out of a dark shadow. The low-hanging branches and vines were covered with water moccasins, which had crawled there in search of safety from the alligators that lurked around the logs and shallow places. The alligators would conceal themselves during the day and come out at night for food. Deeper in the swamp there were even more dangerous enemies—panther and wild cat, and they had been known to attack a man by day or night. The water itself smelled of death and decay.
“Jeff,” said Skeeter, “let’s go over to that mudbank close to that old fallen magnolia tree. I seed sign there the other day where them big ole bull frogs had been sittin’ on their haunches and rubbin’ each other.”
“OK,” said Jeff, “but you hold that light good and high so’es I kin see some. Hit’s so dark in here tonight that you could see a nigger’s eye ten miles off. And I derned shore don’t want to git this skiff stuck and have to pull it out.”
“Pole her a little mite to the left, Jeff,” said Skeeter. “They’s two eyes over there as big as saucers starin’ at me.”
Jeff poled the skiff gently to the left, while Skeeter stood in the bow with the torch in his left hand and the gig in his right.
“Lordy me, Jeff,” said Skeeter, “look at the size of that feller. I’d bet that bugger would weigh five pounds. I’d hate to see that sucker jump as high as he could. He’d probably land down at Mill Town.”
“Well, quit runnin’ yore mouth so loud and drop that gig betwix his eyes afore he leaps in the water and makes some big ’gator a good supper.”
Jeff stopped the skiff and dug his pole deep into the muck to hold it steady. Skeeter raised the gig high above his head, took a steady aim, and sailed it towards the white eyes of the frog. The gig struck the bank with a thud and dropped into the water.
“Did you git him, Skeeter?” asked Jeff.
“I ain’t sure. I didn’t see him jump when the gig struck, but the gig didn’t stick to the bank. Pole her up and let me git the gig out’n the water.”
Jeff drew the pole out of the soft muck and shoved the skiff further towards the bank. “Hold her there,” said Skeeter. “I think I kin reach hit from here.”
Skeeter bent down in the skiff and reached into the black water for the long handle of the gig. When he raised it from the water, one end had sunk so he knew that his aim had been true.
“My gosh, Jeff,” he said, as he pulled the gig back into the skiff. “Look at them legs. Bet they air at least two feet long.”
“One more like that will be all we kin eat fer breakfast,” said Jeff. “Let’s find one more so’es we kin git the heck out’n here.”
Jeff poled the skiff further along the edges of the swamp, while Skeeter held the torch high in search of more eyes. At times Skeeter had to lie flat in the skiff to pass under the low-hanging buck vines. They pushed farther and farther into the swamp.
“Hold her, Jeff,” said Skeeter, “I think I seed some eyes a little over to the right uv you. Push her over there and let’s see what hit is.”
Jeff swung the skiff further to the right until the owner of the eyes came into the range of the light. “Hit shore air another big frog,” said Skeeter. “He looks like he mout be as big as the other one. Pole her in and let me git a throw.”
Jeff dug the pole into the muck, and Skeeter again took aim with his right hand, while holding the torch with his left. He raised the gig high, and it hit the bank with a dull thud. Only this time the gig pinned the frog to the bank. “I shore got me a perfect hit that time,” said Skeeter. “Pole her up and let me git the bugger in the skiff.”
Jeff poled the skiff close to the bank, and Skeeter put the frog in the bottom of the skiff with the other one. “How’s you and the skeeters gittin’ along, Jeff?” he asked. “Bet them buggers has sucked you dry by now, ain’t they?”
“Yeh, but I’d still rather they kilt me than to die of that awful stuff you put on you. Now let’s git back to the house afore that lidard knot has done burned out and we air left in a mess.”
Skeeter laid the gigs flat in the bottom of the skiff and crouched in the bow to hold the torch so Jeff could see. They were slowly making their way back through the vines towards the bayou, when Skeeter saw the biggest pair of eyes he had ever seen in the swamp at night.
“Look over there, Jeff,” he said. “Do you see them lights what I see? Them looks like the runnin’ lights on the back end uv a steamboat. Let’s go see if’n one of them blame boats has done run into the swamp.”
Jeff poled the skiff closer so that Skeeter could get a better look at the enormous eyes which had caught the glare of the torch. As they got nearer, the eyes grew larger and larger. “Hit must be the reflection of the moon on the water, only they ain’t no moon out tonight,” said Skeeter. “And look, Jeff, they air turnin’ as red as a tomato.”
“Them shore ain’t the eyes of no frog,” said Jeff, “so’es you better be careful up there in the front of this thing.”
After they had moved a few more feet forward, Skeeter signaled Jeff to stop. He stood up and held the torch higher so he could get a better look. “Pole her back a mite,” he said. “They’s a bull ’gator lyin’ there that must be a granddaddy to all the ’gators in the swamp. I’ll bet his hide would be wuth more’n all the snakeskins in the swamp.”
“Yeh, but don’t go gittin’ no funny idea ’bout me and you tryin’ to git that hide. I’d jest as soon that critter keep his hide and me keep mine. I’m goin’ to pole this skiff out’n here and leave well enough be.”
“Jest a minute, Jeff, don’t go fer a little yet. I got a idea where we mout be able to take this critter home with us tonight. If’n I could jest sink this gig deep enough betwix his eyes, we could let him flounce till he’s dead and then drag him in. He’s bound to be wuth enough to keep us in sugar and meal fer a month.”
“I’d druther do without no corn pone and drink my coffee straight than wrestle with that big devil. So’es you jest forget them ideas and let’s git out’n here.”
Jeff pulled the pole from the muck and started to back the skiff out, and Skeeter realized what he was doing. Skeeter was not willing to leave the prize without even a try, so when Jeff started backing the skiff away, he lifted the gig and let it fly with all the strength his body could give forth, straight at the red eyes of the bull alligator. The shaft sailed true and struck the alligator between the eyes with a sickening thud. When the gig struck, the ’gator bellowed with such force that it nearly knocked Skeeter from the bow of the skiff.
“I got him, Jeff, I got him,” cried Skeeter. “Pole up a little closer so’es I can see if’n he’s dead.”
Jeff poled up close to the burning eyes, and the ’gator did not move. The gig was planted solidly between its eyes. When he got a little closer, Skeeter signaled for him to stop and said, “He shore am dead, Jeff. I’ll grab hold of the gig shaft and you back off till we git him to floatin’. Then we’ll work him to the back, and you kin hold the shaft while I kin pole from up here. We kin drag him in home, and won’t Ma be proud when she sees this?”
Skeeter grabbed the shaft, while Jeff poled the skiff back into deeper water. Suddenly the entire swamp seemed to turn over and cry to heaven. The skiff went round and round with Skeeter holding his grip on the gig shaft. Jeff was thrown to the bottom of the skiff.
“Turn loose that thing, Skeeter,” cried Jeff, “‘fore that critter turns us over and kills the both of us!”
Before Skeeter could turn loose the shaft, he was slung through the air and thrown bodily into a group of cypress knees. The torch hit the water and went out in a sizzle of smoke. Skeeter was still holding to the shaft, and he felt himself being pulled through the murky slime at a fast rate of speed. Finally, from sheer exhaustion, he relaxed his grip