Acting as though he had seen nothing, Andy put his remaining cage of
muskrats beside the slough that was to be their future home. He knelt,
opened the cage, spilled the muskrats into the slough and watched them
swim bewilderedly about. Casually, for Luke Trull was crafty as any fox
that had ever padded through the swamp, he strapped the empty crate on
his pack board and slipped into the shoulder straps.
He turned as if intending to retrace exactly the path he had followed.
The swamp grass was tall and dense. A man who wanted to crawl away would
do so if his suspicions were aroused and have every chance of hiding
successfully. When the path had brought him as near as possible to the
place where he had seen Luke Trull duck into the grass, Andy shucked the
pack board from his shoulder and ran as swiftly as possible toward the
spot. A moment later, he looked down on the hillman.
Luke was on his hands and knees. His head turned so he could see over
his shoulder, and the eyes that met Andy's were as cold as those of any
hunting great horned owl or bobcat. But his lips framed an appeasing
smile and his voice was amiable,
"Hi, Andy."
Andy stood still, for the moment unable to speak. Fierce, hot anger
mingled with almost complete discouragement. Even though he had taken
the Casmans and the Haroldsons into his confidence, it had still been a
grave mistake to bring the muskrats in by day, for Luke Trull had seen
and Luke had known. The boy licked dry lips.
When he had left the house this morning, it had never occurred to him
that he might be followed and therefore he had been off guard. Of course
he shouldn't have been, but it was too late to think of that now. Since
he had failed to be alert, any hillman who cared to do so, while
remaining unobserved himself, could have followed him wherever he went.
Andy knew now why Frosty had hidden. Luke must have been on his trail
from the very first. He himself had not only shown the fellow the safe
paths into the swamp, but Luke knew where everyone of these twenty pairs
of muskrats were planted. It went without saying that he would know how
to find them again, and probably he would be able to find the others.
Andy bit off his words and spat them at the crouching man,
"I told you to stay out of my swamp!"
"Why now, you never told me nothin' like that."
"What are you doing here?"
"Lookin'."
"Get up, Luke!"
"Now, Andy, mought's well be neighborly. You give leave to Ira'n Jud
Casman an' all the Haroldsons to help ya trap mushrats. All I come out
for was to see why ya fo'got to ask me?"
It was a flimsy excuse. Luke knew well enough where Andy lived, and if
he had wanted to ask him anything at all, he might easily have come to
his house. Any farfetched chance that he might actually have followed
Andy into the swamp to ask about anything at all was refuted by the fact
that he had been hiding in the grass. Andy's voice was dangerously
low-pitched,
"Get up, Luke!"
"Not afore ya cool a mite."
Andy reached down, grasped the other's coat collar, jerked him erect and
spun him around. When he swung, the blow started at the tips of his toes
and traveled through his clenched fist. He connected squarely, and Luke
Trull sat down suddenly in the grass.
Supporting himself with both arms, he looked intently at Andy. His eyes
remained cold and the smile was gone. Andy spoke quietly,
"Get out! Don't come back!"
Without a word, Luke Trull rose and shuffled away. Andy had a sudden
cold feeling. Luke Trull was no more ethical than a rattlesnake, and he
was far more dangerous. Andy knew that the man would come again, but he
would not be caught again. Nor would he ever forget this. One way or
another, he would have his revenge, and if he confined his vengeance to
wiping out the muskrat colonies, Andy would be lucky.
The boy's courage returned. He had known when he planned his muskrat
ranch that it would be no easy task and that he would have to fight for
it, so fight he would.
Andy picked up his pack board and in what remained of the day went back
to the place where Frosty had disappeared. He searched carefully but he
could not find the kitten, and when he returned to the house, Frosty was
not there. The boy dawdled over a skimpy supper and went dispiritedly to
bed.
Rising at daybreak, Andy hurried eagerly to the door and called, but his
frost-coated partner did not respond. Pondering the advisability of
going again to look for him, he decided that it would be a waste of
time. He'd already covered that whole section very thoroughly without
finding a trace of the kitten. Frosty would be found when and if he was
ready.
Andy was on the point of going into the swamp to check on the muskrats
he had planted yesterday, but he caught up a hoe instead and went to his
garden. Sadly neglected for too long, weeds were crowding vegetables.
Andy hoed his way down the aisles in his onion patch. Putting the hoe
aside, he knelt to pull the weeds that were growing among the onions.
Hearing a car on the road, he merely glanced up briefly, then resumed
his weeding. He expected no visitors, certainly none who might drive a
car.