COMMONSENSE

            Buford did not have time for such foolishness; he had important things to do. But Mawas not seeing it that way, at all.

            Sometimes,Ma just did not listen to reason.

            "But,Ma, if I don't get over there soon--" he began, kind of hoping she'd letit go before he had to finish, because he couldn't really think of anything suitable, anything that she might allow was good enough cause to let him out of what was looking to become a rather sorry chore. It wasn't like he could justcome out and tell her that Skeeter had said that the pike were biting, and that he, himself -Skeeter!- had got three hits just that morning, because Mawouldn't really understand how that was important.

            Andit was.

            "Buford,don't you start-- don't you even start. You're going to help Deputy Lennox, andyou aren't going to give me any more trouble about it."

            "But,Maaaawwwwwwww--"

            "Don't you 'but' me. Don't you do it. Don't you 'but' me one more time, Buford, or sohelp me...."

            At least Ma was gracious enough to let it hang like that, and not get all specificin front of company. And Buford had to give it to Lennox-- the lawman wasgracious enough, in his turn, to seem embarrassed for Buford, and wasn't looking at the scene directly, but off into the cypress, away from the house.

            Buford'schest collapsed, and his shoulders dropped into a slouch.

            "Yes'm."

            Maseemed satisfied that persuasion hadn't taken too long, and so didn't gloat orrub Buford's nose in it or anything. "That's a good boy. Now you go and helpthis here polite deputy, and get them poor people back to where's theybelong."

            "Yes'm,"Buford repeated, contrite.

            Thedeputy must have decided that this was an opportune time to rejoin theconversation, such as it was, and chimed in, "Thank you, ma'am. And thankyou, Buford. Your county and the sheriff's department does offer you up theirthanks for your kind service."

            Bufordresisted the urge to spit into the ferns at the base of the porch, so insteadopted to just stare at the back shed, with his lower lip hanging out.

            "Sohere it is, Buford, like I told your ma: Apple Richards took these tourists outinto the Damp, three days gone by. Says this young couple told him they wantedto go camping, see some trees. So he took 'em out. So he says."

            Buford'supper lip curled. He knew Apple Richards. "So he says."

            Thedeputy nodded. He knew Apple Richards, too, which was why he was out talking toBuford. "So he says. And a day ago, we get a call from the lady's sister wayout in Texas. Says she was supposed to hear from the lady the day before-- thatthey were only going out overnight. That was the plan. And when she didn'thear, she got twitchy, and called us the next day. Yesterday, that would be.Normally, okay, that wouldn't be too much, but late last night the tri-countyemergency services center got a Nine-One-One call from the gent's cellularphone. Just long enough to affirm it was the man, on his own phone, calling forhelp, but not long enough to place it."

            Bufordgrimaced. This was certainly sounding like a chore. And one that might takesome time, too. "And you talked to Apple Richards? How did you know totalk to him?"

            Thedeputy nodded. "Wouldn't have, if Claire Sandrant hadn't heard from DwayneMermer that he saw some tourist-types talking to Apple Richards around thattime."

            Whichmade sense to Buford: Dwayne and Apple Richards and a few others in the areamade some good money, most years, taking touri' out into the Damp. Recentyears, even more than usual; folks wanting to see trees and wet plants andsuch, for no good reason Buford could fathom, because they never seemed to fishor hunt, but just stomped around looking at stuff and saying how pretty it was.It was all "Nature in her green majesty," and other such nonsense.But this year had been bad for the lookers, and if Apple Richards got some, andDwayne knew about it, Dwayne would be right jealous, and would be carping aboutit to just about everyone in the world. And Claire worked over at the sheriff'soffice four days per week, so she would have heard about missing folks andknown enough to put it all together. Claire was kind of sharp.

            Thedeputy was still talking. "Apple Richards says he took them out, threedays gone by, and that he was supposed to pick them up yesterday. Says he wentback to pick them up, and they weren't where he'd left them. Says he reckonedthey'd wandered off, looking for other trees to look at, or whatnot. Says alltheir stuff was gone, and that they'd left some tracks he'd followed, but onlyup to the water-- says he looked for an hour, shouting and whatnot, but thatthey didn't come back, and he couldn't find them."

            Bufordgrunted. Only Apple Richards would think to hide behind a story which made himout to be the worst tracker for a hundred miles. The man had no shame.

            "Sayshe came back home-- says it wasn't his never-mind if some fool idjits want togo and get themselves lost and drowned and et. Says he did his part."

            Bufordmade a face that was almost a smile. "Apple Richards says a lot."

            Thedeputy did smile, but it was grim. "That he does. But it don't saymuch."

            Bufordnodded. "He say where he took 'em to?"

            Thedeputy nodded in reply. "The Holler. Back end."

            Bufordturn to Ma. "If I find these folks, and get them home, can I get tofishing with Skeeter?"

            Maturned her nose up. Skeeter had that effect on most people, sometimes includingBuford, even. "Well-- I suppose so. You just better get them people first,and don't worry about Skeeter and his fish 'til after. Hear me?"

            Bufordcontained his glee, not letting it show on his face. "Yes'm!"

            Andthen he was gone-- took off to find them. The quicker, the better.

            Bufordknew it was pointless to believe Apple Richards-- only the sorest idjit woulddo that. But he also knew that while Apple Richards was mean, and worthless,and tough, and shameless, and trash, he also felt pretty sure that AppleRichards wouldn't go so far as to actually kill anybody, active-like. At least,in an unprovoked state. Apple Richards, to Buford's mind, was one of them bulliesthat had a certain streak of cowardice in him, for damned sure.

            Thatwas not to say that Apple Richards was above leaving a couple of city peopleout in the Damp, there to starve and rot and get swallowed up by whatever theyhappened to run across. No, he certainly wasn't above that. Because then itwouldn't be any fault of Apple Richards, now would it? Nope-- it would be thefault of the Damp, and who could help that?

            Thiswas how people like Apple Richards thought, and Buford knew it.

            SoBuford was pretty sure that those people were not in the Holler, and nowherenear the back end. That still left a whole lot of Damp, though.

            Bufordhad to find out what part of the Damp Apple Richards had left them in, really.

            But,with all his faults, Apple Richards had a couple of things going for him thatwas going make Buford's chore a mite bit more tricky than it would have beenotherwise. First off, Apple Richards wasn't any scrawny fellow. He wasn'thuge-- but, then, he didn't have to be. He was bigger than Buford. And whileBuford might have been tougher, Apple Richards was certainly apt to give Buforda run for his money, if they got to wrestling. Buford liked to think he couldlick Apple Richards, but he was also practical enough to figure that any suchtussle would end up with both of them whupped pretty good, and Buford in noshape to go find some tourist people and get them home.

            SoBuford couldn't beat it out of him.

            Oh,he could probably find someone who would help him do it. To make a hurt on AppleRichards, he could probably find lots of folks around the way who would lend ahand. But that led right into another reason Buford had cause to give AppleRichards a grudging respect; Apple Richards wouldn't give up what he didn'twant to, under any kind of threat or pain. He just wouldn't.

            Bufordwas going to have to figure another way to find out what part of the Damp AppleRichards took those people into.

            Oncehe was at Apple Richards' place, it wasn't hard to find the man; he was sittingout on his back porch, cleaning a right-big handgun, looked to Buford like a.45, easy-- maybe a .357 Magnum. It was a revolver, dressed in simple bluing,not too fancy, but very shiny and well-kept. When Apple Richards lifted it,pointing it at the sky to squint at some part of the cylinder, Buford could seethe dark walnut grips. It was a nice shooter.

            "Niceshooter," Buford said, nodding at Apple Richards. At the sound of Buford'svoice, Apple Richards lowered the gun, slowly, taking time to drag the sightpicture right down and across Buford's torso. Buford didn't flinch, but he didscowl-- pointing any kind of firearm at a person was darned rude, and wasn'ttaken lightly in their part of the world. Apple Richards made it seem as if itwas part of the regular motion he was going to make, anyway, while handling thepiece to clean it, just enough so he could get away with pointing it at Bufordand still make Buford look silly for complaining.

            Thatwas the kind of thing Apple Richards did.

            "Well,hey there, Buford," called Apple Richards. "What brings you aroundhere?" They both knew, given a choice and without a reason, Buford wouldnot be found anywhere near Apple Richards.

            "Youtook some people out to the Damp, three days back," Buford replied, hisspeaking simple and clear, but definitely loud enough to be heard right."I mean to find them."

            Bufordhad been ready to handle all sorts of bluster and confrontation--yes, includingtangling with the man-- but the actual reaction kind of took him aback: AppleRichards was grinning, near to chuckling, looking right amused.

            "Whatdo you need a pair of touri for, Buford?" Apple Richards scoffed, smiling,having a good old time. "You got nothing for 'em." He snorted.

            "Imean to find them," Buford repeated, trying to stay as calm as he could."You going to help, or not?"

            "What'sit to me, you find them?" Apple Richards looked to be downright laughingnow. Having himself a ball, yep.

            "Somaybe Deputy Lennox tells me that I don't find them, he has to come hassle yousome more, you're the last one to see them," Buford had thought about it briefly,and liked the idea that maybe it would annoy Apple Richards and get him to helpout, both. That kind of thing appealed to Buford.

            Thesmile went away right quick. Buford tried not to show he was too pleased atthat, because he still wanted the other part, the part where Apple Richards wasgoing to help out in finding the people.

            "Yeah?"the other man replied, the voice starting to edge towards nasty. "He saythat, did he?"

            Bufordcontinued, smooth, "I find them, nobody cares. I find them, get 'em home,nobody has to talk to you no more about it, ever. They get lost, and then theyget found....well, they're a pair of idjits, it's their fault. They get lost,and then ain't get found? Well....then somebody's got to talk to somebody, becausenow maybe they're dead idjits, and maybe they're not, right? But somebody's gotto know-- somebody's got to find out from somebody who knows, because everybodycan't go on not knowing."

            Itwas more than Buford liked to talk, and he tried real hard to keep it just likethe idea in his head, but it was slippery, so he was hoping the words paired upright enough with the ideas. And that Apple Richards would get it.

            Theman was still scowling, setting on his porch with that big damned handgun inhis paw. Finally, he spoke back.

            "So,okay, Buford-- you mean to find 'em, and that pleases me, because I don't wantnothing bad to happen to those people, because I don't want to have to troublethe deputies and whatnot. Why ain't you out finding 'em, then, instead ofsettin' around here?" The more he spoke, it seemed, the more AppleRichards was making himself angry.

            Bufordused all the strength he could muster to keep his voice down and polite."I can't just go walk off into the Damp, now can I, and expect to find'em. So I need something from you-- I need something that one of them peoplegave you."

            Thelook on Apple Richards' face now shifted from angry to confused, evensuspicious. "What do you want from me, Buford? I ain't got nothing fromthose people! Why do you think I got something of theirs?"

            Buforddecided his next step had to be the thing that would keep him out of a fight,or just ditch it all, throw in, and get to fighting. Because Apple Richards wasnow just about mad enough to get to fighting, just because he thought Bufordhad called him a thief.

            Whichhe was. But he certainly didn't like being called that, it appeared.

            Bufordwent light with it, smiling, all pals-and-buddies, "They didn't pay younone? You have to take them all the way out into the Damp, on that damned big,noisy airboat of yours, sucking gas, and you don't get nothing out of the deal?Heck, Apple Richards-- you might be the worst trader in these parts,then."

            Mostof the suspicion left Apple Richards' eyes, "So, yeah, they paid me. Ofcourse," but it came back right quick, "You want to take my money? Isthat it, Buford? You want me to give up my money?" Now his voice was goinghigh-pitched at the end of sentences.

            Bufordshook his head slowly, still smiling. "Aw, heck no, Apple Richards. That'syour money, true as can be. I just need a piece of it-- a bill, if you've gotit. One they handed you. Just to borrow. I'll give it back, soon as I get thosefolks home."

            AppleRichards spat over what remained of the porch railing. "You want to takesome of my money, is that it, Buford? Am I hearing you right? You just want apiece of my money. Well, Buford-- ain't that a thing? I don't feel inclined tobe giving you any of my money. Even a part of it."

            Bufordwas starting to get sore now; his plan wasn't working, which was frustratingtwice: it kept him from getting his chore done, and, well, just because itwasn't working, that made it disappointing from that end, too. "Look,you--"

            "Youjust take it easy, there, Buford," the smile was back on Apple Richards'face, like they had only one smile between them, and they had to keep tradingit in order to get the full use. "Don't get all heated up, now. I said Iain't going to give you any of my money....but I'll sell you some."

            Bufordfelt his hands bunch into fists, hard, heavy, without really making any choicein his own head. "What kind of foolishness--"

            "Tellyou what, Buford," Apple Richards was ignoring the other man's wordsaltogether. "I got a ten-dollar bill from that man, I'm fairly certain.It's right in there in my wallet, all comfy-like, just waiting to be put togood use. Now, you want it, you give me, say, fifteen dollars, I give you thebill. Doesn't that just seem fair? You can find them people, and nobody's gotto talk to me, and I can get over the sadness of losing that happy ten dollarbill."

            Bufordcould feel his face getting hot, and reckoned his teeth might actually crack ifhe ground them much harder. Fifteen dollars-- that was just everything he hadin his pockets....everything he had, really, period. And that was what thisApple Richards wanted. Buford suddenly believed the man had a particular Senseabout such things, and that if Buford had had forty dollars (a fine sum thatwould be, forty dollars) on his person, Apple Richards would have asked forforty dollars in return for the bill.

            Therewas nothing for it. Buford dug around in his pockets until he had all thefifteen dollars, then passed it over to the man. Apple Richards made a big showof rooting around in a wallet full of green bills before coming up with athreadbare tenner.

            Beforehe forked it over, Apple Richards kept talking. "Just what do you wantwith this here bill, anyway, Buford? You got a hound can find people bysniffing their money?"

            Bufordfound his eyes getting wet, which angered him even more, which caused his eyesto get wetter. He struggled to not attack the man, or scream, or otherwise actout. "Something like that," he replied, his voice raspy with theeffort.

            Assoon as he gripped the bill, Buford took off. No way he was staying anywherenear that man one minute more than he had to.

            LaneyJessel was nice enough, for a swamp witch. Still, Buford figured he better takehis time before going to see her. You shouldn't be angry around a swamp witch,because you don't want to say or do the wrong thing in her presence, becauseyou don't want your angry turning into something that becomes her angry. Andyou don't want her angry pointed at you.

            SoBuford took his time getting over to her place. Tradition kept the swamp witchliving inside the swamp --hence the name-- but Laney didn't truck with thenotion that she'd have to be too far into it, because, well, that was justicky. So she lived inside the edge of the Damp, but not too far along. Bufordtook his time slogging through a portion nearby to Laney's property, going thelong way around. He was also careful not to be too quiet, because he wanted tomake sure that Laney knew he wasn't trying to sneak up on her, neither.

            Likeall the rest of the Damp, what ground there was had all the matter of a sponge,like a piece of meat you left in a pan in the sink for three, four days. Itgushed. It squelched. It sucked onto your foot, holding it like it wanted tokeep it, with every step. The smell of the Damp changed with the time of day,with the tides, with the seasons, with the animals that happened to benearby....but it always smelled. The Damp was ripe, for true. And the bugs werealways on you-- there wasn't a time when you couldn't find all sorts of tiny,flying things that wanted to get onto or into your body, whether it washovering clouds of gnats at nighttime, or clustered swarms of mosquitoes in thehot afternoon, or horseflies getting an early jump on the competition, comemorning.

            Bufordknew the Damp like the inside of his thigh...and he couldn't figure for thelife of him why idjits from other places kept coming to look at it, like it wasfun or good or nice to be at, or something. He'd grown up in the Damp, and stillhe was never comfortable about the place. It wasn't the kind of place that ledto comfort. You got too comfortable, you got to be lunch.

            Therewere gators in the Damp. There were pumas. There were about ninety-dozen snakesthat had poison in them. There were plants in there with almost as much toxinin them as the snakes. And folks were always finding new bugs and snakes andplants and critters that had new diseases and poisons and allergies to give you(or kill you), too.

            Itwas not a good place to be comfortable. It sure was a good place to be angry,though. After slogging through the Damp nonstop for twenty minutes or so, yourlegs got all fiery and tight from the effort of dragging each hoof out of the muckon every step, and your lungs were all hot and chunky from sucking great wetslaps out of the muggy air. You got to stop being angry fairly soon.

            Laneyhad the door of her shack open as he came up to the house. He'd circled backaround again, for the last bit, so he was facing the front of her place when hearrived. The inside of the door was showing, toward him, as the outside of itwas now pressed up against the wall next to the door jamb, all the way open.She'd painted the inside of it a bright green, not the mawkish green of rottingplantlife, but a lime green, a happy, cheerful color that was truly out ofplace in the Damp, but seemed just quite right in Laney's house.

            Laneywas standing in the doorway, all backlit against the impending gloom of thelate-afternoon swamp. And the image repeated something Buford already knewpretty well: the swamp witch was certainly all woman.

            "Youcome on up here, Buford-- stop playing around out there in the muck, and take aload off...let me know what brought you on out to my place." There was acertitude in her voice, no doubt in it at all, that give it something she oughtnot have, necessarily...somethin' she sure did not have in high school, when hewas a junior and she was a senior. Nope. Of course, she wasn't a swamp witch atthat point; her great aunt Mabel Fortichaw had been the swamp witch, with Laneyonly helping on weekends, and the larger emergencies, somewhat. An apprentice,like.

            Everyoneagreed that Laney was a much better swamp witch than Mabel, even with only acouple of years in the seat. Much better-looking swamp witch, too.

            "Heya,Laney," Buford began, much more quiet and shyer than he had intended, andfrustrated and surprised at himself for it. There was no telling why, but thelast few times Buford had seen Laney (and it had only been a few times, overthe course of about three years), he had been quieter and more shy aroundher...almost nervous. Not himself.

            Ashe brushed past her, she took hold of his shoulder --them almost the same height,even, her being a tall girl-- pausing him in the entrance, and bussed his cheeksolid, before she let him pass again. He resisted the urge to wipe the wet spoton his face, and moved into the room. He was suddenly conscious of his hands,but had no idea where to put them, as digging into his pockets seemed a rudegesture, at the moment.

            "Setyourself, Buford," Laney said, moving past him with an economy of steps."I'll throw us some tea."

            Bufordlooked around the small room-- small, yet comforting. While all the spaceseemed to be used, it didn't seem to be crammed up on you, like many smallishhouses Buford knew of: their owners so desperate to get as much stuff as theycould, it all seemed about to fall in on you, while you were sitting rightthere. Not Laney's room, and not Laney's house. It felt like home. Bufordfigured it felt that way to everyone, too, as if taste had naught to do withit.

            "Thanks,"he said, putting down on a soft old cushioned chair with padded arms. It feltgood to be motionless for a moment.

            "Where'veyou been, Buford?" she called from the other room. As if she didn't know.

            "Oh,you know," he responded, looking around the room, studying it. "WithSkeeter and them. Fishing. Doing some work for my Ma."

            Shewas carrying two glasses when she came back; they matched; straight-walledcylinders covered in big yellow daises with orange centers. She handed one tohim, bending low, and he could see the light gloss of healthy sweat on the topslabs of her breasts. He took a chug from the glass, looking down into it; itwas sweet, and good.

            "Howis your ma?" she asked as he drank. "How's her leg?" she wenton, moving to a seat nearby to him, putting her own glass on a low shelf nextto it.

            Bufordhad clean forgotten that Ma sprained her left foot right bad the past winter,and that he had gone to Laney for a poultice and some herbs. "Justfine," he replied, fast. And true, too. "Fixed right up, in a day,two, most."

            Laneynodded, smiling and proud. "That's right fine. You leave here, you takehome some more herbs I got for you to give her, okay?"

            Bufordnodded. "Sure will, Laney. Listen, can you help me out? I've got to dosomething, and I need you for it."

            Laneyhad a dimple in her left cheek that kicked in only when her smile set offproper; it was a right little divot just then. "Why, Buford-- you know youonly have to ask, and I'll do whatever I possibly can to offer someassistance."

            Bufordwas nodding, and trying desperately not to blush. He reached into his pocketand pulled out the money. She cocked her head and looked at him curiously as hehanded it over; she didn't take it as he talked at first, until his arm hadhung there, motionless with the money, for a good few seconds.

            "AppleRichards took a couple of touri out into the Damp three days back. He won't saywhere. They ain't been heard of, and the Sheriff is wondering after them. Senta deputy to tell my Ma, and Ma told me to go get 'em back where they're supposedto be."

            Laneywas looking at the bill, and looked back over at Buford when he finishedexplaining. "You want me to tell you where they are, Buford?"

            "Yes,please, if you would," he replied.

            Sheleaned back in her own chair, gripping the bill by its ends, her thumbs on oneside, her fingers on the other. She stared at it for a moment, then looked backover at him. "I'll tell you, Buford, sure enough. But you have to dosomething for me, first."

            Bufordwas nodding. "I've been thinking on that. I'm square out of money, 'ceptfor that there bill, but you might need some firewood, right enough. And I sawyour roof when I walked up here, and it could cert--"

            Sheinterrupted him. "Now, Buford," she was dimpled again. "Youalready got to tell me what you want. Only seems fair, when it comes to payment,I should get to say what I want. Reckon?"

            Bufordpumped his head up and down a few times-- he was almost embarrassed again. Thatsure did seem like the smart way of looking at things.

            "I'lltell you, Buford-- it's real simple what I want: you just give me a big ol' kiss--a real one, now-- and I'll help you with your little chore."

            Bufordwas definitely blushing, no question. "Now, Laney--"

            Shewas having none of it, and jumped in to tell him so. "Buford, you want meto help you out, give you what you want, it seems the least a polite boy coulddo is give me what I want in return, doesn't it? Now, you ain't going to beimpolite, are you?"

            Buford'sface was red, and he couldn't nail down any ideas or responses of a solid anddeterminate nature. He was against the concept, no doubt of it. Buford was nostranger to real kissing, and he was real clear about some of the true parts ofthe thing: kissing most often led to some rubbing. And rubbing led to somemessing. Buford had a chore to finish for Ma, and then he had some pike to get,and he didn't have time for any sort of mess.

            "Laney,why don't--"

            Shewas smiling, and sliding off her chair, coming toward him. "Don't you beimpolite now, Buford. You want my help, now don't you?" She lifted oneleg, putting it right over his knees, forcing him to move his tea glass out ofthe way right quick, and settled forward onto his lap, straddling him, her faceclose to his.

            "ButI--"

            "Hush,now," she said, and kissed him. She kissed him so he felt it.

            Bufordwas right about to consider whether just a bit of rubbing might not necessarilylead to a mess. And he was thinking that maybe making a mess might not take toomuch time, after all. Maybe he'd still have time to finish up his chore andstill get to fishing with Skeeter.

            Andthen her lips were gone, and his head felt hollow.

            Hewent to speak, and couldn't, as she pulled away from him. As she stood, shebrushed her hair back over her ear with one hand, and held the money up to hereyes with the other.

            "Well,now, Buford," she began. "Your-- uh, I--" she caught herself,held the bill up to the light, moved it back and forth, then rubbed it on hercheek, hummed softly for a few moments, waved it over her head like a banner,held it in front of her eyes again, then turned to him, intoning formally,staring distantly. "The people you seek are just west of Semple Creek,near the hill."

            Helooked at her. Was she Sensing it, or swamp-witching it? No way to tell. Shelooked back at him, her eyes quickly focusing. "And that's what you camefor, wasn't it, Buford?"

            Hismouth was open, but he wasn't saying anything.

            Shetook his arm, helped him to his feet. "And that's just fine; thank you somuch for coming," moving him towards the door.

            "Laney--"he croaked.

            Shenever stopped moving him. "Yes, dearie?"

            "Wouldyou-- can I--"

            "What'sthat, hon?" she asked, moving him onto the porch, then stepping back intothe doorway.

            "CanI see you? Uh, again? See you again? Some time?"

            Shesmiled politely. "That would be swell, sugar. You just come on backanytime, okay? Okay. G'night now. Good luck with your people. Get them folksback home safe." And she closed the door.

            "Yes'm,"he replied softly, to the door.

            Itdidn't take long to find them. They were pretty miserable-- about eaten up bymosquitoes and chiggers and all the remaining bare skin flayed to pieces bybranches and thorns and whatnot. They were easy to find, too, being loud andfoolish and all.

            Whenhe came up out of the Damp, right up to them, they about fell apart shriekingin an instant, then close to falling on their knees to thank him the next. Theywere so full of gratitude, they didn't even consider the possibility that hewas as lost as them.

            Itwas a good thing he wasn't, too, because then there would have been three puffybodies laid out there in the moss, for sure, by the next morning...afternoon,latest.

            Bufordspoke to them for a bit, just to get everything situated. He told them he wasgoing to get them home, and asked them where that was, exactly. They were toohappy to tell him, and even described it, when he asked them to be specific andclarify a few things about it. He had to spend a good amount of time decliningsome money the man kept trying to promise Buford, when they returned to thecity...and Buford wasn't a bit surprised to see that Apple Richards had takentheir wallets and money; they had been cleaned out, but only thought they'd"lost" their valuables, while they were camping. Buford explainedpatiently, more than once, that his Ma would whup him quite solid if he tooksome pay for what she'd assigned as a chore...and no, 'tips' were maybe finefor someone important and fancy, like the waitress or gunsmith, but his Mawouldn't cotton to Buford accepting anything so gilded as all that, him just beingBuford and all.

            Heasked if they were ready to go, and they acted amazed --almost, at that point,even unhappy- that he had to ask. They were starting to get even louder thanwhen he had first come up on them, so he just put one hand on one shoulder ofeach of them, concentrated real hard...they look surprised a moment...and thenthey disappeared. They made that loud clapping noise that stuff did when Bufordsent them places with his Sense. Folks had told him that he made the sound,too, when he traveled, but he never heard it, himself, when it was him moving.

             Hewas a bit winded-- it took a lot more concentration to push something anywherewhere he hadn't been before. He'd just had their description of the place, anda rough idea of where it was, so it was a little tricky. But he was pretty surehe hadn't put them inside a door frame or floorboards or anything.

            Aftera few minutes of deep breathing, Buford went back home, onto the front porch,and yelled through the door, "Chore's done, Ma-- folks're home and I'mgoing fishing," then gone again before she could answer. Over to Skeeter.

            Skeetergrunted as Buford appeared. "Took you long enough, Buford. Pole's overthere." Buford stepped sheepishly over to it, picking it up.

            Ashe went to stand next to Skeeter again, casting out into the mudhole, he triednot to think too much about that swamp witch's kisses, and how long it wouldtake to catch two or three sizable pike.

            Andhe tried not to think about whether she might not enjoy some fresh fish for hersupper.