FAITHFULLY YOURS
BY LOU TABAKOW

The fugitive lay face down in the fetid undergrowth, drawing inspasmodic lungfuls of air through cracked and swollen lips. Long before,his blue workshirt had been ripped to ribbons and his exposed chestshowed a spiderwork of scratches, where branches and brambles had soughtto restrain him in his frenzied flight. Across his back from shoulder toshoulder ran a deeper cut around which the caked blood attested to theneedle-sharp viciousness of a thorn bush a mile to the north. With eachtortured breath he winced, as drops [128]of sweat ran down, following the spiderwork network and burning likeacid. Incessantly he rubbed his bruised torso with mud-caked palms todislodge the gnats and mosquitoes that clung to him, gorgingshamelessly.

To the east he could see the lights of Fort Mudge where the railroadcut through on its way to Jacksonville. He had planned to ride thefreight into Jacksonville but by now they were stopping every train andsearching along every foot of the railroad right of way. In the distancehe heard the eerie keen of a train whistle, and visualized the scene asit was flagged down and searched from engine to caboose.

Directly before him loomed the forbidding northern boundary of theOkefenokee Swamp. Unconsciously he strained his ears, then shuddered atthe night noises that issued from the noisome wilderness. A frenziedthreshing, then a splash, then ... silence. What drama of life and deathwas being played out in that strange other-world of perpetual shadows?

In sudden panic he jerked erect and cupped his palm round his ear. Faroff; muted by distance, but still unmistakable; he heard the baying ofbloodhounds. Then this was the end. A sob broke from his throat. Whatwas he, an animal; to be hunted down as a sport? Tears of self-pitywelled to his eyes as he thought back to a party and a girl and laughterand cleanliness and the scent of magnolias, like a heady wine. But thatwas so long ago—so long ago—and now.... He looked down at hissweating, lacerated body; his blistered calloused palms; the blackbroken nails; the cheap workshoes with hemp laces; the shapeless graycotton trousers, now wet to the knees.

He pulled back his shoulders and resolutely faced west toward theriver, but stopped short in horror as he heard the sudden cacophony ofbarks, yelps and howls of a pack of bloodhounds that senses thebeginning of the end. He turned in panic. They couldn't be over half amile away. In a panic of indecision he turned first east then west, thenfacing due south he hesitated a moment to take one last look at theclear open skies, and with a muffled prayer plunged into the broodingdepths of the Okefenokee.