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Show page 139 LONNIE BATISTE AND THE BOBCAT Along an upper stretch of the Flint river near our town the land rises two maybe three hundred feet, to form a three-mile- wide knoll of thick hickory, oak, and pine, then slopes off in long eroded gullies to a swamp of elm, willow,and bald cypress. Penetrating this area is a rutted dirt road, a little-traveled feeder from the main road to the north. Folks who live on the knoll seldom come into our town, perhaps once a month for staples. Less seldom do they call on our lawmen, unless of course there is a family misunderstanding of sorts, such as the incident of Lonnie Batiste and the bobcat. Lonnie sat beside Posh Tolliver, one of Sheriff Grady Bone's two deputies, hugging his knees but giving big Tolliver plenty of room. Out of timber now, in flat country, Lonnie watched heat monkeys ride the hot summer air and manipulate the horizon wave-like into the tops of treetops, something he had never seen. Row after row of dead cotton stalks, abandoned from years past by small farmers who had given up, flanked the road on either side. Lonnie was spellbound, though he was going to jail. "Well now," said Posh, his big mottled hands relaxing on the steering wheel of the county car, "ain't you something, defying your kinfolks." Lonnie lowered his head. He looked at the dried mud covering his feet. All of him, up to his wiry broxvn hair, was in the same condition of uncleanliness and disorder. Lonnie would |
