Free Song of the Road by Dorothy Garlock Page A

him come get the box.”
    “Well, now, it’s good ya got someone to help. Tramp, is he?”
    “I guess so. He’s only thirteen. He’s good help.”
    “Ya got to be careful, Mary Lee. Rosa’s been helpin’ out down at the soup kitchens. Tramps and hobos are comin’ through every day. Some of ’em are good men down on their luck. But some are just as sorry as sin.”
    “I’ll be careful.”
    After Mary Lee used the telephone, she walked slowly back up the hill to the motor court. The company had refused to connect the phone unless she paid the back bill of twenty-two dollars. Her mother had not paid one bill after her father died.
    Knowing that she needed advice on how to handle Frank Pierce, she had called the sheriff and asked him to stop by the court when he had time.
    Disappointed, but determined, Mary Lee plunged into the day’s work. She had made six dollars last night and four dollars and fifty cents plus the dollar for doing Jake Ramero’s laundry the day before. She had the ten she had been saving for the baby. The water and electric bills were coming up, and she would have to buy groceries. There was no way she could have paid on the telephone bill even if they had allowed her to pay only part of it.
    After the cabins were cleaned and while the sheets were drying on the line, she mixed a bucket of water and vinegar, and she and Eli washed the windows in the cabins. She was standing on a chair washing the outside of the windows in number six when the sheriff drove in. She got down off the chair and went to meet him.
    “Hello, Sheriff. I’m Mary Lee Clawson, Scott Finley’s daughter.”
    “Howdy, young lady. I heard that you were back running the place.”
    “I left the message for you to come by because I’m having trouble with one of the renters. Frank Pierce and my mother claim that she rented him the number one cabin. One time she said she’d rented it for a year, and one time he said for a month. He claims to have given her money, but so far he hasn’t produced a receipt.”
    “Your mother was in charge of the court when she rented it?”
    “Yes, sir. I’d like to get him out.”
    “I don’t see how you can do that unless you give him his money back.”
    “Last night he turned his radio up so loud my other renters threatened to leave —”
    “I heard about it. He said Jake Ramero broke down his door, assaulted him, then stole his radio.”
    “You believed him?”
    “Let’s just say I keep an open mind where Frank is concerned.”
    “When I asked him to turn down the radio, he pushed me, almost shoving me down. Mr. Ramero came to help me, and I asked him to break down the door and take the radio before my other renters demanded their money back.”
    “Jake’s on parole, you know. Assaulting Frank, if he pressed charges, would be enough to get Jake sent back to serve the rest of his sentence.”
    “He was protecting me, Sheriff. I swear it.”
    “Frank said that he was held down and threatened —”
    “By a thirteen-year-old boy with a stick! I need to get Frank out of here so I can clean up that cabin and rent it.”
    “Where does your mother stand on this?”
    Embarrassed, Mary Lee looked away from the big man. “Mama has been either drunk or with a hangover ever since I came home. More than likely she’ll say he paid her for a year.”
    “I can’t see that I can do anything for you unless he causes another disturbance and I’m called.”
    “You can’t make him move?”
    “Not if Mrs. Finley says he paid her rent.”
    “What about Mr. Ramero?”
    “I’ll have to have witnesses before I make a report to his parole officer.” Sheriff Pleggenkuhle grinned.
    “You’ll not get any witnesses from here,” Mary Lee said stiffly.
    “I didn’t think so. Tell you what: I’ll have my deputy swing by here a couple times a night for a while.”
    “Couldn’t you put Frank in jail or something?” Mary Lee asked desperately.
    “Not unless I have something to charge him