The third chapter of my second novel, and Archie is brought disturbing news by a hunter. |
Chapter III: The Beginning of the Hunt 27 September, 1967 The morning dew was heavy as the sun rose that morning. All was peaceful at the farmhouse of Widow Williamson and Tommy, as well as at the creaky log cabin of Archie Smith and his nephews. Archie sat on the front porch, polishing his rifles as Cletus sunbathed in the hammock down the hill. Claude was inside, still asleep; Archie had no intentions of waking him up. The boy needed rest for the first hunting lesson. An old Ford pulled up into the dirt road of the Smith log cabin, puffin and billowing smoke. Most blew into Cletus's face, and he began to cough and hack. The old Ford convertible parked by the weeping willow in the front yard, right beside Archie's 1953 DeSoto FireDome Convertible. A younger gentleman stepped out, a cigarette hanging halfway out of the side of his mouth; he wasn't much older than Cletus. "Howdy, Archie," the gentleman said, his tongue keeping a firm grip on the cigarette. Archie stopped polishing his rifles and glared at the gentleman. "Boy," he snapped, "I ain't goin' huntin' with you! You'd scare half them critters away with your ugly-" "That ain't why I'm here, Archie," the gentleman said, holding his hands up. "Ol' Jones lost his wife an' kid a couple days ago. Wife's been shot, but that rascal kid got away. Says he wants him back." "He wants the kid back?" The gentleman nodded. "Just be on the watch for a mixed boy a'runnin' 'round here. Shoot him if you got to." He stepped back into the convertible and drove away, back down the dirt road, still puffing smoke into Cletus's face. Cletus growled and went back to resting in the hammock. Archie muttered to himself as he polished his rifles again, "Ol' Jones ain't done diddly-squat for me; why should I hunt down his missin' boy?" He sat back in the rocking chair and sighed. "Maybe there's a reward for the boy, and it'll be all mine." He chuckled to himself. "That reward will be mine." |