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“Where’s Peetie?”
All of the rest of the
Rio Rojo Cattlemen’s Association (RRCA) posed the question to
one another at about the same time. It was hotter than a
habanera firecracker—magnified by the sticky asphalt parking
lot—but Peetie had driven the boys in his brand new
Aggie-colored Cadillac, so they had no keys.
“Last time I saw
him, he was with you, Hooter,” said Jackson. “Looked like you
two were smashing enough pennies in that machine to make
souvenirs for half of Apache Flats.”
“They are an elegant remembrance,” said Hooter, showing one to
the circle of friends. “But you have to realize that machine
takes 50 cents to squash your penny, so you’ve got 51 cents into
every one. Back home we can squash a whole roll on the tracks
for nothing and get change back.”
“But it wouldn’t be from here,” mumbled Izzy as he reached into
a seemingly bottomless bag of pork rinds.
“Far as Peetie
goes, the last I saw of him was about three hours ago; said he
was on his way to see what they had for gobble boxes and plastic
birds,” said Lonnie.
“Maybe he’s still
at the shootin’ gal-gal-gal…range,” slurred Delmar Jacobs as he
popped his brand new pop gun for effect.”
“If you pop that
thing one more time, I’m gonna’ bust it over that hollow noggin
of yours,” growled Lonnie right before drilling a stream of Mail
Pouch near Delmar’s feet—which drew everyone’s attention to the
fact that his work boots had been replaced by a pair of sky blue
moccasins.
“Which one are you
‘sposed to be, Saciwegea or Tinker Bell?” grumped Jackson.
“I-I-I-I…”
“Don’t you mind
sour puss,” said Hooter in defense of his friend. “Jack boy
there is still just sore about them not having the flavor of
jerky juice he was after.”
“Well, why in the
world would you drive all the way here if you had to order it
from home anyhow?” demanded Jackson.
“For exactly the
same reason folks drive to that rat hole you call a saloon, when
they can drink all of the Cold Pearl they want at home for less
money and none of the attitude,” said Lonnie, this time aiming a
stream at Jackson’s boots.
“Besides, those
moccasins are right smart looking,” said Hooter. “I bet they’re
comfortable, too.”
“L-l-l-like walking
on a cl-cl-cl…air,” said Delmar as he popped his pop gun again.
A Gift for Kings
The boys were trading insults and opinions in the parking lot of
the Cabela’s store at Fort Worth. None of them had ever been to
this or any other of the massive outdoor outfitter’s retail
stores. But all had harbored the dream since they made their
first mail-order purchase years before. Their wives (significant
others in the case of Hooter and Izzy) understood this,
intuitively, just as surely as they knew where everything was,
always and without fail.
In a fortunate
confluence of cosmic kismet, the girls each came up with the
same notion at about the same time: an expense-paid trip to
Cabela’s; that might score enough Brownie points to finally
start making some headway in the honey-do list.
Individually, the
boys ultimately agreed to go, but only after they agreed
collectively and unanimously that the visit qualified as an
educational field trip for the RRCA.
“How else are we
‘sposed to know what new stuff poachers might be wearing?” Izzy
had asked.
“Motion passes,”
Peetie had said, slamming down the Copenhagen can that served as
his gavel.
So it was that they
had loaded up in Peetie’s new car and hit the road at 5 a.m.
sharp.
“We’ll be there by
10, easy,” said Peetie as he punched the accelerator. “No rules,
boys, other than the fact that I’ll skin any of you who wipes
Cheetos dust or the remnants of some other ungodly concoction on
these new seats.” He was looking directly at Izzy in the
rear-view.
“What? It’s cheese,
ain’t it?” said Izzy.
During the rest of
the five-hour trip the boys thumbed through their dog-eared
catalogues and talked about the treasures they new they’d find—a
whole lot like neighbors convoying to a bull sale.
“What’re you after,
Hooter?” his cousin asked.
“Well sir, I want
to get Bugsy one of those cartoon fishing poles.”
“A whaaaat?”
wondered Delmar, sipping from one of several thermoses he’d
brought along.
“I guess they’ve got short fishin’ rods with closed-face reels,
done up with pictures of cartoons like Mickey Mouse and Tigger.
“Ain’t never seen
anything like that in the catalogue,” said Lonnie.
“Me neither, but I
called them and they assured me they have a whole wall full. How
about you, Charlie?”
“Well, you know,
Brenda’s always had a thing for bears. Thought I’d see if they
had some shower curtains with bears on them.”
Around the car it
went, each citing their shopping lists, followed by everyone
pausing for more mental window shopping.
Heaven on Earth
Their expectations were fulfilled from the get-go, like kids
being met at the gates of Disney by their favorite characters.
“Would you look at
that,” said Lonnie in appreciation, pointing to the kennels
where folks could leave their dogs while they shopped.
“Even a place for
horses,” said Peetie.
“And the boats,
just look at all the boats. I always wanted me a boat,” said
Izzy.
“You need water for
a boat, lightening rod, ever think of that?” said Jackson.
And on it went as
Peetie herded the car to a spot far enough afield to protect the
paint job.
“Remember to tag up
out front here at 3 O’clock, sharp,” Peetie had instructed.
“That’s when the pony runs, whether you’re here or not.”
The boys had a
ball, too, scattering like quail in a hail storm as soon as they
got through the doors, then hooking up inadvertently and
intermittently throughout their adventure.
To be accurate,
Izzy actually began his shopping before he got inside, stopping
at a log-cabin cook shack just outside for a bag of pork rinds
and a cherry snow cone.
Hooter made a
beeline for the fishing section, after about an hour spent
watching and lusting after the catfish, bass and turtles in the
store’s gargantuan aquariums. He found a Tigger fishing pole
that he knew Bugsy would love, but decided to get a Tweety Bird
one, too, just in case. As he was turning around: “An Ugly
Stick, at that price? Lord, I’d better get a cart.” And he did.
He was on his way
to the gun section when he ran into Izzy, meandering down the
aisle with his pork rinds, a giant pillow shaped like a fish and
a new slingshot. “The pictures just don’t do it justice,” he
sighed and kept on sauntering.
Almost to the
scopes, Hooter ran into Lonnie who was on his way out. “What’cha
got there?”
“Oh these,” said
Lonnie. “New grips for the missus; her birthday’s coming up.”
“The romance just
grows and grows,” said Hooter.
Rather than waste
time jousting, Lonnie spied Charlie. “Hey Charlie! Hooter’s
looking for you, here he is.” Lonnie set sail for the Bargain
Cave.
“Looks like you’re
loaded for bare,” said Charlie.
“Speaking of which,
Griz, let’s go look for those shower curtains of yours. I see
that you’re empty-handed so far.”
“Yeah, I was over
looking at that African wildlife display. You seen it yet?”
“Nope.”
“Ever heard of a
Greater Kudu Bull? As tall as 64 inches at the shoulder and can
weigh a little over 600 pounds. How’d you like to draw a bead on
that?”
“Or rope it,” said
Hooter.
On their way, they
ran into a large crowd gathered around the laser shooting
gallery. Squeezing in for a closer look, the main
attraction—oblivious to the attention—was Delmar. He had the
rifle to his shoulder, a stack of tokens on his machine, and he
was firing like a mad man, all the while serving up commentary
in a voice that sounded exactly like Elmer Fudd.
“Come heah, you
wascally bobcat. Kapow.”
Leaving Delmar to
his glee, Charlie and Hooter saw Peetie across the crowd. It was
the last any of the boys had seen of him.
…to be continued. |
