expression, sideglanced toward the prow and caught his eye.
“Mister, don’t you even think about escapin’. My brother Earl over there may act like an egghead fool, but when the cards is down, he’s family.”
Ordinarily Uncle Earl didn’t like to take no prisoners. But if it was true like Lem had told him that this city fella was another snoopin’ reporter, then you couldn’t be too careful. The less people knew, the better off they’d be. The old perfume factory had been a prison back durin’ the Rebellion (you could still see some a the places where Sherman’s men had scratched their names into the limestone) and most a those old cells was plenty strong enough to keep a nosy stranger from stirrin’ up more trouble for the family. So it was too bad that Lem was roughin’ him up a bit, but it wasn’t like the prick didn’t deserve it. That hangdog look a his wasn’t gonna get no sympathy from him. Uncle Earl turned away and threw his cigar stub into the river, listening to the cawing birds and watching the stream widen in the torpor of the night.
“Well, will you look at that!” he shouted, aiming the beam of his flashlight at a large white mass half-submerged in the algal waters of the opposite shore. Although the white mass was bobbing up and down, making waves that shook the boat even from this distance, by now the night was so dark that only the persistent scrutiny of the flashlight revealed the thrusting haunches and great tail of the albino beast.
“I don’t see nothin’,” began Lemuel Lee before Uncle Earl shushed him: “Look over there, dummy! Now keep your mouth shut. Kill the engine. Get the big net -- and we’ll coast in real slow.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” whispered Aunt Ligeia. “That’s an Okeechobee White, ain’t it Earl? I heard stories. But I ain’t never seen one.”
By now the mosquitoes had become brave. Noticing, with nature’s unerring instinct for the helpless, that Smedlow’s hands were tied behind him, they no longer hovered or made shrill forays to his ears, but descended en masse upon his hands, arms, cheeks and earlobes. In desperation, he wriggled.
“Fatty’s rockin’ the boat,” complained Lemuel Lee. “You better sit still, mister, or I’ll smash you again.”
Now that the motor was off, there were no sounds except the lapping of the river and the splashing of the beast as they got near. They were twenty yards away before Smedlow saw the second alligator underneath the first -- a greenish snout just barely visible above the surface of the water. The larger beast -- perfectly white and at least fifteen feet in length -- was splashing so hard that the boat lurched, making the goat stumble, crushing its warmth against the side of Smedlow’s thigh. The air was thick with mosquitoes and a languorous perfume, a cloying sweetness like the smell of orange soda.
“You smell it, don’t you fatty? It’s that perfume that makes the gators wanna do it.”
“I said shut up,” said Uncle Earl.
Lemuel Lee glared like he was gonna talk back, but shut up like he was told and then went off to fetch the nooses and the net. When he got to the foredeck, Vergil was already loading the gun with sedative.
“Try not to waste that stuff,” he said.
But moments later Vergil had missed twice before he’d hit the albino in the leg and the smaller reptile in the tail. They began to swim, but Vergil noosed them both. Meanwhile, Lemuel Lee had thrown the net and now was pulling for all he was worth: the water roiled with thrashing jaws and splashing tails. Uncle Earl was strutting like a madman and spouting Scripture:
“Canst thou draw leviathan with a hook?” he shouted. “Or his tongue with a cord? Lay thine hand upon him, remember the battle, do no more.”
By the
“Mister, don’t you even think about escapin’. My brother Earl over there may act like an egghead fool, but when the cards is down, he’s family.”
Ordinarily Uncle Earl didn’t like to take no prisoners. But if it was true like Lem had told him that this city fella was another snoopin’ reporter, then you couldn’t be too careful. The less people knew, the better off they’d be. The old perfume factory had been a prison back durin’ the Rebellion (you could still see some a the places where Sherman’s men had scratched their names into the limestone) and most a those old cells was plenty strong enough to keep a nosy stranger from stirrin’ up more trouble for the family. So it was too bad that Lem was roughin’ him up a bit, but it wasn’t like the prick didn’t deserve it. That hangdog look a his wasn’t gonna get no sympathy from him. Uncle Earl turned away and threw his cigar stub into the river, listening to the cawing birds and watching the stream widen in the torpor of the night.
“Well, will you look at that!” he shouted, aiming the beam of his flashlight at a large white mass half-submerged in the algal waters of the opposite shore. Although the white mass was bobbing up and down, making waves that shook the boat even from this distance, by now the night was so dark that only the persistent scrutiny of the flashlight revealed the thrusting haunches and great tail of the albino beast.
“I don’t see nothin’,” began Lemuel Lee before Uncle Earl shushed him: “Look over there, dummy! Now keep your mouth shut. Kill the engine. Get the big net -- and we’ll coast in real slow.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” whispered Aunt Ligeia. “That’s an Okeechobee White, ain’t it Earl? I heard stories. But I ain’t never seen one.”
By now the mosquitoes had become brave. Noticing, with nature’s unerring instinct for the helpless, that Smedlow’s hands were tied behind him, they no longer hovered or made shrill forays to his ears, but descended en masse upon his hands, arms, cheeks and earlobes. In desperation, he wriggled.
“Fatty’s rockin’ the boat,” complained Lemuel Lee. “You better sit still, mister, or I’ll smash you again.”
Now that the motor was off, there were no sounds except the lapping of the river and the splashing of the beast as they got near. They were twenty yards away before Smedlow saw the second alligator underneath the first -- a greenish snout just barely visible above the surface of the water. The larger beast -- perfectly white and at least fifteen feet in length -- was splashing so hard that the boat lurched, making the goat stumble, crushing its warmth against the side of Smedlow’s thigh. The air was thick with mosquitoes and a languorous perfume, a cloying sweetness like the smell of orange soda.
“You smell it, don’t you fatty? It’s that perfume that makes the gators wanna do it.”
“I said shut up,” said Uncle Earl.
Lemuel Lee glared like he was gonna talk back, but shut up like he was told and then went off to fetch the nooses and the net. When he got to the foredeck, Vergil was already loading the gun with sedative.
“Try not to waste that stuff,” he said.
But moments later Vergil had missed twice before he’d hit the albino in the leg and the smaller reptile in the tail. They began to swim, but Vergil noosed them both. Meanwhile, Lemuel Lee had thrown the net and now was pulling for all he was worth: the water roiled with thrashing jaws and splashing tails. Uncle Earl was strutting like a madman and spouting Scripture:
“Canst thou draw leviathan with a hook?” he shouted. “Or his tongue with a cord? Lay thine hand upon him, remember the battle, do no more.”
By the
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