MAD DOG IN THE WOOD

 

A Boyd Poole Story

 

 

 

Everybody in Spartanburg's County, according to Uncle Bullibob, knew that Cecil Bobo was crazy. The only thing crazier than Cecil, in the entire county, happened to be Clarence Marshall's prize mules. And, no one could work these mules, as a team, except Cecil, who with these mules, could outwork any other twelve men in the county.

 

People would come from miles around just to watch Cecil work these mules and the mules would do just about anything he told them to do. That was basically what he did. He told them what to do and they did it.

 

"Whoa ‑ haw! Gee, Miss Anne", he would yell at the top of his voice. "Gee there, Miss Gloria." These were evidently instructions and the mules seemed to under-stand them. Cecil never used a whip on the mules. He didn't even slap their sides with the lines. In fact, most of the time he kept the lines loosely wrapped around the plow stock.

 

His furrows were always straight and true. When he reached the end of a row, he rarely had to pull the lines to turn his team. "Haw, Miss Anne", he would yell, "Gee, Miss Gloria", and his team would turn like trained soldiers. Cecil and the mules seemed to have an excellent working relationship. Some would even say that Cecil and the mules were best of friends and that's why the events that followed were such a mystery.

 

Cecil was unhooking his team from the plow to take them to the stream for a drink when Miss Gloria kicked him in the groin. In a fit of anger, Cecil picked up a big stick and hit the mule a solid whack on the head. Miss Gloria fell out for dead.

 

Cecil, who sometimes fancied himself a dog, raced across the field barking, and disappeared in the direction of the swamp. Cecil, never known to handle a fire-arm of any kind, was, by far, the best rabbit hunter in Enoree, a hamlet of Spartanburg's County. Instead, tied around his middle, he carried a bag of rocks. He would bark like a dog until he chased a rabbit from its haven and then, with uncanny accuracy, he would throw a rock felling the rabbit.

 

Reverend Stacy Gray was certain that this would be the end of Cecil Bobo. He had killed one of Clarence Marshall's prize mules and he would get the chain gang for sure. He was walking with Walt Henry, who fancied himself a country gentleman, a cotton buyer from the north, and a philosopher. In actuality, he was none of these but people had long ceased to argue the point with him.

 

The two men were walking down Poole Street, an old dirt road, heading to Bud Poole's house. Both men, in their sixties, could usually be found passing the time of day on Bud Poole's porch. Walt is poking Reverend Gray in the side with his walking stick.

 

"W'at you talkin' 'bout?" Walt asked. Pushing the stick away the preacher said, "Stop that. I'm talkin' 'bout that crazy Bobo boy; he up and killed one of ole man Marshall's prize mules." "No", Walt said, "he didn't do 'dat, not Cecil. 'Dat boy thanks of 'dem mules as kin. Ah jus' cain't see as to how he could do it." "He did it, I tell you; folks saw him do it", the preacher said. "Well, do tell", Walt replied.

 

After a short pause, Reverend Gray, adorning a silly smile, continued to speak. "Sister Sweetybelle Casey saw him do it." "Well, do tell", Walt said, "Ah'll be a rott'n turnip" "She 'bout laughed herse'f silly", the preacher continued, "what with Cecil rolling 'round on the ground in a fit, while holdin' his private parts and cussin' more than usual." "W'at's he doin' 'dat for?" Walt asked. "Well, it seems the mule kicked him smack in his privates", Rev. Gray said. "Well, do tell", Walt said, "it jus' don't seem right 'dat one of 'dem mules would kick Cecil. 'Dey loves 'de boy, I tell you. You know 'dat for sho', don't you preach?" "I know folks seed him do it. I know Mr. Marshall's real mad. I know that they done already put the law on him. Now, that's what I know. I swear! I jus' don't know what's goin' to happen to the boy."

 

"Jesus wept", Jim said, after hearing the news. He and Bud Poole were on the porch playing checkers. "Ah sho' wouldn't want to be in his shoes." Actually, Jim Peyton couldn't really fit into anybody's shoes because he had no feet. He had legs but they were legs carved by his own hand. It seems that a train had severed both his legs above the knees. He made a pair of thick wooden legs, with which he could get about fairly well.

 

 

Jim was Enoree's fix it man. It was said that, with a piece of wire and a pair of pliers, he could fix anything. There wasn't very much in Enoree to fix, but for what there was, it had to have the Jim Peyton touch or it just didn't work. He walked with a walking cane, which, of course, he also made himself. It was a rather artistic cane which had the face of a snake carved into the handle.

 

For reasons that are quite unclear, Bud Poole didn't care much for Cecil Bobo. In fact, he wouldn't allow Cecil in his café; and he had the only establishment of this type in Enoree. Everybody came to Bud's Café on Saturday night; that is, every-body except Cecil. But even Bud didn't want to see Cecil in trouble with the law.

 

"I jus' cain't believe Cecil killed that mule", Bud said. "Sho’ 'nough did, brother Poole", Reverend Gray said, "Miss Sweetybelle said that he gave dat ole mule one good solid whack on de haid and ‘de mule went down on its front knees, farted real loud and fell dead as a door nail."

 

The men could see him coming on his huge horse from far off. It was Clarence Hill, the only law for miles around. And he dispensed justice pretty much as he saw fit. Serious offenses, of course, went to the county seat.  He roded his mount right up to Bud's porch.

 

"Hi, y'all?", he said. He took his big hat in his hand and started wiping the inside band. "Mr. Hill." Reverend Gray acknowledged his presence while the other men nodded their heads. "Well, you know good'n' well why ah'm here", he said. "So, whar' is he?" No one spoke. "Now let's don't make dis any worse than it is", he said. "The boy done gone and done in Mr. Marshall's mule and ah got to bring him in. Its as simple as that; so, whar' is he?"

 

"What's goin' to happen to de boy?" Bud asked. "Cain't rightly say." officer Hill replied. "I never had a case quite like this befo'e and Mr. Marshall's pretty mad. He wants $600.00 for that mule or I just don't know what's to happen." "Six hundred dollars!", Bud exclaimed. "He wants six hundred dollars? Ain't that right much for a crazy ole mule? Everybody knows that Cecil don't have that kind of money. Now what's the boy suppose to do?" "Time" Walt chimed in, "he's goin' to do a whole lot of time on 'de chain gang. That's what; and ah cain't rightly say that he doesn't deserve it." "Hush up, Walt", Rev gray said, "it just ain't your place to say." "ah'm just saying what ah", Walt tried to continue. "Hush up, Walt", Rev Gray said. "Let's don't go jailin' the boy already, okay?"

 

"It ain't for me to say either", officer Hill said. "This one goes to the county seat with a judge and everything. I jus' have to pick him up. Y'all know I like that boy. So, come on and tell me where he's at." "No secret where he's at", Walt was pointing across the field. "He's out yonder in 'dem swamps. Yes, sir,ree, 'dat's where he is al‑ right; and in 'dem swamps he will be 'til he decides to come out. Cain't nobody find him, not man nor beast."  "Hush your fat face, Walt", Rev Gray said, "if'n you don't talk a gusher. Mr. Hill, we don't know where the boy is and that's the very truth of it."

 

"I see." he said. "Okay, Rev., if you do see him, now, you best tell him that it is better for him to come in on his own. I don't want to put the dogs on him. You understan'? Now, I'll give him 'til midday tomorrow to show his self. After that, I'll do what I have to do. It's my job, you know that."

 

He affixed his big hat on his head, turned his mount and gave it a gentle kick. "Dang snatch it", he muttered, "why'd that boy have to kill dat ole mule anyway? "You see dat he gets the word, you hear?"

 

"We surely do hear, Mr. Hill",  Jim called out and then continued to talk. "Don't 'dat beat all? Why do white folks thank 'dat us folks have ways of gettin' word to one another?" "Hush up Jim", Reverend Gray said. "Okay", Jim said, "but who's goin' out yonder into 'dose swamps after Cecil? You got another thank comin' if you thank 'dat ah'm goin' to do it." "Hush up, Jim", the preacher said. "Don't worry none 'bout 'dat", Walt said, "all I need to do is ketch a ride to de cou't house and I can straighten 'dis mess all out." "Now, Walt", Bud said, "don't you go straighten-ing things out again. The last time you fixed somethin' you almost got the whole darned town locked up. Jus' let things settle a bit so we can figure what to do."

 

As fate would have it, Cecil was, in fact, not in the swamp at all. He may well have been though, for that was exactly where he was headed. However, before he could reach the swamp area, he passed out near the Old Duncan Road. There he was picked up by the Widow Rye Fry who was a root worker, spirit caller, self styled chemist, midwife, veterinarian, spell caster and potion dealer. People for miles around were scared to death of the Widow Rye Fry, who could curse man or beast, affix a hex, remove a spell and predict the future.

 

 

Cecil was in a bad way when the Widow Frye found him. However, with some difficulty and much help from  her excellent team of mules, she got him to her house. There were large bruises and great swelling on and about his groin area. He had been most fortunate that his muscular thighs caught the basic impact of the mule's kick. Otherwise, he may not have survived the blow. The Widow Frye gave him an herb mixture, the content of which only she knew. This put Cecil into a deep sleep. She then bathed his groin and thigh area, with a concoction she had created from a variety of interesting things, and left him to rest. Cecil would sleep for three days.

 

By this time there was a full posse, of six men and four bloodhounds, in the second full day of searching the swamp for Cecil. Walt Henry had a slight brain concussion and Jim Peyton was in the local jail, while Bud Poole and Rev. Gray tried to sift through all the problems.

 

Some of the problems could be traced back to a plan contrived by Rev. Gray, Bud, Walt and Jim which was supposed to get Cecil out of the swamp. They had allowed themselves to believe that Cecil was afraid of ghosts. Their plan was to dress up like ghosts, go to the edge of the swamp at night and frighten Cecil out.

 

So, right at twilight, while dressed in the proper attire for the duties which had to be performed, they all got into Bud's one horse drawn wagon and headed for the swamp.

 

As fate would have it, however, before reaching the swamp, the buggy hit a ditch, broke a wheel and toppled over on its side. The horse came free and headed for home. Walt fell out of the buggy, head over heels, down into a big gully, yelling all the way down. The other men, who escaped this particular ordeal, scurried about the gully in search of Walt, who had now disappeared into the dark gully.

 

In the meantime, a local young man, Willie Frank, was going night hunting. Now, from his vantage point, some distance away, he could see these men dressed in sheets scurrying about this big ditch.  Believing he was seeing the knights of the Ku Klux Klan in action, he threw down his sack and ran as fast as he could to the home of Rev. Gray who, of course, was not at home. Breathless and in somewhat of a thither, Willie beat on the door until Reverend Gray's wife, Sarah Lou, opened it. "Oh, Miss Sarah", Willie could barely catch his breath, "its jus' trouble, terrible", he said. "Where's 'de preacher, Miss Sarah?"

 

"That you, Willie?" she asked, and then seeing that it was, she placed her arm about his shoulder. "What on earth is the matter?" she asked, "Come in chile and calm yourself." "Oh, Miss Sarah", Willie said, "it’s the Klan for sho'. I done seen 'em, Miss Sarah. 'Deys got po' Cecil. Where is de preacher?" "What're you saying, boy?" she asked. Ain't no Klan 'round here." "Yes, maam, Miss Sarah and ah knows it is sho'ly as you say; but, didn't ah jus' see'em 'wid my very eyes?. 'Dey done caught po' Cecil out 'dar, kilt him sho'; and throwed him into de big gully." "Nonsense, chile" she said, "you just sit down here and tell me everything you saw, everything, do you hear?"

 

Meanwhile, out in the field, the preacher, Bud and Jim  had finally gotten Walt out of the gully. This was after several failed attempts and Walt's ghost costume was a wet and muddy mess and his disposition was not exactly amiable. The four men were engaged in trying to reposition the wheel on the buggy when Bud looked up and saw a lot of people coming in their direction. Mrs. Gray had gathered as many of her neighbors as she could and she was coming to find out what Willie had seen.

 

"Look", said Bud, pointing across the field. "What in tarnation is that?" asked Rev. Gray. He could see three lanterns and what seemed to be about a dozen people. What he did not readily notice, however, was that some of the people carried shotguns. Reverend Gray started walking toward the people giving no thought to the fact that he was still wearing a white sheet.

 

Suddenly, shots rang out and buckshot sprayed all around. Bud and the preacher took off on the dead run toward the treed area. Jim turned and bumped into Walt, sending him tumbling into the big gully. As he was falling, Walt reached out for anything he could grab, and managed to grasp Jim's ghost costume. Both men tumbled head over heels down into the big gully, yelling all the way down.

 

In the meantime, Sarah Lou was trying frantically to control her armed neighbors. "Stop that shooting", she was yelling and grabbing at those who held guns, "You just stop it, I say. Stop it right now. Do you hear me? Lord have mercy, that's Bud Poole's old buggy you just shot full of holes. What is going on here?"

 

 

When she finally brought a semblance of order to the crowd, Reverend Gray, from his vantage point behind the trees, recognized his wife's voice. "That you Sarah Lou?" he called out. "Stacy", she exclaimed, "Stacy, you get down here this minute; this minute, you hear me?"

 

Finally, Walt and Jim were dragged out of the gully, a wet, bruised and muddy mess. Bud, Jim and Walt were at Resend Gray's house, where Sarah Lou worked tending Jim and Walt's bruises. Walt was plenty upset about the whole affair, especially Jim's knocking him into the gully.

 

"I swear"', he said, "if you ain't the clumsiest ole fool ever. You jus' bumped me right into dat damned ole hole." " Walter Henry", Sarah said, "You best mind your manners while you are in my house." "Beggin' your pardon, Miss Sarah", he said, "I am truly sorry. You knows me to be a God fearing man and respectful 'bout women folk. But jus' see what 'dis ole fool has done to me." Now, Jim was becoming upset. He was trying, with little success, to re‑fasten the straps of his wooden legs. “Who can be mo’e an ole fool den som’ nut goin’ ‘round thanking dat he’s som’ big shot cotton buyer?” Jim asked. “If there‘s an ole nutty fool in dis house, it’s you.” To which Walt replied, “Jim, you ain’t nothin’ but a head sitting on a stump talking.” Jim picked up his cane and struck Walt on the head, bringing blood. They had to rush Walt to the clinic where he swore out a warrant for Jim.

 

Everyone seemed to have forgotten about the mule, Miss Gloria, which had been cold cocked by Cecil and left for the buzzards. Everyone, that is, except the Widow Rye Frye, who collected such things as animal carcasses for use in many interesting ways. With her excellent team of mules, she had been able to load Miss Gloria onto a drag sled and when she got the mule home, she found that the mule maintained just the faintest margin of life. Absolutely no one except the Widow Frye could have saved that mule and, somehow, with her magic spells and special herbs and care, she managed to maintain some life in Miss Gloria.

 

It was Saturday night and Bud's Café was alive with activity. There must have been about twenty people there. Bud, however, was not a happy man. He had gone to see old man Marshall who finally agreed to accept $183.00 for the mule every-one thought Cecil had killed. That was money Bud had been saving to fix up his café. He knew that he would never see any of that money again. Walt was out of the clinic but would not drop the charges against Jim, who was still in the local lockup. And no one seemed to know where Cecil was.

 

Officer Hill was embarrassed and angry because he couldn't find Cecil and had suggested that Bud was hiding him. Reverend Gray was embarrassed and angry and had threatened to not hold Sunday Service. Things were just not good.

 

 

Things, however, were about to change. An informed messenger was about to appear. It was none other than the ever excitable Willie Frank, who rushed into the café out of breath and in a dither. He stood directly in front of Bud, panting and looking foolish. Bud all but ignored him. He just continued to wipe glasses.

 

"Mr, Bud, Mr. Bud", Will finally managed to say. "Mr. Bud, guess what? Are you hearin' me, Mr. Bud? Ah said guess what. You don't know it but Cecil was in jail over at 'de county seat but Mr. Marshall done fixed it for him to get out jus' a while ago." "That so?" Bud questioned with indifference. "Guess what else", Will continued, "dat old mule ain't daid; no siree, ain't daid at all." "What are you sayin', boy?", Bud asked. "Mr. Bud, ah done learn't 'dat 'de ole mule is alive and kickin' over at Miss Rye's house", Will said. "Saints preserve, boy", Bud said, "pull your pieces together. You know blamed well dat de mule is dead." "Ah do know 'dat alright, just as you say, Mr. Bud", Will said. "And not to dispute my elders on what is and what ain't, ah tell you something ah know. Indeed, ah saw Miss DeeTee over on de Section 'dis very night; and she done told me dis. You know 'dat Sister DeeTee is honest as the day is long. De mule lives."

 

"Stop talkin', boy", Bud said, "jus' hush yo' mouth. Thangs are bad 'nough widout you being crazy too. Didn't ah dis very mornin' give Mr. Marshall my last $183.00 for dat ole daid mule? The mule's dead, son, dead four days and stinkin'. If Cecil is in jail, why doesn't Mr. Hill know ‘bout it? So shut up, boy, I'm goin' to have a headache on my headache." "Mr. Bud", Will said, "why don't we jus' go over to Miss Rye's house and see what is actual?"

 

The Widow Rye Frye opened her door for Will and Bud. "Come in, my children", she said, scaring Will nearly to death with her every word. "I've been waiting for you." "Please forgive us for imposin' on your privacy and disturbin' yo' peace."  Bud said. "'Specially, since our quest is so unreasonable. You know as to how I do not hold to magic, but, I have always had the deepest respect for you and your dearly departed. And now, Sister Frye, I am told . ." AI know, my son", she interrupted, "You have come about the mule. I was expecting you and at once I had the grandest of news for you. However, as the dark mist of fate would have it, the good news you seek has turned its face."

 

 

"Miss Frye", Will said, "Sister DeeTee tells it dat Mr. Marshall's ole mule, dat was laid plum dead by Cecil Bobo some four days ago, was dis very day walkin' in yo' pasture." "Sister DeeTee", Widow Frye said, "always speaks the gospel." "What!", Bud said, "are you tellin' me dat de mule ain't dead? How can dat be?"

 

Will, who had his face right in between the widow's and Bud's faces, and who had been shifting his eyes from one to the other, danced a little sort of jig. "Ah done told you, Mr. Bud", he said "didn't ah tell you?" He was waving his arms acting like he was having some kind of spell.

 

"Hush up, Will", Bud said. "Lord, Sister Frye, I jus' don't." "Wait, son", she said, "heaven knows that you are one who is deserving of a blessing and, surely, a true blessing is in store for you. What you have done this very day for one not much to your liking, and someone who is most assuredly possessed with a special burden, will not go unrecorded in the heavens. And alas, I am heavy burdened to reveal to you the next test fate has set before you. However, what is, my son,

is. Please come with me."

 

She picked up a lantern and led them from the house toward the barn. She continued to speak as they made their way. "When I brought that poor creature here from where it had been left for the buzzards, it had but the faintest sprig of life. But, children, life's mystery is hidden away from us for our very own sake and it comes or goes pretty much as it pleases. That mule was beyond the crossroads for 'most three days and then it roared back to life as natural as the morning sun. There was not even the faintest sign of its past ordeal."

 

They entered the barn and she held out the lantern over a reclining, motionless mule. Will hurried over and placed his hands on the mule. "Dis mule is daid", he said. "Dead as a doornail", the widow said. Bud dropped to his knees, with a hand on each thigh, and stared toward the ceiling.

 

"Not more than three hours ago", the widow explained, "that Bobo child, a boy who I recently nursed back to health after this very critter had afflicted him a terrible blow, came to my humble abode as you have done this night. He was as gentlemanly as could be. He was humble and thankful for the assistance that I had rendered unto him.

 

 

Now I tell you, I was really taken aback when he took my dearly departed's shotgun from over the mantle where it has rested in silence all these years and witnessed to my faithful devotion to the memory of my one true love." She placed her hand on Bud's shoulder and then patted him gently.

 

"There was a reverence about the boy", she continued, "strange glow to his countenance. As he walked to the barn, I stood frozen by his presence. Then, I heard the shot. It was loud like a cannon's blast. I knew at once what had happened. When I got here, he was holding that dying mule's head, as one would hold a dear friend. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes and then he began to bark. Last time I saw him he was barking and running into the woods like a mad dog.

 

 

 

The End