The Legend of Shorty Dawkins

[Shorty Dawkins]

It all started here on NHUnderground. Yes, for those who remember, Shorty Dawkins first appeared right here.
Book One of "The Legend of Shorty Dawkins" is complete. Here is where it started, so here is where it will continue.

The Legend Of Shorty Dawkins

Book One

Chapter One

   A short while after Shorty left the only girl he had ever loved, (which is another story for another time), and having had a good deal of brown ale at a nearby saloon in the middle of Nowhere, just a couple of hundred miles west of the boondocks, he headed out of Nowhere to go to somewhere. Somewhere, to Shorty that night, was anywhere that was not Nowhere. He needed to get away, and he didn't care where. He spent the night driving down seemingly endless back roads, in his trusty Model T Ford, and as first light came he found himself in need of some gas.
   There was a farm ahead, on the left, and Shorty pulled into the road leading up to the farmhouse. As he neared the farmhouse, a middle-aged man in coveralls stepped out of the barn, shotgun in hand, and looked suspiciously at Shorty in his Model T. Shorty braked to a stop and slowly climbed out of his Model T, careful to keep his hands in plain view at all times. He gave a little wave to the farmer, flashed a smile, and said, "Mornin' to you ,sir."
    "Mornin'" the farmer answered, staring alternately at Shorty and the back of his Model T roadster.
   "I was hoping I could buy a little gasoline off you." began Shorty. "I left Nowhere some time last night, after drinking a few too many brown ales. I'm headed to somewhere that isn't Nowhere, 'cause I couldn't stand to be in Nowhere any longer. Well, I've been drivin' all night, you see, and I don't know where I am, and I need some gasoline. I'll pay you what you want for the gasoline, since I'm about out."
   "Where you from, stranger? I can tell you're not from around these parts, since you talk funny, and you want to get somewhere that isn't nowhere. Seems like folks are always tryin' to get to somewhere. Never satisfied, they aren't. Nope. What's that in the back of your car, in the rumble seat. Looks like a plant."
    "Yep. It's a Liberty Tree. I plant them wherever I go. It's my last one. Guess I'll have to pick up some more." Shorty held out his hand. "My name's Shorty Dawkins and I come from Upton's Corners, New Hampshire."
   The farmer tilted his head to one side and looked at Shorty with a curious expression.
   "I've heard folks down at the coffee shop tell about you. Zeke Mathis was over in Windy Valley the day you came into town and planted one of your Liberty Trees on Doc Curley's front lawn."
   "Yep, that was me." Shorty said with a grin. "I remember Zeke. He's a damn good shot."
   "The way folks tell it, you're a better shot than Zeke."
   "That day I was, anyway. Of course I had a good teacher." Shorty said, modestly.
   "Who's that? Your teacher, I mean."
   "My sister, Edna Mae. Never seen a better marksman than her."
   The farmer gave Shorty that same curious expression, again, then scratched the stubble on his chin.
   "Tell you what, Mr. Dawkins. I don't have but half a gallon of gas in my cans, right now. I was planning on going to Windy Valley this afternoon to get some. Windy Valley's more than twenty miles from here, though, but Ezra Lyons over in Hardyville always has plenty of gasoline on hand, I know, and he'd be willing to sell you some, for the right price. His place is only five or six miles from here."
   "That sounds fine with me, sir. I'll pay what I have to pay. It's my own fault I'm in this predicament. I've got enough gas left to go that far. How do I get there?"
   The farmer smiled, at Shorty and looked over at the Liberty Tree in Shorty's rumble seat.
   "One thing about getting' to Hardyville, young feller, is that no one can give you directions. You either know how to get there, or you don't. You've been plantin' your Liberty Trees all over the place, so I figure you can find your way. I'll give you a hint to get you started, though. Just keep driving down this road, here, and when you feel the pull of Hardyville, well, you'll know where to go. Just stop in at the Hog Trough Grill and Feed. Ezra's there most mornings."
   With those few directions, the farmer went back to work and Shorty continued driving down the road. As he drove, Shorty thought to himself that Hardyville sounded a lot like Upton's Corners, in that you had to know how to get there because no one would give you directions. I think I'm going to like Hardyville, he decided.

[Shorty Dawkins]

   Shorty found his way through the Lonelyheart Pass, (though it was only instinct that showed him the way, much as folks arrived in Upton's Corners), driving past sagebrush bushes too numerous to count, and just when he figured he would run out of gas, he found Hardyville and the Hog Trough Grill and Feed. Upon entering the Hog Trough, Shorty had the feeling he was stepping into Millie's General Store, back home in Upton's Corners. It wasn't that the two places looked alike, because they didn't, but rather the feeling was the same. The Hog Trough, like Millie's General Store, was a place where good folk gathered to chat, maybe exchange some news, much as many small town gathering places, but at the Hog Trough, as with Millie's, no one told anyone else how to live their lives, at least no one with a lick of common sense.
   Looking about the Hog Trough, Shorty saw two fellows at a table having some coffee and what some might call breakfast, though it didn't look too appetizing. He chalked that up as one of the differences between the Hog Trough and Millie's. Millie could cook, no doubt about it, and her coffee was great. He chose a stool at one end of the counter and sat himself down. The old fellow behind the counter shuffled over to Shorty and looked at him with a sidelong glance.
   "What can I get you, stranger?"
   "Well," Shorty began, "I could use a cup of good strong coffee, for starters. I had a few too many brown ales last night and my tongue is as dry as my Daddy's sense of humor."
   "Coffee, huh? Black?"
   "Yup, and strong."
   The old fellow shuffled off to get him a cup.
   "Hey Bud, when you get a moment, Ezra and I could use some more coffee." One of the two men at the table called.
   "Hold your horses, Matthew, I'm busy right now." The old man, Bud, told him.
   "Damn, Bud, this is as busy as you've been in a week. Three customers at once. I don't know how you stand the pace." The second man, Ezra, said with a chuckle.
   "It's brutal, Ezra, just brutal. Heck, I might even have to make another pot of coffee."
   Shorty turned to look at the fellow named Ezra. "You wouldn't happen to be Ezra Lyons would you?"
   "Might be. Why do you ask, stranger?"
   "Well, a fellow who lives in a farm out on Highway 16, I'm afraid I never did get his name, but he came out of his barn with a shotgun, and he wore an old leather hat tilted sideways, as I recall, told me to come see you. You see, Mr. Lyons, I need to buy some gasoline. My tank is darn near empty. That fellow with the shotgun figured you might have some I could buy."
   The other fellow with Ezra had wandered over to the window, as Shorty spoke, and was looking towards where Shorty's car was parked.
   "You're not from these parts, I see." Ezra said, looking at Shorty real close. "Have I seen you before?"
   "I can't say that I've seen you before, Mr. Lyons. I was over in Windy Valley last week, maybe you saw me there."
   "Hey Ezra." the other fellow called. "This is the feller that out shot Zeke Mathis."
   "Now how'd you know that, Brendan McCarty? Just cause he was over to Windy Valley doesn't mean he's the one shot better'n old Zeke." Ezra told him, after using a nearby spittoon. Shorty thought of his friend Mad Mountain Jack when Ezra did that. Mad Mountain liked his chew, no doubt about it.
   "Don't you remember Zeke sayin' the guy had a Model T with tree saplings in the rumble seat?" Brendan squawked back. "Just look outside here a minute, Ezra. There it is, a Model T with a tree sapling in the rumble seat."
   Ezra took a look and had to admit that Brendan was right. Damn, he hated to admit Brendan was right about anything. 
   "Guess you're right, for once, Brendan." Ezra turned back to Shorty to avoid Brendan's triumphant smile. "So, Mr. Dawkins, you're the one who out shot old Zeke, huh?"
   "Yes, sir. I'm the one." Shorty admitted.
   "And you need some gas?"
   "Yes, sir. I'm about empty, as I said."
   "You ever do any long shooting?" Ezra asked, looking sideways at Brendan who couldn't suppress a smirk.
   "Depends on what you call long shooting."
   "Say 700, maybe 800 yards?" Ezra said, looking closely at Shorty, again.
   "I call that sorta long range, myself. Now long range, to me at least, is in the 1000 yard range. But, to answer your question, yes, I've done some sorta long range shooting." Shorty could guess where this was headed, but he didn't mind.
   "Tell you what I'll do, Shorty. You don't mind me callin' you Shorty do you?"
   "No sir, Ezra. I prefer folks to call me Shorty."
   "Here's what I'm thinking', Shorty. I like to think I'm a pretty good shot, and you need my gasoline. So, how about we set up a little match. Long shots, 800 yards. Brendan here can be the judge. Don't worry about him bein' fair. He loves it when folks beat me at anything I suggest, so he's in your corner, not mine. What do you say, Shorty? Are you game? If you beat me, I'll give you the gas for free. If I beat you, the gas will be 25 cents a gallon."
   "Why not 900 yards? If I lose, I'll pay you 40 cents a gallon." Shorty countered.
   "All right, Shorty. It's a deal." Ezra extended his hand which Shorty took firmly in his.
   "Lead on, Ezra. I'll follow you in my car. Whoops, wait a minute, I'll need a little gas. Like I said, it's darn near empty."

[Shorty Dawkins]

   "I've got a gallon can in the back of my truck." Brendan told him. "I'll give it to you. I wouldn't miss this for anything.."
   Brendan put the gas in Shorty's Model T and off to Ezra's place they drove. Ezra lived a few miles outside of Hardyville center, but the way Ezra drove it seemed like twenty miles. Shorty decided Ezra was playing games with his psyche, so he didn't complain. They pulled up beside Ezra's barn and Shorty went to the rumble seat where he had his guns carefully wrapped in burlap. To get at his guns he had to remove his Liberty tree, which gave him an idea. He looked at the pasture behind the barn and saw there were no animals grazing in it. The pasture sloped up just a little from the barn, and out at what Shorty judged to be about 850-900 yards there was a big old oak tree.
   "Ezra, how far would you say it is from here to that oak tree over there." Shorty asked, pointing to it.
   "Ah, well, I'd guess it was close to 900 yards, Shorty." Ezra said scratching his chin. ""Do you want to set some kind of target on the tree, Shorty?"
   "No, Ezra. I was just using the tree for judging distance. How's this for an idea? Suppose we place my Liberty Tree on that little rise to the left of the oak tree and tie two bandanas to it. One on either side. One side for you, one side for me. The first one to cause his bandana to fall to the ground wins. I'll even let you shoot first." Shorty could almost see Ezra squirm as he realized the difficulty of the contest. Ezra was apparently unwilling to back away from the challenge, though.
   "So be it." Ezra managed to say without showing his nervousness. He was no doubt beginning to wonder what he was getting himself in for.
   "I'll take the tree out to the rise." Brendan offered, grinning broadly. "Tie your bandanas to the tree, gentlemen."
   With the bandanas attached, Brendan put the tree in the back of Ezra's truck and drove out to the agreed on spot. He placed the Liberty tree carefully, allowing each of the bandanas to be clearly visible. Shorty's was on the right, Ezra's on the left. Meanwhile, Ezra stepped into the house to get his rifle. Shorty grabbed his favorite long rifle, the one he nicknamed "Effie", after Calvin Pratt's wife. Shorty liked to joke that his rifle, a .45-70 Allin-Springfield Model 1873 Army rifle, could shoot almost as far as Effie could shout. (Effie had quite a temper on her, it was well known in Upton's Corners, and surrounding towns.)
   "What are you shootin', Shorty?" Ezra asked as he returned, rifle in hand.
   "An Allin-Springfield .45-70 army rifle." Shorty said, offering it for Ezra to inspect. "Old Effie and me have grown used to each other. What are you shooting?"
   "I'm using my old standby, a .30-40 Krag rifle. My Daddy brought it home from the Spanish-American War."
   "Nice rifle." Shorty said, nodding in agreement. "Mind if we use the fence post for support?"
   "Sure, go ahead. I plan on using it."
   "All right then. Anytime you're ready, Ezra." Shorty whistled to Brendan to get out of the way.
   Ezra grabbed a hand full of fine sand and tossed it in the air, trying to gauge the wind. There was little. Then he stepped up to the fence post, resting his elbow on the top of it. He carefully sighted, held his breath,  and squeezed off his first shot, which landed short and wide of the Liberty Tree by about five feet. Ezra grunted in anger at missing so wide.
   Shorty stepped up to take his first shot and put it into the burlap bag wrapped around the roots. He made a mental note to himself to adjust his aim a little higher. Ezra's second shot was closer, but still wide of the mark. Shorty took his time on the next shot, giving him some time to think. He knew he could beat Ezra, probably with the next shot, but something told him he should give Ezra a face saving way out of his predicament. Stealing a glance at Ezra, Shorty saw he was perturbed.
   "Hey Ezra." Shorty heard Brendan call. "I'm sure gonna like it when this young feller beats you."
   "It ain't over yet, Brendan McCarty." Ezra spat on the ground and looked at Shorty. "He's a good shot. If he beats me, he beats me."
   Shorty didn't want to give Brendan a reason to crow over poor Ezra. He decided he liked Ezra, though he didn't dislike Brendan. A thought occurred to Shorty, and he decided to see if he could save face for Ezra while at the same time giving Brendan something to talk about to the folks in Hardyville. If his plan succeeded they would both have something to talk about. Shorty remembered the difficulty Brendan had encountered while trying to make the Liberty Tree stand upright. It kept wanting to fall over backwards. He decided to use that knowledge for his own benefit. He just hoped his aim was good.
   As he stepped up to the post, Shorty looked at Ezra and gave him a little wink. He could tell Ezra was confused by the wink, but, no mind, Shorty knew Ezra would see the light in a moment. Resting his elbow on the top of the post, Shorty took careful aim, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out and, to everyone's surprise, except Shorty's, the Liberty Tree fell over backwards. The look of surprise on Brendan's face was priceless. Poor Brendan didn't know what to think. He ran over to the Liberty Tree and looked at it. There was a hole shot right through the thin trunk of the tree, dead center. The impact of the bullet had been enough to send the Liberty Tree toppling backwards. Brendan scratched his head a moment, then bent over to pick up the tree, planning on setting it upright again, so the match could continue.
   "Damn," Shorty said. "A tie. Don't you just hate it when it ends in a tie, Ezra?"

[Shorty Dawkins]

   Ezra looked at Shorty, then out at Brendan trying to set the Liberty Tree back up. A look of confusion was followed by a dawning of what had just happened.  Ezra realized that Shorty had purposely tried to create a tie. Since the Tree fell over, both bandanas hit the ground at the same time, therefore a tie. A wry smile creased Ezra's face. He spit on the ground, then replied, "Yep, I sure do hate for it to end in a tie, Shorty, but sometimes stuff happens. What can you do?" He gave Shorty a knowing wink and the two shook hands.
   The two of them walked out to inspect the Liberty Tree, and there it was, a hole in the trunk.
   "What are you doin'?" Brendan asked, indignantly. "Let's go on with the match.
   "The match is over, Brendan. It was a tie." Shorty told him.
   Brendan didn't understand, until Shorty explained it to him. At first he looked disappointed, until it dawned on him the match ending in a tie, the way it did, would make a good story to tell the folks in Hardyville. Of course he wouldn't be able to crow over Ezra, as he had expected, but no matter, it still made a good story.
   "What do you want me to do with the Liberty Tree, Shorty?" Brendan asked, still holding it upright. "I imagine it will probably die, what with a hole shot in it. Maybe not, though."
   "Well, if Ezra doesn't mind, I think it would be kind of fittin' to plant it right here. Is that all right with you, Ezra?"
   "I think that's a fine idea, Shorty. I'll keep it watered and tended myself. Be good to have it around as a sort of keepsake. You know, a remembrance of today."
    After the shooting match, Ezra and Brendan talked Shorty into sticking around Hardyville. He decided he liked Hardyville, and when Ezra offered him a job at his ranch, Shorty agreed to stay on, at least for a few weeks. Shorty spent the next few weeks helping Ezra fix fences, of which there were many, for Ezra had cattle, as well as horses, on his ranch.  The work was hard, but enjoyable to Shorty. Early morning visits to the Hog Trough were enjoyable, also, though the food was not particularly appetizing. It was always overdone, as Shorty learned, because Bud was slow in his movements, though quick of wit. "Never, ever, order anything well done", Brendan had warned him. "If you order it rare, it will come out well-done anyway. Don't ever expect to get anything rare from Bud. It ain't gonna happen."
   In the evenings, after a hard day's work, Ezra and Shorty, and the rest of Ezra's family, (his wife, Rosie, and his two boys, Billy, who was 4, and Nat, who was just 14 months), would sit on the porch and watch the sunset, telling stories. Baby Nat took an immediate liking to Shorty, and would insist on sitting on his lap, which pleased Shorty, as he really liked children. Little Billy always pulled his stool up next to Shorty, and Shorty would keep them entertained, telling them stories of his home town, Upton's Corners, or of his travels across the country. Story-telling came naturally to Shorty, after all, his father, Lester, was one of the best story-tellers in the county, and interesting folk always surrounded him, it seems, though, perhaps, it was that Shorty found folks interesting. Anyway, he would entertain the Lyons family, while drinking some of Ezra's home-made hootch, though he longed for some of his friend, Caleb Johnson's, Good Brown Ale. The boys also loved it when Shorty sang his songs, particularly the one about the bear that got in the pantry.
   One evening, when the McCarty family had come over for dinner and some socializing, Shorty asked if anyone had heard of his Uncle Too-Tall Dawkins. Too-Tall was his father's kid brother, and he had come west in search of taller mountains than the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Too-Tall was an immense man, measuring 6 feet 9 inches in height, who decided he was too tall for civilization. He wanted to live in an area of really big mountains, out in the woods, where folks wouldn't always be asking him how tall he was.
   "Funny you should mention Too-Tall." Brendan said with a chuckle. "My cousin, Bertrand, was over to my place a couple of weeks ago. Seems he had gone up to the Big River area for some hunting and fishing. He stopped to buy supplies in a little village, and was asking the owner of the store for some advice on where to find some good fishing. The store-keeper looked at him real close for a minute, then said, "The best fishing is up near Hidden Valley, but I wouldn't advise you to go there. No, Too-Tall Dawkins lives up there, and he doesn't take to strangers very well. I doubt he'd shoot you, but he'll make your stay a miserable one. He likes his privacy, you see, and folks around these parts respect it. Don't get me wrong, he's not mean, just likes to be left alone. He lives with his wife, Annie, and his two boys and a girl, and they're nice folk, come into town two or three times a year for supplies, spend a few days visitin' her cousins, Ned and Frank Conklin, then go back to their valley."
   Bertrand heard lots of stories about Too-Tall while he was up there. One story  a fella told was about being out in the woods one day and hearin' some music. It was really nice music, played on a flute, or some such instrument, and after a while someone started singin' in a rich baritone voice. He followed the sound of the singin', being real quiet and careful, and came within sight of an immense man, which he knew must be Too-Tall Dawkins, and a woman he figured was Annie. She was playin' a homemade flute, and Too-Tall was singin'. He decided he'd better make himself scarce, but the experience really stuck in his mind."
   "My Dad mentioned that Too-Tall could sing really well." Shorty said. "He asked me to look up his brother while I was out here. He gets letters from him, now and again, always full of news about his family, and Dad writes back, sending the mail to a Dry Goods Store, where Too-Tall picks it up. Maybe it's the same store your Cousin Bertrand stopped in at."
   "Could be. I'll ask him when he comes over tomorrow. He's buyin' one of my hogs."
   "Ya know, Brendan," Ezra began, scratching his beard. "We haven't had ourselves an adventure in quite a while."
   "That's true, Ezra. We haven't. If you're thinking' what I'm thinking', then heck, why not?" Brendan replied with a wink. "Shorty might need a little bit of help finding his Uncle, seems to me."
   "Yep, that's what I was thinking. What do you say to a little help in your search for your Uncle, Shorty? Too-Tall sounds like the kind of fellow I might like to meet."
   Shorty looked at the two of them and busted out laughing.
   "I knew I liked you two fellers for a reason. Hot damn! Looks like we're gonna have ourselves an adventure."

[Shorty Dawkins]

Chapter Two

   It was decided they would leave the following week. Arrangements were made with neighbors to look after the farm animals in the absence of Ezra and Brendan, and gear was prepared and packed in Shorty's Model T. He had made a luggage rack that attached to the rear bumper, but with the three of them, and their gear, things would be close quarters. They didn't mind, though, going on an adventure sometimes had its discomforts.
   The night before they were to leave, Shorty spoke privately with Rosie.
   "I'm sorry for the imposition my adventure is putting on you, Rosie. I sincerely hope you don't hold it against me."
   "Shorty, don't you say another word about it." Rosie said with a grin. "You know, just as men like to go off on their own occasionally, we women like a little respite, too. It's been a while since Ezra has had a nice adventure. It'll do him good. It'll give him something to talk about. And, Shorty, it'll do me good, too."
   "Fair enough, Rosie." Shorty said with a wink. "I kind of thought you'd feel that way. Just wanted to hear it from you."
   "Bring us back some interesting stories, Shorty. That's all I ask of you."
   "I sure will, Rosie. You can count on it."

   The trip to Cobb's Crossing, the little village with the Dry Goods Store was basically uneventful, though they did take a wrong turn once, and had to backtrack. The fourteen hours it took was passed in telling stories, though Shorty did sing a few of his songs. They took turns driving and Ezra almost hit a deer, 'round about dusk. Brendan was dozing in the rumble seat, and when Ezra slammed on the brakes, Brendan was pretty near catapulted out. Since they arrived at the Dry Goods Store late at night, it was, of course, closed, so they pitched a tent down by the river which ran through the village.
   Come morning, they packed up the tent and walked up to the Dry Goods Store. There was a bell on the door which tinkled as they entered and a gray-haired man came out of the back room to greet them.
   "Good morning. What can I get you gentleman?" He asked, with a friendly smile.
   "I'd like some of that coffee I can smell brewing, if it's for sale, that is?" Shorty asked.
   "Sure enough." The man told him. "I'll bring the pot out real quick, there's plenty, and it's fresh."
   As they fixed and drank their coffees, they chatted with the man, who said his name was Fred.
   "Where are you headed?" Fred asked them.
   "My Uncle lives up this way," Shorty told him. "Somewhere up around Hidden Valley, from what I gather. I've never met him before, but my Dad thought I should look him up while I was in the neighborhood."
   "It's not likely he lives in Hidden Valley, friend. No one lives there but Too-Tall Dawkins and his family."
   "That's my Uncle." Shorty said with a grin.. "My name's Shorty Dawkins, from Upton's Corners, New Hampshire. Too-Tall is my Father's younger brother."
   "Well I'll be.... So you're Too-Tall's nephew! Pleasure to meet you." Fred wasn't too sure how to take the knowledge that a relative of Too-Tall's was standing before him. "I get a couple of letters a year from your Father, which I hold for Too-Tall. He only comes down from his place twice a year, for supplies and all. I buy pelts and skins from him, and he uses that money for supplies. Never says much. Polite as can be, though. Real quiet, for such a big man, if you know what I mean."
   "Dad would call him either 'Stone Face' or 'The Gentle Giant' when he spoke of him." Shorty said with a fond smile.
   "Yep, that pretty much says it all. Old Too-Tall never says much, but he treats folks kindly, except when they invade his territory, that is. He likes his privacy, that's for sure. Lots of folks have stories about being chased out of Hidden Valley by Too-Tall. Never heard tell of anyone getting hurt by him, though. The folks around Cobb's Crossing just leave him and his family be. Heck, we sometimes tell tall tales about him, just to keep visitors from venturing up into Hidden Valley."
   "My Cousin Bertrand heard a few of those stories a few weeks back." Brendan told the old man. "That's why Ezra and I came along with Shorty, here. Thought we might like to meet Too-Tall."
   "We would appreciate any directions you could give us." Shorty said. "I was looking at a map on my way up here and didn't find Hidden Valley on it."

[Shorty Dawkins]

   "It's not big enough to be labeled on a map. Here, let me point it out on the map I keep hanging on the wall." Fred showed them a spot on the map and gave them markers for finding it. "Follow the North Stream for about six miles, and when you get to the first set of rapids, turn west. The valley is maybe eight miles further. I don't suppose you have horses with you. It's quite a hike on foot. All told, it's about twenty-four miles from here, and rugged uphill terrain."
   "Twenty-four miles isn't too bad." Brendan said with a shrug. "Two days, maybe. What do you think, Ezra?" Sean Brendan saw that Ezra wasn't listening. He was looking at something on Fred's shelf. "What's that you're looking' at, Ezra?"
   "It looks like a hand carved flute." Ezra replied, holding it out for them to see. "Really nice. This doesn't look like it was carved by Indians, though. Did one of the locals carve it, Fred?"
   "It's funny you should notice that flute. Annie, Too-Tall's wife carved it. She carves them and brings them here to sell. I sell them regularly. They have a really unique tone to them, too."
   "Mind if I try it, Fred?" Shorty asked.
   "Go right ahead, Shorty."
   Shorty took the flute from Ezra, and, after a little bit of practicing, played a beautiful, peaceful song.
   "That's a beautiful song, Shorty." Ezra said. "I never heard it before."
   "I call it 'A Winter's Snow'." Shorty told him.
   "You call it? Do you mean you wrote it?" Brendan asked, surprised.
   "Yes, I wrote it." Shorty admitted modestly. "I'll write down the words for you, if you want. I'd sing it, but I can't sing and play the flute at the same time."
   "Could you sing it without playing? I sure like to hear you sing." Ezra said.
   "Wait a minute, Shorty. Let me get the Mrs. out here. She'll enjoy this, I'm sure." Fred said, as he went into the back room. The bell on the door tinkled, signifying new customers. A man and woman entered, followed by a young man, maybe 17 years old. Fred and his wife returned, greeting the new arrivals by name. "Morning Joshua, Mabel, and you, too, young Josh. If you're not in a hurry, Shorty Dawkins, here, is going to sing us a beautiful song he wrote. Shorty, come to find out, is Too-Tall's nephew. Shorty, this is Joshua and Mabel Owens, and their son, Josh. Oh, and these two friends of Shorty are Brendan and Ezra."
   Everyone shook hands with each other, and Shorty asked Fred to introduce his wife, who was called Hattie. Mabel told Fred they were in no rush, and, yes, they would love to here Shorty sing his song. What with all the introductions and hand-shaking, another couple had time to enter with the tinkling bell, and of course the introductions and the greetings began again. The newcomers were Jake and Edna MacDonald, it was learned, and they wanted to hear Shorty's song, also. Shorty never minded singing his songs, (in fact he really liked it), so with everyone settled and ready, Shorty began.

                     A Winter's Snow

The snow it is falling, so quiet and still,
It falls on the branches, each bough for to fill.
I watch in amazement, as each flake falls free,
The beauty of nature, a joy for to see.

The night it is peaceful, the temperature's mild,
As I watch without shivering, with awe like a child.
My tracks are soon covered, my presence annulled,
The snow is still falling, my soul it is lulled.

My cares fall before me, as I watch and I wait,
I care not what the time is, it may be quite late.
The peace in the forest, the beauty around,
I stand and I wonder, and don't make a sound.

The storm it is ending, the stars reappear,
It's time to hurry home now, my time's in arrears.
But I shall remember, this snow and this night,
The peace and the comfort, a beautiful sight.
   
   As Shorty sang, everyone seemed to drift off into their own thoughts, perhaps remembering a time when they, too, had spent time enjoying a peaceful snowfall. There was silence when he finished, much like the silence of the snow.
   "Thank you, Shorty. That was very nice." Fred said quietly, not wishing to destroy the moment.
   "Yes", agreed Mabel Owens. "It brings back wonderful memories."
   "Could you play it on the flute, again, Shorty?" Brendan asked. "Some of the folks here didn't hear it the first time."
   With a nod, Shorty picked up the flute and began playing. Again, everyone's thoughts became their own, and unconscious smiles appeared on several faces.

[Shorty Dawkins]

   The tinkle of the doorbell startled them out of their reverie, as another customer entered. Fred looked up to see who had entered.
   "Well, I'll be. If it isn't Ned Conklin. Funny that you should come in this morning, Ned. Come and meet Shorty and his friends, Ezra and Brendan. Shorty, here, is Too-Tall's nephew. I guess that makes him a relative of yours, sort of."
   "Shorty? Shorty Dawkins? I've heard Too-Tall mention your name, now and again." Ned said, offering his hand to Shorty. "Pleased to meet you, Shorty." Shorty took the proffered hand in his.
   "Same here, Ned. I've come to find my Uncle Too-Tall. I promised Dad I'd look in on him while I'm out in this part of the country."
   "Shorty was just playing a song he wrote, on one of Annie's flutes, Ned. Too bad you missed it." Fred said with a shrug.
   "I heard it from outside. I waited till it was 'bout done before I came in.  Annie's flutes have a distinctive sound, don't they?" Ned said. "Real nice song, Shorty."
    "Hey Ned, any chance you could help Shorty and his friends out by taking them up to see Too-Tall and Annie?" Fred inquired.
   "Heck, Shorty is family. Of course I'll help." Ned said. "Tell you what, Shorty. I've got some things I need to do today, and if you and your friends could give me a hand, I'll take you up to see Annie and Too-Tall tomorrow. Is that all right with you?"
   Shorty looked at Ezra and Brendan, who gave their nods of assent. "Looks like it's unanimous, Ned. Just the way it should be. Lead on."
   "Mr. Conklin," young Josh called as the men started to leave. "I'd like to go with you, if I could."
   Ned turned to look at him and couldn't resist the eager anticipation he saw in Josh's face. "If your Dad says it's all right, Josh, then you are welcome to join us."
   "Dad? Can I go?" Josh  asked, almost pleading.
   Joshua nodded yes at his son, and was rewarded with a smile of thanks.
   "Tell you what, Josh." Ned began.  "Since we'll be leaving bright and early tomorrow, why don't you plan on staying at my place tonight. Gather your gear together and come over for supper. After supper, no doubt, we'll sit and tell stories for a while. No reason you shouldn't join in."
   "Thanks, Mr. Conklin. I'd better get home and get my chores done and my gear ready."
   After Josh and his folks left, Ned explained why Josh was so eager to join them.
   "Young Josh is sweet on Polly, Too-Tall and Annie's eldest." He told Shorty, Ezra and Brendan. "She likes him, too. He's a good boy."
   "Ah. That explains it." Ezra said. "He's welcome of course. Brendan can tell him some of his goofy stories." He said, giving Brendan a nudge.
   "And he can listen to you snore." Brendan retorted.

[Shorty Dawkins]

   Young Josh arrived at Ned and Dot's place in time for supper, with his gear packed and excitement blazing from his eyes. Not only was he going to see the girl he was 'sweet' on, Polly, but he was going with a group of adults. Dot thought it was cute that Josh was going to see his sweetheart and doted on him like a mother hen.
   Ned told them of his plan to go up to Hidden Valley on horseback, rather than hiking.
   "Now, before anyone starts objecting, I've got plenty of horses for everyone, and I was planning on taking a couple of mules with supplies for Annie and Too-Tall, in a couple of weeks, so it's no big deal. They won't be expecting us, that's true, but I know how to deal with that."  Ned looked at the newcomers to see if there were any objections, which there weren't.
   After supper, Shorty insisted on helping to clear the table and wash the dishes. He even managed to cajole  Ezra and Brendan into helping. In fact, everyone joined in, helping some, getting in the way some, and generally having a good time. Of course the stories began, and they continued until it was time for bed. Josh liked hearing the stories, and Dot laughed so hard at Shorty's stories about his friends from Upton's Corners, that she had tears running down her face.
   "Bless you, Shorty. You sure can tell a good story." she told him.
   "I'm just telling what happened, Dot." Shorty insisted. "Folks can do mighty funny things, at times. Especially my friends back home. They're a crazy lot, and mighty goofy at times. Let me sing you a song about Mad Mountain Jack courtin' his Molly." Ned had a guitar sitting by the sofa, and Shorty picked it up, with Ned's permission,  and began to play, and sing the song.

A Courtin' He Will Go

There was a young man, name of Mad Mountain Jack,
He decided a gal of his own he did lack.
Pretty Molly appealed to him, pretty and bold,
It was Molly he yearned for and wanted to hold.

Now Jack he was simple and kind of naive,
He called on dear Molly, 'twas on Christmas Eve.
When she answered the door, he knew not what to say,
Molly closed shut the door, "Jack be gone on your way."

Young Jack he was stubborn and did not give up,
So he sent her some flowers and asked her to sup.
I'll cook you a meal that will please you and more,
Not the kind of a meal that you buy at the store.

Molly sent him her answer, I'll be there at eight,
For a man who can cook, it is rare, it is great.
But one thing I must ask you. please never to do,
In the house will you never your tobacco chew.

Jack decided his ardor which burned like a torch,
Was worth it to him to take chew on the porch.
As you well might imagine the dinner went well,
From the Chapel soon came sounds of their wedding bells.

Now all you young fellers who yearn for a gal,
And you want her to love you and be your best pal,
If your ardor should flame, if it burns like a torch,
Just remember to take your chew out on the porch.

   They all had a good laugh at the song, and young Josh, being new at the idea of courting a gal, paid particular attention. He asked Shorty for some advice concerning his desire to please Polly.
   "Well, Josh, I'll tell you something my sister, Edna Mae, told me once, that has always worked well for me. Now I don't mean just for courting a gal, but for life in general. She said, 'Don't try to be anyone but yourself. Some folks will like you, and some folks won't. That's how it should be. Being yourself is being free, and that's worth more than any amount of friends.' I always thought that was darned good advice, Josh."
   "Edna Mae is right, Josh." Dot piped up to say. "Most girls just want you to be yourself. If the sparks ignite, well that's great. If they don't, well, it just wasn't meant to be. Just don't be afraid to say what's on your mind."
   Josh thought about this as they prepared for bed. They would have an early start in the morning, Ned informed the group.

[Shorty Dawkins]

   At first light, the group was packed and ready to depart. Ned led the way, followed by Ezra and Brendan, each leading a mule, then Shorty, with young Josh behind.  The going was easy, at first, as the trail was well traveled. Shorty was enjoying the scenery , and Ezra and Brendan were busy handling the mules, so had little time to argue with each other. Ned had a harmonica with him and played a song now and again. Young Josh asked Shorty to tell him about women, but, after Shorty's recent bust-up with the girl he loved, he demurred, telling Josh he was the wrong person to ask.
   About noon, they reached the first rapids on the North Stream.
   "The going gets more difficult from here on." Ned told them. "Let's have our lunch, now."
   After a quick lunch, Ned and Shorty took charge of the mules and young Josh led the way. Ezra and Brendan brought up the rear. As Ned warned them, the going got tougher. The trail was scant, and the way led up steep hills. There was no chance for Shorty to sing or tell stories, but he kept a smile on his face, imagining he were back in Upton's Corners with Mad Mountain Jack howling like a chicken with a sore throat. After a couple of hours, the hills became too steep to stay on horseback, so they dismounted and led the horses on foot. It wasn't a particularly warm day, yet they were all bathed in sweat. Finally, they reached a spot where everything began to level out. Ned called a halt.
   "We stop here." he told them. Too-Tall's place is a mile or so further into the valley." He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out an old battered bugle. With a wink to Shorty, he blew the bugle in a sort of reveille, loud and long. When he was done he told the newcomers, "It's not advisable to ride up to Too-Tall's place. They don't like surprises. Hell, I made the mistake of riding in on him, one time, and he never said a word to me. Just stared at me. He, or Annie, will hear my bugle call and will ride down to meet us."
   "So we wait?" Shorty asked.
   "We wait." Ned replied. "Might as well tether the horses and relax. It usually takes a half hour or so for someone to get here."
   After the horses were tethered, Shorty pulled the flute that Annie had made out of his saddlebag. It had cost a pretty penny, but he didn't mind. He liked the sound of it, and it was made by Too-Tall's wife. Shorty knew his Mom and Dad would want to see it. Edna Mae, too.
   He practiced a bit then played a new song for everyone to hear.

I Come From Upton's Corners

Now gather round and hear me,
I'll tell you all a story
'Bout a town I really know well.
The town where I was born,
On a warm September morn,
So my Daddy always did tell.
The town is Upton's Corners,
It's in New Hampshire's borders,
Not too far from Whitefield that is true.
The folks in town are neat,
And they really can't be beat,
Take your stock and give you what's due.

Yes I come from Upton's Corners,
The place I know so well,
Make my home in Upton's Corners
If you should ever visit give me a yell.

There's farms along the hillsides,
The sawmill on the bank side,
Of the River Quick that runs strong.
There's Millie's General Store,
With the sign upon the door,
Letting folks know that they belong.
Now if you have a hank'rin,
For good Brown Ale it's waitin',
Over at old Caleb Johnson's Bar.
A bank is right next door,
Across the street's a Hardware store,
Never do you have to go far.
Yes I come from Upton's Corners,
The place I know so well,
Make my home in Upton's Corners,
If you should ever visit give me a yell.

The Farmer's Hall sits waiting,
For any kind of meeting,
Dances every Saturday night.
Mad Mountain Jack can play,
On his fiddle any way,
Molly's dancing really takes flight.
While Edna Mae and Charlie
Are laughing loud and hearty,
At a story Shorty loves to tell.
The Hall is really big,
Room enough to dance a jig,
Millie dances pretty darn well.
Yes I come from Upton's Corners,
The place I know so well,
Make my home in Upton's Corners,
If you should ever visit give me a yell.

We have a little saying,
It says, "Only the willing",
That we always try to live by.
We do not force our way,
We let folks go 'bout their day,
Never need a reason or why.
If you and I should differ,

It really doesn't matter,
Neighbors have a right to what they think.
Just go to Caleb's Bar,
It is not so very far,
Settle matters over a drink.
Yes I come from Upton's Corners,
The place I know so well,
Make my home in Upton's Corners,
If you should ever visit give me a yell.

   "Hey, Shorty. That's a catchy tune." Ned said with a smile. "Can you sing it for us?"
   Shorty sang it for them and they quickly picked up on the chorus, singing along with him. Josh wanted to learn all the words, as did the others, so Shorty went over them and soon, they were singing away, as Shorty played the flute. Josh, who had a surprisingly good voice, kept insisting they sing it again, and around about half-way through the third time, Shorty saw a horse and rider coming slowly towards them.

[Shorty Dawkins]

   The sun was at the rider's back, but Shorty knew instantly it was Too-Tall. He was a very big man, much bigger than Shorty, though Shorty stood 6' 4" tall. Where Shorty was slender, Too-Tall was stocky. Shorty guessed Too-Tall must weigh over three hundred pounds, but that poundage was all muscle. The rider approached at a walk, and as he came closer, his features became clearer. He was dressed in buckskin, and had a full, white beard. His hair was snow white, also, kept long, and tied in a pony tail. Horse and rider stopped in front of Shorty and Too-Tall looked at him without saying a word for the longest time.
   "Too-Tall, this is ..." Ned began, only to be cut off by Too-Tall.
   "I can guess who he is, Ned. He's my nephew, Shorty. Looks just like my brother, Lester, did at his age." Too-Tall continued to look at Shorty for a moment more. "How is Lester?"
   "He's fine." Shorty assured him. "Still the best woodsman in the county. He talks of you sometimes."
   Too-Tall looked at the ground for a while, lost in his own thoughts. "Always wished he'd come with me." He said quietly. He looked at the flute in Shorty's hand. "That one of Annie's?"
   "Yep. Bought it at the Dry Goods Store in Cobb's Crossing."
   "Wasted your money. Annie would have given you one."
   "I'd rather she got paid for her efforts." Shorty told him, firmly. Too-Tall didn't say anything, just nodded.
   "Come meet the family." He said, turning his horse around and heading back.

[Shorty Dawkins]

   They quickly mounted their horses and headed off to catch up with Too-Tall.
   "He doesn't talk much, does he, Ned?" Ezra pointed out.
   Ned smiled, "That's more than he usually says around strangers. Once he gets to know you he loosens up though. You'll see."
   "How tall is he?" Brendan asked. "He's enormous."
   "He's 6' 9". Or there about." Ned informed Brendan. "And, yes, he is big. If he weren't so big, I probably wouldn't be here today."
   "How so?" Brendan wanted to know.
   "I'll tell you the story, later, when Too-Tall's not in earshot. He doesn't like to talk about it."

   Shorty pulled up next to Too-Tall and they rode in silence. He could feel Too-Tall looking over at him, now and then, but he never said anything. His father had warned him that Too-Tall was a quiet man, kind of shy around strangers, so he waited for Too-Tall to say something.
   Soon they came in view of their cabin. It was made of logs, much as the pioneers had made, but even from a distance, Shorty could tell the care and craftsmanship that had gone into it. The roof, Shorty noticed as they came closer, was made of hand split shingles, and there were enormous stone chimneys at either end of the cabin.
   "Nice cabin." Shorty said approvingly.
   "It's our home." Too-Tall replied. "Annie deserves a nice place."
   From out of the cabin came a pretty girl with flaming red hair, who must be Polly, Shorty decided. She was followed by an older woman, also with red hair, who must be Annie, and two younger boys. They had come to greet Ned and looked at the strangers with curiosity.
   "Hi, Ned!" Annie said with a smile. "What brings you out here?"
   "I brought some visitors, Annie." The riders dismounted and Ned introduced everyone, saving Shorty for last.  "And this fellow, here, is Shorty Dawkins, Too-Tall's nephew."
   "Oh, my! Isn't that nice!" Annie exclaimed with glee. "A relative of Bear's! Welcome Shorty!" She gave Shorty a big hug and planted a kiss on his cheek.
   "Thanks, Annie." Shorty said, slightly abashed. He looked over at Too-Tall with a quizzical look, and saw the corners of his mouth curl upwards into a slight grin. "Bear?"
   "That's what Annie calls me. Don't get it into your head that you can call me that, though. Annie can call me what she wants, but you, and everyone else had better call me Too-Tall."
   "He's my big Teddy Bear." Annie said, poking Too-Tall in the ribs, playfully. "He's not too tall for me."
   "Why don't we get the supplies inside and the horses taken care of." Ned suggested. "Shorty tells me he likes good brown ale, and I have a powerful thirst. Have you got any of your special brew, Too-Tall?"
   "You know I always have plenty, Ned." Too-Tall said with a wink.
   "Well, let's get to it, then." Shorty said. "I can't see standing around here talking, with special brew waiting."
   The supplies were quickly taken into the house and Ned grabbed Ezra and Brendan to help him with the horses. "Shorty, you go inside and start gettin' acquainted with your relatives." he insisted. Shorty wanted to help, but Ned, Ezra and Brendan wouldn't hear of it.
   "I'll help them, Mr. Dawkins." Josh stepped forward to say.
   "I'll help, too." Polly said eagerly.
   Too-Tall and Annie exchanged a quick look, and Annie gave him a little nod. Too-Tall returned her nod with a wink.
   "The bunch of you can handle things, it looks like to me. Come inside, Shorty. I'll give you a taste of my special brew ale."

[Shorty Dawkins]

   Polly and young Josh definitely had a thing for each other, Ezra saw by watching them. They didn't neglect their chores, but, he noticed, they were always looking at each other and smiling. Ned saw Ezra watching them.
   "Young love." he said with a smile. "Sure is nice isn't it?"
   "Yep." Ezra replied. "That Josh is a nice young feller. I suspect Polly is much the same."
   "She reminds me of Annie when she was that age. Full of life. Always spreadin' warmth wherever she goes. Josh couldn't find a better girl to go soft on."
   Ezra watched them some more, then finally asked Ned what happened when he said if it weren't for Too-Tall he might not be here today.
   "He saved your life, did he?"
   "Yep. Mine and Annie's both. Since he's not around, I'll tell you the story.
   My family was over visiting Annie's family one day, when I was just seventeen, which would make Annie sixteen, since she is a year younger. Her folks asked her to go down to Cobb's Crossing to get a few things, and I volunteered to go with her. It wasn't far, so we walked. She and I liked to go on walks together. You see, Annie has always been like my kid sister.
   Anyway, on our way home, all of a sudden, there was a group of strangers comin' down the road. Young ruffians is what they were. Well, they thought Annie was pretty, and were making all kinds of comments. Not nice ones, either. Rude and vulgar. I spoke up and told them to mind their manners. They jumped me, then, while one of them held Annie, to keep her from running for help. They beat the livin' bejeesus out of me, kicking me in the ribs and head when they got me on the ground. They would have killed me, of that I'm sure, and I heard them say 'Let's have our way with her.', just before I passed out.  Annie told me the rest.
   The punks grabbed Annie, and yanked her blouse open, and were ready to rape her, when, from out of nowhere, a giant of a man came to our aid. He grabbed one of them and threw him into the nearby bushes, and when the other three went after him he went wild and slammed two of their heads together. Annie said the crack of the two skulls was loud and sickening. The last guy started running, but the giant caught up to him and beat him unconscious. He then dragged the first guy out of the bushes and threw him on top of the two lying, bleeding, their skulls cracked open.
   "That's no way to treat a lady." The giant said to the pile of ruffians. "Make one move and I'll kill you, plain as I'm standing here.
   He took off his shirt and gave it to Annie to wear, then picked me up in his arms and told Annie, "Lead on, Miss. We need to get your friend, here, some doctoring."
   I'm not a small man, but he carried me in his arms for over a mile, without stopping, to Doc Weedon's place. When I woke up, later on that night, I looked around, and there, sitting in a chair was Too-Tall. When he saw I was awake, he said, 'Doc tells me you have four cracked ribs and a concussion. Annie is resting quietly in the next room. No real harm came to her. Just rest yourself, Ned. My name's Too-Tall, least wise that's what most folks call me. Too-Tall Dawkins.'
   And that is how I first met Too-Tall."
   They were interrupted by the sound of music emanating from the cabin. More specifically, the sound of a harp.
   Brendan and Ezra looked at Ned, who smiled with delight.
   "Oh, good!" Polly exclaimed. "Mother's playing her harp."
   "That's the Skye Boat Song." Ned said. "She'll be singing it, most likely."
   Sure enough, Annie began singing in a beautiful soprano voice.

Skye Boat Song

Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing
Onward, the sailors cry
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to Skye.

Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar
Thunder clouds rend the air
Baffled our foes stand on the shore
Follow they will not dare.

Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep
Ocean's a royal bed
Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep
Watch by your weary head.

Many's the lad fought on that day
Well the claymore could wield
When the night came, silently lay
Dead on Culloden's field.

Burned are our homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men
Yet, e'er the sword cool in the sheath
Charlie will come again.

   They listened in silence to Annie singing the beautiful Scottish folk ballad. On the second verse, she was joined by a tenor voice, which was Shorty's, singing in harmony with her. To everyone's delight, a third verse began, a rich bass voice, which was Too-Tall's joined in, making it three parts of moving and beautiful harmony.
   "Damn," Ned said at last, "I love to hear Annie and Too-Tall sing together. Shorty just makes it that much nicer."
   "Let's hurry up and finish. I want to hear more." Brendan said, and they all agreed.

[Shorty Dawkins]

   "I'd be glad to sing it for you, Uncle Too-Tall. Of course, I'll expect Ezra, Brendan, Josh and Ned to sing along." He grabbed a guitar that was sitting near the harp, and began to play.
   The tune, being lively, made Annie want to slap her hands in time to the music, and soon everyone was beating time, either with their hands or feet. Too-Tall enjoyed the song immensely, being about his home town, and asked everyone to sing it again.
   The evening was spent in singing and story-telling, sandwiched with a meal and more of Too-Tall's Special Brew. Shorty talked about Upton's Corners, and his Mom and Dad, and his sister, Edna Mae, which pleased Too-Tall. Ned didn't talk very much, as he preferred to sit back and watch and listen. He hadn't seen Too-Tall this out-going and gregarious in a long time, and was savoring each moment. Finally it was time for bed, and bed-rolls were spread out throughout the living area. Just as everyone began to settle in to a good night's sleep, Too-Tall took Shorty aside.
   "If you're not too tired, Shorty, I'd like to speak with you, privately."
   "Sure, Uncle Too-Tall." Shorty replied. "Something on your mind?"
   "Let's step outside." He signaled to Annie they would be outside. "I like to take a little walk, at night, before I retire."

[Shorty Dawkins]

   The moon was near full, as Too-Tall led Shorty down the path towards the barn. Shorty waited patiently for Too-Tall to gather his thoughts, enjoying the night air, and the moonlight, which made it almost as bright as day, only more shadowy and mysterious.
   "Did your Father ever tell you why I left Upton's Corners?"
   "Only that you wanted to find some open spaces where you could live your life as you please."
   "Fair enough. Says it all in a nutshell. Lester was always good at condensing things down to the basics." Too-Tall paused a while before continuing. "How long do you think Upton's Corners can stay free, Shorty? There are powerful forces at work in this country. Forces aimed at subjugating individual will."
   "Chautauqua?" Shorty slipped in.
   "You've studied it?" Shorty nodded yes. "Have you ever considered that Chautauqua is only the tip of the iceberg? The highly visible part?"
   "Yes, I have. And you're right, I agree it is only the tip of the iceberg. That's why I'm going around the Country planting my Liberty trees, and talking to folks about Freedom."
   "Your time is wasted."
   "Maybe, but I want to try. At the very least I'm meeting folks who still care, like Ezra and Brendan, and the rest of the folks in Hardyville."
   "I'll grant you that, Shorty, but they're few and far between, aren't they?"
   "Unfortunately, yes." Shorty looked at Too-Tall for a moment. "You don't think Upton's Corners can survive, do you? "
   "No, Shorty, I don't. Who knows how long it will be, but the good folks in Upton's Corners will be crushed. Maybe not in my lifetime, or yours, but it will happen. That's why I tried to convince Lester to come with me."
   "Do you think they won't crush you here?" Shorty asked.
   "Let's just say the chances are less. This valley is more remote than Upton's Corners. Bigger, too. And another thing, I'm preparing for it. Are the folks in Upton's Corners preparing, Shorty?"
   "No, I can't say they are. At least no more than usual. They're just living their lives as free men and women."
   "As they should, Shorty. But, it's not enough." Too-Tall walked in silence for a while, obviously thinking. "If you're planning on staying a while, Shorty, there are some things I'd like to show you."
   "I'd like to spend a week or two with you, Uncle Too-Tall, if it's not an imposition. Ezra and Brendan can take my car back to Hardyville when they're ready to go. I'll find my way back to get it, somehow."
   "You're welcome to stay as long as you like, Shorty. You're kin." Too-Tall smiled and added. "And I like your songs."
   They walked a while longer, and came upon a stream.
   "See this stream, Shorty? It's fed from an underground spring part way up on that ridge, about a half mile away. Never runs dry. We even have ourselves a little waterfall. I'll show it to you in daylight. It's kind of nice, actually."
   "Nice. I like waterfalls." Shorty knew Too-Tall had brought him here for a reason. He would let Too-Tall  make his point in his own way, Shorty decided.
   Too-Tall scootched down on his haunches and picked up a twig, lost in thought as he twirled the twig in his massive fingers. Shorty scootched down, also, grabbing a blade of grass, sticking it in his mouth. Time passed, as they kept their own thoughts to themselves.
   "What do the folks in Upton's Corners think of the new Federal Reserve, and the Income Tax, Shorty?" Too-Tall asked, finally, throwing the twig in the stream.
   "I'm sure you know the answer to that. They don't like either. Not one bit. I don't know anyone in Upton's Corners who pays the income tax, and no one has any use for that new Federal Reserve, either. Bob Billington, at the Bank told everyone to stop using  the fiat money the Fed was now in charge of, and  suggested they use only gold and silver.
   Nothing good is going to come from either the Federal Reserve or the Income Tax, but I'm sure you already know that Uncle. You're trying, in your round about way, to tell me something, I can tell, so what is it?"
   "All right, Shorty. You say you have studied Chautauqua. Well, what was Chautauqua, but a search for Utopia? And if you listen to the language of Chautauqua, it is all about "we", as in the masses. It is never about "I", as in the individual. The drive for Chautauqua is the drive for Utopia, where the individual is of no consequence, even a menace, to be crushed.  There is no room for us, Shorty, as long as the leadership is hell-bent on the lust for Utopia. The Income Tax, and the Federal Reserve System are tools they will use to crush us, the individuals, Shorty. Mark my words."

[Shorty Dawkins]

   Shorty had to admit to himself that Too-Tall was right. The evil of Chautauqua continued to this day, under different banners and labels, true, but it was as powerful as ever.
   "So, Hidden Valley is your answer, Uncle?"
   "It is my refuge, Shorty. I don't have an answer. I am creating a refuge for me, and mine. A place my friends can retreat to when the world will not let them be themselves." Shorty saw a look of pain on Too-Tall's face, sharpened by the glare of the lantern he carried. "We will defend it, Shorty. All of us, together."
   "Who is 'We'?"
   "There's me and Annie, and the kids; Ned, and Dot, his wife, whom you have met already. They've got a boy and a girl, seven and five, if I'm not mistaken. Then there's Ned's brother, Frank, and his wife, Lucy. They have two boys and a girl, Tim, Tom, and Lizzie. The boys are fourteen and twelve. The Owens family, Josh's family, is a big one, there being 4 girls and 3 boys, besides Josh. Annie's Dad, of course, and her brother, Kent, and his wife, Abbie, along with their son, Bobby. Of course I can't forget Fred and Hattie, down at the Dry Goods Store. They have two grown children, with children of their own. Doc Weedon and his wife, Sally have two children, as do George and Sally Wool, whom you haven't met, yet. And I can't fail to mention Mr. Murphy, who lives up the valley a ways. You'll meet him tomorrow when I show you the valley. Yeh, Mr. Murphy is a piece of work, he is. Kind of a crazy old coot, but harmless. Likes his moonshine, and plays his banjo. Damn good man with animals, though. Better than any vet I ever knew. He claims he can talk to the animals. I don't know, maybe he can. He cures their ills real fast. Has a lot of remedies for people, too."
   "Mr. Murphy sounds like a combination of Mad Mountain Jack and Molly, his wife. They live on Bald Mountain. You probably knew Jack's father, Andre Rioux."
   "Sure, I remember Andre. Crazy as can be. Played a fiddle, as I remember." Too-Tall smiled, thinking of the man from his past.
   "That was Andre. He died about twelve years ago. Jack took up the fiddle after his Dad died. Jack's the best fiddle player around. Molly is half Abenaki, half Scotch. Boy can that girl dance! Most folks get tired just watching her. She learned herbal remedies from her Mom."
   "It's getting late, Shorty. We can continue this in the morning. Annie will be wondering what's keeping us."
   They turned back to the cabin and turned in. Shorty stayed awake awhile, thinking about what Too-Tall had said. He looked forward to seeing more of Hidden Valley. He chuckled to himself, thinking about Mr. Murphy, figuring he'd probably like the old coot.