* * * * *
There'll be a picnic and a hike; the captain says. Three hours now
the boys have carried luggage from the metal house. The way they
talk, this'll be some picnic. Some seem afraid, but who worries about
copperheads and water-moccasins and crawfish? Not me. No, sir. Not me.
Gus Bartz, sweating beside me on some apparatus, squints at me.
"What's eatin' you, Halloway?"