Justification For Killing (16 page)

All right, now that
I know I have to go south my only two questions are ‘which way is
south? And ‘how do I get there?’
No sooner
had that thought crossed his mind, when he heard what he thought
was the sound of an automobile, out of sight over the distant
horizon. The trees obscured his view, but if it were a car he heard
there must be a road leading to civilization
also.

After his reverie
against the tree, he got to his feet, discovered a squirrel hole
about waist high in the trunk of the tree and hid his automatic
pistol inside. He then began breaking the limbs off some small
brush growing nearby and covered the
Pegasus
vehicle, so it would go
unnoticed sitting in the grove of cottonwood trees. Everything else
was going wrong; he figured
Pegasus
might not disappear in its allotted five-minute
time frame. It was supposed to become invisible five minutes after
‘landing’ but without a watch he figured five minutes had long
passed, and the machine was still sitting there in its stainless
steel splendor. He was so confused he did not know what would
happen next. Dusting off his pants he left
Pegasus
sitting alone in the
pasture, and began walking in the direction of the automobile
sounds.

Looking up into the
cloudless, blue sky the Captain noticed the sun was off his right
shoulder.
If it’s roughly 1:00 p.m., then
a sun on my right means I am walking south. Good maybe I’ll find
that road reasonably soon.
The stroll
turned into a hike and the hike soon became tiring as the Captain
trudged through the tall sagebrush, tumbleweed and grass, but no
road was to be found.

Chapter
Twelve

‘
BORROWING’ SOME
CLOTHES

What was that he
saw? There, off in the distance - a farmhouse. Finally, he
thought,
civilization.
I need a picture, so the folks back home will enjoy my
‘vacation’.

Nearing the old
1890s lap-sided, un-painted, two-storied, wooden dwelling he
thought back to those days of yesteryear. Walking toward the house
his mind, in spite of his other troubles, couldn’t help but think
about the early pioneers. Hearty settlers who homesteaded the wild,
savage Texas land, constructed this old home, probably miles from
their nearest neighbor, out in practically nowhere, and survived
only by the sweat of their brow. How did they live such a desolate
existence? Surveying the old weather beaten house and the matching
near-by barn Captain Scarburg thought,
by-ned, things sure haven’t changed much in the last hundred
years!
The place was bleak, cold and
un-inviting.
I hope the people who live
here are friendlier to strangers than this place
portrays.

The old, worn,
weather-beaten front porch creaked as he ascended the dilapidated,
wooden, front steps and walked across the rickety boards to the
front door. A rusty, torn, screen door barely, hung loosely from
its ancient, metal hinges. Tugging on the screen door, he heard the
screech of its worn-out spring as he opened it wider and wider.
This decrepit spring just re-enforced the fact that everything
around this place was aged and shabby.

‘
Rap’...
‘rap’... ‘rap’..., the sound his knuckles made as he lightly
knocked on the door... no one answered - again he knocked... this
time, much harder than before... ‘thump’... ‘thump’... ‘thump’...,
still no movement was heard from inside. Walking down the rough
planks of the porch, which extended the entire length of the front
side of the house, he peered around the edge toward the barn.
Nothing! Not a soul was seen. No horses, no dogs, no chickens...
nothing. What he did see was an old, well water hand pump and a
clothesline with freshly washed clothes left out in the cold, sunny
air to dry.
At least
, he thought,
someone actually lives
in this decrepit place
.

What truly caught his eye
were a flannel shirt and a pair of denim overalls with the right
knee ripped out. The flannel shirt was red, and the overalls a
denim blue, but the Captain with his messed up eyes could not
recognize the colors. He didn’t care what color they were; both
were just about his size. Regardless, if he were in Texas in
November or somewhere else it was getting rather cold, he wished he
had a coat, but he was extremely bothered that he still couldn’t
see the colors of the clothing or anything else for that matter.
That was beginning to alarm him. What was wrong with his
eyes?

These two pieces of
clothing would allow him to get out of his flight suit. But... he
could not just steal them... that wouldn’t be right... but no one
was home. The Captain was in a predicament. He had to have these
clothes!
Why
, he
thought,
had I been so stupid and not
realized I should have brought a change of clothing with
me?

He went into the barn to
change clothes and look for, he didn’t know, something to write
with like a piece of paper and a pencil. Maybe something on which
to write a note telling whoever lived here he would return and pay
for the clothing someday... what was he thinking he didn’t even
know what today was. After a thorough search, no paper or pen could
be found.

What could he use to
make a note? Over in the corner of the barn was a stack of
fertilizer in fifty pound brown paper sacks. The name on the sacks
read: “
Bulldog Granulated Ammonia
Nitrate
34-0-0”,
Perfect
,
I
can write on a part of the paper sack! Now a pencil, a
pen.
..he laughed...
a typewriter or a computer would be agreeable.
Fumbling around on the farmer’s workbench he
found a half empty can of graphite that had been used to lubricate
locks and hinges. An idea hit him... oil... are there any oil cans
here. He looked and looked, but no oil could be found.
What type of man is this farmer? He is too neat.
He properly discards his used cans! Wait the tractor - tractors
have oil. I can get oil from the dipstick. Not much but I don’t
need much.

Back out in the
barnyard the Captain walked around, bent over searching intently
for something on the ground. What was he looking for?
I’ve
Got you... you
little devil!
He reached down and picked
up an object. What? What did he find? It was a chicken
feather!
Now I have everything I
need,
he thought racing back into the
barn. Using a lid from a Mason jar as a container he mixed a small
amount of the powdered graphite with a drop or two of oil from the
tractor’s dipstick and made himself, a fairly, respectable black
‘ink’. After tearing off a piece of fertilizer sack, he dipped the
end of the feather into his homemade ‘ink’ and on the back of the
paper he wrote:

“
I
borrowed a shirt and a pair of your overalls. I will return when I
can and pay you $100.00 for them.”
Signed:
A desperate
man.

Grabbing the piece
of the paper sack he hurried from the barn back to the front porch.
Jumping the three steps with one bound he crossed the porch to the
front door. Opening the screen he placed his note between the
screen door and the wooden doorframe.
Surely the family will see this when they return,
he thought to himself.

He noticed the dirt
driveway was covered with automobile tracks.
This must have been where I heard the automobile.
As his eyes followed the driveway away from the
house, he saw it intersected with a road
.
What... a road? A real road... a road cars travel on... now I can
get out of here.
Walking down the dusty
driveway he heard a slight rumble of thunder off to... off to...
which direction did it come from?
Okay,
the late evening sun is to my rear. That is west, so I must be
walking east. That thunder was off my right shoulder, so it is
coming from the southwest.
As he neared
the road at the end of the driveway, the wind was beginning to pick
up a bit.
It will be raining, in a while,
I suppose.

The time was... was...
well, he still didn’t know.

Chapter
Thirteen

CLEM AND
PENELOPE

As he was leaving the old
farmhouse he did not notice the breeze had increased enough to
allow the screen door to swing open ever so slightly. Slightly was
all that was needed to allow his note to escape, fly off the porch
and be whisked away on the currents of the brisk wind. Believing
Dallas was south of his current location Captain Scarburg walked
from the farmers yard, took a right onto the dusty, dirt road, and
in an hour or so encountered a more traveled, graveled road.
Turning right he took his first steps towards Big D as the wind
began to freshen a bit in anticipation of the impending
thunderstorm.

He had not walked far down
the country road when he heard the crunching of gravel; a vehicle
was approaching from his rear. Turning he could see it was an old,
dirty, rust eaten, 1955 F-600 Ford wrecker. Both the driver and the
truck were a perfect match. This, so called truck pulled up beside
Captain Scarburg and a gnarly cowboy stuck his head out the
passenger’s window. All the Captain could see was the brim of an
old, brown, sweat stained, tattered cowboy hat.

“
'Hou-dee! Where yew
headin’?”

“
Dallas.”

“
Dallas huh? Mister you
must have some mighty good hooves stuck in them there brogans if’en
yer plannin’ on walkin’ the hole way.”

“
How far do you suppose
Dallas is from here?” inquired the Captain.

“
I won't say it's fer, but
I had to grease the wagon twice afore I hit the main road,” he said
snickering. “But it’s really plum near forty miles of bad road. Dog
gone, gotta get my gitar out when I git home, that would make a
fine name for me a new tune ‘Forty Miles of Bad Road’, but feller I
ain’t headin’ that fer, but yer wellcome to climb aboard and ride
as fer as I’m agoin’.”

“
Yeah,
thanks mister. I sure would appreciate a ride,” Captain Scarburg
said opening the passenger side door and stepping up into the cab
of the wrecker. He tried to avoid the end of a spring sticking out
of the seat, but, unfortunately, he could not. It was positioned
right where he had to sit. Thinking to himself,
I don’t know which is worse - the walking or this
spring!
However, the cab of the truck did
contain an intriguing object – sitting next to the driver was the
most beautiful, miniature dog the Captain had ever
seen.

“
Mister! Did you call me
mister? Feller... afore we move another inch my Pap was Mister -
you jest call me Clem. Well all full my names Clemson, but nobody
calls me Clemson, not even me, and this here is Girl,” Clem said
motioning toward the dog. We got’er from a neighbor, and I never
got around to givin’ her a name. Whats your’n?”

“
My
‘urine’! What? Oh, ‘your’n’, you’re asking my name? Okay... uh...
Clem I’m... I’m... uh... uh... John... John Doess nice to meet you
Clem, and you too Girl.” At the mention of her name, the dog moved
over from Clem and rested her head in the Captain’s lap. He stroked
her head and rubbed his hand up and down the soft, silky, sable and
white hair on her back.
What a magnificent
animal
, he thought.

“
Would you mind if I could
ask you a couple of questions Clem? But before I ask my questions,
I know it is none of my business, but your miniature collie ought
to have a proper name.”

“
Yeah, I know’s John, I
jest ain’t got around to givin’ her one yet. You got any
idees?”

“
She is such a gorgeous,
elegant looking little dog Clem, how about ‘Lady’? It fits her to a
tee.”

“
As fer as Girl’s name I
like ‘Lady’, believe you’re right, a dog ought to have a proper
name – I’m gonna make that her name from now on. ‘Lady’, yeah, I
like that, but one thang, she ain’t no collie, shes a Shetland
sheepdog.”

“
A Shetland sheepdog? Why
Clem, I haven’t ever heard of such a dog, I thought she surely must
be a miniature collie.”

“
Yeah, that’s what
everybody thanks, but she ain’t, now what is it you wants to
know?”

“
Okay, but don’t laugh
Clem, they may sound crazy to you.”

“
Feller there ain’t no
crazy questions just, sometimes, crazy answers, throw’em at me.
Jest don’t say nothin’ bout that there sprang pokin’ outta the
seat. I been aimin’ to git it fixed fer years but heck it ain’t
botherin’ me none.”

The Captain started
to remark,
‘No, but it’s sure is bothering
me’
but he resisted the temptation and
said, “Clem, what time is it? What day is it? What’s the year? And
finally, for Pete’s sake, where the blazes am I?”

“
Dadburn John did you just
escape from one of them crazy sanator... sannatot... one of them
crazy houses?