At first I thought they were shouting to me, but on peering closer I could see that they had their backs to me.
Catching hold of some long stalks of cane that were hanging down from the steep bank, I pulled myself up.
Papa shouted in my ear, “Something has happened to your grandfather.”
Turning to the judge, he said, “He was behind you. When was the last time you saw him?”
“I don’t know for sure,” the judge said. “I guess it was back there when we heard the hound bawl.”
“Didn’t you hear anything?” Papa asked. “Hear anything?” the judge exclaimed.
“How could I hear anything in all that noise? I thought he was behind me all the time, and didn’t miss him until we got here.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears. My grandfather was lost and wandering in that white jungle of cane.
Screaming for him, I started back. Papa caught me. He shouted, “Don’t do that.”
I tried to tear away from him but his grip on my arm was firm. “Shoot the gun,” the judge said.
Papa shot time after time. It was useless. We got no answer.
Little Ann came up out of the washout. She stood and stared at me.
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