For about a year High Horse Harry had stood, rain, or shine, six days a week at the corner of Main Street and Main Avenue, in front of the blind Poodle sisters’ house, shouting to the world his thoughts on everything. No one knew what his name really was or where he came from. He simply appeared one day and began yelling. Shortly after he appeared, someone had dubbed him High Horse Harry and the name stuck.
Harry never talked to anyone or answered any questions. He stood and shouted at the world for two hours every morning and then disappeared back into the woods to an abandoned cabin that sat at the back of old Mrs. Burl Tree’s property. It was so old; even she couldn’t remember anything about it. Mrs. Tree let Harry stay there. He was harmless and it was kind of nice to know that someone was around since her husband had died two years ago.
The cabin had no running water and probably never had electricity; even so, Harry always appeared fairly clean. He looked to be over six feet tall. He wore bib overalls that were always a little too short, a plaid shirt, a greasy looking cowboy hat and a woolen poncho in bad weather. His dark hair and beard were long, but not unkempt. If you got close enough to look, which few people did, you could see piercing green eyes under shaggy black eyebrows.
Most days people tolerated or just plain ignored Harry, but today was not going to be one of those days because Tarsal Henley was nearing the corner of Main Street and Main Avenue. Now Tarsal had never been known for his patience or tolerance and today was no exception. He usually managed to avoid that particular corner, but he woke up spoiling for a fight and High Horse Harry seemed like a good place to start.
“Never plant an elm tree near a maple,” yelled Harry. “They are sworn enemies and will uproot each other given half a chance.”
“You’re an idiot, High Horse Harry,” said Tarsal in a vain attempt to out yell Harry.
“And about as bright as those morons who think dogs have souls. You’d better get the hell out of here cause I’m getting real close to slugging you.”
“So what you need to do is plant an oak between the maple and the elm because acorns are known far and wide as peacekeepers,” said Harry. “ There will be no warring tree shenanigans in their presence.”
“Did you hear me, Harry? Did you HEAR me?” screamed Tarsal.
“Some folks think it’s the dogwood that is the peacekeeper, but they’d be wrong. Dogwoods stir up as much trouble as elms and maples, they’re just sneakier about it so people don’t catch on.”
With that last statement Tarsal had had about all he could take and he was raring back his fist when the clock on the courthouse struck twelve. Harry’s quitting time. He stepped down from the rickety old crate that served as his soapbox and walked away from Tarsal and headed for the woods. That was when Tarsal jumped on Harry’s crate and smashed it to smithereens.
Tarsal headed straight for the Tip Topp diner where Mrs. Tree happened to be having lunch. Everybody was complaining about everything. The whole town had been cranky since that dang feud over dog’s souls had caused the church to split. Mrs. Tree, who was normally a patient person, was starting to feel a little on the snappish side herself.
Sid Topp was behind the counter as usual. As soon as he saw Tarsal Henley come in the door, he could tell Tarsal was fired up even more than usual, which was considerable.
“Anything besides coffee today, Tarsal?” asked Sid as he sat a mug of strong black coffee in front of Tarsal, who flopped down on the stool with a thud.
“High Horse Harry is getting on my last nerves. I’ve a good mind to run him out of town,” said Tarsal between coffee slurps.
“Oh, shut up, Tarsal Henley. You big blowhard,” said Mrs. Tree.
Every head in the diner snapped to attention. For a few seconds, it seemed as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. A chorus of throats cleared and everyone became very interested in their eggs. Sid looked at Mrs. Tree and mouthed, Thank you. The majority of the citizens of Chanceville had wanted to tell Tarsal Henley to shut up for years now.
For once in his life, Tarsal has the good sense to zip it. He knew that if he talked back to sweet old Mrs. Tree, that he might be the one run out of town instead of High Horse Harry. But, typical Tarsal style, he couldn’t leave without making some sort of statement. He slammed his mug down sloshing coffee everywhere, stood up, threw his money at Sid, and stomped out. It was then that everyone burst out laughing.
About a week later a shellacked wooden box appeared at the corner of Main Street and Main Avenue. On each side was painted a beautiful carousel horse. A crowd was gathering to examine the box and take bets on whether High Horse Harry would actually stand on this work of art. And stand, he did. Harry walked right to it, stepped up, and stood on the box as if it were the same old rickety crate he had used all those months.
Two weeks later, High Horse Harry was standing on his corner shouting about the evils of marshmallows. The sky was a menacing color of purple and people were passing by at an even faster pace than usual, scurrying to get out of the impending storm. No one noticed that Harry had moved on to a new topic.
“Rabbits are the spawn of the devil,” yelled Harry. “Their slimy little noses twitch out Morse Code messages from Satan. Yesterday, a little white rabbit told me the devil is holding Abraham Lincoln hostage.”
He said this just as the rain hit and a loud clap of thunder rattled the windows of the Poodle house. It was about that time that Tarsal Henley was scurrying by. Zap! A bolt of lightening hit the metal beads on the band of High Horse Harry’s cowboy hat. Poof! Harry was gone. All that was left were the smoldering remains of the wooden box.
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had come. As a crowd began to gather, Tarsal was still standing there. He appeared to be dumbstruck, but everyone knew that wouldn’t last long. The blind Poodle sisters hurried down their sidewalk to find out what all the commotion was about. They were waving their white canes around, hitting Tarsal on the shins, causing him to come out of his stupor.
“What the heck?” said Tarsal as he blinked in an attempt to focus his eyes.
“Is that you Tarsal Henley? You smell like a wood stove,” said Babette or was it Annette Poodle? Before Tarsal could answer, the sisters’ maid, Poppy, came out to herd the sisters back in before Tarsal started fighting with them. The news about what happened to Harry spread quickly and everyone wanted to stand around and gawk at the smoldering pile of ashes.
Finally, Sheriff Yesper Orange came along and dispersed the crowd. He had brought along a shovel and bucket and scooped up the remains of the box and what was left of High Horse Harry. Sheriff Orange borrowed a garden hose and a broom from the Poodle sisters and with Poppy’s help they got the sidewalk cleaned off.
The Sheriff took the bucket of ashes back to his office and placed them in a shoebox. He taped it up with duct tape, wrote HHH on it, and locked it in the office safe. He would soon place an identical box labeled BBB. Before long he would have to decide what to do about tracking down Harry’s true identity.
