Deep South Read Online Free PDF Page B

Anna savored the romance of the words and the world.
    More tree-canopied miles of dappled green and sun yellow, then the view opened out again and Anna saw a cluster of cars stopped in the road.
    Three in the southbound lane, half a dozen scattered in the northbound, jockeying out from one another as drivers maneuvered for a took at the problem. A handful bad done the unthinkable by actually getting out of their vehicles. A truck, once red, now rust, had tried to circumnavigate the obstruction and slid down the bank, where it remained, mired in the mud twenty feet above the bank of Big Bayou Pierre.
    What was missing was any sign of livestock. Closer, and Anna saw what had caused the traffic tie-up. A log, maybe ten feet long and a foot or two in diameter, lay across the center line blocking both lanes.
    A small group of men stood around staring at it, waiting, no doubt, for the ranger to come move it. No trees grew near by. The log must have rolled off somebody's trailer.
    Turning on her flashers in the faint hope it would keep the next car along from rear-criding her and knocking the collected automobiles into the bayou like so many dominoes, Anna pulled to the side of the road behind the last car in the line.
    Out of her patrol car, walking toward the clot of people standing well back from the log, she called: "Go ahead and drag it off." There was a moment of stunned silence, then a man in a suit and tie, who looked as if he'd spent most of his adult life eating fried food, laughed and shouted: "We're waiting for you to drag it off." This annoying sally was met with a gust of laughter that Anna didn't understand till the impromptu crowd parted. The obstruction was not a log but, indeed, livestock of a sort. Blocking the narrow road was the biggest alligator Anna had seen outside a PBS special. "I see your point," she admitted, and Joined the group staring at the prehistoric monster in their midst.
    Apparently enjoying the warm asphalt and the attention, the alligator seemed content to stay where he was. If it was a "he." Anna didn't know, and wasn't eager to learn, how one sexed the creatures. The gator had the unformed look of an animal slowly morphing back into elemental mud.
    The head was as wide as the body. Only the tail looked to be part of a living thing.
    Fascinated, Anna moved toward this long leather portion. A black hand closed on her arm. "Stay back," he warned. "Big as this old fella is, he's fast. Gators are like I igbtning. I've seen 'em Jump a dozen feet like they were shot out of a cannon." More standing. More staring.
    "What're you going to do?" the deepfried suit finally asked. "I got to get to work." This brought on a chorus of like complaints. "I'm going to stay right here and make sure none of you harasses the wildlife." Another minute ticked by and Anna relented. "You can throw rocks at him, I guess, as long as they're small."
    "Ain't no rocks in Mississippi," the man in the suit said. "All we got's mud." A quarter of an hour passed and another four cars swelled the ranks before the alligator tired of the company and lumbered off to slide down the embankment and sink himself in Big Bayou Pierre. Traffic cleared. Anna dedicated another half an hour to pulling the truck up the slope with a towline the former district ranger had kindly left in the trunk of the Crown Vie, then the festivities drew to a close.
    Calling dispatch to clear herself from the scene, Anna realized she'd been thoroughly enjoying herself. The sun was warm, the alligator a rare treat, and it appeared that-if nothing else-a stint in Mississippi would give her stories enough for a lifetime.
    Despite the fact that she wasn't officially on duty till the following day, she decided to continue south to the outskirts of the tiny town of Port Gibson, where the ranger station was reputed to be.
    As in Mesa Verde, the road had markers at every mile, tasteful four-by-fours painted brown with white numbers and just high enough to rake hell out