long rest while he decided where to start again.
Louisiana was under Roman-Dutch Law, or was it Code Napoleon? He might
even have to rewrite his bar examinations, but the prospect pleased
rather than dismayed him. It was fun again.
'Never seen you so happy,' grunted Ruffy.
'Never had so much cause, Bruce agreed.
'She's a swell lady. Young still - you can teach her.' Bruce felt his
hackles rise, and then he thought better of it and laughed.
'You going to sign her up, boss?'
'I might.' Ruffy nodded wisely.
'Man should have plenty wives - I got three. Need a couple more.'
'One
I could only just handle.'
'One's difficult. Two's easier. Three, you can relax. Four, they're so
busy with each other they don't give you no trouble at all.'
'I might try it.'
'Yeah, you do that.' And ahead of them through the trees they saw the
ring of trucks.
'We're home,' grunted Ruffy, then he stirred uncomfortably in his seat.
'Something going on.' Men stood in small groups. There was something in
their attitude: strain, apprehension.
Two men ran up the road to meet them. Bruce could see their mouths
working, but could not hear the words.
Dread, heavy and cold, pushed down on the pit of Bruce's gut.
Gabbled, incoherent, Sergeant Jacque was trying to tell him something as
he ran beside the Ford.
'Tenente Hendry - the river - the madame - gone.' French words like
driftwood in the torrent of dialect.
'Your girl,' translated Ruffy. 'Hendry's done her.'
'Dead?' The question dropped from Bruce's mouth.
'No. He's hurt her. He's - you know!'
'Where's she?'
'They've got her in the back of the truck.' Bruce climbed heavily out of
the car. Now they were silent, grouped together, not looking at him,
faces impassive, waiting.
Bruce walked slowly to the truck. He felt cold and numb. His legs moved
automatically beneath him. He drew back the canvas and
pulled himself up into the interior. It was an effort to move forward,
to focus his eyes in the gloom.
Wrapped in a blanket she lay small and still.
'Shermaine.' It stuck in his throat.
'Shermaine,' he said again and knelt beside her. A great livid swelling
distorted the side of her face. She did not turner face to him, but lay
staring up at the canvas roof.
He touched her face and the skin was cold, cold as the dread that
gripped his stomach. The coldness of it shocked him so he jerked his
hand away.
'Shermaine.' This time it was a sob. The eyes, her big haunted eyes,
turned unseeing towards him and he felt the lift of escape from the
