The Highway Kind(59)

“Then he deserves a ditch and some Christian words said over him.”

“I’m all for that ditch, but we ain’t got no preacher neither.”

“Damn it,” I said.

“I say we just put him in a ditch and go on to the house,” Terri said.

“That ain’t right,” I said.

“No, but it sure would be a mite less smelly.”


We packed our noses with VapoRub, dragged Uncle Smat out of the car by the bag he was in, and pulled him down a hill that dropped off into the woods. The bag ripped on a stob. Uncle Smat came out of the bag and rolled down the hill, caught up on a fallen tree branch, and stopped rolling. I could see that Uncle Smat’s coat had ripped open. The lining was fish-belly white in the pale moonlight.

“Ah, hell,” Terri said. “Can’t believe that bag was holding back the smell that much. Oh heavens, that is nastier than a family of skunks rolled up in cow shit.”

I was yanking the branch away from under Uncle Smat so he could roll the rest of the way down when Terri said, “Hey, Chauncey. Something fell out of his coat.”

I looked at what she had picked up. It was a folded piece of paper.

Dark as it was, we went up to the car and I turned on the headlights, stood in front of them, and looked at the paper. It had some lines on it, a drawing of some tombstones, and the words Fort Sill and Geronimo’s grave written on it. There was a dollar sign drawn on one of the tombstones.

“It was in his coat,” Terri said.

“Probably stitched up in the lining.”

“He must have had a reason for hiding it,” Terri said.

“If he hadn’t, the Wentworths would have found it.”

“What you think it is?”

“A map.”

“To what?”

“You see what I see,” I said. “Where do you think?”

“Geronimo’s grave?”

“Domino,” I said.

“I ain’t going there,” she said.

“Me neither. We’re going home. Remember, Terri. The hogs ate him. Nobody is going to believe the chickens did it. It would take them too long.”


Back with Uncle Smat, I finally managed to pull the branch aside that was holding him, and as there was a deep, damp sump hole at the bottom of the hill between two trees, I gave him a bit of a boost with my foot and he rolled down into it. One of his legs stuck out, and it was the one with the chewed-off foot. I scrambled down and bent his leg a little and got it into the sump, and then I tossed the ripped bag over him and kicked some dirt in on top of that, but it was like trying to fill in the ocean with a pile of sand, a spoon, and good intentions.

“Hell with it,” Terri said.

“Maybe we can come back for him later,” I said.

“Ha,” Terri said. “I say we stick to that story about how the Wentworths’ hogs got to him and ate him.”

“I can live with that,” I said.

“Mostly I can live with him being out of the car,” Terri said.

“It ain’t much of a Christian burial,” I said.

Terri inched closer to the sump hole, put her hand over her heart, said, “Jesus loves you...Let’s go.”


We drove with all the windows down, trying to clear out memories of Uncle Smat. When we got to the Red River and was about to cross, the car got hot again and I had to pull over. We didn’t have any more water, other than a bit for drinking, so I decided wasn’t no choice but for me to take the canteens and go down the hill and under the bridge and dip some out of the river.

Terri stayed with the car. When I came back up the hill with the full canteens, sitting there on the hood with Terri was the ragged man we had seen the other day. He was sitting there casual-like with his hand clutched in the collar of Terri’s shirt, and the moonlight gleamed on a knife blade he had in his hand, resting it on his thigh.

“There he is,” the man said. “Good to see you and Miss Smartass again.”

I placed the canteens gently on the ground and picked up a stick lying by the side of the road and started walking toward him. “Let go of her,” I said, “or I’ll smack you a good one.”

He held up the hand with the knife in it.

“I wouldn’t do that, boy. You do, I might have to cut her before you get to me. Cut her good and deep. You want that, boy?”

I shook my head.

“Put down that limb, then.”

I dropped it.

“Come over here,” the man said.

“Don’t do it,” Terri said.

“You shut up,” the man said.

I came over. He got down off the car and dragged Terri off of it and flung her on the road.

“I’m gonna need this car,” he said.

“All right,” I said.

“First, you’re gonna put water in it, and then you’re going to drive me.”

“You don’t need me,” I said. “I’ll give you the keys.”

“Now, this here is embarrassing, but I can’t drive. Never learned.”

“Just put your foot on the gas and turn the wheel a little and stomp on the brake when you want to stop.”

“I tried to drive once and ran off in a creek. I ain’t driving. You are. The girl can stay here.”