By Lela Torgesen Wade
“He’s crazy, I tell ya. The biggest man I ever seen, but...”
“I’ll lay ya three to one he can do it, Lester. Twice as stubborn as this balky mule,” Hube insisted with a shake of the reins.
The mule snorted.
The six-foot-four Norseman just laughed. He finished hooking himself into the traces, took a couple of deep breaths and leaned forward.
The three men had been felling trees all morning. Pines mostly. This section of woods hadn’t been thinned out in 50 years or so.
“There he goes,” Hube shouted gleefully. “Keep ’er movin’ Howie!”
“Well I never,” the boss muttered, as they followed along behind the 30-foot tree.
Several minutes and 15 feet farther, on the hilltop, Howie threw off the traces. Stretching his massive shoulders, he sat down on a stump and lit himself a Camel.
“Time for lunch, Boss?” he boomed at Lester.
“Sure is, and I’m buyin’.” He mopped his sweaty brow with a red handkerchief.
Howie stood on the stump to mount the mule. Then they all set off toward the country store, half a mile away.
Howie tied the mule to the porch post, within reach of the water trough. He and Hube sat down in the shade. Lester stepped inside to buy canned meat, soda crackers, Cokes and chocolate bars.
As the three loggers finished eating, a couple of farmers in overalls walked up. The men all got to swapping gossip. Hube bragged on Howie.
“I woulda swore it couldn’t be done,” proclaimed Lester, “but I seen him with my own eyes.”
The farmers observed Howie skeptically.
The Norseman just shrugged and said, “The mule wouldn’t do his job the way I told him to.”
They all turned to stare at a 1946 Ford and the old man who was parking it. He got out and stumbled up the two steps onto the porch.
“Afternoon, Zeke,” said one of the farmers.
Zeke simply nodded and entered the store.
The other farmer shook his head, saying, “Old Zeke ain’t drawed a sober breath in 50 years.”
Howie strode down the steps and circled the car. The other men wandered after him. Then he suggested they play a little joke.
The farmers grinned at each other, and the short, stocky one said, “What ya got in mind, big ’un?”
“All of you get back on the porch and I’ll show you,” Howie told them.
He squatted at the rear of the Ford. A few minutes later Zeke came out of the store and slipped behind his steering wheel. As he cranked up, Howie grabbed the bumper, raising the rear tires several inches off the ground. The other men gasped and sputtered in awe. Zeke revved the engine a minute, then cut it off, opened the door and climbed out.
Howie, keeping hunkered down, crept around to the passenger side.
Zeke found nothing that could be keeping his vehicle from moving, so he got back in.
Howie braced himself again at the bumper. Again he lifted the wheels off the ground. Zeke exited his car again. All the other men were laughing fit to bust. Howie stood up and confessed.
Zeke was livid. He cussed a blue streak at everyone, then drove slowly away.
The loggers and the farmers joked and laughed a few more minutes. Then they decided to call it a day. Looked like it might rain.
Howie led the mule the few yards farther to the house where he lived with his brother. Until next time the wanderlust got hold of him.