Swamp Sister

'Thataboy, Tom.'

Tom Fort shuffled closer. He held his left hand slightly in front of his waist, fingers spread, palm down. The right arm was back against his body, obscure in shadow. Uhuh, Shad thought. He's either going to pop with a knife er a six-gun.

'Go on,' Tom said, 'laugh. I'm fixing to cut you up good.'

Shad held up a hand, flat. 'Now, Tom – Tom, you don't want no fuss with me.'

'Can't whup you with my fists, so I brung me a friend along.'

The moon broke through the mist and the clean blade of a long hunting knife suddenly winked at Shad.

'Now, Tom – I don't want no trouble with you.'

'Think you own the goddam world, don't you?' Tom Fort hissed and he crouched, his left hand far out now for balance, knife-hand in at the waist. 'Think because you found all that money you kin tramp high and handsome on who you please. Think you kin buy a fella's girl away from him.'

Shad edged to the left, trying to work the moon around into Tom's face, where he could see his eyes, and know when it was coming. This is just what I need. he thought, Kabar holes in me. 'Now, Tom – Tom, listen at me -'

'Well, I'm goan set your clock, Shad Hark. I'm goan cut you up so you'll need them eighty-thousand dollars afore any girl'll look at you twice without gagging.'

He means it. The little son-o-bitch pure-out means it.

'Tom – will you shet up here a minute? Will you let me open my mouth? Tom, if you stick me with that air Kabar, ten times eighty-thousand dollars ain't goan do me no good. And if you kin just stop acting as green as tobacco in a field, mebbe we can come at a deal here.'

Tom Fort hesitated. 'Huh? What deal?'

'The deal on eighty-thousand dollars. You knife-stick me and that money is gone to the world fer good.'

'Well, I don't give a damn. I want my girl. That air money ain't doing me no good nohow.'

Shad nodded. 'Ner me neither, once I'm dead. That's why I'm saying we got us a deal here.'

Tom straightened up a little. 'You mean you willing to cut me in on hit? You meaning that, Shad?'

Shad put a hand to the back of his neck and gave it a rub.

'Well, now hold on here a minute. We got to look at it proper. I need help gitting that money outn the swamp and outn the county, and if you do what I say, we'll split hit plumb down the middle. Forty-thousand dollars, Tom. Forty-thousand dollars.'

'Yeah -' Tom said. 'Yeah.'

'Course there's one thing we got to come at first.'

'How's that?'

'Dorry's my girl.'

Tom didn't like the taste of that. 'Well, now hold on here, Shad. I cain't have me none of that. I love Dorry Means. I ben fixing on marrying up with her.'

Shad came in closer, wagging his hands impatiently, 'Marrying Dorry!' He nearly wailed. 'Tom, Tom, I'm fixing hit so's you kin marry a movie star if'n you see fit. Forty-thousand dollars, Tom. Not beans er cow pies. _Fort ythousand dollars_.'

Tom blinked and stalled. 'Yeah -' he whispered. 'Yeah. Forty-thousand dollars. Yeah. A man could – a man – Look a-here, Shad, you really do got that money, huh? Hit ain't just village talk? You really went and found that air Money Plane? You got the money hid away? Is hit hard to come at, Shad? I mean, we ain't got to tramp way out in that old swamp fer hit, do we?'

A cold realization came to Shad. This was the price of love. This was the boy who wouldn't sell the girl he loved – not unless the price was night. The little bastard. He was no better than Jort Camp or Sam Parks.

'No,' he said, 'we ain't got us nowhere to tramp to.'

And then he swept his left arm swordwise, catching Tom's knife-wrist with the edge of his hand, and he stepped in fast and brought his right swinging into Tom's stomach. The boy doubled up around the sunken fist, his head leaning into Shad, and Shad shoulder-butted him on the point of his chin, snapping him straight, and then landed his left square into Tom's middle again.

He rolled sideways, grabbed Tom's wrist, raised his knee and snapped the wrist over it. The knife plopped in the weeds. He stooped, grabbed it, and sprang away as Tom aimed a kick at him.

He took the knife by the handle and fired it out into the night and turned as Tom rushed him; swung himself clear with a left hook to Tom's ear, got his balance, and then went in at him again.

They closed with a grunt, heads hunched and necks fumbling, and slammed into an oak trunk. Shad saw Tom's eyes, bugged and wild, mad with hate.

'They ain't no money, hear?' he hissed, 'I never found no Money Plane. You sold out fer nothing.'

Tom didn't answer, He brought up his knee. Shad expected that and he rolled, taking it on the hip. Then it was his turn and he kneed fast and sharp, but he was turned off center.

They lurched apart, panting, watching each other circling in the moonlight. Tom touched down with his fingers, fumbling blindly through the weed for a root, a stick, anything – Shad stepped in and Tom spun off balance and went down onto his back with a slam.

He had the upper hand now; it was all his way. He was straddling Tom, whacking away Tom's hands with his left and slugging him with his right.

'That's because you love her so much, Tom – That's because you'd sell your goddam ma fer a dollar and a new Barlow – That's because you need a lesson you won't soon forgit in foxiness – There never was no money, Tom. I don't have nothin'.'

It was over. Tom was out of it, way out of it. Shad lurched to his feet, gasping, nursing his aching right hand, hugging it to his middle with his left folded motherly about it. He stumbled around a bit, aimlessly, looking for his hat. He felt sick in the stomach, which was the after effect of the fight. The other sickness was more general and was only vaguely concerned with fighting. It had to do with money.

'You're rather good at that sort of thing.'

The quiet voice startled him silly. His head jerked up, turning everywhere, and froze when he saw the man standing near him in the shadows.

'You're Shad Hark, aren't you? I've been looking for you.'

15

Mr. Ferris moved and a spoke of shadow swung across his upper face, leaving his lips and chin corpse white, as though a spectre in the moonlight, when his mouth began to speak.

'I was coming along the creek path when I heard the rumpus. What was it all about?'

Stall, Shad thought desperately. Stall him. I shone God ain't in no frame of mind to play dodge-the-question with him. Mebbe I just better hit him and clean out. But Mr. Ferris didn't inspire physical fear, not as Jort Camp could and did; it was something stronger, more frightening – a kind of superstitious awe.

'Nothing much, I reckon,' Shad said. 'At least not to me. I guess old Tom hates me worse'n a possum hates a tree dog, though. Thinks I stole his girl.'

Mr. Ferris said, 'Oh?' and came farther into the moonlight. 'What girl is that?'

'Just a girl.'

'I see.' Mn. Ferris put his hand casually in his jacket pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes. 'Care for a cigarette?'

'No thanks.'

Mr. Ferris looked down at the cigarette he was tapping on his thumbnail. 'I've been looking for you,' he said, 'to ask about that airplane – the Money Plane.'

Shad's heart had taken a lurch when Mn. Ferris had reached into his pocket. After all, the man was some kind of policeman, wasn't he?

'Mr. Ferris,' he said too quickly, 'you driving your ducks to a mighty poor puddle if you think I kin tell you anything about that air Money Plane.'