Away in the distance the palmettos were ebony silhouettes, and closer in a hooty owl challenged her but didn't really seem to care, and she didn't even realize he'd asked. Through a stand of oak saplings she could see the sombre black shack where old man Hark lived in drunken befuddlement, and her hand made a small fist around the crumpled ten-dollar bill.
Now it was just plain foolishness, she rationalized, to go and give good money to that disgusting old man who was never sober enough to remember to button his own pants. My goodness, if a girl didn't watch her pennies she'd end up in nags and barefoot like any poor white, and where was the sense in that she'd like to know. After all, something might happen to Shad in the swamp – or maybe someone else had found his money – or maybe someone would take it away from him. And ten dollars was ten dollars, and right now it was a bird-in-hand.
Her lacquered fingernails dug into her palm, and the bill was as captured as a coon in a drop-trap and had as much chance of getting away.
She went on down the road, humming the play-party tune, secure in the self-righteousness of personal conviction.
Two shadows separated themselves from the woods and stepped, dark and ominous, into the road before her. Dorry stopped with a jolt and her heart went whunk in her throat.
"Well, look a-here what we come at, Sam," Jort Camp said.
"Yeah," Sam murmured. "Yeah." And he began edging to the left, gradual and smooth and inhuman in movement.
She started to turn back, and with a flicker of motion he had her by the left arm and his fingers were like damp narrow bones in her bare flesh. She caught her breath and raised her fist to hit him, and then Jort had that arm and she saw his teeth white in the moon and she was being lifted from the road, and before she really knew what it was all about the black shadows of the woods had closed oven her and she was standing with her back to a tree and Jort Camp and Sam Parks had her fenced in.
"What's wrong, Miss Dorry?" Jort asked. "We didn't go to scare you none, did we?"
Sam was fidgeting, dry-washing his hands, shift-footing himself like a horse in a stall, husking air through his mouth. "No – no, we don't want to scare you none," he whispered, and he tentatively reached for her arm to soothe her.
She jerked back as though he'd offered her a lizard.
"What you want with me, Jort Camp? I got nothing fer you."
"Oh, now that's where you're wrong, Miss Dorry. Be dog if you ain't. I got me a fat type idee you know something I want to know: and I'm God sure you got plenty that old Sam here wants. How about that, Sam?"
Sam giggled as though he couldn't help it. She was all dank in the shadow and reminded him of an unbelievably beautiful coloured gal, and her dress was all crinkly sounding when she moved.
"You leave me alone, Jort Camp. I'll – I'll sic my boy friend on you!"
Jort seemed interested. He straight-arm leaned himself against the tree, bringing his big face within six inches of her mouth.
"Who's that, Miss Dorry? Huh? Old Tom are you talking about?"
She didn't say anything to that.
Jort shook his head in a reflective manner. "No. Laugh at myself fer thinking so. Hit would be Shad Hank, now wouldn't it be, Miss Dorny? Yeah, I reckon it would be old Shad. Sam, don't you reckon it would be Shad?"
Sam's eyes were busy. He mumbled, "Yeah – yeah," absently.
"Tell you how it be with Sam and me, Miss Dorry," Jort offered. "We got us a fat old problem. We don heered about all that money Shad got hisself and we was thinking mebbe you could tell us where he's got it hid at."
"I don't know nothing about that money. I don't know nothing about Shad neither. And I'm goan tell my pa you holding me here, Jort Camp, and he'll cold come at you with his shotgun."
"Yeah, yeah, we'll worry about that later. Let's talk about Shad right now. You know – the fella you shack up with down to the shantyboat."
"You hush your dirty mouth, Jort Camp!" The tears were starting to come now.
"What you hiding there behind your back?" Jort asked. "What you got in your hand back there – a play-pretty?"
She forgot about crying. "That's my nevermind."
"Let's have us a look." He caught her wrist and twisted her arm out of the shadow. She winced and said, "Don't-"
"Hayday," Jort whispered. "Looky here, Sam. A ten dollar she got here. Now I wonder where that come from?" He glanced at Sam. "By juckies, Sam. Will you kindly remember we ain't here to play peek-a-boo! Don't you see what this means? Shad must a just give this to her – er – yeah – er she knows where at he keeps hit hid."
"Well, where's that?"
"Dunno. She might a ben coming from the old Colt place. Yeah. How about that, Miss Dorry? That would be a good place fer Shad to hide his money, wouldn't it?"
She shook her head, panicky now, trying to wiggle her arm free from Jort's bear paw. "I don't know about no money! He ain't got none. I got that from my ma!"
Sam clawed the top of her blouse. "You tell us, you little devil! You tell us night out where he got that money hid!"
She jerked violently to one side, the blouse tearing, her left breast bobbling against Sam's hand. "You – you dirty little -" And she screamed, twisting and strildng at him.
"Shad!"
Jort grabbed for her hair, but missed as she ducked down pulling herself free. "Shad!" Sam's lips snapped wide from his clenched teeth and he swung at her backhand, clipping her hard across the mouth. Her head whipped away from the blow, slamming into the tree trunk, going thonk! against a knot, and – The stars were suddenly glazed and brilliant like splintered ice and they were spilling into her eyes, and the fiddler's fingers were cakewalking furiously over the violin's neck, and the bow was leaping and squeaking and all the bright dresses were flashing by and twirling away with the stars and her dress was torn and that's the last thought she had.
Sam stood agape, watching her tilt slowly and stiffly away from the tree, leaning right at him, her eyes wide open and staring at his, fified with a glassy awe. He leaped aside with a gasp as she toppled past him. And then she was down, all of her and all at once.
She lay in a great opaque swath of moonlight.
"Sam, Sam," Jort whispered.
Sam's head jerked. He looked at Jort.
"Jort – Jorty, is – is she – she ain't -"
"Shet up." Jort squatted down and looked at the pale, still girl. "Dead as a mule-kicked tad," he muttered.
Sam was drying his hands at his sides, wagging them up and down witlessly. "No – no – no, Jorty! All I done was to try to stop her squawking. I didn't hardly – I only -"
Jort got up and came at him fast, grabbing one pipe-stem arm to give it a shake. "Stop that ruckus! We ain't got time fer you to have a case a hop-about fits. She's cold dead and that's that."
Sam went limp, dropped to his knees by the dead girl, his left arm still cocked grotesquely in Jort's hand. "Oh, God, oh my, Jorty – I didn't mean to do her. I didn't, Jorty. She was so young and soft and -"
Jort gave the scrawny arm another shake. "Will you stop yipping about her? We got us bigger fish to fry."
"What'll they do to me, Jorty? What're they goan do to me?"
"Neck-swing you, if you keep a-going like a chicken with a gator egg up her box. Now git away from that, Sam. Sam – you hear me? We got things to do."
Sam looked up and caught Jort's pants leg with his free hand. "Jorty – you goan help me, Jorty? You goan stand by me?"
"Well, I ain't got no choice, and me one of them what you call 'ems -'complice. Now here's what we're a-doing Sam. I'm going to pick her up and tote her, while you swing on ahead and see do the woods be clean. We'll tote her down to my skiff."