The Run for the Elbertas (19 page)

Riar grunted. He was getting used to their gibes.

“Did I have Riar's money,” Godey said, “I'd buy me a ten-wheeler. I'd haul a barrel to his peck, put him out of the running.”

“They'd no moss grow on the tires either,” said Mal.

Riar said, “I'll have to see a profit this trip or I'm already
finished. Folks won't have it, but I'm poor as a whippoorwill. I started with nothing, and I'm still in the same fix. You've no reckoning how much a family can run through.”

“If I owned a truck,” Godey mused, “I'd put in a scat gear, and I'd get gone. I'd whip around curves like a caterpillar. And when I stopped smelling fresh paint I'd trade in on another'n.”

Riar said, “The most I can see you possessing is a bigger foot to step on the gas. Your life long you'll be as penniless as you are now.”

Nudging Mal, Godey told Riar, “I won't be broke after you and me do a little trafficking.”

“You haven't a thing coming from me,” said Riar.

“You'll learn different in a minute,” said Godey, “for I aim to buy a stack of hamburgers a span high at the next eating place.”

“Can't I beat into you we're carrying food?”

Godey said, “I've missed many a bucket of slop, not being a hog.” Then he announced, “I'm about to offer you a chance too good to refuse.”

“What are you hatching?” asked Riar.

“I'm telling you five bushels of my own peaches are riding in a corner of the rack. They make yours look like drops.”

Riar straightened, suddenly vigilant.

Said Mal, “They're Georgia Belles, the ten-cent apiece kind, size of yore fist.”

“They sell two dollars a bushel at the shed,” boasted Godey, “and they'll peddle for three. I'll let you have the whole caboodle for five bucks.”

“Awfulest bargain ever was,” said Mal.

“A pure giveaway,” said Godey.

Riar's shoe jiggled on the accelerator, the engine coughed. He blurted, “You've got me hauling stolen goods, aye?”

“Dadburn,” Godey swore, “I swapped my knife for them and they're mine.”

“You didn't trade with the owner,” accused Riar. “I'll not reward chicanery.”

Godey's lips curled, but he spoke levelly. “I'm a plain talker, and I'm telling you to your teeth I'll not be slicked out of them.”

Mal cautioned Riar, “Was I you, I wouldn't cross Godey Spurlock.”

“The truth won't hold still,” said Riar.

“By jacks,” snarled Godey, “you don't know when you're well off.”

“Now, no,” said Mal.

“I have my principles,” said Riar. “What I get for the Belles I'll return to the owner next season.”

Godey said, “Anybody with one eye and half sense would understand they couldn't gyp me and prosper.”

“You heard me,” said Riar.

“You hain't deef,” replied Godey.

They hushed. Nothing was said until the lights of Flat Rock appeared. Mal broke the silence, declaring, “I can smell hamburgers clear to here.”

Godey mumbled, “I'm so starved Pm growing together.”

“Reach back and get some fruit,” Riar said irritably. “All you want.”

“Juice is oozing out of my ears already,” spurned Godey. And he said, “Big Bud, I'm about to make you a final offer. Let me drive to the Tennessee line and you can have my peaches. I'd ruther drive than eat.”

“You're not talking to me,” said Riar. “I've had a sample of you at the wheel.”

“I'll stay on my side of the road, act to suit you.”

“Everything has a stopping point,” said Riar. “I'll not court a wreck.”

“My opinion,” said Godey, “when affairs get tough enough you'll break over.”

Godey and Mal ate in a café while Riar munched cold bread outside. Before setting off again, Godey held a match to the gasoline meter and said, “You'd better take on a gill. She's sort of low.”

“She can read empty,” said Riar, “and still be carrying a
gallon.” Godey would bear watching.

“See do the tires need wind.”

“They're standing up,” said Riar, pressing the starter.

Riar didn't pause until he reached Fletcher. He had the tank brimmed, for businesses open after midnight were scarce. And he tightened the cap himself. He climbed the rack, the while cocking an eye at Godey. Riar watched Godey so closely Mal had to do the mischief. Mal caught a chance and scooped up a fistful of dirt, crammed it into the tank, and stuck the cap back on.

They passed through Arden and Skyland and Asheville. And nothing happened. The truck ran smoothly. At Weaverville, Riar halted at a closed station to replenish the radiator. A bulb inside threw a faint light. He left the engine idling, but as he poured in water it quit, and feeling for the key a moment later, he found it missing. He spoke sharply: “All right, you boys, hand over.”

“Hand what over?” Godey made strange.

“The key. You don't have to ask.”

“Why hallo to us. We haven't got it.”

Riar struck a match and searched the cab. He blustered, “I don't want to start war with you fellers.”

Stretching, Godey inquired, “Are you of a notion we stole the key? You can frisk us.” They stepped out and shucked their pockets.

Mal said, “I never tipped it.”

“Couldn't have disappeared of itself,” said Riar. “One of you is guilty, and I think I know which.”

Godey chuckled sleepily. “Why, it might be square under your nose. Scratch around, keep a-looking.”

Riar made a second search, and then he said, “Let me tell you boys something. A load of peaches generates enough heat a day to melt a thousand pounds of ice. They have to be kept moving or they'll bake.”

“That makes it mean,” said Godey.

“Rough as a cob,” agreed Mal.

Riar couldn't budge them. He had no choice other than to
wire-over the ignition. He got out pliers and a screwdriver, but it was pitch-black under the hood. Offering a penny matchbox to Mal, he said, “Strike them for me as they're needed.”

“Do that,” warned Godey, “and I'll hang you to a bush.”

Breathing deep to master his anger, Riar chuffed, “You jaspers don't care whether my family starves.”

“Not our lookout,” said Godey, yawning.

Lighting match after match, Riar peered to the farthest the key could have been tossed. He felt along the cab floor again and on the ground beneath. When the matchbox was empty he groped with his fingers.

Godey and Mal were soon asleep, but Riar didn't leave off hunting the rest of the night.

At daybreak Riar loosened the ignition wires and hooked them together. The boys stirred as the truck moved, but did not rouse. Beyond the town limits Riar smartened his speed to an unaccustomed forty-five miles an hour. Then, on the grade north of Faust, the engine started missing, and he had to pump the accelerator to coax it to the top.

Halting in the gap, Riar decided gasoline was not getting through to the carburetor, and inspecting the sediment bulb, he found it choked. His breath caught as he reasoned he had been sold dirty gasoline. In a hurry he cleared the bulb and blew out the fuel pump. Already the truck bed seeped juice and the load was drawing hornets. The day had set in hot.

He rolled down hill, and at the bottom it was the same thing over. The engine coughed and lost power. Again the bulb was plugged, the pump fouled. This time he checked the tank, and the deed was out. The cap barely hung on, and the pipe was rimed with grit. Riar gasped. His face reddened in sudden anger. He threw open the cranky door and glared at Godey and Mal. For a moment he had no voice to speak, but when he could he cried, “You boys think you're pistol balls!”

Godey and Mal cracked their eyelids. Godey asked, “What are you looking so dim about?”

Riar sputtered, “You're too sorry to stomp into the ground.”

“Has she tuck the studs on you?”

“Filled my tank with dirt. Intending to make me lose my peaches.”

“Are you accusing us? Daggone! To hear you tell it, whatever happens to your old scrap heap we're the cause.”

“Don't deny it. You're the very scamp.”

“If you mean me,” said Godey, “that's where you're wrong. Bring me a Scripture and I'll swear by it.”

The veins on Riar's neck showed knots. His cheeks looked raw. “Then you put your partner up to it. Besides, you got my key last night.”

Godey chirped, “Where's your proof, Tightwad?”

“I have evidence a-plenty,” bumbled Riar.

“I'd take oath,” vowed Mal, “I never tipped the key.”

“When I get mad,” confided Godey, “I can see little devils hopping in front of my eyes. How does it serve you?”

Riar was getting nowhere. Slamming the door, he went to work on the pump. He saw the cure was to purge the whole fuel system with fresh gasoline. But getting to a filling station was the question. He tried again and the engine struggled almost a mile before dying.

Godey said, “Give me justice on my peaches and we'll help.”

“All you're good for is to gum up,” blared Riar. “You're as useless as tits on a boar.”

Godey shrugged. He sang, “Suit yourself and sit on the shelf.”

“Don't contrary me,” Riar begged. “You make me speak things I don't want to.”

“Then hurry and fix the old plug, and let's get to some breakfast.”

The sun beat upon the peaches as Riar labored. He jockeyed the truck two miles after unclogging it, a half mile next, and each holdup used three quarters of an hour at least. Then several blowings gained less than five miles altogether, and
mid-morning found them still in North Carolina and no station in sight. As the day advanced the load settled slowly, the seep of juice became a trickle. Hornets swarmed, and the fainting fruit seemed to beget gnats. Around eleven the truck made a spurt, crossing into Tennessee jerking and backfiring.

They reached a garage at noon. The mechanic came squinting into the sunlight, inquiring, “What's the matter?”

Godey said, “We've run out of distance.”

Riar did the job himself, sweat glistening his face and darkening his shirt. He unstrapped the tank and drained it, flushed it with water, and rinsed in gasoline. He removed the fuel line, pump, and carburetor and gave them the same treatment. The mechanic said, “If I had a pump messed up like that I'd junk it and buy a new.”

Godey laughed. “Did this gentleman turn loose a dollar the hide would slip.”

While Riar strove, he knew without looking that the lower half of the load was crushing under the weight, the top layers sickening in the sun. The hundred or so bushels in between would hold firm only a few hours longer, and he would never get them to Kentucky. He would have to try selling them in the next town.

Toward three o'clock Riar finished and set off grimly, raising his speed to fifty miles an hour. The machine would go no faster.

Godey crowed, “The old sister will travel if you'll feed her. Pour on the pedal.”

Mal asked wryly, “Reckon she'll take another Jiminy fit?”

“Stay on the whiz,” cheered Godey, “and maybe she'll shed the rust.”

It was fortunate that a rise had slowed them when the tire blew out. As it was, Riar had to fight the wheel to keep to the road. He brought the truck under control and pulled onto a shoulder. He sat as if stricken, his disgust too great for speaking. His stomach began to cramp. Presently he said bitterly, “I hope this satisfies your hickory.”

Godey and Mal wagged their heads, though their faces were bright. Godey said, “I reckon it's us you'll blame.”

Mal said, “Everything that pops he figures we're guilty.”

“Your talk and your actions don't jibe,” Riar suffered himself to speak.

On examining the flat, Riar discovered a slash in the tread as straight as a blade could make it. He walked numbly around the truck and took a look at the Elbertas. They had fallen seven slats, the firm peaches sinking into the pulp of the bad, and they were working alive with gnats and hornets. They would bluff any buyer. He said, “You have destroyed me.”

“What do you think I'm getting from the trip?” asked Godey. “Nothing but a hole in my breeches.”

Riar said, “I'm ruint, ruint totally.”

“Tightwads never fill their barrels,” blabbed Godey. “They want more.”

Riar swallowed. His stomach seemed balled. “I swear to my Maker,” he said, “you have the heart of a lizard.” He took his time repairing the tube, using a cold patch and covering it with a boot. He idled, trying to feel better. The shade was over when they started again.

Godey asked, “What are you going to do now?”

Riar was long replying. Finally he said, “If I've burned a blister I'm willing to set on it.”

They entered Virginia at dusk, and the evening was hardly less torrid than the day. Ground mist cloaked the road like steam. The boys were snoring by the time they reached Wise.

The enormity of his loss came upon Riar as he neared Kentucky. Cramps nearly doubled him. When he could endure no more he pulled off and cut the lights, and leaving the truck, he walked up the highway in the dark. He pursed his lips and whistled tunelessly. He strolled several hundred yards before turning back.

Riar dumped the peaches at the foot of Pound Mountain. Once he thought he heard his key jingle but was mistaken, for he discovered it later inside the cushion.

It occurred to him that a little food might quiet his stomach, but rummaging the toolbox he found the last crumb gone. He came upon the fuzz and lifted the poke to get rid of it but still didn't let loose. Stepping into the cab he switched on the lights. Godey and Mal slept with heads pitched forward, collars agape. Their faces were yellow as cheese pumpkins in the reflected gleam. Riar untied the poke and shook the fuzz down their necks.