“Who was it—the one you seen go past you?”
“Dunno. Stranger to me. Rigged out like a sport, far’s I could see—blast ’im! Last time he’ll ever git past this baby!”
“Maybe so. If you feel up to steppin’ out we’d best be headin’ along for home. Take a holt on my arm.”
They made what speed they could toward the clearings and habitations of Goose Creek, probing the shadows about them with apprehensive eyes, and questioning the silence with anxious ears. Clear of the wood at last, they drew deep breaths of relief. They felt better, but only for a brace of seconds. Fear of immediate physical attack was gone, only to be replaced by anxiety for the future.
“Don’t it beat damnation!” lamented the father. “Here we been layin’ out ’most every night for two months an’ nothin’ happened an’ then the very first time there’s any need for it you go an’ git fooled an’ beaned into the bargain! Say, I wisht I’d been where you was.”
“Same here.”
“Zat so? Keep in mind that ye’re talkin’ to yer pa, Steve Dangler. It wouldn’t of happened like that if I’d been there. My wits wouldn’t of been wool-pickin’ after no danged girl. I’d been watchin’ out behind.”
“All right, pa. You tell old Luke all about it.”
After a long journey on a curved course, and much thrusting through tough underbrush and climbing up and plunging down, Robert Vane came out on the highroad at the top of the hill above the village. He halted there to remove his webs, and was there confronted by poor Pete Sledge who appeared out of the vague starshine as if by magic.
“How d’you like them Danglers?” asked Pete.