“Tell us about Alligator Schultz, Daddy!”
Early-spring work on the farm had left Addie Scott exhausted, but he couldn’t disappoint his nine-year-old son, Albert.
Besides, Alligator Schultz was a great story.
Addie sidled into a rocking chair next to the potbelly stove, and Albert sat in front of him on a thick rope rug. Grandpa Scott dozed in the next chair.
“They say Alligator was the greatest stagecoach bandit in all of Oklahoma,” Addie began. “He’d crouch in swampy areas and just wait for a coach to drive by.”
“And he’d hold his breath all day!” Albert shouted out.
Grandpa groaned and twitched.
“That’s right, Albert. Ol’ Alligator would hold his breath all day if he had to. But one night, Alligator tried to rob a Union sharpshooter heading west after the war, and the fella pegged Alligator right through the throat.”
Thunder cracked -- snow was turning to rain. Grandpa jumped in his seat but did not wake.
“Alligator ran off into the woods … the soldier and a couple other men gave chase. They searched all night long but never found Alligator.”
Thunder clapped again -- this time Grandpa woke up, eyes red and wild.
“What happened to Alligator?” Albert asked.
“Well, some folks say he drowned in the marsh thanks to that hole in his neck. Others say he escaped and made a new life for himself. Settled down, raised a family.”
“But always terrified of the rain!” Albert finished.
Addie nodded and smiled.
“Hogwash!” Grandpa bolted from his chair. He tugged his scarf tight across his throat. “That story is a load of bunk!”
A torrent pelted the tin roof, and Grandpa grabbed his ears in pain as he stumbled toward the back bedroom.
“When will this infernal rain ever leave me in peace?!”
No comments:
Post a Comment