God Save the South - Visit our members - Join the Southern Circuit - Dixieland Ring - Heartbeat of the Southland
Browse the South through the Dixieland Ring . .
. 
This Dixieland Ring page hosted by 
Get your own Free Home Page
|
Hillside
|
|
|
Bad Eye and Ebbiot in the Hillside Races by Steve Batson The morning was cool and crisp with a touch of summer. Spring was leaving and buds were
full and beginning to open. The smell of the rich earth, the loam formed by generations of
mountain decay and life filled the air. The Gray Fox made his way between the trees, along
a path that was not a path, or he would not have been here. He ambled down the hillside and to a creek by a long forgotten still furnace and there
he sat down on the timeless flat rock charred long ago to the thump of a copper cloud. He
took out the Bull Durham and paper and rolled him a long one. Looking up between the trees
he reckoned it was nigh onto noon . . . maybe a little after. About halfway though the smoke he heard them coming . . . Sounded like a small herd of
cows with a couple'a pigs to boot. "Bad Eye" the Fox called quietly . . . ! "You hear something Ebbiot" was the reply he got? "Bad Eye," he said with more authority. "Yea over here." Bad Eye answered. Quietly now they came on under the sunlit canopy. "We are right here and ready to
go." Bad Eye said as he approached. "Rip roaring, rag tag ready," Ebbiot added. The Gray Fox eyed them with mild disdain. "You folks ever do anything
quietly," he asked? "Come on" Bad Eye said, "ain't nobody this far back in the hills." "I seen tracks coming in." the Fox said quietly, "Now hush, we go in
quiet." They started down the bank of the little creek . . . the Fox dead serious looking for
sign. A few yards on up the bank he found what he was looking for, a broken twig and a
trace of a heel print in the sand. "Sh-h-h, what of this Bad Eye" the fox asked? "Nothing to it . . . Squirrel hunting" Bad Eye replied. "Well, full run or not, done or not, I'm not going in. That boot print belongs to
John Law . . . the Federal kind," the fox announced. "What, the fox afraid" Bad Eye said under his breath? Bad Eye quickly
reconsidered the statement when he caught the flash of fire in the eyes of the fox. The
fox stood up and walked back the way he had come. Bad Eye and Ebbiot continued on toward their waiting reward . . . knowing full well
that the fox would get his cut but that sipping time had begun . . . and that was unheard
of when you worked with the fox. The fox withdrew to a hill within earshot of the
destination. Shortly afterward, a loud coarse swear came across the hills . . . crystal in
the afternoon light. Then a shot, the sound of the chase. Men hollering, more random shots
and the sound made only by men, who are running for their freedom. The fox began his
journey home shaking his head at the folly of men who could not read, nor understand signs
and portents. Late that evening as the fox prepared for bed a frantic knock came to his door. He had
half-expected it and remained at home in anticipation of the event. He left the fireside
and went to the door of the small cabin and lifted the bar. Bloody, dirty and with his
clothes torn to rags stood a winded Ebbiot . . . one shoe gone and a ragged callused foot
shining at the fox through the darkness. "Come on in, he said, I been waiting on you. Get some water out of the pitcher and
wash up. Where did you lose 'em?" "I don't know . . . Probably after about the fourth briar patch I run
through," was Ebbiot's reply. Shortly afterward another knock and the fox knew the last wayward pilgrim was home . . . he would sleep peacefully tonight knowing that the day race was an exacta . . . |
|
God Save the South - Visit our members - Join the Southern Circuit - Dixieland Ring - Heartbeat of the Southland Browse the South through the Dixieland Ring . .
. This Dixieland Ring page hosted by |