Free The Wanton Troopers by Alden Nowlan Page A

and cursed, the muscles in his freckled arm rippling like the great belt that drove the slab saw.
    â€œHad enough?”
    â€œUhhhh.” The sound was part sigh, part groan.
    â€œHad enough?”
    â€œUhhhh.”
    â€œHad enough?”
    â€œUhhhh.”
    â€œDamn it! I can break yer wrist, Angus. Had enough?”
    â€œUhhhh.”
    â€œHe ain’t had enough till yuh can make him put his arm down,” Judd interjected.
    â€œHad enough?”
    â€œUhhhh.”
    With a thud, Angus’s arm struck the wood-hard straw.
    â€œPhewwww,” Todd whistled, shaking his head wryly.
    Angus massaged his arm. “Go tuh hell,” he growled.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œGo tuh hell,” the sawyer repeated dully.
    â€œListen, mister —”
    â€œHERE!” Eben shouted. “HERE! Let’s all have another cripeless beer, eh? Come over here and have a drink, Toddie!”
    â€œShut up fer a second!” Todd snapped.
    His fists hung close to his hips, like the hands of a gunfighter. He turned back to Angus.
    â€œWhat was it yuh said tuh me, mister?”
    Eben seized Todd’s arm and tugged him toward the churn. “Come on now, Toddie. Come on now, Toddie.” He might have been coaxing an obstinate puppy. “Come on now, Toddie.”
    All the way back to the churn, Todd kept looking over his shoulder at the sawyer. Angus continued to kneel by the straw, and he was still rubbing his defeated arm.
    Experience told Kevin that before the day ended, these men would fight. Fist fighting was one of the essential rituals in the world of men.
    â€œSing somethin’, Juddie,” Eben begged.
    My name is Howard Carey,
    Near Grand Falls I was born,
    In a cozy little cottage
    On the banks of the St. John —
    â€œToo cripeless sad!” Eben howled. “Sing somethin’ cheerful, Juddie!”
    Here’s a cuckoo! There’s a cuckoo!
    Here’s a cuckaroo!
    Here’s a cuckoo! There’s a cuckoo!
    There’s a cuckaroo!
    â€œDamn it, man, but yuh make a lot of noise.” Angus Northrup growled, masking his annoyance in a grin. Judd swung on him, glowering.
    â€œA man can make as damn much noise as he damn well wants tuh when he’s in his own damn barn drinkin’ his own goddamn beer!”
    â€œHERE NOW!” Eben yelled. “Let Juddie sing! Come on now, Juddie! Love tuh hear yuh sing. Jist love tuh hear yuh sing, Juddie, boy!”
    â€œYeah,” Judd growled. “Yeah.”
    â€œSure,” Angus agreed. “I didn’t mean nothin’ Judd. Allus did love tuh hear yuh, sing. Sing somethin’ else, Juddie.”
    â€œBut don’t sing nothin’ that’s too cripeless mournful!” Eben said.
    Judd gulped brew and tossed the mug to the sawyer.
    â€œNo hard feelin’s,” he said. “No hard feelin’s.”
    â€œNo, Juddie. No hard feelin’s.”
    â€œI’d hate tuh think this beer of mine had stirred up hard feelin’s between any of the boys.”
    â€œNo, Juddie. There ain’t no hard feelin’s.”
    â€œAre yuh sure, Angus? Are yuh sure?”
    â€œYeah, I’m sure, Juddie. No hard feelin’s.”
    â€œI’m glad tuh hear that, Angus. I wouldn’t want any hard feelin’s. I ain’t that kind of a feller, Angus. I don’t hold no hard feelin’s.”
    â€œNo, nor me, Juddie. I never held no hard feelin’s against a man in my whole life.”
    â€œAre yuh sure, Angus?”
    â€œYeah, I’m sure as sure, Juddie. No hard feelin’s a-tall.”
    â€œShake on it?”
    â€œPut’er there, Juddie!”
    The two men shook hands.
    â€œSing somethin’,” Eben cried. “Sing somethin’ for cripes’ sake!”
    Here’s a cuckoo! There’s a cuckoo!
    Here’s a cuckaroo!
    Here’s a cuckaroo! There’s a cuckoo!
    There’s a cuckaroo!
    While Judd sang, Eben resumed his