Hogan watched the tiny reptile's struggles for a moment, then squatted down carefully and spread the weeds apart. When he came to the spot where the garter snake had given Freddie his excuse to quit, he saw it wriggling about spasmodically at the edge of a clump of weeds, as if something hidden in there had caught hold of it. He dropped the fish between chunks of ice under the sawdust, covered them up and started back to what he called the lodge-an old two-story log structure reserved for himself and a few campers too lazy even to do their own cooking. It was hot work in June weather and now, at three in the afternoon, Hogan was tanked to the gills with iced beer. Usually a sober young man, he'd been guiding a party of fishermen from one of his light-housekeeping cabins over the lake's trolling grounds since early morning. Then he picked up the day's catch of bass and walleyes and swayed on toward the icehouse. Hogan glared after him, opened his mouth and shut it again. "Gotta save my strength! Gotta 'cuperate!" "I'm on vacation!" he bellowed back happily. Freddie already was on his way to the cabin.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |