Swamp Sister

H.H.

Shad sat down and rubbed at his cheeks with his fingertips. He'd swung full circle – right around to where his brother had ended four years before.

"Me'n Holly," he said quietly. "We both come out here to beat the pants offn this old slough – and look what we got fer our pains."

The lassitude was with him again as he left the lonely little wickiup. He walked a bit through the bays, and then looked up and around, wondering if Holly's body was somewhere nearby.

It was mid-afternoon when he stumbled upon the Indian mounds. That perked him up somewhat. He'd heard oldtimers tell of how the Indians used to bury pottery, ornaments, tools, and weapons along with their dead. There just might be something in one of the mounds he could use to help along his survival.

He circled an enormous mound that from its extraordinary size suggested that its dead inhabitant had been tenfoot tall. He'd heard tales of Indians nearly that tall but he'd never believed it. He chose a likely spot and started digging with his knife.

The bones he unearthed went to powder in his fingers, and the weapons didn't stand up any better. He found some stone implements that he couldn't account for and didn't see how he could use, and so, doggedly, shifted on to the next mound.

He dug mechanically, loosening the dirt with the knife blade, pawing it aside with his left hand. Suddenly he snatched back his hand as though he'd touched something unwholesome. He'd uncovered a small part of a man's leg – but the leg was clothed in rotting denim.

Shad stood up, staring. All at once comprehension burst through the blank barrier that shock had created. It was George Tusca's body.

"Great God A'mighty!" he whispered. "This here's the mound I done buried poor George in two years ago!"

His head snapped around and for the first time he actually saw the nearby tupelo trees, saw the very tupelo that George Tusca had hanged himself from.

He knew where he was – he was out!

You go into that hurrah thicket there and down to the guzzle he'd named Tusca Creek, in honour of George's memory, and you follow the creek for two miles and it flows you right into Tarramand Lake, and you take Mink Creek for another mile and that brings you to the river. And way-hay, roll and go! You're heading for home!