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Storyteller's Cabin |
Written by Thomas E. Fuller
The swamps begin.
Now Chancy Fox was a gambling man, and a good one. So it was just damn laziness that ran him afoul of Sheriff Black Mountain Kincaid and his two brothers, Kennesaw and Stone. That was up at Swann's Landing, right above Meridia. Chancy may have been lazy, but he wasn't a total fool. He was up and out of there before that fifth ace he'd tucked up his sleeve hit the table. He figured as soon as he was outside of Swann's Landing, he'd be out of the Sheriff's jurisdiction and free.
He figured wrong.
Chancy Fox had offended something deep in Black Mountain Kincaid's rusty soul. The Sheriff reached the limits of Swann's Landing and just kept going. And where Black Mountain went, his brothers were sure to follow.
That gambler ran south, hugging the banks of the Dark River. Past Carpenter and Egret. Past Meridia itself. And everywhere he tried to get a friendly game of cards going, here they would come, riding into town on their black horses, close as memory, relentless as death. Sheriff Black Mountain Kincaid and his brothers.
Chancy Fox was getting right desperate. So he came up with a plan. He took a ride on the Blue Stag Packet steamship when it stopped for wood at Paradox. He knew the Brothers Kincaid would be right behind him. Soon as the steamer hit the marshlands, he undid the dingy tied to its side and slipped away into the night. Into the marsh he went. Twist right, twist left, twist right again. Soon as he was well in, he rowed into the grass and waited. Sure enough, another dingy came slipping past with three large men and a lantern. Chancy Fox waited for a few minutes, chuckled and stared rowing back the way he'd come.
Two hours later he was still rowing.
Now you'd think a man couldn't lose something as big as a river, but Chancy managed it. He turned and turned and turned again and still couldn't see anything but marsh grass. He was so busy not seeing things that he didn't notice all the Cyprus trees until he was surrounded by them. Spanish moss like old men's whiskers brushed his face and he couldn't see for the mosquitoes. Then two things happened. He saw the huge rotting old plantation house rise up out of the darkness.
And someone coshed him a good one on the back of the head.
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