The World Made Straight Read Online Free PDF Page A

thought he saw something like concern flicker in Leonard’s eyes. Then it was gone.
    â€œBut what if I do get more?” Travis asked as he reached for the beer. Leonard did not release his grip on the can.
    â€œSame price, but if you want any beer you’ll have to pay bootleg price like your buddies.”

    THE NEXT DAY AFTER LUNCH, TRAVIS TOOK OFF HIS CHURCH clothes and put on a green tee-shirt and a pair of cutoffs instead of regular jeans. That meant more scrapes and scratches but he’d be able to run faster if needed. The day was hot and humid, and when he parked by the bridge the only people on the river were a man and two boys swimming near the far bank. By the time Travis reached the creek, his tee-shirt was soggy and sweat stung his eyes.
    Upstream, trees blocked most of the sun and the water he waded cooled him off. At the waterfall, an otter slid into the pool. Travis watched its body surge through the water as straight and sleek as a torpedo before disappearing under the bank. He wondered how much otter pelts brought and figured come winter it might be worth finding out, maybe set out a rabbit gum and bait it with a dead trout. He knelt and cupped his hand to drink, the pool’s water so cold it hurt his teeth.
    He climbed the left side of the falls, then made his way upstream to the sign. If someone waited for him, Travis believed that by now the person would have figured out he came up the creek, so he left it and climbed the ridge into the woods. He followed the sound of water until he’d gone far enough and came down the slope deliberate and quiet, stopping every few yards to listen.
    He was almost to the creek when something rustled to his left in the underbrush. Travis did not move until he heard
pleased pleased pleased to meetcha
rising from the web ofsweetbrier and scrub oak. When he stepped onto the sandy bank, he looked upstream and down before crossing.
    The marijuana was still there, every bit as tall as the corn Travis and his daddy had planted in early April. He pulled the sacks from his belt and walked toward the closest plant, his eyes on the trees across the field. The ground gave slightly beneath his right foot. He heard a click, then the sound of metal striking bone. Pain flamed up his leg like a quick fuse, consumed his whole body. The sun slid sideways and the ground tilted as well and slapped up against the side of his face.
    When he came to, his head lay inches from a pot plant. This ain’t nothing but a bad dream, he told himself, thinking if he believed hard enough that might make it true. He used his forearm to lift his head and look at the leg. The leg twisted slightly and pain slugged him like a tire iron. The world darkened for a few moments before slowly lighting back up. He looked at his foot and immediately wished he hadn’t. The trap’s jaws clenched his leg just above the ankle. Blood soaked his tennis shoe and Travis feared if he looked too long he’d see the white nakedness of bone. Don’t look at it anymore until you have to, he told himself, and laid his head back on the ground.
    His face was turned toward the west now, and he guessed midafternoon from the sun’s angle. Maybe it ain’t that bad, he thought. Maybe if I just lay here awhile it’ll ease up some and I can get the trap off. He kept still as possible, taking shallow breaths. A soft humming rose inside his head, like a mud dauber had crawled deep into his ear and gotten stuck. But it wasn’t a bad sound. It reminded Travis of when his mothersang him to sleep when he was a child. He could hear the creek and its sound merged with the sound inside his head. Did trout hear water? he wondered. That was a crazy sort of thought and he tried to think of something that made sense.
    He remembered what Old Man Jenkins had said about how just one man could pretty much fish out a stream of speckled trout if he took a notion to. Travis wondered how many speckled trout