Call the Devil by His Oldest Name by Sallie Bissell Page B

Beverly Hillbillies might drive; the brakes worked and the clutch was good. It should make the trip over the mountains to Tennessee without any problems.
    He strode back inside to find Ruth settling Lily into her car seat. Lily grinned at him. Ruth looked as if she might spit in his eye.
    â€œAll packed?” she asked, her voice like glass.
    â€œYou and Lily and Clarinda are.”
    â€œWhat about you?”
    He did not take his eyes from her face. “I’m going to earn some money this weekend,” he said evenly, knowing that Clarinda was watching from behind the cash register.
    Ruth studied him for a moment, her eyes rekindling their vicious blaze. Then she said, “You really are one selfish bastard.”
    Once again, rage boiled through him. “Well, Ruth, this selfish bastard has just loaded your car, checked your tires, and made sure you had enough Pampers to get to Tennessee. Here.” He jerked the car keys from his pocket and tossed them to her. She made no move to catch them, and they clattered to the floor. “And this selfish bastard is giving you his truck. Don’t ride the clutch on mine like you do on yours.”
    â€œFine,” she said as she stooped over and picked up the keys. “You know where I’ll be.”
    â€œHave a good time. Make the world safe for the Cherokees.”
    She snapped Lily into her car seat, then picked it up in her arms and walked past him. Clarinda followed. He watched as they got into his old camper, then he turned back inside the store. Something on the counter caught his eye—the black woolen bag Granny Broom had woven for Ruth. Her medicines! He leaped over and grabbed it, then ran out the door. Ruth had driven to the edge of the parking lot and was about to roll onto the highway.
    â€œWait!” he called, running toward her. “You forgot this!”
    Ruth’s brake lights came on as she stopped the truck and rolled down her window.
    â€œHere,” he said, loping up. “You might need this.”
    â€œThanks.” She took the bag and for once, looked at him with soft, pre-Lily eyes. “Sure you won’t come with us?”
    He considered it: closing the store, losing even more money, then having to bunk in with Clarinda. “No, thanks,” he replied.
    â€œFine.” said Ruth, her mouth pinching downward. “Have it your way.” She shoved the truck into gear, then pulled onto the road that ran along the river, heading west. He watched until they disappeared around a curve, then he fumbled in his pocket for a slip of paper. Clootie Duncan , he’d scrawled on a gum wrapper, along with the time and meeting place. 828-555-9572. “Wax up your bowstring, Clootie,” he said savagely, turning back toward the store. “I’m taking you out for boar.”

six
    PAZ LET THE cows into the pasture late. Push­ing open the rusty gate at the far end of the paddock, he hopped on the bottom rung and swung forward, over the muddy low place the cows wore a little deeper every afternoon as they waited to be fed.
    â€œVamos!” he said to the spotted brown heifer that was the self-appointed leader of the herd. “I have better things to do than watch you!”
    As the beasts ambled into the pasture beyond, he hurried along the fence, back to the barn. When he reached the dim structure, he with­ drew the small cuchillo he kept in his sock, then slipped inside. Working his way slowly down the center passage, he peered into each of the stalls, paying particular attention to the shadowy places underneath the feed troughs. As he reached the last stall, he let go the breath he’d been holding. This morning, praise the Blessed Virgin, the stalls stood empty. Yesterday they hadn’t been.
    He’d been standing at the gate, watching the stupid cows, hungrily anticipating the sausages Ruperta would fry for his breakfast, when he felt something whip around his neck. He tried to