As Riar Thomas approached the Snag Fork bridge, the truck lights picked up the two boys sitting on the head wall. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was nearly one o’clock. He halted, pulled the cardboard out of the broken window, and called, “I’ll open the door from the inside, it’s cranky.” The boys sat unmoving. “Let’s go,” he said, “if you’re traveling with me. A body can’t fiddle in the peach business.”
Godey Spurlock began honing his knife on the concrete, and Mal Dowe got his out too. “Pay us before we start,” Godey said. “We hain’t going to be slicked.”
“What I say,” said Mal.
“My grabbies!” Riar chuffed. “You ever know me hiring anybody and failing to settle?”
“They tell you trade out of paying,” Godey said. “People didn’t name you ‘Tightwad’ for nothing.” Yet it wasn’t the money that made Godey stall. He was angling to help drive.
Mal said, “Doss and Wint Colley claim you skinned them the last trip.”
Riar snapped the clutch in irritation. “Nowadays,” he snorted, “you can hear everything but the truth and the meat a-frying.” And he said, “Why do you think I take my own help? To see I get the fruit I buy. Doss and Wint let the loaders short me a dozen bushels. Still I paid off.”
“Yeah,” said Godey, “in rotten peaches.”
“I’ve tried several fellers,” Riar explained, “and the shed crews stole them blind. I need fellers sharp to the thieves. They can trick you and you looking at them.”
“Not us they can’t,” Godey said. “We hain’t lived sixteen years for nothing.” He slid from the head wall, and Mal followed. “Settle now and we’ll guarantee you full measure.”
“Never in life have I paid for work before it was done,” Riar declared, “and I don’t aim to begin.” He waited. “Are you going or not? Make up your heads.”
Edging toward the truck, Godey said, “Promise to let me drive a dab, and we’ll risk you.”
“Risk me,” Riar hooted, slapping the wheel. “If there’s another person who’d undertake hauling you jaspers from Kentucky to South Carolina and back I haven’t met the witty.”
Godey insisted, “Do I get to steer after a while?”
Riar raced the engine impatiently, and the cattle rack clattered behind. “Crawl in,” he said, “I can’t fool. To deal in ripe peaches and come out you’ve got to run for them. It’s a five-hundred-mile round trip, and I’ll have to get there in plenty of time to make arrangements and load by sundown. We’ve got a splinter of Virginia to cross, a corner of Tennessee, and North Carolina top to bottom.”
“I’ll give you my knife to drive a speck. It has four blades and all kinds of tricks and things.”
Riar shook his head. “I’m gone.”
Godey saw Riar meant it and they got in. He warned Riar, “Anybody who beats us will be a-hurting.” And he said, “If you want to keep me acting pretty you’d better give me the wheel along the way.”
“Now, yes,” echoed Mal.
Though it was July the night was chilly. Riar said, “Stuff the board in the window or you’ll get aired,”
“I’ll not ride blind,” Godey said.
“When you begin freezing,” said Riar, “don’t halloo to me.”
Mal said, “Let me sit on the board. They’s a spring sticking me through the cushion.”
Godey laughed. “That makes it mean,” he said, and he sat upon the cardboard himself. The truck sputtered in starting, and he teased Riar, “What about a feller who’d hang on to a wreck?”
“She’ll run like a sewing machine in a minute,” Riar said.
“Too stingy to buy a new, aye? Can’t say farewell to a dollar.”
Riar said, “You knotheads know the cost of a truck? They’ll bankrupt you.”
“The fashion you scrimp, you ought to be rich as Jay Goo.”
Riar grunted. “Boys don’t understand beans,” he said, and in his truck’s defense, “I’ve had her repaired for the trip, though I couldn’t afford it: brakes re-lined, spark plugs changed, retreads all round.”
“Yeah,” Godey ridiculed. “Fenders flopping, windows cracked out. A bunch of screaks and rattles.”
“We heard your old gee-haw four miles away,” added Mal.
Riar said, “Doubt you not, she’ll carry us there and fetch us back—with two hundred bushels of peaches.” And he mused, “I used to mule in goods from Jackson. Occasionally my wagon would break down and I couldn’t fix it. I’d walk up the road and ’gin to whistle. Fairly soon it would come to me what to do.”
“My opinion,” said Godey, “the most you calculate on is how to dodge spending money.”
“Listen,” Riar said gravely, “I’ve barely my neck above water. Bought the tires on credit, went into debt for repairs. I’ll have to make a killing this run to breathe. And if I am a grain thrifty it’s on behalf of my family.”
“They say,” plagued Mal, “you’re married to the woman on the silver dollar.”
“Let me give you some gospel facts,” said Riar.
“We can bear it if you can spare it,” sang Godey.
“I try to keep bread on the table and shoes on my young ’uns’ feet. And I treat the other feller square. I’m straight as an icicle.”
“What about the rotten peaches you put off on Doss and Wint Colley?” reminded Godey. “Preach a sermon on that.”
“The fruit at the bottom of the load was mashed shapeless and beginning to spoil,” said Riar, “yet the Colleys asked for them instead of pay. Claimed they wanted to plant the seeds and commence an orchard.”
“Idjits might swallow that tale,” said Godey, “but not us. You believe yourself they actually wanted the seeds?”
“I’ve come on different knowledge since.”
“For what? Tell me.”
“You won’t hear it from me.”
Mal saw light suddenly. “Just one thing they could of done—made peach brandy.”
“You reckon?” blurted Godey, his ire rising. “Lied to skip giving us a taste?”
“It’s plain as yore nose,” said Mal.
“By jacks,” Godey huffed, “we’ll work on their dog hides.”
“What’s the profit in revenge?” Riar chided. “Swapping ill with your fellow man?”
“You don’t know?” asked Godey in mock surprise.
“No,” said Riar.
“Then I’ll tell you. It makes you feel a whole heap better.”
Mal asked Riar, “Don’t you ever get mad and fly off the hinges?”
“I try to control myself,” said Riar. And he advised, “You two ought to get some sleep. We’ll have no pull-offs for naps along the road.”
Mal twisted on the cushion. “Upon my honor,” he grumbled, “this seat is eating my breeches up.”
Morning found them in the Holston Valley of Tennessee, and the sun got busy early. The moment the ground mist melted, it was hot. The truck was standing at a gasoline pump, the attendant hose in hand and inquiring, “How many?” when Godey woke. Godey’s eyes flew open. He said, “Fill her up to the wormholes.”
“Five gallons,” said Riar.
Godey yawned, bestirring Mal. He said, “I never slept me nary a wink last night.”
“Me neither,” fibbed Mal.
“You snore just to make the music, aye?” said Riar. “It was hookety-hook between you.”
Godey said, “Why don’t you fill the tank and not have to stop at every pig track?”
“Ever hear of evaporation?” asked Riar. “A lot goes away before you can burn it.”
Godey wagged his head. “Tight as Dick’s hatband,” he informed the attendant.
Mal said, “Saving as a squirrel.”
Directly they were on the road, Godey announced, “I’m hungry, Big Buddy, and what are you going to do about it?”
“We’re carrying food the wife prepared,” Riar said. “We’ll halt at the next black spot.”
“You expect to feed us stale victuals?” Godey complained. “Give us a quarter apiece to buy hamburgers.”
Riar said, “During my boy days a quarter looked big as a churn lid. Did a body have one he stored it. Now all the young understand is to pitch and throw.”
“The truth,” mocked Godey. “Saturday I was in town, and I hadn’t been there ten minutes when bang went a dime.”
“We have food in plenty, I tell you,” Riar insisted, “and any we don’t use will be wasted.”
“So that’s the hitch,” scoffed Godey. “Before I’d live like you I’d whittle me a bill and peck amongst the chickens.”
Riar halted presently in the shade of a beech and hurried out. Mal forced the cranky door on his side and jumped to the ground, and Godey made to pile after—but his breeches caught on the spring. He pulled and still hung. He had to jerk loose. His jaws paled, his mouth twisted to swear, yet he checked himself. He would make it pay later. He hopped down, and none was the wiser.
Mal cautioned Godey under his breath, “You’d better begin greasing Riar up if you’re expecting to drive.”
“I’ve already got him right where I want him,” said Godey.
Riar put a gunnysack on the grass and spread breakfast: saucer-size biscuits, fried ribs, a wedge of butter. He poured cold coffee from a mason jar into cups shorn of handles.
Godey eyed the meal sourly, keeping turned to hide the rip. “A dog wouldn’t eat a mess like that,” he caviled. Nevertheless he took a serving. With cheeks full he added, “I wouldn’t except I’m so weak I couldn’t rattle dry leaves.”
“You might do as well at your own table,” Riar countered, “but it’s not my information.”
Hardly were they moving again than Godey broached driving. “I’m ready to steer awhile, big buddy.”
Riar grunted noncommittally.
“Last night you let on I could.”
“I never made such talk. I promised you two dollars, and have them you will the moment they’re earned.”
Godey produced his knife. “I’ll give you this, and hit’s a bargain. Four regular blades, and an awl, and a punch, and a shoe hook, and—”
“All that play-daddle is fit for is to rub a hole in your pocket.”
“Then,” said Godey determinedly, “I’m going to have my wages now, cash on the barrel.”
“Are you making that cry again?” fretted Riar. “They said you were pranky, but I didn’t figure on all the mouth I’m having to put up with.”
“You heard me.”
“My opinion,” Mal joined in, “you’re not to be confidenced.”
Godey declared, “Fork over else we’ll allow the shed crews to steal you ragged. Even might help ’em.”
“Great sakes!” Riar exclaimed. “Two dollars not yours yet and you growling for them.”
“Why, you’re behind the times,” corrected Godey. “You’re paying me an extra three to buy a pair of breeches. Your old cushion has tore a hole in me big as outdoors.”
Riar sputtered, “I haven’t taken you to raise, mister boy.”
“According to law,” said Godey, displaying the tear, “I’ve suffered damage in your vehicle. I know my rights.”
“I’ll see you to a needle and thread.”
Godey had Riar going, and he knew it. He said cockily, “Want to satisfy me and not have to tip your pocketbook?”
“Deliver my life and living into your hands?” Riar chuffed, on to the proposition.
“Turn the truck over to me thirty minutes and I’ll forget the breeches. I may even decide to let you off paying me for a while.”
Riar groaned. “My young ’uns’ bread depends on this machine.” But he was tempted. Loading without watchers was a misery, and he couldn’t abide further expense.
“It’s me drive,” Godey said, “or you shell out five dollars.”
“Wreck my truck,” Riar bumbled, “and I’m ruined. You don’t care.” But he could see no alternative. “I get along with folks if they’ll let me,” he said, relenting. And he questioned anxiously, “Will you stay on your side of the road and run steady and not attempt to make an airplane of it?”
“Try me.”
Riar slowed and stopped, and he took pliers and bent the point of the broken spring. Godey slid under the wheel, face bright with triumph, and he asked, “Anything coming behind?”
The truck moved away evenly, the gears knuckling without sound. Watch in hand, Riar prompted, “Don’t ride the clutch,” and “She’s not tied up for speed,” and “She brakes on the three-quarter pedal.” But his coaching was useless, as Godey drove well enough.
Meeting a bus, Godey poked his head out and bawled, “Get over, Joab,” and he grumbled, “Some people take their part of the highway in the middle.” He reproved Riar. “Why don’t you quit worrying? You make a feller nervous.”
“I can’t,” breathed Riar. “Not for my life.”
Before Godey’s half hour was through he inquired, “Have I done to suit you?”
“You’ll get by,” grudged Riar.
“How far to the North Carolina line?”
“Another hour should fetch it.”
Godey’s eyes narrowed. “Want to pet your pocketbook again?”
“What now?” Riar asked skeptically.
“I’ve decided to swap my pay to drive to there.”
“You’re agreeing to pass up the money, aye? And after vilifying me about the Colley brothers.”
“I aim to,” said Godey, “and I won’t argue.”
Riar shook his head. “I promised cash, and cash you’ll have. I’ll prove to you June bugs my word is worth one hundred cents to the dollar.”
Godey shrugged. “Made up your mind, big buddy?”
“Well,” said Godey, “let’s see can we change it,” and without further ado he floored the accelerator. The truck jumped, the cattle rack leapt in the brackets. The shovel hanging from the slats thumped the cab.
“Scratch gravel,” crowed Mal. “Pour on the carbide.”
“Mercy sakes!” croaked Riar.
Godey spun the wheel back and forth. He zig-zagged the road like a black snake. The rack swayed, threatening to break free.
Riar’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. The veins on his neck corded.
Godey cut to the left side of the highway and sped around a blind curve.
Riar could stand no more. “All right,” he gasped. “All right.”
Godey slackened. Grinning he said, “Why, you break your word fairly easy. Get you up against it and you’ll breach.”
By early afternoon they had put western North Carolina behind and crossed into South Carolina. The mountains fell back, the earth leveled and reddened, the first peach orchards came to view. The sun beat down, and the cab was baking hot.
Riar charged the boys, “I’m expecting you to keep your eyes skinned when they load my peaches. The fruit goes on several bushels together, and the sharpers can trip you.”
Godey and Mal sniggered. Godey said, “Did they know it, it’s us they’d better watch.”
“What I say,” agreed Mal.
“I’m after my honest due,” Riar said. “I don’t intend to cheat or be cheated.” And a thought seized him. Glancing swiftly at the boys he said, “You can count to two hundred, I hope to my soul.”
“I can count my finger,” jested Godey.
“How much schooling have you had?”
“Aye,” said Godey, “I learned who killed Cock Robin.”
Mal said, “Godey Spurlock coming up short hain’t been heard of.”
Beyond Landrum a packing house appeared, the metal roof glaring sunlight. Riar drove past, and Godey clamored, “Hain’t you going to stop?”
“They’re a contract outfit,” Riar said. “They wax and shine their fruits like a pair of Sunday shoes, and some retail at ten cents apiece. They don’t deal with the little feller.”
“They’d allow us to peep around, I reckon.”
To humor them, Riar drew in at the next shed. “Another large operator,” he explained, “and we won’t buy here either. Just stretch our legs and cool.”
A line of ten-wheel trucks was parked at the loading platfom, and Godey breathed, “Gee-o! Look at the big jobs.” He teased Riar. “Hain’t you ashamed to take your old plug out where people can see it?”
“Not in the least,” said Riar.
From the platform Godey and Mal gazed under the shed. They saw the roll conveyors tumbling fruit forward, the workers busy at the picking belts. Hail-pecked and wormy fruits were being shunted aside. The peaches flowed on through sizers and brushes of the defuzzer to the packers, and there seemed no end to them.
Godey’s eye lit on a huge peach in a basket, and he snatched it up. A voice behind him spoke, “You’re welcome, young fellow, stuff till you bust.” Without deigning to turn, Godey held out the great peach and sneered “Pea-jibbit!” and let it fall and stepped on it. But he peeled and ate six others.
When Riar got up with the boys twenty minutes later there was nothing they had not looked at. As they drove away Godey said, “The first ever I knowed peaches have hairs like cats.”
“Get them brushings on you,” said Riar, “and they’ll eat you alive.”
“What they told me,” said Godey. “Claimed it takes a spell to dig in, but after it does bull nettles hain’t a patching to it.”
Said Mal, “We’d got some, did we have a poke to put ’em in.”
“Of what use is it? I ask you.”
Said Godey, “For Doss and Wint Colley a beating is too fine. I want to see them dance.”
“Now, yes,” said Mal. “They’d throw an ague fit.”
Riar frowned. “Hitting back at folks is all you think of.”
Two miles beyond Landrum, Riar turned onto a dirt road and the wheels set the dust boiling. The boys’ faces were streaked where they wiped the sweat. Riar stopped at a number of small-growers’ sheds, buying at none, saying, “They sell high as Haman,” or “Their fruit is too green for my business,” or “Most of my customers want Elbertas.”
Godey said, “Always I’ve heard a fruit bought off of you had better be stomached quick, it’s so rotty-ripe.”
“The mellower the cheaper,” said Riar.
Mal said, “You’ll travel farther for a dollar than anybody on creation.”
“Was I you,” said Godey, “I’d take any peaches handy and call ’em Elbertas, and nobody’d know the difference.
Riar shook his head. “When I say a thing is such and such, you can count on it.”
“Oh yes?” scoffed Godey. “You point me to a plumb honest feller, and I’ll show you a patch of hair growing in the palm of his hand.”
“My opinion,” gibed Mal, “he’s hunting a place where they give away.”
“About the size of it,” said Godey.
“Even if I had my fruit on order I’d wait until the shade comes over,” said Riar. “I don’t cook my peaches by hauling in the sun.”
The shed where Riar bought was a barn with the sides gone. A single processing unit was operated by the owner’s family, and the picking belt was lined with children. Elbertas and Georgia Belles and J. H. Hales lay across the floor in drifts.
With Godey and Mal at his heels Riar inspected the heaps. Encountering a boy, Godey opened his knife and greeted, “Hello, coot, what’ll you give to boot?” He lifted a Georgia Belle on the awl, peeled it with the butcher blade, used the shoe hook to pluck the seed. A second youngster hastened to watch, and Godey readied another, bringing the scalper and corkscrew into play.
The owner cast an appraising look at Riar. Noting his eye on a section of Elbertas three days harvested he said, “There’s your bargain. A dollar and a quarter a bushel.” To explain their being on hand he added, “The whole crop is trying to shape up the same minute.”
Riar broke several in half. The flesh was grainy and yellow. He tasted, and they had the sugar. Though much softer than he usually handled, he judged most could bear the trip. They would last the night and the cool of the morning. If he bought them reasonably and peddled them at two fifty, he could clear his debts and have money left. What matter the loss of the bottom layers. He said, “I’ll pay seventy cents.”
The owner had hardly expected to get rid of the aging fruit. Still he said, “I can’t accept less than a dollar.”
“Seventy cents,” repeated Riar.
“Yesterday they were a dollar fifty.”
“Day after tomorrow,” parried Riar, “you’ll have to scrape them up.”
Godey butted in. “People don’t call him Tightwad just to beat their gums.”
Riar’s neck reddened, but he held himself.
Trying to make a stand, the owner said, “I’ll drop to eighty, but they’ll rot on the floor before I’ll accept less.”
“Well, then,” said Riar, “we can’t do business, for I won’t pay above seventy for dead-ripe peaches.” Shuffling to go he asked, “How far to the next shed?”
The owner changed his tune. He said, “Couldn’t we split the difference and meet in the middle?”
Riar gazed at the Elbertas. Only hovering gnats bespoke their advanced maturity. “I’ll tell you what I will do,” he proposed, “and we can both keep our word. I’ll pay eighty for a hundred and seventy-five bushels if you’ll throw in the twenty-five that are bound to mash.”
“Riar to a whisker,” said Godey.
After figuring a moment, the owner grumbled, “But you’d still be getting them at seventy cents.”
“What I know,” admitted Riar.
Throwing up his arms, the owner groaned, “Take ’em, take ’em.”
The sun was still high. Leaving Godey and Mal on their own, Riar rested in the truck, but it was too sultry to sleep. And at sunset he called them with, “My peaches will never be any greener.” Godey carried a paper poke, the neck of which was tied with string, and Riar said, “If that’s something you’ve picked up, leave it lay.”
“Where I go this poke goes,” said Godey.
Guessing the contents, Riar said, “The stuff will not ride in the cab with me.” Yet thinking to forbear until he had his peaches aboard, he added, “If you’re so set on it, put the poke in the toolbox.” He figured to lose it later.
The children loaded the truck, the smaller filling baskets and sending by conveyor to the platform, the larger hoisting them over the rack and emptying. The work quickened upon the arrival of a contract van. Riar counted at the tail gate, and Godey and Mal clung to the slats and sang out the number, and though three measures were often dumped at a time, Riar got his two hundred without a doubt.
The servicing of the van started immediately. And the moment Riar and the owner disappeared into the crib office to settle up, Godey traded his knife to the boys. Five bushels of Georgia Belles headed for the van were switched onto Riar’s truck.
At leaving, Riar handed Mal two dollars and advised, “Keep them in your pocket, they won’t spoil,” and he chided Godey, “You could of had the same if you hadn’t got ahead of yourself.”
Godey smiled slyly. “I hain’t so bad off,” he said.
Night caught them on Saluda Mountain in North Carolina. Pockets of fog appeared, and sometimes Riar had to drive with his head through the door. As they crept upward, vehicles passed them, and Godey taunted, “I want to know is this the fastest you can travel?”
“She’d show life,” said Mal, “was she fed the gas.”
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 ’un.”
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 I’m 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 downhill, 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 tuk 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 wouldn’t 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.
For a distance up the mountain the trees were woolly with fog, but as the truck climbed the mist vanished and the heat fell away. Riar’s spirits rose as he mounted, the cramping ceased. The engine pulled the livelier. They had crossed the Kentucky line in the gap and were headed down when the boys began to wriggle.