âIf he doesnât kill you, then you can shoot.â
âThatâs not real encouraging,â Buddy said.
Rhodes stepped on a soft spot and almost fell, but he caught his balance in time and stumbled for a few steps.
âYou okay?â Buddy asked.
âIâm fine,â Rhodes said. âJust clumsy.â
When they came to the pickup, Rhodes was tempted to stop and search it, but Earl already had a good head start on him. Rhodes kept going. As he passed the front of the truck, he saw Buddy disappear into the trees on his right.
Rhodes entered the woods. It was a bit cooler in the shade, but there wasnât a hint of a breeze. Rhodes didnât hurry. He didnât want to try running, what with all the sticks, leaves, and broken limbs on the ground. There was also the danger of snakes. Copperheads werenât unusual in the spring, especially in the woods, and there might be a rattlesnake or two around.
Rhodes got out his pistol. Snakes werenât usually aggressive, but if you stepped on one or got too close to it and agitated it, youâd be in big trouble. If you were of the non-boot-wearing persuasion, you could be in even bigger trouble, so it paid to be careful. Rhodes was careful. He didnât like snakes. He thought for a second of Bud Turley, a man who hadnât been careful. Rhodes wished heâd warned Buddy about snakes, but Buddy had lived in Blacklin County for most of his life. Heâd be careful. So would Louie and Earl.
Rhodes started walking. Besides snakes, there was the threat of poison oak and poison ivy. Rhodes didnât need to spend the next few weeks itching like a dog with the mange, so he tried to avoid contact with anything green, just to be on the safe side.
There was another threat, too, the feral pigs whoâd torn up the pasture. The pigs usually came out at night, but in the daytime theyâd lie up in some concealed shady spot in the woods to wait for darkness so they could begin their plundering. They were wreaking havoc all over the county, all over the state, and almost all over the country.
Some commissioner in Harris County, which included Houston, had gotten permission to trap the feral pigs in several parks, have them butchered, and give the meat to the food bank. Rhodes thought that was an excellent plan. If they had enough traps, they could feed the whole county forever because the pigs could reproduce faster than they could be trapped. Better not to think about the pigs, though.
Every so often Rhodes stopped to look for signs of Earlâs passage through the woods. He saw some crushed plants and knew he was on the right track, but he couldnât hear anything other than birds twittering. Mockingbirds, he thought. They made so many different sounds that Rhodes couldnât know for sure. Birdsong identification wasnât one of his strong points.
Aside from the birds, everything was quiet. Rhodes walked slowly, and now and then he looked up into the trees. Heâd learned the hard way that most people didnât look up, so it was easy to hide if you could climb a tree. Earl didnât look like a climber, but you could never be sure about someone like him. He might be more agile than he appeared. However, Rhodes didnât see Earl. He didnât even see any birds. They were all hiding from him among the new green leaves the trees were putting out.
Earl didnât seem to Rhodes like someone who could be quiet for very long, any more than he seemed like a climber. He appeared to be more like the kind whoâd crash through the woods like a hippo, so Rhodes assumed that he was either resting or had been able to run so fast that heâd already gotten away. If heâd gotten away, there was no need for Rhodes to be in a hurry. He continued to ease along, hoping that he was still on the right track.
He was. Somewhere ahead of him he heard a commotion, then a yell, then something that sounded like a
âThatâs not real encouraging,â Buddy said.
Rhodes stepped on a soft spot and almost fell, but he caught his balance in time and stumbled for a few steps.
âYou okay?â Buddy asked.
âIâm fine,â Rhodes said. âJust clumsy.â
When they came to the pickup, Rhodes was tempted to stop and search it, but Earl already had a good head start on him. Rhodes kept going. As he passed the front of the truck, he saw Buddy disappear into the trees on his right.
Rhodes entered the woods. It was a bit cooler in the shade, but there wasnât a hint of a breeze. Rhodes didnât hurry. He didnât want to try running, what with all the sticks, leaves, and broken limbs on the ground. There was also the danger of snakes. Copperheads werenât unusual in the spring, especially in the woods, and there might be a rattlesnake or two around.
Rhodes got out his pistol. Snakes werenât usually aggressive, but if you stepped on one or got too close to it and agitated it, youâd be in big trouble. If you were of the non-boot-wearing persuasion, you could be in even bigger trouble, so it paid to be careful. Rhodes was careful. He didnât like snakes. He thought for a second of Bud Turley, a man who hadnât been careful. Rhodes wished heâd warned Buddy about snakes, but Buddy had lived in Blacklin County for most of his life. Heâd be careful. So would Louie and Earl.
Rhodes started walking. Besides snakes, there was the threat of poison oak and poison ivy. Rhodes didnât need to spend the next few weeks itching like a dog with the mange, so he tried to avoid contact with anything green, just to be on the safe side.
There was another threat, too, the feral pigs whoâd torn up the pasture. The pigs usually came out at night, but in the daytime theyâd lie up in some concealed shady spot in the woods to wait for darkness so they could begin their plundering. They were wreaking havoc all over the county, all over the state, and almost all over the country.
Some commissioner in Harris County, which included Houston, had gotten permission to trap the feral pigs in several parks, have them butchered, and give the meat to the food bank. Rhodes thought that was an excellent plan. If they had enough traps, they could feed the whole county forever because the pigs could reproduce faster than they could be trapped. Better not to think about the pigs, though.
Every so often Rhodes stopped to look for signs of Earlâs passage through the woods. He saw some crushed plants and knew he was on the right track, but he couldnât hear anything other than birds twittering. Mockingbirds, he thought. They made so many different sounds that Rhodes couldnât know for sure. Birdsong identification wasnât one of his strong points.
Aside from the birds, everything was quiet. Rhodes walked slowly, and now and then he looked up into the trees. Heâd learned the hard way that most people didnât look up, so it was easy to hide if you could climb a tree. Earl didnât look like a climber, but you could never be sure about someone like him. He might be more agile than he appeared. However, Rhodes didnât see Earl. He didnât even see any birds. They were all hiding from him among the new green leaves the trees were putting out.
Earl didnât seem to Rhodes like someone who could be quiet for very long, any more than he seemed like a climber. He appeared to be more like the kind whoâd crash through the woods like a hippo, so Rhodes assumed that he was either resting or had been able to run so fast that heâd already gotten away. If heâd gotten away, there was no need for Rhodes to be in a hurry. He continued to ease along, hoping that he was still on the right track.
He was. Somewhere ahead of him he heard a commotion, then a yell, then something that sounded like a
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