The Boar Read Online Free Page B

that I was trying to do good and not upset her and cause problems with the baby, but another part of me felt like a dirty, low-down sneak-thief.
    Figuring it was near dinnertime, I started up to the house. Ike was at the well drawing water.
    “You done finished?” he asked.
    “That’s right,” I said.
    “All of it?”
    “All there is to do.”
    Ike gave me a long, sly look. “Where’d you get them stalks you sledded up this way?”
    Darn that Ike, he never missed a trick. “Listen here, Ike, Mama ain’t going to need to know about that.”
    “Whatcha do, plow some of the corn down?”
    “No,” I snapped, “I didn’t plow none of the corn down.”
    “I was just remembering that time you let Felix get away from you and you plowed up half the bean patch.”
    “Yeah,” I said, “and I’m remembering that time you weren’t supposed to be messing with him, and while Papa and I were picking tomatoes Felix drug you over two rows of tomatoes, stakes and all, and we had to have Doc Travis come out and put stitches—”
    “You just don’t mention where I got my stitches. Hear?”
    “Well, you hear this, Ike Dale. Old Satan done been in our bottom. He tore up some of our land, wrecked some of the corn. I ain’t saying nothing to Mama about it on account of the baby and all.”
    Ike looked thoughtful. “I reckon that’s an all right idea,” he said. “You sure it’s Old Satan?”
    “He didn’t leave no note with his name on it or nothing,” I said, “but he left some prints too big to be any old Piney Woods Rooter.”
    “Maybe it ain’t hog tracks. Maybe it’s a cow, or something.”
    “I ain’t no blamed Daniel Boone on sign,” I said, “but I know a pig’s tracks from a dadblamed cow’s. It’s Old Satan all right.”
    Ike chewed on his bottom lip a moment. “You know what Doc Travis was saying? About Old Satan being an Indian medicine man or the devil… you reckon that’s true?”
    “Papa says it ain’t.”
    Ike eyed me slyly. “What do you say?”
    “I say the same as Papa.” Though to be honest, I wasn’t entirely expressing my true feelings. Looking at those tracks had given me the awfullest sort of stirring.
    “Did he spoil much?”
    “Not too much.”
    “Reckon he’ll be back?”
    “I don’t know how a hog thinks,” I said. “Maybe he will and maybe he won’t. You listen here, though. Not a word to Mama, all right?”
    “You sure you didn’t plow down that corn and make this here story up?”
    “If you want to run on down to the patch for a looksee,” I said, “I’ll wait right here.”
    I could see that he was considering it, but after a moment he said, “Naw, I believe you.”
    “Not a word then?”
    Ike crossed his heart. “Not a word.”
    “This’ll be our secret until Papa gets home.”
    “Indians couldn’t drag it out of me with torture.”
    “Don’t reckon we’ll have to worry about that none,” I said. “Been a long time since they’ve attacked.”
    “No need to get smart about it,” Ike said. “It’s the thought that counts.” He half-grinned at me, and I grinned back.
    “Go on and wash up,” Ike said. “I was fixing to call you to dinner anyhow. There’s fresh water poured for you.”
    I went out back of the house where the wash pan set on a basin. Fresh water was in it and a new bar of lye soap was beside it with a clean, folded towel.
    I took off my shirt, shook it free of dust, and patted it from my pants. Then I used my hand and some water to slick my hair down. After washing up and drying, I put my shirt on and checked myself in the broken piece of mirror leaning up behind the wash pan. I decided I looked clean enough to go to Mama’s table.
    Dinner was black-eyed peas, fried chicken, pan-fried cornbread, grits, and buttermilk. Pretty much the same meal we’d been having all week, but that didn’t hurt the taste any. Mama could have cooked a rotted log and made it taste good, even if she served it ten days in a row.
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