Read Bryson City Secrets: Even More Tales of a Small-Town Doctor in the Smoky Mountains for Free Online Page A

she walked and then turned like a Miss America contestant on the beauty pageant runway.
    â€œKatie!” Doc John exclaimed. “You are a beautiful sight for old, sore eyes. Choose your booth, honey. Breakfast is on me!”
    Becky and I smiled as John took Kate’s hand and escorted her to her favorite booth and helped her get situated. I walked over and sat by her. As I purposefully plopped down hard on the cushioned seat and heard the whoosh of escaping air, Kate’s side of the bench seat sprung upward, flinging her a few inches into the air as she giggled in glee.
    Before long, Becky brought our breakfast. Kate had her longtime favorite — a biscuit smothered in sausage gravy, with a side of smoked bacon and a glass of chocolate milk — while I had scrambled eggs, buttery grits, and whole wheat toast.
    I heard the front door open and looked up to see the younger John Mattox — Becky and Doc John’s son — coming in, wearing his National Park Service uniform, which looked as though he had been sleeping in it all night. He took off his ranger cap and placed it under his belt, behind his back.
    â€œHow ya doin’, Son?” cried Doc John.
    â€œDoin’ all right, Pop!” called the ranger. The family resemblance was always striking to me.
    John walked over to Kate and squatted down so they were eye to eye. He and his wife, Rita, attended church with us, and he had always been fond of Kate and Scott. “Good morning, Miss Kate.”
    â€œGood morning, Mr. Mattox,” Kate answered, not taking her eyes off her fork as it moved toward her open mouth, carrying a large bite of biscuit and gravy.
    â€œYou married yet, Kate?” he asked.
    The fork stopped in midair as Kate looked over at him, scowled, and then continued the advance of her fork.
    â€œI’ll take that as a no!” laughed John. “Mind if I join you, Doctor?”
    I looked at Kate, who vigorously nodded her approval as I answered, “We’d be pleased if you’d join us, Mr. Ranger.” John sat across from us.
    Looking over his glasses, now perched perilously on the tip of his nose, Doc John shouted across the store, “Becky, you might not want those two boys sittin’ together. Purty soon they’ll be schemin’.”
    â€œMr. Pharmacist, you mind your own business or I might have to arrest you!” John shouted out over his shoulder. “Mom, I’ll take the same as the Doc. Plus, some home fries.”
    â€œOK, Johnny,” she answered.
    â€œSon, you saved any lives this week?” called out Doc John.
    â€œPop, come have a seat and I’ll tell ya all about it,” John Jr. called back. He turned to me and whispered, “I gotta admit it’s been a rough week and a long night.”
    While he was waiting for his food, John
Jr. began his story. “Well, we’re always having trouble with the poachers. As you know, many of the locals see the federal government as having stolen their family’s hunting land. So we have folks in the national park trapping and hunting bear, deer, turkey, and hogs all the time. Recently we’ve been having a bunch of hog poaching going on.”
    â€œHow do you know?” I asked.
    â€œThe main way is just hearing the gunshots at night.”
    â€œAt night?”
    â€œYep. The locals call it ‘spotlighting.’ They carry powerful spotlights and either drive the roads or hike the trails while training the lights on the edge of the meadows or stream edges. If an animal gets caught in the spotlight, it will usually freeze up. Then the spotlighter will just shoot the poor, defenseless thing. If they’re in the park, they’ll field dress the game, and we’ll find what’s left of the carcass at some later time. If they’re near a road, they just haul the whole carcass and drive off — hoping someone won’t stop them to search the car or truck.”
    â€œDo you