Zion Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Dayne Sherman
inspected the pigs in the back of the stock trailer, his hands gripping the pipe walls.
“Yeah, it doesn’t look real promising,” Tom said, scraping a briar from a boot heel with a stick.
“The hogs are getting real wary of the sound of a pickup truck,” James Luke said.
“They hear us and start running the other way. I guess we’ll need to get the jump on them somehow or another, start doing more than just baiting and chasing them with the dogs. Maybe set up some kind of trapdoor pens or something.” Tom slapped the side of the trailer and a hog squealed as if hit by an electric jolt. “I just don’t know. There are so many folks in the woods gathering hogs that they’re really stirred-up. Wouldn’t it be something if we missed the deadline and ended up in jail for trespassing on posted land?”
James Luke shook his head, lit an unfiltered Camel with a white-tipped kitchen match. “That’ll be the end of it all. If they don’t like the fire in the woods now, somebody’s house’ll get torched. They keep pushing me, and somebody pays in blood.”
“At least we have these few to carry to the sale. That’s enough for today,” Tom said.
Wesley walked over to them. “Pops, you care if I load the horses into the trailer?” he asked.
“No, but don’t let the red hog out. Push him into the front compartment with a stick and latch the gate,” Tom said. “If you need help, holler.”
There was a good-sized red boar locked up alone in James Luke’s stock trailer. The trailer was hooked to the back of his 1958 Chevrolet pickup.
Tom and James Luke stood beside the trailer attached to Tom’s truck. They were talking, trying to figure out how to catch the remaining hogs, and how Tom was going to make a living once the hogs were out of the woods and sold. The dogs were tied in the bed of Tom’s truck that was parked in the shade of a live oak tree where the men stood.
A few minutes later, Wesley screamed. When Tom turned and looked toward the bumper-hitch trailer, he could see that Wesley had a two hundred pound boar by a leg and it was dragging him out of the trailer, pulling him like a mad bull.
“Damn it,” James Luke hollered.
But the hog had not gotten away. Instead, it turned on Wesley, knocking him down, making a skillful attack. The hog had no tusks, but his jaws were razor sharp and as hard as cast iron.
In the seconds before the men ran over to help him, Tom had the presence of mind to release his hog dog from the bed of his truck, the place where he was tethered to a rope leash. “Get ’em, Jubal. Catch ’em,” Tom yelled.
The dog made a beeline toward the boy in the back of the open trailer, never barking. Jubal passed James Luke who was already running. In a flying leap, the Catahoula bulldog lunged into the back of the trailer as silent as a sniper, and it appeared at first that he was mauling Wesley. As fast as the strike of a poisonous snake, the dog grabbed the boar by the ear in a snarling jump. The red hog began to squeal like he was being skinned alive, and he shook the dog that was locked on his ear. Jubal was thrown from side to side, and both the dog and hog fell out of the back of the trailer and onto the ground, but the dog never let go.
James Luke picked the boy up by the arms while Jubal stayed clamped to the wayward pig, the squeals ear-piercing. The two men checked on Wesley. His clothes were covered with rank hog and cattle feces. “Son, you all right?” James Luke asked.
“I think so, Uncle Jimmy,” said the boy.
Tom tried to brush off Wesley’s shirt and could see that he was scraped but otherwise in good shape.
Then James Luke fought to hobble the hog’s legs with leather straps while the dog kept his teeth locked onto a bloody ear, the animal squealing even more, but unable to get away. Once the men got the animal’s legs secured, Tom called the dog off and snapped a rope leash to Jubal’s collar, praising him for the faithful work, rubbing his
“Yeah, it doesn’t look real promising,” Tom said, scraping a briar from a boot heel with a stick.
“The hogs are getting real wary of the sound of a pickup truck,” James Luke said.
“They hear us and start running the other way. I guess we’ll need to get the jump on them somehow or another, start doing more than just baiting and chasing them with the dogs. Maybe set up some kind of trapdoor pens or something.” Tom slapped the side of the trailer and a hog squealed as if hit by an electric jolt. “I just don’t know. There are so many folks in the woods gathering hogs that they’re really stirred-up. Wouldn’t it be something if we missed the deadline and ended up in jail for trespassing on posted land?”
James Luke shook his head, lit an unfiltered Camel with a white-tipped kitchen match. “That’ll be the end of it all. If they don’t like the fire in the woods now, somebody’s house’ll get torched. They keep pushing me, and somebody pays in blood.”
“At least we have these few to carry to the sale. That’s enough for today,” Tom said.
Wesley walked over to them. “Pops, you care if I load the horses into the trailer?” he asked.
“No, but don’t let the red hog out. Push him into the front compartment with a stick and latch the gate,” Tom said. “If you need help, holler.”
There was a good-sized red boar locked up alone in James Luke’s stock trailer. The trailer was hooked to the back of his 1958 Chevrolet pickup.
Tom and James Luke stood beside the trailer attached to Tom’s truck. They were talking, trying to figure out how to catch the remaining hogs, and how Tom was going to make a living once the hogs were out of the woods and sold. The dogs were tied in the bed of Tom’s truck that was parked in the shade of a live oak tree where the men stood.
A few minutes later, Wesley screamed. When Tom turned and looked toward the bumper-hitch trailer, he could see that Wesley had a two hundred pound boar by a leg and it was dragging him out of the trailer, pulling him like a mad bull.
“Damn it,” James Luke hollered.
But the hog had not gotten away. Instead, it turned on Wesley, knocking him down, making a skillful attack. The hog had no tusks, but his jaws were razor sharp and as hard as cast iron.
In the seconds before the men ran over to help him, Tom had the presence of mind to release his hog dog from the bed of his truck, the place where he was tethered to a rope leash. “Get ’em, Jubal. Catch ’em,” Tom yelled.
The dog made a beeline toward the boy in the back of the open trailer, never barking. Jubal passed James Luke who was already running. In a flying leap, the Catahoula bulldog lunged into the back of the trailer as silent as a sniper, and it appeared at first that he was mauling Wesley. As fast as the strike of a poisonous snake, the dog grabbed the boar by the ear in a snarling jump. The red hog began to squeal like he was being skinned alive, and he shook the dog that was locked on his ear. Jubal was thrown from side to side, and both the dog and hog fell out of the back of the trailer and onto the ground, but the dog never let go.
James Luke picked the boy up by the arms while Jubal stayed clamped to the wayward pig, the squeals ear-piercing. The two men checked on Wesley. His clothes were covered with rank hog and cattle feces. “Son, you all right?” James Luke asked.
“I think so, Uncle Jimmy,” said the boy.
Tom tried to brush off Wesley’s shirt and could see that he was scraped but otherwise in good shape.
Then James Luke fought to hobble the hog’s legs with leather straps while the dog kept his teeth locked onto a bloody ear, the animal squealing even more, but unable to get away. Once the men got the animal’s legs secured, Tom called the dog off and snapped a rope leash to Jubal’s collar, praising him for the faithful work, rubbing his