The Thicket by Joe R. Lansdale Read Free Book Online Page A

worth my salt and bacon. I’m going to chance ending up like the sheriff, I got to get paid for my work, and more than he did.”
    “Therein is the grit in the lard,” I said. “I haven’t got any serious money.”
    “How much you have that ain’t serious?” he said.
    And then an idea hit me. I dug in my overalls for those papers Grandpa had given me. They were still wet while the rest of me was dry, so I was careful pulling them out. They had been folded, and were on good solid paper, and had survived the damp well. I said, “When these dry, they are papers that say I own land. And if you and this Shorty fellow will help me find my sister and get her back, and avenge the death of my grandpa by bringing those men in that are responsible, I will sign them over to you. You can sell them or do as you like after that.”
    “That’s owner kind of land?”
    “I own it, I sign it over to you and Shorty, you’ll own it. And the man that’s got the right to do that is right here in town. But there ain’t no need for me to sign anything unless I get my sister back. You do that, then these papers and the land is yours to do as you would.”
    “How much land?”
    “It’s two places,” I said. “One is a hundred acres, my grandpa’s old place, and one is twenty-five, my folks’ place, but it’s on good farmland. Grandpa’s isn’t as good.”
    “Farmland is what you make of it,” said the colored man. “You got to know the right way to break down animal manure, and I do. I had some land of my own I could grow corn so high you’d have to be a bird to see over it. I was doing that for Old Man Rutledge, but he died and his wife didn’t like me. Her family, the Cox family, used to own my people, and when the change come the old man could stand it, but she couldn’t. She didn’t like having to pay me in crop and some wages for what they used to get for free from my folks. I was looking for some new work when I come into town and these fellows and his friends robbed the bank. I thought I could get a job burying them. I’ve done that off and on for years, since I wasn’t making all that much on the farm. Oh, I left now and then to track and do sundry work, like digging graves. Usually pays a quarter apiece for burying; least it does for me. I’ve done it quite a few times. White man digs a grave, it’s fifty cents a corpse. Like the way he digs it is different and better than the one I dig for a quarter.”
    I decided not to mention that my parents had died of the pox and that they were buried in coffins full of lime, as I figured that might possibly bring down the property value. I said, “Then you’ll do it?”
    “That depends on if we can get Shorty to sign up. He’ll do it, I’ll do it. But I got to have someone like him at my back. And my guess is all those men, especially Cut Throat Bill, have prices on their heads. Me and Shorty could make quite a collection if this comes out right. If it don’t, well, we could get ourselves killed, and you, too. And you look green enough they might even kill you twice.”
    “You get my sister back and help me catch those men that killed Grandpa, see they get justice, I’ll sign both properties over to you. Then, like you said, there’s the possibility of rewards for those skunks.”
    He rubbed his chin. “We’ll need some supplies, but I reckon to have any we’ll have to steal it.”
    “Wait a minute,” I said. “I don’t want to get in the wrong life myself, end up hanging beside Bobby there. I won’t steal. That’s not how us Parkers do things.”
    “So far the way you Parkers do things is you get yourself killed and kidnapped and knocked out in the street. You are not off to a good beginning, young man.”
    “I won’t steal,” I said. “I can’t. My grandpa was a preacher, and he would roll over in his grave if he had one. Only he’s somewhere in the Sabine River or washed up along its banks. I get sick thinking he’s stuck to some root down