Butchers Creek 2

Butchers Creek       Part two.

The second and final part.

If you recall, Reg had just offered Jeremy a swig of his whisky

Jeremy shook his head. “Thanks anyway.”

“That’s all right son,” Reg smiled, exposing bare gums and a few rotten teeth. 

 “Not much left anyway.”

       As an old prospector, Reg, was returning

to the outback after a spot of R and R in Melbourne.   R and R to Reg, meant propping up the bar in most of Melbourne's sleazy joints, until his money ran out.  Consequently, he would then be forced into returning for another interlude, at his lonely claim in the hills.  There, he would build up his cash reserves for another shot at supping his favorite, ‘nectar of the Gods,’ as he called it.

Pushing into his seventies, Reg didn’t look as if he had seen a clean set of clothes since the day he turned sixty.  A battered old bowler hat covering a balding head, rested comfortably above his ears.  His boots were about shot. The sole and uppers were bound together with oddments of cord, old string and lacing wire.  An old threadbare army coat with deep pockets covered his scrawny frame.  God only knows what he had under that coat.  If the pong was any indication, it had been there for some considerable time.

Tilting the flask to his cracked lips he drained the raw liquor in a couple of swallows.  A trickle escaped from the corner of his lips, to dribble into his beard.

“Ahhh,” he sighed.   Belching loudly and holding up his flask, to show Abel.

“Hope my drinking hasn't bothered you, Parson?”

Abel smiled. “Temperance is the wisest course son, I try not to impose my beliefs on

others.”

            The old man chuckled, clapping his hands together. “Exactly my sentiments Reverend, I say live and let live.  Never undervalue the importance of good whisky.  ‘Elixir of the God’s,’ I reckon.”

Agnes's eyes twinkled.  "Rather a strong statement to make Mr, Smith?"

“Not so, Miss.”  The old man rubbed an unclean hand through his scruffy beard.   “Not so. And I’ll tell you how I come to believe that.”

Reg glanced at Jeremy.   A brief twinkle appeared in the old mans rheumy eyes. 

“In those hills all alone,” Reg continued.  “On the track of a vein of the bright stuff, I get almighty lonesome and it can be cold at night.”

“I can well imagine,” the girl agreed.

“Well, I started making friends with the Lord's creatures.  Why, I once had a dingo trained like a dog.  Then there was this gopher, followed me around like a house cat.  Yet, the creature I came to like best of all was Willie, the frog."

Agnes expressed amusement. “You make it sound like a very special frog.”

“Oh, he was.  He was, my dear.   Every night when I sat alone around the camp-fire; Willie would come out of the darkness to sit near me.  I’d be having my nightly snort of the hard stuff.  Just to break the monotony, y’no.  Within a few nights, I noticed Willie watching me and looking all mournful.  His pop eyes stared at me and his throat vibrated, like he hadn't had a drink in months.  It was pitiful.”  

Rolling his buttocks to one side on the hard seat, Reg grimaced, as if in pain.  Then, with a noise like the bus had dropped a drive shaft, he broke wind. 

Abel raised an eyebrow.  

Startled, the others held their breath, before they were overpowered by the rank odour of second hand whisky fumes, mingled with diesel exhaust vapors.

Regaining his composure, Abel, brandishing his hand to disperse the offending smell said, “Are you telling me, this frog was begging you for alcohol.  Wouldn’t that poison him?” 

"Nah.  Willie wanted a drink, sure enough," Reg told them.  "I finally broke down y’no, and set some whisky in a saucer.  You never did see a frog lap up anything like he did that whiskey. The smile, if you could call it a smile, was unbelievable.               Afterwards, while I played my mouth organ, he would sit there, croaking away in a musical fashion.  Bloody Hell! __ Oops! __ Sorry Reverend!  You had to see it to believe it; I’ve never seen the likes."

Jeremy exchanged a smile with the girl across the way.

"So you are musical, Mr, Smith, are you,”

smiled Agnes. “We must have you play for us

when we get established."

“I am ready to oblige, anytime you need a harmonica soloist, little lady.  I only wish Willie the frog were here, to show you how me and him played together.”

Except for Jeremy, all eyes were on Reg.

            "This,” he smiled, exposing rotten teeth, “went on every night for a few months.  We’d have our whisky, after which he’d join in a musical interlude.  It got so, that he croaked in every key to match my harmonica.  But like all things in life, it had to come to an end sometime.”

            “What broke you two up then?"  Abel Dempster inquired.  "Did you move on?"

            “No. __ I didn’t,” the old man said.  “I was about to leave those hills in a few days, anyway.  What split us up was the lack of whisky.”

 “You were short on whisky?”  Agnes questioned.

“Yep, that did it alright.”  Reg went on.  “I didn’t have enough for us both this night, so I finished off the last bottle myself.  Willie just sat there, looking shocked and mournful.  It got so; I was not able to look at those pop eyes as I played my harmonica.  Willie didn’t croak one little note and that got to me, y’no.  I wondered what I could do to make him happy.  Then I remembered the bottle of sarsaparilla in my kit-bag.  Even though it wasn’t alcoholic, I figured Willie would never know the difference.  So, I dug it out and filled his saucer.   He brightened up at that and lapped away as fast as always.”

         “A step in the right direction for Willie,” chirped the preacher, “he was better off turning to Temperance.”

           Reg gave the parson a bleak stare. “No not exactly,” he grunted.  

         “As Willie finished off the sarsaparilla; I picked up my mouth organ and began to play, thinking he’d join in as always.  Then it happened!”

“W__What happened?” Stammered Agnes sitting bolt upright.  

Mitch’s eyes were glued to her cleavage, anticipating a couple of buttons popping off that yellow shirt.

“Well.”  Reg wriggled around in his seat.  “Willie gave the loudest burp you ever did hear.”

Abel leaned forward.  “And, did he feel better?”

“No.”

“Well!  What happened to Willie?”

“He died!”

“Died!” __  Agnes rolled her eyes. 

For the first time, along with everyone else, she began to realize they had been fooled into believing a far         fetched tale. 

Throwing up her hands in dismay, she shouted.  “Oh, Reg!”   “You are nothing but an old fraud!” 

So engrossed in Reg’s yarn; none of the passengers realized the bus had stopped. 

 “Butchers Creek!” Brody yelled, above the noise.

“You comedians gunna' sit in this bloody bucket of rust all day, or what?"

Happy reading