Public opinion and shards of broken glass were nothing compared to my dread of the snake, which I imagined was lying in wait, lurking there just outside the bathroom door.
Casting my fate to the winds, I gathered one more towel, tossed it out the window in front of me in hopes it would protect my bare feet from the broken glass. Then, standing on tiptoe on the edge of the tub, I clambered up the wall and wiggled my bare butt out the window.
Thank God I didn't get stuck.
CHAPTER 7
Shorty Rojas seemed a little surprised when I turned up on his doorstep wearing nothing but a towel and an off-the-shoulder smile. Unperturbed by my tale of the snake, he gave me a bathrobe and a pair of rubber thongs. The robe, a shocking pink chenille, evidently belonged to Dolores and came close to wrapping around me twice. The thongs, blue rubber dime store jobs, were definitely Shorty's. They were wide enough for my feet, but my heels hung off the back end by a good inch and a half.
I wanted him to exhibit some visible reaction when I told him about the snake. I wanted him to act like it was something out of the ordinary, for him to be more upset, but Shorty Rojas wasn't the excitable type.
'Happens every time we have a flood,' he said with a shrug. 'Them snakes hole up in the bank along the river. When high water gets to 'em, they go looking for someplace warm and dry. What'd you do, leave your door open? Hang on a minute. I'll go get my snake stick and a burlap bag.'
He pulled a much-used Stetson down from a hook on the wall near the door and shoved it on his head.
'You mean this kind of thing happens often?' I asked.
Shorty didn't answer. When he returned to the door, instead of packing a gun, which was what I wanted and expected, he was carrying a gunnysack and a stick the size of a cane with a leather noose hanging off the bottom end.
'What the hell are you going to do with that thing?' I demanded.
Shorty looked down at the stick. A leather thong ran up one side of the stick. He slipped it up and down, tightening and loosening the noose. 'I'm gonna catch me a snake,' he said impassively. 'Take it back outside where it belongs and let it loose.'
'You mean you're not going to kill it?'
'No, I'm not going to kill it.' He sounded offended, not only by the question but by the implied stupidity behind it. 'If every snake in this danged world disappeared off the face of the earth tomorrow, we'd all be overrun with varmints in two shakes of a lamb's tail.'
With a derisive snort and a shake of his head, Shorty Rojas headed up the trail. Chastened, I followed meekly behind.
'Where is it?' he asked over his shoulder as we trudged along.
'I never turned on the lights so I didn't actually see it,' I admitted, 'but it's somewhere right near the door. At least that's what it sounded like when I left.'
'If the snake's by the door, how'd you get out without getting bit?'
'I climbed out the bathroom window.'
He stopped in the glow of a yard light and looked up at me, consternation written on his face. 'Out the window, no shit? Musta been a tight fit.'
'I broke out the glass.'
'I see,' he said, and continued on.
Feeling like a cowardly jackass, I stayed outside, hovering nervously on the rim of the porch while Shorty cracked open the door, switched on the light, and peered inside.
'See him?' I asked.
'Nope. Not yet. Probably slipped under a bed or into the closet, looking for someplace to hide, I reckon. You stay outside,' Shorty added. 'I've got boots on. You don't.'
Carefully he slipped inside the cabin, easing the door shut behind him. I stood outside, gazing forlornly in at the window while he searched the cabin for the snake. For several anxious minutes I was afraid he wouldn't find the snake at all, that people hearing the story would assume I had made the whole thing up in a fit of alcohol- withdrawal-induced paranoia.
But then, much to my relief, I saw Shorty struggling with the stick inside the closet. A few minutes later he returned to the door and opened it. Behind Shorty, I saw the empty snake stick leaning against the wall beside the open closet door. In one triumphant hand Shorty held a writhing burlap bag.
I recoiled from the bag in alarm. 'Don't worry,' Shorty said reassuringly. 'It can't hurt you now. Come on in and get some clothes on.' Holding the bag well away from his body, he tied the neck of it in a solid knot, shaking it once to be sure it would hold.
Gingerly I stepped in over the threshold, warily watching the bag, but also looking around the room for any further sign of danger. 'What if there's another one?' I asked. 'Is that possible?'
'I suppose,' Shorty replied. 'Possible, but not likely, especially since this one here's a pet.'
'A pet?' I couldn't believe my ears. 'Are you kidding? I thought you said it came from the riverbank.'
'Not this one. It's somebody's pet snake all right, one that got loose somehow. And not very long ago, either, from the looks of it.'
'How the hell do you know that? What's he doing, wearing a dog tag?'
I had given up all hope of taking of shower. Instead, I went to the closet to get some clothes, pulling everything to one side and examining every corner of the closet before I took down my shirt and trousers. In the process I noticed that all of Joey Rothman's belongings had been removed, not only from the closet but from the rest of the cabin as well. It was as though someone had come through the place and erased every trace of his occupancy.
Shorty set the wriggling bag down near the door and walked into the bathroom, where he examined the broken window. 'How come you didn't take the glass out?' he asked.
'Pardon me?'
'The glass, come you broke it? Those panes just sit in the frame, you know. They lift right out.'
'You could have fooled me,' I told him with a nervous laugh. 'I must not have been thinking too straight. That snake scared the living shit right out of me.'
Shorty retrieved his stick from beside the closet and set it near the bag while the snake rattled ominoulsy. Even muffled by the burlap bag, the sound was enough to make my skin crawl. But Shorty didn't seem remotely disturbed. If any thing, he seemed to be struggling to suppress a grin.
'What the hell's so damned funny?' I demanded.
'Him too,' Shorty answered, allowing himself a discreet smile.
'What do you mean?'
'Look over there,' he said, pointing. 'See that mess there under the corner of the bed?'
I looked where he pointed and was rewarded with the sight of a small, stomach-turning mass of white fur and tiny tails.
'What the hell is that?'
'Snake's dinner-dead white mice,' Shorty answered. 'He scared you, but you musta scared him pretty good too. He barfed his guts out. You ever see any white mice in the wild, by the way?'
'You're saying I scared him?'
The idea of the snake being frightened of me was so laughable that I felt an almost hysterical chuckle welling in my throat. But Shorty Rojas wasn't laughing.
'You bet. Coiling up and striking is hard work for snakes. Bothers 'em. Upsets their digestive tracts, especially if they've just been fed.'
I wondered suddenly if Shorty was having a bit of old-fashioned cowboy fun with a tenderfoot city-slicker from Seattle, but there was no hint of amusement about him as he spoke. The smile no longer flickered around the corners of his mouth. The twinkle was gone from his eyes. He seemed dead serious.
'How do you happen to know so much about snakes?' I asked.
