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Updated: May 2, 2025
While I slept the shadows had lengthened and blended into those soft gray tones of twilight that give mystery to forests of the South. Cautiously I raised my head and, following the tense stare of Smilax, saw the cause of his agitation. Three men were standing on the larger island, at the spot where Efaw Kotee and Jess had stood, and one held a piece of coiled rope tied to a grappling hook.
Late that evening we buried Efaw Kotee under the mangroves, and did not tell Doloria. No one knows, who has never seen it, the desolation of laying a shrouded figure in a mangrove-covered oyster bar at twilight, where water follows each slushy lift of the spade! I feared for her to witness it, and therefore, Tommy reading the service, the old chief was buried without a woman's sympathy.
"You smoke; me cook." "Did you see anything? How far did you go?" I asked, and he answered in the curious way he had of dealing with one question at a time. "No see signs of Efaw Kotee. Long way."
What else?" "Host-cope-e-taw, mean thief." "Good but too long. I want something I can remember; to christen him, understand? What's your shortest word?" "Shee." "That's more like it. What's 'shee' mean?" "Feathers." "But, hell, Smilax," I burst out laughing, "there'd be no sense in calling him feathers!" "Efaw," he said again, "mean dog; kotee, toad; chesshe, rat. Maybe him dog-toad-rat!"
His breathing was fast, though not from exertion, and pointing back he hurriedly whispered: "Efaw Kotee there! Lady, too! Me see!" Sylvia there! I bounded up as though some one had sent a galvanic current through my body, exclaiming: "Good Lord! How far, Smilax? Come quick, let's go!" He answered each of my exclamations in sequence, a peculiarity he had: "Yes, Lord good. Two mile, maybe some more.
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