Carny kill

I watched May. 'Well, turnabout is fair play, isn't it? May-didn't you hear what I said?'

'Certainly, sweetie,' May said. She started to raise the knife.

You don't try to talk a rattler out of striking. I pulled the trigger at her.

The hammer said click. I was all tensed for the expectant blast and the stupid thing said click!_

Mike grinned at me.

'Wet powder, Master 'Awkins?' he asked in an Israel Hands voice.

I looked at May. She was smiling and her lips were very moist and scarlet and her eyes very bright. She cocked the knife over her shoulder.

'Catch, May!' I flipped the automatic to her underhand.

The knife went thh-ok in the stempost by my head as I went out the window-going right on over in a backwards somersault through the moon-swerving night and crashing feet-first into the black shallows.

The muck underfoot was mushy and it sloped and the impetus of my plunge threw me into a wet pratfall. I came up thrashing and spitting out a mouthful of that damn duck-doodoo water and stood up with the lake to my waist and looked up at the Hispaniola's counter.

Mike Ransome was standing at the center window and wrenching the knife free of the sternpost. His teeth flashed down at me and then he darted back into the cabin.

He was going to cut me off from the rowboat. I wasn't much as a swimmer and that was out anyhow because if I tried it he could quickly overhaul me in the boat. So I slogged ashore and headed for the underbrush.

A scud of clouds passed over the moon's face-in a hurry, as if it had been waiting for just this to happen. It suited me. If I couldn't see Mike, he couldn't see me. I crawled a little way up Mizzenmast Hill, sticking close to the brush, and stalled to sound the darkness below for danger.

I couldn't hear him, or anything. The island, the lake, all of Neverland and the whole damn world beyond seemed to be one immense silence. That suited me too, but Mizzenmast Hill did not. It was too open. I needed the black shelter of tall trees.

I crawled again, working around the base of the manmade hill and heading inland. I figured I would slip out of my clothes and chance swimming for it, once I reached the far side of the island.

The ground flattened out and the trees loomed and I stopped making like an animal and stood up. The ground was velvety and springy under my feet, carpeted with dead pine needles and leaves and mold. I started walking.

Clawing branches and soft lacy things kept brushing at my face and body and it was so godawful dark in there I couldn't avoid them. I started groping along with my right hand stretched out and it was a damn good thing because right off the bat my palm collided with a tree trunk that had been intended for my nose.

All at once I was trapped. Turn right or left or try to go forward and I was fumbling against trees and branches or blundering into a catclaw thicket. I felt like a blind man who couldn't find the right path in a hedge maze. I thought about striking a match but vetoed it because a light in that black thicket would stand out.

I put both hands in front of me and had another blind try at finding an opening by Braille.

My outstretched left hand came against something that was soft and giving. It was covered by cloth. I felt one of the buttons.

There was a sharp intake of breath right next to me and I heard or sensed a sudden slash of motion in the dark as I sprang back and crouched for another spring, anywhere, tense and expectant.

Nothing happened. A minute dragged by like a hurt turtle and still nothing happened and I knew Mike was crouching and waiting without sound or movement only a few feet away.

The stillness came apart with a sudden good-god whir of wings as a preying owl made his shrill-laugh cry. I jumped on my nerves and shifted to the right and heard Mike leap forward with a whisk of leaves and then I whirled in another direction and crouched again.

We waited. Nothing happened. I listened for his breathing but he must have been doing it through his mouth. I hunkered down and felt the ground with my right hand. It would be too damn much to ask to find a stick or a rock for a weapon so I carefully scooped up a handful of dirt.

I straightened up. There was no sound.

Without warning a bright flare of light snapped open like a bomb burst and I saw Mike standing six feet away. He had a match in his left hand and May's knife in his right and the blade shone with the thin red light from the match dancing along the edge like blood.

Mike was grinning at me and his thin, moist face looked satanic in the yellowy light. That crazy bastard was having the time of his life.

'Jim,'-he was playing Israel Hands again-'I reckon we're fouled, you and me, and we'll have to sign articles.'

He made a quick snatching motion with his left hand to whip out the match and I chucked my handful of dirt at his face as he pounced toward me, and just like that we were in total darkness again and I dropped to the ground in a lump and felt his shins collide on my shoulder, and then I was up and going while Mike was still in a heavy crashing fall in the underbrush.

I broke through an opening between huge-trunked trees by sheer blind luck and started to run and I could hear Mike scrambling right behind me, and just then a christly tree jumped up and I ran smack into it with both arms outflung and all I could do was hug it dazedly like a witless man making love to a knothole.

I felt Mike brush past me in a rush and there was a thud and a rattle of dry branches and a gasp and a sense of something running into nothing and falling through it, and finally a clatter of stones and a throaty cry like Uuuah! And then nothing.

I stepped back from the tree I had been loving and felt my face over for something broken. Nothing seemed to be. I took a step forward and stopped. A black patch of mystery fell away in the darkness below me. I was standing on the lip of a ridge. The black patch down at the base was some kind of pit.

I climbed down the slope and realized I was standing in Flint's Treasure Pit. Mike Ransome was there too, but he wasn't standing.

I rolled him over and fished out a match and struck it. The light sparked in his eyes. He was staring up at me but he was seeing something else, somewhere else.

He had put his hands in front of his chest to break his fall. But he had forgotten that May's knife was in his right hand.

19

May was pacing up and down through a grayish garland of cigarette smoke when I opened the cabin door. She came to a full, abrupt stop and looked at me and it was a look I had never seen on her face before. Pure shock.

'Thax.' She barely said it.

'Why don't you sit down, May?' I said.

I don't think she consciously heard me. She didn't sit down. She didn't make a move. She stared at me and her obsidian eyes seemed to grow in her porcelain-perfect face.

I said, 'He's dead, May. He fell on your knife.'

She kept staring at me and her black pupils glowed with a dull red light.

'You filthy bastard,' she whispered.

'I wouldn't lie to you now, May. If I'd killed him I'd admit it. But I didn't. It was an accident.'

Then she sat down, all at once, and it was a good thing the table bench was right behind her or I think she would have gone out on the deck. She seemed to have forgotten the cigarette that was smoking itself between her pale, tapered fingers. She looked blankly at the floor.

'I loved him.'

I think she was telling herself, and I think she meant it. At least I think she thought she meant it, which