Swamp Sister

first into the peat where they'd be handy, and set the third in the bow. He nocked it and tested the pull. Not much – maybe twenty pounds of pressure at best. But it would have to do. He looked out again.

Sam and Jort had passed the first two hummocks, coming his way slowly. Sam edged in toward center and there was about ten feet of water between them. They were panning their eyes over everything, tense and expectant, ready to spring in a split second, anywhere.

Shad bit his lip, hunched down further. If I tould just git'em bunched up. I know I'd git me a hit then. If I kin just git Jort first off. Sam I kin handle. If that gator-grabbing devil will just keep on a-coming along the inside. Please God, let the devil come on the inside.

They cleared the third hummock, coming on, the dull black water gurgling around their knees, leaving just a wisp of a wake behind. Jort was still holding the inside and Sam was leading.

They were dead ahead now, coming right at his hummock. Shad looked and caught his breath. Jort had slowed, studying the tussock.

Is he going to go around the other end? If they flank me I'm through afore I start. No – wait – he ain't neithet That lard-butted lazy mother, he's fixing to keep on the same way. If it had ben Sam, he'd've flanked me. Come on, Jort damn you! You letting Sam git ahead.

He let his breath go and took in a fresh one. Sam was thirty-some feet abreast of him now, his head turned from Shad's position eyeing a smaller hummock on his right; and Jort was coming again, catching up. Shad swung the bow around and started the pull – but stalled. He hunkered, slacking the drawstring.

Cain't take him front on. He'll blow me to Sunday pie with that 12-gauge. All right. It's the back then. All right – I ain't fussy.

He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to Jort sloshing closet His hands were trembling and his stomach was going out – Quit stalling. You've got it to do. Oh God, God. I don't want to die. And then he opened his eyes and looked and saw Jort wading by flicker-bodied, through the reeds, and he wasn't twenty feet away

Do it, you gutless fool!

He swung the bow, pulling back, came straight up on his knees and ran his eye along the arrow, his right hand drawing to his cheek.

'Look out!' Ferris, shouting.

Shad let it fly The arrow went ss-wit! as Jort spun half-about in the water and it missed him by a foot and landed thh-ok! into Sam, catching him high in the left arm and just under the shoulder. Sam let out a sound that burst from unstrung nerves, staggered lopsided in the water, dropping his carbine, rearing his head away from his own shoulder as though expecting to see a cottonmouth sitting there, and then he screamed. And he went off like that, falling, lunging up, crashing through the water, still rearing away from the thing that was pinning his arm to his side. And the last Shad saw of him, he was heading for the pin down thicket.

Shad ducked and sent himself sprawling as Jort swung up his shotgun and went CA-BALOWM! at the hummock. The little balls of shot came burning into the reed like someone pegging a handful of gravel, and Shad felt his right leg take a piece or two.

He pushed away from the soggy earth, grabbing for another arrow, hearing Jort splashing up fast. Somehow, all thumbs it seemed, he got the arrow nocked and, kneeling on one knee, brought the bow around and pulled the arrow back to his cheek – the whole damn thing quivering so he knew he couldn't hit a barn if he was pegging arrows twenty at a crack. And then there was Jort showing, rising in sections – cap, head, chest, belt, the Moses reed parting, and he saw Shad and let out a sound that was heavy and fast and sounded like Uh-huh! only longer, and he started swinging the 12-gauge up, and right then Shad cut loose.

The arrow leaped at Jort, hit him so hard in the chest it whocked like a shot and pushed him back a step, fast. Then he took another as though trying to find his balance, and the 12-gauge balowmed off again, but in the air, and he dropped the gun, looked at that damn thing sticking straight out of him, started to take hold of it but hesitated, and all the time his knees buckling out further and him sinking down to the ground; and still he couldn't bring himself to take it in his hands.

'God,' Shad said. '_How it must hurt_.'

'By – by God – Shad -'

And then Jort went straight over, his hands flying out as if to stop the earth rushing up at him, at the butt of the arrow; but they might have been made of liquid because they acted that way when the earth struck them and the arms too. Everything folded and his body hit the ground, driving that damned stick right up through his chest, and he made a sharp Uluuah! sound, his head tilting into the muck, his torso raised slightly where twelve inches of that arrow was propping him, and Shad could see where the pile had poked through because it made a little tent in the back of his shirt but hadn't torn the material.

Shad dropped the bow and sank limply on his haunches. He stared at Jort Camp and then rubbed at his mouth with his wrist. His lips, tongue, throat, all were parch dry from breathing through his mouth so long. He didn't know when he'd last used his nostrils. Must have been two hours ago. He had to have water. Didn't matter what kind. Water, and right now. Didn't matter either about Mr. Ferris. To hell with Mr. Ferris. Water.

He crawled off through the reed, down to the edge of the hummock to the brackish water and went at it like an animal would. He drank it in great greedy sucking mouthfuls, and then sat back and held some in his mouth, letting it saturate, breathing hard through his nose. But it wouldn't work and he swallowed it and then panted through his mouth for a while, and then had another mouthful and sat there again holding it and looking back at the mashed reeds where Jort was.

He got up and tramped wearily back to Jort's corpse, went through the pockets looking for shotgun shells. All he found was a crumpled ten-dollar bill. Sam must have been carrying the shells. He stared at the bill and his eyes flickered as a wisp of distant suspicion passed them. Then he shrugged and returned to the water to wash his peppered leg.

Something was splashing toward him, but in no great hurry. He looked around and saw Mr. Ferris coming. The insurance man paused near the fringe of the hummock, looking at Jort Camp, then he came on with a slight shake of his head.

'This is a bad business, Shad.'

Shad nodded soberly, thinking about killing Mr. Ferris but not making a chore of it. He'd never killed anyone before, never had to or wanted to; and here he'd killed Jort Camp and half-killed Sam. And now there was still Mr. Ferris to worry about.

Mr. Ferris brought out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Shad. They lighted up, and for a while neither of them spoke.

'Where is your girl friend?' Mr. Ferris asked finally. 'What is her name – Margy?'

'I got her hid away.'

'What about her sister?'

Shad looked up. 'I don't know, Mr. Ferris. I ain't seen her in near a week.' Then, remembering, he asked, 'You happen to give Jort a ten-dollar bill fer anything?'

'No. Why? Anything to do with the girl?'

'Dunno.' Shad felt numb, indifferent. He said, 'You was in mighty bad company, Mr. Ferris. If you'd a found that Money Plane, Jort would've showed you the business end of that 12-gauge.'

Mr. Ferris smiled. 'Yes, I'd more or less counted on that.'

'Well, wasn't it taking a hell of a chance?'

'Part of my work – taking chances.'

God, he's got more guts than all the rest of us.

'In fact,' Mr. Ferris was going on, 'I believe that what happened here today constitutes saving my life – indirectly, of course. This killing is in the nature of self-defense, undoubtedly. And I'll certainly testify to that fact at a coroner's inquest.'

'You mean you'll act as my witness?'

'Naturally You did me a good turn, and now it's in my power to repay you.'

'If I show you where that Money Plane is.'

Mr. Ferris smiled. 'That's why I'm here, Shad.'

Ain't he a something? He don't seem to do much, just stands around and waits, and when the hull shebang's blown sky high he starts picking up the pieces.