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Siding.
    Todder Brook was named after Bert’s grandfather and ranthrough Bert’s property. Bert lived the nearest of all to the Todder Brook Whooper.
    *
    Shadrack Nash wanted to investigate the Todder Brook Whooper, but didn’t want to do it alone.
    He went to Max Kaston and was laughed at. Max snorted, said, “You’re crazier than Shirley Ramsey.”
    “There ain’t nothin’ to be scared of,” said Shad.
    “Then go alone.” Max eyed Shad over his chubby cheeks.
    “You’re just too lazy to go,” said Shad and left.
    Shad found George Hanley and Palidin Ramsey, smoking cigarettes, out behind Bernie Hanley’s barn.
    George Hanley’s ears were too big, as were his hands and feet; but his teeth were white and even, he had long eyelashes and was almost pretty in the face.
    “I wouldn’t take a million dollars to step one foot into that woods!” said George.
    The fair-skinned, brown-eyed, mysterious Palidin Ramsey (all the Ramseys were mysterious) said nothing. Palidin knew he was not being invited on the adventure. Shadrack Nash did not know that Palidin Ramsey had no fear.
    Out of desperation, Shad went to Shirley Ramsey’s. He found Dryfly sitting on the doorstep, strumming a G chord over and over again on Buck’s guitar. Shad had learned a few chords from his father and had passed his knowledge along to Dryfly. He had traded the G chord for a Glenn Hall. By mid-June, he was on the verge of completing his hockey card collection. He was only missing Johnny Bower of the Toronto Maple Leafs. A Lou Fontenato and a Johnny Bucyk and he’d have the whole NHL. He was holding on to a C chord, just in case Dryfly might get lucky enough to get one of the cards he needed.
    “What’re ya doin’?” asked Shad, as if he didn’t already know.
    “Playin’ me guiddar.”
    “Soundin’ pretty good.”
    Dryfly shrugged. He was thin and needed a haircut.
    “Don’t know any more chords yet, eh?”
    “No,” said Dryfly.
    “Gonna listen to the jamboree tonight?”
    “Might.”
    Shad was referring to the
Saturday Night Jamboree
that was broadcast from CFNB Fredericton every week – Earl Mitton on the fiddle, Bud Brown the emcee, Kid and Ada Baker the guests more often than not.
    “I am,” said Shadrack. “Wanna come over and listen to it with me?”
    “What for? I can hear it on me own radio.”
    “I got something I want us to do afterwards.”
    “Gonna be awful close to dark by the time the jamboree’s over.”
    “I know,” shrugged Shadrack. “I want it to be dark.”
    “What’re ya gonna be doin’ in the dark?”
    “I’m goin’ back to see what’s makin’ that noise.”
    “The Todder Brook Whooper?”
    “Yep.”
    “What if it’s a ghost?”
    “I don’t care.”
    “What if it’s a panther?”
    “Takin’ Dad’s .303.”
    “Yeah? How’d ya git that?”
    “I know where it is. I’ll just sneak it out. Know where the bullets are, too. Wanna come with me?”
    “Nope. Ya’ll never catch me in that woods!”
    “Why not?”
    “Cause.”
    “Cause why?”
    “Cause, ya wouldn’.”
    “Scared?”
    “No, but I ain’t goin’.”
    “Why?”
    “I just told ya!”
    “Yer scared!”
    “I’m not!”
    “I’m taken the .303.”
    “You’d be a pretty lad, shootin’ a ghost with a big rifle like that! Knock ya arse over kettles!”
    “Don’t kick hardly at all. I’ll let ya try it, if ya want.”
    “You fire it first.”
    “I’ll fire it. It don’t kick. Fire it all the time, so I do!”
    “What if ya get lost?”
    “All we’ll do is follow the trail back and then follow it home again.”
    “The flies will eat us up, back there in the woods at night.”
    “No flies hardly at all. Work up a sweat and they never touch ya.”
    It was approaching the middle of June and Dryfly doubted very much that he could work up enough sweat to combat the forty-two thousand and one flies that would be attacking him back in the Dungarvon woods. “Come with me and I’ll tell ya how to put a C