Emerald Hell
“There’s still a faint trail of smoke risin’ from the last of their embers.”
“I see it too,” Deeter said. “That’s gator ground.”
“Crossed over to the other side and goin’ deeper into the morass. Notice where they tore up the twigs passin’ through? All the mud they raked up and log litter they broke past? We comin’ up to the marsh prairies. We’re only two, three hours behind ’em.”
“I spot two cold camps,” Deeter said, shielding his eyes from the sun. “One a bit aways from the other. Them teenage girls come through this way too, mayhap the night before. None’a them are gator bait yet.”
“Which ain’t to say there ain’t still a chance for it.”
“No, which ain’t to say that at all. Gotta admire them girls’ pluck though. All of ’em with child. Ain’t a one of ’em that’s what you might call weak-willed.”
Duffy grabbed the pole and began stobbing again, his muscles corded and the thick veins twisting along his arms.
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