Shiloh Season Read Online Free PDF

how scared he still is of Judd Travers. He won't set foot on that bridge for all the rabbits in Tyler County.
    "I'll be back, boy," I tell him. If I could just make him understand.
    We set off down the road toward Judd's. David stops and takes a drink of water from his canteen, but I can tell he's not even thirsty. Just pretending he is, like we're working so hard and all.
    We creep along through the bushes between the road and the creek, darting from tree to tree and waiting till the coast is clear before making a run for the next one. The coast is clear all up and down the road, of course-not a soul outside except an old woman sitting on her porch, and she don't have her glasses on. Don't even see us.
    It's fun, though-all the spy talk.
    "Agent XRX, Agent XRX. Come in, XRX," says David, holding one fist up to his mouth like a microphone.
    "Read you, QZT," I say.
    "How close are we now?" asks David.
    "'Bout five houses more, I think. It's a brown-and-white trailer."
    Problem is the houses are all so far apart up here you can't see Judd's trailer even when it's next one in line. Same as our house.
    "Let's cut to the cemetery," says David.
    We cross the road, go round behind a house, and creep through a lady's backyard, backs bent while we run like soldiers dodging enemy fire, hills looming up on our left. We pass this little cemetery plot with a low iron fence
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    around it. I mean, it's only two feet high; you can step right over it. There's a whole generation buried there, I guess, and all the names are Donaldson except one.
    "Wait!" says David Howard, grabbing my arm. I stop.
    "Which way is the wind blowing?" he says. "I don't know."
    David licks his finger and holds it up in the air. He's still not sure, so he throws a handful of grass up and waits to see how it falls.
    "We're going downwind!" he says, his eyes big, like we're on a ship that's sinking or something.
    I try to look worried, too. "What do we do now?" I ask. "The dogs might smell us coming." There's no quick way to go around and get to Judd's from the other end, because we got hills on one side, Middle Island Creek on the other.
    "We'll just have to be dead quiet," says David. "You want to risk it, XRX?"
    "Roger," I tell him.
    We get about fifty yards from Judd's trailer and we're down on our bellies, inching along through weeds two-feet high in the field right next to his yard. I'll probably have to explain the grass stains on my T-shirt to Ma, and I sure shouldn't have taken a bath, but it's worth it.
    When we get close enough to Judd's trailer we wriggle around toward the road till we can see Judd's front door, and there he is, big as life, sitting out on the steps with a shotgun resting on his knees.
    David and I just grab at each other and swallow.
    Lucky for us, I guess, that Judd's dogs are chained on the other side, can't see us. They're quiet tonight. I guess when you're a dog, no matter how small your brain is or how full
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    of meanness, you got sense enough to know that when a man's sitting out on his steps with a shotgun across his knees, you don't cause him any trouble.
    "You think he's going hunting?" David whispers to me. "Don't think so," I whisper back.
    The scary thing is, Judd don't look like he's going anywhere. Not cleaning his gun either. Just sitting. And once in a while he spits. What's he waiting for? The person who scratched his truck, maybe? Just watching for someone to come along and try it again?
    David Howard inches forward again, and I wish he wouldn't. I make my way up beside him and pull him back. Then we realize Judd's talkin' to himself. Can't make
    out. a single word, just a low kind of mutter. Every so often he slaps a knee or shakes his head, then he's quiet before he starts all over again. Not too hard to see he's been drinking.
    It's right about then he suddenly jerks to attention and raises his gun, and I know for a fact I shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be anywhere near this place. But Judd's got his gun aimed at a