BLACKWATER

by

C. D. Blizzard

Trade Paperback Coming Soon

(Gemstar Ebook ISBN 0-9700686-0-3)

EXCERPT:

A few minutes later, we was all scrunched down on our haunches in the palmettos, staring off into the hazy distance of the pre-dawn, Jimbo's butt crack glaring like a bright half moon above his britches. Seemed like he just couldn't keep that thing covered. It was always out there. I reached around behind me and checked my own drawers. They was where they's meant to be, and I was glad of that. I just didn't know how them men did that, but I guess it was on account of them big bellies out in front. No britches could get around them things, unless they was some awful special britches.

It seemed like forever and a day that we sat there like that. I was beginning to wonder just what the fascination was. It wasn't near as exciting as I thought it would be. We weren't doin' nothin' but waiting, and I didn't see no fun in that at all. I'd had all kinds of ideas about slinking through the woods, tracking all manner of wild animals, the Gamies at our backs and us always a step ahead of them. But we was all just sitting there in a swarm of skeeters. I'd never seen so many in all my life, and them vicious, too. They were the orneriest skeeters I'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. Liked to carried me off. They wanted some of me, boy. I weren't too sure I'd walk out of that forest with any blood left in my veins. I was downright miserable, but I had to sit there and take it like a man. Couldn't none of us slap them off because that would make too much noise.

Still as statues, we sat in them bushes, looking off out there into the hazy yonder. There was a clearing ahead of us, and Cotton seemed real engrossed in it. I tried hard to figure out what was so interesting out there, but I couldn't. To me it was just a patch of ordinary ground just laying there in some fog, nothing spectacular about it, although the fog did make it look right nifty.

"Crazy as an old bedbug," Jimbo muttered, drawing a look from Cotton that would have singed my eyebrows right off my face.

I guess that was a little too much noise for Cotton because he eased away and went to hunker down in another patch of palmettos some distance from us.

"Gamies is probably watchin' us right now," Jimbo whispered.

I looked around, being careful to use only my eyes and not turn my noggin at all because I knew it would disappoint my uncle if I moved any. I about near strained my eyeballs right out of my head, but I didn't see no Gamies.

A few crickets had started in to talking, and the sky was beginning to lighten some. Soon the sun would start to chase away what was left of the fog, and our part of the world would break into a new dawn. If it wasn't for the skeeters, I'd think it was right pretty. But me squatting there kind of stiff and bored and trying my best to ignore a B-52 skeeter that was using me for a filling station made all that prettiness pale into misery.

I glanced back at the clearing and was stunned to find something that hadn't been there a few seconds ago. A deer, big as you please. I knew then why we'd all been sitting out there like that. Cotton had known right where to go and right when to be there. I was right inspired. He was good, boy! Seemed like there weren't nothin' he was ignorant about when it came to them woods. Maybe one day I'd be that smart about things. I sure hoped so.

The deer paused near about right in the middle of the clearing and started to graze on the tough grass of the pine forest. Everything got strange after that. It was like the whole world came to a standstill just for my uncle. Nothing in them woods made a sound as we all stared. Cotton waited. Seemed like he didn't even blink as he eyeballed that deer. It was just a-nibblin' along. He had him a pattern going on. He would wiggle his tail real vigorous-like, stomp one hoof a few times, and then move on to a better tuft of grass. He was a right fine specimen for sure, a big buck with a sizeable rack, and I figured my uncle was righteous happy about his find.

I didn't know what to watch more, my uncle, or that deer. And I was having some trouble fixing on both at the same time.

I cut my eyes from the deer to my uncle. He was silently easing himself into position. Without a sound, he slowly stood up, his big thigh muscles knotting beneath his cotton britches as he let his legs handle all the weight. Arrow notched and ready, he pulled the bowstring taut, his body locked into position as he sighted that deer, and I knew he was taking account of the "wind-itch" just like he'd taught me. He looked just like I imagined a wild Indian would look, standing there waist deep in palmettos, his eyes trained on his target, his shoulders bunched and ready, that arrow just a-waitin' to shoot off that string.

About thirty yards from us now, the deer suddenly lifted his head out of the grass and looked our way. He had sensed something, and he was checking it out. I could tell by the way he was smelling the air, his glossy black nose twitching, his liquid brown eyes trained in our direction. But he hadn't got a fix on us yet. He still wasn't sure about things.

We were all frozen for a split second, transfixed. I was so still I was barely breathing. The deer was poised right smack in the flight path of that arrow, his body rigid, waiting. It was a face off. Cotton and his bow waiting for the kill, and the deer trying to figure out what was wrong. Another second, and Cotton let loose of that arrow.

Shooop!

I never took my eyes off the deer. I saw everything as clear as could be, every movement like it was in slow motion. The minute that arrow left the bow, the deer's ears pricked forward, and I saw his flanks quiver. Then he flinched hard, like he knew something was coming, but the arrow caught him before he could dart away.

THWACK!

The deer broke to the right, got one good bound out of him, started into the second, and then fell midair. Dead on the ground.

Cotton lunged out of them palmettos, whooping and a-hollerin', me and Jimbo following right behind him. Adrenaline was racing through my veins like I'd never felt before, and I was just as excited as if I'd been the one letting loose of that arrow, basking in the glory of the hunt.

"Clean shot! Right through the heart!"

"Didn't even see it coming," Jimbo hollered, already halfway to the deer.

Not wanting to miss out on anything, I struggled to keep up with the other men. We didn't care about no noise now, and we were making plenty of it crashing through them woods. I'd never had to move so fast in all my life, and my sides were heaving by the time we finally got to the deer. Seemed like at that pace, we could have chased the deer down and strangled him.

"Sum-bitch!" Jimbo screeched, prancing around the deer like a chicken over a June bug. "Not a mark on him. Looks like he died of a gawdam heart attack."

"I don't miss," Cotton solemnly answered, squatting down to get a closer look. He touched two fingers to the deer's side, just behind and below the shoulder, and I could see a bloody hole in there right beside where he was touching.

He looked up past Jimbo and silently nodded at something beyond his friend's left shoulder. I followed his gaze and felt my jaw go slack when I saw the arrow buried in a pine tree just a few yards away.

"Holy shee-it!" Jimbo breathed.

We all went over and studied it real close. I was stunned. That arrow had gone clean through the deer, so neat that there weren't hardly a drop of blood on it.

Cotton pried it out of the tree, losing the point in the process. He snapped the arrow in half and stuck it into his quiver, then yanked the tip out of the tree with a pair of pliers he pulled from his pocket. I suppose he wasn't gonna leave a trace of us being there at all.

I looked at the little groove where the arrow had been, then followed my uncle back to the deer. I'd been so excited about the hunting part that I hadn't really acknowledged the death side of it until now. Staring down at the deer laying there on the ground, all the excitement left me. I'd never seen anyone kill anything before, and I didn't really know how to feel about it. I'd just as soon have petted the deer than killed it. I wasn't too sure if I liked hunting. I felt kind of torn up inside. But I wasn't about to let my uncle see that. Still, I didn't think I'd be able to eat none of that venison, not after seeing that deer's eyes as he'd died.

"How come he didn't know we wuz there?" I asked. "Couldn't he see us?"

"We were downwind," Jimbo told me. "He couldn't smell us. He might have seen us, but we were so still, he wasn't real sure what we were."

"They don't come easy like this too damn often," Cotton threw in. "Just good timing. 'At's all in the world that was."

"And good shootin'," Jimbo said. "Yuh don't have to chase nothin' when yuh hunt with Cotton. 'Cept them damn wild boar hogs. They's demon possessed. You can shoot them things right through the heart and the head, and they'll run fifty gawdam yards before they drop." He bent down and looked at the deer. "Whaddayuh think, Cotton?"

"Nine point rack. Hundred and fifty pounds. Trophy deer," Cotton said, pulling out the biggest knife I'd ever seen. "He'll look real good on my wall."

Jimbo chuckled some.

Cotton flipped open his knife and made a little slit in the deer's throat. When the blood started seeping out, I had to back off some because I didn't like the looks of that. Jimbo started pumping the back legs, walking the deer, and blood came out of its neck in spurts, just like a heartbeat. I thought I was holding it all together pretty good for someone who'd never seen anything like that before. Right up until Cotton started cutting that deer down the abdomen, from the chest to the tailbone. Then I almost lost them pickled pig's feet I'd had for breakfast. But I knew if I was ever to learn to be like Cotton, I had to watch everything, even the nasty stuff. I already felt guilty enough about being so sissy over the killing part. I felt like I had to work harder at being a man. I was pretty sure Cotton had never gotten sick over killing for food, and I didn't want to disappoint him none. I didn't want him thinking I was too yeller to watch a deer being dressed out.

Cotton buried the innards in a deep hole amongst the palmettos, and then hefted that deer right onto his shoulder and carried it all the way back to the truck. Must have been a mile. I got plum tired just watching him because I knew that deer was some kind of heavy.

All the way back, I tried to be of help by keeping an eye out for any sign of them Gamies Jimbo had mentioned. But he must have been wrong about them because I never saw any.

Back at the campsite, Cotton put the deer in one of the side panels of the truck, packed bags of ice around it that he got out of the massive cooler in the back, and closed it up tight.

Jimbo looked like he was ready to get out of there right now, but Cotton weren't in no hurry. He was meticulous about everything, taking his own sweet time. I wondered if he weren't just tweaking Jimbo some. Seemed like something my uncle would do.

Jimbo nervously kicked at the remains of last evening's campfire, scattering what was left of it until it was just about blended into the rest of the ground.

Cotton got done stowing all his hunting things, and after that there weren't but one thing left to take care of. We all turned in unison and looked at Sweetie-Pie. He eyeballed us back, nickering like he knew what was coming.

Getting that horse back in the truck was something else altogether. There was considerable struggle. Cotton bellered his head off 'til I thought he was gonna come unglued. He got so mad he didn't care about making noise. And there was plenty of it. All the cussin' I ain't never heard.

"Damn fool jackass! Get the hellfire in the friggin' truck, yuh damn mule! I'll skin yuh alive and sell yer sorry-ass hide, yuh hardheaded, four-legged cuss! Ain't gonna put up with this bullshit outta no got-damn jackass like you!"

I watched, spellbound. If that was how he had to get that horse in the truck back home, I don't know how it hadn't woke the whole confounded county, and me with it. But then, mama always said I could sleep through a tornado.

Sweetie-Pie rolled his eyes, his flanks quivering as he pranced around behind the truck. Cotton bared his teeth, and his eyes got real red. His face turned several different shades of rage, and he started into growling like some kind of wild animal. Sounded worse than a bear, maybe somewhere along the lines of Bigfoot hisself.

After that, Sweetie-Pie took one wide-eyed look at my uncle's mottled face and got in that truck right now. And it didn't take him no effort neither. He just hopped right in as graceful as you please. Made me wonder why he'd put up such a fuss to begin with.

We never had used the jackass for hunting, and I didn't rightly figure why we'd brung him along to begin with. Seemed like it was more trouble than it was worth. Jimbo explained that Sweetie-Pie had just been a smoke screen for them Rabbit Detectives. Whatever that meant. I didn't ask because I didn't want to seem stupid.

Cotton was still cussin' under his breath a little as we all piled into the pickup and headed out. I thought maybe we'd be real careful to sneak out, but Cotton stole that deer out of the Forest right under the very noses of the Rangers themselves. He even waved as we passed the station house. I was impressed. I'd never seen anything bolder. That took starch.

I knew Cotton was real proud of that maneuver too, because he was chuckling as he turned the truck out onto the highway. I just grinned and settled back into the seat for the long ride. By that time, my tummy had set up a rumbling, and I couldn't wait to get home so's I could put some of Ruthie's cooking in my belly. High noon was about three hours away yet, and I figured it was gonna take us at least two of them hours just to get to the house. I had high hopes that maybe Cotton would stop again and get me another Moon-Pie, or maybe I'd try them peanuts in a Coca-Cola.

Unfortunately for me, fate didn't have no pity on my empty gizzard. About twenty minutes into the journey, Cotton suddenly let loose of a few swear words I would never repeat. I thought maybe it was on account of Sweetie-Pie, but when I twisted around in my seat to investigate, I saw a green Ford F150 pickup behind us and there was a slap-it-on-the-dash whirly light a-goin' in the windshield. I knew that meant for us to pull over, and I figured that's why Cotton had set on to cussin' so. He didn't like that officer pulling us over. But I suppose he weren't one to disobey the law too bad because he pulled the truck over onto the shoulder and cut the engine anyhow.

I watched that Ford park right up our tailpipe, and then a man got out and walked up to Cotton's window. He wore a khaki uniform with a patch on either shoulder of his shirt. Each one was embroidered with the words Florida Game and Freshwater Fish Commission. I just knew we were in trouble then. I was getting a handle on things now, and I had it figured out that this officer meant business. And that deer in the side panel was the business he meant. He was even holstering a big ole .357 pistol, just like Sheriff Bob.

"How many times have I told you, Cotton? You cain't haul that horse in the bed of your pickup."

Cotton just laughed like it weren't nothin' at all, then reached over and scruffed me hard on the head. I grinned real big. I liked it when he did that. It made me feel like I was part of things.

The Game Warden leaned down into the window to give me a look-see.

"This here is my nephew Mikey," Cotton told him. "This is Steve Blue. I knew his daddy real well. Steve is a big Game Warden now, and yuh know what that is. They call him Captain Steve Blue." Cotton chuckled, like that was some kind of joke.

Steve ignored him, looking past him at me. "Afternoon, son."

I stared. He was tall, probably as much as 6'3" or so. He had jet-black hair and sharp blue eyes, and I figured him to be somewheres around my uncle's age, maybe a tad younger. He seemed like he was a real imposing man in his own right, almost a match for Cotton, but in a softer, educated sort of way. He even spoke a little better than the rest of us.

While I was looking him over, Steve looked me over real good, too. "Your mama actually let you hang around this maniac?"

I didn't quite know how to answer that. It was a loaded question. I didn't want to talk back to no officer, but I didn't want to bring on Cotton's wrath neither. I was in an awkward position for sure, so I figured the best thing for me to do was to keep my mouth shut and just nod a little.

"I could cite you," Steve said to Cotton. "Improper transport of a stock animal."

"Aw, you ain't gonna do that," Cotton said, still grinning.

"Do you mind tellin' me where you're haulin' him?"

"We're just on our way home now. We was campin', weren't we, Crotch-dust?"

I grinned so big it felt like the corners of my mouth were about to split because I knew now when he said Crotch-dust, he was talking to me.

Steve just stood there and eyed Cotton real peculiar. After a bit, he stepped back away from the truck to study on Sweetie-Pie some, then casually walked back beside the truck a few paces and banged on the largest side panel, right where that deer was.

Jimbo started in to sweating bad. It was plain to see that he was downright scared, and I was slowly beginning to understand why he'd been so confounded nervous about hunting out of season. It was starting to look like we were in some serious trouble. I was gonna spend the rest of my life in jail, just like Jimbo had said, and I didn't know how I was gonna explain that to Mama. I felt my heart do a little kick-and-flip just thinking about it. It was kind of tough deciding which was worse, Mama's punishment, or life in jail.

Steve was acting powerful suspicious now, but that didn't seem to worry my uncle none. He was cool as a cucumber.

"You been modifyin' your truck, Cotton? This panel here is different, ain't it? I don't remember it being like this before. Seems like there ought to be two panels here instead of one big one."

"I been workin' on it some," Cotton said.

Jimbo looked at Cotton like he wanted to bolt and run something fierce, and I wondered if maybe I should feel that way, too.

"Kind of big, ain't it? Watcha need such a big panel for? Seems like it's a little too much for tools and whatnot," Steve observed.

I was beginning to get the feeling that Steve was a whole lot smarter than Sheriff Bob, real curious about things, and that panel was bugging him something serious. I could tell because he just wouldn't let go of that subject.

"Naw. I's just seein' what I could do with it." Cotton rolled his tongue between his teeth, a habit I was becoming very familiar with. It went right along with that twinkle in his eye and that wild cackle of his.

"No chance of you havin' a deer out of season?" Steve asked Cotton.

My uncle just guffawed, his eyes sparkling. I think he was kind of enjoying himself.

Steve started to open the panel, but it wouldn't work proper for him. He tugged, but nothing happened.

Cotton got out of the truck and walked back there, just as casual as could be. "Here, let me show yuh how that thing opens. Got lots of room in there now. Lots of room. Could damn near fit a whole deer in that thing."

"Holy Christ," Jimbo groaned, and went to mopping at his brow with shaky hands. He sank down in the seat, belched real loud, then covered his mouth quick, like he was gonna be sick all of a sudden.

Cotton was back there grumbling over the side panel, something about the fool thing being stuck. About that time, Sweetie-Pie took it upon himself to remind Cotton how he didn't like my uncle being so close, and he let loose with a kick against the other side of that panel that made the truck jump around like it was sitting on a fault line. It startled Captain Steve so bad he about near came right out of his uniform. He leaped back away from that panel like he'd been shot. I didn't blame him. It was unexpected enough that everyone just about left their hide. Everyone except Cotton. 'Course, nothing seemed to bother him ever.

Sweetie-Pie squealed loud and kicked again, a good solid hit that sounded like he'd punched a hole right in the side of the truck. The truck bucked and rocked, and there was a little thudding noise from inside the panel. Everything went silent then because it was like everyone knew. That thud had come from that deer getting knocked around in there and maybe sliding against the panel door from all that jostling it was getting.

Cotton just stood there a-grinnin'. But he didn't budge an inch. Not one inch.

Jimbo groaned again and hung his head out the window like he was gonna let loose of his gizzard.

Sweetie-Pie pranced around in the bed of that truck like some kind of ballerina, his eyes rolling around in his head like he was about to go foaming at the mouth. They got so big that the whites were showing. It looked right scary to me. He looked plum crazy, like he wanted to stomp something to death.

"Jesus, Cotton! What the hell's the matter with your horse?" Steve squawked, looking up at Sweetie-Pie from a safe distance.

Cotton roared with laughter. "He don't like me none." His eyes gleamed, and he was all teeth as he grinned back at Steve. He was having hisself a high old time.

Steve stared at Cotton like my uncle was insane. "Well, maybe you should get him back to pasture before he tears up your truck."

"I can shor do that, Captain Warden."

Steve started back for his own pickup, shaking his head and muttering something about Sweetie-Pie being worse than a wild boar up in that truck. He seemed a little scattered, and I guess he'd forgotten all about that interesting side panel.

Cotton hollered after him. "You come over t'the house, and I'll show yuh how that panel works, hear?"

Steve didn't even bother to turn around, just threw a hand in the air in acknowledgement and got into his pickup.

"Any ole time," Cotton called. "Don't matter. Don't even have ta call."

Cotton was cackling so hard he was about near wheezing as he slid in behind the wheel. A quick turn of the key and, with a little bump and a buck, we set off down the road like nothin' doin'. I was right relieved that we'd escaped the law, and I could tell Jimbo was, too.

"Honest to God I don't know why I hang around you, Cotton. Got-damn crazy man is what yuh are. You coulda got us all thrown in jail for life, helping Steve open that panel. Chee-rist!"

I twisted around to look at Sweetie-Pie. He had settled down like nothin' had ever happened and was already catching bugs in his teeth. I was glad to be back in motion, glad to have the air circulating through the cab again, on account of Jimbo's perspiration had become downright stinkifying.

Jimbo muttered under his breath all the way home, but Cotton pretty much ignored most of it. I contented myself with watching Sweetie-Pie out the back window.

By the time we turned off the highway and started heading down the wide-grade towards home, my tummy was having some serious conversation. I couldn't wait to get there because I just knew Ruthie would have all kinds of food on the table. I hadn't gotten another treat on the way home this time, but I knew there was some vanilla ice cream in the freezer, and I was betting that if I asked real nice, I'd get some.

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