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"
Instead
he
seemed
to
sober
up
a
little
.
He
told
me
we
was
goin
on
,
up
over
the
deadfall
and
deeper
into
the
woods
,
where
there
was
another
burial
place
.
I
looked
at
Stanny
,
who
was
so
drunk
he
could
barely
keep
his
feet
,
and
I
looked
at
that
deadfall
,
and
I
said
,
"
You
ca
n't
climb
that
,
Stanny
B.
,
you
'll
break
your
neck
.
'
"
And
he
said
,
"
I
ai
n't
gon
na
break
my
neck
,
me
,
and
neither
are
you
.
I
can
walk
and
you
can
lug
your
dog
.
"
And
he
was
right
.
He
sailed
up
over
that
deadfall
just
as
smooth
as
silk
,
never
even
looking
down
,
and
I
lugged
Spot
all
the
way
up
there
,
although
he
must
have
weighed
thirty-five
pounds
or
so
and
I
only
went
about
ninety
myself
.
I
want
to
tell
you
,
though
,
Louis
,
I
was
some
sore
and
sprung
the
next
day
.
How
do
you
feel
today
?
"
Louis
did
n't
answer
,
only
nodded
.
"
We
walked
and
we
walked
,
"
Jud
said
.
"
It
seemed
to
me
we
was
gon
na
walk
forever
.
The
woods
were
spookier
in
those
days
.
More
birds
calling
from
the
trees
,
and
you
did
n't
know
what
any
of
em
was
.
Animals
moving
around
out
there
.
Deer
,
most
likely
,
but
back
then
there
were
moose
too
and
bears
and
catamounts
.
I
dragged
Spot
.
After
a
while
I
started
to
get
the
funny
idea
that
old
Stanny
B.
was
gone
and
I
was
following
an
Indian
.
Following
an
Indian
and
somewhere
farther
along
he
'd
turn
around
,
all
grinning
and
black-eyed
,
his
face
streaked
up
with
that
stinking
paint
they
made
from
bearfat
;
that
he
'd
have
a
tommyhawk
made
out
of
a
wedge
of
slate
and
a
hake
of
ashwood
all
tied
together
with
rawhide
,
and
he
'd
grab
me
by
the
back
of
the
neck
and
whack
off
my
hair
--
along
with
the
top
of
my
skull
.
Stanny
was
n't
staggerin
or
fallin
anymore
;
he
just
walked
straight
and
easy
,
with
his
head
up
,
and
that
sort
of
helped
to
feed
the
idea
.
But
when
we
got
to
the
edge
of
the
Little
God
Swamp
and
he
turned
around
to
talk
to
me
,
I
seen
it
was
Stanny
,
all
right
,
and
the
reason
he
was
n't
staggerin
or
fallin
anymore
was
because
he
was
scared
.
Scairt
himself
sober
,
he
did
.
"
He
told
me
the
same
things
I
told
you
last
night
--
about
the
loons
,
and
the
St.
Elmo
's
fire
,
and
how
I
was
n't
to
take
any
notice
of
anything
I
saw
or
heard
.
Most
of
all
,
he
said
,
do
n't
speak
to
anything
if
it
should
speak
to
you
.
Then
we
started
across
the
swamp
.
And
I
did
see
something
.
I
ai
n't
going
to
tell
you
what
,
only
that
I
've
been
up
there
maybe
five
times
since
that
time
when
I
was
ten
,
and
I
've
never
seen
anything
like
it
again
.
Nor
will
I
,
Louis
,
because
my
trip
to
the
Micmac
burial
place
last
night
was
my
last
trip
.
"
I
'm
not
sitting
here
believing
all
of
this
,
am
I
?
Louis
asked
himself
almost
conversationally
--
the
three
beers
helped
him
to
sound
conversational
,
at
least
to
his
own
mind
's
ear
.
I
am
not
sitting
here
believing
this
story
of
old
Frenchmen
and
Indian
burying
grounds
and
something
called
the
Wendigo
and
pets
that
come
back
to
life
,
am
I
?
For
Christ
's
sake
,
the
cat
was
stunned
,
that
's
all
,
a
car
hit
it
and
stunned
it
--
no
big
deal
.
This
is
a
senile
old
man
's
maunderings
.
Except
that
it
was
n't
,
and
Louis
knew
it
was
n't
,
and
three
beers
was
n't
going
to
cure
that
knowing
,
and
thirty-three
beers
would
n't
.
Church
had
been
dead
,
that
was
one
thing
;
he
was
alive
now
and
that
was
another
;
there
was
something
fundamentally
different
,
fundamentally
wrong
about
him
,
and
that
was
a
third
.
Something
had
happened
.
Jud
had
repaid
what
he
saw
as
a
favor
.
.
but
the
medicine
available
at
the
Micmac
burying
ground
was
perhaps
not
such
good
medicine
,
and
Louis
now
saw
something
in
Jud
's
eyes
that
told
him
the
old
man
knew
it
.
Louis
thought
of
what
he
had
seen
--
or
thought
he
had
seen
--
in
Jud
's
eyes
the
night
before
.
That
capering
,
gleeful
thing
.
He
remembered
thinking
that
Jud
's
decision
to
take
Louis
and
Ellie
's
cat
on
that
particular
night
journey
had
not
entirely
been
Jud
's
own
.
