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

under and catfish are at him.”
    “Tell you what,” said the colored man. “Let’s go see Shorty, see what he thinks, and we can see about supplies from there. He might not go. We’ll see him first. You say your name is Parker?”
    “Jack Parker.”
    “Mine’s Eustace Cox, and I think we might be cousins of a sorts.”
    “How’s that?” I said.
    “You sound a little offended that you might be part darky. Well, rest assured, white boy, it’s me that’s part of you. Cox family married in the Parker family, and one of them Cox boys, some forty-five years back, made me with my mother—against her will, I might add—and she was colored and Comanche, and so here I am. So we could be relatives.”
    “I don’t care one way or the other,” I said. “I just want to rescue my sister, and time’s wasting.”
    “Not me been lying out here in the dirt, cuz,” he said. “But it’s near night now, so ain’t much you can do. We can get over to see Shorty maybe, talk to him. I’ll have an answer for you then. If we can’t help you, then you’re on your own, cause I got no other suggestions. Like I said, I got to have the right man riding with me, and no offense, you’re just barely grown.”
    “Nineteen,” I said.
    “You’re lying,” he said.
    “Well, I might be closer to seventeen,” I said, still stretching the blanket.
    “In my day that was grown and then some, but not now,” he said. “You are green behind the ears, and pretty much green all over. Actually, you’re more pink in spots. You got the sunburn on the back of your neck from lying out here in the street. That’s gonna smart some come morning, if not sooner. Let’s go see if we can find Shorty. But first, I got to bury this one. I already tucked the other one away at the cemetery.”
    “The one on the board?”
    “That would be him. Now I got to get this one. I’m going to have to cut him down and drag him, because I don’t have a horse.”
    I won’t lie to you. I was horrified at the thought, and even more horrified when he gave me the shovel to hold, put his pipe away, pulled out a big knife, and reached up on his tiptoes to cut the rope high. When he did, he let the man fall, got hold of the nub of rope, and started dragging him down the street with that big old hog trotting after him. After a moment he and the hog paused, and both looked back at me. Eustace said, “You coming?”
    Carrying the shovel, I went after them.
    Eustace dragged the body through an alley and out back of the town buildings, over some rough ground toward a line of trees that was on a hill above Sylvester. This was quite a trip we took, and the body of Bobby O’Dell kept turning over and over, and by the time we got to the trees, what was left of his face didn’t look so good. I won’t talk about what happened to his eyes during this event.
    Finally we come to the trees, and Eustace dragged the body some more through the tree line, then there was another hill, and up on that hill were some crosses. No tombstones—all crosses, simple things made from cheap lumber. By this time the sun had gone down and I was seeing all this by moonlight, but it was a half-moon and bright enough. It gave those crosses a kind of glow.
    There was a freshly covered grave there—the one he had referred to, of course—and he let go of the rope and started digging next to it. The hog sat down on the ground and watched, as if taking note of the proper way to get the job done. In no time at all Eustace had broke the red dirt down to about three feet deep and six foot wide. He gave me the shovel then. I took to digging. Eustace sat on the ground with his back against a cross and gave me instructions. I dug for a long time. Eustace didn’t offer to spell me, and of course the hog was out of the mix, being more of a spectator.
    Eustace said, “This here is where they bury colored, paupers, and outlaws. I done got my money for this, which is a good thing. Sometimes the grave’s