Rumble Tumble

“Reckon so,” Haskel said. “But so am I.”

Leonard carefully laid the shotgun down, then I heard the wind, but I didn’t see the punch. It was a right cross, I think, and it caught Haskel on the left side of his cheek and it made a cracking sound, and Haskel seemed to leap away from the hill. He hit the ground at its base, rolled and lay on his face. I was amazed to see that the rifle Haskel had been holding was in Leonard’s left hand. He had snatched the weapon and punched Haskel in less time than it took to spit.

Leonard raised his knuckles to his mouth and sucked on them. I went down the hill to see if Haskel was dead. I lifted his head up and dirt fell out of his mouth. I set him up, got behind him and pulled the little revolver out of his overalls pocket and gave him a couple of whacks on the back with the palm of my hand. He coughed and rolled his eyes.

“You fugger,” Haskel said.

Leonard came down the hill and got out his wallet. He looked at me and sighed, took out the bills. There were a lot of them, large bills. Hundreds. I knew he had gotten them out of the bank for this gun buy, that it was a chunk of the money from the recent sell of his uncle’s old house.

Leonard pushed the bills down the front of Haskel’s overalls. “Here’s the money for the weapons and ammo, shitwipe. We’ll pick them up on the way out. That diller in the cage down there, I’ve tossed in another fifty, so I’m taking him with me. Cage too. Any of your friends, or you, show up to bother us on account of this, I want you to know they’re gonna miss all future meals. And I can find my way back here too, and I do, it won’t be to try and sell you no vacuum cleaner. You happen to wake up when I’m through with you, it’ll be with a tube in your nose and a shit bag strapped to your hip.”

“Azoles,” Haskel said, then stretched out on the ground and turned his head to the side and lay still.

I emptied Haskel’s revolver, dropping the shells in my hand. I put the shells in my pocket and leaned down and put the gun back in Haskel’s pocket. I picked up the cloth bag on my way away from there.

Leonard got the armadillo cage, carried it down the hill with one hand, the rifle in the other, the shotgun tucked under his arm. Down at the barn, we went inside and I got the notepad with our names on it and bent it in half and shoved it in my back pocket. We gathered up the guns and the ammo.

We went out to the truck. Leonard put the dillo in the truck bed. I stepped over the dead possum and got inside the truck with my weapons and ammo. Leonard went around and opened the driver’s door and put the guns and ammunition he was carrying inside.

Sherilee, without her finger in her nose for a change, sort of materialized. She said to Leonard, “Ain’t that our armadillo?”

“I bought him,” Leonard said, closing the door and leaning against his truck.

“Pa traps ’em.”

“Uh huh.”

“Where’s Pa?”

“He got a little tired. He’s up on the hill there, resting.”

“In the dirt?”

“He was sort of overcome with exhaustion.”

“You hit him didn’t you?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Sometimes he hits me. He knocked me out oncet with a shoe.”

“Just consider that one for you,” Leonard said, “and call it even.”

“He ain’t so bad sometimes,” the little girl said.

“You ought to tell someone about the hogs. Haskel shot ’em.”

“He does that sometimes,” said the little girl. “When they get big.”

“Well, they ain’t gonna get no bigger.”

“Reckon not.”

Leonard gave the little girl a pat on the head and drove us out of there. When we reached the main road, we saw Haskel’s two boys walking. They had cane fishing poles on their shoulders and sullen looks on their dirty faces. They didn’t wave at us.

When we had gone a few miles down the road, Leonard pulled over to the side, got the cage out of the back of the pickup and walked into the woods, set it on the ground, and opened it.

The armadillo sat quietly, looking at the open space. Lovebugs buzzed around our heads and caught in our hair and clothes.

“Go on and git,” Leonard said.

The armadillo did not go on and git.

Leonard picked up a stick and poked at the armadillo’s rear end, but the beast didn’t seem any more ready to leave. Leonard picked up the cage and gently poured the armadillo onto the ground. The armadillo landed on its feet and turned its head and sniffed the air. It appeared to be in shock, and considering what had happened to his relatives, I couldn’t blame him.

“Now, you go on and stay out of trouble,” Leonard said.

The armadillo moved slightly so that it stood next to Leonard’s leg. It made a snuffling sound, as if smelling Leonard’s socks, or maybe working up to a good cry.

Leonard picked up the cage, and we went back to the truck. When Leonard put the cage in the truck bed, we looked up to see the dillo had followed us to the edge of the woods.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” I said.

“No, me either. I reckon the little fella don’t know he’s comin’ or goin’.”