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Swamp Cat

<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/chap_8.jpg" width-obs="90" height-obs="102" alt="" title="" /></div> <h2>MAROONED</h2> Acting as though he had seen nothing, Andy put his remaining cage of muskrats beside the slough that was to be their future home. He knelt, opened the cage, spilled the muskrats into the slough and watched them swim bewilderedly about. Casually, for Luke Trull was crafty as any fox that had ever padded through the swamp, he strapped the empty crate on his pack board and slipped into the shoulder straps. He turned as if intending to retrace exactly the path he had followed. The swamp grass was tall and dense. A man who wanted to crawl away would do so if his suspicions were aroused and have every chance of hiding successfully. When the path had brought him as near as possible to the place where he had seen Luke Trull duck into the grass, Andy shucked the pack board from his shoulder and ran as swiftly as possible toward the spot. A moment later, he looked down on the hillman. Luke was on his hands and knees. His head turned so he could see over his shoulder, and the eyes that met Andy's were as cold as those of any hunting great horned owl or bobcat. But his lips framed an appeasing smile and his voice was amiable, "Hi, Andy." Andy stood still, for the moment unable to speak. Fierce, hot anger mingled with almost complete discouragement. Even though he had taken the Casmans and the Haroldsons into his confidence, it had still been a grave mistake to bring the muskrats in by day, for Luke Trull had seen and Luke had known. The boy licked dry lips. When he had left the house this morning, it had never occurred to him that he might be followed and therefore he had been off guard. Of course he shouldn't have been, but it was too late to think of that now. Since he had failed to be alert, any hillman who cared to do so, while remaining unobserved himself, could have followed him wherever he went. Andy knew now why Frosty had hidden. Luke must have been on his trail from the very first. He himself had not only shown the fellow the safe paths into the swamp, but Luke knew where everyone of these twenty pairs of muskrats were planted. It went without saying that he would know how to find them again, and probably he would be able to find the others. Andy bit off his words and spat them at the crouching man, "I told you to stay out of my swamp!" "Why now, you never told me nothin' like that." "What are you doing here?" "Lookin'." "Get up, Luke!" "Now, Andy, mought's well be neighborly. You give leave to Ira'n Jud Casman an' all the Haroldsons to help ya trap mushrats. All I come out for was to see why ya fo'got to ask me?" It was a flimsy excuse. Luke knew well enough where Andy lived, and if he had wanted to ask him anything at all, he might easily have come to his house. Any farfetched chance that he might actually have followed Andy into the swamp to ask about anything at all was refuted by the fact that he had been hiding in the grass. Andy's voice was dangerously low-pitched, "Get up, Luke!" "Not afore ya cool a mite." Andy reached down, grasped the other's coat collar, jerked him erect and spun him around. When he swung, the blow started at the tips of his toes and traveled through his clenched fist. He connected squarely, and Luke Trull sat down suddenly in the grass. Supporting himself with both arms, he looked intently at Andy. His eyes remained cold and the smile was gone. Andy spoke quietly, "Get out! Don't come back!" Without a word, Luke Trull rose and shuffled away. Andy had a sudden cold feeling. Luke Trull was no more ethical than a rattlesnake, and he was far more dangerous. Andy knew that the man would come again, but he would not be caught again. Nor would he ever forget this. One way or another, he would have his revenge, and if he confined his vengeance to wiping out the muskrat colonies, Andy would be lucky. The boy's courage returned. He had known when he planned his muskrat ranch that it would be no easy task and that he would have to fight for it, so fight he would. Andy picked up his pack board and in what remained of the day went back to the place where Frosty had disappeared. He searched carefully but he could not find the kitten, and when he returned to the house, Frosty was not there. The boy dawdled over a skimpy supper and went dispiritedly to bed. Rising at daybreak, Andy hurried eagerly to the door and called, but his frost-coated partner did not respond. Pondering the advisability of going again to look for him, he decided that it would be a waste of time. He'd already covered that whole section very thoroughly without finding a trace of the kitten. Frosty would be found when and if he was ready. Andy was on the point of going into the swamp to check on the muskrats he had planted yesterday, but he caught up a hoe instead and went to his garden. Sadly neglected for too long, weeds were crowding vegetables. Andy hoed his way down the aisles in his onion patch. Putting the hoe aside, he knelt to pull the weeds that were growing among the onions. Hearing a car on the road, he merely glanced up briefly, then resumed his weeding. He expected no visitors, certainly none who might drive a car. Suddenly a crisp voice asked, "Is your name Gates?" Andy turned, startled, and rose to confront a young man who wore a State Policeman's uniform. Reserved and doing his best to uphold both the dignity and the authority of his position, nevertheless the young trooper could not completely hide a sparkle in his eye and a humorous twist to his mouth. Andy said, "I'm Gates." "Andrew Gates?" "That's right." "I have a warrant for your arrest." Andy gave way to astonishment. "A what?" "Do you want me to read it to you?" "What's it about?" "An assault warrant sworn out by a man named Trull. Let's see," the trooper glanced at the warrant, "Luke Trull." Andy clenched his jaws. Joe Wilson, who had said that Luke would not fight back, but would go to the State Police if Andy hit him, had known exactly what he was talking about. The trooper looked steadily at Andy. "Well?" "That's right." "You assaulted this Trull character?" "Yes." "And you admit it?" "I admit it." The trooper turned quizzical. "Why?" "I found him in my swamp." "Is the swamp posted?" "No." "Did he threaten you?" "No." "Yours was a wilful attack?" "Yes." "Have you nothing to say in your own defense?" Andy answered wearily, "It would take too long. You'd have to know Luke Trull." The trooper, who never should have done so and never would have done so had he been more experienced, grinned. "I'll have to take you in." "Okeh. I'll just let my chickens out to forage." Side by side, a somehow awkward silence between them, they walked to the chicken pen and then on to the trooper's parked car. The officer made a U-turn and started toward town. He asked suddenly, "What do you want in that swamp?" "Quite a few things." "This Trull—seems to me I've seen his name on our records—what's he want there?" "Something that belongs to me." "Did he steal from you?" "No." "I don't get it." "He's going to steal. I planted muskrats in the swamp. He followed me to find out where they are." The trooper said thoughtfully, "Oh!" For five minutes they drove in silence. The officer broke it with, "I can take you before Justice Benton, one of the best." Andy said, "Okeh." "One of the best," the trooper emphasized. "Have you ever been arrested before?" "No!" "Then you can't know court procedure," the policeman said. "Now Benton is a great jurist. He's really wasting himself in a small town. He spends most of his time studying the decisions of various high courts, including the Supreme Court, and deciding what he might have done were he to rule on the same point of law. He shouldn't be handling minor cases and he knows it, and it irritates him if one takes up his time. He always wants to lay it on with a heavy hand when that happens, and he could send you to jail. On the other hand, when a defendant's reasonable and admits his guilt, Benton's usually inclined to go light. Now you've already told me you're guilty and I'll have to testify as to that. Do you understand?" Andy grinned his appreciation. The trooper, in the only way he possibly could, was telling him how to get off lightly. Andy said, "I understand." An hour later, he faced Judge Benton, a stern-faced little man who had a disconcerting habit of peering over instead of through his glasses. The trooper recited the charges. Justice Benton glanced briefly at the papers pertaining to the case and turned to Andy, "How does the defendant plead?" "Guilty," Andy murmured. "Young man," Justice Benton said sternly, "in flouting the laws of this great state, you have set yourself above the whole people whose duly elected representatives formulate those laws. However, you are youthful and the court is not unaware of the fact that youth is too often prompted by passion and inexperience. So the maximum sentence shall not be imposed. At the same time, you receive fair warning that henceforth you are to keep the peace with this plaintiff whom you have so grievously wronged. Nor must your present breach of the law go unpunished. In lieu of fine, this court sentences you to—" Justice Benton paused dramatically, then finished, "Ten days in jail." <hr style='width: 45%;' /> Whimsically deciding that Frosty wanted to accompany him into the swamp so he could see for himself what happened to the muskrats, Andy would never be aware of the fact that a chance shot had hit the mark. The kitten was curious about the muskrats' fate, but above and beyond that, he wanted something else. In electing to become Andy's partner, he had chosen much better than he knew. Self-sufficient and willing to surrender none of his independence, the partnership had been affected by a circumstance over which he had not the slightest control. Liking Andy and wanting a strong ally of his caliber, Frosty had come to love his partner. A confirmed prowler, he would continue to prowl and to go his own way whenever that seemed expedient. But he went gladly back to the house and eagerly looked forward to meeting Andy when he arrived. There were even times when he voluntarily cut his prowling short to have his partner's company. He also went into the swamp partly because Andy was going there. He became aware that they were being followed shortly after Andy planted the third pair of muskrats, but at first all he knew was that something trailed him. Uneasy backward glances and growing nervousness were lost on his friend, who was intent on getting his work done. This was wholly understandable, for it never occurred to Frosty that Andy was responsible for him, any more than he was obligated to watch out for his partner. Never for an instant questioning that he was well able to take care of himself, he never doubted that his partner could do likewise. Finally, able to bear the tension no longer, Frosty had to find out for himself just who was trailing them. His ears had already informed him that it was a man. No fox, bobcat, coyote, or anything else that belonged to the wild, had ever walked so heavily or so clumsily. Blowing against him, the wind brought no identifying scent to his nose. Frosty sprang to the boulder's top because it was a vantage point from which, while he still used his ears, he could use his eyes to better advantage. He had one fleeting glimpse of their pursuer just after Andy turned. Two hundred yards behind them, to the side instead of directly on their tail, Luke Trull saw Andy turn and dropped behind a boulder. Frosty unsheathed and sheathed his claws while his tail twitched angrily. He knew this man as an enemy much more deadly than any other he had ever faced. Even the great horned owl that had seized him had worked less injury than Luke Trull. Vividly Frosty remembered the ride, tortured hours in the sack before the coyote came to release him, and the hardships after that. But there was something more. The various creatures that would have killed and eaten Frosty had merely been pursuing life in the only way they could live it. Luke Trull had belittled him and struck at his pride. But he was powerful, and though Frosty did not fear him, it was prudent to avoid a battle. He slipped from the boulder, drifted into thick brush and waited. When Andy came back and called, Frosty remained in hiding. This was his affair and he expected no other living thing ever to fight in his behalf, but neither could he be guided by any judgment save his own. At the same time, he realized that, obviously, Andy was not afraid of Luke Trull, and his respect for his partner increased. But he would not show himself as long as Luke was near. Andy's search brought him very near, but Frosty remained perfectly still. His was the patience of a cat. Few other animals could wait so long or so uncomplainingly for exactly the right moment, be so sure of that moment when it arrived, and act accordingly. But one mistake was one too many, and he had no intention of making any more. Finally, Andy went back in the direction from which they had come. After an interval, Luke Trull rose to follow him. Frosty stayed in hiding. He had no idea as to what was happening here, or why his partner and Luke Trull should be together in the swamp, and he did not give a thought to possible danger for Andy. Frosty had accepted him as a partner largely because he was strong. Frosty moved only when he was sure both had gone. He wanted to go back to the house and wait for Andy there, but he did not return directly to the slough over which Andy had carried him. Only when forced to do so would he enter water, and he knew perfectly well that he could not cross the slough. He must find his own trail. Because he was in thick brush, he made no effort to hide but he did remain wholly alert. Slowing when he emerged from the brush into a grove of trees, he saw water sparkling. He went cautiously forward. He looked out on a relatively quiet section of the same slough, and as he gazed, a big bass broke water and splashed back in. A log floated against the bank on the other side, and a sora teetered on it. In a little eddy given over to lily pads, a heron balanced on one leg and waited with poised bill for an unwary fish to venture near. Frosty slunk back into the brush and slipped into another grove of trees. Suddenly he halted in his tracks. High in one of the trees, a tamarack, he had seen something move. Little more than a flicker, it was enough to make him aware of an alien presence. Flattening himself, he held perfectly still and searched. Presently he saw clearly the thing that had moved. It was another great horned owl. Twenty feet from the ground, it perched close to the trunk of the gloomy tamarack and enjoyed a nap. Frosty remained where he was. Experience had taught him what these great birds could do, and again he wanted to escape notice because, if it came to a battle, he was not sure he would win it. The great owls were strong and unbelievably ferocious, and a motion might bring this one down upon him. Never taking his eyes from it, Frosty decided exactly what he would do if the owl swooped at him. If possible, he would get back into the brush. He heard Andy come back to resume the search, but again he dared not move. His friend went away. Twilight draped its gray mantle over the swamp, and finally the owl took wing. Frosty still did not move, for the owl merely soared gracefully over the slough, dipped to pluck a swimming muskrat from the water and winged into a dead tree to devour its prey. Frosty slunk away. In the tamarack, the owl had been an unknown factor. It might be hungry and it might not. Now it was known. Having the muskrat, it would eat. After eating, it would not be hungry. Therefore, the chances of its hunting anything else in the near future were small. Frosty resumed his search for a way out of the swamp. A while later, he knew that there was none. He was on a little island which he could not possibly leave unless he wanted to swim, and he would not swim. Hungry, Frosty gave himself over to finding something to eat. He prowled back through the brush without discovering anything, and when hunger emboldened him, he stalked among the trees. He struck at and missed a rabbit that promptly jumped into and swam across the slough. The small island had never supported much life anyway, and the owl had been living on it and hunting every night for almost two weeks. Many of the island's furred inhabitants had already fallen to it, and whatever had escaped knew it was here. The mice and gophers that remained ventured from their burrows only when necessity forced them to do so. Hearing a bird stir, Frosty marked the tree in which it roosted and made his way there. He climbed and was ten feet from the ground when the bird took wing and rattled off into the darkness. Frosty descended the tree. He took a stance before a mouse's burrow and waited. But the mouse did not emerge. Dawn was breaking and Frosty was still hungry when he went back to look for the owl. He found it still in the dead tree. He settled down to watch, for once again the owl was an unknown factor. It had fed last night, but it might be in the mood to feed again and the kitten was of no mind to serve as its next dinner. If he knew where his enemy was, he would also know what it was doing. He watched the owl all day. Again, with the coming of dusk, the owl winged out to get another muskrat. Little interested in the muskrats' fate and unable to catch one himself because none climbed out on the island, Frosty could not know that the owl had found a bonanza here. Its plan was to remain, with little need to exert itself, until it had caught every one of the ten muskrats Andy had planted. Then it would seek another hunting ground. Knowing that once more it was safe to prowl, for the owl would not hunt until it was again hungry, Frosty knew also that he must have something to quiet his own raging hunger. But if he hunted frantically or hastily, he would frighten his prey instead of catching it. Returning to the mouse's den he had watched last night, he settled himself down to wait. . . . Two hours later, the mouse poked a cautious nose out, then came all the way from its burrow. Frosty pounced and pinned his prey. The mouse was a mere tidbit, but it eased the sharpest hunger pangs. Frosty sought another burrow. He caught nothing, and again with dawn he sought out the owl. It had gone back to the tamarack and was almost hidden by the tree's foliage. Following its customary routine, it went forth at dusk to catch another muskrat, then winged into the dead tree. In the hope that the owl might have dropped some part of its meal, Frosty nosed beneath the tamarack. He found only furry pellets; such parts as the owl hadn't eaten were cached in the tamarack's upper branches and Frosty did not dare climb the tree because the dead stub in which the owl perched was too near. Desperately, the kitten sought out another mouse's burrow, but when he found one, he shed his desperation and gave way to patience. He caught and ate the mouse. Seeking another burrow, he was thwarted when the gentle wind that always murmured over the swamp became a stiff breeze. He could not possibly hold still, for the wind ruffled his fur and the mouse knew he waited. Frosty prowled after daybreak. He knew he was taking a chance, but it was not a great one, for so far the owl had hunted only at twilight. When a crow cawed, the kitten swung at once toward the sound. The crow was across the slough and thus out of reach, but perhaps it would come nearer and it offered the only present chance to get food. Coming out on that quiet part of the slough where he had seen the log, Frosty discovered that last night's stiff wind had moved it. Now, instead of lying against the bank, it angled out into the water, with its nearer end only two feet away and its farther against the opposite bank. Seeing opportunity, Frosty seized it. He sprang, landed on the log, ran swiftly across and leaped into tall swamp grass on the other side. Crossing the log had been a very dangerous moment for he was completely exposed while doing so. Now he was safe, and since peril was behind him, it could be forgotten. Frosty resumed stalking the crow. He found it beside a branch of the slough, pecking at a small dead fish that had washed up there and calling at intervals. Frosty slunk through some tall grass and came to a place where foliage grew only in scattered places. He stopped to study the situation. When the crow lowered its head to peck at the fish, he glided swiftly forward and hid behind a tuft of grass. He waited quietly when the bird looked around and glided to another tuft when it resumed feeding. Suddenly the crow saw him. With a startled squawk, it beat frantically into the air, struggled to gain altitude and cawed derisively after it had done so. Frosty ran forward to get what was left of the little fish and the crow jeered at him again. Winging over the kitten, presently the crow saw the owl in the dead tree and its raucous insults became a sharp, clear call. Another crow answered, and another. The owl was their enemy by night, when it came on silent wings to pluck sleeping crows from their roosts, but they were its masters by day. The flock gathered and advanced to the attack. Diving on the owl, they pecked with sharp beaks and beat with their wings. At first the owl fought back, but they were too many and too swift. Followed by the screaming crows, he winged across the swamp. The pursuit and the noise attending it died in the distance. Lacking the faintest notion that, however indirectly, he had saved this colony of muskrats for Andy, Frosty finished his fish and went to hunt gophers. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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