SIX

On the beach, the rescued man was breathing steadily, though still in a stupor. The sheriff called toward the woods, “Ben, what’s up?”

His deputy came out of the trees, shaking his head. “Dunno. It’s the damndest thing. Those two guys must have had one hell of a fight. There’s blood all over, but not a sign of where they went.”

Amos Tarbell followed Ben Dorset back into the woods. Dorset pointed to a place where a body had plainly pressed the leaves into a mat. “He made a track to just about here.” Signs of a struggle were clear. Low branches were snapped off. There were fresh tangles of leaves smeared with blood.

The sheriff found himself swallowing hard. “How the hell could they have had this kind of a fight with their hands locked?”

Ben Dorset was pointing up through the trees. “One of them went up that way, looks like. But there’s only one track, right?”

The sheriff made his inspection and agreed.

“Then where the hell is this other guy?” Ben Dorset asked both the sheriff and the forest.

There was no answer from either.

Finally the sheriff shook his head. There were no other clues than the ones that made no sense. He said hoarsely, “We have to get back out. The boat will be here soon. We’ll send some men to check this later.”

The deputy hung back. “Amos,” he asked in a whisper, “do you think this fellow—might it be like what happened to Elias Johnson’s dog?”

The sheriff spoke sharply. “It was a bad trip, like I said! We’ll find both those creeps on top, bet you a month’s pay!”

Amos Tarbell plowed out of the forest back to the beach, angry and confused. He did not really believe he would find the men on the ridge, but whatever else was happening was beyond his experience and comprehension. Where could two naked men have got to? How could they have bloodied each other as savagely as the scene suggested? It was inexplicable—unless.

Unless.

Sheriff Amos Tarbell was compelled to let the odious thought take form in his troubled mind. Crazed rats might be running the woods. Packs of wild rats with festering rabies! That would be worse for Yarkie than even the sharks some years back.

This was more than he could handle alone. He glanced at his watch. Twelve-­thirty. Reed Brockshaw should be on the Bertram to Chatham by now. The scientist from Harvard would be on the island soon.

The sheriff shook his head unhappily. It looked like they could use all the help they could get. And it had started out such a quiet, sunny day on Yarkie this morning.