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Travis had tears'n his eyes, hearin' this. What a awful world it were, that such things could happen, an' what a right bastard God was fer lettin' evil folk like the Caudills exist. It weren't fair, it simply weren't fair!

"He comes out here ever now an' then, Caudill, I mean, drivin' 'round in a big silver Rolls Royce. Ever coupla years er so. Just ta have a laugh at all us. I 'spect. Just ta show off that he got ever-thing an' we'se all been left with nothin'. But I'se realize all that still don't properly 'splain what really happened ta yer folks, so if yer's ready fer it, I’ll’se tell ya."

"I'se—" Travis' throat hitched from his tears an' sobbin'. "I'se ready, Grandpap."

"One night yer maw an' paw was drivin' back from Roanoke, from the lawyers, an’ it was late, an' they was comin' offa the Route onta Tick Neck Road, an’ next thing they knowed, a pickup were tailin’ 'em. It was Caudill an' his two boys, and they drove yer daddy right off the road, they did, inta a oak tree that were as wide as you are tall, son. Yer daddy got shot right out the windshield, he did, an' lost his head on the way. An’ yer maw..."

"She died in the wreck too, huh. Grandpap?" Travis reckoned.

"No, son, she didn't" Grandpap steeled hisself. It were obviously gettin' to him. recitin’ this awful story'a tradgerdee an' greed an' murder. "She were wearin' her seatbelt. son, whiles yer paw weren't. It weren't the wreck that kilt her, no sir."

Travis was nearly shudderin' in lamentation. "What, then. Grandpap? What happened, if it weren't the wreck?"

"It was those evil, devil-lovin' Caudills, it was, son. An' what those varmints did—" Grandpap paused fer another nip, his throat dryin' out. "They—they—"

“What Grandpap?"

Grandpap's eye homed in on Travis', tears an' all. "It kills me ta tell ya this, son, but what they did was this: those devil, dag-bastards pulled yer maw outa the car an' they—they—well, Chrast, son. They tored her clothes off, butt-fucked her each right there on the hood'a the car, an' then they... Aw, God, it pain's me so ta say it! They had thereselfs a header, boy. Those Cracker bastards done head-humped yer maw!"

Travis cried an' cried, he did, an' when there weren't no more tears left, he just up an’ passed out right there on the porch, screamin’ in his dreams 'bout what the blasted Caudills did ta his maw an paw, but specially his maw. Head-humpin’ her! The lot of 'em!

Those dog bastards head-humped my maw! Travis wailed in his sleep fulla the awfulest dreams...

........

Next day, Travis weren't much fer talkin', no he weren't. Grandpap neither, 'cos recitin’ last night's story put a case'a blues on him somethin’ fierce. "I'se sorry, son," was the only thing he said ta Travis. "I'd'a tole ya sooner, 'ccpt it didn't seem right ta say such horrible things to a man just out the clink. What's done's done, I figured. But now I see's the truth. Now I'se see I should'a tole ya 'mediately 'cos you gotta right ta know what went on fer real."

"I'se 'preciate it, Grandpap, an' I'se understand. An' I'se love ya fer it." Travis said, liftin' the bucket pole ta take down the creek. An' then he left, he did. An' while's he were trudgin' down the creek, he couldn't help but 'member what his grandaddy tole him last night, an' what were worse was that he couldn't do nothing 'bout it. Caudill's two boys was dead, one'a the fudge-packer disease, an' the other'a hippie drugger, and Caudill hisself were now livin' up'n a big fancy mansion in Pulaski, an' Pulsaki were so far, his grandpap's truck wouldn't get there halfways 'fore it throwed a rod or busted the crankshaft. So Travis felt mighty useless indeed, an' as he trundled those buckets down the creek, he closed his eyes an' fairly prayed:

God, I knows full well I ain 't been much of a worthy servant, an' I’se heart-lee sorry fer my worldly sins, but—holy ever-livin '-shit, God!—if You on high'd give me the chance ta get my proper revenge fer what the Caudill done ta my fine paw an' lovin' maw, I swears to ya, I'd be a better servant to you an'yer holy needs. I would.

An', wouldn't ya know it! It wouldn't be more'n 15 minutes 'fore God Hisself'd answered Travis Clyde Tuckton's prayers.

........

Grandpap kept'a bangin' out those soleprints, hand made each an' ever one. Was hard work, but hard work made men good, he'd heard. So’s he's was sittin' there in his wheelchair, workin' on his fine boots an' shoes, when the door done swunged open.

An' in the doorway, backed by the grand sunlight, he were standin' there, his Rolls Royce viserble behind him in the dirt drive.

It were Thibald Caudill.

"Hey, οl’ pappy." he greeted, all's decked up in his citified charcoal-gray suit an' queer Eye-talian shoes. "'Member me? I'se bet'eha do."

"Thibald Caudill." Grandpappy acknowledged, seethin' on the inside, an' tremorin' in his gut. "Why's you here?"

"Ever now an' then, ya knows, I like ta drives 'round the old homestead, ya know? Ta shows me where I comes from. So's I thought I'd drop by."

"Ain't no reason fer ya ta drop by here, Caudill," Grandpappy croaked.

"Aw, shee-it, Grandpappy Martin!" Caudill, then throwed his head back an' laughed, he did, the sun glarin' offa his mostly bald head with gray tricklin’ down his ears. "I see's ya still got yer dander up on account'a that foolhearty story 'bout me'n my boys killin' yer kin. Shee-it! Ain't no truth ta that. Pappy! My word!"

Yer word. Thibald Caudill, ain’t worth two squirts 'a piss from a dead dog's dick, Grandpappy thought. 'Er two squirts'a puke, neither.

"So's let's put alls that behind us, huh. pappy? Seein' that yer an inverlid now. what with no feet, I figured I'd come up here an' make a deal. See's. I gots me a fair load'a black buck yardhands, pick my weeds, mow my lawn an' the like, an' theys all need new boots, good 'uns, an' I'se figured you still make those fine handmade, handstitched workboots like ya used ta. So's that's why I'se up here." Caudill reached inta his jacket an' withdrew a right fat wad'a bills. "I got's six yardhands, I do, an' I figures boots as good as yours ain't gonna come cheap, so's I'll take six pair fer a hunnert dollars'a pair. How's that, ol’ man?"

Caudill slapped the money down. It were a right lotta money, it was, but Grandpap felt it'd he a gross injustice ta take green cash from the same man who kill his daughter'n son'n law, so's he said instead. "Take yer fuckin' money an' yer devil-butt-lickin’ self outa here. Thibald Caudill. 'fore I'se up an' kill ya!"

Caudill chuckled. "Who? You, ol' man? Don't'cha make me bust a vessel laughin’, will ya? What'cha gonna do? Beat me ta death with those slinky stumps ya got where yer feet should be?' An' then Caudill throwed his head back agin, an' let loose with a fresh burst'a laughter so loud it'd probably wake up half the folks layin' in Beall Cemetery.

It were mighty embarrassin', it were, fer Grandpappy, ta have this rube walkin' inta his home an' makin' a mockery of him. But, lo, there weren't nothin' Grandpap could do, not confined ta the blasted chair an' with no feet!

"Yeah. I’ll’se bet'cher still humpin' dogs, ya old cracker, huh? So poor out here ya probably got's ta blow yer nose in yer hand whenever ya git hungry? Ain't gots nothin' but crusty sticks fer feet, ain't got no life 'cept ta sit here starin' at the wall. Why don't'cha do the world a favor, ol" coot, an' dig yerself a big hole an' buries yerself."

Caudill's fat face gleamed in the sunlight, an' turnt fairly pink from the next round'a laughter. An’ ol’ Grandpap Martin, right then he could'a put a gun ta his head was how low and disgraced he felt. But then—

Then-

Then front door swang open.

An’ it were Travis who walked in.