#2d
Mark stopped well this side of the city. It was easy to hear and see that Little Rock was busy having a riot. There were all sorts of gun shots, and fire and dense black smoke boiling skyward. Mark was sitting on a truck stop ecology block that defined the parking lot. He fed Dog, or Dawg as he had started thinking of the animal, and gave him water. Mark had finally bought a map, and the plastic coated information was difficult to read in the near dark.
There was a row of trees that was going to become his night bivouac, but he didn't want to give his intention away too soon. The whole place was crawling with unfriendly looking desperados, and to be sure of making a quick get away, he picked up Dawgs bowls and stashed them in his pack.
He was waiting for full on dark, or as dark as it got in the feebly lit truck lot. There was a man coming his way, and Mark watched him in a casual but coiled to strike way.
The man stopped a good 30 feet away and spoke up, drawing Mark's attention. "Ah Sir, may I have a word with you?" Mark looked the man over and he wasn't carrying a badge, or a weapon in his side waistband.
"Sure, How can I help you?" Mark stood up and put Dawg behind him to be alert for back stabbers, in case this was a trap. By now the Dawg was used to what Mark wanted, and they worked as a pretty good team.
"I was noticing you caring for your dog, and I was wondering if you are going East? If you are, I'm trying to buy protection for myself and my cargo."
Mark whipped his head around, looking to see if anyone else had heard.
"Sir, keep your voice down," Mark growled. "That's not a wise thing to say."
"Oh, I knew you looked all right. would you please help me?"
Mark motioned for the man to come closer and to keep his voice down. "What is your problem?" he hissed, not liking the set up one bit.
"I have to go to Knoxville tonight, and I want to hire you to guard me and my cargo." The man's whisper was as loud as his regular speech.
Mark used his hand in the down motion, shaking his head at the man's stupidity, asking him to speak lower.
"I'm interested," he said calmly, "I don't do illegal, but I am interested in going to Knoxville. What kind of cargo are you carrying?"
"A horse," the man whispered, "a real valuable one and it needs to be there by tomorrow night and I'm scared to death to drive the interstate through town."
"Yeah, I'm not to interested in giving that a try myself." Mark said drolly. He brought out his map and penlight and the two of them looked at the map.
"I think you would be smarter to back track a little and drop down on I 30 to I 49, and then go 20/59 up to Knoxville." Mark told the man his opinion.
"Yeah, that's it, that's what the trooper said to do, and bypass Memphis and Nashville. But I couldn't remember all that he said."
As close as the man was, Mark could see he was just a kid, and a dumb one at that. "So, do you have a rig that will make the trip?"
"Oh, yes Sir," the kid was pitching his problem in a hurry. "It's a modified pickup to look like a real old one, but she purrs like a kitten."
Mark decided he'd better help the clueless idiot and get him and his cargo out of the potential danger.
"My dog has to go," Mark looked at the unsavvy man.
"Oh yes sir, can he ride in the pickup bed? My name is Elberton, Elberton Wallingford." and he stuck his hand out for a shake. Call me Eb," he offered like a happy puppy.
"Mark Linderman," and they shook. "Let's make tracks," Mark looked around and didn't like the dark area.
The pickup was a ancient looking International, and it sounded like it could handle the two horse trailer. Dawg jumped in like he was a happy pickup dog, and Mark squeezed in the much narrower old cab. It wasn't ideal, there wasn't much room to maneuver his rifle if needed, so he got out the Glock and put it in his lap.
"Drive out at medium speed, act like nothing is wrong. At the end of the drive turn right and drive two miles back to where we pickup I 30," Mark was checking the road behind them as well as possible. The trailer blocked a good sight of the traffic, as it was much larger than the old pickup.
"What is this, a "53?" Mark noticed a car following them at a respectable distance. The left headlight jiggled, so it was easy to spot in a line of cars.
"Yes Sir, a '52/'53 that has belonged to my family since it was new. Daddy had it rebuild about three years ago, and if necessary she can top a hundred."
"Eb, are you running shine?" Mark was stern, after his dawning realization.
"No Sir," Eb shook his head, "well not exactly." he amended, "No horse in there, I've got a load of sugar. Daddy and Grandpap are plumb tired of paying the high prices around town, and they've had a itty bitty bit of trouble with the law. The revenuers' don't by the notion we're using this for canning and preserving, and they always want to make such a big deal about it. We're putting the shine in canning jars to preserve it," he laughed at his own cleverness.
Mark had been hornswoggled, but felt he couldn't help but like Eb. He was a smooth talker and jovial person.
They got off I 30 at Malvern and went 270 over to Pine Bluff and then 79/49 to Helena and crossed the big river and shot over into Mississippi and traveled 278 to New Albany. They always had a car, a ways behind them, and Mark mentioned the fact.
"Yeah, probably the law, they won't do nuthin till we get close to home, they want to catch me in Tennessee. Fits their notion of justice, and all that. Don't worry, I'll let you off before I got to do any fancy maneuvering. Your a nice guy and I don't aim to see you arrested."
"Thanks," Mark was grateful for small favors. The pressed on through the night, Eb very sure of where he was driving. They motored up 75 to Knoxville and on the East side of town he stopped for gas.
"Nows when I stop you git your dog and get out of the lights. Take off running before they git close enough to see you. Sure enjoyed yer company, it made the time go faster." and he pulled into the pumps where the generator was running.
Mark took him at his word and skedaddled the second the pickup stopped.
He was close enough to practically smell home. To stay off the Interstate and possible recognition, Mark decided to cut through the mountains, over to Cherokee then down to Chashiers. He'd be 20 or so miles from home when he got there. His legs and body were weak, but his heart was singing. There was a lone car in the distance, coming his way, and Mark and Dawg faded into the underbrush to bed down for the night. He'd had a major amount of excitement, and was so tired he was trembling.
It took four days to travel the distance to home. Mark was at the end of his endurance, and had to rest often.
Clora was washing the dishes, threw the plate back into the water and yelled, "Oh Dear God, Mark's almost home." and she went tearing out the door and went running down the road.
Clora found him as she rounded the curve; he had heard her coming, yelling his name in a frenzy.
He had to lean on his rifle for support, but Clora was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Holding each other in the middle of the dusty road, Mark buried his face in her neck and cried.
Clora was incoherent with what she was saying, the tears running down her face as she held him so carefully.
"Thank you Heavenly Father, this is a blessing above all blessings," she kept repeating.
Red and Bootsie had come with Clora, and they looked at Dawg and his dirty, rough condition and said something inflammatory and derisive in dog speak about his appearance, his attitude and his mother.
Dawg had decided it would be necessary to teach these ignorant cat chasers, the finer points of proper dog greeting manners. While Mark and Clora kissed with all the pent up feeling they had in their bodies, the combatants prepared for a dog fight.
Red bumped Clora's leg and Clora snapped her fingers and pointed to the ground, ordering the dog down.
Red was disgusted, there was no way Bootsie could take on the stranger by herself, so she gave the black and white shaggy mutt a look that said, 'this isn't over. Postponed, but not over.' Dawg smiled a taunt.
Mark had his hands cupped on Clora's face looking at the love shining in her eyes. "I've missed you so much," he said brokenly; "Clora I'm about to go down." he whispered.
Clora hefted the rifle in her left hand and put Mark's arm around her shoulders. She walked her man back to the house and the mob that was breaking out of the front door at a run.