“Mal,” said Man Rivers once time, gnawing on a tobac leaf like he always was as he wound up wire and pulled stake. “There come a time you have to accept you’re bein’ snookered.”
“Howdat?” I asked watching how he coiled the snare for used elsewhere.
Man shot an glance sidewise up to the steading. You could see that fatboy Lawson up the guardtower looking real hard like his attention was on something, anything, other than Man and me.
My eyes narrowed.
“I’m just sayin’ you need know when time’s come to find a new place to snare a bit of game. ‘Times there’s a fox waiting in the underbrush waiting for your snare to catch.”
My eyes drifted all casual-like back to Lawson, who was quickly looking elsewise and I could have swore I caught disappointment in his stupid face.
Man decided I needed something more to do instead of all of my watching, so he gave me his long gun. “Here, boy. You take that and keep that eye of yours out instead for wandering stooks while I take us to a new spot for the snare away from those thieving foxes, ‘kay. Follow me — I’ll show you a rare good spot I found a while back.”
I loped after Man, careful to keep my finger off the trigger, barrel pointed up at the sky, just like he showed me. He always said I could have it once I proved I was responsible and not some knucklehead. I aimed to prove I was responsible earlier than later.
“What about them foxes?” I asked, knowing that these ones didn’t have no red tails like the ones on the trail.
“I’ll fix them foxes, Mal. You just worry about them stooks for now.”
naow says Wraith.
Down at my feet an empty snare, set along the corner of one of the ruins. Tripped, alright. Starting to look like I had a fox problem on my hands.
“Let’s check that last snare afore night comes,” I say looking over my shoulder as I wind up the snare like Man showed me. I do it by feel alone now. Fumblefingers all gone.
naow says Wraith.
That big-assed sceaducat stray I picked up before leaving the stead does his long rub against my haunch before doing that trick where his long smoky coat melts into the late afternoon gloam. Could be a real swell hunter, but prefers to let me do the dirty work.
“Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec.”
No sign of my fox. Then again, ain’t no reason for a fox to linger ’round a snare it knows.
The snare goes into the bag with the other empty snare and a whole lotta not much else. Things are about to get hungrier if that last snare is empty.
naow says Wraith.
“Chill it,” I say, but I’m on the move all hunched over as if that will mask from the fox where we’re going. As if that trap location ain’t already known.
But ain’t no fox gonna snooker me none, now I caught his scent.
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