"No … it's not heavy. Come on, Gay."
The last outline of plowed fields dropped behind them and with it the smell of dust. It gave way to a fresh clean smell of things growing. Gaylord realized with little amazement that they were already in thick brush. Why they had only started and already the thickets lay behind them. A squirrel dashed past and scampered up the beaten bark of an old tree. Gaylord, startled, walked closer to Rogers. Walked on the thick mold beneath his feet. The wet scent of decayed wood and loam came up into his nostrils like something new and undiscovered, and each sound, each step, seemed to intensify the stillness, the mystery of the place.
He saw a lizard sunning itself under a sun spot and somehow he was not scared or surprised when it scampered for new grounds. He was thinking of snakes now and with the thought came a big splash of water. This scared him. Panting and grabbing Rogers, he asked, "What was that?"
"Just an old bull-frog," Rogers replied unconcerned. Then he remembered the tone of the voice. Turning around, he said, "Nothing to be scared of, Gay."
"It scared me … I was thinking of snakes."
"There ain't no snakes here." A little white lie wouldn't hurt.
"I hope not. I hate the slimy things." He heard the sound of his feet trying to keep step with Rogers. "How much further?" he asked.
"Not very far. Tired?"
"No. Just wondering."
"Hot?"
"Sort of."
Rogers wiped his brow. He looked at Gaylord, saw no sweat, and the thin shirt was not sticking to his slender body as his was. Then, at last he announced, "We're almost there."
Gaylord gave a deep sigh, "I'm glad … these thickets are pretty rough …"
After about ten yards they came to a clearing worn bare of berry thickets and grapevines. The creek ran smooth and quiet sunbeams glimmered and flashed on its moving surface. No rocks, no rapids, disturbed or darkened its cool color. It mirrored only the image of arching green.
