Cool Hand Luke - Donn Pearce [53]
Boss Godfrey took his Walking Stick and with a twisting, grinding motion he stuck it upright in the soft, wet ground. Then he lifted the rifle in his left hand, reaching in his hip pocket with his right. With practiced motions, the pieces making noises that sounded precise and well oiled, Boss Godfrey inserted the clip and the bolt assembly, pulled back the handle and rammed it forward again, a cartridge sliding forward into the breech.
With a smooth, diagonal sweep from over his left shoulder, Boss Godfrey brought the rifle down and around. Just that quick, he fired.
We heard the flat sound of the bullet ricocheting way off in the swamp. We stood and gawked, our ears ringing, smelling the burned powder. Boss Godfrey pulled back the bolt handle, ejecting the shiny cartridge case which spun out and fell to the ground. As he took out the clip and bolt and put them back in his pocket, Boss Godfrey spoke to Rabbit standing there beside him.
Go out yonder, behind that old log out there by the edge of the pond. Fetch me that turtle. And git Jim to cook it up for me at Bean Time.
Reluctantly Rabbit clambered down the bank and into the Shit Ditch, shrinking from the touch of the water and the mud. Then he slipped and floundered and managed to climb the opposite bank. Pulling apart two strands of the barbed wire fence, he ducked his way through. At the edge of the pond he kept looking around for cottonmouths, testing his footing in the swampy ground. But he had to go on. He looked through the weeds near the dead tree that had fallen over into the pond and then gingerly started to wade out into the hyacinths. Reaching down, he picked up the dead turtle by the tail, holding it up and yelling,
I got him Boss! Deader’n a son of a bitch!
Boss Godfrey paid no attention, standing there with the rifle over his shoulder at a lazy angle, perhaps watching every member of the squad and then again, perhaps not. Everyone kept on working, finishing his section, clambering out of the ditch to the shoulder of the road, moving around the Walking Boss and up to the head of the line, climbing back in again and chopping away.
As always, the next man ahead had left Luke an extra-long stretch which he was cutting down with fast, frantic strokes. As it happened I was working behind Luke so that when Rabbit got back to the road I was the last man at the end of the squad. Rabbit stamped his feet, his pants wet and coated with black muck right up to his crotch. He handed the turtle to Jim who held it up with a grin. It was an alligator turtle, shot through the very center of the shell, a monstrous species of reptile with vicious, toothed jaws and an unbelievably large head. Jim grinned again and pushed it towards Rabbit who jerked away. Then he picked up a stick and rapped it against the turtle’s nose. Although it was quite dead, the jaws opened by reflex, biting down on the stick and resisting when Jim tried to pull it out.
Boss Godfrey handed his rifle to Rabbit and he and Jim crossed the road towards the cage truck. Again Jim swung the turtle towards Rabbit who shrank back, complaining with a whine.
Aw, come on. Quit, willya?
I finished my strip and clumsily waded out of the mire, picking my way through the piles of cut bushes. Reaching high ground, I paused to rearrange my cap, slung my bush axe over my shoulder and began moving forward, water sloshing out of my shoes with every step. Luke had finished at the same time and reached the shoulder of the road just ahead of me. Boss Godfrey was standing a few feet away, lighting up a fresh cigar.
Suddenly Luke reached over and pulled Boss Godfrey’s cane out of the ground, brazenly holding it out.
Don’t forget your Walking Stick, Boss.
I stopped right where I was, rooted to the ground. Boss Godfrey hesitated, holding the burning match, his sightless face turned directly towards Luke who stood there relaxed and