Cool Hand Luke - Donn Pearce [5]
When Dragline saw the snake heading his way he ran a few steps forward to head it off but his shackles caught on a palmetto root at the very moment that he swung his yo-yo. He lost his balance and fell to his knees, his yo-yo hitting the ground, sending up a geyser of dry sand and then bouncing off a strand of barbed wire, making it vibrate with a dull hum. Dragline tried to get up and swing again but the rattler had already altered course, heading back into the thicker grass at the bottom of the ditch.
Cottontop blocked its path and the snake swiftly contracted itself into a coil, his head pulled back, its rattles buzzing away as Cottontop yelled out—
Ah got‘iml Ah got ’im!
Cottontop braced himself, nervously advanced a step, faltered as the buzzing grew more violent. Then he swung the yo-yo with both hands like the desperate reflex of a batter trying to hit a low foul. But he missed and ducked back just as the rattler struck, its body stretching out about two feet, its jaws agape. The snake went back into its coil as Cottontop braced himself again. In the meantime everybody was yelling, the convicts and the guards as well—
Git ‘im Cottontop. Git ’im.
Git ‘im hell. Bite’im on the ass.
Watch it Cottontop. Don’t git yourself snake-bit.
He ain’t gonna git bit. He cain’t git bit. A snake’s got better sense’n to bite a Chain Ganger. With all the bean juice in Cottontop’s blood, it’d be the snake that’d git poisoned. He’d jes curl hisself up and die on the spot.
But Stupid Blondie was wilder than all the rest, pulling his cap off and throwing it down on the ground.
Cottontop! You be careful now! Don’t cut him up too much. You’ll ruin his hide! You hear? That’s my hide now. Don’t forget. I was the first to see him. I called “snake” first.
Again Cottontop prepared to swing and then flinched. The snake struck again, recovered, hissed and rattled. Cottontop stumbled backwards, came in again and swung. There was a wild thrashing in the grass, big loops of black spotted yellow flexing and coiling as Cottontop yelled out—
Ah got ‘iml Ah got ’iml Cut his haid smack dab off!
You didn’t cut up his hide, did yuh?
Then the Walking Boss, Jim the Trustee and Rabbit came up the road from the tool truck. Jim came down the ditch slope to where Cottontop was standing and picked up the still-jerking snake by the tail. It was a Diamond Back. About six feet long. As Jim started back up the slope he made a movement as if to throw the snake at Rabbit who shrank back, his face grimaced with fear. Boss Paul smiled and called over from across the road.
What’s the matter, Rabbit? Don’t they have no rattlers up in Canada? Or is it too cold up there?
And Rabbit answered with the imitation accent he has acquired, using the fawning inflections that are prescribed for a Waterboy, for a Yankee and a Foreigner.
Yeah Boss. We got‘im aw right. Lot’s of ’em. But we made a deal. Ah leaves them alone and they leaves me alone.
Cottontop was still explaining to everybody how he outmaneuvered the snake. Jim had already started to skin it with the pocketknife that trustees are allowed to carry. Dragline stayed in his proper place, examining the edge of his yo-yo with a frown.
Damn your ass, Blondie. You made me nick my yo-yo. Ah oughtta make you give me a cold drink tonight.
How come I gotta give you a cold drink, Drag? You didn’t kill it. It was Cottontop who killed it.
Ah know that, stupid. But ah nicked mah gawd damned yo-yo tryin‘.
Cottontop was all excited at his potential reward.
Ah want a Pepsi, Blondie. Hear? A Pepsi.
Don’t forget mine, Blondie, said Jim, looking up from his work. But Dragline wasn’t through.
Ah oughtta hire me a lawyer and sue you, Blondie. For damages. Ah just sharpened mah yo-yo yesterday.
Aw, come on Dragline. Ah’m sorry. Ah couldn’t help it.
Sorry? Yeah. Ah knows you’re sorry. You’re the sorriest thing ah ever saw. But eff’n you don’t give me a cold drink the least