Burial Grounds

Over to the left, was a large lake with a huge fountain spraying in the middle, but Jack didn't even worry about the lake, he never went left.

Off to the right about a hundred yards was what worried him. There was a huge mound of dirt with cactus and sagebrush growing on it--the Indian burial ground Tom had warned him about earlier. That was where his ball would end up---he knew it even before he went up to hit the ball. Jack never hit a straight drive off the first tee. Never.

So, when you put all this together into a golf swing, Jack got the normal results, and his ball ended up slicing to the right; somewhere up in the Indian burial grounds. It was to be the last _normal_ thing that happened to him all day.

"Way to go Jack!" His brother said, as he watched the ball sail out of sight in the direction of the burial grounds. "That ought to shake up them dead Indians!"

Jack gave him a dirty look. At least it's not in the lake, he thought. He couldn't retrieve his ball from the middle of the lake, but up there he could.

"Oh by the way," Tom said, with a laugh. "The burial ground is off limits. You can't go in and get your ball; the club doesn't want people disturbing it. But at least they don't slap you with a stroke penalty either--all you do is lose your ball."

"Great," Tom groaned. "Well, maybe I got lucky and it came out the other side. I can't afford to lose any balls.

"Just don't get caught in the burial grounds," Tom said. "They'll kick your ass off the course!"

Jack put his club into his bag, and climbed into the golf cart with his brother, and they took off toward the burial grounds. When Tom stopped the cart in front of the mound of sand and cactus, Jack grabbed his four iron, and told Tom to go on to his own ball. "I'm just going to go around to the other side and make sure my ball didn't roll out the other side. I'll be right back."

His brother gave him an odd look and said, "Yeah, okay. Hell, if it's balls you need I'll give you some--I've always had lots of balls anyway." Tom laughed as he hit the gas, and the cart shot off toward the center of the fairway where his own ball had ended up.

Jack walked toward the burial ground. There was a sign in front of it that read:

Jack looked at it for a second, then started walking around the edge to get to the other side. When he got there, out of sight of anyone else, he spotted his orange ball about ten feet inside the burial grounds, nestled between two Cholla cactuses. Jack knew to keep his distance from the dreaded Cholla, and its branches of razor sharp needles, but his frugal ways got the best of him, and he decided not to leave his ball for the grounds keepers to find.

"Sorry Chief," Jack mumbled to himself as he set foot into the sand that marked the boundary of the burial grounds. When he got to his ball, he reached for it with his club and tapped it away from the cactus. Just as he bent over to pick up the ball, he felt a sharp jab in his left arm. He looked over to see a Cholla branch moving away. His left forearm was covered with cactus needles.

"Shit!" Jack cried out.