a cup of hot chocolate and checked on my guest again. She seemed to be breathing normally, so maybe she was “over the hump”. The wind was roaring, the temperature dropping, and I was glad she was in the cabin, and not outside in the snow. I was sitting near the sofa, dozing, when she opened her eyes, looked around and said, “Who are you? Where am I? How did I get here?” She seemed to be very frightened.

“You need not be afraid. I won’t harm you in any way. You are not a prisoner and you may leave or stay as

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long as you like. While here, you are my honored guest and will be treated as such. My name is Tom Blackstone and I found you near my driveway, almost frozen, and brought you here to my cabin. Now, how do you feel?”

“Not very well. Thanks for bringing me out of the cold weather into your warm cabin. Had it not been for you, I would have died out there.”

They say chicken soup is good for everything, so I opened a can and heated it for her. She ate about half of it, drank a cup of hot chocolate and went to sleep. I filled the heater with firewood, adjusted the damper, climbed up to the loft bedroom and turned in for the night.

Next morning, as I was preparing breakfast, my guest arose and said, “I need to freshen up”. And I pointed toward the bathroom. When she returned and walked into the kitchen area, I noticed her soft brown eyes, long black hair and a face that one would only see in the movies. She said, “I guess you would like some answers.”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

“Here’s my I.D.”. And she passed her driver’s license to me. Her name was Marianne Goodman, black hair,

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brown eyes, height 5’6”, weight 120 pounds, and she was twenty-five years old. During breakfast she continued, “I work in a gift shop in Helena and I’m also an artist. I like to take pictures and paint from the photographs, and that’s what I was doing yesterday. About two miles beyond your driveway, my truck slid off the road and stalled. I began walking, which was difficult. I was very cold and extremely tired and thought I was going to die. I stopped for a short rest and the next thing I remember was waking up in your cabin. Thanks for taking me in and caring for me and for being such a gentleman.”

“I’m glad I came along at that particular time. An hour later, darkness closed in and I would have missed you. An hour earlier, you would have been on the other side of the hill, out of sight. I’ll take the tractor and get your truck out of the ditch and tow it up here to the cabin. By the way, how are you feeling this morning?”

“Weak, tired and exhausted.” And she went back to the sofa and fell asleep.

I filled the heater with firewood, dressed warmly, climbed onto the tractor with the snow blade on the front and boom on the rear and headed for Marianne’s truck. I used all the daylight hours retrieving the truck. She had left the keys in the ignition and the switch on.

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The battery was “dead as a door nail” and had to be recharged. During the afternoon, I noticed the wind had subsided and the temperature had climbed to 10 degrees.

I entered the cabin, and to my surprise, Marianne was up, moving around and had dinner prepared for the two of us. I remarked, “It’s good to see you up and about. Your battery is dead and it will be several hours before your truck is ready to roll. Maybe you should think about staying here another night.”

“Thanks. That’s a good idea. I’m afraid to drive that narrow slippery road during the night.” We enjoyed a delicious meal and some good conversation. I was never much of a cook, but she was an excellent one. During the evening we learned quite a bit about each other. A year earlier, her husband was killed in a bar room brawl. She had tried, many times, to prevent him from visiting such places, but he was kind of “bull headed” and finally paid for his dangerous living with his life. I told her all about myself, except for the lottery. My C.P.A. was the only person around there that knew of my good fortune. We talked until late in the night and finally turned in. I offered the attic room or the main bedroom to my guest, but she preferred the sofa, so I took the attic room, since it was warmer.

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Next morning, I stepped out to the back porch for firewood and noticed the snow was really coming down. Marianne was busy getting breakfast and I said to her, “You probably won’t get off the mountain today, and it may be a couple of days.”

“That’s fine with me. I’m rather enjoying this. And, by the way, if you don’t mind, I’ll do all the cooking during my stay here.”

“Hey, that’s great! You won’t get any objection from me. I can’t cook worth a hoot anyway.” Snow fell throughout the day and I enjoyed visiting with my guest. Along about dusk, the wind increased in velocity and roared and howled around the cabin; but inside, we were warm and comfortable. The sounds outside would make one shiver; and occasionally, we would throw another log on the fire.

The blizzard raged for three days and nights, dumping two feet of snow on us, with drifts up to five feet. At the end of the third day, the wind had died down to a low moan and the whistling was barely audible, but it was still there.

Next morning the clouds were gone, the sun was out and the temperature was 37 below zero. We finished breakfast and Marianne said, “I’ve enjoyed being here

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but I need to get back to town if you can help me get off the mountain.”

A day and half later, the road was clear and Marianne’s truck was ready to roll and we enjoyed another fine meal before her departure. She hugged and kissed me and said, “Thanks again for caring for me. I would like to return for a visit when spring comes; and maybe stay the weekend, if that’s okay.”

“Anytime. The door is always open. I’m looking forward to seeing you. Be careful going down the mountain.” I watched her drive away and wondered if she would really return or if I would ever see her again. After being with her for several days, the thought suddenly occurred to me, “Did I really want to be a loner?” It was good for a while, but the time came for me to move on and I was looking forward to springtime in the Rockies. I had become quite fond of her and she seemed to like me, too.

The next several months dragged by, while I wrote a few short stories, did lots of reading, went for walks in the woods, hunted for the location of the whistling sound and dreamed of Marianne.

Finally, the snow melted, the trees were budding, birds were singing, the animals were waking up, and everything was coming alive. Spring was here. I was

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stacking next winter’s firewood under the woodshed, when I heard a vehicle coming up the driveway and I knew it was Marianne. She gave me a big “hello” hug and kiss and said, “It’s been a long winter.”

“Yes, it has. I hope you don’t think I’m out of line, but I’ve really missed you.”

“I thought you would say something like that; and I missed you, too. I was wondering if I may stay for a few days. I’ll do all the cooking and sleep on the sofa, as I did back in the winter.”

“I would be very happy with the arrangement; except you take the bedroom and I’ll sleep in the attic room.” And that was settled. As I’ve said before, I’m not much of a cook, but she seemed to enjoy it.

We were about ready for lunch when J.D. and Rufus drove up in their “ratty” old pick-up and J.D. said, “Could we trouble ya’ll for something to eat? We were fishing down on the river and the coons stole our food.”

I began to protest, but Marianne interrupted with, “It’s okay. We have plenty, so come on in.” I wasn’t worried about the food; it was the uninvited guest that concerned me.

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J.D. began hassling me about selling the land, and I ignored him. One thing led to another and pretty soon their conversation turned to telling jokes that were just a little on the “off color” side. They seemed to be enjoying themselves; and I didn’t like the way they were looking at Marianne. I excused myself on the pretense of going to the bathroom, but instead, I strapped on my colt .45 and walked back into the room. Immediately, their eyes shifted to the gun I was wearing and the jokes stopped. The meal was finished so I said to them, “Fellows, you asked for food and we shared our lunch with you; now it’s time for you to leave.” Again, they glanced at my .45, but said nothing. As they drove away, I knew they would return and I must be ready. So I kept a gun close by at all times.

I enjoyed delicious meals and good conversation for the next two days but the time came to say goodbye and she drove back to the city and her job, and I was feeling really lonesome. I believed I was beginning to fall for her. She was so nice in every way, very beautiful, intelligent and loved the great outdoors and seemed to like me, and was fun to be with.

I drove down to the store, thinking I might find information about J.D. and Rufus. I learned they were mean and dangerous and it was a good idea to stay clear of them. I was trying to do that but it wasn’t working. They just kept popping up when least expected.

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Two days later, at just about dusk, I flipped on the lights in the cabin and they seemed dim. I looked at the control board and noticed a red light glowing, which indicated the windmills were not turning. I disconnected the refrigerator, freezer and water heater. When the current is too low, motors could be damaged and possibly cause a fire. I drove up to the “Rock” and discovered that someone had locked down the brakes on both windmills. I released the brakes on both windmills and they began to turn; generating electricity. J.D. and Rufus had been visiting again; probably on the day that I was at the store. I was getting tired of dealing with those two idiots and felt a showdown was just around the corner. As I climbed into the truck, I heard the whistling, loud and clear, but darkness was closing in fast and I must get back to the cabin. I would search for the “whistler” another day.

Next day, about midmorning, while I was restoring an old tractor, my enemies drove up in their old rattletrap. They were getting out of the truck when I noticed rifles in their hands. I said, “just leave the gun inside.” They saw the .45 strapped to my side and probably wondered if I could draw and fire before they could get me in their rifle sights. I wasn’t very fast, but they didn’t know. Finally they complied with my order and

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stepped out of the truck. I asked, “What do you clowns want?”

“Mr. Randolph still wants this property. He said we had better have the deed when we return, or else.”

“What part of ‘no’ do you not understand? Now, leave and don’t come back. You’ve worn out your welcome; if there ever was one.”

“Mr. Randolph ain’t gonna like this.”

“Do you think I care what your boss likes or doesn’t like? Just shut up and get out of here before I lose my temper. Now.” With that, they left. I was supposed to be afraid of those fellows, but for some strange reason, I wasn’t.

Once, while visiting Mr. Taylor, I asked if he knew of the whistling sound over in my woods, and he nodded affirmatively. “I supposed you would like to hear the story.”

“I’m all ears.”

He took out his pipe, slowly filled it with Flying Dutchman tobacco, tamped it down and touched a match to it. He took a long draw and began speaking, “Okay, here it is. Many years ago, hundreds of years

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ago, before the white man came to this country, Indians roamed the woods and mountains. The canyon on the west side of your place was the border between two tribes. A young Indian brave from the eastern tribe and a beautiful Indian maiden from the western tribe fell in love, but the tribesmen objected to this union and warned the lovers to stop seeing each other. So, they developed a method of communication by whistling. Each would stand on opposite rims of the canyon and whistle to the other. They became pretty good at it, but a jealous older woman learned of their secret and the chief ordered the young maiden to be put to death. Later, the young brave died of a broken heart, but his spirit still wanders through the woods in search of his lover. Occasionally one can hear him whistling as he drifts among the trees and mountains.”

I asked, “Do you believe that?”

He ignored my question and said, “Few have tried to locate the whistler, but failed. Most people around here believe your woods are haunted and just stay away. Of course, that’s good for you since you do not like having lots of visitors around.”

As I was driving up to the cabin, I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Marianne following me. We

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parked, left the trucks, embraced and I said, “You’ve been away too long.”

“Yes, I have. We’ll have to do something about that.” And I was wondering if she had the same thought in her head that I had; marriage.

Marianne was preparing lunch and I was busy restoring another antique tractor, when suddenly; J.D. and Rufus appeared from around the corner of the shelter. They had parked down the road a ways and crept up on me through the woods. Each was pointing a pistol toward me and they were grinning like a couple of possums. Even though the .45 was strapped to my waist, I didn’t have enough time to draw and fire. J.D. said, “Well, Mr. Blackstone, we gotcha this time. By the way, where’s the gal? We know she’s around here, somewhere, cause we seen her drive up. We been waitin’ a long time for this. Then he walked over and took my gun.

I asked, “What do you want?”

J.D. answered, “Here’s the deal. We’ll kill you and when we finish with the gal, we’ll kill her and dump the two of you in White Foot Lake. We’ll have a lotta fun gittin rid of ya’ll, we’ll git the land for Mr. Randolph, he’ll give us a big bonus and everybody will be happy. Now, don’t that sound like a good idea?

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Just as J.D. raised his pistol, pointing toward my head, a rifle shot rang out and he fell to the ground, “dead as a door nail.” I dived for my gun and Rufus fired, fracturing a rib, as I shot him through the right thigh. As he was falling, he fired again but his bullet went into the ground and I shot him through the right shoulder. He dropped his gun and it was all over. Marianne came rushing up with a rifle in her hand. She took one look at J.D. and said, “I missed my mark. I aimed at his left ear but got him right between the eyes. When I saw the gun pointing toward you, I had to act quickly, so I grabbed your 30:30 and fired. And, as you can see, the rest is history.”

“Thanks. I guess we’re about even, now. I saved you from freezing back during the winter, and you just prevented me from being murdered.” I noticed Rufus wasn’t moving, so I knelt down and examined his wounds. He was bleeding profusely from the shoulder injury, of which I tried to plug with a folded handkerchief but an artery had severed and he bled to death. I asked, “Marianne, will you drive down to the store, call the sheriff and ask him to come up here? I’ll stay and keep an eye on the bodies.”

“Okay. I’ll be back within the hour.”

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I went into the cabin, removed my shirt and checked my injury. It appeared to be nothing more than a scratch, but I knew there was a fractured rib. Anyway, it was painful, but I’d live. I didn’t tell Marianne about my “scratch” before she left for the store, otherwise she would have made a big fuss, which wasn’t necessary.

About an hour after her return, Sheriff Crunch and a deputy arrived, asked a few questions and took down our statements. The sheriff said, “You folks will need to come to the courthouse for a hearing; just a formality. These guys have rap sheets a mile long. They are wanted in Louisiana for attempted murder, in Georgia for bank robbery, and Tennessee for car-jacking. They’ve served time for extortion, breaking and entering, armed robbery, burglary and embezzlement. You name it, they’ve done it. They are labeled as habitual criminals. These two are supposed to be in prison now, but they escaped about two years ago and have managed to stay just ahead of the law. Why, just between you and me, you’ve done the state a great favor, but don’t repeat those words.”

The county coroner finally came for the bodies, Sheriff Crunch and Deputy Maxwell left with him, and things were getting back to normal, except for my aching side. There’s not much one can do for a broken rib, but just suffer through it and prevent infection where the skin is torn away.

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Next afternoon Marianne drove back to town and two weeks later, we met at the courthouse. The hearing lasted a little less than an hour. The judge said, “There will be no charges filed against either of you. Thank you for coming in. You are free to go.”

Later, outside the building, Sheriff Crunch told us, “The bodies were held in the morgue for ten days, while a search was made for relatives, but none were located. They were buried in the county cemetery, and no one was there for the funeral other than the priest, the grave diggers and myself. Sad, but that’s the life they chose to live.”

As we were leaving, Marianne said, “I’ll see you Friday afternoon at the cabin.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

I located the office of Randolph Lumber Co. and paid the big man a visit. I entered and asked, “Are you Mr. Randolph?”

“Yes, and who are you? And who gave you permission to enter?”

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“I’m Tom Blackstone and I don’t need permission for what I have to say. Two of your goons are dead, as you already know.” I grabbed him by the shirt front and jerked him to his feet and said, “If anyone else comes snooping around my place, I’m coming for you, no questions asked, and I can really get rough. If there are any doubts in your mind, you need to think about what happened to your goons. Do you understand?”

His eyes were bulging, his face was turning red and perspiration was popping out all over his bald head. He managed a weak “Yes” and I shoved him back into the chair, left the office and headed for the mountains.

Friday afternoon arrived and so did Marianne. She really loved cooking and I enjoyed eating, so we made a pretty good team.

Saturday morning we were walking in the woods, up near the northwest corner, when we heard the whistling, loud and clear and I knew we were near the source. We stepped right up to the rim of the canyon, got down on our hands and knees and leaned over the edge. About twenty-five feet down, there was, what appeared to be, a two foot ledge. I needed to get down there, but it looked very dangerous. If one should slip, it was a 250 foot fall to the rocky floor of the canyon. We returned to the cabin for the truck and some nylon rope. Back at the canyon, I attached the rope to the front of the truck,

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attached the other end around my waist and went hand over hand down to the ledge. I discovered a large, but thin, boulder with seven holes, of various sizes, drilled completely through. Within a few minutes I had it all figured out. I already knew the whistling occurred only when the north wind blew. A strong wind caused the large hole to whistle, on down to a slight breeze with the small hole. Each hole represented a musical note, “A” through “G”, depending on the velocity of the wind. The mystery was partially solved, but I wondered, “Who drilled those holes, when and how? Someone with a musical talent did it, long ago, but we’ll never know.”

“Hey, Marianne. Haul me up.” She shifted the truck into reverse and slowly backed away until I reached the rim of the canyon.

She asked, “Well, what did you find down there?” So I told her all about it, then she added, “Why don’t we just keep the secret?”

“Good idea. That’s the way it should be. Now, I’m ready for that delicious meal I smelled when we left the cabin.”

“Okay; let’s go.” And she flashed a big beautiful smile.

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I didn’t love her just for her good cooking. I loved her for a thousand reasons, the cooking was a bonus.

Time moved on, and the middle of September was upon us, and there was a chill in the late afternoon air. Marianne and I were strolling, hand in hand, through the forest, admiring the beautiful autumn colors, when she said, “You know; I could just stay on this mountain forever. It’s so beautiful and quiet and peaceful.”

“Well, if we were married, you could stay here forever.”

“Why, Tom Blackstone; did I hear a proposal of marriage?”

“You certainly did. So how about it?”

“Of course I’ll marry you.”

“When?”

“Let’s do it one month from today in that small Baptist Church at the foot of the mountains.”

“Sounds good to me.”

A month after the wedding, my new wife and I walked up to the Rock to view the sunset, but the cloud cover

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was too heavy and snow was falling on the mountains beyond the canyon. As we were strolling back to the cabin, a few flakes began falling on us, so we picked up our pace. A few minutes later, snow was really coming down, and we would have missed the cabin had there not been a light in the kitchen. We approached the front door and the north wind began to blow and the whistling could be heard.

Pretty soon, the aroma of fresh baked cookies filled the cabin. The sound of the cold north wind roaring through the trees and round the buildings caused me to shiver, and toss another log into the heater. I realized a blizzard was coming, but we were warm and snug in a well-built cabin. I was standing by the heater, warming my back-side when Marianne walked over and we embraced and I knew I would never spend another long, cold winter alone.

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House At The End Of The Road

FOREWORD

Our house was on the hillside at the end of the road. We were tenant farmers and operated an 80 acre farm. We raised most of the food we ate. I later joined the army and met up with my long lost love and the rest is history as you will see in this story.

A narrow one lane road branched off from the main road at a thirty degree angle and continued for a half mile. At the end of the road stood the Munson house, our house. There was no through traffic. When we spotted someone heading in our direction, we knew they were either lost, or coming to see us. The old unpainted house stood on a hill side. The front was just about a foot off the ground and the back was high enough for a wagon shelter. There was an eat-in kitchen, three bedrooms and a root cellar. Our parents’ bedroom was the "sitting room" and the kitchen was where we kids did our home work for school. We walked a mile, to our uncle's house, rain or shine, sleet or snow, to catch the school bus. On cold winter days, that was a very long mile, especially when the strong

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north west wind came roaring across the fields. When we reached the bus stop, our uncle, or some member of the family, would invite us to come inside the house to thaw. Sometimes, my aunt would prepare a cup of hot chocolate for each of us. Occasionally, on hot days, when we got off the bus in the afternoon, she would have a big pitcher of lemonade for her kids, and us. We never failed to thank her, even down to the smallest child, Louise. Until this day, many years later, I still dearly love that woman for her kind deeds.

One could go out the back door of the house, make a left turn, and follow a foot path for a quarter mile through the pasture, across the creek and continue through the woods to the main road, and our mail box. The postman wouldn't deliver to our house because we were the only family on the little road; or trail, as one might call it. I once asked my father why was this house at the end of the road. From him, I learned that the main road originally came right by the house, many years ago. The county decided to repair the road and also take out some curves. In our case, they "killed two birds with one stone". They moved the road to its present location, taking out a long curve, and saved the extra expense of building a bridge across the creek. Uncle Bill's property was also affected by the new road. The old road was in front of the house. The new road was

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moved to the rear of the house, between the house and barn, and it was a slight inconvenience.

We were tenant farmers and operated an eighty acre farm. The farm consisted of a four room house, a 25 acre forest, a 20 acre cotton allotment, a 10 acre pasture and 25 acres for raising hay, grain and other crops. The rent was three bales of cotton to the landlord, each October. We usually harvested 20-25 bales, so we were okay. At that time cotton was selling for about $100 per bale. Five years later, during the war, the price doubled.

About twenty yards north of the house, stood an old log barn with a shed attached to each side. Just behind the barn was the corn crib and pig pen. A few yards south of the house was a large vegetable garden, chicken roost, out house and the smoke house with a wood shed attached to each side, one shed for stove wood and the other for fire wood.

We raised most of our food; therefore, our grocery bill was usually less than $500 per year. Some of the neighbors thought we were wasting our money on clothing. They said. 'Them boys could wear overalls and the girls ought to wear home made dresses to school and church, like the other farm kids. They don't need them frilly clothes."

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Daddy always said, "I want my family to dress nicely for church and school. I don't want people looking down their noses at us because we are poor."

Well, I didn't think we were poor. We lived in a pretty good house, even though it didn't belong to us. We had four mules, a new wagon, a milk cow, plenty of food, nice clothes and everyone was in good health and seemed happy. Why, I figured we were just about the happiest family in the state of Georgia. There was one thing that had a dark side. I hated picking cotton, hated it with a passion. My back would get tired, the cotton burrs hurt my fingers, there was always a chance of bumping into a stinging worm and it took six weeks to gather the crop. But that was our money crop, that's how we made our living. One of my greatest wishes was that someone would invent a machine that would pick cotton.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning in May, 1938, when my father called out, "Sam, hitch the team to the wagon. It'll soon be time to leave."

"I already did, Daddy. The mules are raring to go."

Then I heard him say to my sisters. "Hurry up, girls. We don't want to be late for church. Let's hustle."

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Pretty soon, we were rolling. Mama and Daddy were on the wagon seat. Margaret and Louise, my younger sisters, were in straight back chairs. Carl and Emmet, my younger brothers, and I sat on the tail gate, all dressed in our best Sunday clothes. Our dog, Jack, trotted along just ahead of the mules, as if he knew where we were going. The distance from our house to the church was three miles, which required about 45 minutes travel time, and we never missed a Sunday, except during inclement weather. On those days, Daddy would read a few verses form the Bible, Mama would lead a prayer, Margaret would sing a song and that was our Sunday morning church service.

There were many cars in the church yard, but a few families still traveled with mules and wagons and horses and buggies. There was a hitching rail out to one side of the property to accommodate the teams. People who lived close by walked to church.

During the preacher's long sermon, I began to feel drowsy. I was too old to fall asleep in church. I was really fighting it, when I felt someone staring at me, so I looked to my left and a little behind, on the opposite side of the aisle, and there was a pretty girl, about my age, smiling at me. Immediately, she turned her face toward the front of the building. A few moments later, I turned to see her smiling again. This continued throughout the service. I really didn't remember

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anything the preacher said since my attention was on the smiling girl in lieu of the sermon.

After the church service was over, and people were outside, talking, visiting, gossiping, etc., a couple walked up to my parents and the lady said, "We are Mary and Harold Gooch. Aren't you the people who live in the house at the end of the road?"

Mama said, "Yes. We are the Munsons, June & Jake, and we are glad to meet you."

"We're having the preacher over for dinner and would like for your family to join us."

Mama said, "My goodness; that sounds great! But there are seven of us."

"That's okay. We have plenty."

Then Daddy cut in, "But we have the mules."

Mr. Gooch responded with, "That's no problem. Even though we drive a car, there's a hitching rail out back of the house beneath the shade of a large oak tree, so the mules will be fine. Go down the road a quarter mile, take the second left, and we're the third house on your right. We'll be waiting for you."

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Daddy said, "We'll be there in a few minutes."

We arrived at the Gooch home, parked the mules and wagon at the hitching rail, walked onto the front porch and guess who answered the door. It was the pretty girl who spent her time smiling at me during the preaching hour.

"My name is Clara Gooch. Ya'll come in and make yourselves comfortable. Mama's helping the cook with the last minute things and Daddy's checking on the ice cream." The family lived in a large white antebellum house which stood on a twenty acre plot at the edge of town. For some unknown reason, that house, along with several others was spared when Sherman burned his way through Georgia during the Civil War. The Gooch house was well preserved and had all the modern conveniences of that day and time.

Mr. Gooch asked the preacher to give thanks for the food; and he did. He not only thanked God for the food, but for all the blessings he could think of and he prayed for all the church members, the citizens of the town and community, the president, the governor and all the politicians. He prayed so long, Donald, the Goodies ten year old son, fell asleep and toppled off the chair, just as the preacher said "amen". During the fall, Donald grabbed the window curtain and it came down,

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covering him. While threshing around, trying to free himself of his covering, the curtain rod struck and overturned a glass of water, which fell and soaked the unfortunate boy as he uttered a few profane words.

Mr. Gooch asked, "Son, are you having a problem?"

"No, sir. I'm okay, now." And I was about to die, trying to hold back the laughter.

His mother asked, "Donald, what's the matter with you?"

"I don't know. I must have fallen asleep." Then everyone laughed, except Mrs. Gooch, the preacher and his wife. I didn't have to hold back any longer, so I let it roar. The preacher was a very fine fellow and I really liked him, but he certainly was long-winded.

Mrs. Gooch apologized to the guests and said, "Donald, come with me;" and they left the room. Then I felt sorry for him and wished I hadn't laughed. A few minutes later, they returned, each with a solemn look on their face. I didn't see any tears so I guess it turned out alright.

We enjoyed a delicious meal with home made ice cream for dessert. When we were all finished, Donald,

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who had regained his composure, suggested, "Hey, ya'll come with me to our new pond. We can feed the ducks and fish and watch 'em swim."

As we young people were strolling along, I asked, "Clara, will you go with me to the picture show next Saturday afternoon?" I was sixteen and had never dated a girl so I thought it was time for me to get going.

"Do you have a car?"

"No, we don't really need one. It's only a mile from your house and we could enjoy the walk.""My boyfriend, Roger Cline, has a car.""That squirt is your boyfriend?""He's not a squirt. He's very nice.""Then, how come you been smiling at me?""Because I like you, but I like Roger better.""So, if I had a car, you might like me better?""You got it! I'd drop him like a hot potato. Say, you catch on pretty fast for a farm boy.""Gee, thanks. Now, how about next Saturday?""Based on the conversation that we've just had, I think the answer is obvious; don't you?""I guess that means 'no'.""Hey, you're right again."I really needed a car. I was old enough to drive but there was just one thing wrong. We didn't have anything to drive; except mules. As we walked along, I

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attempted to hold her hand a couple of times but she just pulled away and smiled. I spent the next two hours trying to convince Clara that she should go to the theater with me next Saturday. Roger and his car won the battle. It was then time to go home.

A few minutes after we left the Gooch home, I asked my father, "Daddy, why do you think they invited us to dinner?"

"Son, it's a long story. A few years ago, things were really rough for farmers. There was a flu epidemic that killed a lot of people. Then there was the boll weevil that slipped in on us without any warning, and a drought that almost wiped out the cotton crops. Also, there was the stock market crash in 1929. You remember some of this? Many people lost their farms and homes. I didn't have anything, so I didn't lose anything. I just had to hustle to keep bread on the table for a wife and kids, and sometimes we had some mighty lean meals, but we survived. If it had not been for squirrels, rabbits, turtles and fish, we would have gone hungry many times. And another thing, we've always been blessed with good health, for which I'm very thankful. Getting back to the story: the banks really took advantage of the people by foreclosing and calling in the loans. The farmers couldn't come up with the money and lost everything. Some of the land

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owners became tenants on their own land. The old banker, Mr. Biddle, retired a few months ago and Mr. Gooch came from Athens to fill the position. The bank doesn't want to sell the farms at this time because they think the price of land will go up, yet they are tired of being the landlord. Mr. Gooch wants me to manage seven farms for a salary of eighty dollars a month with free house rent and a truck."

"Are you gonna take the job?"

"I'm thinking about it."

Monday morning we began planting cotton seed. With two mules and the drag harrow, I covered 20 acres in two days. Daddy distributed fertilizer with the third mule and Emmet did the planting with the fourth mule. It was Carl's responsibility to keep seed and fertilizer in the hoppers, and that was a two and a half day job. School was still in session, so I attended on Wednesday, and on Thursday, my brothers returned. On a Saturday, in the middle of May, we planted the corn crop.

Two weeks later, school was out and I was wondering if my father had reached a decision on his job offer, so I asked him."Well, here's the way I figure it. We usually clear around $1500 a year after fertilizer, seed and poison.

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He's offering me $80.00 a month. You do the math. And another reason; I'm planning to buy a farm and go into the dairy business within the next few years. One day you kids will be leaving the nest, and your mother and I can't handle a 20 acre cotton field, so I need to make plans. Does that make sense?"

"Yes sir."

That summer the Rural Electrical Association brought electricity to many of the rural homes and life on the farm became easier. (But I still hated picking cotton.) The REA attached the cables to the house and the home owner paid a private company to wire the house. My father asked the landlord, Mr. Perkins, if he would take care of the expense.

Mr. Perkins answered, "I ain't putting out a dime on that shack. I don't care if it's wired or not, I just want my rent and three bales of cotton, every October. I got other worries besides fooling with trash like you."

"Now, you look here. I take offence to that statement. We may be poor, but we're not trash. That's a good way to get your head busted."So, Mr. Perkins left in a huff and my father paid the fifty dollars and as a favor from the electric company, they put an outdoor light in the barnyard.

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One of my favorite pastimes was walking in the woods and I was doing just that, on one fine day in June, when I decided to explore some unfamiliar territory. I walked past our mailbox, crossed the main road, through a neighbor's cornfield and then through his cotton field into a great hardwood forest, with a few scattered cedars. As I walked along I noticed how quiet it was; nothing but my footsteps, the breeze sighing among the trees and occasionally, a crow calling to his friends. Eventually I came out of the woods into a vegetable garden. A few yards away, there stood a girl with a hoe in her hands. As she walked toward me, I began to retreat back into the woods. She said, "Don't go away. I won't hurt ya. I'm just using this hoe to weed the garden. It's not for hittin people." She walked right up to me and asked, "What's your name?"

"Sam."

"My name is Virginia Emerson but they call me 'Ginny'. So, Sam, what are you doing here?"

"Just walking in the woods."

"Were you spying on me?"

"Oh, no! I wouldn't do that."

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"You don't talk much, do ya?"

"I don't know what to say. It's just that I've never seen a girl like you. I guess you sort of took my breath away."

"Oh boy! You don't talk much, but when you do, you really know what to say. You're making me blush."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"I probably should say 'thanks'. How old are you, Sam?"

"I turned 16 on April first. How old are you?"

"I'll be 16 on the fifth of October. Our house is just around the corner and that's our cotton field across the road. I must go before Mama starts searching for me. My parents think I'm not old enough to be talking to boys, so you don't need to be seen hanging around. Can you come again?"

"Yeah. How about tomorrow around two o'clock?"

"Okay. I'll meet you a little farther back in the woods. I don't want anybody sneaking up on us."

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During the return trip home, I kept thinking of the treasure I had found. She had blonde wavy hair that looked to be as soft as silk, big blue eyes, always a little mischievous smile and her complexion was as smooth as "peaches and cream”. She was dressed in blue jeans and a red and white polka dot blouse, which added to the "package." I just didn't know they made girls that looked like that. Man, I was walking on cloud nine!

Next day at two o'clock, I was standing in the edge of the woods, looking across the garden, wondering if she would show when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I almost jumped out of my shoes. It was Ginny and she was laughing. Her laughter sounded like sweet music. "Did I scare ya?""You sort of startled me. I didn't hear ya sneaking up on me."

"I always walk quietly in the forest. I can teach you to do it if ya like. It will take some time and you'll never be as good as me, but you'll be pretty good. It's a gift I inherited from my ancestors. Let's move deeper into the woods. I told Mama I was going for a long walk, so she won't be expecting me back right away."

We sat on a fallen tree trunk and talked; well, she talked and I listened and enjoyed her musical voice, and I kept thinking how lucky I was. "Sam", she said, "Do you have a girl friend?"

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"No." Then I told her of my experience with Clara while she listened intently.

"And she wouldn't walk a mile with you to the picture show? What's wrong with that girl? If I was 16, I'd walk with you to the theater and that's five miles from my house."

"I sure wish you were my girl friend."

"Why, I am your girl friend. Haven't you noticed?"

"Well, I was hoping, but I wasn't sure."

Then she almost shocked the socks off me with, "Sam, have you ever kissed a girl?"

"No. Have you ever kissed a boy?"

"No, but I hid behind the door and watched my older sister, Sharon, and her boy friend, so I know how it's done. Want me to show ya?"

"Yeah." And before I could say anything else, she was showing me, and it was the best feeling I'd ever had. Finally, I said, "I could hold you like this forever."

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She answered, "Nobody's stopping ya."

During the next several weeks, I visited Ginny often. We walked in the woods and she taught me to walk quietly, and I became pretty good at it. She showed me a good fishing hole and a large muscadine vine loaded with fruit that would ripen in early autumn.

One day as I was leaving the house, Mama asked, "Sam. Where do you go every afternoon?"

I hesitated for a few seconds and decided it was okay to trust her. "I'm seeing a girl who is teaching me to walk in the woods without making a sound."

She laughed really loud and said, "Sam, you beat all! Are you sure that's all she's teaching you? How old is this girl and who is she? Where does she live?"

Then I told her all about Ginny, except for the kissing part, and added," I wish you could see her; and you will someday. I think you'd like her. I love her and she loves me and we're gonna get married when we're twenty-one."

"Well, I'm glad you're gonna wait. You're a good level-headed fellow and I hope it works out for ya."

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Most good things will end sooner or later. Ginny and I were strolling through the woods, hand in hand, when suddenly, we were not alone. Her two brothers, Kermit and Cledith stepped into our pathway, each pointing a shot gun toward me. Kermit said, "Boy, you taking advantage of our sister? We're gonna give you a whippin. We'll tie ya to a fence post and lay the cane to ya, forty licks less one, the Bible says. That means we git to hit ya thirty-nine times. This is gonna be fun”.

Ginny came to my defense with, "Leave him alone. We didn't do anything wrong, we were just holding hands." She cried and pleaded for my life all the way to their back door, but to no avail.

Cledith said, "We're gonna have some fun with this boy and if you don't stay out of it, we'll whip you, too." We arrived at their house and Mrs. Emerson came out and demanded to know what was going on.

Kermit answered, "We found them in the woods and he was takin advantage of her, and we wanna give him a whippin."

Ginny cut in with, "Ma, we were just holding hands. That's all; so can he go?"

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"We'll wait til yore pa gits home. He'll decide what's to be done." And to her sons, "Put him in the corn crib and bar the door. Git them mules outta the corn field and fix the fence. While yore out there, git a fresh cane for the whippin. Yore pa will probably want that."

Cledith said, "Ma, maybe Pa will give Ginny a whippin, too. That'd be fun."

"Ain't nobody whippin my girl. She said she didn't do nothing wrong and I believe her. Now git them mules outta the cornfield before they ruin the entire crop."

Ginny and her mother went into the house and I was shoved into the corn crib. I heard the bar fall into place and all was quiet. Man, I was in a mess! I thought I'd probably be killed and my body dumped into some river or lake. I figured they were too mean or too lazy to bury me.

I had been in prison for about fifteen minutes when I detected some movement outside, close by. I peeped through a crack in the wall and saw a little girl, maybe five or six years old, carrying a stick, walking toward the door. With the stick, she slowly raised the bar and I was almost free. She stepped back and I eased the door open and crept out. I said, "Thank you, little girl."

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"My name is Sally. You better run real fast." And I did. If I could make it to the woods, I'd be safe. I ran like the wind, expecting every second to hear a shot- gun blast! But the boys were busy with the mules, Ginny and her mother were inside the house and Sally was watching me run; and I made it.

In 1938 and a few years following, cotton was big in north Georgia and most families planted more than they could harvest. The school term began in the middle of August and temporarily stopped in Mid-September so kids could help with the harvest. At the beginning of the third week in October, school resumed, even though there was still cotton in some fields. But we worked on Saturdays and a few hours after school and eventually the harvest was complete. Many city children, who didn't have part time jobs would come out to the fields and earn 2 l/2 cents per pound for their efforts. I hated the cotton fields, but I was a good picker. At age 16, I could harvest more than 400 pounds in one day; and so could my father and mother. My brothers and sisters picked less, but they did their best.

During the harvest, Daddy would leave home before daylight with two mules and a wagon load of cotton, which, when ginned was one bale. Daddy always returned around noon. Meanwhile, we were filling another wagon rented from the gin owner for two

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dollars a week. The next morning he would take the rented wagon to the gin, and so it went, throughout the harvest.

Along about the middle of September, I got brave and decided to visit Ginny again. I really had missed her. I was standing in the edge of the woods, looking out across the garden, which was just about dried up, when some one touched me on the arm. It was Ginny and she was laughing, as usual. "Scared you, didn't I?"

"No, I go around jumping three feet high just for the fun of it." Then I took her in my arms and we kissed and I said, "I've really missed you."

"I've missed you too, and I'm so glad you came today. We're moving tonight. We have everything packed and ready to go. The truck will be here about dark."

"Oh, my! Where ya moving to?"

"Somewhere in Alabama. That's all I can get out of my parents. I've asked forty times, but they just say Alabama. I can only stay a few minutes. They think I'm at the chicken house."

We kissed goodbye and held each other until we heard, "Ginny, where are you?"

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She said, "We'll meet again someday; I don't know when or how, but we will. So you hang onto that thought and stay away from Miss Gooch." She was gone like a flash and I was heartbroken. That was the worst "hurting" I had ever experienced. Clara Gooch was the furthest thing from my mind. When I first met Ginny, I forgot about Clara and never asked her to go with me to the theater again. I just hung around with my friend, Rayford, after Ginny moved away.

Meanwhile, back to the cotton harvest, which I hated so much. We worked hard from Monday morning til Saturday noon, then we were allowed to ride on the cotton wagon to town while Daddy drove on to the gin. There were two gins in the large tin building, so the waiting line moved along pretty good. On those trips, Daddy gave each kid a dollar to spend as we saw fit. I usually met Rayford at the hamburger joint. He lived in town, so he was always hanging around. We ate a hamburger and washed it down with a Ne-Hi orange soda or an R.C. Cola, then went to the picture show and had a bag of popcorn. We usually visited Johnson's Hardware Store, Western Auto and Taylor's Drug Store for ice cream; all for less than a dollar each.

Time rolled on and I graduated from high school the following year. My father asked, "Sam, whatcha gonna do?"

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"I'm gonna help you make and harvest the crops this fall, then join the army."

"I hate to see you go, but if that's whatcha wanna do, I won't stand in the way. You've been a fine son and I'm proud of ya. You've never caused us any trouble and I appreciate that. You'll make a good soldier."

The fall of '39 came and went. All the crops were harvested and sold or stored, the wood-sheds were full, the hog had been slaughtered and cured and winter was corning on, a cold winter. We made paste from water and flour and pasted newspaper on the inside north and west walls, and that helped to keep the wind from blowing through the cracks.

We made a good cotton crop that year, so Daddy broke down and spent $75.00 for a 1928 Ford truck. We were moving up in the world. I drove the truck to town to enlist in the army, but the recruiting Sergeant said, "Sorry, son. We don't need any more men until the fifth of January. Come back then and you'll be first on the list."

I enjoyed Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's with the family then it was time to go. The recruiting Sergeant visited our small town only once each month and I was there early to make sure I didn't miss the bus.

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Three other guys appeared shortly after my arrival and the four of us boarded a bus for Atlanta where we were sworn in.

Next day another bus took us to Fort Jackson, South Carolina where we spent several days while they were trying to decide if we were fit for the army. After a lot of paperwork and processing, they finally rejected four people.

Four days later, a group of us boarded a bus for Camp Gordon, Georgia; where we spent two months in basic training. We were issued military clothing, rifles, and equipment and were introduced to army food. That's where we became soldiers.

Since I was an expert rifleman, I was sent to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, for advanced infantry training, along with twenty other guys. Two months later we moved again. It seemed we were on permanent maneuvers; in Florida, Montana, Texas, New Mexico, Washington state and Louisiana, and I enjoyed all of my travels. I think we slept on the ground more than our cots.

I always liked fireworks, so along the way I picked up a few pointers on demolition, then I got some formal training in that field. I was first, a rifleman and

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secondly a demolition expert. I learned how to blow up things.

My discharge date was getting close when the sneaky Japs bombed Pearl Harbor. The next day, December 8, 1941 the U.S. declared war on Japan.

The war waged on and during the last few days our unit was assigned to guard a bridge from the enemy. We prepared our strategy as the enemy approached us. We had them surrounded and the Sarge ordered us to take another direction that would leave the bridge open to the enemy.

"Sarge, ya gonna let 'em get away? If that tank gets across, we’ll be dead. We won’t stand a chance. And suppose this thing malfunctions."

"Shut up, Flowers. I know what I'm doing. Another word out of you, and I'm gonna pop you up side the head."

Tank number two rolled onto the bridge, and four seconds later, I pressed the plunger down. A truck, two tanks, and forty enemy soldiers were history, and we high-tailed it back to our 3A ton, and headed for the company, five miles away.

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I sort of felt bad about blowing up that bridge. It was a fine piece of work and many months were probably spent in the construction; and we destroyed it in one second. They say, "All is fair in love and war", and I had my orders, even though I didn't always understand. Later, I learned that a colonel was reprimanded for having ordered the destruction of that bridge.

That was only one of many of the difficult tasks I performed. Corporal Reid once asked, "Sgt. Munson, why do you volunteer for these dangerous missions? Why take so many chances?"

"It's like this. Some of the guys have wives, some have wives and kids, and some are young with no experience. And, anyway, I like to do it. It kinda gives me a thrill."

"Some day you might not come back, and me and the guys would probably miss ya. You could easily be killed."

"Well, in that case, I'd just go home to be with Jesus."

Another time, in another country, but the same war, I overheard our commanding officer say, "I certainly would like to know what's beyond that hill."

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"Pardon me, Sir." I said, "I too would like to know what's over there. With your permission I'll go over and check it out."

"Go ahead, Sergeant. Just be very careful, and take as many men as you need."

"Sir, I had rather go alone."

"Very well. It's your neck."

When darkness fell, I took a pistol, bayonet and some explosives and crept quietly through the woods toward the hill; and I thought of the training I received from Ginny. From the hill-top, I spotted many lights in the enemy camp. As I drew nearer to my destination, I began to take stock of the surroundings. I seemed to have discovered a rifle company since there were no tanks nor heavy artillery. I estimated the group to be 200 strong, about the size of ours. Two hours later, after eliminating three guards, I went to work. I planted explosives under the fuel truck, ammo truck, and the food truck, and worked my way out of the camp, eliminating two more guards as I moved along. I was a half mile from the Germans when I heard three loud explosions.

Next morning at daybreak, we stormed onto the enemy camp only to find it completely deserted, except for the

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wreckage that I caused the night before. So we won that battle without losing a man, nor firing a shot.

The month of May, 1945, was upon us, but on that particular day we were not really enjoying the fine weather. The fighting was intense and casualties were heavy. We had lost over half our men along with our Lieutenant, and a young, inexperienced, 2nd Lieutenant was leading us, or you might say, getting us killed. We came upon an enemy machine gun nest and four more of our men were mowed down before we could take cover. Lt. Blanks said, "Alright, everybody, get ready to rush 'em when I give the order."

Then I spoke up, "Sir, that's not the way to do it. We'll all be killed."

"May I remind you, I'm a commissioned officer and you're only a master sergeant. We'll do it my way. Now, everybody get ready."

"But Sir; with all due respect, you're new at this and I've been doing it over three years and never lost a man. Won't you please reconsider?"

"I'll remember that at your court-martial, Sgt. Now, let's go, men!"

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We rushed forward and lost another ten men, including the Lt. who died instantly.

I was the highest ranking man in the group, so I immediately took charge, and yelled, "Everybody back off. Take cover behind those boulders and trees." When everyone was safe I continued, "A few days ago we had 160 men, now we have only have 40. I don't intend to lose the rest of ya, so here's how we'll do it. Fletcher, you and Evans circle around and approach the enemy from the left. Creek, you go with me to the right. When ya get close enough, toss a grenade into the nest. The rest of ya give us as much firepower as possible. Really keep 'em busy. If I don't make it back, Sgt. Cook will be your leader. Three more companies will be here shortly and we must clear the way for them. They won't have time to be fooling around with an enemy machine gun nest.

Upon my signal, thirty-six M-l rifles began firing as we four men left cover on a dead run toward our target. We had covered half the distance before the Germans realized what was happening, then they turned their machine toward Evans and Fletcher and began firing. As I ran, a strange thought came to mind. I was thinking of Ginny and the house at the end of the road. Within seconds, Fletcher and Evans were down, and Creek and I were facing the machine gun, but it had malfunctioned. We were running like a couple of cats

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with their tails a-fire, when our opponents quickly grabbed their rifles and began firing at us. I looked back and saw Creek on the ground, then I caught a bullet in the right calf. I limped and staggered along as best I could and was hit again, in the left shoulder. It was now or never. I got to my feet and, with my teeth, pulled the pin and tossed the hand grenade toward the enemy.

Suddenly, all was quiet, so quiet one could hear a pin drop. I realized my eyes were closed, so I slowly opened them and as things began to come into focus, I was staring at the face of the loveliest angel one could ever imagine. Finally, after all the hard work, heartaches, the pain, the turmoil, etc., I was in Heaven. I had always done a good job in everything I'd tried to do and I knew I would go to Heaven some day, but not quite this early in life. Now I was ready to enjoy my rewards. Then the angel spoke my name. She merely said, "Sam."

The voice sounded vaguely familiar. I looked at the label on her nurse's uniform; Lt. Virginia Emerson. I exclaimed, "Ginny, my darling Ginny! At last, I found you; or you found me!" Then she leaned down and kissed me, the kiss that she taught me seven years ago.

A soldier, across the aisle, said, "Hey, why don't I get a kiss from the pretty nurse?"

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She answered, "Cool it soldier. This is my fiancé."

"Lucky guy."

I asked, "Ginny, why is my head bandaged, and why do I have a terrible headache?"

"According to the report from Sgt. Cook, you were the only one of the four left standing and as you let go of the hand grenade, an enemy bullet creased the left side of your skull. No permanent damage, but it was enough to knock you out for three days, which gave me enough time to figure out who you were. You lost a lot of blood from the shoulder wound and would have died had there not been a good medic close by who knew what to do. In case you're wondering; the grenade fell right in the middle of the nest, killing all four German soldiers. You cleared the path for your men and the three following companies to march on to victory. The war with Germany came to an end the next day, and that's all I know."

"Ginny, how did you happen to be in this war-torn country?""It's a long story but I'll give you a shorter version. I graduated from high school and went on to nursing school in Birmingham. In 1943, I joined the Army Nursing Corps for two years, and like you, I must go

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where I'm needed. I finished my training while working for the military. Since my fiancé was not around, I spent all my spare time studying and now I'm a registered nurse and a lieutenant. I was scheduled to go home and be discharged from the service next week, but since I found you, I decided to stay for two more weeks. I traded places with a girl who was just dying to go home. I must get back to work. I'll visit you every day as long as we're here." Then she leaned down and kissed me again.

Next morning I had another visitor, Colonel Thomas; and he brought ribbons and medals. After a few kind words from the colonel, I said, "Sir, I was just doing my job; doing what I was paid to do."

"Oh, but you've done much more than that. I have something else for you." And while all the other wounded men and nurses listened, he made a long speech which ended with, "and because of your outstanding leadership, your many acts of bravery and your ability to get the job done while keeping your men alive, I bestow upon you the battlefield commission of Captain. When you're able to be up and dressed, Lt. Emerson can pin the bars on your uniform. Good luck, Captain, and thank you."

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I said, "Thank you, Sir." I looked beyond the colonel and saw my smiling angel.

She said, "Congratulations. Now, you're a captain. How do you feel about that?"

"Well, I've been in the army almost five and a half years. Since I'm a captain, I think I'll re-enlist for another five years. Why, I might become a general some day."

"Oh no you don't! We're going home and getting married and be together forever. We've been apart for seven years and I thought I'd lost you. We're not taking any more chances. As a matter of fact, I just might not pin these captain's bars on your clothing.

"Ya know, I think I like your idea better than mine; and the sooner, the better, but I would like to be a captain for a few weeks." And she turned on her million dollar smile.

Ginny visited me three times a day, every day, until she shipped out for the States. Four days later, I followed on another ship. On the eleventh day, we touched American soil and I caught a plane for Ft. Jackson, S.C. where I was discharged from the army. I walked with a limp, which would finally go away. The scar on the left

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side of my head would be covered with hair in a couple of months; otherwise I was in excellent health.

I arrived in our hometown, by bus, and took the only taxi to the house at the end of the road. The old house was gone, the ground had been leveled and a large brick structure stood in its place. A lump came into my throat for just a few seconds, then it went away.

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The Ghost Train

FOREWORD

A hundred years ago, in south west Tennessee, a train traveled from Moscow to Somerville hauling passengers, livestock, firewood and all sorts of freight, making several stops along the way. The train departed Moscow around 6 or 7 A.M., for Somerville and returned about 12 hours later. It was referred to as "Old Mike", for the man who operated the engine, and the railroad bore the name Memphis-Charleston. The railroad was completed in 1856, but due to America's love for automobiles and the Great Depression, the train was discontinued and the rails removed in 1929. There just wasn't enough "rail riders" to keep the train operating at a profit.

One of the freight cars and a handcar stands on the property of Mrs. Betty Jean Price, not far from the old railroad bed. A small part of a trestle is still visible behind the home of John and Barbara Carlyle. A road going west from Williston is named "Price Road' in honor of the Price family, long time residents of the area. To the best of my knowledge, the words that you have read are true, but the following story is fiction.

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From inside Craig's General Store, in the small town of Williston, we heard the train whistle, two miles south, as Old Mike chugged along, heading in our direction. The train consisted of the engine, of course, a passenger car that would seat forty people, a livestock car, a freight car, a flat bed, and the caboose. Occasionally, during fair weather, there would be more than forty people, so some of the young men would ride the flat car. If the conductor was in a good mood he might share the caboose with the crowd. During those particular times, there was talk of adding a second passenger car, but the owners of the Memphis-Charlestown Railroad put their foot down and that was the end of that story, so it never happened. When cold weather prevailed, two seats were removed from the passenger car and a temporary wood heater was installed.

Craig's General Store, the largest business in Williston, was a gathering place for the local people who had nothing else to do. They would sit around, chewing tobacco, playing checkers, and telling all sorts of tales, which were mostly lies. One could also keep abreast of all the local news. As a matter of fact, everyone knew everything about everyone; well almost. The store, which smelled of new leather and tobacco, carried just about everything one would need, or want. If they didn't have it they would special order it, and seemed happy to

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do so. The store, which employed four people, also served as a U.S. Post Office and train depot.

Mr. Craig also owned a cotton gin two blocks from the store. Local farmers hauled their cotton in to be ginned, then Mr. Craig would buy it and ship it, by rail, to the cotton mill in Somerville, where it was turned into cloth.

That particular morning, January 8, 1903, was also my 23rd birthday. The weather was bitter cold, fifteen degrees, but I struggled along through the darkness, making my way to the general store. The north east wind was roaring through the pines, and it was the kind of wind that chilled one to the bone. I walked a quarter mile from our house, just outside the town, to the store, where I boarded the train for Somerville and my job at the cotton mill, and sometimes that quarter mile seemed like a mile. Because of the darkness, I couldn't see, but I could feel a snowflake on my face, occasionally, and I picked up my pace a bit.

I had just about thawed out when we heard the train outside the door, the brakes squealing and the engine huffing and puffing as it came to a complete stop. We boarded the dimly lit coach and had to stop in the aisle, for a moment, while Russell Mathis stoked the fire in the heater. In the meantime, I spotted Katie Miller and a vacant seat beside her, so when Russell finished with the fire, I hurriedly made my way to that particular seat She

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was nineteen years old, tall, long black hair, big brown eyes, and a figure like an hour glass, but she almost never smiled. I asked, "May I sit here?" "I would be disappointed if you didn't".

Across the aisle sat her mean brother, Leon. He stared at me for a few seconds, then snarled, "Boy, that's my sister, so you keep yu hands to yuself." I noticed something a little strange about Leon. On his left trouser leg, there was a small purple patch. In our part of the country it was customary for men and boys to wear patched clothing, but we usually tried to match up the colors. Katie whispered, "Just ignore him. He's a nut".I knew if we came to blows, I could easily take him. I was six four, out weighed him by forty pounds and was in good physical condition, so I didn't worry about Leon Miller. But I did have feelings for his sister, and didn't care who knew it. She worked as a secretary in the cotton mill and I was the foreman over one line, and could move around a bit, so I saw her occasionally during the course of the day. I didn't think she felt as strongly about me as I did her, but I intended to change that in the very near future.

Leon had a "loose screw in the upper story", but was smart enough to hold a regular job at McBean's Livery

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Stable. He liked to fight, but lost about as many battles as he won. He and his sister lived with their parents in a nice little house in Moscow, thirteen miles south of Somerville, where Mr. Miller was a furniture maker. He tried to teach his son the trade, but Leon just couldn't understand any part of it. He was happiest when in the woods or swamp, alone.

Old Mike rolled into the Somerville Depot at ten til seven, and the passengers quickly left the train and headed for their prospective jobs or professions. Katie and I walked together to the mill, and I noticed Leon watching us. Again, she said, "Don't worry about him. Just ignore him." And the snow was really coming down as we entered the factory.

After a full days work, we boarded the train at five ten and headed south. The snow had stopped falling, but we had eleven inches on the ground and that was a big snow for us. Katie and I managed to sit together and I searched the coach for Leon, but couldn't locate him and that was fine. I saw, away in the back, in a dark corner, what appeared to be an old hunched-over man with a bandana covering his face, I figured for warmth; and dismissed him from my mind and turned toward more pleasant thoughts.

Just about a mile before the Williston stop, the old hunch-back arose, with a .45 pistol in his hand, a sock

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cap on his head and the bandana pulled high around his face, except he wasn't hunched over anymore. He shouted, "Okay, this is Friday, payday, and I'm gonna let ya’ll pay me." He jerked the hat off the nearest man. "We'll pass the hat around and evah body put in all yu money. If ya’ll try any funny business, I'll blow yu head off." He did a good job of disguising his voice, but I knew him anyway. When he came along by my side, I saw the purple patch on his trousers and almost called his name, but held my tongue. Without any apparent reason, he slapped me across the face, a real hard blow, but I managed to restrain myself. It was Leon, not a doubt in my mind. While he was busy slapping me, Cliff Martin slowly drew a gun from underneath his coat, but Leon saw him and fired, killing him immediately. Women screamed, men yelled and cursed, and Leon became excited and jumped from the train before it came to a complete stop, leaving a big portion of the money behind. Three men ran into the general store and borrowed guns and lanterns from Mr. Craig, and the chase was on.

The small posse had no trouble tracking Leon until the trail led to the main road and mixed and mingled with heavy horse and buggy traffic. I stayed at the store a good half hour before going home. I didn't mind meeting up with Leon, but I had second thoughts about the .45 that had just killed Cliff Martin. Mr. Craig telegraphed

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the sheriff in Somerville, the county seat, with the bad news. Finally I decided it was safe to travel and hit the road.

A few minutes later, as I entered the house, my mother asked, "Jim Rumford, where in the world have you been? You're almost an hour late for supper, but we waited." The kitchen was warm and cozy and the coffee smelled so good. We had peas, cornbread, potatoes, turnip greens, ham and a large slice of my birthday cake, baked by my mother. We only ate "high on the hog" on special occasions, and around our house, birthday celebrations were special; so were Sunday dinners, and all holidays. We were the Rumford family. I'm Jim and there's my older brother, George, his wife, Ella, their seven year old son, Melvin and my Mother, Mattie. We lived in a big house, not a mansion, just a big old house with a large eat-in kitchen, dining room, sitting room and six bedrooms. One of the bedrooms was used as a sewing room for Ella, a very good seamstress.

My father was killed five years earlier by a robber, and the robber was gunned down by my brother, George. George was arrested, went on trial the next day and was set free by a twelve man jury. My mother inherited the house and twenty acres of land, and George assumed head of the family, which was agreeable by all family members. I dropped out of college and went to work at the cotton mill. My mother did most of the cooking and

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the other household chores were shared with Ella. George did a small bit of farming, but spent most of his time cutting cross-ties for the railroad. I brought home seven dollars a week from the mill, and there was Ella's sewing, and with the vegetable garden and orchard, we made a pretty good living.

While we enjoyed a delicious supper, I related the story of the train robbery.When I finished talking, George said, "And you think you know the robber?""I've never been more certain of anything. There's no doubt.""Mama said, "Somebody's in serious trouble. Cliff Martin was a well-liked man and the law is not likely to let this go. Jim, are you going to tell them what you told us?' "If I do, that'll be the end of Katie and me. But, yes, I'll have to tell what I know and take a chance on my love life."

Saturday morning, I walked out to the store and asked, "Mr. Craig, could we send a telegram to the sheriff and keep it kinda quiet, just between you and me?""Sure. Just write down what you want to say and nobody'’ll know.""Here it is. Sheriff, you need to come see me about the robbery and murder, and my name, of course."

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"Okay, I'll take care of it right now. And there's no charge."'I thought about using the telephone, but there's too many people listening in, and this doesn't need to get out yet".

"It's just as well. The telephone's not working today. I think snow pulled some of the lines down. It will probably be a week getting them fixed." "Well, I gotta go. See you later, and thanks, Mr. Craig."Saturday afternoon, there was a knock at the door. I answered and it was Sheriff Walls. "Well, hello Sheriff. Come in and sit by the fire. How'd you get out here?" "Train made a special run for me. He'll be back, heading north, in a little while. I borrowed a horse from Craig, to make the final leg of the trip. We had better get down to business. I don't want to keep Old Mike waiting, since he did me a great favor. You asked to see me about the incident on the train yesterday. Why do you suppose he slapped you and nobody else?""Because he doesn't like me sitting with his sister." "Hold on a minute! Do you mean to tell me that you know who it was?" "Betcha my bottom dollar." "Alright, let's have it", said the sheriff."It was Leon Miller. Three clues. First of all, I recognized his voice, even though he tried to disguise it. Secondly, I noticed a purple patch on his pants during our trip to Somerville and that same patch was on the

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robber's pants. Then there was that slap across the face. And by the way, if you don't arrest him for the crime, I'm gonna beat the tar out of him for striking me while on the train.""Wait a minute. We don't know that he committed the crime, yet. And what's the slap got to do with it?""Sheriff, he fairly hates my guts because I'm kinda sweet on Katie, his sister. That was just one way for him to vent his anger. One could just see the fire in his eyes." "Jim. May I call you Jim?' "Sure.""This has nothing to do with the case. I'm sorta new in the county and don't know many people. I was just wondering; you don't talk like the other people around here, so where are you from?"I had to grin just a little. "Sheriff, I was born and raised here. I've always lived in this very house, except for two years while I was away in law school. I dropped out when my father was killed.""So you're a lawyer. Maybe you can help me from time to time." "Oh, no! I'm not a lawyer, but I'll help you in any way I can.""The county prosecutor would probably give you a job, right now. I'll tell him about you. Well, I gotta go and make an arrest. Thanks, Jim!"

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Now, that sounded pretty good; working in a law office. I might make enough money to buy one of those Henry Ford cars.

Monday morning, as I boarded the train, I noticed Katie sitting with another woman, even though there were several vacant seats throughout the coach. As I approached, I said, "Good morning, Katie. How are you today?'Her reply was a very cool, "Fine".I wondered, "Now, what's the matter with her? We were okay this past Friday." Then it dawned on me. Somehow, she learned that I had turned her brother in to the law. It was just as I had figured earlier. Tell what I know about the robbery and murder and lose the girl or keep quiet and keep the girl. Still, I knew I did the right thing. After all, there are other girls. As they say, "The sea is full of fish."In the mill, I happened to turn a corner and came face to face with Katie. Immediately she started walking in the opposite direction, I overtook her and asked. "Katie, what's wrong?""You turned my brother in to the law. How would you like it if it was your brother?" "But, he robbed several people and killed a man during the process. Don't you think that's wrong?""He's my brother; and you should have stayed out of it". "I just told the sheriff what I saw and heard, same as all the other passengers. I don't think you should hold that

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against me." After a short hesitation, I continued, "Now, come on, let's be friends.""No! We can never be friends! I hate you! I will always hate you." "Do you hate all the people that got robbed?""You and I had a special relationship and I thought I could count on you. Because of you, my brother is in jail, awaiting trial for robbery and murder." "Now wait a minute, I had nothing to do with your brother's actions." "Just stay away from me and leave me alone." And she walked hurriedly back toward the office.

Two weeks later, the trial of Leon Miller was held at the courthouse in Somerville, the county seat. I was the star witness since I gave the most damaging testimony. The Prosecutor said, "Mr. Rumford, I want you to tell the court exactly what you saw and heard on the eighth of January, 1903, while on the train during the alleged robbery and murder. Then I'll ask you a few questions and so will the defense lawyer." The defense attorney didn't ask a few questions; he must have asked two hundred. He asked a few, two times, sometimes three, trying to trick me or catch me in a lie, but I stuck with the truth, and finally, three hours later, he asked the final stupid question.

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The trial lasted two days and while the jury deliberated, many people gathered in small groups in the hallways and talked about what should be done. There was even talk about lynching if things didn't go right. The sheriff put on extra deputies to control the crowd.During the second day, while I was in mourning over the loss of my true love, and waiting to hear the verdict, Mr. Judd Warner, the County Prosecutor, approached me and after a few minutes of small talk he said, "You know, Rumford, you might make a pretty good lawyer. Why don't you come to work for me? Double your salary and gain a lot of experience.""Well, I'd have to give the mill two weeks notice.""Why, of course. That'd only be fair. How about the second Monday in February?"I’ll be there."Then we heard a commotion in the hallway. Several people were shouting, "The jury is back." The courtroom quickly filled and the judge called order. He asked, "Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor.""What say ye?""We, the jury, find the defendant, Leon Miller, guilty of murder." There was a loud burst of applause, and the judge threatened to clear the courtroom in order to keep the noise down.Finally, when order was restored, the judge continued, "Leon Miller, I sentence you to hang by the neck until

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dead, at ten o'clock in the morning, on January 29, 1903. That's one week from today". Then to the audience, "Since Mr. Miller is getting the death penalty for murder, it will not be necessary to try him for robbery. The court stands adjourned."

On the morning of January, 29, 1903, the weather was very disagreeable; cold, and cloudy, with an occasional light mist of rain and a strong north wind. A new gallows stood a few feet from the south side of the courthouse, and the courtyard was overflowing with people. Many individuals hovered around the several fires that dotted the grounds. A few women and children took refuge from the cold weather by standing just inside stores and gazing at the proceedings through the glass windows. People came from miles around and it was an exciting time, with men drinking and betting on the time it would take for Leon to die. The way it worked was like this: The hangman pulls the lever and seconds are counted until the doctor pronounces the prisoner dead. The atmosphere was more like a picnic than a death sentence being carried out. Cliff Martin was a nice guy and had many friends, who were eager to see his killer hang, and so was I. I lost my girlfriend during the ordeal, but gained respect from the community for my testimony during the trial And because of all this, I would be starting a new, exciting career very soon, so I was feeling fine, when someone tapped me roughly on the shoulder. I

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spun around and stood face to face with Mr. Miller, Leon's father. He shouted, "Boy, I'm gonna kill you for this.""Mr. Miller, if you kill me, you'll hang, just like your son. Then what will you have accomplished?" Who will care for your wife? I know she's unable to work; and pretty soon Katie will marry and leave home, so you had better think about this. It's no fault of mine that your son got into trouble. My goodness, Mr. Miller! He not only robbed a train, he killed an innocent man, and you think he should go unpunished?"

Just then, the courthouse clock began striking and on the tenth strike, the hangman pulled the lever, which left Leon swinging, by the neck, in mid air, kicking and squirming. The noise from the crowd had died down completely. The wind had increased in velocity and sleet had begun to fall. Dr. Delete walked over, examined the body and simply said, "He's gone. Twenty-three seconds for those who are betting," As Leon's body swung in the wind, people nearby could hear his boots clicking against each other. Finally, three men pushed a wagon underneath Leon's body and lowered it into the wagon bed. Two additional men arrived with a team of mules, hitched them to the wagon and informed Mr. Miller he could leave with the body. It was a rather sad picture, watching the Miller family drive away, hauling their dead relative. One must sympathize with them, somewhat, for, after all, they didn't

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commit the crime, and had no control over the one who did.

***************** 1929 And Later ***************

The 15th of January was a sad day for Old Mike. Notice had just been served that his services were no longer needed, due to lack of participation. People couldn't afford to travel as they once did; and then there was the automobile. January 29th would be the last run for the little train. Personally, it didn't matter with me, in that I had bought a brand new 1928 Model A Ford just a few months ago. That was not my first car. In 1910, 1 became the proud owner of a Ford and again in 1920. I was saddened to learn of Old Mike's plight, but at the same time, I was rejoicing in the fact that I had just assumed the roll of County Prosecutor, a few weeks ago, a position I had coveted for twenty-six years. I had received a degree in Law and passed the Bar as a young man, and was ready for the job.

On the last day for Old Mike, I left my car and rode the train, "just for old time sake" and so did about a dozen other people. A few men joked and laughed and tried to be happy, while the women occasionally shed a little tear; and it was a sad day. Just across the aisle and back one seat, I noticed an attractive woman who looked vaguely familiar. I didn't want to stare, but who was that woman?

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We made eye contact, for half a second, then she looked away. Slowly it dawned on me. My goodness! That's Katie Miller! I moved one seat closer and asked, "Pardon me, Ma'am, I don't mean to be bold, but are you Katie?""Yes, and you're Jim Rumford.""You've been away for twenty-five years. How did you know?""Even though I've lived in Chicago all these years, I've kept up with the local news.You're a big shot lawyer, now." And she smiled, which was a rare thing."I'm just the County Prosecutor. Somebody's gotta do it. By the way, are you here for good or just visiting?""My husband died recently and I moved back here to care for my mother, who is very old and feeble. So, I guess you could say I'm here for good. Even after my mother passes, this will still be my home.""I need to ask you something, but I'm reluctant to do so, since we're getting along so well.""I know the question. Am I still upset with you for the part you played in my brother's trial?" No. I got over that a long time ago. Several times I thought about writing you a letter asking your forgiveness for my behavior, but never got around to it. So, will you accept my apology, now?""Of course." I remembered the last time I saw her, on a cold January day, riding in a wagon with her parents and the body of her dead brother. It was a sad, pitiful sight and I still felt sorry for the family.

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She asked, "Jim, according to the local news, you never married. Is that correct?""Yes, I'm afraid so.""Forgive me if I'm too nosey, but how could a good looking fellow like you stay single all these years?""Well, it's like this. I never loved but one girl and she married someone else.""Was she someone that I might have known? Was she a local girl? Is she still around?"The train had come to a complete stop and passengers were leaving the coach. I replied,"Yes to all three questions.""Are you going to tell me her name?""Do you see that restaurant beyond the street?""Yes.""Meet me there at noon, for lunch, and I'll reveal the name of the mystery girl.""I'll be there. Wild horses can't keep me away." And she smiled again, the second time in one day.The north wind was dreadfully cold, as I walked hurriedly across the street, up the court house walkway and into my office, already looking forward to meeting my dream girl for lunch in just a few hours.

Five minutes 'til noon, I walked into the restaurant and spotted Katie seated at a table in the far corner. She greeted me with, "Okay, we're here for lunch. So who's the mystery girl? I've racked my brain trying to figure it

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out. She's a local girl, she's still around and I'm supposed to know her. For the life of me, I can't decide who fits that description.Who is she?""Katie, why are you so interested in my mystery girl?'"I have my reasons.""By the way, what did you do to occupy your time during the morning hours? I imagine it would be difficult for a Chicago lady to enjoy a small town like Somerville.""I visited old friends and acquaintances. Now, please tell me, who is the mystery girl?"Very calmly I answered, "I'm looking at her."For a moment she appeared to be going into shock, but she managed to respond, "Me?You're kidding! I don't believe it! All these years, you were in love with me? I didn't realize. You waited for me. I don't know what to say. I thought of you often, but I was happily married and didn't know how you felt about me so I just let things be as they were.""Well, we're both here now, and we're both single, so what should we do?"She answered, "It's your move.""Do you think you could be happily married to a fifty-two-year-old bachelor?""Even though I'm four years younger, I don't think age has anything to do with love. I love you and I know you love me, otherwise you wouldn't have waited twenty-five years. So let's try that again."

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"Okay, will you marry me?""Quick as a cat can blink an eye," she answered."The Justice of the Peace has an office in the Court House, just across the hall from me and I believe he's in now.""Let's go. I don't believe in long engagements."

One warm moon-lit night in May, as Katie and I were strolling toward down-town Williston for an ice cream cone and enjoying the sounds of the whippoorwill, we heard another sound, a train whistle, Old Mike’s whistle, about two miles down the track. Now that was impossible, since the tracks were taken up and removed a few months earlier in the year. “Katie, did you hear that?”“Yes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was Old Mike, about two miles south of here. Wouldn’t you?“It could be our imagination. Let’s not mention this to anyone else. We don’t want the whole town thinking we’re a couple of nuts. We’ll just keep our eyes and ears open for someone else to break the news.”

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon in June; Katie and I were walking through the pasture to Mr. Reed’s pond to do some fishing when she said, “Penny for your thoughts, Jim.”

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“Well, I was sort of gloating over a tough murder case that I had won just yesterday, and on the other hand I’m having a problem building a case against two bank robbers who pulled a job down in Moscow. Now, let’s return to more pleasant thoughts.”Just then we heard Old Mike’s whistle, about two miles south of Williston. Did we really hear it or was that our imagination? It’s hard to believe that two people would hear a ghost at the very same instant. Of course, during that modern day and time, educated people knew there were no ghosts, but what was it?

I gave the ghost train quite a bit of thought, then one day I said to Katie, “I’ve got it all figured out. Just a few days ago, Marvin Thompson said he heard the train about two miles south of Williston. Naturally, everyone laughed and called him a fool but that helped me to reach a decision. That whistle is hidden in someone’s barn near the railroad bed. It appears to be coming from the same location each time. Old Man Whitley has a huge barn, large enough to house a steam engine, and it stands just a few feet from the rail road bed. Mystery solved.”Katie replied, “You know, I think you’re right. At least it makes sense. Maybe we should go exploring some time when the family is not around, like Sunday morning during church.”Well, Sunday morning, we missed church and checked out Mr. Whitley’s barn. No train, no engine, no whistle,

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no nothing pertaining to trains. And there went my theory.

Then we faced a serious problem. We heard a car door closing, peeped through a crack in the barn door and spotted the Whitley family returning from church, earlier than we had anticipated. Evidently the preacher’s sermon was shorter than usual, so we made ourselves comfortable in the hayloft. There we were, in the middle of June under a blazing hot tin roof. Man! It was like an oven! Why did we stay? Old Man Whitley was a Mean old goat. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to shoot the County Prosecutor, and wife, for trespassing. Several years ago I prosecuted him for cattle rustling, and that made me his number one enemy. And if that wasn’t enough, I prosecuted him again for making “boot leg” whiskey. Finally, the sun went down, darkness fell and we went out the back door and headed home, two long miles. Water never tasted so good. I must have drunk a half gallon. The whole ordeal was a stupid thing for two intelligent people to be involved in.

Our third encounter with Old Mike came one beautiful Sunday afternoon in September as we were going for a ride in the country. As I drove along, we noticed the cotton crops were partially harvested, the corn was almost ready and the hay was in the barn, and no one

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was working on Sunday, for it was observed as the Lord’s Day. The trees were showing some fall color, the roads were dusty for lack of rain, and there was a slight chill in the air during the late afternoons. As we approached what was once a railroad crossing, about four miles south of Somerville, the sound of a train whistle could be heard. We got out of the car, and felt heat from the train engine, smelled the coal smoke and heard the wheels clanking on steel rails that were no longer there. Ten seconds later, all was quiet, except for a dove in a nearby tree. I wondered if the dove heard the train. I also wondered if we heard it. Still, we mentioned our experiences of the train to no one.

We kept our eyes and ears open and our mouths shut and learned that the only people who heard the whistle were those who made the final trip with Old Mike. The train whistle was causing trouble among the neighbors. People were called liars, fools, crazy and all sorts of names; and occasionally a fight would break out, and someone would land in jail.

As an old man, I heard Old Mike once more, which lasted for about thirty seconds. It was a cold dreary day in November while visiting the grave of my recently departed wife. I heard a long mournful sound; as if he was sharing my grief.

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The Journey

FOREWORD

The story begins in Georgia at the last game of the tournament in the final year of school for Red, Ted, Paul and Mark. For years, we had been planning a big trip from Georgia to the west coast in a 1924 Model "T" Ford truck. It was now time to pack up and leave to embark on ‘The Journey’.

The gym was packed and emotions were running high. This was the final game of the tournament and we were playing against Statham, the meanest bunch of people in the district but also a good team. My name is Mark Crenshaw and I played center, Ted Burns and "Red" McDougal were the guards and Paul Birdwell, the captain, played forward. The other forward was just whoever the coach figured would fit in. That spot became vacant at the end of last season when the other forward graduated. We four had been playing together for three years and sort of knew what the others were thinking.

I missed two easy baskets and Paul slapped me on the back and said, "Come on, Mark. Get with it." And the coach gave me a real dirty look. I was feeling about one

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foot tall. Three days earlier, I had broken up with my girl friend and was still grieving over it. She was the captain of the cheerleaders and she thought she was "hot stuff' and let it be known that she had rather have a football player than a basketball player. We had been pretty close for the past two years and I was having a problem in getting over her. Right then and there, I decided to put it all behind me and win the game. I thought, "She's an arrogant spoiled brat and I'd be better off with her out of my life." We just couldn't lose this game. We were a better team and we were supposed to win.

At half time we went into the locker room trailing by three points, because of my mistakes. Man, did I get a chewing out! I thought the coach was going to tan my hide. Then he said we were doing okay and could win the game, if I would "get on the ball." And I did; in the second half.

Excitement mounted further during the last half. The lead changed five times and the Statham fans were making threats of physical harm to our players if we won the game. Time was running out and we were trailing by five points. Red got an easy lay-up, drew the foul and made it. A technical foul was called on Statham and since I was pretty good at the foul line, I was called on to make the shot, and I did. We in

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bounded the ball, they stole it and the dribbler stepped on the line, and it was our ball again. The score was 61-62 in their favor with two seconds on the clock. Our coach called time out and we went over to see what he had to say and get our final instructions. Ted was to in bound the ball to Paul who was to take the final shot and win the game. The roar from the crowd was deafening and we could hardly hear the horn. I believe everyone in the building was on their feet, yelling at the top of their voice. Statham knew Paul was our best shooter, so they put two men to guarding him, which left me wide open. I was on our end of the court when Ted spotted me and made the long pass. When I touched the ball, the clock started. I knew I couldn't dribble down for a lay-up, my favorite, in two seconds. I wasn't too good with long shots, but I had no choice, so I turned and fired from forty-five feet. Just as the ball was air borne, the horn sounded and I held my breath. That ball didn't hit anything but the bottom of the net, and we were the champions! The police moved in and took care of the Statham trouble-makers.

After the game, there was a big celebration and everyone was there. Miss Spoiled Brat didn't look at me and I ignored her. I had more important things on my mind; like the celebration, graduation in a couple of months, and then big plans.

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The big plan was a trip from Georgia to the west coast in a 1924 Model "T" Ford truck, along with Red, Ted and Paul. The four of us had been talking about this for almost a year. In Mr. Little's barn, there stood an old truck that wouldn't run and he would sell it for twenty dollars, so we pooled our money and made the trade. With our tractor we towed our new found treasure to Red's father's gas station/auto repair shop. Mr. McDougal had been a mechanic for many years and knew all about Model T's.

Red and his father repaired the engine and we mounted a set of good tires, built a new flat bed with a convertible top and side curtains that could be closed during rain showers. We also gave it a fresh coat of black paint, and then a wax job. When the work was complete, the truck looked great and the engine ran like new, and we were ready for our long journey.

We were a Christian family and our parents named their children, Matthew, Mark, Luke and the forth would have been John, but it turned out to be Elizabeth. But we called her "Jon" anyway.

Our parents owned and operated a hardware store, which kept them pretty busy. My oldest brother, Matthew, ran the farm; with the help of six sharecroppers and part time help from Luke, Jon and

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me. My primary job was driving the tractor. We had just bought a new Farmall "M" but kept the old F-30 just to help out from time to time. The family thought maybe I shouldn't go, but Jon said she would drive the tractor and there was no reason for me to stay. She had planned to visit relatives in Alabama during the summer but gave up her trip for me. She loved all her brothers, but I believe I was her favorite. She always hung around with me and wanted to do whatever I was doing, and that's how she learned to drive the tractor. I liked having kids around and she was a very nice kid.

We graduated Friday night and planned to load the truck Sunday afternoon and depart at the crack of dawn on Monday, but heavy rainfall on Sunday wrecked our plans. Sometime during the night the rain stopped and we awoke to a beautiful sunrise and clear skies. By ten o'clock we had the truck loaded, said our good-byes and were rolling down our driveway, with Red at the wheel. We changed drivers every two hours and drove about 20 miles per hour. Our loaded truck consisted of a wooden box in which were stored a five gallon can of gas, five gallons of water, several quarts of motor oil, a grease gun and tools, etc. for the truck. Another box contained food and cooking utensils. There were four duffel bags containing clothing and personal belongings, a tent, sleeping bags, Paul's guitar and a few other "odds and ends".

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Red was responsible for vehicle maintenance, Ted bought the food and planned meals, Paul kept track of expenses and took pictures and I read the maps and kept us on the right track, and kept the journal.

Late Wednesday afternoon, we rolled into Tuscaloosa, Alabama, where we stayed two nights with my uncle, aunt and two cousins. They were disappointed in not seeing Elizabeth, but appeared to enjoy our visit. Our sixteen year old Model T was still running good. We saw a few Model A's along the way but no Model T's, other than ours.

We enjoyed traveling through the Mississippi Delta, with cotton rows just as far as the eye could see. The cotton was being cultivated with two row and four row tractors, so we parked the truck on the shoulder of the road and watched for a while. We noticed the large antebellum houses with the share cropper’s houses in a neat a row nearby and the barns and other out buildings in back of the big house. We crossed the big river into Louisiana and saw thousands of acres of sugar cane. We usually camped in the edge of some farmer's field or pasture and sometimes in barns, especially if it was raining. Occasionally, we camped on government land or parks, which was best of all in that we could have an open campfire. After supper we would sit around and listen to Paul play the guitar and sometimes join in the

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singing with him. He would begin with a few popular tunes, then some folk songs and finish it off with two or three well known gospel songs or hymns. He had a very good voice and had been playing and singing since early childhood, so we usually just let him sing solo, and we never got tired of listening to the music.

In Monroe, La., we stopped for supper in one of their fine restaurants, our first since leaving home. Everything seemed fine for a while, but it gradually changed. This was our first time to really be away from home so we did a little experimenting with beer. I took one small sip and knew that wasn't for me. It tasted awful. Paul drank three or four swallows and said he just couldn't tolerate it, but Ted and Red seemed to like it. There was a dance floor and a bar and some of the young men were drinking pretty heavily and I knew it would get out of hand eventually. We finished eating and I suggested we leave, but Ted and Red were flirting with two girls and decided to stay on for a while.

Paul and I listened to the music until around nine o'clock, then returned to our camp, behind a gas station about three blocks away, and turned in for the night. Along about three in the morning, two policemen awakened us and drove us down to the station, where they were holding Red and Ted. It seems that they kept flirting with the two girls until their boy friends had had enough. A fight broke out, police were summoned to

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the restaurant, the four were arrested and hauled off to jail.

We must bail them out, pay a fine and pay for half the restaurant damage, or they would be taken out to the swamp to work with a chain gang and we may never see them again. We were two dollars short, so they said when the sun comes up they could begin sweeping the streets, and continue for eight hours. After much discussion, we were allowed to help with their chores and cut the time in half. At about seven o'clock, we saw Red and Ted's opponents on a truck headed for the swamp. They were unable to come up with the money that was required for their release. When the court house clock struck eleven, we boarded the Model T and said goodbye to Monroe. Man, was I glad to get out of that town. We couldn't get out of there fast enough!

We were just about flat broke, with only seventy-eight cents between the four of us. We had made a wise decision the day before the problem, and that was re-stocking our food box and filling the gas tank, but that wouldn't last very long. We had planned to do some work along the way, but not this early during the journey. Most of our trip had been very enjoyable until the fight, but we would overcome, somehow.

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During the afternoon on the second day out of Monroe, we rolled into a little town in east Texas and learned that a big-time farmer needed help with his wheat harvest. It couldn't have come at a better time for us. We were almost out of gas, including our 5-gallon reserve, and had no money with which to buy gas or anything else. Our food supply was okay for a few more days, since we were eating lightly.

The farmer, Mr. Rollins, hired the four of us for six days at two dollars a day, plus lunch and supper. We parked the Model T behind the house where it would be safe and out of sight.

The work was hard and the sun was hot; but we were young, strong and in good physical condition. We were allowed two breaks and an hour for lunch. Another treat that we looked forward to was the "water boy", who was Ginger, the pretty daughter, who came to the wheat field every hour with fresh cool water. Red took a shine to her but she already had a boy friend and wasn't interested. I reminded him of the incident back in Monroe and he backed off. Some afternoons, Mrs. Rollins would invite us to take our break beneath the shade tree in the back yard, with home-made ice cream and cookies.

Always, in the evening, after we had our shower with a garden hose out behind the wood shed, and supper was

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finished, we would relax on the front porch and listen to Paul sing and play. Mr. Rollins played the banjo and Ginger was a violinist and they sometimes joined in with their instruments. The permanent farm workers usually joined us sometimes in singing, and sometimes in just listening.

At noon on the sixth day, the harvest was complete, so we spent the remainder of the day cleaning and storing equipment and doing odd jobs around the farm, while most of the permanent workers took the afternoon off. In the evening, Mr. Rollins paid us and added an extra dollar for each of us for doing an outstanding job. Now, we had over fifty dollars in the pot, enough to carry us over until we reached California, where we planned to find more work.

The family insisted we stay an extra day and join them in a celebration picnic by the lake; and we did. The permanent workers were invited to join us and most of them did. It seems they had a good relationship with their boss. He treated them more like friends than hired help. We enjoyed being with the family so much, we didn't really want to leave, but we must roll on.

Next morning we loaded up, said our good-byes, cranked the Model T and continued our westward journey. Some days we traveled two hundred miles

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when the towns were few and far between, and other days we barely covered a hundred. Whenever we saw something interesting, we stopped, poked around for a while, then moved on. We had plenty of time and enough money to last for several weeks, so we were as happy as a "dead pig in the sunshine." Most nights, when camping on the prairie or in the desert, we didn't put up the tent. We just slept under the stars. During those times, our supper consisted of roasted wieners and toasted marshmallows over the campfire. Afterward, we just relaxed and listened to Paul play and sing. Then, late in the night, when the wind died down and all was quiet, we could hear the coyotes barking and howling, far to the south, and it was a lonely feeling. I thought of the family back home; tomorrow I'll call them.

One day, in the early afternoon, as we topped a small hill, we saw a bright red convertible and an older black car parked on the shoulder of the road, where several people appeared to be engaged in some sort of scuffle. As we drew near, we realized that two men were attempting to drag two screaming girls from the road into the shrub bushes. The girls were putting up a pretty good fight, but it was apparent that they were on the losing end. I yelled for Ted to stop the truck and before the wheels stopped rolling, Red and I hit the ground in a dead run, and I headed for a big man and a black-haired girl. He let go of the girl, but before he could get set for

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me, I hit him right in the "bread basket." While he was trying to catch his breath, I popped him up side the head with all the strength I could muster. I had always heard that one stood a better chance of winning the fight if one delivered the first blow. This man looked to be about thirty years old and out weighed me by at least a hundred and fifty pounds. I had already hit him twice and he was still standing. Something wasn't working right. He should be lying on the ground, writhing in pain. He hit me right between the eyes and it felt like a mule kick. Man, I saw stars! Then, he grabbed me in a bear hug and began to choke the life out of me. What was I thinking? I should have known better than to attack a guy almost twice my size. Things were beginning to look pretty dim for me, when the girl I had rescued came rushing up and cracked my opponent on the head with a rock. He let go of me and hit the ground like a ton of bricks. While he was rolling around I had just a moment to recover. I had almost passed out. He was in the process of arising when I kicked him in the face and down he went again. During the kick, I lost my balance and fell flat of my back. We got to our feet at about the same instant and, with his head down, he came charging towards me like a raging bull. I stepped aside and he crashed into the side of our truck bed and was out like a light. The "rock girl" stood over him with her weapon ready, but it wasn't necessary, he couldn't move a muscle. That guy almost knocked our Model T

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off its wheels. The Model T did what I couldn't do; whipped the giant.

Meanwhile, Red, a member of the high school boxing team, was having fun with his opponent. He would dance around and throw a punch whenever and wherever he pleased. He came out without so much as a scratch, while the other guy had a crushed ear, two black eyes, a broken nose, a couple of missing teeth and a face covered with blood. Another advantage for Red was they were more evenly matched in size; unlike the giant that I had to do battle with.

Paul, Red and Ted loaded the unconscious giant into their old car and told the other guy to get behind the wheel and hit the road; and he did. The black-haired girl was hugging me and thanking me for saving her life, but I couldn't really enjoy those hugs, due to the extreme headache I was experiencing, plus my ribs felt as though they were broken. I laid down on the truck bed and she came over and washed my face with water from our barrel. Immediately, my head began to feel better. The water helped but I think it was her tender touch that actually did the trick. Her hair was coal-black, her eyes were as blue as the summer sky, she had a figure like an hour glass and the most beautiful face in the world. Her twin sister was just as beautiful, except she had red hair and, of course, Red took a liking to her.

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Their father, G.T. Nelson, was a very wealthy tobacco tycoon from North Carolina, the red head was Melissa and her twin was Meredith. The new 1940 red convertible belonged to Melissa, and was a graduation gift from their parents. Meredith owned a yellow one that was left at their home. They were touring the country, same as us, and one requirement was that they must call home each day. Man that was some car! It probably cost $1200.

Later, we learned that the red convertible's engine died and the girls couldn't get going again, so they pushed it onto the wide shoulder of the road. The giant and his partner stopped with the pretense of helping them, but their intention was to help themselves, and that's when we came along and changed their plans.

Red checked under the hood and determined that the generator had burned out. That really should not happen with a new car, but sometimes it will. The faulty generator and dead battery were removed and Red and Ted drove the Model-T to the nearest town, twenty miles away, for a new part and re-charged battery.

I got into the back seat of the convertible and relaxed, hoping the headache would go away. Pretty soon Meredith climbed in and sat beside me. My head began to feel better and my ribs didn't hurt so much. She kept

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asking if I was okay and did I need to see a doctor. I told her she was the only doctor that I needed and she gave me a big smile. We did lots of talking and I learned quite a bit about rich people and it was not all bad. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with this beautiful girl. After being with her for a short time, it was hard for me to believe that I was interested in the "chief cheer leader" at one time. Man, was I dumb! Meredith was so beautiful, she could make the cheer leader look like last year's bird nest. I figured nothing would come of this relationship; rich girl poor boy, but I could enjoy her company for the time being. And I did.

Three hours later, Red and Ted returned, mounted the generator and installed the freshly charged battery. The girls said they must hurry along in that they had reservations at a motor court, fifty miles west. They hugged and thanked us again, and this time I enjoyed the hug. They jumped into the convertible and took off like a scalded dog. I wondered if I would ever see her again. The sun was sinking low in the western sky and we must find a place to camp. Just a few miles further, was Carlsbad Caverns National Park, New Mexico, and that's where we stayed the night.

Next morning we arose early, had a quick breakfast and toured the park for a couple of hours and drove back onto the main road. We had to travel southwest through

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a part of Texas and El Paso and back into New Mexico, where we camped on the bank of the Rio Grande River near the small town of Vado.

We ate a late breakfast, relaxed a bit and continued our journey north for a few miles then west. We were sort of getting tired of the desert and decided to increase our top speed to 25 m.p.h. The truck seemed to be doing fine, with no problems at all. About twenty miles west of Las Cruces, we saw, what appeared to be two bodies lying in the road. I drove onto the shoulder and stopped. Immediately, two men raised up, one with a pistol in his hand and the other waving a knife. We realized, too late, that they were escaped convicts, still wearing their prison uniforms. They wanted clothes, food and our truck. They also wanted us dead. Man, we were in trouble now! We were ordered out of the vehicle and the knife man was riffling through our duffel bags, and discussing the matter of disposing their prisoners, when we heard the roar of an engine approaching, at a high rate of speed. I looked up and saw the red convertible, with Meredith at the wheel, heading straight towards us. Man, she was really moving! She swerved, missing us and the Model T by inches, and skidded to a halt a few yards beyond. No one was run down, but during the scuffle in trying to get out of her path, the gunman dropped his weapon. He and I made a run for it. I grabbed it and cracked him on the head with the barrel

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of the gun. The knife man made a leap from the truck and I shot him in mid air, through the shoulder. The gunman staggered to his feet and I covered him with the pistol while the other guys hog-tied and loaded him onto the truck. The wounded man got the same treatment.

When the excitement was over, the girls got out of the car and joined us. Meredith said, "We heard on the radio that two escaped convicts were last seen in the area and we came back to warn you guys. A man, whom the law now has in custody, left weapons and clothing in a designated location for them. Later, the clothing was found scattered out on the desert, probably by wild dogs. When we topped that little hill a half mile down the road, we recognized your truck. We stopped, took out the binoculars and realized what was happening. Then I did what must be done."

I said, "Thanks a million for helping us. You saved our lives. They were definitely going to kill us; they just hadn't decided where and how. But suppose you had run us down?"

"But, I didn't and everyone is well except the bad guys. And by the way, the radio news man said they were probably armed and dangerous, so you be careful."

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I thought I'd tease her just a bit, so I asked, "Were you really worried about me?"

"Well, I guess so; just a little. After all, you saved my life from something worse than death a few days ago and I might need you again." Then she flashed that million dollar smile at me.

We hauled our prisoners into Las Cruces, and turned them over to the sheriff, who had a big grin on his face when he learned their identity. He examined the knife man and said he had lost a considerable amount of blood but probably would live. He also said there was a reward of nine hundred dollars for the two of them, but we would have to hang around for two days since the money had to come from Albuquerque. He also informed us that there were several points of interest that we might enjoy, within a hundred mile radius. The girls had followed us into town, saying that we might need their help again.

We drove back to the park, set up camp again and got into the red convertible with the girls. Melissa drove, I sat on the front seat next to Meredith, the other three guys occupied the back seat and we began touring. Meredith asked, "Have you recovered from the fight with the giant and are you feeling okay?"

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"Yes, and at this very moment, I'm feeling "fine as frog hair."

The sheriff was correct in talking about interesting places in the area, but there was an awful lot of desert land. The girls asked if they could stay the night in our camp and that was fine with us. We erected the tent for them and gave them two sleeping bags, mine and Red's. I slept in the back seat of the car and Red took the front seat. We seldom used the tent, but we missed our sleeping bags. The car just wasn't quite wide enough for our height.

Next morning, Red and I were awakened by the rattling of pots and pans. I sat up and saw Paul and Ted sitting by the campfire and our guests were preparing breakfast for the group. We washed up in a nearby stream and joined our friends. I said, "I didn't know rich girls could cook."

Meredith remarked, "You might be surprised at what rich girls can do. I can cook, clean house, care for children, mow the lawn, swing a paint brush, drive nails, drive a car, drive a tractor, change a flat tire and just about anything that anyone else can do. Why, I'd make someone a very good wife."

I responded," That sounds like my kind of girl. I would like to have you for my wife." Everyone laughed and

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took it as a joke; except me. I was really serious, but no one else realized it, and that was okay, for now. Still, down deep inside, I wondered if it would really work; rich girl, poor boy. I guess one wouldn't consider me as being poor, I just wasn't rich. We made a decent living with the farm and hardware store. I had never given much thought to being rich, and I still don't.

We did more sight-seeing, with the same seating arrangement as the day before. As we drove along through the desert, I really got brave and decided to take a chance. I reached over and took Meredith's hand in mine and she just smiled and said nothing. Then I knew it was the right thing to do. Every time I looked at her, I could feel butterflies in my stomach and feel my face turning warm. Man, she was really something!

We went by the sheriffs office in the late afternoon and our reward money was there, ready to be picked up. We offered to share it with the girls, but they wanted no part of it, saying they had plenty, and their parents would send more if they needed it. They stayed the night in our camp again. Meredith and I did more hand holding and Red and Melissa took up the habit.

Next morning our guests prepared breakfast again, and as we were breaking camp, Meredith asked for our itinerary and I gave her a copy. They wanted to stay in

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touch with us, but the red convertible just wouldn't go slow enough to travel with the Model T. They seldom drove less than sixty m.p.h. Sometimes they would disappear for a period of several days, taking in side trips, shopping in the cities, going to the movies or just sleeping late in motor courts or hotels. Then, suddenly, they would appear and join us, sometimes for several days. They convinced us to leave the Model T in Tucson and accompany them up to the Grand Canyon and back. That sounded like a great idea and everyone was in agreement. We would meet them two days later in Tucson.

We arrived in Tucson at the appointed time, found a place to leave the truck, drove on to U.S. 89 and were well on our way to the Grand Canyon by noon. This was a two and a half day trip and we took turns driving the car.

Almost an entire day was spent at the canyon, which was awesome. We stayed one night in the lodge and another in a motor court, and we could afford it since we had the reward money. That was a very enjoyable trip for all.

Late afternoon we were back in Tucson. We said goodbye to the girls and agreed to meet them in Bakersfield, California one week later, where they would be visiting Mr. Nelson's brother and family. We

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found a good campsite out on the desert just a few miles west of the city, and that's where we spent the night, and made plans for the next few days. Somewhere, not far away, a wolf howled at the full moon. An eerie feeling.

Three days later, we drove into San Diego, found the beach and stayed a day and night there. Then we spent a day touring their famous zoo. We had reached one of our goals, the West Coast. The first half of our summer vacation was almost spent, and we had enjoyed almost all of it.

On Tuesday afternoon, we rolled up the driveway to the Nelson mansion, located in a huge orange grove near Bakersfield. Meredith and Melissa came out to greet us and Meredith gave me a big "hello hug". We learned that their parents had flown out to join them a few days earlier. A servant, with his nose in the air, informed us that we should park the truck out in the grove, several yards from the house and grounds; and we did. We were shown to our quarters and a few minutes later we met the other family members. They were Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Nelson, three daughters, two small sons and Mr. and Mrs. G.T. Nelson, the twin’s parents. All seemed a little distant, except Mr. Thomas Nelson, who was very nice and friendly. He wanted to know all about our journey after we enjoyed a delicious meal.

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We planned to leave the next morning, but Thomas insisted we stay and enjoy a big picnic that was planned for Saturday. We volunteered to help with the orange harvest, but he objected, saying that we were guests. We finally convinced him that we wanted to help, just for the fun of it. Meredith and Melissa asked to join us but their parents forbade it. They must go shopping; go to teas, parties, etc. We enjoyed the work, talking with the workers and listening to their interesting stories.

The big picnic day arrived and so did many of their neighbors and friends. The back lawn must have covered at least four acres, and included a huge swimming pool and many tables loaded with food. I had never seen so much food and drinks. They had live music, champagne, games…the works. Why, it was like something that one would only dream of. Rich people really know how to do a picnic, especially when servants do most of the actual work.

I noticed several young people in the grove, looking at our truck, laughing and pointing toward my friends and me. That was okay. Some day I would own a big new car, but now, I liked the Model T just fine, and I guessed that I always would. Something else that I learned about rich people during the past few days. They are extremely rude. Melissa and Meredith completely ignored us and wouldn't even look our way.

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I was ready to pack up and leave, right in the middle of the festivities, and forget the rich girl, her family, friends, the past several weeks and everything about her. I was leaning against the door-post of the bath house, watching children at play in the pool, when, out of the corner of my eye I saw Meredith walking slowly toward me. As she approached, she grabbed my hand and snatched me into the building, threw her arms around me, kissed me, pressed a note into my hand and whispered, "I've missed you." And she was gone.

The note read as follows: 'Dear Mark; don't forget me. Our parents gave us a choice; either keep away from you guys, or they would send us home on the next train, and they were not kidding. Mother saw me hug you the day you arrived here, and she blew her stack. We'll meet you in Sequoia National Forest in two days. They are crazy if they think they can keep you and I apart." And she signed it, "Your poor little rich girl." All was forgiven and I could hardly wait to see her.

Early the next morning as we were leaving the Nelson mansion, Thomas came out, chatted with us briefly, apologized for the rudeness of the family and their friends and gave each of us a fifty dollar bill, saying that it was payment for helping with the harvest. Fifty dollars was too much money for the small amount of

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work that we accomplished, but he insisted. He was the only one there to see us off.

Monday evening the red convertible rolled up to our campsite in the Sequoia National Forest. Meredith bounded from the car, rushed over, threw her arms around me and planted kisses all over my face. She must have clung to me for a period of two minutes, the best two minutes of my life. I then realized our feelings for one another were mutual and I never doubted her again.

They apologized for their parent's behavior and the feelings they had toward us. They just didn't want their daughters associating with common folk. If they didn't comply, they would be disinherited, disowned and kicked out of the family. They didn't seem too worried about the threats at this particular time. The girls were beginning to enjoy camping so they purchased a tent and sleeping bags, and camped with us for three days and nights. During that time, we drove up to Yosemite National Park and back, which was a one day trip.

We broke camp on the fourth day. The girls departed for Salt Lake City to visit an aunt and we headed east, our destination being the Rocky Mountains. Red suggested I give Meredith a ring, in that we were engaged to be married. "Hold on just a minute. You're

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kind of rushing things. We are just a bit young. And besides, she never said she would marry me."

"But she will. Just give her the ring. Trust me. I know what I'm talking about. She's crazy about you, and you're not too young to be engaged."

"Her parents would never go along with it. You heard the remarks they made about us. It won't work. And, anyway, I don't believe I have enough money for a nice ring."

"We'll all pitch in. We still have a part of the reward money. Now, stop making excuses and do it."

Five days later, they overtook us as we were making camp in the Rocky Mountains. We erected their tent near ours, started a campfire, prepared and ate supper and relaxed to the sound of Paul's music; and brought one another up to date on the past few day’s activities. High up in the mountains, the weather was very cold at night and we would slide up a little closer to the camp-fire and pull our coats up around our neck and ears, as we listened to the strong north wind moan among the pines, such a lonesome sound.

One evening, while relaxing by the fire listening to Paul's music, a fellow camper from close by came over

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and invited us to come to their campsite. Other musicians were there and we enjoyed several hours of good old fashioned singing and playing. And we enjoyed the fellowship.

We toured the mountains for several days, using the car for transportation. At the end of the fourth day, we stopped at a pay phone and each called home. Bad news. The twin’s grandfather had suddenly become ill and was at the point of death, and they must come home at once. Driving in the mountains during the night is extremely dangerous so they decided to wait until morning and leave at first light.

After we had finished dinner and were sitting around the fire, I asked Meredith if she would like to walk down to the lake and she agreed. We talked about leaving and about the time we had spent together, and I told her that I had fallen in love with her the day we fought the giant.

She said, "The love bug bit me in a strange way. It was the day we captured the convicts and the very moment it happened was when I saw you through the binoculars. I knew I loved you and must save you."

I finally got around to asking her to marry me. She said, "I thought you'd never ask. Of course I will, after we finish college.

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"That's fine with me. That's only four more years, and you're worth waiting for. I just didn't want someone to get there ahead of me. Will you wear the ring now?"

"Yes."

Next morning, bright and early, we said goodbye to the twins and they hit the road, bound for North Carolina, and I wondered when I would see her again. An hour later we left the campsite. I was driving and as we started down a steep grade, the brakes failed and I kicked it into low gear. That helped, but we were not out of the woods yet. We were still high up in the mountains and the road was crooked, narrow and steep. We rounded one curve so fast, we almost skidded off the road, and would have fallen to our death, a thousand feet below. The safe speed limit was 20 M.P.H. and we were doing about thirty-five. On the next curve we nearly collided head-on with a car. We almost slipped off the road again, and would have, had there not been a guardrail. A few seconds later we sideswiped another guardrail, then the road became straight and level and the Model T coasted to a complete stop just before the beginning of another steep grade. Everyone got out of the truck and Ted placed a rock in front of one wheel, just as a safety precaution. Red made a temporary repair with a piece of hay-baling wire, and we were on our

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way again. At the foot of the mountains, we drove into a small town where we found the right part for the truck, in a junkyard, purchased the part, for a dollar, and made the repair.

While driving through eastern Colorado, we suffered a broken drive shaft. Ted was at the wheel and as he shifted to low gear, going uphill, we heard a loud "pop" and the truck rolled to a stop. Immediately, Red determined that is was the drive shaft. What a dilemma! There we were, a million miles from nowhere with a truck that wouldn't move, not a house in sight, literally no traffic on the road and the sun was getting mighty close to the western horizon. Finally we spotted a truck approaching from the rear and he was slowing to a stop. "What's your problem?" he yelled.

"Broken drive shaft." answered Red.

"My name is George Williams and I own and operate the Hidden Valley Ranch five miles east of here. You can come home with me. There's a chain in the back of my truck, so hook up and I'll tow you." We rolled up to the rancher's house just as darkness was closing in.

We were introduced to the other family members; his wife, Martha, nineteen year old Ray, fifteen year old Lisa and twelve year old Jack. They appeared to be a very nice family and Mrs. Williams invited us to

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supper, saying they had plenty. We didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, so we graciously accepted her invitation. There was an old bunk house out back but the barn looked better, and that's where we slept for the following week. We were accustomed to sleeping in barns at this point in our journey.

Next morning Mr. Williams drove Red into town for a drive shaft, but it didn't work out. The repair shops didn't carry parts for such an old vehicle and there were none in the junk yards, so one was ordered from Detroit, which would take seven days for delivery.

The rancher was in a "pickle", too. He needed help in harvesting hay and couldn't find enough labor, so we had a job for the next few days. He had a large operation, which included four tractors and numerous pieces of machinery. Ray did the mowing, Jack and Lisa took turns raking the hay, Mr. Williams and three other men did the baling and my friends and I hauled the hay bales to the barn.

Our second night in the barn almost ended in disaster. The time was probably around eleven, and everyone was sleeping soundly except me. I was lying there just sort of day dreaming about Meredith, when I smelled smoke. It was only a slight whiff at first; and then a few minutes later it came in strong. I switched on my

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flashlight and saw smoke drifting slowly upward way over in a comer of the barn. I flipped on the barn lights and yelled for the other guys. They began dragging hay bales out away from the barn. I rang the dinner bell to alert the family, then joined my friends. Very shortly, we had help from the big house. Flames were beginning to spring up among the bales. We really had to hustle! Within minutes, we moved more than a hundred bales from the barn, and the crisis was over. The cause of the fire was spontaneous combustion. That happens when hay containing too much moisture is stored too close together. That particular batch had been lying there for three days, getting hotter by the hour. We checked for other "hot" bales but found none. Had we not been sleeping in the barn on that particular night, there would have been no barn by early morning.

Mrs. Williams was an excellent cook and we enjoyed everything that she put on the table. We consumed lots of calories, but easily burned them away, since hauling hay required an enormous amount of energy. The desserts she prepared were just out of this world.

The drive shaft arrived on schedule and Red spent the day installing it and getting the Model T ready to roll, while we finished hauling hay; and we all agreed that we never wanted to see another bale of hay. We stayed on for another day, resting, relaxing, and

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fellowshipping with the family. Then we arose at the crack of dawn, said our good byes and headed east.

A week later, while driving through the Ozark Mountains, we took a shortcut, which turned out to be a mistake that almost cost us our lives. We were gaining altitude and the road seemed to be getting narrower. The pavement ended and we were on a gravel road. Then there was no gravel; just a narrow, rough dirt road. We realized we were off the beaten path, but there was no place to turn the truck around so we kept crawling along. We rounded a curve in the road, if one could call it a road, and found ourselves in a cluster of several houses in a heavily wooded area, atop a small plateau. Suddenly, we were surrounded by heavily armed men and boys. I said, "I think we're in the wrong place. We'll just turn around and go."

One of our captors, a big man with a black beard responded, "Yeah, yer in the wrong place, but you ain't going nowhere. What're y'all doing here? You've got no business with us."

We explained how we had taken a wrong road, but they didn't believe anything we said. We were accused of being spies, and I could see the "hand writing on the wall". I knew what was supposed to happen to spies. We learned that they made and sold boot leg whiskey,

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and trusted no one. Black beard said, "You boys get off the truck. Y'all can sleep in old man Brisco's cabin. He ain't around no more. You can eat yer meals at my house till we decide what to do with ya."

They took our food and extra clothing and removed the spark plugs from the Model T to prevent us from driving off at some unguarded moment. Other than that they were fairly nice to us. We learned how to make boot leg whiskey and we also learned how they lived and why they lived under those conditions. They were born into it and never tried to change. It was just a way of life for them. Most of the people had never been more than five miles from their home, except three men who delivered the moonshine and bought supplies for the group. They spent most of their time tending vegetable gardens, hunting, fishing, making moonshine and making music…some that we had never heard before, but it sounded good. Now, the food was something else. It was always greasy and at that particular time it consisted of turnip greens, fatback and corn bread. I understood that the menu changed occasionally, to fish, wild meat and other vegetables, etc. Once, we had ham and biscuits for breakfast, but skipped the noontime meal.

"Black beard" had a sixteen year old daughter, Susie, who took a liking to Paul, after hearing him sing and play the guitar. Her father reminded her that she was

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already promised to Clem Rivers, a repulsive thirty year old man with a hook nose, a mouth full of rotten teeth and a wad of chewing tobacco always in his cheek, who lived on the other side of the mountain. He had agreed to swap two cows and a pig for Susie, and the arrangement was supposed to be completed in the very near future. Upon meeting Clem, I really felt sorry for the girl and wished we could help her. She just didn't seem to be a part of this clan and it was apparent that she wanted no part of Clem. Man, what a waste! Finally her father said she and Paul could hang around together, except when Clem was present, which was not very often. He would usually come over about once each week to check on his "prize" and remind her that she would soon belong to him.

One of the women told me that we would never be allowed to leave the mountains. Other visitors had wandered into their domain and disappeared. Some of the men would take the unfortunate victim deep into the woods, on the pretense of going fishing or hunting, and return without their guest. We should try to escape as soon as possible. She had overheard some of the men discussing our fate and tomorrow may be the day for us to go fishing. Little did she know; we had tried several times and failed.

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Meanwhile, Susie had a plan that she had discussed with Paul. She would recover the spark plugs and help us escape if we would take her to Birmingham, Alabama to live with her grandmother, and we quickly agreed. We really didn't have much choice. I had a very serious question. "How are we going to get past the guard dogs? We have tried walking out of here several times during the night, but the dogs strongly objected."

She replied, "If I'm with you, they won't even growl. I'll help you turn the truck around and push it for about two miles; down hill most of the way. There'll be a full moon and you won't need headlights. Then you can put the spark plugs in, start the engine and we will be on our way long before they awake. I must get away or I'll kill myself. I don't think I can stand this another day."

At 11:30 P.M. Susie gave the spark plugs to Paul and we put the plan into motion. Very slowly and quietly, we turned the Model T around and eased out of the yard and onto the trail. The dogs came up to us and sniffed around, but never made a sound. A half hour later, we stopped pushing, I switched on a flash light and Red quickly installed the spark plugs. We gave the crank several spins, the engine fired and we were on our way. Susie was dressed as a boy, with her hair tucked under a hat and wearing overalls that she had swiped during the early evening hours. We felt that would be safer for travel.

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Soon we were back on the main road and began to put miles between us and the mountain folk. As the sun was peeping over the eastern horizon, we stopped for gas and a quick breakfast at an all night truck stop, then we hustled right along. Susie said we didn't have to hurry anymore, in that we had a six hour head start, their old truck didn't run very well and if they tried to follow us, they would go toward Kansas City. She had talked of going there often. Also, we had spoken of going west while being held captive.

I said to Susie, "I know what will happen to us if we are caught, but what about you?"

"When I was seven, my cousin, a beautiful seventeen year old girl, slipped away during the night. She almost succeeded, but on the third day they caught her and dragged her back to the settlement. They stripped her, tied her to a pole and beat her with a bull whip until she almost passed out. Then dry brush and branches were piled around her and set a-fire and she burned to death. All young people and children were forced to watch. It was awful. I had nightmares for years. Sometimes during the night, I can still hear Maggie screaming. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes. I understand. Does anyone ever get away?"

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"Occasionally, a boy will make it. They seem to have better luck than the girls. If this works, I'll be the first to succeed; and I'll be forever grateful for what you fellows have done for me. Had it not been for you, I would have died a terrible death in trying to do it alone. When I met Clem, I knew I couldn't live that kind of life. I've always dreamed of a knight in shining armor, like Paul, coming to rescue me; and sure enough, it happened; except I have four knights. How can a girl be so lucky?"

So, we began to enjoy the journey again. Paul, Susie and I were riding on the truck bed when Paul picked up his guitar and burst into a familiar song, and to my surprise Susie joined him. She had a beautiful voice and they made a very good duet. She taught him many of the old mountain songs, and she already knew most of ours, especially hymns and gospel songs.

We soon learned that she was a very bright girl. She was one of the few in the clan that could read and write. Her mother, who had died just a year ago had taught her well and she kept educating herself. She read everything she could get her hands on; and she wrote poetry, songs and short stories. Upon spending more time with her, we figured she could do sophomore work in high school, which would put her only about a year behind for her age.

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On the morning of the third day, we drove into Birmingham and stopped at a large department store, where Paul and Susie purchased several dresses, a suitcase, shoes, a handbag and other things that a sixteen year old girl was supposed to have. Next, they went to a beauty salon for a hair style. Then she was ready to go to Grandmother's. We used most of our money, but that was okay. It was money well spent, just to see the smile on her face. She turned out to be a very pretty girl and we had grown quite fond of her during the past few days.

We were faced with a small problem. She knew the street name and house number, 644 Greenview, but we had no idea where Greenview Street was. We asked the Police, but they didn't know. I think they didn't like our Model T. We tried the telephone directory, but she was not listed. We kept looking and asking around and finally thought of the Fire Department, and they steered us in the right direction. Grandmother and Granddaughter were happy to be together and thanked us many times for making it happen. We enjoyed supper with them and slept on the back porch.

Early next morning, we said goodbye to the ladies and headed east. The sun was almost down when we arrived home. It seemed that we came in contact with lots of

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bad people on our journey; the giant and his partner in Texas, the convicts in New Mexico and the mountaineers in the Ozarks. I guess the Nelsons were not bad; however, they were not very nice. But, on the other hand, we met mostly good people and they were worth remembering. Now, it was time to think about college. And Meredith.

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HOW THEY ALL TURNED OUT

The giant was in a coma for three weeks, then died from the injury he sustained when he crashed into the truck.

Six months later his partner was gunned down in an attempted bank robbery in Dallas, Texas.

Ted and Paul earned a degree in law, set up their own firm and became very good at their profession. They successfully defended the Nelson Tobacco Company in several court cases, and were rewarded handsomely for their efforts.

Red went into business with his father and eventually was awarded a Ford dealership. The Model T has been completely restored and repaired and stands proudly in Red's show room at the dealership; and is not for sale, at any price.

Upon graduation from college, Melissa went to work in her father's company. When she was thirty-one years of age, her parents died in an airplane crash, and she became sole heiress and C.E.O. of the company. She proved to be an excellent businesswoman. She ran the company for forty years, and it grew and prospered and

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tripled in size under her leadership. It was passed on to her oldest son upon retirement.

Meredith graduated from college, then nursing school, became a registered nurse, gave up her fortune, worth billions, and married the love of her life. Her father kept his promise in disinheriting her for marrying a "poor boy". She received a very generous monthly salary after Melissa became C.E.O. of Nelson Tobacco Company, and her only obligation was to attend the annual board meeting, which was usually held in some exotic location. This arrangement will continue throughout her lifetime, thanks to her kind hearted twin sister.

The guys had Susie figured about right. She was extremely intelligent; in fact, she was brilliant. After the first four months in high school, she made the honor roll and held that position throughout her school days, and was valedictorian for her graduating class. She didn't stop there. She went on to college and medical school and became a well known pediatrician with an office in the building next door to her husband's law practice. The sign on her office door read, "Dr. Susan Birdwell, Pediatrics." Did we say "Birdwell?" Yes, she married Paul Birdwell, her knight in shining armor. Considering what she's done for thousands of children, wouldn't it have been a crying shame to have left that girl in the mountains? Man, what a waste that would have been!

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Mark earned a doctorate in agriculture and took a position with the U.S. Government. He and Meredith married shortly after his graduation. She resigned her position at the hospital and they raised four children- a school teacher, a nurse, an airline pilot and a Baptist minister. They have a large comfortable house in the country, where they spend much of their time strolling through the forest, pastures and fields. One of his dreams was to own a shiny new car. Standing in their garage are three new vehicles; a Cadillac, a Lincoln and a Ford pick-up truck. They are old and gray now, and their love for each other grows deeper with each passing day. They are almost always together.

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The Wild Woods

FOREWORD

The setting is in a rural North Georgia county, and the time is the early 1940’s. Most of the story is fiction; however, the Wild Woods, the airplane crash and the characters are real, but the names have been changed.

It was in the spring of 1943 and my younger brother, Johnny, and I were enjoying riding our bicycles on the country dirt roads. The tulips, jonquils, narcissus and other spring flowers were in full bloom, and the trees were beginning to put forth new buds and come alive after a long winter nap. There was still a nip in the air, even though the sun was shining brightly. Bicycling on Sunday afternoon was one of our past times, and we hardly missed, except when foul weather prevailed.

Roy Simms joined us as we approached his home, and we continued on to Jerry and Dale Walton’s. They were sitting on the front porch, soaking up the warm sunshine, along with Eddie Evermore. Roy asked them to join us so we turned around and headed the other way. Pretty soon, we met the Leatherwood brothers,

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Randy, Harry and Frank. Back in those days, all kids owned bicycles. We chatted for a few minutes and then Randy asked, “Where are you fellows headed?”

Roy replied, “I haven’t discussed it with the other guys, but I was just thinking, how would ya’ll like to ride up to Houston and see where the airplanes crashed? A few days ago, two planes collided in mid air and fell near the road.”

We enjoyed the ride to the crash site, but all we saw were pieces of metal scattered over an area of a quarter mile. On our return trip, Eddie suggested we go fishing in Hamp-Gunyon lake, but Roy said we couldn’t spare the extra time if we were to reach home by sundown, a requirement set forth by all of the parents.

I’ll tell you about Roy. He had a much older brother and sister, who had already left home and married when they moved to our community, so, to us, he seemed like an only child. I guess he was sort of our leader. He wasn’t “pushy”, but was always thinking of new and interesting things for us to do. No one objected to his position as the leader. He usually had a camera hanging from his neck, which he used often. His parents allowed him to set up a photo lab in a small

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room on the back side of the house. He often asked me to join him there, and that’s when I became interested in photography, a hobby that I always enjoyed.

Now, about Randy. He was very intellectual, did lots of reading and I think he knew the definition of every word in the English language. He always made good grades, minded his own business and stayed out of trouble. While in the second grade, he recited “Twas The Night Before Christmas” on the stage, in front of the entire student body, and never paused nor missed a single word. Other than his brothers that we mentioned earlier, he had three younger ones, too young to follow us and one too old to hang around with us.

The remainder of our gang were just plain fellows, with no outstanding qualities, at that time.

I do recall one incident in which Randy was involved. During lunch break at County Line School, Jerry and I came around a corner of the building and noticed a fight in progress. To our surprise, it was Randy and Clayton Rains, the school bully; and Clayton was really wearing him out. He always picked a fight with people whom he knew he could beat. Randy was no fighter, but I was. I came charging in at full speed and hit Clayton in the left rib cage. He let go of Randy and fell all over the ground. After he stopped rolling, he lay there for a few seconds, then sprang to his feet and made a run for

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me. I popped him up side the head with a good hard right and he hit the ground like a ton of bricks. He just lay there, still as a mouse, and blood began to trickle from his nostrils. I thought, “Oh, my goodness, I’ve killed him!” I had never been in serious trouble before, just regular boy mischief, and I was scared to death. I thought about running away, but where would I hide?

One kid leaned down close for a few seconds, raised up and said, “Andy, I think he’s dead. He’s not breathing.” That didn’t help my feelings at all.

Another younger boy, who was one of Clayton’s many victims, offered a suggestion, “We could bury him over in the woods and no one would ever know. I’ll help.” He was gathering other volunteers when we noticed Clayton’s eyelids began to flutter and then his eyes slowly opened. Man, was I relieved! I could just imagine spending 99 years in prison or possibly being hung from a white oak tree, or some other tree for that matter. Eventually he sat up; and a few moments later, stood and walked away, without saying a word. He didn’t want anymore of me; nor Randy.

I wasn’t out of the woods, yet. Some tattle-tale girl saw the fight and reported it to Rev. O’Neal, the Principal, who was also a Baptist preacher, and the three of us were summoned to his office. Randy said, “Mr.

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O’Neal, Andy was not involved. This was between Clayton and me.” And I was dismissed.

The Principal’s reply was, “Randy, are you going to sit there, look me in the eye, and tell me that you did this to Clayton, and expect me to believe?” That looks like the work of a professional.”

“Sir, I guess I just got lucky.” The Principal knew the reputation of both boys, and that was the end of that. I must have knocked something loose in Clayton’s head. I never knew of him bullying anyone else after that day.

During recess on Friday, Roy contacted each gang member and asked us to meet him in the Conway’s pasture (that’s us) on Sunday afternoon.

By one o’clock, all were gathered in our pasture. Roy had an idea. “Let’s explore the Wild Woods.” Adjoining the back side of our woods was a huge forest, about two thousand acres. Away over in the middle of the forest was a maize of huge deep gullies, that seemed, to us, like canyons. There were wildcats, cougars, bobcats and 14 foot long rattle snakes that lived in the Wild Woods, and we were warned to stay away. It was said that kids had ventured in there and never returned. The younger boys wanted no part of it, but Roy said there was nothing to fear during the daylight hours; the varmints only came out after dark.

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We rode a bit farther down the road, parked our bicycles, walked through a cotton field and entered the woods. Everyone was quiet as we walked among the giant pines, cedars, oaks and hickories. The younger boys either bunched up or stayed near their older brothers as we moved deeper into the dark forest. Finally, we reached the first canyon and Roy tied a rope that he borrowed from a mule harness, around the trunk of a tree near the rim, and one by one, we let ourselves down to the floor of the canyon. All the canyons appeared to be connected and we must remember the way back to the rope.

We spent two hours rambling through the canyons and didn’t see all of them, and had not begun to explore the forest. We were reluctant to stay any longer, since we were not sure as to how much time was required to reach the road, and our bicycles. The younger boys experienced some difficulty in climbing the rope, so Roy had an idea. “We need a pulley, a short chain and fifty feet of rope.” I volunteered to bring the pulley and chain. We now had electricity on the farm, and of course a well pump, so we had no further use for the well pulley. Jerry said he would take care of the rope, since his father worked at a rope factory and could get all that we needed.

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Heavy rain fell during the day on the following Sunday, but a week later, the weather was beautiful. The early afternoon found us nearing the cotton field that leads to the Wild Woods, when we observed two bicyclists approaching at a pretty good clip. As they drew nearer, we realized that our visitors were girls that appeared to be about my age.

“Where are you fellows going?” the taller one asked.

Roy explained. “We’re exploring the Wild Woods. Would ya’ll like to come along?” They didn’t.

Roy was in a big way of explaining what we had found and what we expected to find, when I sort of felt someone looking at me. I turned toward the shorter girl and looked into the face of a gorgeous blue-eyed girl with the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. I returned the smile and then glanced behind me to see if she was smiling at one of the other boys; but no, it was me. Then she asked, “What’s your name?” “Andy Conway. What’s yours?” “Betty Ann Prescott, and my friend is Brenda Wilson. We do lots of long distance bicycling. We live in another community, about an hour’s ride from here.”

Roy introduced himself and the other boys. We chatted for a few more minutes and the girls had to go. As they

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were leaving, Betty Ann, looked at me and with that beautiful smile said, “Bye Andy.” And I was in love.

We continued our journey through the cotton field, into the Wild Woods and to the tree at the rim of the canyon. Johnny climbed up and, with the chain, attached the pulley to the first limb and threaded the rope through it. Roy made a rope harness and we experimented by lowering Frank into the canyon. The apparatus could be operated from the rim or floor. We did some more exploring and noticed several small areas that were completely surrounded by canyons and we called them, “islands.”

We climbed out of the canyon on the north side, where the incline was not steep and a rope was not needed. Eddie tied his handkerchief to a twig at that location. We walked for a while and came to a fence, and beyond the fence was a sawmill. We crossed over and were inspecting the equipment when a big burley man stepped from behind a tree and, in a loud voice, demanded, “What are you guys doing here?” We were startled and some of the younger boys ran off for a short distance.

Roy answered, “We’re just exploring the Wild Woods and happened to see the sawmill. We’re not bothering anything.”

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“Well, you ain’t in the Wild Woods after crossing that fence. Now, git!”

As we were leaving, Johnny came up close to me and, in a whisper, asked, “Do you think he would give us some slabs to build a shack?”

I replied, “I don’t know. Ask him and then you’ll know.” So he did.

“Yeah, you can have all you want. We’re just gonna burn ‘em. You other fellows come on back; I won’t bite.” He softened up a bit and we learned that he was the weekend guard and it was his duty to care for the mules and keep intruders away while the crew was home with family, or wherever they wanted to be.

We arrived at the handkerchief, made our descent into the canyon and suddenly realized that the shadows were growing long. We dropped our slabs and hurried along, made a wrong turn and had to double back, using about five minutes of our precious daylight time. The shadows were getting longer and we were horrified at the thought of being in the Wild Woods after dark! We thought of the kids of long ago that went in to the woods and never returned. We thought about the wild varmints that would soon be coming out of their dens to devour us. Finally, Jerry spotted the rope and we

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climbed out and rushed through the woods into the cotton field, just as the sun was touching the western horizon. We dashed through the field at full speed. We waited a few seconds for the younger boys to catch up, hit the road and took off like a scalded dog.

That night a tired boy slept soundly and dreamed of the Wild Woods and the gorgeous blue-eyed girl with the beautiful smile, and the words, “Bye, Andy.”

Mrs. Leatherwood learned that three of her sons had been visiting the Wild Woods, so on a Saturday afternoon she helped them figure a way through the woods to the canyons by entering from the east side in lieu of the west side, with us. That would cut their travel time by at least fifty percent.

Sunday afternoon, we arrived at the cotton field and found the girls, sitting on their bicycles, waiting for us. They had decided to, at least, have a look at the canyons so we walked over to the rope where the Leatherwoods had arrived just moments earlier. The girls spent about half an hour walking around the rim of the nearest canyon, and they were ready to go back to the road. I said to the other guys, “I’ll walk the girls back to their bicycles, just to make sure they arrive safe and sound. After all, this is the Wild Woods and danger could be lurking almost anywhere.”

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Roy grinned real big and replied, “Yeah, Andy, you go ahead and make sure they’re okay. We’ll begin work on the shack.”

We came to an embankment where the girls needed just a small bit of assistance. I gave Brenda a hand and went back for Betty Ann. When we were on smooth ground, I took a chance and held her hand a little longer than necessary, and she didn’t seem to mind. As they mounted their bicycles, she looked at me, and with that beautiful smile said, “Bye, Andy.” I don’t know why I liked that sound so well; I just did.

I returned to the building site, and found Roy, the engineer and Jerry hard at work, while the other guys were dragging in the slabs. We had selected one of the “islands” for the shack because we could have a good view of the surrounding area. Eddie had made a startling discovery. “You know, it is a strange thing. You know where we dropped the slabs last Sunday? Well, the pile is twice as big as it was when we left.” We thought maybe the sawmill guard did it, and let it go at that. Anyway, we were happy to have the extra material.

We completed the shack and got back on the road before sundown. We figured out a way to stay on schedule. I owned a ninety-eight cent pocket watch, so

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I let Frank keep it, and it was his responsibility to let us know when it was time to go. He was the smallest in the bunch and couldn’t do much work, but he felt important as our official timekeeper.

During the day, the smiling girl was on my mind and when I slept, I dreamed of her…and the Wild Woods.

It was time to finish exploring the canyons, and that’s what we were doing one fine Sunday afternoon. We noticed on one side of the last canyon, two huge boulders, spaced about eighteen inches apart, almost covered over with honeysuckle vines. We pushed the vines aside, squeezed between the boulders and discovered the mouth of a cave. Roy and I entered, moved in about ten feet and lit a match. The blaze was quickly extinguished, indicating another opening somewhere farther back. We realized that lanterns or flashlights were needed to explore the cave, and we must come back another day, better equipped.

You probably wonder why we come to the Wild Woods only on Sunday afternoon. Monday through Friday, there were farm chores and school. On Saturday, more chores and on Sunday morning there was Church and Sunday School, so most of our free time was Sunday afternoon. During the school summer vacation, after

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the crops were laid by, we had more freedom, for about six weeks.

The gang, including the girls, were very excited as we let ourselves down into the canyon and walked on to the cave. The girls enjoyed the walk in the canyon, but when they saw the cave, they wanted no part of it; and neither did the younger boys. They stated that they would just wait outside for us.

Between the nine guys, we came up with two kerosene lanterns and four flashlights. Roy, Randy, Jerry, Eddie and I gathered a few sticks to use for markers, in case there were tunnels leading off from the cave. We entered and it was damp, musty and drafty. There were several tunnels leading off from the cave and smaller ones branching off those, so we used a marker at each intersection. After about half an hour, while in a large room, we made a discovery. There on the floor was a very old rusty pistol, and a few feet away, a shotgun. There were two human skulls and bones scattered all around. Man, that was some scene! We were ready to get out of there in a hurry when, over near the back wall, we noticed what appeared to be some sort of box. Upon closer examination, we realized that it was a metal chest. Roy and I grabbed it and took off like a blue streak, heading for the mouth of the cave, with the other three guys close behind. We wasted no time getting back to “daylight.”

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Excitement mounted as Roy beat the lock open with a stone. We raised the lid and found ourselves staring at a chest full of gold bars and gold coins! Everyone wanted to get their hands on the treasure, so Roy gave each person one coin and said, “This is yours to keep, but whatever you do, don’t let anyone know about it. Hide it and guard it with your life. I think it’s against the law to have gold in your possession so we’ll have to figure out what to do about our discovery. In the meantime, we’ll put it back in the cave for safe keeping; but first, everybody gather around the chest and I’ll take a picture.”

The date on some of the coins indicated that they were more than one hundred years old. We tried to figure out what happened and here is our version: We were certain that the gold was stolen. Two people took it, and maybe a posse was in hot pursuit when they went into the cave to wait until things cooled down. A disagreement arose, probably over the gold, tempers flared and they shot each other. Why were the bones scattered? Wild animals entered and ate away the flesh. And the gold lay there for many years, undisturbed, until a bunch of young nosey fellows came along and started poking around.

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It was time to go home, and as we walked along, toward the road, I made sure that I walked near Betty Ann, just in case she needed help in crossing the rough spots.

The following Sunday afternoon, all nine guys and two girls were waiting at the edge of the cotton field when a man from the United States Treasury Department drove up in his big shiny new car. He was a friend of Roy’s third cousin, a young man out to make a name for himself. The deal was, he would turn in the gold for us, keeping our parents out of it, since we were not allowed in the Wild Woods in the first place. He would see that it was split eleven ways. He guaranteed it and we felt good about the deal.

He went with us into the canyons and walked up to where the cave was supposed to be, but it wasn’t there. We must have taken a wrong turn. We back tracked and tried again, but no, we didn’t make a wrong turn. We searched for more than two hours, but to no avail. We couldn’t even find the two large boulders. The cave had simply vanished! But, how could that happen? Man, was that Treasury agent mad! He said we wasted his time, accused us of playing a joke on him, threatened to arrest us and put us in jail, and uttered several words that can’t be printed. I was glad to see him go. He was a smart aleck, anyway.

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Roy said, “Here’s another strange thing. You know that picture I took of the group with the treasure chest? Well, the picture was as clear as could be but, the chest was missing. It just wasn’t there. Now, isn’t that a mystery? This place must be haunted.”

A week later, the entire gang was in the Wild Woods. The girls had already been accepted as official members of the group. It was time to forget the cave and finish exploring the woods. We passed by the canyons and finally came upon the remains of three houses. The chimneys and rock pillars were still there, indicating a large house and two smaller ones nearby. Out back of the big house was a cemetery grown over with broom sedge and honey suckles. Some of the graves had just a plain rock for headstones, but ten of them had what we called regular head stones with names and dates on them, telling us that the names were “Walls” and all died the same day, almost eighty years ago? Who put the marble headstone there? Who really owns the Wild Woods?

Two weeks passed and Randy had some information for us. He learned that Benjamin Walls, an elderly man of seventy-four, who lived in town, was the owner of the Wild Woods, and was happy to share the family history with his young visitor. Mr. Walls’ father, Jesse, had kept a journal for many years, so they felt that the

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information was accurate. Here is the story as told to Randy by Mr. Benjamin Walls:

When the Revolutionary War was over, the Government awarded two thousand acres to Colonel William Walls for his outstanding accomplishments during the war. The Wild Woods has been in the family all these years, passed on from generation to generation.

Years later, John Walls, a professional violinist, was the keeper of the Wild Woods. He was famous in this part of the state for his musical talent, and did quite a bit of traveling and playing for a variety of groups. On Saturday nights, while playing for square dances, he was referred to as a “fiddler” in lieu of a violinist. He had a strange habit of sometimes walking in the Wild Woods during the night while playing his instrument.

On this particular day, July 3, 1864, he was not “fiddling”. He and his two grown married sons, Robert and James, were barbecuing a pig in the shade of a large oak tree, near the big house. The sons were home on furlough from the war and the family was making big plans for the next day. The women were inside, preparing food, the young children were playing in the yard and it was a happy scene. Suddenly, they heard the hoof beats of many horses coming just around the curve. A few seconds later, they were surrounded by

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Yankee soldiers. Two men had taken a shipment of gold from the Union Army, and the soldiers had chased them to within a half mile of the Walls home and lost the trail. They figured it must be Robert and James. They rounded up all the family members, which included John’s wife and fifteen-year-old daughter, Jenny; Robert’s wife and young son; James’ wife, son and daughter, plus the three men, and bound their hands behind them. They would kill one person every five minutes until they got a confession. All the begging, pleading and explaining was ignored. No one knew about the gold, and there was no confession, so the killings began; one by one, even down to the smallest child, until all had been shot. The soldiers ransacked the houses and set them a-fire, along with the barn and other out buildings, took the live stock and rode away.

Two hours later, Jesse, John’s fifteen-year-old son, returning from an errand, spotted smoke a mile a way from the home place. He put his horse into a gallop, arrived a few minutes later and was shocked to see his home destroyed and family murdered. As he examined the bodies, he realized that Jenny, his twin sister, was still alive, but critically wounded. She managed to explain the entire ordeal to Jesse before blacking out from the loss of blood. She was in a bad way and Jesse cared for her as best he could, but during the night, his beloved sister died in his arms.

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Next day, he finished burying the dead in the family cemetery out back of the remains of the big house. He marked each grave with a plain stone, jotted down a few notes, mounted his horse and left the Wild Woods.

Jesse went to work as a carpenter, married, and fathered a son. Years later, he returned to the home place with his only son, Benjamin, and placed a marble headstone at each grave and never set foot in the Wild Woods again. (Some people refer to the great forest as the “Walls Woods”.) Mr. Ben Walls has a son, George, that will someday inherit the property.

The summer school break was half gone, the crops were laid by and time hung heavy on our hands. We were getting real brave about the Wild Woods and planned to camp and spend the night there on the “island” with the shack. We had never seen any signs of wild cats, cougars, bobcats nor fourteen foot long rattlesnakes, so why not take a chance and enjoy.

Most of the gang was there by mid afternoon, and decided to go over on the other side and check on the sawmill. There was no sawmill, no sawdust, no slabs, nothing. It was as if the sawmill never existed, but we knew better, because we had the shack to prove it. Now, that was a strange thing! The cave disappeared and so did the sawmill. Would we be next? I was

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beginning to feel a little uneasy about staying the night in the Wild Woods, but I kept those thoughts to myself. I was thinking that we probably should have called this thing off. Maybe, just maybe, it will be all right.

We returned to the campsite and all members were present, except the girls, so we gathered fire wood and started a fire. We roasted wieners and marshmallows, relaxed for several hours and listened to Randy tell some of the many stories that he had read.

Along about midnight, as we were beginning to settle down, we heard the most blood curdling scream, and it was close by! Man, it would make the hair on your head stand up! We believed it was a panther, but we didn’t really know. We switched on flashlights, directed the beams out into the woods and eventually spotted three pairs of yellow eyes. We placed more wood on the fire, hoping they would go away, but they only moved around, staying just beyond the rim of the canyon.

We decided to keep two guys on watch for the remainder of the night, but no one could sleep, so the entire gang stayed on watch. We thought of the kids of long ago who went into the Wild Woods and never returned. Would we be next? Would we be eaten alive by those yellow-eyed creatures? They came down into

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the canyon, within fifty feet of our “island”. They were getting brave and we were about to panic. We threw burning sticks of wood at them and they backed off for a short distance. There was no danger of a forest fire since our fire fell on the sandy floor of the canyon. This continued for a while, then they began to circle our camp, coming closer with each round. We knew they were ready to pounce on us when, suddenly, we heard the most beautiful violin music, coming from… somewhere back in the woods. We figured it must be the angels coming for us. In fact, I could almost see them, gliding gracefully between the tree branches, ready to snatch us from the jaws of death.

The yellow eyes stopped circling, retreated and disappeared into the shadows and beyond. Soon everyone was calm and relaxed and very quiet as we listened to the mysterious violinist. The music seemed to have some sweet magical effect upon us. No one was frightened nor uneasy anymore. The music faded with the darkness as the dawning of a new day approached. And all’s well that ends well, as they say.

During the past, others had heard the music. Several men, while coon hunting or possum hunting, had ventured into the Wild Woods, and occasionally, very late in the night, would hear the violinist. Several times a thorough search was made, but no one was found.

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The music always seemed to be coming from somewhere else.

We often wondered about the strange happenings in the haunted Wild Woods. We found answers to some of our questions, but what happened to the sawmill and why couldn’t we find the cave? Why was the chest not in the photo? We knew the gold existed, because we had our coins. Where did the beautiful music come from? No one even had a clue as to that one.

We enjoyed many Sunday afternoons, and other days (but no more nights) in the Wild Woods. Usually the girls joined us, but not always. On this particular day, I was wishing with all my heart, that they would come. We arrived at the cotton field and no girls. You see, this would be the final trip to the Wild Woods for Johnny and me. World War II was going strong and the Government needed our farm, and a few others, for an airport; and we must vacate immediately. They paid us for the crops in the field, paid off our mortgage and gave us twice the market value for the land. My father had some friends in Hahira, Georgia; away down south, and they found a large farm for us, with good houses and out buildings, for a reasonable price. So, that was our destination.

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Just as we were about to enter the forest, I looked back, saw the girls coming through the field, and we waited. We made our way into the canyons and to the “island” where I brought them up to date on our plans. We spent the afternoon just sitting around, talking and reliving our experiences with the Wild Woods, and I kept wondering if I would ever see my special girl again.

It was time to go and the group rode slowly to the intersection where we would split, some going east and others going west. I decided to ride a short distance with Betty Ann, and Johnny said he would cover for me if I was late in coming home. Brenda would ride to the top of the hill and wait there for her friend. Betty Ann and I stopped, dismounted and hugged, right there in the middle of the road. I thought I’d take a chance, so I kissed her on the lips, just like they do in the movies, and it worked. She kissed me back. That was the first and only girl that I ever kissed. The gorgeous blue-eyed girl, with tears streaming down her face, mounted her bicycle, turned and said, “Bye, Andy. I love you.” And she was gone.

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AFTERWORD

All the kids grew up to be useful, responsible citizens; with one exception.

Clayton was executed in another state for murder.

Randy got a Doctorate in Literature and taught English at the University of Georgia.

Harry went to work and operated three sawmills, all over North Georgia.

Johnny became President of a large building supply company with twenty-one stores.

Roy and Eddie made careers of the U.S. Air Force and traveled throughout the world.

Jerry landed a good position with Pet Milk Company.

Dale became an important man with General Motors.

Brenda got a degree in law, married Thomas Murphy, the District Attorney, and later became a very tough Circuit Judge.

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Betty Ann earned a Master’s Degree in Literature and fulfilled her dream by teaching English in the local high school, and eventually became Principal of that school.

When Andy turned eighteen, he left South Georgia and graduated from the Police Academy. In Atlanta, he returned to his boyhood hometown and joined the Police Force. Within a few years, he worked his way up to Chief of Police, a position that he held for more than thirty years. He was a strong negotiator and demanded the very best personnel and equipment. And as a result, the citizens enjoyed living in a town with the lowest crime rate in the state. Actually, he had some help in cleaning up the town. He and his men would haul the criminals into court, the D.A. would prosecute them and “Judge Brenda” would put the stiffest penalty possible on them. Within a few years, bad people found other places to hang out and Andy’s jail became a little lonely, except on weekends.

And, by the way, at age twenty-one, Andy’s dream finally came true. He married the “Gorgeous blue-eyed girl with the beautiful smile”, and they are still very much in love.

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Crop Duster

FOREWORD

The following story is what one might, in a way, call a sequel to "The Wildwoods". In 1942, the U.S. Government forced two families, in rural North Georgia, off their land. That particular land was needed for a military airport to aid the war effort, so they had to vacate quickly. However, they were paid handsomely for their inconvenience. In those days the entire country was together, doing all they could to support our men and women in the military. The Simms family relocated on a nice four horse farm in South Georgia, five miles east of Hahira. A four horse farm simply means four horses, or mules, are required to do the work on that particular farm. The Conways settled on a 900 acre plantation three miles east of Hahira, which Mr. Conway bought at an auction. The property contained a large antebellum home, twelve share-cropper houses, barns and other out buildings, a twenty cow dairy, a turpentine operation that included 300 pine trees, a cotton gin, 150 acre cotton allotment, a small country store and a blacksmith shop. Living on a plantation in South Georgia was quite different from living in the northern part of the state, as we shall see.

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World War II was still raging and almost everything was rationed; canned goods, meat, tires, shoes, gas and oil…just to name a few. We raised most of our food, so we were okay. The young men were away, in the military, so the farm work and factory work was accomplished by older men, kids and women. A neighbor once remarked to Daddy, "Walter, this war could finally get your oldest son, if it goes on much longer. The year was 1944 and I was old enough to drive a car. We had moved to the plantation, near Hanira, GA two years ago, where I had my own room, which was better than sharing with Johnny and Uncle Albert. As a matter of fact, the mansion had many rooms; a large kitchen, a pantry, a breakfast room, dining room, living room, family room, library, nine bed rooms and six bathrooms. Two women from the share cropper houses helped Mama with the household chores, such as cooking, cleaning etc.

Uncle Albert, Mama's brother, lived with us and ran the company store. Friday evenings and Saturdays seemed to be his best days. During the remainder of the week, he might have three or four customers, except a few old friends who hung around and played checkers and poker. Often, he would sit on the front porch and pick the banjo. He was injured in battle during the war and

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as a result, he walked with a bad limp. He worked several years in a hamburger joint, but finally had to give it up because of standing long periods of time. He received a small pension from the VA. He didn't really need the money, but it kept him occupied. He and I were "good buddies". His wife died many years ago and he never remarried and had no children, so he referred to me as "My boy" and that was fine with me. When I had a problem, I usually went to Uncle Albert, since my parents had their hands full with my older sister, Alice.

My sister, Alice, was four years my senior and kind of wild, so my parents were kept busy trying to keep her out of trouble. She didn't like moving to South Georgia and leaving her friends, so she rebelled and gave my parents all kinds of headaches and heartaches. I thought, “that’s just tough.” I had to leave Betty Ann, with whom I was madly in love and I survived. And another thing, she was always causing trouble for Johnny and me. Years later, I forgave and loved her.My brother, Johnny, was three years younger than me and a fine little fellow. We seldom had a disagreement, and even then it was very minor. He was not only a brother, but a good friend, which I've always treasured.

I last saw Betty Ann two years ago, but I often dream of her. She wrote me a letter about every week and I always answered within a few days. I once asked her if she had a boy friend and her reply was, Tm waiting for

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you and I'll wait forever". There were a number of pretty girls in our school, but my thoughts were always of Betty Ann. and the Wildwoods of North Georgia.There were twelve share cropper families on the plantation and their main responsibility was hoeing, chopping and picking cotton, but they did other work when not in the cotton fields. Daddy, Johnny and I did the plowing, planting and cultivating with a big four row tractor, and after expenses, we split the profit 50/50 with the share croppers. One hundred fifty acres was a lot of cotton, which meant lots of money.

No other landlord was as generous as Daddy with their share croppers, and as a result we had very little labor turnover. Once they moved to our plantation, they stayed, if they were good workers. They were usually paid for their groceries and supplies each week, unlike most others. Some wisely saved their surplus money, while others spent theirs foolishly. During the months of November and December the roads were full of share croppers, leaving their landlords to take up residence with new ones, mostly because they felt as though they had been cheated by the land owners.

We had our own cotton gin and seed house on the property, operated by three sharecroppers from mid-August to the middle of November. When they were not ginning, they were picking, along with the other

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sharecroppers and their families. We also ginned cotton for some of the neighbors, in that it was cheaper and nearer than going to Hahira.

One Sunday afternoon Roy Simms, with his motorcycle, stopped by our place and said, "Hey, Andy; jump on behind me and let's go see the airplanes in Hahira."

"Just a minute. I need to let Mama and Daddy know."

Daddy said, "Boy, you be careful. You could get killed on that thing."

"I will. We'll be back by sundown."

The airport was just a small dirt strip on the other side of town. And that was true in most small towns in those days, just small unpaved dirt strips. There were several planes landing and taking off and doing all sorts of maneuvers while airborne. Theo, the guy who ran the airport, was working on a small plane and we walked right up to him and asked if we could look at it.

With a big grin, he replied, "Sure. Look all you want. You can even climb up and sit in it. Just don't touch anything." I took the rear seat and Roy took the front. Man, we were in "high cotton!" It was an old two seater, open cockpit, by-plane. I had never been that

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close to an airplane, and knew I just had to fly. And, somehow, I knew I could work it out. Theo said we could walk around and look at some of the other planes, just stay clear of the moving ones. Sometime later, we thanked Theo for an enjoyable afternoon and headed home.

As we were riding along, I asked, "Hey, Roy. How does a guy go about learning to fly?""Theo owns three planes and he gives flying lessons; $5.00 for thirty minutes. It takes several months training in order to get a license, and I think you have to be pretty smart."

Well, I thought I was pretty smart, but money could be a problem. I was saving up to buy a car when I turned sixteen, so if I were very smart, I'd use that money for flying lessons. Then, there was Uncle Albert. If I got into a bind, he'd help me, and I felt good about my plans.

Throughout the summer, each Wednesday afternoon, I rode one of our mules, four miles to the airport for flying lessons. We owned three mules that our people used for planting and cultivating vegetable gardens. Otherwise; they just hung around eating hay, grass and grain, so it was okay for me to use one for my trips to Hahira. When school began in the fall, my flying

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lessons were changed to Saturday mornings. No one, other than Uncle Albert, Roy and Johnny, knew of my plans. My parents assumed I was seeing a girl, so I let it go at that.

That year we raised a bumper crop of cotton and that meant more money. Daddy increased our allowance, with the understanding that it would be reduced if we raised a lesser crop of cotton, so my finances were still good. During the winter months, my trips to Hahira were less frequent because of inclement weather.

In early spring, I had completed all my hours of training, soloed several times, made two cross-country flights, did all sorts of take-offs and landings and passed the written exam. Theo said, "Andy, here's your license. You are a very young pilot, but there's no age restriction, and I'm satisfied that you can do the job. You're a bright fellow, so use your head; stay calm and relaxed and you'll do fine."

That night, at the dinner table, Mama almost jumped out of her chair when I showed her my pilot's license. Daddy said, "That's quite a shock. Now that you have it, what do you intend to do?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to learn to fly."

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"Son, you just wasted a lot of money, but it's your money. So be it."

Mama said, "You're gonna get killed; either with Roy's motorcycle or fooling around with those airplanes." She was really upset. "You were taking flying lessons all those times when you rode the mule to town. We thought you were seeing a girl. You deceived us."

"Mama, I didn't say I was seeing a girl."

"No, you didn't say anything. You just left."At that point, I figured the best thing for me to do was to keep my mouth shut. And I did.I knew I could never win an argument with her.

Next day, Uncle Albert returned from Jackson, Mississippi, where he had spent a week, trying to get his leg fixed, but the procedure failed. I showed him my pilot’s license and he was almost as happy as I was.

"My boy; I've got a deal for you, upon approval from your parents, of course. While in Jackson, I met a man who had a crop duster for sale. I hired an airplane mechanic to go over it with a fine tooth comb and he said it was in excellent shape except for a paint job. I'll buy the plane and you fly it and if we make any money, we'll split the profit, 50/50. What do you think?"

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"Man, that's great! But Mama and Daddy would never go along with it."

"Well, you won't know if you don't try. Give it your best shot."

A couple of days later, I was helping Mama weed the flower garden when she asked, "Andy, why don't you like girls? All the other boys your age have girl friends. There are lots of pretty ones in our church, especially Marsha Stephens. I hear she's kinda sweet on you."

"Mama, I like girls, and I'm in love with a very nice young lady.

"Oh? And who is this mysterious person?"

"Betty Ann"

"Shucks, Andy. She's away up in North Georgia. It's been two years since you last saw her. As a matter of fact, you probably will never see her again. She'll find some one else and you will too. You might as well forget about her."

I knew it would serve no purpose to argue with her, so I just backed off. Sometimes, I felt like life was passing me by. My friends were dating, going to parties and

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hanging around with girls while I was haunted, forever, by the thoughts of someone I may never see again. There was a large picture of her smiling face on my desk and a smaller one in my wallet. She was always on my mind. I would often see her face in the clouds, in the full moon and in my dreams. And I thought of a statement in one of her letters, 'I’ll wait for you forever." Was I crazy? I thought not. I was in love.

I spent a week convincing my parents to go along with the crop duster deal. The nearest crop duster was just across the Georgia/Florida line and it usually did a poor job. Most people in our area used a two row walking duster, which was slow and was hard work; or tractors, which damaged some of the larger cotton plants; so they needed me.

Theo flew me out to Jackson to get the crop duster. It was an exact duplicate of the first plane Roy and I sat in at Hahira airport, over a year ago. Theo said "I need to take it up for a spin, to make sure it's fit for a young pilot." He climbed into the cockpit, I gave the propeller a couple of spins and the engine fired. Two minutes later, he gunned the engine, taxied down the strip and took off. He did several steep climbs, a few nose dives and roll overs, then returned to the landing strip. After a half hour inspection, he said, "This plane is in excellent condition. But if I were you, I'd install a starter. I have

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one back at the hanger that will work for you. You could get killed, spinning that propeller."

I gave Mr. Batts the check from Uncle Albert, and took off a mile behind Theo. I had my pilot’s license and was under no pressure from an instructor, so I really enjoyed the flight home. It was so nice, being on my own. The plane had a top speed of 160 miles per hour, but I cruised at 110 and an altitude of 2,000 feet.

Three and a half hours later, and almost sundown, I landed the crop duster in our pasture on a landing strip that Johnny, Roy and I had prepared a few days earlier. Everyone was there for the landing; the family, the share-croppers, a few neighbors, Roy and some of my friends. That was a big deal and everyone was excited. There were not many fifteen year old pilots around in those days, but I took to flying like "a duck takes to water."

The dust-bin could be removed, making space for two passengers, if they were not too large, and that's what we did during the next few days. I gave all my friends and family a ride, except Mama and Daddy, who wanted no part of flying. Marsha Stephens came over and Mama made me take her up. I thought, "I'll fix her little red wagon." I climbed to 5,000 feet, went into a nose-dive and pulled the throttle wide open. We were going down like a bullet and the earth was coming up

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fast. I pulled back on the stick, but nothing happened. Man, I almost panicked! I cut the throttle to half and, slowly, the plane began to respond and finally leveled off just a few feet above a pine forest; much closer than I had anticipated. I vowed to never repeat that maneuver. Why, I was scared half to death!

We landed, taxied to the end of the strip, and got out of the plane. I thought Marsha would be terrified, but she was excited, laughing and happy and said, "That was great. That was the most fun I've ever had. When can we do it again?"

Mama came rushing up, screaming and yelling at me. 'That's the dumbest thing I've ever seen! Are you crazy? You and Marsha could have been killed! What's the matter with you, anyway? You're grounded for a week and if you ever pull another stunt like that, you're through flying. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." So my plan back-fired. Marsha enjoyed it. I was scared out of my wits, and got the worst dressing down of my life.

She fussed at me for a while longer, and finally said, "Marsha, you had better go home. Andy, get your hoe and weed the vegetable garden and when you finish, help Alice with the flower beds."

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"Yes Ma'am"

While grounded, I decided to paint the crop duster. Uncle Albert bought the yellow paint and I did the work. We needed a name for our machine and I had one in mind. "Uncle Albert, what name shall we give the plane?"

"Well, my boy; you call it anything you like. Makes no difference with me".

Roy's girl friend, Julie, was an artist, so I asked, "Roy, do you think Julie would paint a name on the plane for me?"

"Yeah, I know she would, if you give us a fifteen minute ride."

Next afternoon, they arrived on Roy's motorcycle, and Julie painted, in large black letters, on each side of the plane; "Betty Ann". I promised to take them up for a spin as soon as I got off probation.

Mama pitched a fit when she saw the lettering on the crop duster. '1 told you to forget that girl! You'll never see her again. Now get her name off that plane. Now!"

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Uncle Albert walked up and heard Mama yelling at me, and said, "Listen, Lois, it's my airplane and the name stays as is. Why are you so rough on him? He's a good kid. Have you met this Betty Ann girl?"

"No, and I don't intend to".

"You might like her. Andy seems to be crazy about her, and she's probably a good person. I think I know the problem. You're hung up on Marsha Stephens. You need to back off and let him choose the girl he likes. After all, he'll be sixteen before the end of the year and should be making his own decisions in lots of ways." She finally calmed down. I didn't know why she was picking on me. We were always such good friends.

I was out of money and almost out of gas, and cotton dusting time was two weeks away, when I hit upon a great idea. Sunday, after church, I flew over to the Hahira air strip and gave people a 15 minute ride for five dollars. I earned $50.00 that afternoon. The following Sunday, I flew down to Valdosta and earned $60.00.

When the time was right, I dusted our cotton, which was the beginning of my cotton dusting career. I made a few minor mistakes that were easily corrected. To the average person, dusting cotton with an air plane appears

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to be an easy task, but it's not all "peaches and cream". One must fly 60 miles per hour, six to ten feet above the cotton, watch for obstacles; such as buildings, trees, fences, overhead power lines and roads. Sometimes I flew under the power lines. The dust hopper must be opened and closed at the exact location, so as not to over spray, nor shut off too soon leaving areas not dusted. Man, I had to concentrate every second! No daydreaming nor thinking of Betty Ann. I was paid fifty cents per acre and some days I earned almost two hundred dollars. Other days I earned less and occasionally I didn't go up at all. I paid Alice 6% of the gross to answer the telephone and set up schedules. Cotton fields must be dusted at least twice during each season, which usually began around the middle of June and ended about two months later, with a few breaks here and there. I had a few close calls during my crop dusting career, mostly within the first year. I kept trying and eventually, I became very good at it.

Once, I flew under some overhead power lines and missed a cotton shed by only a few inches. I was looking up and almost forgot to look down, and learned a lesson. A few weeks later, I flew too close to a barn roof and a wheel knocked off the weather vane, but no damage was done to the plane.

I was doing some dusting down near Quitman when I almost collided in mid-air with a red crop duster that

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wasn't supposed to be in the area. Shortly, I landed at the air strip for more cotton dust. The red crop duster landed too, and taxied up behind me. A big man with shaggy red hair and beard got out and said to me, "Hey squirt. I'm Big Red from Madison, Florida and you're in my territory. Now, git out and don't come back."

'I don't care who you are. I've not crossed the state line, so I'm not in your territory."

"Look, boy. I've been losing customers since you've been around. You're gonna have to leave or you'll be sorry."

'I've heard of you. The reason you're losing customers is because you do such lousy work and I do it right. I don't get out and drum up these jobs; they come to me."

"Why, you little squirt; I'll break your neck." And he took a couple of steps toward me, when the airport manager said, "I wouldn't do that, Red. He's a minor and you could get into some trouble."

"I don't care what he is. I'll git him later."

I finished the job and was going home, thirty minutes before sundown, when I saw the red crop duster off to the left. Big Red had removed his dust bin and had a

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passenger with him, who was pointing a rifle or shot gun toward me. I banked sharply to the right, opened the throttle all the way and climbed into a low cloud cover, and banked to the left. I cut the throttle to about 110 m.p.h. and came out of the cloud five minutes later. I looked south and saw a red dot going away from me. That was something that Mama and Daddy didn't need to know, so I told no one except Uncle Albert and Johnny.

A week later, I had just finished a job east of Valdosta and was doing some sight seeing on the way home, when I spotted Big Red approaching from the rear and he was really coming fast, and just a little above me. As he flew over, I saw a small object fall from his plane, barely missing me. Then, above the roar of the engine, I heard a loud explosion. Dynamite! They were trying to kill me! Within a few seconds, they were above me again. The next stick of dynamite fell into the cockpit with me. Quickly, I grabbed it and tossed it out. The explosion was so near, it rocked the plane. Man, I was in real trouble, and scared to death! He was getting ready to make his third pass, which would have been the end of me, when I opened the throttle and went into a dive, but he was right on my tail. I banked sharply to the right and was able to put some distance between us; my plane being smaller and able to turn quicker. I climbed to 4,000 feet, banked to the left, and went into a steep dive with Big Red close behind. I couldn't

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imagine him doing such a thing. There were bound to be witnesses. We were going down at a 90 degree angle, almost, and it reminded me of the stunt I pulled on Marsha, which back fired. Finally, I pulled back on the stick and leveled off, missing a cornfield by only a few feet. Big Red didn't. He was so busy chasing after me, he forgot everything else. I looked back and saw a great ball of fire in the cornfield.

I answered many questions from the sheriff, and so did several farmers and their families who witnessed the action. All told practically the same story. "The red plane was chasing the little yellow one and was trying to drop dynamite on him. They went into a nose dive, the yellow plane pulled out just above the ground and the red one didn't. It was quite a show."

I thought about not telling my parents, but I realized the story would be in all the local newspapers, so I told them all about it at the dinner table. Uncle Albert and Johnny thought it was a great story. Daddy and Alice kept quiet but Mama hit the roof. She jumped on me with both feet. "You're through flying, young man! Albert, I want you to sell that airplane. It's nothing but trouble. I knew some one would get killed, and now it's happened."

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Johnny spoke up, "The world's better off without those two. They were trying to kill Andy and got what they deserved. I say good riddance. You won't see me crying at their funeral."

Mama screamed, "Johnny, you stay out of this." And he did. She yelled at me for another five minutes, which seemed like five hours.

Finally, Daddy got her to calm down and I said, "Mama, I'm saving the crop dusting money for my college fund. The more I have, the less you and Daddy will have to pay."

"We hadn't planned to pay for any college. We'll send you through high school and that's it. Your daddy didn't go to college and he's making a good living." "But Mama; I'm not going to be a farmer. I want to be police chief. "Oh, my goodness. Here we go again. You're gonna be the death of me yet." And she left the room, still raising sand.

A few days later, the dusting season was over. I removed the dust hopper, cleaned the plane, and was helping Daddy and Johnny repair the cotton gin, when a car entered the driveway. A man got out and hurriedly walked up to our work site. He said, "Good morning, Mr. Conway. My name is Adam Potter and I'm a lawyer. I need to meet a client at the Peach Tree Airport

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in Atlanta at 10 o'clock and it's now 8. I can't get a commercial flight out of here until noon and I was wondering if your boy could fly me up there? I'll pay $75.00."

Daddy said, "Andy, can you make it in two hours?"

"Yes sir; if we leave right now. The plane is gassed up and ready to go. We can be airborne in three minutes."'Then take off and be careful."

We had a strong tailwind from the south and arrived at our destination ten minutes early. Upon our arrival, Mr. Potter said, "Andy, a thought just occurred to me. If you'll wait around for three hours and fly me back home, I'll give you another $30.00. You'll earn $10.00 an hour, for just hanging around."

"Okay, I'll be ready at one o'clock."

We couldn't take off on schedule because of stormy weather. We were held up until five o'clock, and were warned to wait a little while longer, but Mr. Potter insisted we leave. He said he would pay an extra $20.00, so we took off like a cat with his tail a-fire. About an hour into the flight, we hit a thunderstorm and I climbed above it. We were out of the rain, but the winds were strong and tossed the plane around like a

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toy. Another long hour passed and we flew out of the clouds. The rain had stopped and the sun was sinking low in the western horizon, and I was as lost as a goose. The wind had blown us off course and I had no idea where we were. I wished I had listened to the airport authority, but I listened to my passenger. Big mistake. I circled several times, trying to locate a familiar landmark. The sun was sinking fast when, finally, I spotted the Lakeland water tower, and I realized I was twenty miles off course. As the sun dropped behind the trees, I set the crop duster down on our landing strip.

Several weeks earlier, Betty Ann had stopped sending letters, and I began to worry. I couldn't understand, unless she had found another boy friend, but that didn't make sense, in that she always added at the ending of each letter, "P.S. I'm waiting for you." The only other party I kept in touch with was my good friend, Randy Leatherwood, who lived in North Georgia. I had no problem getting his letters, so something was wrong. Johnny usually picked up the mail, so I asked, "Johnny, are you sure there have been no letters from Betty Ann?"

'1 don't know. Mama picks up the mail, now."

"How long has this been going on?"

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"Oh, I don't know, for sure. About five or six weeks, I guess."

I was beginning to see things more clearly. Mama was intercepting my mail and holding or destroying the letters from Betty Ann. She was still trying to break us up. I wondered why she didn't just give up, because this was one fight she definitely would not win. Well, I knew how to solve that little problem. I would ask Betty Ann to send the letters to Roy and he would pass them on to me. He and I were together every Sunday morning at Church, and he stopped by our house a couple times a week on his way into town, where he held a part time job at the photo lab.

A couple of days after the Atlanta trip, I was hanging around the store, eating a moon pie, drinking a root beer and listening to some of Uncle Albert's wartime stories, when suddenly he said, "My boy, I just had a great idea! How about you and I flying the crop duster out to Waco, Texas for the Wallace family reunion?" (Wallace was Uncle Albert and Mama's family name. Most of the family lived in the vicinity of Waco. However, some lived as far as a hundred miles away.) You'll enjoy seeing the large ranch and meeting other kin folk and eating all that good food, especially Jim's bar-be-que and Kate's home made pies."

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"Hey, that's great and I'm all for it! When do we leave?"

'The reunion is Saturday of next week, so I thought we could leave on Wednesday and do some visiting before the big day. The rest of the family will be driving out there and that's a two and a half day drive each way."

Time dragged on and finally the day of departure arrived. Just about sunrise, Uncle Albert and I boarded the crop duster and headed due west; without Mama's blessing. It was a beautiful clear day with very little wind, just perfect for flying. Theo had checked the plane a few days ago and said everything was fine, so we were really enjoying the flight.

We cruised at 110 to 115 mph and at an altitude of 1,000 feet. Occasionally we dropped down to 300 feet to get a better view of the scenery, and sometimes lower to look at the road signs.

Four hours later, we landed in Hattiesburg, Miss, for fuel and food. We carried enough fuel for six hours, but why push our luck. We ate hamburgers and moon pies and I drank a Ne-Hi orange soda and Uncle Albert washed his down with an R.C. cola. That was the best hamburger I'd ever tasted.

Lunch was finished, the plane fueled and we took off and continued our westward journey. We saw

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Mississippi's huge cotton fields, crossed the great river, flew over the sugar cane fields of Louisiana, and the Red River Valley and went on into Texas. We stopped at the airport in Waco for fuel and ten minutes later, landed in an open field on the Wallace Ranch and taxied up to one of the barns and were greeted by the family. There were Uncle Jim, Aunt Kate, Cousins Ellen, Emory, Eugene and Emily. Also, we met the ranch hands, four men that were too old for the Military, and five young fellows about my age and their lady cook, Mollie. I thought we owned lots of land, but it was just an ant hill compared to Uncle Jim's 143,000 acre ranch.

During the next day and a half, we toured the ranch in Uncle Jim's jeep. In Texas, everything is big; big ranches, big houses and barns and big herds of cattle. There were several large ponds, which appeared to me, to be lakes. Those bodies of water were used primarily for watering cattle and horses, but some were stocked with catfish, some weighing as much as fifteen pounds. Also, there were a number of windmills scattered over the ranch that ran almost non-stop, pumping fresh water. Speaking of large catfish, I once heard a man say there were some in the Mississippi River that weighed more than a hundred pounds. Now that may be true, but I have my doubts. Anyway, we enjoyed the tour, but the weather was hotter than that in South Ga. The wind

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seemed to be blowing, always, and that caused many of the trees to lean eastward, and out on the range one could see tumbleweeds rolling along. And I had never seen such blue skies. Man, we were in the wide open spaces. I really enjoyed my visit there, but Georgia was my home.

Guests began arriving around noon on Thursday. Our family arrived on Friday and since they made the longest drive, they had rooms in the big house, except for Johnny who slept in the bunk house with the ranch hands, along with Uncle Albert and me. Others camped in trailers and tents. A few stayed in the hotel in Waco, twenty miles away, or with neighbors close by. All during the day on Friday, people kept coming, and by Saturday noon, the crowd had swelled to more than 300, including a few close friends and neighbors. I was never very shy and had no problem talking with strangers, so I really enjoyed meeting the people. Some wanted me to take them for a spin in the crop duster, but Uncle Jim forbade it. "Son", he said, "I don't want to spoil your fun, but I'm afraid of those things. If there were an accident, I'd feel responsible. I hope you understand."

"Yes sir. That's okay with me. I didn't want to do it anyway."

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We had tons of food and several barrels of lemonade and iced tea and, I believe, the best bar-b-que in the world. Man, what a feast! Occasionally, a few of the men, including Uncle Albert, would sneak off to one of the barns for a little nip of moonshine whiskey. I noticed something else that puzzled me. Two or three women would go to the smoke-house, stay a few minutes and return to the kitchen empty handed. (A smokehouse is used for storing and smoking meat) Now, that was a strange observation. Then I recognized Alice and three other girls following that same pattern. My curiosity was really getting the best of me. I worked my way a little closer to the building when the girls departed. I looked around and saw that no one else was heading in that direction so I went inside to investigate. There was a strong odor of tobacco smoke and cigarette butts and match sticks were scattered everywhere. The women and girls were using the smoke-house for smoking. I guess they thought that was what it was for.

A very good band entertained us for several hours by playing all the popular tunes. After the meal was finished, we listened to a Gospel Quartet and occasionally they would ask the crowd to join in the singing. The last song we sang was "If We Never Meet Again (this side of heaven)." Some of the people went fishing, some went swimming, and others pitched horse shoes, but most just sat around talking and listening to

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the music. I really liked music, even though I couldn't sing worth a flip. I could go fishing, swimming and pitch horse shoes at home, so I was among the number that "just sat around" and so was Johnny.

The sun was going down, the festivities were over, the local people were leaving, and so were the hotel guests. The reunion was a great success. Our family decided to stay on for a few days and do some visiting, except Uncle Albert and me.

Monday morning, after breakfast, we were hanging around, saying goodbye and thanking our host and hostess for a wonderful experience when we suddenly noticed the wind picking up and the sky growing very dark. Uncle Jim said, "Looks like a tornado heading this way. We had better take cover in the storm cellar."

I said, "Uncle Albert, we need to get this plane away from here, now. The wind could tear it apart. We can out run the storm once we get airborne." We quickly climbed aboard and I warmed up the engine for two minutes. As we taxied across the field, I could hardly keep it on the ground because of the strong wind. It was almost as dark as night when we got airborne and headed due east at 145 mph. I looked back and saw the funnel cloud and hoped we could stay out of its path. The wind tossed us about but I managed to remain on course. I worried that the plane would break apart in the

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stormy weather. Man, I was really scared! I thought, this is no job for a sixteen year old kid; well, almost sixteen. But I liked excitement, so I shouldn't grumble.

An hour later, the wind died down to about 20 mph, the sun was out, and there was nothing but blue skies ahead of us. I slowed the plane to 110 mph and we enjoyed the flight to Hattiesburg, where we landed for fuel and food. I kept looking west, in case the tornado was following us, but I saw nothing but blue skies. We later learned that it missed Uncle Jim's house and barns, but uprooted a few trees not far away.

As we were preparing for takeoff, I asked the weather girl, "What can we expect for the next 400 miles, going east?"

'The last phone call I received in that direction indicated heavy cloud cover in south east Alabama, expected to move into south west Georgia, with some rain."

As we walked away, Uncle Albert said, "Let's fly. That gal don't know what she's talking about. Why, look at the sky. Clear as a whistle."

"As we travel east, we'll fly into heavy clouds."

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"She doesn't know that. She's just guessing and our guess is just as good as hers, so let's go." And we did; although, deep inside, I had a bad feeling about our decision, but it was his airplane and he was the boss, so his word was final.

Forty-five minutes into our flight, we began to see a few scattered white clouds and I was feeling a little uneasy. Suddenly, fifteen minutes later, we were in heavy clouds and I climbed to 6,000 feet, but that didn't seem to help. I decided to fly under the clouds, but that didn't work either, in that they were so thick and close to the ground. There were possibilities of flying into tall buildings, trees, towers, etc., so I climbed back to 6,000 feet. The clouds were so thick, I could barely see the wing-tips.

For a few minutes, I felt pretty confident, then I began to worry. The compass indicated we were flying due east and that was good, but suppose we drift south, over the Gulf of Mexico, or use up the fuel before we get out of this cloud cover? What if we collide with another plane? Then another thought occurred to me. I needn't worry about a collision; no one else would be fool enough to fly in this weather.

There sat Uncle Albert, dozing, without a worry in the world, and I was half scared to death. I learned a lesson. I vowed to never fly again in stormy weather,

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regardless of whom the passenger is. I would rely entirely on the weather report.

The plane droned on and I knew we were past our destination and I was about to panic when I noticed a thin spot in the clouds, then another, and another. Five minutes later, it was blue skies as far as we could see, but where were we? Then I realized we were approaching the Okefenokee Swamp, so I made a sharp left turn and headed north to Waycross, where we landed and stayed the night, after refueling and eating supper. We were seventy-five miles past our destination. Uncle Albert put his arm around my shoulder and said, "Well done, my boy. No one else could have done it better. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks." And I forgave him and we were buddies again. We awoke to a beautiful blue sky, had a quick breakfast at a snack bar near the airport, and 40 minutes after take-off, we were home.

One night, about a week after our return from Texas, I had a wonderful thought. Why not fly the crop duster up to North Georgia to visit Betty Ann? I sent her a letter telling her of my plans and waited for a response. Six days later, Roy came by the house, on his motorcycle, with a letter from Betty Ann, which was

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short and sweet. It simply said, "I love you and I'll be waiting for you."

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