rivulets and a few stunted cypress trees. Unless he wanted to swim up the creek, his only choice was to turn north and circle around the swamp along the sand hills and meet back up with Bayberry Creek wherever he could. Not knowing how big the swamp was, he didn’t know how much time he would lose on this detour. But he had little choice.
Coming out of the creek bottom, Aidan found easier traveling among the sparse pines of the sand hills. But it was past midday, and the sun glaring on the sand was a stark contrast to the shady green of the creekside. Aidan sought shade in a stand of big magnolia trees.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the smooth, gray bark of a big magnolia. Just as he began to doze, he heard a rattle in the stiff, waxy leaves overhead. And yet there had been no breeze to rustle in the treetop. He stood and craned his neck to peer into the branches above. He sniffed the air. Was that pungent, fishy smell wafting up from the swamp or down from the tree? He circled around the tree, ducking beneath its low limbs. The deep green leaves were thick, but he could see movement of some sort in the highest branches. Something up there—or someone—was circling the trunk opposite him, keeping itself hidden.
Then Aidan heard a sound he had been waiting all summer to hear: Ha-ha-ha-hrawffff-wooooooooo … Ha-ha-ha-hrawffff-wooooooooo.
The bark of the bog owl! It thrilled Aidan just as it did the last time he heard it in the bottom pasture. He threw back his head and answered as best he could: “Ha-ha-ha- hrawffff-wooooooooo.” Then he belted out the battle cry that Dobro had sung when he took off after the panther: “Haaaawwweeeeee!”
Aidan mounted a low limb of the magnolia and started scrambling up, overjoyed to find the friend he had been seeking all summer long. “Dobro!” he shouted. “Dobro! Dobro! You stinking mudfish! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
He was halfway up the tree when another call echoed from a few feet away in another magnolia: Ha-ha-ha-hrawffff-wooooooooo … Ha-ha-ha-hrawffff-wooooooooo. He turned toward the second call, then he heard a swift rustle coming down the trunk of his tree. He jerked back around, just in time to glimpse the soles of two flat, gray, hairy feet flying toward him. Aidan’s chest caught the full force of the blow, which propelled him out of the tree. When his head hit the sandy ground below, Aidan’s world went black.
Chapter Thirteen
A Trial
When Aidan woke up, his head was throbbing and he couldn’t see. He was on his back, facing skyward— at least, he thought he was. At the same time he felt as if he were moving. His wrists and ankles ached. The air was so stuffy he could hardly breathe, and his mouth was tight and stretched. His parched tongue felt furry in his mouth.
Aidan’s senses were returning slowly. He was confused and found it difficult to figure out where he was. It occurred to him that he had been hearing a steady splashing, as well as voices, one near his head and one near his feet. As the fog cleared, the words he heard began to make some sense.
“You don’t reckon you kilt him, do you?” asked the voice near his head. It was a high-pitched, grating voice.
“Course not, Rabbo,” said a nasally voice near his feet. “He’ll be all right … for a little while, anyway.”
Both voices laughed. Aidan didn’t get the joke and wasn’t sure he wanted to. A sudden jolt shook his whole body, and a new ache shot through his wrists and ankles.
At his head he heard a shrill laugh from the voice called Rabbo. “Watch out for that cypress knee, Jonko. The prisoner might not appreciate you dropping him in the swamp.”
“Shut your feeder, Rabbo.”
“You shut your own feeder.”
“How ’bout you make me?”
“How ’bout I take this tote-pole and learn you some manners?”
“Awwww, dry up, Rabbo. We’ll be at the Meeting Hummock in no time. I’ll settle up with you there, where the whole tribe
Coming out of the creek bottom, Aidan found easier traveling among the sparse pines of the sand hills. But it was past midday, and the sun glaring on the sand was a stark contrast to the shady green of the creekside. Aidan sought shade in a stand of big magnolia trees.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the smooth, gray bark of a big magnolia. Just as he began to doze, he heard a rattle in the stiff, waxy leaves overhead. And yet there had been no breeze to rustle in the treetop. He stood and craned his neck to peer into the branches above. He sniffed the air. Was that pungent, fishy smell wafting up from the swamp or down from the tree? He circled around the tree, ducking beneath its low limbs. The deep green leaves were thick, but he could see movement of some sort in the highest branches. Something up there—or someone—was circling the trunk opposite him, keeping itself hidden.
Then Aidan heard a sound he had been waiting all summer to hear: Ha-ha-ha-hrawffff-wooooooooo … Ha-ha-ha-hrawffff-wooooooooo.
The bark of the bog owl! It thrilled Aidan just as it did the last time he heard it in the bottom pasture. He threw back his head and answered as best he could: “Ha-ha-ha- hrawffff-wooooooooo.” Then he belted out the battle cry that Dobro had sung when he took off after the panther: “Haaaawwweeeeee!”
Aidan mounted a low limb of the magnolia and started scrambling up, overjoyed to find the friend he had been seeking all summer long. “Dobro!” he shouted. “Dobro! Dobro! You stinking mudfish! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
He was halfway up the tree when another call echoed from a few feet away in another magnolia: Ha-ha-ha-hrawffff-wooooooooo … Ha-ha-ha-hrawffff-wooooooooo. He turned toward the second call, then he heard a swift rustle coming down the trunk of his tree. He jerked back around, just in time to glimpse the soles of two flat, gray, hairy feet flying toward him. Aidan’s chest caught the full force of the blow, which propelled him out of the tree. When his head hit the sandy ground below, Aidan’s world went black.
Chapter Thirteen
A Trial
When Aidan woke up, his head was throbbing and he couldn’t see. He was on his back, facing skyward— at least, he thought he was. At the same time he felt as if he were moving. His wrists and ankles ached. The air was so stuffy he could hardly breathe, and his mouth was tight and stretched. His parched tongue felt furry in his mouth.
Aidan’s senses were returning slowly. He was confused and found it difficult to figure out where he was. It occurred to him that he had been hearing a steady splashing, as well as voices, one near his head and one near his feet. As the fog cleared, the words he heard began to make some sense.
“You don’t reckon you kilt him, do you?” asked the voice near his head. It was a high-pitched, grating voice.
“Course not, Rabbo,” said a nasally voice near his feet. “He’ll be all right … for a little while, anyway.”
Both voices laughed. Aidan didn’t get the joke and wasn’t sure he wanted to. A sudden jolt shook his whole body, and a new ache shot through his wrists and ankles.
At his head he heard a shrill laugh from the voice called Rabbo. “Watch out for that cypress knee, Jonko. The prisoner might not appreciate you dropping him in the swamp.”
“Shut your feeder, Rabbo.”
“You shut your own feeder.”
“How ’bout you make me?”
“How ’bout I take this tote-pole and learn you some manners?”
“Awwww, dry up, Rabbo. We’ll be at the Meeting Hummock in no time. I’ll settle up with you there, where the whole tribe
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