Lonny and his friends ran through the fields as if the hounds of hell were snapping at their heels. Lonny felt a wild elation and ran faster than his friends as they heard a dog barking. That would be Judd Gans' old hunting dog; no other dog in the county had a bay like that one. Judd had let it out of the pickup truck and that meant that Judd, with a double barreled shotgun, wasn't too far behind.
Lonny was running, sprinting, when suddenly he was running on thin air. He had shot right over the embankment of the drainage ditch and came crashing down, tumbling, with an impact that knocked the breath out of him. He was still struggling to his knees as his friends came sliding and falling into the ditch. "Come on," he panted, leading the way as they ran, hearing the howl of the hound closer.
The fat would really be in the {ire if old Judd caught. Judd had a county-wide reputation for being a tough customer to cross: breaking into his house was tantamount to murder in his eyes and he wouldn't hesitate to use his shotgun. It wasn't because of his good looks that he ran the biggest spread in the county. He was a good, hard-drinking, two-fisted foreman who always got the crop in on time and stood for no nonsense.
And Lonny knew they couldn't outdistance or outsmart that old hound; he was just too fast and wise for that. They ran hard, trying to get as far from the house as possible. A roar tore the stillness of the night and reverberated across the fields. That would be Judd shooting off the shotgun. He wasn't that fast on his feet that he could be close enough to get off a shot, but he probably knew they were in the ditch and was alerting the whole damn camp. In a few minutes, all of those field hands would be up and out and they all loved to hunt. Lonny had to think of something fast. He could hear the hound now echoing behind them. He was in the ditch and it was now a matter of seconds before he'd be on them and have them cornered. Lonny had to think of something. If they were caught, it was curtains. Almost all of them were carrying marijuana. Not even his father could get them out of this one!
"Split up!" he yelled. "Hank, Fred, come with me! Split up, it'll confuse that hound for awhile!" he panted, yelling over his shoulder. One of the boys peeled off and headed up the embankment, showering dirt down as they ran. Then another boy went up the other embankment, each of them running low across the fields in opposite directions. Each of them began peeling off, confusing the scent for the hound. Judd's beast would stop, sniff the scent leading up and scamper up the embankment and stand sniffing the wind, its tail wiggling.
Each time he stood, realizing it was just one scent and that the main spoor was still in the ditch. Down he would leap again, bounding along until he came to another odor leading up and out of the ditch. Judd was catching up with his dog now, puffing along, his huge frame laboring. "No, you damn dumb son-of-a-bitch, they're only fooling you!" he bellowed, pausing to whistle the dog back in the ditch.
Finally, the false scents were gone and he heard the dog up ahead, growling and tearing at something. He grinned. Running hard, he thought, now I got them.
But it was a trick. The dog was tearing a shirt to pieces. A blue work shirt that Lonny had peeled off and tossed up on the embankment. Everyone wore blue work shirts and they'd never be able to trace it to him. "Here, boy," Judd bellowed as the animal tore the shirt to ribbons. The dog obeyed and came down in the ditch, whimpering, crawling to Judd who reached down and petted him. Judd smiled. "We got 'em now, boy." He pumped another shell into his shot gun. Up ahead was the dike. Beyond that was a drainage ditch full of water. They either were trapped or had to crawl out of the ditch into open country where he, Judd Gans, of the best shots in the county, could pick them off. "It's all over, boy," he said gloating, his shotgun ready as he walked carefully along. "It's all over."
Although Judd was a good foreman, a good shot and hunter, a man who could belt down a pint of white lightning like it was sweet branch water, he was not renowned for his thinking. So it was with amazement that he saw his hound heading back down the ditch toward him with its tail between its legs. The hound shot by him like a whippet and Judd called the dog, turning to watch it disappear from sight and scratching his head, saying, "Now what in hell…" and turning just in time to hear and see a wall of water bearing down on him!
Lonny and his two friends had made the dike and used all their strength opening the flood gates then ran off toward a copse of trees. There, in a small arroyo, they flopped to the ground and panted for breath as they heard shouts and the sound of feet running toward the dike. Lonny lay looking at the stars through the branches and started to laugh. It was just too damn funny. Old Judd Gans was probably treading water in another county by now.
"We'd better get home, Lonny," Hank said, getting to his feet.
Lonny looked up at him. "Hank, you ain't any smarter than Judd. I oughta throw you in the ditch with him. Come on," he said, getting to his feet.
"Where we going?" Fred asked.
Lonny put his hands on his hips and looked disgusted. "We're going to the dike and help close it because of what them damn vandals did. Probably them hippies, I bet. Come on," he said, kicking Fred with his foot, "get on your feet. We stay away and they might suspect us. Besides, that dike is hard to close once it's open and all that water is giving Judd Gans a bath."
They hurried across the field, laughing and giggling, toward the men with flashlights and lanterns who were laboring to close the dike while a few hundred yards down the drainage ditch they could hear Judd doing some loud, righteous cussing.
The day came and, on the surface, it was indistinguishable from any other day at the camp. Men ate hasty breakfasts and piled, sleepy, joking, into trucks that would drive them to the fields where they would bend in the hot sun all day long. Women said good-bye to their men and scolded the children who ran around screeching at one another. Judd Gans stood by his pickup truck, glowering at each of the workers. Somewhere, there were enemies. The men kidded him, giving him sly smiles with a few of them pretending to swim up into the trucks. Just as one truck was pulling away, a voice called, "Glug, glug, glug!" and the men roared while Judd glared.
Wilma went down to the admissions office to tell Tina all about it. Tina clucked her tongue and allowed as "How a body ain't safe in their own home no more."
Sheriff Lucas Lamont came rocking off the highway in his car and eased himself out, putting on his Stetson hat and sunglasses. He was a tall lean man with a face tanned the color and consistency of old leather. Deep lines bracketed his mouth and fanned out from the corners of his eyes. His walk was slow and careful and he wasn't known as the most talkative man in the county. He examined all the evidence, listened to both the Gans with politeness and only grunted at their questions.
He trudged out to the drainage ditch and stood with his hands in his hip pockets, looking down at the water still lying there and grinned at Judd. "Looks like they outfoxed you, Judd."
"Did you get elected sheriff just to tell me that?"
Lucas directed a jet of tobacco juice down into the ditch. "Look at the bright side of it."
"How's that?" Judd hitched his pants.
"Least you got a good bath."
Lucas and Judd walked back to camp with Lucas trying not to laugh, talking about the crops to change the subject.
At Judd's pickup truck, joined by Wilma who stood by her husband, a loyal wife, Judd said, "Well, what are you going to do?"
Lucas tipped his hat to Wilma, shifted his wad of tobacco and said, "Do? Well, I think I just might go have a cup of coffee with Tina."
Whatever Lucas Lamont was, he was a good cop. He knew his job and did it well with a minimum of trouble. He knew the people of his county and acted accordingly. And he knew the migrant workers and how they had to, sooner or later, let off a little steam. He knew when to arrest a man for being drunk and when to give them a nights sleep in a warm cell. And, knowing that working men drinking together are going to fight sooner or later, he kept violence at a minimum by instinctively zeroing in on the one guy who was making all the trouble and ending the offender's night with a straight right to the mouth or, when he thought the argument was valid and the men evenly matched, he wisely looked the other way, letting them all get some steam off.
He knew the life of a field hand is hard and the prospects for getting ahead pretty slim so he allowed some illegal practices to take place: like moonshining and gambling and, yes, one whorehouse. Yet, he ruled them firmly, giving one and all holy hell and trouble for months whenever they strayed out of line. Laconically, his pale blue eyes hid behind his trooper's sunglasses, he would say, "Every man has to have something in his life. Men are going to drink, bet, fight, and whore no matter what anyone does or says. Better I know where they're doing it and just how much."
Short of keeping an eye on the Gans' place, Lucas wasn't about to do anything else. In reality, there wasn't anything he could do. Besides, something was wrong, Judd either didn't have all the facts or was lying. And Wilma. Wilma was sure different this morning. Tired looking and kind of jumpy. Yet happy. Happier than Lucas had seen her in a long while.
Nervous too. When they were talking by the pickup truck Lucas noticed Wilma stiffen suddenly by Judd's side and glance nervously over his shoulder at something behind him.
"Well, what are you going to do?"
Lucas tipped his hat to Wilma, shifted his wad of tobacco and said, "Do?" And he played the hayseed sheriff, taking off his Stetson and scratching his head as he slouched and turned to see what spooked Wilma. Behind him was a brand new camper he had noticed when he drove into the camp. He made a practice of memorizing the license plates of any new car or truck in his jurisdiction.
But it wasn't the sight of a camper that startled Wilma. It was the sight of a white-faced young girl getting out of the camper, looking up and seeing them standing these and putting her hand to her mouth and backing into the camper and closing the door. And the look on the girl's face. Lucas had seen that look before. He turned back to the Gans and grinned. "Do? Well, I think I just might go have a cup of coffee with Tina."
"Is that what we pay your salary for?" Judd asked, getting into his pickup and slamming the door.
Lucas kicked some gravel at his feet. "Stay out of ditches, Judd… Mrs. Gans." He tipped his Stetson and walked over to the admissions office to have a cup of coffee and jaw awhile with Tina. Tina was a good broad and, if he got her yakking, she'd give him all the dirt for a few miles around.
There had been too many foot prints around the den window outside the Gans' house. And a wood box had been dragged from the kitchen door to the window. The breaking and entering job looked like an amateur job and kind of hasty. Any burglar worth his salt would check a house carefully before trying to break in. Besides, he was pretty darn sure that there weren't any cat-burglars and the word was out that he was mean and unreasonable when it came to breaking and entering cases and his county was a good place to pass through without stopping.
And that girl in the camper was a stranger and that look she gave him told him she was in some kind of trouble. He swung into the admissions office with his Stetson slung low over his eyes, grinning at Tina with a freckled smile. "Tina, if you've changed your socks lately, I'll have a cup of that stuff you call coffee."
Latin Tina, fresh from a good workout the night before, lowered her long dark lashes and shook a shoulder at him. "Here's Lucas, the sweet-talking sheriff."
Lucas was right about Beth, she was in trouble. She had slept through the night and all the running and yelling and the gunshot like she was a stone. She had slept, exhausted even when Wilma had come back into the room and covered her more completely and hid the rubber dildoe she had so expertly brought the girl to orgasm with and straightened everything up. She had slept through Judd storming into the house soaking wet; she had slept through his profane harangue as he stood dripping in a puddle and shook his fist at whoever it was that had made such a fool of him.
She had slept, her only movement the deep, steady rise and fall of her breasts, until, near dawn, she had slowly opened her eyes and lay staring, wide awake, without moving. She stayed that way for a long time, staring up without moving or blinking. It was in her eyes, it was a kind of sun-seared look. She seemed to be staring inward rather than outward.
After lying still for a long time, she slowly looked around, accepting the reality of being in the den, a strange room, with a sad acceptance. It was true. It wasn't a dream. She got out of bed slowly, every muscle in her body aching, her head reeling. She draped herself in a blanket and walked to the window and stood shivering, with wild sad eyes, waiting for the sun to come up.
It came slowly, long shafts of sunlight striking across the fields and turning a low storm cloud on the horizon a deep purple edged by bright yellow. It seemed to swell and bulge on the horizon, turning orange and causing the fields to shimmer in heat waves. It was going to be a hot sunny day.
Suddenly, Beth was all desperate action. Soon the camp would be full of men going to work and she would be seen walking to her camper in a bathrobe. Or, she could wait until everyone was gone. She couldn't stay in the house that long. She never wanted to see the house or Wilma Gans again. She dressed hastily and stole through the house and out the door quietly, hurrying to her camper and only breathing a sigh of relief when she was safe inside her camper, the door shut and locked and the curtains drawn tight.
But her relief was only temporary. She fell on her cot and cried for a long time. Finally getting up and putting a cold rag on her face. Every person, as Sheriff Lucas Lamont wisely observed, has to let steam off one way or another. Nature takes over when we are faced with an emotional storm in our souls. We drink, or go into shock or go crazy. There is, in each person's life, a time when they are all alone, faced with grim facts. Such a moment is a test of character and will to survive. Beth was facing such a moment in her camper. Years of breeding and tradition were in her family. Her ancestors were those that faced the stern New England life and weather and emerged triumphant. Like seasoned combat troops, they had learned not to panic or retreat when the going got tough. Tenaciously, they dug in and held fast.
Such grit can't be inherited, science says, yet Beth felt a strength going way back in her family. In a state of shock, she stumbled around the camper, getting dressed and determined, in one way or another, to face the day, to get busy, occupy her mind, to work hard, giving herself completely to whatever she could find to do.
She forced her will to concentrate on her dress. She dressed in jeans and cowgirl boots with a blouse and a fringed frontier jacket. She was going to look neat and clean and run her classes for the younger children, the job she had been sent to do. And she wouldn't think. She simply forced herself not to think about the night before. She had to let time go by, time in which she could gather strength and have the benefit of a perspective before she thought about what had happened and what to do about it. She allowed herself one thought: no maker what, she was going to have a talk with Wilma Gans. And this time, there wouldn't be any friendliness or white lightning or tea.
She brushed her hair and pulled it back in a tight bun that looked business-like and severe. She paid special attention to her face and was grateful that the western jeans and blouse and coat hid all her bruises. She stood before the mirror, taking a deep breath. She looked neat and clean. There were circles under her eyes and she tried to smile to hide the look on her face. She looked ghastly, but was determined to get through the day.
She stepped from the trailer and froze, seeing Judd and Wilma Gans standing by a pickup and talking to a sheriff who turned and scratched his bead and looked at her. The look on Beth's face was wild. She had to retreat back into the camper and close the door, her heart thumping with fear. What was Wilma up to? Was she going to try and destroy her completely? Why would she do an insane thing like that? Why last night? Nothing made any sense.
She lifted a corner of one curtain and peeked, watching Judd drive off and Wilma walk up the hill to her house and the sheriff amble off to the admissions office. She watched, for a long time, shaking, and saw only a few dogs trot by and a chicken peck around. Summoning up her courage, she told herself it must have been another matter or the sheriff would have come over to her. Holding her breath, she opened the camper door, books in her hand, and stepped out, locking the door. The camp seemed empty with just the sound of children's voices playing out of sight and a dog barking.
She walked towards the empty drying shed that she was going to use as a classroom for the day when a voice called out, "Oh, Miss.
Beth whirled to see the sheriff walking from the admissions office with that no-hurry western style of loose walking. He ambled up to her, stuck his thumb in his heavy gunbelt and took off his Stetson. "Howdy. I'm Sheriff Lucas Lamont and you must be that new traveling schoolteacher. You're Miss Carruthers." His face was freckled behind his sunglasses and his smile was warm and welcoming.
"How do you do. My first name is Beth."
"I know. I know you came in last night or the late afternoon and you're here to help out. Those little ones need some kind of help and I'm mighty glad you're doing it and if I can be of any help to you or somebody gives you a hard time, I'm available to help."
"Why, thank you. That's very nice."
"It's my job. One word of caution, ma'am. Camps like this are a good place to stay out of on pay night. Maybe even the night after. These boys get a little wild round that time of the month. They don't mean no harm, but they do get out of line. If I was you, I'd arrange to be elsewhere on those nights.
"Thank you again, Sheriff Lamont. I'll keep that in mind." Beth turned to go.
"Ma'am?"
"Yes?"
"Did you notice anything unusual in camp last night?"
Beth stiffened. She couldn't help it. "No. Unusual? N-no. Nothing. Why should I see anything unusual?" she asked defensively.
Lucas took his time answering her, looking at her frown behind his opaque dark glasses. "It's just that someone tried to break into the Gans' home last night and it seems there was a kind of posse out to get them."
Beth pretended to be busy with the books in her hand. "No, I didn't see or hear anything last night." '
"Uh huh. You slept in your camper?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Nothing. You must have slept deep."
"Yes," Beth said, somewhat frosty. I was quite tired."
"Uh huh. Well, if I was you, I'd keep my door locked at all times."
"I will, sheriff, and I thank you again."
"Never can tell, it could be hippies."
"Hippies?"
"Yeah. There's a whole commune of them back in the hills. Ain't like them to bother folks unless it's to come out and beg for food. Still, you never can tell. One of them might get doped up on something and wander down here."
Beth was interested in the hippies from the viewpoint of children and education. "Are they ever any trouble?"
Lucas shrugged. "Depends on what you mean by trouble, They keep to themselves a lot. Seldom come down unless, like I said, they beg old fruit and vegetables from growers and stores. If they got any dope, I can't see it. They picked their spot well, they can see any vehicle coming a long way off and they have plenty of time to hide anything. I go up there looking for runaways, usually."
"Are there any small children up there?"
"Yeah. They got a big family going and God knows who belongs with who half the time. Still, they don't break any laws."
"Does the county make any provision for educating the children? I mean, those of preschool age?"
"None." Lucas shook his head. "Have a hard time getting the school-age kids to show up. County goes looking for them and they hide. Spooky lot and I'm still not sure I know everything that's going on there. Best you stay away ma'am. Rumor has it there's plenty of drugs around hippies."
"Thank you again, sheriff, now I must get my classes started."
"Fine. Ma'am?"
"Yes?"
"You feeling all right?"
"Yes, why do you ask?"
"You don't look like you're feeling well."
"Oh? A touch of the flu, I think. I'll shake it off.
"Take care. That stuff is going around. Will you be spending another night in this camp?"
"I… I'm not sure. I mean, in all probability, I will. I haven't thought about it."
"Well, if you do, keep your door locked. Ma'am." He stepped back and touched his hand to the brim of his cap. He watched Beth walk off with an appreciative eye as her buttocks swung from side to side as she walked. He took off his hat, raked his hand through his hair and set the Stetson on his head at a business angle. That was quite a tantalizing little piece with a real proper manner and face. "Lucas," he said to himself, "something happened here last night and that young lady knows something about it." He walked to his patrol car and decided to radio headquarters and told the dispatcher he wanted all the New York authorities could give him on one Beth Carruthers, Caucasian, early twenties, extremely attractive, occupation school teacher, driving license number XLU34198.
He switched off the mike, looked up the Gans' house, looked at Beth's camper and shook his head. Part of being a sheriff was being patient. Something more than just a burglary attempt went on at or outside the Gans' house last night and sooner or later, he'd find out. Lucas gunned out onto the highway and commenced his daily rounds from sunup to sundown. Evenings, his deputy took over with Lucas coming in if help was needed. People had a way of hiding things about themselves from him. It was natural and Lucas expected it. He shook his head, thinking that he already knew more about people than he wanted to know.
Beth threw herself into the day, greeting the children with a grasping eagerness. She needed them far more than they needed her. She won their confidence and control in a short time. Soon, she had them clustered around her as she read them short stories. She kept the length of the classes relatively short, allowing periods for play and resting.
By lunch time, she was enchanted by the children and one boy in particular, Manuel, a little Mexican boy with black button eyes who was very bright and burning to learn how to read. "Learn me this," he would say, pointing to a word. In the afternoon, she spent time with individuals; Manuel in particular, for he was charming and very bright and she held him in her lap as they went through the alphabet and she felt an odd comfort and thrill from his young body.
Late afternoon came and the children were sleepy and getting irritable so she declared an afternoon siesta and soon, they were all asleep in the shade. All except Beth, who sat guard over them and thought of the night before. It was like being touched with the tip of a very immense and cruel pain and she flinched from it, putting her hands to her eyes.
A sound behind her made her jump. "Oh, you scared met!"
A young boy was standing behind her. A good looking young boy with freckles, clear blue eyes and a quiet cool smile that reminded her of someone or thing. He stepped back, saying, "Sorry, ma'am," in a quiet voice.
"It's all right," Beth whispered, pointing at the children and then indicating they'd better walk a distance from the open drying shed if they wanted to talk.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, if I disturbed you or anyone," the boy said when they were far enough; away from the shed.
"It's all right. It was just so quiet and I was… thinking. What did you want?"
"My name's Lonny, ma'am, and when I heard you was here I thought I'd come over and see if you had any books to lend. You know, I was hoping you'd be a lending library or something."
Beth smiled. "How old are you, Lonny?"
"Just sixteen, ma'am."
Her smile broadened. She found herself thinking something she had never thought before: he was at such a beautiful age; old enough and certainly big enough to be a man, yet still a boy. Big for his age, but still a boy. "Well, I don't have too many books for someone your age, but I could scare some things up. You see, I'm here for the pre-school children so most the books I have would be for their age."
"Oh that's all right," Lonny said brightly. "They're not for just me, they're for some little kids."
"Well, I'm going to see all the children in the county."
"I doubt you'll see these, ma'am."
"Why not?"
"They're back in the hills in the communes, ma'am."
"Yes, the hippies. The sheriff was here this morning and told me about them."
The sheriff's my pa, ma'am. I'm Lonny Lamont," Lonny said brightly, grinning engagingly and looking like such a nice clean-cut American kid.
"Really? How nice. Does your father know that you go up to the commune, Lonny?"
"No, ma'am, he doesn't and he sure would tan my hide if he did know." Lonny was charmingly honest and his grin made him look like his father. "I go up there when I'm hunting sometimes and I see those kids and thought I could do something for them."
"How nice, Lonny. Tell me something. If you were to take me up there, how do you think they'd receive me? I mean, would they mind my teaching their children to read?"
Lonny looked quizzical and scratched his head like his father. "They seem a pretty nice bunch. Some of them are weird and all of them are little nuts. I don't think they'd hurt anybody. Yeah, they might like it."
"If I wanted to go, would you take me up there?"
"Sure, only it would have to be this evening, tonight, because I'll be playing basketball every night for the rest of the week."
"Basketball? Really? I bet you're good at it. Mmmmm." Beth pretended to decide, when, in fact, she had made up her mind immediately. She didn't want to spend another night right in the camp and she didn't want to be alone until she absolutely had to. This way, she would have Lonny's company and plenty of children to pay attention to. "How far is the camp from here?"
"Not far. Under an hour. Lots of dirt road."
"Will my camper make it?" Beth asked, pointing to it. "That?" Lonny asked, shading his eyes. "Sure. Easy."
"Would you please guide me up there after dinner? I'd pay you for your time."
Lonny put his hands in his hip pockets and shuffled his feet, looking embarrassed, "I said I would. You don't have to pay me nothing."
"We'll discuss that later," Beth said. Then she did a thing she never felt she was capable of. She flirted with the boy, teasing her hips back and forth and smiling at him in a knowing way. She laced her long fingers together and tried to be cool. "Shall we meet at my camper around seven?"
"Sure thing." He acted as if he hadn't noticed her flirting.
"Good, it was nice talking to you, Lonny, and I'll see you at seven." She held out her hand.
Lonny took it reluctantly and said, "Seven o'clock."
Beth went back to her sleeping class and sat down. She looked at the children, at their young sleeping faces. Whatever happened last night, whatever Beth was, she was now helping young children toward learning and that was a good and positive thing. Whatever else took place, the day was good and she still had good instincts and motives. Tonight, she would be doing still more good things. Yet, she was deeply troubled and her eyes were clouded and doubtful from so much pain and bewilderment. And her action toward Lonny – she had never felt that way toward grown men, let alone a young man. Yet, for a minute, such a lewd evil thrill and thought entered her mind and she felt a strange little twisting sensation deep in her groin.
Last night. It had to be last night and an after effect. Her mind was confused. She resolved she wouldn't think that way anymore. Tonight, she would be on her guard with Lonny and she was going to do something fine and decent: show she cared enough to journey right into a commune and teach the children. She imagined herself loved by all the children up and down the county, bringing a ray of intelligence into their lives. She thought of herself like a modern Florence Nightingale, bringing the promise of knowledge to hungry young minds.
She daydreamed of helping all the children, even those of Lonny's age, inspiring him to go to college. She made a mental note to stock up on adult books – the classics – next time she went to town for supplies. She would be famous within the county. And she would prove she was really a worthwhile person. What happened with Wilma Gans would never happen again.
Despite the heat of late afternoon, Beth felt a chill and she pulled her jacket tight around her. She would tale to Wilma. Tonight, she didn't want to stay in the camp. She figured she'd take Lonny home then find a side road somewhere and sleep. She needed rest and tomorrow, when the men were gone to work, she could confront Wilma.
When the classes were over, Beth went back to her camper and cooked a simple dinner over a stereo stove and lay down to rest before Lonny came.
She looked at her face in a hand mirror. Her face had changed. What was it? She held the mirror at various angles but couldn't pin it down. She knew she had changed inside, for she was feeling things she had never thought of before. She squeezed her eyes shut and refused to think of anything but her good qualities.