Moontrap - Don Berry (15 page)

Webb began to howl. "Hoo—o—o-ohya! Hya! Hya!
Hya!"

Monday heard himself begin to shout, too, as he drew
abreast of the other animal. The horses were stretched forward now
and the drumming of their hoofs was like a cascade of thunder rolling
down from the hills. On Monday's right the trees bordering the river
whipped past in a blur of motion, the wall of trees toward which they
charged came up at them like an ocean roller.

Beneath Monday's knees the muscles of the animal
throbbed with a rhythm of pure power and he howled his delight in it
as he pulled ahead.

Then, suddenly, it was over and the trees were upon
him and he reined up, the horse rearing and pawing at the air to
avoid charging headlong into the near-solid wall of foliage. Webb was
just behind, and in the twisting suddenness of the finish the two
animals collided in air, fighting for balance. At last they came with
all four hoofs on the ground again, dancing away from each other
suspiciously while the men hauled on the reins to bring order back.
When they were finally at rest, their heads hanging from the effort
of the sprint, Monday swung down out of the saddle.

He whacked Webb on the back. "Hooraw, coon! Y'
owe me a dollar!"

Webb rubbed the muzzle of his horse. "Y' done
good," he said. "Y' done all right."

"Gimme my dollar!" Monday demanded
triumphantly.

Webb turned to him slowly, lifting his hands in
disappointment.

"
Now where the hell would I get a dollar?"
he asked reasonably. "You know I ain't got a dollar."

"
Y' bet me a dollar, y' owe me a dollar,"
Monday said gleefully.

"
Ain't built for the short haul," Webb said
speculatively, looking at his horse. "Little sprint like that
don't mean nothin'. This child'll race y' from here t' Wind River,
'n' then we'll see."

Monday laughed. "Let's get that swim, coon."
They started down the trail to the beach. Monday knew he was a dollar
richer. Maybe not this year, maybe not in the next ten. But someday
he'd have a dollar because of that little sprint. Someday, maybe, an
old Absaroka woman would come riding up to his door, a thousand miles
from home, and hand him a dollar and he'd know what it was for.

The river spread before them, glossy in the morning
sun. The surface was almost smooth, with long swelling ripples moving
slowly in the direction of the current. To their left was the tiny
island where Webb had made his first camp, and directly across the
wide flow was the tall cliff where he had stood to look on Monday's
field for the first time.

The sun flooded over the sandy beach, and already it
was warm to the touch. Monday hastily kicked off his moccasins and
scrambled out of his breeches and shirt. He loped down the short
sloping beach and into the water; a long flat dive split the surface
cleanly. He came up gasping and hollering. "Hooraw, boys, shes
colder'n a dead man's balls! C'mon in, hoss!"

Webb sniffed suspiciously. "This nigger's goin'
to have a pipe first, " he said. Remorselessly he went over to
the pile of Monday's clothes and rummaged around for his tobacco
pouch.

"Get the hell out o' there!" Monday
shouted, treading water. " Smoke y'r own damn tobacco!"

"May need m'own later, y'iggerant dunghead,"
Webb explained calmly. He tamped the pipe full of Monday's tobacco
and went back to sit on his haunches, high up on the beach. Monday
dived under and came up spouting water like a whale. He swam on his
back for a while and turned a backward somersault in the water, his
feet scrabbling in the air as he turned over.

"Y're damn fancy." Webb snorted when the
other man surfaced. Monday grinned at him and went on playing in the
water.

Webb continued to smoke, regarding the river through
half-closed eyes. After a little while Monday came out, shaking his
shaggy head like a dog. He stretched himself out on the sand, feeling
the warmth and the digging of the sharp particles into the skin of
his back and buttocks.

"
God damn/" he said. "That feels good,
hoss."

Webb grunted.

"
You best get in afore I use up all the water,"
Monday said.

"
This child'll go in when he's damn good an'
ready," Webb told him.

"
You a pretty good swimmer, hoss? Never
recollect seein' you swim."

"
Wagh!
" Webb
snorted. "This child's the best swimmer you ever seen. When he's
a mind to."

"Tell you what, then. I'll give y' a chancet t'
get y'r dollar back. Race y' acrost the river an' back. That shine
with y'?"

Webb looked at the riverbank on the other side and
estimated it at a hundred and fifty yards. As he watched, the trees
on the other side receded and the river widened to what he guessed
must be damned close to a mile and a half.

"Hell," he said. "Y're a fine one,
y'are now. You used to the water already, ain't no wonder y're ready
to race me."

"
But I'm already plumb tired," Monday said.
"Listen, I'll give y' a leetle head start, on account you're so
old an' feeble."

"
Old an' feeble, my ass!" Webb snapped. He
looked down at the bowl of the pipe and turned it around in his
hands. After a moment he said, "Anyways, I got t' have a leetle
run at it."

"
Take all y'want, hoss," Monday said
amiably enough. "Y' c'n take the whole beach, for all I care."

Webb sniffed again angrily and put the pipe down on
the ground. He stood up casually and walked back up the slope to the
edge of the trees. Monday stood and watched him, ready to follow.

"
You don't get no run,"' Webb said
threateningly.

Monday shrugged.

Webb rubbed the side of his nose with one finger and
looked at the river. Absently he licked his lips, and stuck one hand
inside the hunting shirt to scratch himself.

Then he clenched his fists and his body inclined
forward tensely. "Hey, listen, hoss," Monday said, puzzled.
"Ain't you going to take your clothes off?"

Webb stood straight, grunting something Monday could
not make out. Slowly he took off his clothes and made a neatly folded
pile of them. As he worked, he occasionally glanced out of the
corners of his eyes at the river, as though to make certain it was
not creeping up on
him,

Once naked he danced around a little to loosen his
muscles. Then he took a half-sideways stance toward the river, his
fists clenched, his arms held slightly out at the sides. He squinted
his eyes narrowly and blinked rapidly a few times. Then, with a great
bellow of rage, he was
off.

He bounded down the beach completely out of control,
his bony arms flapping like the plucked wings of a monstrous chicken.

Monday watched with the fascination of pure awe, as
the flashing brown-and-white skeleton careened past and plunged for
the water like the blind charging of a wounded buffalo.

Webb hit the water at terrifying speed, churning the
shallows into wild commotion. His legs plunged up and down
powerfully, driving him deeper until the beach suddenly shelved off
and he plunged into the hole.

His bead bobbed up after a second, roaring and
sputtering, and he began to pound the water viciously with both arms.
He was still perfectly vertical and he slashed wildly at the water
while great circles of splashing confusion began to foam around him.
Spasmodically he sank straight down, disappearing briefly from
Monday's sight, while the bony arms continued their systematic
punishment of the surface. He would come up again choking and
hollering, but whatever else happened, the arms thrashed
independently, working a terrible havoc on the peaceful river.

"Oh, sweet jesus," Monday whispered. He was
held motionless in shock for a long moment. Then he raced to the edge
and dived in. The momentum of his dive carried him to Webb, and he
surfaced just behind the old man. He grabbed his chin and began to
stroke the few feet back into the shallows. It was hard going,
because Webb's arms continued to flail around him, sometimes clouting
Monday at the side of his head. Shortly Monday's feet felt solid
ground. He stood up and, with one last powerful heave, threw the
light body of the old man into shallow water. Webb sank, horizontal
at last in the shallows, and sat up, sputtering and raging. Monday
grabbed him under the armpits and hoisted him to his feet, turning
him to face the beach.

Webb shook him off angrily and stalked up the beach
to his pile of clothes. Wheeling around suddenly, he crouched
forward, his mouth set in a vicious snarl. He tensed himself,
dripping puddles of water all around, and suddenly began to gallop
toward the water again like a giant bony duck. Monday threw himself
at the old man's legs and Webb went tumbling across the sand. Monday
scrambled up and dived for the old man, pinned his thin shoulders to
the ground.

"Jesus god, Webb, whoa back!"

"What the hell'd you go an' do that for!"
Webb hollered into Monday's face. "I was just gettin' the feel
of it!"

2

When Webb had calmed enough that Monday felt it was
safe to release him, he let the old man up.

"
Y' damn near drawned me!" Webb said,
feeling his jaw and throat where Monday's heavy hand had gripped him.

"Jesus, Webb," Monday said. "Why
didn't y' just tell me y' couldn't swim?"

"This nigger c'n swim slick," Webb snapped.
"He just swims a leetle different style than some."

Monday leaned back on his elbows. "But damn,
hoss. Y'r style, seems like it's better for up-and-down than
back-and-forth."

"
Ever occur t' that thick skull o' y'rs that
maybe that's what I like? " Webb said sarcastically.

"
All right, coon, all right. Whoa back, now."

Webb sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his
hand.

"
Tell you what, though," Monday said,
leaning forward. "Bein' as how you got y'r own style down real
smart, maybe you'd like t' learn the other one?"

"Wouldn't hurt nothin', I expect," Webb
admitted grudgingly, after a moment's thought.

"S'pose we swap, then," Monday said. "You
teach me your style, an' I'l1 teach y' mine."

"Well, hell, boy," Webb said modestly.
"There ain't a hell of a lot to 'er. "

"Now my style," Monday said, "a man's
got t' be more or less flat in the water. Y' get y'r head down an'
y'r feet up."

"Y'iggerant dunghead," Webb said. "Don't
y'even know that? Y' get y'r head down, y' get drownded. Goes against
nature f'r a man t' get his head down in the water."

"
Listen, coon. I'll show you, all right? Is that
fair?"

Webb shrugged, perfectly indifferent to it.

Monday stood and walked along the river for a bit.
Down the beach from them, nearly opposite the mouth of the channel
that cut the island off from the mainland, drift logs had piled
during the winter floods. Monday picked around them until he found
one he thought would serve as a decent float.

"Hya! coon. Give me a hand here."

Webb came over and the two of them rolled the log to
the water.

"Now listen, hoss. You grab onto one end, an'
keep y'r head up."

Webb silently did as he was told, and Monday hauled
the log out into deeper water. As Webb's feet left the solid footing
of the beach, his face tightened into an impassive mask of
indifference.

"Just stick y'r face in the water oncet,"
Monday said.

Webb did, and snatched it out again, sputtering.

"
Y' got t' quit breathin' first, " Monday
said patiently.

Webb looked at him suspiciously and tried it again.
He stayed under so long this time that Monday had to tap him on the
shoulder to make him bring his face up.

"That's the style!" Monday said. "There's
doin's."

"Hell, there ain't nothin' to that," Webb
said. "All y' got to do is quit breathin' when y'r under, is
all."

"That's just the start, hoss," Monday told
him.

They were drifting gently in the current and were now
opposite the point of the island. Monday had been clinging to the
side of the log. Now he let go and came around the end Webb was
holding.

"
All right, hoss, now you watch me. Move over."

Monday took the log in his hands and began a steady,
powerful kick with his legs. Gradually the log began to move
upstream.

"Now—you come in," he said, panting.

Webb began to kick, and his legs rose to the surface
behind him. He glanced apprehensively at the white limbs trailing
him.

"Let 'em come up," Monday said. "They're
supposed to."

"Ever' time they come up m' head wants t' go
down," Webb complained bitterly.

"
That don't matter—"

"Don't matter t' you, maybe. Matters like hell
t' me. "

"Now listen hoss, y' trust me, don't y'?"

"Hell no."