Terry Schurter - The Justice of Cord's Lick.pdf - Terry Schurter - widez2

The Justice of Cord’s Lick

Poachin' Tom rocked forward in his chair, cocked his head, then shot a wad of tobacco juice

between his legs. He settled back with a grin as the biggest part found the crack between the warped

floorboards underneath the table. "Shit," Tom said "he ain't shit, Earl. I done eyed him already and I

shore don't got no worries atall." So saying Tom dragged the back of his hand over his mouth to stop the

dribble of tobacco spittle from making its way to his chin.

"Well, ya know the stories 'bout that buck being some kinda spirit critter. But I'm sure ya'll are right

Tom, you always is. I reckon I just worry cause you ain't as spry as you onc't was. Shucks, we're both

past our frying days an afore long we won't even be worth stewin!"

The one room cabin filled with the hoarse laughter of the two older men. As their laughter died Tom

cornered the mason jar of moonshine that was still more than half full and slugged down a gulp. He

passed the jar to Earl then broke into one of his many poaching stories. Earl followed in kind. The rising

sun awoke to find Earl sprawled on the floor; mouth gaping open and Tom face down in his chair, the

empty Mason jar still clutched in his hand.

******

The battered Chevy pickup slid to a halt just before entering the grassy meadow, cloaked in

darkness that lay straight ahead. The engine sputtered, coughed, and died with a nasally wheeze. Tom

threw his weight against the door, swinging it open wide. He stepped out pulling his Winchester 30/30

with him then clambered into the truck-bed and settled down till silence filled the woodland once again.

The sliver of a moon was well up on its journey through the night sky when suddenly a blinding

beam of light arced through the peaceful glade. It moved quickly, purposefully across the glade stripping

away the night's protective shadow, jerking to a halt on the herd of deer it had uncovered.

Two does and a fawn turned their heads with the coming light and were now pinned with the beam

directly in their eyes. Fear and lack of understanding riveted them in their tracks. The 30/30 in Tom's

hands barked loudly three times evenly spaced. Just as evenly spaced the three deer crumpled to the

ground as if they were puppets on a string to lie motionless, blood seeping from their shattered skulls.

Once again the light began moving. Without going far it found another doe and a fawn. Tom shot

them quickly then swung the light rapidly across the glade freezing on a glint of metal. Again the rifle in

Tom's hands barked three times in rapid succession, each shot ramming into the large shortening can he

had hung in the brush. Filled with rocks, the can set off a loud metallic clatter. The sly old buck who had

circled the glade behind the hackle berry bushes, slipping silently away down his escape route, bounded

away from the horrible din that had erupted almost under his nose. As the buck moved into the glare of

the spot Tom jerked the light into his eyes. Tom paused to spit a wad of tobacco over the side of the

truck, he laughed to himself "Ole mister grandpappy buck thought how he had him a plan to slick

Poachin' Tom, hen, hen. Well I guess he done found out how smart he ain't." Swinging back to the buck

still frozen in the spotlight's glare Tom shot him through the spine at the base of the neck. "Wouldn't

wanna muss up that perdy head o' yours, no sir. Why I'll be gettin' me a city slicker wantin' a wall hanger

and you'll sure fill my pockets then!"

Tom had stripped to nothing more than a stained undershirt as he finished loading the last of the

gutted deer into the Chevy. He paused to wipe the blood off his arms and hands then swung to face

behind him placing a hand to his ear like in the movies. "Well I declare" he said, acting as if the woods

about him held an audience, "I do believe I hear a Jeep a headin' this way. I sure hope it ain't that new

mister Game Warden come to arrest poor ole Tom." He spat a wad of tobacco in the general direction

of the "Jeep" then climbed into the truck's cab and cranked the starter till the engine rumbled into life.

As Tom's pickup swung out of the clearing onto the remains of the logging road he had followed to

the meadow the lights of the Warden's Jeep cleared the ridge and started down towards him. Tom

grinned when he saw the lights then slid the clutch out and headed with a jerk down into the valley below.

Warden Simmons pushed the Jeep's speed up as much as he dared now that his quarry was in

sight. He'd heard that Poachin' Tom had been bragging on how the new Warden was nothing to worry

about. He'd guess right now Tom wasn't feeling so cocky and knew he'd feel even less cocky behind

bars!

As the Warden continued to push his Jeep down the logging road the gap between Tom and him

closed rapidly. Just when the Jeep's headlights seemed to reach the tailgate of the old Chevy pickup,

Tom took a sharp left off the road and turned his headlights off instantly disappearing from sight. The

Warden cranked his steering wheel sending the Jeep into the brush after Tom's disappearance. With the

wheel rolling back to straighten the Jeep out on it's new course Warden Simmons caught the glint of his

headlights reflected back from directly before him. Straining forward in an effort to identify Tom's truck

Warden Simmons was almost thrown into his windshield as the Jeep jerked to a halt, the front canting

down at a wild angle.

He sat still, staring ahead in shocked silence unable to comprehend what had happened. He shook

his head, sucked up a deep breath, held it for a long count, then blew it out feeling his nerves settle.

Gathering his wits about him the Warden climbed out of the Jeep and clicked on his flashlight. He

stomped the ground with a heavy foot and cursed as his light fell on the freshly dug trench his front tires

were mired in. He cursed again when his flashlight exposed the two large coffee cans hanging by string

just on the other side of the trench.

The Warden was jarred out of his state of shock and anger by the gunning of an engine followed by

headlights moving on down into the valley. He clenched his fists and stared until the truck's lights moved

out of sight.

* * * * * *

Sunday morning Tom scraped the stubble from his face then put on his best, and only, polyester

shirt. Slicking his hair back with Wildroot then banging the mud from his boots Tom was ready for

anything, even Preacher Polk's sermon. So off he went humming to himself something that vaguely

resembled a tune.

Preacher Polk looked out over the congregation, his flock, as sorry as it seemed sometimes. There

was Frank Littleton, the laziest man in the county and maybe the whole state. Behind him was Bertha

Bottoms, giving sideways glances over her nose at the rest of the gathering. On the other side of the aisle

sat Emily Lou Davis, she fluttered her eyelids as his glance paused on her more than a second. Over her

shoulder was the new Game Warden, now that was interesting, first Warden that had ever attended his

church. Polk smiled to himself, pleased. And in the back row was Earl the town drunk and Poachin'

Tom, both a couple of real no accounts. Polk bristled, he was sure they came each and every Sunday

just to irritate him. Why couldn't they just sleep through the better part of the day with a hangover like

they did every other day of the week?

Preparing to begin his sermon, Preacher Polk cleared his throat loud enough to bring the attention of

the small chapel's gathering to bear on him. Opening his mouth to start his practiced fire and brimstone he

felt suddenly overwhelmed with inspiration. Yes! The Lord was speaking through him today and he had a

special message for a certain Tom here today!

Well, just about everyone in the room had one time or another got to feel the heat of one of

Preacher Polk's "inspirations." Except for Tom and Earl who always sat in the back out of the good light

where the Preacher could focus his less than perfect vision. But today for some reason the preacher

could see Tom clearly and so he began.

"God has made our world, each creature and insect and every Mountain and tree, as he so declares

to us in the book of Genesis. He has made man in his own image and given to him all the fruits of the

earth to serve all of mankind's needs in life."

Preacher felt himself warming up, "God has given us the fruit of the trees and the roots of the herbs."

He glared across the room daring anyone to meet his gaze, none did. "He has given us the animals for

food and clothing...", the Preacher left a long pause to gain affect, "but he has not given of all that he has

created so that we may abuse his gifts for our own perverted little desires."

As a side thought he recognized that Emily had squirmed in her pew as she always did when he

used the word "perverted", which was why he so often did.

"No, my friends, there is evil underfoot in Cord's Lick, an evil that abuses God's gifts that he hath

created with his own loving hands."

Most of the congregation was sitting up with anticipation now waiting for the blow to fall, privately

guessing on who it would land.

The Preacher had them. He saw the expectant looks directed at him, the rapt attention that told him

he was once more in control. Now was the time to drop the bomb.

"And so I say to you, he who refuses to obey the laws of God and Man, wantonly killing the beasts

of God's kingdom for his own personal gains is a heinous creature likened unto the Devil, Satan, himself!"

Amens and Hallelujahs blurted from several parts of the little Chapel.

Tom's basking reverie was shattered as the Preacher's words filtered through his daydreams. He

looked wildly about to see that the entire congregation was staring at him with looks mixed with hate and

disgust. Tom leaped to his feet and dashed out the door not slowing down till he was half way up

Tanner's Ridge.

Damn that Preacher, Damn! What had caused him to attack poor ole Tom like that? Jesus, he felt

like shit. Why did he have to pick on Tom? Why? Shit, shit, shit.

Tom alternated walking and running the rest of the way back to his cabin. Crossing into his own

yard he finally started to feel safe but he still went inside right away dropping the bar on the door behind

him. Tom pulled several jars of moonshine down and proceeded to calm his fears until he passed out.

The woods had peace the next several nights as Tom refused to leave his cabin staying drunk night

and day. On the third day Tom finally quit drinking.

"Foolishness, just damn foolishness" he told himself "that there Preacher ain't never said nothing but

foolishness."

Still Tom felt uneasy and angry. He stayed off the shine for the rest of the day and even went out

back behind the cabin in the late afternoon. By nightfall he was dead tired. Crossing the cabin Tom

flopped on his cot without undressing asleep before he hit the tick mattress.

* * * * * *

The big buck loomed in front of Tom caught in the spotlight unable to escape. Its face was close

enough to touch. Tears began to roll out of its big dark eyes.

"Oh Tom. You kill and kill and kill. Evil. Tom the evil is in you."

Tom jerked away from the deer. Moving back his eyes glanced down to see that everywhere the

tears from the buck's eyes had touched the ground little fires had started. Tom threw his arm in front of

his face warding off the beast before him only to have his arm turn into gun. Bang! The gun fired. The

buck dropped dead. "No, no!" shouted Tom. Suddenly the entire deer began to smoke. The smoke

thickened then took shape. The figure of an Angel took shape before Tom.

"So this is how you treat God's gifts?" the Angel said and moved toward Tom.

Tom jerked his body around to run and promptly fell out of bed on his head. Drenched with sweat

he shook himself realizing he had been dreaming.

Tom poured down his third cup of coffee. His fear had turned to anger. Just what he needed. That

damn Preacher and then bad shine. Well, shit, he'd show them you can't keep Poachin' Tom down, no

sir!

Terry Schurter - The Justice of Cord's Lick.pdf

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