And I asked Him to protect Tally.
It took the men two hours to find Stick Powers. He said he'd been en route from headquarters in Jonesboro, but Pappy said he looked as if he'd been sleeping for a week. Stick was plainly thrilled to have such a high crime within his jurisdiction. Stealing the truck of a farmer was only a notch below murder in our code, and Stick kicked into high gear. He radioed every jurisdiction he could pick up on his old radio, and before long most of northeast Arkansas was buzzing with the news.
According to Pappy, Stick was not too worried about Tally's whereabouts. He guessed correctly that she had voluntarily run off with a Mexican, which was a low-class and disgraceful thing to do, but not exactly a felony, even though Mr. Spruill kept using the word "kidnapping."
It was doubtful that the two lovebirds would venture a long journey in our truck. They most certainly wanted to flee Arkansas, and Stick reasoned that their most likely means would be by bus. They would be too suspicious as hitchhikers; Arkansas drivers were not likely to pick up such a swarthy character as Cowboy, especially with a young white girl at his side. "They're probably on a bus headed North," Stick said.
When Pappy told us this, I remembered Tally's dream of living in Canada, a long way from the heat and humidity. She wanted lots of snow, and for some reason she had chosen Montreal as her place in the world.
The men discussed money. My father did the math and guessed that Cowboy had earned close to four hundred dollars picking cotton. No one knew, though, how much he'd sent home. Tally had earned about half that much and had probably saved most of it. We knew she'd been buying house paint for Trot, but we had no idea of her other expenditures.
It was at this point in Pappy's narrative that I wanted to bare my soul about Hank. Cowboy had robbed him after he killed him. There was no way of knowing how much picking money Hank had saved, but I knew for certain that there was $250 of Samson's money now in Cowboy's pocket. I almost blurted this out as we sat around the kitchen table, but I was simply too frightened. Cowboy was gone, but they might catch him somewhere.
Wait, I kept telling myself. Just wait. The moment will come when I can unload my burdens.
Whatever their finances, it was obvious that Tally and Cowboy had enough money to ride a bus for a long time.
And we were broke, as usual. There was a brief conversation about how to replace the truck in the event that it was never found, but the subject was too painful to pursue. Plus, I was listening.
We ate an early lunch, then sat on the back porch and watched the rain.
Chapter 29
Stick's old, loud patrol car came rolling into the front yard, with our stolen truck right behind it. Stick got out, full of importance because he'd solved the most urgent part of the crime. Black Oak's other deputy was driving the truck, which, as far as we could tell, had not changed at all. The Spruills ran over, anxious for some word about Tally.
"Found it at the bus station in Jonesboro," Stick announced as the small crowd gathered around him. "Just like I figured."
"Where was the key?" asked Pappy.
"Under the seat. And the tank's full of gas. Don't know if it was full when they left here, but it's full now."
"It was half empty," Pappy said, astonished. We were all surprised, not only to see the truck again but to see it unchanged in any way. We'd spent the day worrying about a future with no truck, with no means of transportation. We'd be in the same boat as the Latchers, forced to bum rides to town from anybody passing by. I couldn't imagine such a plight, and I was now more determined than ever to someday live in a city where folks had cars.
"I guess they just borrowed it," Mr. Spruill said, almost to himself.
"That's the way I see it," Stick said. "You still want to press charges?" he asked Pappy.
He and my father exchanged frowns. "I guess not," Pappy said.
"Did anybody see them?" Mrs. Spruill asked quietly.
"Yes ma'am. They bought two tickets for Chicago, then hung around the bus station for five hours. The clerk knew somethin' was up, but figured it wasn't his business. Runnin' off with a Mexican ain't the smartest thing in the world, but it ain't no crime. The clerk said he watched them through the night, and they tried to ignore each other as if nothin' was happenin'. They wouldn't sit together. But when the bus loaded they got on together."
"What time did the bus leave?" Mr. Spruill asked.
"Six this mornin'." Stick removed a folded envelope from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Spruill. "Found this on the front seat. I think it's a note from Tally to y'all. I ain't read it."
Mr. Spruill handed it to Mrs. Spruill, who quickly opened it and removed a sheet of paper. She started reading, and she began wiping her eyes. Everybody watched her, waiting without a sound. Even Trot, who was hiding behind Bo and Dale, leaned forward and watched the letter being read.
"Ain't none o' my business, ma'am," Stick said, "but if there's any useful information, then maybe I need to know."
Mrs. Spruill kept reading, and when she finished, she looked at the ground and said, "She says she ain't comin' home. She says she and Cowboy are gonna get married and live up North, where they can find good jobs and such." The tears and sniffles had suddenly vanished. Mrs. Spruill was now more angry than anything else. Her daughter hadn't been kidnapped; she'd run off with a Mexican, and she was going to marry him.
"They gonna stay in Chicago?" Stick asked.
"Don't say. Just says up North."
The Spruills began drifting away, backpedaling in retreat. My father thanked Stick and the other deputy for bringing our truck home.
"You're gettin' more rain than most folks," Stick said as he opened the door to his patrol car.
"It's wet all over," Pappy shot back.
"River's risin' to the north," Stick said, as if he were an expert. "More rain's on the way."
"Thanks, Stick," Pappy said.
Stick and the other deputy got into the patrol car, Stick settling himself behind the wheel. Just as he was about to close the door he jumped out and said, "Say, Eli, I called the sheriff up at Eureka Springs. He ain't seen the big one, Hank. The boy shoulda been home by now, don't you think?"
"I reckon. He left a week ago."
"Wonder where he is?"
"Ain't none of my concern," Pappy said.
"I ain't through with him, you know. When I find him, I'm gonna put his big ass in the jail in Jonesboro, and we're gonna have us a trial."
"You do that, Stick," Pappy said, then turned around. "You do that."
Stick's bald tires slipped and spun in the mud, but he finally got to the road. My mother and Gran returned to the kitchen to start cooking.
Pappy got his tools and spread them on the tailgate of the truck. He opened the hood and began a thorough inspection of the engine I sat on the fender, handing him wrenches, watching every move.
"Why would a nice girl like Tally want to marry a Mexican?" I asked.
Pappy was tightening a fan belt. There was little doubt that Cowboy hadn't bothered to stop, open the hood, and meddle with the engine while he was fleeing with Tally, but Pappy nonetheless was compelled to adjust and fix and tinker as if the vehicle had been sabotaged. "Women," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Women do stupid things."
I waited for clarification, but his answer was complete.
"I don't understand," I finally said.
"Neither do I. Neither will you. You're not supposed to understand women."