Swamp Cat
Copyright© 2024 by Jim Kjelgaard
MAROONED
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.”
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.
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