The young man's lips tightened. He said nothing. The three old men were shrunken back in their chairs, staring.
The Devil—or perhaps the man in black was only part of the Devil, for mysterious and complex are the ways he influences from his bronze throne in the exact center of midwestern Gehenna—turned and sauntered to the outhouse. He entered.
A moment later the cowbell and chain and angle-iron reappeared—though not quite as they had been. The chain seemed a little heavier, the cowbell a little larger and more shiny.
The chain was yanked. The cowbell went Blongle, blongle, blok, blok!—a metallic sound of triumph.
The man in black came out smirking. He made his way across the yard and mounted the porch steps. The young man frowned and lifted a shoulder so the fabrics of their clothing would not touch.
The man in black went to the opposite end of the porch and sat down in a chair there. He looked out over the bridge and the murmuring creek and the trees beyond and took a pipe from a pocket. From another pocket he took a live coal, which he dropped into the pipe. He puffed, and sulphur-smell filled the air.
The young man got up, sighing and bracing his hands on his knees. He stood for a moment regarding the man in black levelly. Then he went down the steps and across the yard and into the outhouse.
Chain, cowbell and mounting vanished.
The man in black rose, still smiling. He passed the three old men, trailing sulphur smoke from his pipe. They shrank back, eyes wide. He went down into the yard and toward the outhouse.
When he was halfway there, the young man emerged. They locked eyes, the young man's cool and determined, the other's hot and mocking and quite as determined.