The Man in the Tree by Damon Knight Read Free Book Online Page B

camp chair, a bucket. When he eased himself

inside and let the door swing shut behind him, it was black dark. He

turned on his flashlight. From the walls, painted figures looked back

at him. They were angular, outlined in black paint and filled in with

blue, red, and yellow; they looked more like Indian designs than what

a kid would draw.

Shirts and pants were piled on the shelves, cans of food, tools. There

was a shelf of books, including catalogues from Sears and Montgomery

Ward. Cooley looked at the titles. "Grimm's Fairy Tales." "Wild Life

of the Pacific Northwest." "Camping and Woodcraft."

On the broad shelf behind the camp chair there was a kerosene lamp,

a half-finished wood carving, a stack of papers. Cooley picked up

the top sheet and looked at it in the beam of the flashlight. It was

an airletter with a foreign stamp, addressed to "J. Hawkins, Route 1,

Dog City, Oregon, U.S.A." He turned it over. "Dear Pen Pal! I am well,

how are you? Here in Lucerne the weather is fine. Soon I will to go on

my vacation trip in Austria."

Cooley put the letter down. He moved the camp chair to the side of the

room, took out his revolver and pushed the safety off, turned off the

flashlight and sat down to wait.

Jerry was sitting behind a cluster of vine maple stems with his back

against a tree and the Enfield in his lap. His butt was cold, and there

was a rock or a root under him whichever way he shifted. He looked at

his wristwatch; he had been here almost an hour.

Brush crackled a few yards away, and when he looked up he saw the kid

climbing the tree with some kind of parcel in his hand. Jerry rolled

over to one knee and stood up, but a twig cracked under his foot and the

kid looked around. He was just hanging there, one leg and one arm up,

looking down over his shoulder with a frightened expression. Jerry had

to make up his mind in a hurry, because in another second it might be

too late. He got the bead in the notch of the peep-sight, centered on

the kid's back just under the shoulderblade, squeezed the trigger. He

saw the kid go over, arms and legs flying, and heard him hit with a

solid thump at the base of the tree. He scrambled over there. The kid

was lying on his back, blood all over the front of his shirt, but his

eyes were open and focused; he was alive. Hell! said Jerry to himself,

but there was no other way on God's earth now, and he aimed the rifle

again. A piercing pain struck him in the chest, and he felt himself

floating away light as a leaf on a dark wind.

Chapter Five

Cooley heard the shot, swore, and butted his way out of the tree house. He

saw the kid at the base of the tree, but had only a glance to spare him,

because Jerry was lying on the slope a few yards away, spread-eagled on

the ground, jerking and twitching like a rag doll on a string. Cooley got

down the tree as fast as he could and knelt beside him. Jerry's eyes were

rolled back in their sockets; his skin was turning blue. The jerking of

his limbs stopped with a final shudder. His face turned darker until it

was indigo blue, the color of ink, color of venous blood. His pants-leg

was wet, and there was a fecal smell. Cooley had seen dead men before,

and knew better, but he unbuttoned Jerry's shirt and put his hand on

his chest.

After a minute he stood up and looked at the kid. Blood was pulsing out

through the wet spot on his shirt and there was more of it spattered

over the brush behind him. His eyes were closed, mouth open. His skin

was yellowish-white. Not dead yet, but soon.

"Jesus Christ ." said Cooley, and hit the tree with his fist. He sat

down and put his head in his hands; warm tears were leaking out of his

eyes. What the hell was he going to do now, leave both bodies there and

just walk away? Pretend he didn't know a thing about it? That would be

too much of a coincidence. What a hell of a time for a heart attack. They

might not find the bodies here for years, maybe never, but he