Someone had been there before him. The lock was battered and there had
been an attempt to pry loose its staples, an attempt which had left
betraying gouges on the door frame. But misused as it had been, the lock
yielded to the key and Val went in. Warned by a lapping sound from
beneath, it did not take him long to get the chest, relock the door, and
head back to the boat.
He was none too soon. Already, in the few moments of his absence, there
were rills cutting across the mud, rills which were growing in strength
and size. And the flood around the drying rack was up a good three
inches. Val dumped the chest into the bow with little ceremony and
climbed in after it, his wet trousers clinging damply to his legs.
Something plate-armored and possessing wicked yellow eyes swam
effortlessly through the light beam--a 'gator bound for the Gulf,
whether he would or no.
The return as far as the bayou was easy enough, for again the boat was
borne on the current. But when Val faced the torn waters of the river he
experienced a certain tightness of throat and chill of blood. What might
have been the roof of a small shed was passing lumpily as he hesitated.
Then came a tree burdened with a small 'coon which stared at the boy
piteously, its eyes green in the light. An eddy sent its ship close to
the boat; the top branches clung a moment to the bow. And to Val's
surprise, the 'coon roused itself to a mighty effort and crossed into
the egg-shell safety the boat offered.
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