I went on around the fence. Through the orchard I could see the lighted windows of the house, a couple of hundred yards away. Soon I reached the comer of the fence and turned left and, before I knew it, was in a patch of briars. Ten minutes later I had rounded the bend in the road and was passing our sedan still nestled up against the tree. There was the gate. I climbed up and sat on the fence and played the light around, but it wasn't powerful enough to pick up the bull at that distance. I switched it off.
I suppose if you live in the country long enough you get familiar with all the little noises at night, but naturally you feel curious about them when you don't know what they are. The crickets and katydids are all right, but something scuttling through the grass makes you wonder what it could be. Then there was something in a tree across the road. I could hear it move around among the leaves, then for a long while it would be quiet, and then it would move again. Maybe an owl, or maybe some little harmless animal. I couldn't find it with the light.
I had been there I suppose half an hour, when a new noise came from the direction of the car. It sounded like something heavy bumping against it. I turned the light that way, and at first saw nothing because I was looking too close to the ground, and then saw quite plainly, edging out from the front fender, a fold of material that looked like part of a coat, maybe a sleeve. I opened my mouth to sing out, but abruptly shut it again and turned off the light and slid from the fence and sidestepped. It was just barely possible that the Guernsey League had one or two tough guys on the roll, or even that Clyde Osgood himself was tough or thought he was. I stepped along the grass to the back of the car, moved around it keeping close to the side, reached over the front fender for what was huddled there, grabbed, and got a shoulder.
There was a squeal and a wiggle, and a protest: 'Say! That hurts!' I flashed the light and then turned loose and stepped back.
'For God's sake,' I grumbled, 'don't tell me you're sen- timental about that bull too.'
Lily Rowan stood up, a dark wrap covering the dress she had worn at dinner, and rubbed at her shoulder. 'If I hadn't stumbled against the fender,' she declared, 'I'd have got right up against you before you knew I was there, and I'd have scared you half to death.'
'Goody. What for?'
'Dam it, you hurt my shoulder.'
'I'm a brute. How did you get here?'
'Walked, I came out for a walk. I didn't realize it was so dark; I thought my eyes would get used to it. I have eyes like a cat, but I don't think I ever saw it so dark. Is that your face? Hold still.'
She put a hand out, her fingers on my cheek. For a second I thought she was going to claw, but the touch was soft, and when I realized it was going to linger I stepped back a pace and told her, 'Don't do that, I'm ticklish.'
She laughed. 'I was just making sure it was your face. Are you going to have lunch with me tomorrow?'
'Yes.'
'You are?' She sounded surprised.
'Sure. That is, you can have lunch with me. Why not? I think you're amusing. You'll do fin-e to pass away some time, just a pretty toy to be enjoyed for an idle moment and then tossed away. That's all any woman can ever mean to me, be- cause all the serious side of me is concentrated on my career. I want to be a policeman.'
'Goodness. I suppose we ought to be grateful that you're willing to bother with us at all. Let's get in your car and sit down and be comfortable.'
'It's locked and I haven't got the key. Anyhow, if I sat down I might go to sleep and I mustn't because I'm guarding the bull. You'd better run along. I promised to be on the alert.'
'Nonsense.' She moved around the fender, brushing against me, and planted herself on the running board. 'Come here and give me a cigarette. Clyde Osgood lost his head and made a fool of himself. How could anyone possibly do any- thing about that bull, with only the two gates, and one of them on the side towards the house and the other one right there? And you can't do any work on your career, here on a lonely road at night. Come and play with one of your toys.'
I flashed the light on the gate, a hundred feet away, then switched it off and turned to join her on the running board. Stepping on an uneven spot, I got off balance and plumped down right against her. She jerked away.
'Don't sit so close,' she said in an entirely new tone. 'It
gives me the shivers.'
I reached for cigarettes, grinning in the dark. 'That had the element oЈ surprise,' I said, getting out the matches, 'but it's only fair to warn you that tactics bore me, and any you would be apt to know about would be too obvious. Besides, it was bad timing. The dangle-it-then-jerk-it-away is no good until after you're positive you've got the right lure, and you have by no means reached that point…'
I stopped because she was on her feet and moving off. I told the dark, where her form was dim, 'The lunch is off. I doubt if you have anything new to contribute.'
She came back, sat down again on the running board about a foot from me, and ran the tips of her fingers down my sleeve from shoulder to elbow. 'Give me a cigarette, Escamillo.' I lit for her and she inhaled. 'Thanks. Let's get acquainted, shall we? Tell me something.' 'For instance.'
'Oh… tell me about your first woman.' 'With pleasure.' I took a draw and exhaled. 'I was going up the Amazon in a canoe. I was alone because I had fed all our provisions to the alligators in a spirit of fun and my natives, whom I called boys, had fled into the jungle. For two months I had had nothing to eat but fish, then an enor- mous tarpon had gone off with my tackle and I was helpless. Doggedly I kept on up the river, and had resigned myself to the pangs of starvation when, on the fifth day, I came to a small but beautiful island with a woman standing on it about eight feet tall. She was an Amazon. I beached the canoe and she picked me up and carried me into a sort of bower she had, saying that what I needed was a woman's care. However, there did not appear to be anything on the island to eat, and she looked as if she wouldn't need to eat again for weeks. So I adopted the only course that was left to me, laid my plans and set a trap, and by sundown I had her stewing merrily in an enormous iron pot which she had apparently been using for making lemon butter. She was delicious. As well
