W
E BOYS CALLED HIM “Ol’ Tom.” Whenever one of us saw him ride into town towing his rangy mule behind him, his pack of dogs swirling around the animal’s hooves, the word would go out to all the boys in my age range. We’d gather together and follow a safe distance behind him, mocking his well-worn clothing and scuffed boots. “Ol’ Tom, Ol’ Tom,” we’d chant together low under our breath, chortling softly, nudging each other with our sharp elbows. He was old. We boys guessed he was probably a hundred, but my dad declared he was in his eighties. His trimmed beard began with the silvery mustache beneath his long, straight nose and ended above his collar button. I had a standing bet with Homer Billings that I could snatch a hair from that beard, but I was never able to collect it. We all knew that if our mothers caught us taunting the old man, we would have stinging backsides. Therefore, we were very cautious. Sometimes we’d pretend we were following Peter’s dog or chasing a stray cat and dash as close as we dared to the old
miner. Truthfully, we were trying to irritate him, to make him curse at us or take a swipe at us. But he never did. He just glared at us from Arizona-sky eyes set beneath frost-streaked eyebrows and turned away to his own business. It was spring of 1914 when I realized I hadn’t seen Tom Jeffords for months. My mother overheard me asking our postmaster about it one afternoon, and she told my father what we’d been talking about. I know she did because after supper my father beckoned me to the discipline-spot beside his favorite armchair. “Sullivan,” my father began, “your mother tells me you’re curious about the whereabouts of Tom Jeffords. Is that so?” A lawyer by trade, Dad didn’t prod or shout or threaten. He just waited for me to hang myself. Inside our front parlor with the last rays of the March sun streaking our carpet, he sat patiently watching me try to avoid his noose. I had to give in. “Yessir. All us guys were wondering where he is. We haven’t seen him since November.” My father’s stony grey eyes scanned my face. “Well, that’s because he’s dead,” he replied.
