Free The Road to Memphis by Mildred D. Taylor Page A

glanced over at me and laughed. “Well, we just see ’bout that, Cassie. We jus’ see ’bout that, ’cause I got my mind set. I’m goin’! And, Harris, you can jus’ tell yo’ little ole sister that for me too!”
    Harris shrugged. “You tell her. Got nothin’ t’ do with me, and I ain’t wantin’ her comin’ down on my head for telling her what you been sayin’ ’round—” He stopped abruptly and got up.
    “What is it?” asked Christopher-John.
    “Sounds . . . that sounds like T-Bone done bayed a coon.”
    Willie shrieked with laughter. “Boy, sit on down and enjoy these here peanuts! You know that ole hound ain’t got nothin’!”
    “He got reason for barkin’,” contended Harris.
    “Poor ole dog,” I commiserated. “He probably got reason all right. He probably down there barking because he got himself cornered in that water again.”
    Harris frowned, looking a bit worried at the thought. “Y’all jus’ wait on here,” he said, grabbing a flashlight. “Me and T-Bone be back ’fore long.”
    “’Ey, don’t you wanna take along a rifle?” called Clarence. “Case you want to shoot down that coon T-Bone got treed?”
    Harris glanced back in silence, then, as we laughed again he hurried off as fast as he could without the rifle.
    “’Ey, Harris, wait up!” I yelled and got up and followed him. I certainly wasn’t worrying about T-Bone. I just had a mind to go along with Harris because he seemed worried and was so ridiculously crazy about that dog of his. “I expect you’re going to miss Clarence now that he’s going off to the Army,” I said, trailing behind him.
    “Yeah. Worst thing ’bout him goin’, though, is Sissy. That girl, she ’bout fit to be tied. Ain’t no livin’ with her now.”
    “Suppose not.” We walked on. As we neared the ridge leading down to the banks of the Rosa Lee, Harris stopped. “What is it?” I said.
    He was silent a moment, then looked to the north. “Somebody else huntin’ in these woods, Cassie. Listen.”
    I did and heard someone too. “Maybe that’s Stacey and them.”
    Harris shook his head. “Naw, sound comin’ up from the wrong direction.”
    “Well, anyway, whoever it is, they don’t have anything to do with us,” I decided and moved on down the ridge.
    “Wait, Cassie.”
    I was getting irritated. “Boy, what for?”
    “Wanna see which way they headed. May be best not to run into ’em.”
    “Harris, come on! Thought you wanted to see if that ole hound of yours got himself a coon.”
    Harris seemed uncertain but came on anyway. We reached the banks of the Rosa Lee, and Harris pointed out some fresh coon tracks. “Look at how big they is, Cassie. Gonna have us some fine coon tonight!” I nodded in anticipation for I loved coon meat as much as anybody. Smothered in onions and garlic alongside great, golden-colored yams, baked coon was a grand feast.
    Harris, his eyes to the ground, followed the tracks, and I followed him. We were so intent on the tracks that we forgot that someone besides us was in the forest. Then someone yelled: “’Ey, Harris! Cassie! This here ole coon dog b’long to y’all?” We looked around. From down the bank came Statler, Leon, and Troy Aames, and Jeremy Simms. All four carried rifles, and Leon and Troy each were holding on to two hunting dogs. Statler had hold of T-Bone. “Where y’all headed off to in these woods?”
    Harris glanced at me and stuttered an answer. “We . . . we doin’ us a bit of huntin’, Mr. Statler.”
    “Just you and this gal here? That seems mighty cozy like to me. Thought you said it was you and Clarence s’pose to be goin’ huntin’.” He grinned in that offensive way he had at me. “What? You like fat boys, Cassie?”
    Leon and Troy laughed. Jeremy just stood there. I didn’t say anything to them. I just told Harris to come on and turned away.
    “Now, wait a minute, wait a minute,” ordered Statler. “Y’all say y’all goin’ huntin’?