The Preposterous Adventures of Swimmer by Alexander Key Page B

circling easily around them, came the thought: Do not kill .
    In Swimmer’s private opinion, Tattle was much too low and contemptible a creature to be allowed to live, and something told him he would regret it if he let the nuisance go. But it was not his nature to kill for the sake of killing. He had subdued his enemy, and that was enough.
    He thrust Tattle to the surface and nudged him over to a gravelbar at the edge of the creek. Choking and half drowned, the dog struggled to rise. Failing, it tremblingly crawled away on its belly.
    Swimmer turned and tried to follow Ripple upstream, but made poor progress until she returned and helped him. They made a game of it, and suddenly it was great fun just to be alive and able to battle the current, and, for a little while, the fact of a broken leg didn’t matter in the least.
    But as they finally surfaced at the flat rock near the den, all the threat of man’s world could be felt again, stronger than ever.
    An anxious Penny was waiting on the rock.
    â€œWhat happened?” she asked quickly. “I heard Tattle barking, then he made an awful sound …”
    â€œAw, we had to give the scumpy weasel a ducking,” Swimmer admitted. “He wouldn’t shut up. But I don’t think he’ll bother us for a while now.”
    â€œOh, dear, I hope not. I haven’t much time. Come close and I’ll try to cut off that harness.” As she spoke she took pliers and a hacksaw from the same bag she had used yesterday and went determinedly to work on one of the shoulder links. “Keep watch, everybody,” she panted. “Scruff’s not with me, and Mr. Sykes is liable to be down here any minute. We just can’t let him catch us.”
    Presently she paused a moment and gasped, “Golly, I didn’t know silver was so hard to cut! Looks like I’ll never get it apart.” She went back to work, and added, “Weaver and his pa are making a big dip net to catch you—I mean they think they can catch you with it, only they don’t know anything about otters. Mr. Sykes is so excited over the reward he’s about to bust a seam. Is it really two thousand dollars?”
    â€œIt’s twenty thousand,” Swimmer said gloomily.
    â€œ Twenty thousand!” she gasped. “But—but—I can’t believe—”
    â€œAw, fiffle, what’s twenty thousand? Don’t you think I’m worth more?”
    â€œBut of course you are! If you want to look at it that way, I mean. Only I can’t. There’s something so scary and awful about money, and the way it can make nice things ugly. Was it Mr. Green—Clarence—who told you about the reward?”
    â€œYes, and he should have been back hours ago. Have you seen him?”
    Penny almost dropped the saw. “You—you mean he hasn’t been here all day?”
    â€œNo, ding blatt it.” Swimmer’s voice was a dismal croak. “Something’s happened.”
    She sawed in silence for a while. Then, “Do—do you s’pose he’s in trouble ’cause he’s black?”
    â€œHuh? What difference does that make?”
    â€œWell, some folks up here don’t like black people. I’ve known lots of black people—well, seven or eight, anyway—and I thought they were nice. But Mr. Sykes hates them.”
    â€œAnybody that could hate Clarence is a—a skrink and a blatthead,” Swimmer said emphatically.
    He was about to remark that most of the human tribe, from the way they acted, didn’t seem to have frog sense. But before he could voice his opinion, several things happened almost at once.
    First, with a little cry of relief, Penny managed to cut through the link. It released the loop of chain about his neck, and she immediately began tugging at the rest of the harness, trying to pull it back over his body. He was struggling to get out of it when he felt a sharp twinge of uneasiness