Eldon Eason, along with most of his blood relatives, could have passed for banjo pickers I the movie Deliverance…not to say there was any inbreeding there; albeit, poor Eldon (called Double E by his friends),bless his heart - both of Eldon’s eyes looked like they were coming out of the same hole. Physical attractiveness of early east Texas settlers aside, the aforementioned cinema classic could well serve as a documentary for the 1940’s Slippery Stone bottoms area of east Texas. The region no longer exist as we knew it in the dirty-thirties or early forties; after World War II the Slippery Stone bottoms were dammed by the Army Corps of Engineers creating Slippery Stone Lake with 150 miles of shoreline; a fishing paradise forged at the expense of a hunter’s El Dorado. When the bottoms were flooded, Eldon was already dead - upon receiving a little government displacement check, the rest of the Eason clan scattered to all corners of Texas. Few if any are still around those piney woods who remember what happened! If you would, to enrich and embellish this very short story, as you read, kindly envision a rhythmical rendition of "Dueling Banjos" in the background!
Eldon Eason looked fondly at his tall friend, "J.R., you got bitin’ ants in your britches? Ora won’t be at the meetin’ place for an hour or more. You know he’s packin’ his belly ‘bout now with cornbread and navy beans." Eldon coughed with a pained look then smiled exposing strong teeth stained yellow by 40 years of chewing tobacco, smoking Bull Durahm and Camel cigarettes and drinking Miss Netty’s up and at’em coffee. Eldon was shorter by far than J.R. with much less girth than Ora, but he was the undeclared leader of the three hunters. Eldon did not believe he was smarter than J.R. or Ora, just a decade older and more of a deep thinker!
As the two men stood grinning at each other, the cabin door snapped open. A pinched, wrinkled, womanlike face framed by an abundant mop of greyish hair hissed rather than spoke, "J.R., ain’t you got nothing better to do than run through these bottoms chasing coon! You’re good-for-nothing as Eldon and Ora. I couldn’t trade all three of ya fer a bucket of snot."
But are they now - good for nothing? Men attaining great wealth oft step on bones of the ancestors to make a dollar, risk the future of their grandchildren and take food from mouths of fellow humans, all while chasing gold. Are not such antics more "good-for-nothing" than harming no one - traipsing hill and dale under the mellow morn and listening to the cry of a lone hound? Not a hostile woman who worries only of herself’ not a vengeful person whose thoughts have the stench of something which has traveled through and been discharged from the digestive tract of a buzzard!
J.R.’s bony shoulder hunched up. You old sow, you’re mean as hell with the hide off. He looked to the ground and replied, "now Miss Netty, we make a little money off the hides." "Dang little!"
unsettled by his wife’s rudeness, Eldon’s close-spaced eyes took on the look of a goosed opossum. "Here, here Netty. Make yourself hospitable and get J.R. a cup of coffee." Eldon didn’t want to upset her - she would have disposal rights on this corpse! But company is company! In moments a gnarled arm thrust through he screenless screen door, a cup of lukewarm coffee on the end of the arm. "Thank ya, Miss Netty," J.R. took a sip. This muddy water’s ice tea cold.
Eldon, recognized an urge to get himself and his friend J.R. away from any further tongue lashings by his sour-spirited wife, started collecting his hunting gear. "Let me round up ole Red, J.R. Poor ole scudder is on his last legs, ‘bout like me - and deaf as a talkin’ preacher! His candle and mine will be snuffed out pretty close together - that’s my bet. Yaw Red!"
From under the porch came a skeleton loosely joined together in the shape of a hound, covered with rough coat hair the hue of a rusty nail. Red wagged his entire back end, his mouth open and dripping tongue hanging limp and long to one side. Time had frosted Red’s face and swayed his back. But time could not dim the sparkle in his dark eyes - eyes which reflected deep into a heritage of running and treeing hounds. Old age and joints sore with arthritis couldn’t alter Red’s enthusiasm for the hunt. Eldon laid a trembling hand lightly on Red’s head causing the hound’s wavering rear end to way all the quicker. An owl hooted from the way deep in the swamp.
Eldon spoke to his guest, "you’re right. That hoot owl says they’re walking, J.R. arrived atop Poverty Hill ahead of Ora. Eldon coughed, cleared his throat and said, "It’s shore a beauty of a night J.R. Ora should’a done been here." "Aw, he’ll be along soon enough." Ora, hurry up, I don’t want this old man to start talkin’ ‘bout dyin’ again! "J.R., I been thinkin," Oh Lawd. "I read in a book where big-shot Indian chiefs were burnt up when they died. Their ashes spread over favorite hunting grounds. I heard Caesar had himself done the same way, along with his favorite huntin’ hunts. That appeals to me - ashes to ashes, dust to dust! Now What.
"I figger that’d work pretty good for me and ole Red!" J.R. was sitting at the base of a grey, Spanish moss-covered tree. He uncrossed his long legs and recrossed them the other way. "Double E, I reckon a man ought to be able to dispose of himself any way he sees fit." "I’m a-feared the old woman wouldn’t do it fer me, J.R. I talked to her ‘bout it. Netty said it were again’ the Lord. The old woman said if my body was turned to ashes it couldn’t be resurrected on the other side. She finally allowed she’d go ahead and do it. But I’m dang certain she never will."
J.R. shifted his legs as before and scratched his back against the tree bark. "Wonder how she figger you’d never be resurrected on t’other side? Maybe she’ll do it fer ya, Double E." I imagine the old battle ax ‘spects it’d cost her somethin.
A panting and grunting, like hogs coming to a feed bucket, could be heard shuffling up the trail toward the two hunters and the old dog.
"is that you, Ora?" If it ain’t, it’s a wounded water buffalo. "yea, yea, it’s me… sure is me. You got ole Red - is Red with you?" "shore is!" You think we’re gonna come up all the way out here without ole Red?
Eldon flashed his yellow stained teeth in a weak smile at his rotund friend. Ora’s stomach hung over his belt, a belt he didn’t need. Although a could night, Ora’s fish white belly could be seen between the gaping buttons on his shirt.
"Sit down here, Ora and tell me what you had for supper." Eldon knew food was about the most important thing in Ora’s life. Ora’s face lit up. "My good wife Abigail cooked up a mess of hot baloney, spinach salad and gravey sopped up with yeast bread, topped off with pumkin bread. Double E, I believe I got strength enuff to follow ole Red all night and best part of tomarrow. Yes- could follow ‘im all night.
Eldon grinned and placed his trembling hand on the shoulder of Ora, "That recounting of your supper sets my pot gut to rejoicing, Ora. You sure got a fine woman in Abigail." Eldon knew food of any kind would not sit good on his own stomach, but he didn’t want to spoil Ora’s pleasure in telling of good food and a good wife. Even back when his own stomach could tolerate rich foods, Netty rarely fired up the cook stove.
"Double E, Ora we better turn ole Red loose. Them coon tracks ‘er gonna be to cold." Ya’ll be sittin’ here at sunup talkin bout spinach and pumkin bread.
Eldon tried to rise from his sitting position but quickly sank back down, his breath coming short gasps. "J.R., would you mind to much if I just sit here and listen while you and Ora follow ole Red? I’m afraid I’d hold you up." Eldon Eason coughed that old Camel cigarette cough, his lungs gurgled. Then too, his stomach had been sour for many months now, though he never ate much and Netty didn’t encourage him. A man who doesn’t eat and coughs all the time gets weak.
"Heck no, Double E. you just sit there and listen. We’ll gather up some wood and get you a little fire a’goin. Poor ole Eldon. I shore feel sorry fur ‘im.
The ancient hound melted into the night like a phantom into mist - inside five minutes came the hound’s fog horn bawl from down at the base of Poverty Hill where there was a clear water stream. Ole Red could be heard splashing through it, going briefly north toward Moccasin Swamp then reversing himself and taking the southerly flow of the stream toward Slippery Stone bottoms. As the coon scent became stronger, so did the beller of the hound. Red left the stream, heading to a hackberry tree profusely laden with its smallish and reddish cold-weather fruit. The coon had eaten it’s fill and waddled off in search of other woodland delicacies. Red smelled the low hanging tree limbs-convinced the coon had departed, he searched and found a faint scent leading back to the stream. Bellowing his discovery, the old hound ambled on as his olfactory senses directed. J.R. and Ora walked toward sounds of the baying hound.
High on pine-covered Poverty Hill, Eldon Eason’s soul fled away toward death’s embrace; let us wish it escaped upwards to heaven’s portal-in any event his padding unseen by mortals was just as final as if seen by a many-headed multitudes; Eldon Eason answered the celestial call to come upon the king of glory-all left to this earth was a wasted temporal organism curled around waning flames. Eldon’s flesh was warm facing the yellow-flamed camp fire, but already cold as a sword blade on the backside. He had died peaceable from a busted vessel in his brain. Shadows flickered across Eldon’s close-set eyes, blood dribbled from his beak of a nose-the fluid of life coagulated on the frigid ground, pooling in to a small puddle beside the man’s frozen chaw of Star tobacco.
Red struggled through cut-briars, traveling the rabbit paths and cow paths where possible. The scent of the coon lay steaming on the frosty ground like smoke off a fresh cow patty. Another gray-barked hackberry stood alone in the briar patch and held a big boar coon to its rough breath, the coon reaching and grabbing the tasty berries, not much disturbed by the baying hound fifteen feet below, loyally assailing the tree.
It wasn’t five minutes until J.R. was under the standing timber shining it’s limbs with his lantern. Bulk of the coon was easy to demarcate against the star-lit sky. "I see you mister coon." Ole Ora won’t be here ‘til the cows some home. That man eats too much pumkin bread.
"Has ole Red got im’ J.R.? Has he got im?" J.R. was laying up against the hackberry tree like a long knotty root. He raised up slowly from his prone resting position. "yea, Ora, ole Red’s got ‘im." You could a bet your first born on it. Ora, with his unwavering careful aim, dispatched the coon using his single shot .22 rifle. The coon rolled out of the tree with a bullet in its brain - not a shiver from the cornfield marauder when its fur ball hit the ground. Ole Red wooled the carcass a few seconds with teeth worn to gums, then collapsed beside his game; Red, panting heavily, but grinning in a hound dog sort of way. Ora, his clothes sweat-soaked (it always amazed J.R. how Ora could sweat on a cold night), let himself down beside the hound and nearly on top of the dead varmint. With his chubby hands behind his head, he stared at the heavens. "Double E don’t look so good. Nope, not good. J.R. you think he’s gonna die?" J.R. leaned against the hackberry as if bracing the tree from falling, he shifted his position a little and furrowed his heavy brow. J.R. made no comment for a few moments. Finally he drawled from the deep in his chest, " I guess we all gonna knock on those pearly gates someday, Ora." I’d sure be surprised if he last the week. Ora wriggled into a bed of leaves and dirt as if it was a bed of down feathers, "Double E’s been a help to both of us, J.R. He found me and you work when I ran out of blacksmithin’ and farmin’ had you down. That year I broke my elbow - he’s at my smitty shop every day, helpin’. Yep, every day!" "Oh, he’s done fer me many a time, too, Ora. I’d never ketch up to him on good deeds he’s done for me." Don’t cash in on me, Double E! We got too many rat killin’s left and too much moseyin’ around to do.
J.R. reached the campfire first. He’d seen death many times - cows, dogs, birds, varmints; and yes even dead folks. There was a stillness about them. There is not doubt when the soul is gone from the body. Although the eyes of Eldon Eason mirrored the dying flames, the reflection did not register with a brain wave. If Eldon’s ‘possum eyes saw, they viewed from a heavenly perch. J.R.’s usually straight body was slumped at the shoulders, his head hanging until his chin almost touched his chest. Ora came upon the scene, huffing, puffing and sweating. "What? What’s wrong J.R.?" "He’s dead, Ora." I don’t relish tellin’ his old woman. She’ll blame me for sure! "DEAD!" "Yep. He must a died listenin’ to ole Red runnin’ that coon. I spose it’s the was he would have wanted it. Ora, you stay here with Double E. I’ll go get Sheriff Crawford, then we can fetch the body on home." She ain’t gonna want no cremation, Now what?
Eldon Eason’s thin corpse was laid for viewing in the front room of his cabin. He looked thinner in death, his mouth locked in a grin exposing strong ivory-yellow teeth and his eyes were slightly open as if he were only drowsy. Someone, probably Netty, had clothed Eldon in the suit of the farmer - bib overalls, clean, starched and blue’ his hands crossed and lay on his sunken chest. Eldon’s face, the color of swamp fog, grey and pasty, seemed relaxed. There was a steady stream of relatives and neighbors, but if they weren’t kin, they didn’t stay long. Netty Eason was small in frame, big in temper. J.R. and Ora stood before her with hats in clenched hands, listening; "I ain’t havin’ nothing to do with crematin’ my husband! Ora, get this ne’re do well outta here, get on down the road afore I call my brothers in. J.R., you did nothin’ for Eldon Eason when he’s livin’ ‘cept keepin him out all night in the weather. If he’d stayed by the fire on all those cold nights, he’d be livin’ today!" "Now Netty," said J.R., "Double E always proclaimed coon huntin’ was keepin him alive. He looked forward to his huntin’." If poor Eason had stayed by the fire with you, he’d have give up the ghost years ago! "Yea, and me sittin’ home alone all them nights, when I should have had the comfort of my man beside me. I ain’t spendin’ good money to have him carted ten miles to town and burned up! He’s a goin’ down that road out front, a short mile away and be decent buried in the Eason family plot, just like all the rest of his folks. Now Ora, get this long, tall, snuff-dipper outta here and let an old woman mourn her dead husband." J.R. shuffled his lengthy feet, glanced at Ora, but made no move to leave. I know this ole witch will turn me down on Red, too. But I got to ask her. "Netty, I kin take ole Red offen your hands. He won’t do nothin’ but add to your grocery bill." She stared at the two visitors only a few seconds, as if undecided. Then she got the look of a chicken hawk in her eyes, "J.R., you better get yourself outta here. I tell ya, I’m ‘bout to call my brothers in and they’re two shades meaner than the devil hisself! And the hound ain’t leavin’ with you. he can catch enough rabbits on his own to keep from starvin’, least till I sell him to the first dog trader that comes around." She had one eye squinted shut and her jaw set. Netty had heard all she wanted to hear about casting Eldon’s ashes off Poverty Hill, the same asinine notion from her husband - when he was alive. His body need to be whole if he wants to be resurrected on the other side. Anyway it’d cost money, while buryin’ is free! He tol’ me, should he up an die, to give Red to them no-count huntin’ buddies - no sir, not when I’m a widow needin security in my old age! "Ora, I’ll be lookin for you to hep in the mornin’ - loadin’ Eldon on the wagon and all. J.R., I don’t want to see you ‘round here no more. Now git!"
J.R. squeezed his hat until his knuckles turned white. Yeah, them brothers of hers ar’ meaner than ole scratch al’right. I better get shed of this place. He did not look at the woman but stared at the floor - he’d never harmed a woman in his life, yet he could strangle this one and walk away without a pang of conscience. Ora, bug-eyed, nudged J.R. and the pair of them back went back through the cabin door onto the lopsided porch. Ora spoke as they stared back at the dismal cabin, "C’mon J.R., You been kicked outa better places. Yep, much better places. ‘Sides, we don’t want to tie up with Netty’s brothers if we kin hep it. I heered they’s chock full of cussidness." J.R. responded, "That woman made ole Double E’s life miserable. She’s still a hauntin’ ‘im and him laid out stone cold dead. Iffen a man want hisself cremated it ought to be done that a’way, darn sarned it!"
The two hunters walked down the road, a study in physical contrast - but sharing a mental oneness. One long and lank - with revenge on his mind. The other short and chubby - searching his brain for a plan. Running nervous fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, J.R. spoke with urgency, "Ora, my thinking is we let them bury ole Double E in the mornin’ on schedule. Then tomorrow night, we dig him up and cremate him ourselves! Another thing, its ‘bout ole Red’s time, we’ll just turn him into ashes along with Eldon. I shore hate to put ole Red down."
Ora consciously avoided responding to the part about Red, but addressed the other, "Grave robbin’ is a lot of work, J.R. and it probably won’t cause stink enough - Ole Double E is worthy of a double big stink!" It may be up to me to see he gets his fair recognition. Old Eldon weren’t no regular everyday board’ house human bein’. I want this one to be for the tally book-yes siree, one fer the book! "Remember ‘bout ten years ago, they catched them fellers for stealin bodies fer medical research? Weren’t hardly no stink a’tall. I plan to make Double E’s farewell a large stink-smellin’ lak the business end of a stirred up polecat. Shore e’nuff - a stinkin’ polecat!
After walking along in silence for several minutes, the shorter of the two began slowly scratching his carrot-top close-cropped hair, "J.R. you mosey on down to Canton about sunup tomorrow ‘til this here funeral’s over. Somethin’s gonna happen, and everybody’ll be thinkin’ you done it. So walk on over to Canton and make yourself obvious ." I been goin’ to Eason family funerals all my life. I know the drill, Yep, I know the drill. "No, sir, I want to be part of it. Some how we gotta get’im cremated. You know I’m stout as an acre of garlic. You’ll need me!" "J.R., I can explain it to you all day long, but I can’t understand it for you. we’s gonna take care of Eldon, just like he wanted. You just get yourself to Canton, and make yourself conspicuous. Be sure you got witnesses to alibi you all day long. For shore, all day long." Nobody figger me havin backbone e’nuff to pull this deal off-nope, nobody, if I’m real careful. And I got to be careful, cause Netty’s kinfolk’d shore get a feller for stealin’ Eldon’s body. Ora tried to relax, to stop his hands from shaking. "Ora, never knowed you to get so riled-‘cept that time that big pulpit pounder preacher cornered your Abigail in the cloak room." Ole Ora shore gave that bible banger a thrashin’, like a farmer would whip a stubborn mule.
"J.R., we can’t call ourselves men, unless’n we take up fer what’s most important in this life. True - ‘bout the only thing important to me - most of the time - has been a tasty supper, a late nap, and a fine evenin’ of coon huntin’. Howsoever, nothin’ elevates a man like a lovin’ woman or a good friend. Yes siree! You got to take up fer loved ones if the need presents itself. You shore do!" The lanky man agreed by shaking his large equine head like a plow horse fending off ear flys. In somber and low tones he said, " Ora, ole Red’s gonna die a slow starvin’ death. He’s goin on fourteen years and can’t take more’n a few days of bad treatment. Double E fed him chicken gizzards and sweet milk ever day of the week. If pains my heart but we best punch his ticket, if you know what I mean. Eldon had the notion ole Red’s ashes would be scattered with his."
The smaller man looked away into the woods, his eyes dripping like a leaky faucet. Ora’s voice broke as he spoke, "yea, ole Red’s in my plan. I don’t relish killin’ one old friend to honor another. It’ll take a lot of river water to float that raft. Shore will!"
The two sidekicks headed for Poverty Hill to gather wood. Ora estimated it would take a bonfire of great proportions to turn a human body to ashes. He had heard the human body was seventy percent water! Tonight they’ll have the wake - all drunk as lords. In the morning’ Netty’s brothers will be green around the gills, but they’ll be vigilant toward the body. Now how am I gonna steal ole Double E?
The sun peeked slightly but brightly over the vista of Poverty Hill. During that brief lull between night and day, the creek bottoms were graveyard quiet. With break of day, only a few winter birds remained in Slippery Stone bottoms to chirp a sunup greeting. From the nearby Eason farm, Ora could hear a rooster crow. The breath of his mare was coming out in white billows as he backed her into the traces of his buckboard. Settling his heft onto the seat, the vehicle creaked its objections. "yaa - get along Biscuit. We got work to do this mornin’." Coming to the main road he could see fresh footprints onthe ground frost, heading north to Canton, Texas. The distance between prints indicated the long stride of J.R. Ollis. Ora smiled slightly as he turned his rig south toward the farm of Eldon Eason.
Pulling up to the Eason cabin, Ora surveyd the log structure and barn like an eagle riding up the updraft, a bird of prey in search of a moving varmint below. Daybreak found the cabin quiet, yet surrounded by rigs of visiting mourners sleeping within. He glanced toward the barn. There, back into the shed adjoining the barn, stood the Stuebaker wagon used in all Eason family funerals. Besides funeral, it had served as Double E’s haywagon. Ora’s pale blue eyes darted from pillar to post, but didn’t see Ted anywhere. The old brown milk cow waited at the barn sleepy eyed and chewing her cud, ready for her morning portion of sweetened and a ravishing of cold-rough hands.
"Ora." Ora’s body jumped as well as his blood pressure. Hearing his name called unexpectedly while on a devious mission gave him a belly full of bed springs. Netty came down the path from the back house, shifting her underthings, her scrawny torso loosely covered by her plain black funeral dress. "Did I skeered ya, ora? Glad you’re here. I need a man that kin get things done this mornin’" Ora smiled meekly. "could you get ole Bossie milked? Just five the milk to the hogs, I ain’t got time to fool with it. Then hitch up the mule to that Stuebaker wagon, if I kin get that bunch awake in the house, I’ll have my brothers load the casket."
"I’ll sure do it best I kin, Miss Netty. If you don’t mind-and I don’t mean no disrespect - I can’t bring myself to be at the buryin’. Just can’t stand to see the dirt tossed in on poor ole Eldon. Shore can’t stand that!" Netty shrugged her shoulders. Thet Ora’s ‘bout half-witted anyway’s. he couldn’t hit the water if he fell out of a boat! She cared less about Ora attending the funeral as long as he tended the cow and hooked the mule to the Stuebaker hearse wagon. Ora’s mind was working quicker than it had in years. He knew he would have to be fast thinking and alert to steal Double E’s body from under the nose of ever-vigilant Netty and her brothers.
East Texas, depending on the nature’s season, is a swamp, is a jungle, is a serene piney woods, is all these and is almost a mad snake poised to strike the incautious. The landscape background is forever green and aromatic because of the pines. Many a son of Tennessee has put down stakes in east Texas because of the hilly Tennessee - type terrain and pine tree aroma. In December, at ground level there are some subtle changes - fallen pine needles turn cinnamon in color, carpeting the lumpy forest floor. And the jungle of vines and briars still entangle fallen debris like a sea mollusk with a million tentacles. Man or beast must pick a way over, under or through a thicket. It was into this tangle Ora stealthily ventured and tied the Eason mule, far back of the Eason barn. Keep quiet there, mule. Make yourself invisible.
"Netty, I got your cow milked and the hogs fed. But I can’t find hide nor hair of the mule. The barn door was wide open." "Dang fools! I had some of these boys put that mule up last night. They must not have latched the door proper. Ora, be a darlin’, fit yourself a bucket of oats and see if you kin call ‘im up. He’s probably south of the barn by thet pool, eatin’ winter grass. Hurry, we’s spose’d to meet the preacher at the graveyard at 9 o’clock."
"WOEE, MULE." Ora stood behind the barn hollering loud enough to be heard in the cabin.
Ora scratched his thatch of red hair as he talked to Netty, "Cain’t find tha ornery mule, Netty. Do you s’pose your kinfolk could carry the casket to the barn and load it up, then hep me search out that mule? I could use some help, shore enough." "It’s gettin’ late. Just hitch up one of my brother’s horses so we can git down the road. That preacher’s not gonna wait all mornin’."
Blood rushed to Ora’s face and he swallowed hard. "Netty by the time we got that mule harness adjusted fer a horse, we could have found the mule. Sides, I believe ole Double E druther be pulled home by his own mule! To save time, jist have the boys carry the casket on out and load it at the barn."
The woman frowned. Time to git through arguin’ with this churnhead, thet preacher’ll be long gone. Netty hollered with authority, "Buddy, you and the boys tote the casket on out to the barn and load it in the Stuebaker wagon. Then some of you help Ora find thet mule. Buddy, you stay with the casket!"
Being a younger brother, Buddy still took orders from his older sister, even though he was fifty years old - although nobody else was brave enough to boss him. Then again the potato wine he had imbibed so freely at the wake made his head feel like the inside of a rifled barrel at a turkey shoot. He was not in the mood to challenge his sister, thus he stood with his foot perched on the Stuebaker wagon staring at the new pine box which held his brother-in-law’s body. Buddy served as an attendant while the other mourners melted into the thick underbrush for a mule hunt.
Ora was not light on his feet and knew it. He knelt in the tack room adjacent to the runway where Eldon’s body lay in his casket on the wagon. Through a crack in the wall Ora could see the large frame of Buddy, Netty’s brother, with head in hands, in attendance with the body and nursing a hangover. Ora had killed many a hog in his day. He knew how to deliver a blow and sure didn’t want to kill buddy. But he wanted to knock him out! Knowing he could not silently sneak up on Buddy, he would have to bring Buddy to him. Whispering as loud as he could from the darkened chamber, "Pssst! Buddy! Over here in the tack room." Watching from the crack, Ora saw Buddy throw up his head and look around suspiciously, "Who dat?" Still whispering loud and with authority, "Shhh, get over here and look at this!" Buddy was like an antelope running to a waving flag, his curiosity overtook his common sense. As he cautiously stuck his head into the tack room, it was a met by a sharp blow from a single tree; only a bit sharper than it had to be. He dropped without a twitch.
Ora led the mule - pulled hearse to the hitching post in front of the askew cabin porch. "Here ya go, Netty. May the lord bless and welcome the soul of poor Eldon as his body returned to the soul. He was a friend to me. I’ll be foin’ on home now. God bless and protect you." "Thanks, Ora, I know you mean it. Where’s Buddy? He’s a pall bearer." "I don’t rightly know, Netty. He weren’t nowhere around when I harnessed the mule. I figured he come back up here to the cabin."
"Aw, he done gone and found him a place to sleep off thet potato wine hangover. It’s sad when a poor widow can’t even count on her own brother." Ora feinted his most convincing and sorrowful face, patting Netty on the shoulder, he shook his head in pretense of dis dain for her brother’s actions.
Ora walked toward the barn where his horse and buggy stood, and where Double E’s thin body was tucked into the buggy boot like a roll of hog wire fence. The boot concealing the body hidden under a saddle blanket, also harbored a breathing body. One with a rusted colored tail that had to be tucked back under the cover. Just as Ora started to climb into his rig, Netty hollered, "Ora." The rotund man, already sweating, jumped slightly. Great god, uphold me in my task!
"you seen ole Red?" "Nope, Netty, ain’t seen him. He’s probably got him a warm spot up under the cabin. He’ll come out directly, when he’s hungry." "Won’t do him no good. I don’t plan to waste good grub on the likes of him." Ora smiled and nodded, his rig settling as he stepped his weight into it. "Yaa, Biscuit, git along hoss."
They say Netty Eason caterwauled like a wounded she-bear there at the graveyard, when her brother Buddy came out of the casket, sputtering and cursing. They say they had a runaway by the preacher and several kin folk. They say Sheriff Crawford rode as fast as he could back to the Eason place, looking for Double E in all the ditches along the way. They say there was a big stir and some humor in it. Yea, some humor to it. Sheriff Crawford, to ease Netty’s suspicions, verified J.R.’s whereabouts with several folks in Canton, Texas. J.R. had an iron-clad alibi. He was buying two Navajo saddle blankets from a merchant in Canton about 9 a.m.
Netty’s brother Buddy told it like this: "There’s a pair of ‘em. Big galoots. Never seed either one afore. Didn’t give me nary chanct’. I decked one, but t’other cracked me from behind."
Seeing as how J.R. had an alibi and Buddy identified two strangers as the culprits, Sheriff Crawford told everyone it was grave robbers from around Dallas. He informed Netty there were big-city rascals always stealing bodies for medical students to practice on. Netty wondered, did the steal coon dogs too, for animal doctors to practice on?
That night on Poverty Hill under a could midnight moon, a solitary .22 rifle shot splintered the chill quiet evening. A few minutes later, Ora and J.R. stood humbly in front of a platform of sacrificial leaping flames. The fire cast shimmering shadows which streaked into the darkness like prisoners making a jail break. Two bodies wrapped in new Navajo saddle blankets lay at the top of a ten-foot pile of dry brush and seasoned logs. One body obviously human, the other canine. The fire reached up to the blanket remains as crackling and spewing smoke. Ora and H.R. had to step back from the quick-burning incessant fire.
"J.R., you got and words we can eulogize for this here good man and his hound?" Shy by nature and wrought with sadness, J.R. could only stare at the towering flames. Ora had attended enough funeral to know it was only proper to offer the deceased some high praise. "Eldon Eason could shod a mule and build the tightest fence of any I ever knowed. Old Red was the best I ever seed at trackin’ down a ruttin’ boar coon!" Ora hesitated as if searching his memory for greater deeds. In conclusion he said, "May they both go to a better place."
The mortal men, one lean and lanky - the other stingy in height, but ample in girth, bowed their heads in respect for two old warriors from the battlefield of life. A night owl stood on a distant limb flapping its wings and shaking its body before expressionning a lonely and curious hoot. Both deceased travelers of many seasons took with them wisdom earned during their journey - one or the other had known where squirrels hide pecans, when to plant seed, where varmints sheltered themselves in winter, the flight of the moon, how to help a friend in need. One or the other’s mellow bell-like voice would be heard never again among the hollows and hillsides of east Texas piney woods. No more would they wander together of singly over high-backed ridges, nor through thickets of green briars and nevermore along pines-strewn creek banks. No, they would not smell again smoke from a hunter’s fire, any chance to scent an old rank boar coon would have to come in eternal after-life. Yet and surely, as long as the hills stand and waters flow, this team of spirits will be allowed to hunt the wily coon in another sphere - just behind the domain of physical existence. At least that’s why their ashes were strewn from atop Poverty Hill - blowin off into Slippery Stone bottoms - so they might continue nightly excursions throughout eternity. Assuredly they will! Even though today nobody remembers Eldon Eason or ole Red, the hunter and hound had their time and their departure from this terrestrial dominion caused a big stir. Even though nobody live today who remembers, both Double E and ole Red were rescued from an unbefitting departure from this mother earth. Yes, through the help of beloved friends "let us do evil, that good may come," they went on to a greater kingdom in an honorable way with their ashes sharing the same wind - a kind of deliverance!
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