Thomas Tryon - The Night of the Moonbow

Terrible sobs were wrenched from him, his eyes blurred with tears, tremors ran through him like electric shocks -for a while he stood there on the threshold, trapped like a bug in a spider’s newly spun web; felt himself cocooned in silken gauze that spun around his body, tighter and tighter, until he was made a small neat package of. Then, suddenly, a cold wind drifted across his back, chilling his neck, and the spell was broken. He turned away from the house and broke into a trot, down the walk to the road, pelting hard along its shoulder, never stopping for breath until he reached the rack of mailboxes at the top of the line-path, and beyond that, camp.

He forced his disturbing thoughts from his mind, determined to have the last laugh on his erstwhile snipe-hunting partners. As he came down the line-path he heard from the lodge sounds of merriment and lusty singing – no doubt the old boys enjoying their watermelon and making fun of all the dumb suckers still wandering around in Indian Woods. Shunning the lights, he made his way toward Jeremiah. He had an idea he wanted to execute. The cabin was dark and deserted when he reached it. He borrowed the Bomber’s extra flashlight, then hurried away to the toolshed behind the cottage where Fritz Auerbach stayed, and located a trowel and two small clay pots. From there he proceeded into the woods behind the cottage and dug up two pine seedlings, which he quickly transplanted into the pots; then, having returned the trowel to the shed, he hurried back to the cabin. He set one of the pots in the center of Phil’s bunk, the other on Wally’s, then stretched out on his own bunk to wait…

He must have dozed off; he was suddenly aware of subdued laughter, and he glimpsed figures coming down the line-path.

“… I bet he’ll never find his way out of there.” He recognized Phil’s voice, and there was a nasal chortle that sounded like Dump. “We’ll probably have to go out and wet-nurse him home,” Phil went on sourly, and in they came, five of the Lucky Seven – Tiger and the Bomber had yet to show. In the dim light no one noticed Leo at first, and he lay still, watching through slitted eyes as Phil, slurping the remains of a slice of watermelon, went to his bunk.

“What’s this junk doing here?” he demanded, turning with the potted tree that had been set out on his pillow.

“Evening, all,” Leo said, sitting up and grinning. “It’s a present. Wally has one too. Like them?”

Phil ordered the lantern lighted, then strode over to Leo and stared down at him.

“What the heck do you think you’re doing? You got dirt all over my pillow.”

“Sorry for that,” Leo replied, with no spark of humility. “How’d you get back so quick?”

“Yeah, how?” echoed Wally.

“It didn’t take long, did it?” Leo was relishing the baffled looks on their faces.

“You cheated,” Phil said. “You followed us out.”

“I never. You thought you’d gotten me good and lost, but you didn’t. I knew where I was all the time.”

“The heck you say!”

“And before I forget, thanks a lot for the loan of your flashlight. It was really kind of you guys. It didn’t work, though, so I threw it away.” He dipped into his pocket and produced the compass. “The reason I didn’t get lost was because I had this.”

Phil’s brows shot up. “That’s Abernathy’s. Where’d you get it?” As he reached for it, Leo put it behind his back.

“Tiger gave it to me.”

“Liar! He never! Hand it over.”

Leo defied him. “No, why should I?”

As he stuck the compass back in his pocket, Phil threw himself on him and shoved him back to the bunk rail. “Ow!” Leo cried, nursing an elbow. “That hurt!” “What’s going on?” Tiger was standing in the doorway with the Bomber.

' “He’s got your compass, Tige,” Phil said. “He stole it from your box.”

“No, he didn’t. I gave it to him.”

Phil was stunned. “You got to be kidding! You won that compass – it’s a prize.”

“That’s okay. I gave it to him.”

“Well, if that’s not – well, damn it anyway!”

“So how’d it go?” Tiger asked, turning to Leo.

“It-” Leo swept the circle of faces with bright eyes. “It was grand,” he said with profound satisfaction.

Phil glowered and turned away; he grabbed up his seedling and chucked it with the pot through the door; its fellow followed in short order.

“What was that all about?” Tiger asked.

Leo chuckled. “Those are the snipe I was supposed to bag.”

Tiger and the Bomber looked puzzled.

“He’s just being a weisenheimer,” Phil said. “They’re little pine trees!”

“I don’t get it,” Tiger said.

“It’s an anagram,” Leo explained. “Pines. P-i-n-e-s. S-n-i-p-e.”

Tiger darted a look of covert amusement to the Bomber. It wasn’t easy getting a leg up on Phil Dodge.

’Samatter, can’tcha take a joke?” the Bomber said, laughing. His bunk squeaked as he heaved himself up and hauled out his pajamas.

A moment later an angry expletive was heard from the porch.

“What the damn hell-!” Reece boomed out as he tripped over a pot. When he appeared in the doorway, he clutched a pine sapling in each hand, the roots exposed, pots gone.

“What’s this crap lying around out there for?” he demanded, looking around for the guilty party.

"It’s nothin’, Big Chief,” said the Bomber, hopping down to intercept him and forestall trouble. “Just a little gag is

Reece wasn’t to be put off. “I don’t get it. What gag?” He turned to Phil for explanation.

“Ask Wacko,” came the sullen reply.

“All right, Wackeem, is this some of your doing?”

Leo shrugged and feebly echoed the Bomber’s comment. “Just a joke.”

“I don’t like jokes. Not this kind anyway,” Reece fumed. “What do you think this place is, a shit-house? This is no Dewdrop Inn, it’s Jeremiah!"

“He’s got Tiger’s compass, too,” Phil was compelled to say.

“Is that true?” Reece demanded of Leo.

“I used it, sure.”

“Give Tiger back his property.”

“That’s okay, he can keep it,” Tiger said.

Reece scowled. “My dad awarded you that compass. It’s a good one. You take it back.”

To avoid further argument, Tiger pocketed the compass. “And you can have two mornings extra K.P. in exchange,” Reece said to Leo. “Post yourself for duty in the morning. And if anybody asks you why, tell them it’s because you’re a wiseguy.”

"Aw, c’mon,” the Bomber protested. “Have a heart.” “Yeah,” Leo said, “have a heart… Heartless.”

There was an awkward silence in the cabin; what Leo had intended as a joke hadn’t come off that way. Reece slowly turned his eyes on him. “What did you say?” he asked softly.

Leo blanched. “I just said… have a… h-heart.”

“You called me Heartless. Nobody calls me Heartless, got that?”

“Yes…”

“Yes, sir!"

“Yes, sir!"

“Now, you take the broom and clean up that mess out there.” Reece gestured toward the door.

“Yes, sir.” Leo took the broom and went out. He was disposing of the debris in the trash can when he saw Tiger waiting for him at the fountain.

“I guess I screwed up,” he said sheepishly.

“We told you he doesn’t like that name. The Bomber gets away with it sometimes – you forget you ever heard it. But ya done good, camper. Real smart.” He gave Leo a clap on the shoulder.

Leo warmed to the compliment; praise from Caesar. Still, he wished it had come not from Tiger, but from Reece himself.

Later, as he climbed into his bunk to settle down to sleep, he looked over at Reece in his cot a scant three-feet away. His eyes were slitted open, staring at him it seemed; Charlie Chan eyes that made Leo nervous.