The Blight Way Read Free Page B

“You may be right about that.”
    â€œOf course I am,” the old man said, flicking his cigarette ash onto the floor. “Hey, what’s that up ahead?”
    â€œLooks like car trouble,” Tully said. “Better check it out.”
    Two old pickup trucks were parked one behind the other on the edge of the highway. They were headed in the direction of Blight City. The front pickup had its hood up. Four men were gathered around it. Two of them were leaning into the engine compartment, while the others offered advice. They all looked like cowboys.They wore weathered jeans and denim jackets with cowboy hats and boots. They seemed a bit uneasy when they saw the sheriff’s emblem and light bar on the Explorer. Tully stretched his lanky frame out the door and did his calm, sheriff’s mosey over to them. The men watched him with apprehension.
    â€œHowdy,” Tully greeted them.
    â€œHowdy,” they replied in ragged unison, no less nervous.
    â€œSo what seems to be the trouble?”
    â€œDon’t know,” one of the cowboys said, straightening up from the engine compartment. “We stopped to take a leak, and then she wouldn’t start again.”
    Tully leaned over and looked at the engine, as if he might have a clue. The men watched him hopefully, little realizing the sheriff couldn’t tell a carburetor from a cabaret. “Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully, straightening up and placing his hands on his hips. Then he turned and gestured for Pap to come over.
    The old man moseyed across the highway. Tully had studied moseying from him. Pap stared silently into the engine compartment for a couple of minutes. Then he said to one of the two older men, “What’s your name?”
    â€œBarton. Pete Barton.”
    â€œYou got a bottle of water in your truck, Pete?”
    Barton frowned. The other men glanced at each other.
    Tully pretended he knew what was going on.
    â€œGot a thermos with some cold coffee in it,” Pete Barton said.
    â€œThat’ll do.”
    One of the younger men got the thermos of coffee and handed it to Pap.
    The old man poured a bit of coffee on each of the battery terminals. “Now try it.”
    One of the younger men got in and hit the starter. The truck roared to life.
    â€œAny time you stop to pee and your truck won’t go afterwards, you try this,” Pap told Barton. “If you don’t have coffee, you might pee on the battery, although, now that I think about it, I probably wouldn’t recommend that.”
    Tully nodded, as if to say, “That’s right.”
    â€œYou get into Blight City,” Pap went on, “you might see about cleaning up those battery terminals and tightening the bolts on the clamps.”
    Barton grinned at him. “First time I ever seen coffee used to start a rig.”
    Pap laughed. “Starts me every morning. You boys look familiar. You work up in Famine?”
    â€œWork for Vern Littlefield on his ranch. At least we did. Worked nine years for him. But Vern’s foreman, a guy named Mitchell, let us go this morning.”
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œSaid they didn’t need us anymore. Wanted us off the ranch before noon.”
    â€œWhat about the cattle?”
    â€œGoing to get rid of the cattle and start growing grapes.”
    â€œGrapes!”
    â€œYep. Said there’s more money in grapes than cattle these days.”
    â€œNine years,” Tully said. “Seems kind of odd Little-field wouldn’t tell you himself instead of letting his foreman do it.”
    â€œI thought so. I guess Vern went off on an elk hunt all by himself last night. Anyway, didn’t seem quite like him, not to see us off. But you know how rich folks are.”
    Tully looked at Pap. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “Where you boys headed now?”
    â€œTexas. West Texas. They got fire ants there now but I don’t think they got any grapes or plan to have