Free Shotgun Charlie by Ralph Compton

here, Pap?”
    â€œSuit yourself.”
    Charlie sat on the log, wondering what in the heck was going on with Pap—besides the obvious problem with the boys. Charlie had a feeling Pap wanted to tell him something but didn’t know how. Charlie tried again. “Something on your mind, Pap?” It was bold of him to say it that way, he knew, but something wasn’t right and Charlie didn’t like the tension he felt rippling off the old man.
    Finally Pap cleared his throat and spat a green wad into the curls of pine at his feet. “You know I ain’t never told you nor anyone else what to do, Charlie.”
    â€œYes, sir,” said Charlie, a little relieved that at least Pap was in a speaking mood.
    â€œAnd I ain’t about to start now.” The old man looked at him, wagged the stick with emphasis as he spoke.
    â€œNo, sir.”
    Pap looked square at him now. “But I wouldn’t blame you if you was to head on out of here, you got me?”
    It took a few seconds for the old man’s words to sink in. “What? Pap, you know I ain’t leaving you. Besides, if this is about Haskell, well, ol’ Grady ain’t so bad.”
    Pap made a snorting sound. “I’m too dang old, Charlie, for you to be lying to me.”
    Charlie grinned. “Aw, I ain’t lying to you, Pap. I reckon this whole thing’s got a bit out of hand.” Charlie’s eyes brightened. “Hey.” He nudged Pap on the arm. “What say I go talk to him? Tell him we ain’t keen on the notion of doing in Bakersfield what he’s laid out. Might be he’d—”
    Pap stood up with more speed than Charlie had seen the man ever display. He thrust a knobby finger at Charlie. “Boy, you don’t read me right.” Pap’s mouth was set in a hard line, his wet eyes blazed in red rims, and his chin trembled. “It’s not that I want you to like that no-account Grady Haskell, nor that I want you to speak to him for me—anybody does that it’ll be me, Pap Morton, and no one else.”
    â€œBut, Pap, I didn’t—”
    â€œHush your mouth, Charlie Chilton. And you listen good. I don’t plain want you around no more. You got me? I had enough of you suckling like a newborn! Grow up and git gone. I got enough worry about without a big galoot like you dragging his feet through everything I try to do.”
    It was rare in Charlie’s life, especially given the past couple of years, that Charlie could be surprised, but the old man’s words caught him unawares. “But you can’t mean that, Pap.”
    â€œI do mean it,” he said, but he’d turned away, and his voice cracked.
    â€œBut what’d I do, Pap? Tell me what I done wrong and I’ll do it over again, but right this time. You’ll see. I . . . I don’t understand, Pap.”
    Morton turned his back on the large fellow. “Git gone, Charlie Chilton.”
    â€œBut, Pap, I—”
    â€œGit!” Pap wheeled on him, holding his knife out as if he were about to drive the tip into the big middle of the young man.
    Instead of waiting for Charlie to walk away, Pap Morton stalked off, muttering and shaking his head.
    â€œWhat’d I do, Pap?”
    Already too far away for him to be heard by the big young man, Pap Morton said, under wet eyes, “Nothing, Charlie boy. You didn’t do a thing wrong. You done it all right. Just too dang late.”
    Charlie heard none of it as he watched the old man who had, in such a short time, become so like a father to him.

Chapter 14
    That night, Charlie lay rolled in his blanket well away from the rest of the fellows, a confused hulk of a young man turning over and over again in his mind what it was he had done to incur such sudden anger from Pap. After hours of fruitless mental groping, the only conclusion he came to was to regretfully heed Pap Morton’s advice.
    Judging from the