Beggars of Life by Jim Tully

speak, he uttered half inarticulate guttural sounds that seemed to work their way painfully out of his heavy throat.
    The ancient bull dog opened the screen door and waddled clumsily across to his master. The man scratched the top of its head with his fingers, while the dog stood as still as a statue. When the man withdrew his hand, the dog looked up pleadingly, and noticing the look, the farmer resumed scratching the head again.
    We did most of the talking, and found the people interested listeners.
    â€œWhat’s that place over there?” asked Bill, pointing in the direction of the brick buildings.
    â€œThe Poor House,” answered the woman.
    â€œI thought it might be the Reform School,” returned Bill.
    â€œNaw, naw,” grunted the farmer.
    â€œYou boys ain’t from Reform School, be you. No runaways, huh!” asked the woman.
    â€œNope,” replied Bill, “an’ I’m darn glad of it.”
    â€œTwo boys ran ‘way ’bout month ago, an’ man down the road told police on ’em. He got t’irty dollars for tellin’ on ’em, an’ dey go back to jail few more years.” The woman shook her head slowly. “Men do anyt’ing for money,” she continued.
    â€œI’ll say they will,” commented Bill. “I know a farmer who took a runaway kid in from the Ref. He gave him a nice flop in the best bed, an’ the kid was poundin’ his ear for dear life, while the farmer was drivin’ to town to tell the cops on ’im. That was me.”
    The farmer and his wife nodded their heads as though entertaining tramps and amateur convicts was a daily occasion.
    â€œWell, Sir, that was funny,” chuckled Bill. “The guy was too darn kind, an’ I felt leary someway, an’ woke up with a scared feelin’, an’ put on my rags and sneaked out the front door and climbed up an old apple tree to watch things. I knew I couldn’t git far away, so I just took the big chance. It wasn’t long before the farmer came drivin’ back with two other guys drivin’ after him. I could hear ’em talkin’ when they popped their heads in the bedroom. They opened the front room door after a bit, an’ Mrs. Farmer came out. I could see the light shinin’ on ’em all, an’ I knew the one man was the Sheriff because I’d seen him at Pontiac. He was sore as he said to the farmer, ‘Why didn’t you bring the kid into town with you? We’d have nabbed him there. It’s like huntin’ a needle’n a haystack now. Some of them kids are bad actors. He’s liable to figure out that you’ve double-crossed him an’ come back here an’ burn the house down. You can’t never tell.’
    â€œI almost giggled out loud for I could see the guy look scared like a kid caught swipin’ candy. ‘Which way do you reckon he went?’ the farmer asked the Sheriff. ‘I don’t know,’ blabbed out the Sheriff. ‘He didn’t even let me know he got away from Pontiac. He never told you he wouldn’t flop here all night, but he let you drive to town like a boob, and here we all are, like a bunch of damn fools, over a fifteen-year-old kid.’
    â€œJust then an apple fell from the tree and busted the Sheriff on the head. ‘What the hell, here? The kid’s throwin’ apples at us.’ I darn near fell out of the tree. Then a darn-fool bird got excited an’ started to chatter as though I was coppin’ her eggs. I felt like a yegg opening a safe an’ findin’ a dick sittin’ in there wit’ a gun pointin’ at him. Finally the yap and his old lady went in the house, and the Sheriff and the other guy went in after them. I had a notion to climb down and beat it, and just then they walked out in the yard again. They climbed in the rig and drove away, and the farmer beat it in the house and soon all the lights were out.