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Duckin’ and dodgin’ was my first name and the roads of the backwoods was my
claim, and gettin’ out of Texas was my aim. I stayed to the backwoods. I was
ready for ‘em and solid stayed ready for ‘em. Hainthy? From that day forward,
I was the hainthiest little kid you’ve never laid eyes on ‘cause I had this fear
that the sheriff was goin’a put me in the ‘lectric chair or linch me if they
caught me.
Through the country I would pass, they called me every kind of sorry, stealin’
name upon the earth, sicked their dogs on me, cussed and shot at me but I just
kept on goin’. Pretty soon, I got so far I couldn’t hear the names and it didn’t
hurt no more.
The gypsies really outfitted me. Those throwing sticks, oh, what a blessing they
were! I could throw ‘em five feet into the water like a bullet, hit hogs comin’
through the brush. I’d just rear back and wait till the hog got about five feet
from me, and then, I’d bury it right between the shoulder blades. Those wild
razorback hogs are crazy, they wan’a kill yu.
One time, I jumped up on the limb of a tree and the damn hog tried to eat the
tree down. I’d already killed one of her sucklin’ pigs with my throwing stick
but I was afraid to throw the other stick. I was goin’a wait till the old sow got
close enough where I could jab her with it ‘cause if she ever got that close, she’
s dead. I didn’t see the ol’ sow but the death sqweal of the little piglet brought
her mama tearin’ through the underbrush like a caterpiller breakin’ new
ground. When she broke into the clearing, foamin’ at the mouth, I took my
refuge in a small saplin’ tree. She rooted around her piglet for awhile and
turned and charged the tree several times before the nagging call of the rest of
her litter summoned her off into direction unknown.
When I could no longer hear the sound of the sow, I climbed down and hung
the piglet by its hind legs and slit its throat to let it bleed. I chopped wood for a
roarin’ fire in a pinewood clearing, cut two green willow branches with a fork in
the limb to hold my spit, put a piss elm shaft through the pig from its ass to its
mouth and roasted it all day, keepin’ the fire burnin’ hot, till the pig was black
as coal on the outside. I, then, went to my pack secured to a low limb to keep
any varmits from ravishing it, and when the pig was done, late that evening, it
was white and tender on the inside, and salt and pepper made it a fine meal.
It’s gettin’ early daylight as I’m followin’ this little wagon trail through sandy
hilly kind’a east Texas country. I’ve been runnin’ all night. Have no idea
where I’m at and don’t care. Where I’m at is exactly where I want to be,
though, I tell you that. I know this wagon trail I’m following has to be leadin’
someplace. If I follow it to the end of it one way, I’ll just turn around and
follow it to the other end of it. That was my theory of navigation across the
land. I was in no hurry to go no place. So, I’m followin’ this trail when I notice
that a wagon has just run over it, the grass is still comin’ back up. I thought,
man, that’s fresh. Where’s the wagon at? I listened for a while but couldn’t
hear the sound of a wagon, so, I decide to follow the tracks.
I’m hainthy and sneaky as a fox. I walked by this great big ol’ pine tree
standin’ beside the trail when I got this feelin’ something or someone was
watchin’ me. Instantly, I got this instinct, like an animal. I know I’ve got eyes
on me. So, I’ve got to be cautious. I’ve got to act like I don’t know that I’m
being watched or I’d have no surprise attack and get caught easy. I was walkin’
slow, carryin’ my throwin’ stick in my hand when, all of a sudden, I just froze.
“Hold it right thar kid.” He came out from behind the ol’ tree I’d just passed,
carryin’ a shotgun. “Put the stick down. Where yu think yer goin’?”
I ain’t said a word. I threw my head up, motionin’ that I was goin’ that way.
He comes walkin’ around in front of me, and I still haven’t moved. He says,
“What er yu goin’ down thar fer? Ain’t nothin’ down thar fer yu.”
I looked down and pointed like I was pointing at a snake.
He looked down, and he says, “Tracks.” Now, I knew I had ‘im.
I looked down, again, and hollered, “Snake!”
Instantly, he looked down and I just kicked both feet out from under ‘im and
ran like hell. I had to make a jumpin’ kick of about three feet ‘cause he was
on an upgrade. But I knocked him loose from that gun, and I knew I could
outrun a shotgun. “Oh-ooo, ooo, ooo,” he cried, holdin’ his shins.
Right then, I could have taken advantage of him with that throwing stick. I
could have terminated him right there, taken his gun and robbed him. The way
he came at me, I knew he was no gypsy. But I didn’t want to hurt nobody, so, I
took off runnin’ into the woods. I was sailin’. Shit, I was scared. When I was
a-scared, I could really pick ‘em up and lay ‘em down. When yer scared, yer
hainthy anyway, and sometimes, just the rattlin’ of a bush as you run by it
makes you even more scared.
All of a sudden, wagon tracks ’er runnin’ between berry bushes and I run right
between two big guys that just step out from behind the bushes. I almost run
into the flat back of their wagon. I don’t see the mules or nothin’. The men
grab me on both sides, each with an arm, pullin’ me. I’m suspended in air just
a-kickin’ and a-fightin’, now, and my throwing stick’s danglin’ from the strap
I’m holdin’ in my hand.
Copyright in the Author - Shippinbow
will be out soon!
stories, and he makes it clear
that in his most troubled times,
when he cried out to God for help,
God answered.
No matter how lowly or how high,
the Creator is there for all of us.
But we must remember that what
we do here on earth is our
responsibility. Man has his free
agency. God is not responsible for
our choices.