Chrisholm Trail and nails of hair

By booze.

He had a good dog. He wasn’t worth a damn for anything really. He was a hound of great breeding, good bone, that never wanted to hunt. Like he was afraid of the dark. Jim had killed many poor hounds that hunted better than Hank. But Hank had a good quality in that he was a better companion than almost anyone. He would wait for Jim by the chair next to the fire in his yard. Jim would say, “Like I need much encouragement Hank.” So the two would sit there, Jim nursing half-cold Budweiser and Hank just being present. Hank would look at the fire and back at Jim as if he had the wisdom of learned judge. Everyone knew better. But no one teased Hank about it, and no one laughed that he couldn’t hunt.
Jim was sitting there, looking at the wood he brought. His friends would drop by sometimes but they rarely just wanted to sit and drink and look at the fire like he did. So he often questioned the friendship. But he questioned a lot of things. His yard used to be a refuge for those poor bastard children who didn’t have anywhere else to drink. Now he was too old and pitiful and bitter and didn’t want the bullshit.

But tonight his mother came out to talk to him. SHe usually would come out and have a margarita with him and talk about things. He enjoyed talking to her and he enjoyed Hank. “Don’t let your father buy anything but good black cows tomorrow,” she said.

“I won’t.” Jim said. But he knew if a bargain was to be had and we could make the colored cows work we would. But we would try for black cows first.

Just then his father yelled from the house, “Bill is on the phone. The cops have him stopped at Casey’s and won’t let him drive.” “Shit.” I said. These new cops always wanted to make like hard on people. Bill couldn’t drive worth a shit anyway, so it seemed stupid to hassle him over a highball. But this wasn’t Bill’s stomping ground so Jim was curious and he went inside.

“Bill how is it going?” Jim asked.
“They have me stopped over here and won’t let me drive.”
“Buddy?”
“No. This new damned woman cop thinks I have had too much to drink. You haven’t been drinking have you?”
“No.” Jim lied.
“Well come get me.”
“Your in Huntsville?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay I will come right away.”

Grandma told Jim to be careful and to bring Bill home to sober up for awhile and she would make dinner for them all.

Jim pulled up and Bill was standing in front of his big truck. It had a Confederate Flag in the back window, but Jim could see someone was back there.

“Who do you have Bill?”
“Sweat hogs.” Bill answered.
“Well that is what happens when you take the meat from both ends.” Jim said.
“Jim you look like you have drank more than me.”
“I have,” Jim said modestly.

“Lets get out of here before that bitch comes patrolling back again. Let’s take your truck and leave my car here.”

“You have plenty of beer?” Jim asked.

“No that bitch made me pour it all out. Honest Jim I haven’t had but one. I threw it in the bed of the truck and she must have saw that and pulled me over.”

“That woman will excite the scorn and contempt of drinkers everywhere.” Jim said. “I better drive, to make it clear to her (should we meet), that we are trying our damndest to comply.”

The truck started and left the service station.

The girls in back converse with the boys and everyone is having fun.
“My folks wanted us to come back and eat but I didn’t know you had company.” Jim said.
“Did you ever get your CB workin’?”
“No.”
“Pass up a beer please.” Jim said.

“Jan did your dad get his hay baled up already?” Jim asked.

“Yes, but he is doing it on shares with Lee taking half. I don’t suppose he is selling any.”

“Well it would be damned handy, being we live so close. Say, why don’t you ever swing by our spread? You live just down the road, yet I drink with Bill more than you and he lives a full county over.”

“If geography was any correlation to drinking, you and Bill would live in the same house.”

“Stop at the bridge.” the other girl said.