"It could be," Harky agreed. "Gol ding it! Are women late for
everything? Even coon hunts?"
"Most times," said Mun, "'cept when they're early."
Harky laid out Mun's coon-hunting axe, filled the lantern, stuck the
flashlight in his pocket, and put the .22 in easy reach. He stifled an
urge to go out on the porch for another listen. This night the whole
future of coon hunting in the Creeping Hills was at stake, but such
confidence as Harky had possessed was fast waning. Taking a girl on a
coon hunt had brought about this whole mess. Where was his assurance
that taking the same girl on a second hunt would not result in an even
more hopeless tangle?
What had seemed sheer inspiration, and a positive way to retrieve
shattered legend by proving to Melinda that she was wrong and the coon
hunters right, no longer seemed such a good idea. When Melinda did not
come, Harky began to hope she wouldn't. Just as there seemed reason to
think this hope might be realized, Melinda arrived.
She was dressed in the same costume she'd worn for the previous hunt,
except that she wore two shirts instead of just one. Both together,
however, did nothing to conceal the fact that no masculine coon hunter
was bundled beneath them; Harky thought sourly that even if Melinda
wore her father's bearskin coat she'd still look like a girl.
"Where you been?" he demanded.
"Why I came at nightfall, Harold," she answered. "I'm not late."
"Y'are too!"