"What are you in for?" the waiter asked.
"I murdered my grandmother."
The waiter grinned. "They say you guys from the hills do take pot shots
at each other."
"We have to have some entertainment."
"How many more days you got?"
"After tomorrow, I'll no longer be a guest here."
"They say," the waiter pursued his interrogation, "that you and another
guy fought over some muskrats?"
"For once," Andy agreed, "rumor got something right."
"Really?"
"Really."
"And you're in jail on account of some muskrats?"
"That's right."
The waiter continued, "I've heard that it's as much as a man's life is
worth to go into those hills alone at night."
"Oh, don't talk like a fool!" Andy snapped.
"I was just being civil," the waiter retorted sulkily.
The man left and Andy was alone with his dinner and his thoughts. He
nibbled listlessly at the food. The waiter exemplified the town's
attitude; hillmen would fight over anything, even worthless muskrats in
a worthless swamp. In their opinion, it was a small thing, and not a
project upon which a man hoped to build a career and a life.
Out of the dim past, ghosts came to haunt Andy. He saw again the men of
the Gates clan, the older men who had asked neither favors nor
assistance from anyone. They had settled their own problems in their
own way or died trying, and if they died, no survivor had ever looked to
the law for redress.
Andy forced the ghosts from his mind. Their ways had suited their times,
but there were different times. Nobody could be his own law, and taking
the law into one's own hands could lead only to disaster. Besides, the
boy thought, he must not borrow trouble. Luke Trull had not yet raided
his muskrats, and at least as much as anything else, his own
hot-headedness was responsible for his present predicament. Andy went to
sleep.
* * * * *
The next morning, two hours after breakfast, a State Policeman came to
unlock the cell. It was not the young trooper but an older, hardened man
who looked at Andy with no more personal interest than a scientist
wastes on a specimen.
"Okeh." The trooper nodded toward the door. "You can go."
Andy walked through the open door, and from the cafe across the street
two men stared curiously at him. He turned away, his face burning, and
walked swiftly out of town. He had a sudden, vast need for the swamp and
the things that were of the swamp. Somehow he felt that, when he was
once again where he belonged, this would seem just another bad dream. He
hurried along into the hills and when he came to the path leading to his
place, half ran down it.
He was still a hundred yards from the house when Frosty came running
happily to greet him. Andy stooped to caress his partner, and the kitten
arched against his legs and purred. Side by side, they walked to the
house.
Entering, Andy took his .22 from its rack, then the two partners went
contentedly into the swamp.
10